r953 ■■■^ ' a :i ii . U 7^ tj . UC-NRLF 1 I I B 3 315 Sfib < , k-', . ' ''>TT A l^gmtt of lEmptr? A POET AND A PERSONALITY. There was a military cliurcli parade in Toronto a fortniglit ago. and as the soldiers ■ marched down Yonge Street a khaki-clad , figure near their head was observed to wave and bow and smile familiarly to spectators ! on the sidewalk. He did not look like the Istf-rn ofRr«r hi^ un'fovni mi.?ht su;:gest. It ; was Canon F. G. Scott, who had come five I hundred miles from Quebec to preach to the 1 boys he knew in France. He was one of ! Canada's best loved padres, ever ready with i counsel and comfort for the stricken in their I darkest hour. From the days of Valcartier onward he threw his heart and soul into the effort oC the Empire he loved so well. That was Canon Scott haplain. Peader-? of Can^.dian literatv.-p. nave known i TTrPfipri.k C.9.orzp. Scott the poet for m ao;^; U I 2uiii;ou uaaq seq aaaqfl -ui J^:^JBnb-^^J^:^ v. aoj II -ap uo oOO'OOO'Xi ?o ®-* u/puB 'ooo'oosf sum^w USBD Saop ;i SB gUIAlOAUI m 3PBUI J3Aa 1^3 P ^"Tuu I aiia o:ut paaaaua seq aubc ! • £;jadoJtd sq; o:^ ;ist.\ b apBL I sBq jaiDuadaa '-iK '^"H ! puan^ o; o:tuoJOi, o:^ pasj i au pu-B vCBpo; auidnoaoj ! UI SBAV 'pa^iuin 'sauiK Pl^ 10 J3SBUBK l^Jau^O '^nSiiA] > -o^uoaoi UT 8o ^^"^r ^'^^ ^1 i sBU saopaaip sauiK ^^^^ ; 2unsaJa^«I ^som ©q> Aipa^l •[Baa SmuTI •paAiosun Moa siuaiqoad uo ;q^II Moaqi^ uot:^BUiaojui jo l^ap :^b8jS ssa'nqnop m^w BaaB aAisua^a sajpms ataqi -punojs ail ST • '^SlSOlOaO IBTOUIAOJa i •n paajiV -aS^^q^ "I ^ uiAipa: -aa -duiBO aq:^ JO -uao aq^ uo SunTeatJuaouoD 20 auo -pias sqi ut sa^JBd saniK JO :tuaia;.xBdaa oP •sisisoioaS SB i:i5iq ^^^-^ , ;qSUAl SBiSnoa pu^ aJ.nu] -uiqoH -S -H qioa -uosB aq':^ 30 pua aq; aaojaq u.^o i sjoui qonK Ta-^^^^^ "^= sBq b;bp jo ;unouiB oiqbj "liBiap ut ino pa>iao.ii aq lius sTOjaiqoad iBD.i:goio53 a ubwtuoD V ut pauiT3 ©-^'^ | , .. ri Ti — -- *» lit "inrt ' OH OH rn VAV ^ Symn 0f i0m|iir£ By FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT Author of " The Soul's Quest, and Other Poems," ** My Lattice, and Other Poems," " Elioa Hazlewood," "The Unnamed Lake, and Other Poems," " Poems Old and New," etc. TORONTO WILLIAM BRIGGS 1906 9 ^' • • • *t Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in i.he year one thousand nine hundred and six, by Frederick George Scott, at the Department of Agriciilture. TO THE MEMORY OF "LITTLE FRIEND." " Into the I 71 finite Pass we for ever : Knowing the Light of Light Faileth us never.^' "■«.40 (UtiXfXtntB—iConfmued) The Laurentians From Canada . Nature's Recompense Old Michael The Mount of Beatitudes My Little Son . The Snowstorm The Windmill . The Night Wind The King's Bastion . Leo XIII. Ad Ecclesiam Anglicanam Page 40 41 43 45 46 47 49 50 51 52 53 54 Lord, by whose might the Heavens stand, The Source from whom they came, Who holdest nations in Thy hand, And call'st the stars by name, Thine ageless forces do not cease To mould us as of yore — The chiselling of the arts of peace, The anvil-strokes of war. Then bind our realms in brotherhood, Firm laws and equal rights, Let each uphold the Empire's good In freedom that unites ; And make that speech whose thunders roll Down the broad stream of time, The harbinger from pole to pole Of love and peace sublime. Lord, turn the hearts of cowards who prate, Afraid to dare or spend. The doctrine of a narrower State More easy to defend ; Not this the watchword of our sires Who breathed with ocean's breath, Not this our spirit's ancient fires Which nought could quench but death. Strong are we ? Make us stronger yet ; Great ? ]\Iake us greater far. Our feet antarctic oceans fret, Our crown the polar star ; Round Earth's wild coasts our batteries speak, Our highway is the main. We stand as guardian of the weak, We burst the oppressor's chain. Great God, uphold us in our task. Keep pure and clean our rule. Silence the honeyed words which mask The wisdom of the fool. The pillars of the world are Thine ; Pour down Thy bounteous grace, And make illustrious and divine The sceptre of our race. lO a^l|? §>lnrm O GRIP the earth, ye forest trees, Grip well the earth to-night, The Storm-God rides across the seas To greet the morning light. All clouds that wander through the skies Are tangled in his net, The frightened stars have shut their eyes, The breakers fume and fret. The birds that cheer the woods all day Now tremble in their nests. The giant branches round them sway. The wild wind never rests. The squirrel and the cunning