THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
\*M 
 
 Cr <f 
 
SPINDRIFT 
 
SPINDRIFT 
 
 BY 
 
 E. MAXTONE GRAHAM 
 
 THE EDINBURGH PRESS 
 1906 
 
Entered at Staiioneri' 11, ill 
 [All Rights Reserved] 
 

 TO YSENDA 
 
 9i7P ! " ; 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Soul of the Land 
 
 
 
 
 
 Page 
 9 
 
 To an Old House 
 
 
 
 
 
 II 
 
 Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 The Room Beyond 
 
 
 
 
 
 '3 
 
 The Dial at Night 
 
 
 
 
 
 IS 
 
 The Conqueror 
 
 
 
 
 
 16 
 
 The Child's Garden . 
 
 
 
 
 
 18 
 
 At Twilight 
 
 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 Eve's Garden 
 
 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 The Thrush 
 
 
 
 
 
 24 
 
 The Sword and the Harp 
 
 
 
 
 
 25 
 
 The Tribute of Gask . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 27 
 
 An Old Book . 
 
 
 
 
 
 29 
 
 Christmas Roses 
 
 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 The Knight's Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 3i 
 
 Song of the Apple 
 
 
 
 
 
 32 
 
 The Gift 
 
 
 
 
 
 34 
 
 A Litany 
 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
THE SOUL OF THE LAND 
 
 The tender mists have lain 
 About the heathery uplands all the night, 
 Now morning brings a drift of laughing rain, 
 The wayward sunshine on the windy plain, 
 The shadows on the height. 
 
 The solitudes lie bare, 
 Across the moor the purple shadows roam. 
 O Land of Beauty ! thine the healing air, 
 The desolation that is not despair, 
 
 Whose silence speaks of home. 
 
 The open moorlands call, 
 
 The wind is chanting through the unconquered 
 
 glen, 
 Thy thousand streams repeat, in pool and fall, 
 How close, how tenderly, are held in thrall 
 The loyal hearts of men. 
 
 Yet Death o'er thee must brood ; 
 When long the race of man has found release, 
 Some movement of Creation's changing mood, 
 Shall break upon thine ancient solitude, 
 Thy wild and hidden peace. 
 
 9 
 
The Soul of the Land 
 
 Whither, when flames efface, 
 
 Or darkness covers all the frozen earth, 
 
 Lost, silent, blind, and hurled through endless 
 
 space, 
 Oh ! whither shall the soul of thee find place 
 Fit for another birth ? 
 
 Thou Land of Lands ! outlast 
 The passing of the stars, the sun, the sea, — 
 While chaos claims the Universe, hold fast 
 Thy chain of golden hopes, thy splendid Past, 
 Thy sovereign liberty. 
 
 Some shining realm of dreams 
 With unforgotten songs thy soul shall move, 
 Once more thy sons shall muster by thy streams, 
 Shall tread thy hills in glory, as beseems 
 Their valour and their love. 
 
 There may I claim a part, 
 Where rise thy misty crests from sea to sea, 
 In all that may befall, where'er thou art, 
 To share with thee,— thou Heaven of the heart,— 
 Thine immortality. 
 
 10 
 
TO AN OLD HOUSE 
 
 THOU hast the Past : the memories that can bring 
 Deep sense of peace, of rapture come and gone, 
 Old sorrows and old comfort. Eyes that shone 
 
 And feet that danced, voices that ceased to sing, 
 
 Feet that were very weary, bore their part 
 In all the charm that crowns thee— gray, alone— 
 Where in the dusk thy chambers, stone on stone, 
 
 Hold close the wistful secrets of the heart. 
 
 Thou hast the Past. The spell of yesterday 
 Meets 'neath thy gables with new hopes to be, 
 With long-familiar thoughts that cling to thee : 
 
 Thoughts that will last when we are gone away, 
 
 And forward from thy threshold fare, to know 
 Some wider life beyond, untried as yet. 
 Say, hast thou not some window, darkly set, 
 
 That looks upon the Land to which we go ? 
 
 Say, does no spirit-window, crystal clear, 
 
 Look on the garden of the vanished dead ? 
 
 No secret doorway open to their tread 
 In all the house that holds their memories dear? 
 Is thine some link that binds them as they roam 
 
 In alien fields and haunts of deeper rest ; 
 
 And in the golden dwellings of the Blest 
 
 Still do they call thine ancient shelter Home? 
 
 ii 
 
SONG 
 
 If I might speak, how soon my heart should show 
 you 
 You, whom I watch to-day, 
 Full of unanswered love, a surer way 
 To make a woman know you ! 
 Give Pride no time to rise, 
 To reason and be wise, 
 But capture by surprise, 
 Swift as a hawk upon the prey below you. 
 