fox Have hurried to their holes. Far off, like distant earthquake shocks. The muffled thunder rolls. II In scores of hidden woodland dells, Where no rough winds can harm, The timid wild-flowers toss their bells In reasonless alarm. Only the mountains rear their forms. Silent and grim and bold ; To them the voices of the storms Are as a tale re-told. They saw the stars in heaven hung, They heard the great Sea's birth. They know the ancient pain that wrung The entrails of the Earth. Sprung from great Nature's royal lines, They share her deep repose, — Their rugged shoulders robed in pines, Their foreheads crowned with snows. But now there comes a lightning flash. And now on hill and plain The charging clouds in fury dash, And blind the world with rain. 12 SFIjr Stupr Why hurr}', little river, Why hurry to the sea ? There is nothing there to do But to sink into the blue And all forgotten be. There is nothing on that shore But the tides for evermore, And the faint and far-off line Where the winds across the brine For ever, ever roam And never find a home. Why hurry, little river, From the mountains and the mead. Where the graceful elms are sleeping And the quiet cattle feed? The loving shadows cool The deep and restful pool. And every tribute stream Brings its own sweet woodland dream 13 Of the mighty woods that sleep Where the sighs of earth are deep, And the silent skies look down On the savag;e mountain's frown. *& Oh, linger, little river, Your banks are all so fair, Each morning is a hymn of praise, Each evening is a prayer. All day the sunbeams glitter On your shallows and your bars, And at night the dear God stills you With the music of the stars. 14 (§nx Sronpa The seal set on our nationhood are these Strong men, returning victors from the war ; Up to the battle's very front they bore Our country's honour, till with every breeze Fame sang their valour round the seven seas. For us they braved death in the cannon's roar, For us their comrades died, and nevermore Will see the loved homes 'neath our maple trees. Throw wide thy gates, O Canada, throw wide The portals of thy gratitude ; these men Have roused the God in us. Now cast aside All littleness of aim. With courage high And loftier purpose, to thy tasks again. And carve thine own illustrious destiny. 15 5FI|? flitty (ttljurrtj Not only in the hush of mountain lands, And on the storms which shroud the boundless deep, Does Nature's God His awful vigil keep. Here, in this church, though raised by human hands, Though in the traffic-crowded street it stands, God's throne is set ; and while men work or sleep, He wakes and listens to the hearts that weep. And in His love makes straight life's tangled strands. New generations come and pass away. They pour their anguish into God's kind ear. They gaze up mutely towards His unseen face ; And, compassed with His mercies day by day, They stand unshaken, while this earthly sphere Rolls through theMark infinity of space. i6 SInsrrtpttnn nn Not by the power of Commerce, Art, or Pen Shall our great Empire stand ; nor has it stood But by the noble deeds of noble men, Heroic lives, and Heroes' outpoured blood. 17 B^tloarum SINGING birds, O singing birds, ye sing in field and sky The simple songs of love and joy ye sang in days gone by ; 1 hear you in the meadows now and up the mountain stream, And as I listen to your voice I dream an old-world dream. O singing birds, O singing birds, ye sang in ancient Greece Ere Paris found the fatal fruit, or Jason sought the fleece ; And from the Attic mountain tops ye saw the dawn uprise, Her feet upon the golden sea and wonder in her eyes. i8 Ye heard the shepherd pipe at dawn, and piped again with him Until the flocks came winding out where forest glades were dim ; Ye sang in dewy dell and woke the wild-flower from its dream, And watched the fauns and satyrs dance beside the woodland stream. Ye sang your songs at noonday when Athenian crews went down Between the dusty walls that joined Peiraeus with the town, Until across the sparkling deep the triremes sailed away, And up Poseidon's altar steps the women went to pray. Ye sang your songs at eventide when on the sacred hill The light was slowly dying down and mists were sleeping still ; While two by two the maidens went, with lilies in their hand, And asked each other of the love they could not understand. 19 And in the night, when stars looked down and herds were gathered in, And little brooks with tinkling voice made music clear and thin, At intervals your note again would thrill the forest's rest, When dreamland fancies woke your joy or breezes stirred your nest. O singing birds, O singing birds, who pipe in shade and sun. Ye fill the world with gladness still, ye bind us all in one ; Your songs are of untroubled days, of mornings glad and free, And merry rivers leaping down the mountains to the sea. O singing birds, O singing birds, the ages pass away, The world is growing old, and we grow older day b}' day ; Pour out your deathless songs again to men of every tongue, And wake the music in man's heart that keeps the old world young. 20 g-tplla (From the Greek anthology) Dear Love, thou gazest at the starlit skies, Thou who art star to me ; Would I were heaven with all its myriad eyes Gazing on thee. 21 In the star-depths of children's eyes, Where burns the light of truth, I see, reflected from the skies, God's own eternal youth. 22 3n th? Winter forests mutely standing Naked on your bed of snow, Wide your knotted arms expanding To the biting winds that blow, Nought ye heed of storm or stress, Stubborn, silent, passionless. Buried is each woodland treasure, Gone the leaves and mossy rills, Gone the birds that filled with pleasure All the valleys and the hills ; Ye alone of all that host Stand like soldiers at your post. Grand old trees, the words }'e mutter. Nodding in the frosty wind. Wake some thoughts I cannot utter, But which haunt the heart and mind. With a meaning, strange and deep, As of visions seen in sleep. 23 Something in my inmost thinking Tells me I am one with you, For a subtle bond is linking Nature's offspring through and through, And your spirit like a flood Stirs the pulses of my blood. While I linger here and listen To the creaking boughs above, Hung with icicles that glisten As if kindling into love, Human heart and soul unite With your majesty and might. Horizontal, rich with glory, Through the boughs the red sun's rays Clothe you as some grand life-story Robes an aged man with praise, When, before his setting sun, Men recount what he has done. But the light is swiftly fading. And the wind is icy cold, And a mist the moon is shading. Pallid in the western gold ; In the night-winds still ye nod, Sentinels of Nature's God. 24 Now with gladdened steps returning To the world from whence I came, Leave I all the great west burning With the day that died in flame, And the stars, with silver ray, Light me on my homeward way. «5 She made a nunnery of her life, Plain duties hedged it round, No echoes of the outer strife Could reach its hallowed ground. Her rule was simple as her creed, She tried to do each day Some act of kindness that might speed A sad soul on its way. She had no wealth, and yet she made So many rich at heart ; Her lot was hidden, yet she played No inconspicuous part. Some wondered men had passed her by, Some said she would not wed, I think the secret truth must lie Long buried with the dead. 26 That cheery smile, that gentle touch, That heart so free from stain. Could have no other source but such As lies in conquered pain. All living creatures loved her well, And blessed the ground she trod ; The pencillings in her Bible tell Her communing with God. And when the call came suddenly, And sleep preceded death, There was no struggle we could see, No hard and laboured breath. Gently as dawn the end drew nigh ; Her life had been so sweet, I think she did not need to die To reach the Master's feet. 27 (A Tribute of Kindred) Brother of kings and king of brother men, Hero and martyr, lo ! thou dost not sleep. Thy dauntless soul, beyond our mortal ken, Pursues life's journey through the eternal deep. Elsewhere, not here, lives on the lofty aim, The iron purpose of a steadfast life. The strong, brave heart that forged a deathless name, The tender love of duty, land and wife. O mighty Sister in our royal line, America ! guard well his sacred dust. Thy grief is ours, e'en as our blood is thine — We twain who hold the great world's peace in trust. Quebec, September 14, 1901. 28 ®^ iHartgr The dark square glimmers 'neath the morning skies, And issuing slowly through the sombre gate Come priest and monk, soldier and magistrate, While, midst them, walks the prisoner, with his eyes Bent on the ground, going to his sacrifice. He limps, from tortures wrought by powerless hate, He fronts wild wolves who for his life-blood wait, Yet now he thrills with God's own harmonies. Fearless, he stands above the great, hushed crowd : He hears the monks drone out his burial song, He feels the hot flames round the faggots creep ; And, as the thick smoke wraps him in a cloud, Which rolls to Heaven, his voice rings clear and strong — " Thy Kingdom come " : and so he falls asleep. 