 You miss the path. The road your feet have taken 
 
 Leads from the goal away. 
 You trust to gentle speech, when you should say 
 
 Wild words with passion shaken. 
 
 You kneel, when you should stand, 
 
 Plead, when you should command, 
 
 Content to kiss the hand, 
 And leave the silent waiting lips forsaken. 
 
 Be resolute, that so may Fortune choose you 
 
 As one whose wealth is spent. 
 Stoop not to humbly win a faint consent 
 
 Careless how Love shall use you. 
 
 Fling back the beggar's dole, 
 
 Demand your rightful whole, 
 
 Of living heart and soul, 
 O Love, be strong ! For who could then refuse you ? 
 
 12 
 
THE ROOM BEYOND 
 
 This pleasant room, you say, holds all I need. 
 Here are my books, my plants, my pictures. 
 
 Friends 
 Are at my hearth. Before my eyes recede 
 Through the wide casement river, hill, and mead ; 
 And better still, at evening there ascends 
 Twilight's one star, made to console the gloom. 
 Here's the door where one enters, — here, the fire ; 
 What more could mortal ask, or heart desire ? 
 And there,— the portal of the Other Room. 
 
 The life I lead is fair, —yet here and there 
 
 Its very sweetness wakes a secret pain 
 
 For some remembered friends, who unaware 
 
 Stole through that door, and left a vacant chair, 
 
 That book unread, unsung that well-known strain. 
 
 The door is closed upon their still retreat. 
 
 I call, I listen,— but have never known 
 
 The far-off whisper of an answering tone. 
 
 Nor any sound of their returning feet. 
 
 Beyond that door, how dream I that they fare ? 
 What deeper life for them my heart foresees ? 
 Whether through other windows they may share 
 My view of hill and stream, and everywhere 
 Set round them books and pictures like to these, — 
 
 13 
 
The Room Beyond 
 
 Sing songs like mine, and tend their rose in 
 
 bloom ; 
 Whether for them as well, when day is done 
 If there be any settling of their sun, 
 My one star charms the twilight of their room ? 
 
 Surely with purer hearts and clearer eyes 
 Linked with the old life, but with ampler aims, 
 Better achievements, still my joys they prize 
 For joy's sole purpose, that the life should rise 
 Beyond the touch of any earthly shames. 
 All wisdom there translated into deeds, 
 All beauty there traced farther to its source, 
 My life in theirs pursues its intercourse, 
 And theirs in mine still answers to my needs. 
 
 When I have finished here my day's routine, 
 For me that door shall open. May I stand 
 Not trembling, as the larger light serene 
 With its fresh splendours seen and unforeseen 
 Strikes me upon that threshold. May my hand 
 Find near a hand that held it in the gloom, 
 A voice that speaks in a remembered tone, 
 So leave this humble parlour of my own 
 For the broad peace of that With-drawing Room. 
 
 m 
 
THE DIAL AT NIGHT 
 
 I SAID unto my soul ; "The whole long night 
 The Dial skyward turns how blank a space, 
 How purposeless it tarries in its place ! 
 Though moon and star and meteor-glance unite, 
 In vain their shadowy message there to write, 
 Till the sun shines in glory on its face 
 Making all lesser glories pale apace, 
 The faithful Dial waits the morning light." 
 
 Thou Sun of faith, who tarriest to shine out 
 To light my life and make its meaning plain, 
 What am I here without Thee ? Look on me ! 
 I wait Thy message in the night of doubt, 
 Whose alien glories visit me in vain, 
 Loyal in darkness to my thoughts of Thee. 
 
 is 
 
THE CONQUEROR 
 
 Love as a Pilgrim to my side 
 
 Came with a jest and merry mien, 
 
 And as my household tasks I plied 
 
 Wooed me with smiles ; "The worlds are wide : 
 
 And here how dreary you have been ! 
 
 Assume with me the Pilgrim's hood." 
 
 I answered, " Love, my path of pain 
 
 I would not leave it if I could," 
 
 And turned me to my tasks again. 
 
 Love as a Warrior came. His word 
 Leapt forth " Your life within my hands 
 Were life at last ! Come forth ! The Lord 
 Of all mankind, for you my sword 
 Shall flash in glory through the lands." 
 
 Conqueror, not to you I yield ! 
 
 1 turn from watching in the sun 
 The flaming of your golden shield, 
 Nor leave one household task undone. 
 