29 iJ^xB J^arttttg They bore the little dying boy Through his beloved wood, The sweet song-sparrows hushed their joy, The pine trees silent stood. The tiny ripples from the lake Crept noiseless down the shore, And even the brook seemed for his sake Less boisterous than before. The sunbeams never blinked their eyes, Quite still were light and shade, While here and there the droning flies A solemn music made. 'Twas plain his woodland friends had heard. And nature all around Mourned, as when some sweet singing bird Has fallen to the ground. But he, our little dying boy, Forgetting all his pain. Passed prattling by in childish joy And never came again. 30 Build a house for " Little Friend," Underneath the sunniest grass, In a place where birds' songs blend On the breezes as they pass. Dig it not with sorrow's spade, Use no sharp-edged tools of pain, Nothing there must cast a shade, Nothing there must leave a stain. Build the walls of hope and joy, Gladsome as the flowers and trees, Else the little merry boy Will not rest in it at ease. Bring no torch or other light, As though darkness could be there, For a soul so pure and bright Will give radiance everywhere. 31 Build the roof of faith and love, Pillared on foundations deep, That the rain of tears above May not mar his happy sleep. Make no windows, as though he Needed peep-holes to the skies, For the vast Eternity Now is open to his eyes. Build no staircase for his feet. Make no door-way in the wall, For he treads the golden street Where the Christ is All in all. Only let the cross be set Upright in the hallowed ground, Lest the stricken heart forget Where the cure of grief is found. 32 in tli0 Hush, let us say, " Our Father," in this wood, And through bare boughs look up into the sky, Where fleecy clouds on autumn winds go by. Here, by this fallen trunk, which long since stood And praised the Lord and Giver of all good, We'll sing " Magnificat." With curious eye A squirrel watches from a branch on high. As though he too would join us if he could. Now in our " Nunc Dimittis," soft and low, Strange woodland voices mingle, one by one ; Dead songs of vanished birds, the sad increase Of crumpled leaves on paths where rough winds go, The deepening shades, the low October sun, — " Lord, let thy servant now depart in peace." 33 iHtU-stoam Clear down the mountain, 'neath the arching green, And o'er mossed boulders dappled by the sun, With many a leap the laughing waters run. They tumble fearless down each dark ravine, And roam through caves where day has never been : Until, at last, the open pool is won. Where, by their prisoned strength, man's work is done In that old mill which branching cedars screen. Here, all day long, the massy logs, updrawn Against the biting saw, are loud with shrieks. Here, too, at night, are stars and mystery. And nature sleeping ; and, all round at dawn, The rugged utterance of mountain peaks Against the infinite silence of the sky. 34 Ever the strong, salt life, ever the dream, Ever the pulsing force, the mystery Of tireless Nature working 'neath the stars Her destiny apart from human things. 35 A Unto frnm (Cattaia (To an English Pro-Boer) Hush, babbling Pharisee, Scribe, hypocrite, do we Love, any more Than you do, war ? Think you that darkling skies And helpless orphans' cries Do never keep Our hearts from sleep ? Have not our blinding tears, In these late anxious years, Been wrung by pain For loved ones slain ? Think you those hearts are steel Who, for the common weal. Thus lay down all At duty's call ? 36 You talk, but do not share The heavy load we bear Of sundered ties And sacrifice. That far-off lonely grave, Where sleep the sons we gave, Looms in our sight By day and night. We do not know what more The future has in store, What bitterer tears May come with years, But with set teeth we stand To guard our Empire land, To dare and spend Unto the end. So, critic, since for you Our sons are fighting, too, Your railing cease And give us— PEACE. Quebec, 1901. 