 Love as an Outcast to my gate 
 Came pleading as I toiled within, — 
 He suffered, and the hour was late, 
 How could I but compassionate 
 His faltering accents, " Let me in ! " 
 
 16 
 
The Conqueror 
 
 His bleeding feet, his downcast head ? 
 He entered so in friendly guise 
 "What shall I call you, Love?" I said. 
 11 Call me not Love, but Sacrifice." 
 
 Since then about my hearth he stays, 
 Nor seeks to draw me from my post, 
 But dwelling in my household ways 
 He brightens all the common days 
 With Pilgrim's jest, with Warrior's boast. 
 There day by day his grace I learn 
 Moving upon all trivial things. 
 And haply here and there discern 
 The splendour of his hidden wings. 
 
 B 17 
 
THE CHILD'S GARDEN 
 
 When evening falls, I seek my Rachel's plot, 
 The little wilderness her toils prepare, 
 With frequent waterings and over-care, 
 Much love, much labour, hallowing the spot,— 
 Prints of a tiny foot, a spade forgot ;— 
 I raise a drooping lily,— everywhere 
 I rake it smooth,— replace a pansy there, 
 While sound the gardener slumbers in her cot. 
 
 God, when my hour has come to sleep at last, 
 And leave the garden that I love at need, 
 With here a broken blossom,— here a weed,— 
 My childish aims and random efforts past, 
 Come ! strong in will to comfort and retrieve, 
 Lay Thou Thy Hand upon the work I leave ! 
 
 18 
 
AT TWILIGHT 
 
 Content thee, Love ! Stretch forth no thought to 
 
 seize 
 Joys that beyond this twilight hour may lie ; 
 The silver silence holds us, by and bye 
 To comfort into dark by soft degrees 
 All cares that man has suffered or foresees. 
 All doubt, all dread, all striving melt and die 
 Into forgotten dreams, and we descry 
 The Shadow and the Presence,— only these. 
 
 So leave the word unsaid, the song unsung, 
 Forbear to praise or pray,— so may there fall 
 A moment in the Temple's ritual 
 When highest worship fails to find a tongue. 
 Keep close this hour, that Love's heart may 
 
 approve 
 The sanctities and silences of Love. 
 
 19 
 
SONG 
 
 Love and I have been at war,— 
 He declared it to my face, 
 Scoffed at peaceable persuasion, 
 Raised the siege, began invasion, — 
 Obsolete his methods are, 
 Rash and headstrong on occasion, 
 Yet he fights with such a grace 
 He must win the victor's place. 
 
 If with Love a truce I sign, 
 
 Will he keep the armistice ? 
 
 Sheath his sword while wounds are healing, 
 
 Close his armoury of feeling ? 
 
 Though his words are fair and fine 
 
 He excels in double dealing. 
 
 Out, alas ! what truce is this ? 
 
 He can break it with a kiss ! 
 
 If with love I fight and lose, 
 I shall triumph in defeat ; 
 Drop the part of brave defender, 
 Gather glory in surrender, 
 Yield my life as he shall choose ; 
 Just to hear his voice grow tender, 
 Loss of liberty is sweet 
 To the captive at his feet. 
 
 20 
 
EVE'S GARDEN 
 
 Rest for a little while, 
 
 Lay down the tool, 
 Accept, Beloved, the pitying twilight cool,— 
 Letting remembered peace our hearts beguile, 
 The solace we have gathered from the past, 
 When Dusk in Eden yielded us at last 
 
 The stillness of her smile. 
 
 This is our chosen space, — 
 
 We, who have trod 
 Diviner paths, and tilled immortal sod, 
 Here work the grudging soil with downcast face. 
 Swept with fierce winds, from naked sun athirst, 
 Tangled with stubborn weeds,— bare, scorched, 
 accurst, — 
 
 This is our garden place. 
 
 And here, through parching days 
 
 We smile and weep, 
 And tired eyes to shades and pastures deep 
 Of our forbidden Paradise we raise, — 
 Where far away, drawn from eternal hills, 
 Some secret source profound for ever fills 
 
 Her gracious waterways. 
 
 21 
 
Eve's Garden 
 
 But when, all undefiled, 
 
 Some poor, sweet bloom 
 Rewards our toil, what lightening of the gloom ! 
 We clasp our treasure, glad and reconciled. 
 Yonder no joy is lost and found again, 
 In Eden fields no rapture after pain, 
 
 In Paradise, no child. 
 
 So, should some Angel say 
 
 " Lo, you have dreamed ! 
 No sin you sinned, and exile only seemed. 
 Return ! your kingdom calls for you to-day ! " 
 Beloved, I turn to where our sorrows are, 
 Though every bud in Eden were a star, — 
 
 Here would my spirit stay. 
 
 needless sword aflame ! 
 
 Though wide the gate, 
 
 1 would not