37 of iivfcits The sunset gold was fading from the sky. The cypresses towered darkly overhead, While through the deepening shade a pathway led To where the bones of England's poet lie. We heard the night-wind in the tall trees sigh, Yet, as we stooped and on the white stone read Those lines which tell the heart's woe of the dead, Something that was not darkness blurred the eye. " Whose name was writ in water," — yea, 'twas so. O passionate soul of beauty, youth and light, Thy name is writ in water, earth and air. It sings in birds' songs, scents all flowers that blow, Lights up the forest glade, crowns the starred night; Thy epitaph was triumph, not despair. (From the Italian of Guerrini) When the leaves are falling, Dearest, And you seek the quiet mound Where I slumber, you will find it With a wealth of blossoms crowned. Gather, then, for thy bright tresses Those that from my heart have sprung ; They're the love-thoughts that I spoke not. And the songs I left unsung. 39 These mountains reign alone, they do not share The transitory life of woods and streams ; Wrapt in the deep solemnity of dreams, They drain the sunshine of the upper air. Beneath their peaks, the huge clouds, here and there, Take counsel of the wind, which all night screams Through gray, burnt forests where the moonlight beams On hidden lakes, and rocks worn smooth and bare. These mountains once, throned in some primal sea, Shook half the world with thunder, and the sun Pierced not the gloom that clung about their crest ; Now with sealed lips, toilers from toil set free, Unvexed by fate, the part they played being done, They watch and wait in venerable rest. 40 JFrom Canoba Mother and Queen, from the golden West We offer in love at the foot of thy throne All we can give thee, our dearest and best, Flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone. Take them, Queen of the brave and free ; They come in their love to die for thee. Mother and Queen, from farm and mart, From bank and factory, hill and plain. They gather in love for a noble heart. To lighten its sorrow and share its pain. Take them. Queen of the brave and free ; They come in their love to die for thee. Mother and Queen, our homes were bright And pure as the air of the sunlit north ; But tears have darkened the women's sight Since the day that the brothers and sons went forth. Take them, Queen of the brave and free ; They come in their love to die for thee. 41 Mother and Queen of the spotless throne, Lady and Lord of the sea and land, Thou makest our far-born sons thine own By the tender clasp of a woman's hand. Take them. Queen of the brave and free ; They come in their love to die for thee. Mother and Queen, from the strong, glad West, From the rivers and plains where our children roam, We give thee our dearest, our bravest, our best ; Take them, Queen of our heart and home. Asking no bounty, favour or fee, They come in their love to die for thee. Quebec, March i, 1900. 42 5fatitrr's With barren heart and weary mind, I wander from the haunts of men, And strive in soHtude to find The careless joys of youth again. I seek the long-loved woodland brook, I watch the clouds when day is done, I climb the mountain top and look, All-eager, at the rising sun. I plunge into the forest glade, Untrodden yet by human feet, And, loitering through the light and shade, I hear the birds their songs repeat. But all in vain, they will not come — Those voices that I knew of old ; Great Nature's lips to me are dumb, Her heart to me is dead and cold. 43 In vain I lie upon her breast And ask her for the dreams I seek, She takes no pity on my quest, I cannot force her lips to speak. Then, haply, in a calm despair I give up seeking, and I lie, All-thoughtless, in the woodland air And 'neath the leaf-bespangled sky. And then it comes, the voice of old. Which soothes the realms of death and birth, The message through the ages told. The cradle song of Mother Earth. And as it thrills each languid sense And lifts me from the world apart, Great Nature makes full recompense For her past coldness to my heart. 44 mi Dear Mother Earth, in this long wooden box, We bring old Michael with his silvery locks ; Such years he tended thee with pick and spade, Right gladly wilt thou welcome his poor shade. 45 Ehit Mannt of Christ sat upon the mountain side, The blue sky overhead, Beneath, in heaven's own colours dyed, The lake's still bosom spread. Some sparrows fluttered through the sky, A breath the lilies stirred. Far off a boat went drifting by With white wings like a bird. But, heedless of the sea and shore, Christ turned aside to greet The weary hearts who came to pour Their sorrows at His feet. I ponder o'er the scene so fair Upon my bended knee, Until I dream that I am there, And, lo, Christ looks at me. 46 Etttk Bon My little son, my little son, he calls to me forever Across the gulfs and through the mists which shroud him from my sight ; I hear him in the noonday, in the midst of all the turmoil, I hear him, oh, so plainly, in the silence of the night. My little son, my little son, I see in clearest vision The merry face, the deep, clear eyes, the crown of golden hair. But these, ah, these are sleeping where the hillside glows with sunset, And the little boy, my darling that I loved so, is not there. My little son, my little son, there are starry paths at night-time, Above the swaying tree-tops where the birds are fast asleep ; 47 Does he wander up and down them with the winds in endless play-time ? Does he read in sudden manhood all the wonders of the deep ? My little son, my little son, he hovers ever near me, I meet him in the garden walks, he speaks in wind and rain ; He comes and nestles by me on my pillow in the darkness, Till the golden hands of sunrise draw him back to God again. 48 BiwmBtann The sky is hid in a snowy shroud, And the road in the woods is white. But the dear God watches above the cloud In the centre of h'ght. In the woods is the hush of the snowflakes' fall, And the creak of a lumberman's sleigh, But in Heaven the choirs of the Master of all Make praise alway. Up there is the throne of the Triune God And the worshipping multitudes, And here is the long white winter road And the silent woods. 49 HtnimtU A LITTLE toy windmill is turning, Perched up on the roof of the shed, Beyond it the sunset is burning, And the limitless woods are outspread. It knows not the winds that are blowing, It asks not the clouds what they are. While the gold of the sunset is going, And over it looks out a star. But alas for the hearts that are weary. For as the night settles apace, To the poor human spirit how dreary And cold looks the starland of space. 50 Where the huge clouds part, A voice from God's heart Saith unto me, In accents clear : " Who hath eyes, let him see ; Who hath ears, let him hear." The wind with delight Shakes the mantle of night, And roars through the trees With the voice of the seas ; And it saith to my mind: " Some day thou shalt find Thy home in the deep, When death wakes thee from sleep." 51 (Sift (Quebec) Fierce on this Bastion beats the noonday sun, The city sleeps beneath me old and gray, On convent roofs the quivering sunbeams play, And batteries guarded by dismantled gun. No breeze comes from the northern hills, which run Circling the blue mist of the summer's day ; No ripple stirs the great stream on its way To those dim headlands where its rest is won. Ah God ! what thunders shook these crags of yore ! What smoke of battle rolled about this place ! What strife of worlds in pregnant agony ! Now all is hushed, yet here in dreams once more We catch the echoes, ringing back from space. Of God's strokes forging human history. 52 &0 XIII. Servant of God, of thee the world had need, For this thy glory, this thy triple crown, Thy soul from out its battlemented creed Glowed with that love which melts all barriers down. 53 Kb lErrlpstam AttgUranam Church of our heart and Empire, Upon thy queenly head There broods the Hving Spirit Whom Christ Himself has shed ; No more the dark dissensions, The day of doubt is done, When dangers gather round thee Thy children stand as one. Church of our heart and Empire, Forgive the shameful past, The worldly hearts that chilled thee. The chains that bound thee fast ; Behold, from the horizon The clouds have rolled away, And now with clearer vision Men own thy gracious sway. 54 Church of our heart and Empire, So bright thine annals shine, The ages hold no triumphs More wonderful than thine Thou didst in old times cradle Our rude and warlike race, Thy sons are kings of honour, Thy daughters queens of grace. Church of our heart and Empire, The new dawn rises fair, And broader paths of glory Are opening everywhere ; Beyond the ocean's thunders, As in the olden days, Thy creeds give faith her utterance, Thy voice her prayer and praise. Church of our heart and Empire, God's wings are o'er thee spread, And loyal sons are ready For thee their blood to shed ; No more the dark dissensions, The day of doubt is done, And round thee in the battle Thy children stand as one. 55 FOURTEEN DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 260ct'55CT jft|«171S56LU OCT ^ -^ 20^1 \J\J * UU ^i' 1 LD 21-100m-2,'55 , General Library (Bl39s22)476 University of California Berkeley iv^2f^98=l() 7^0 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY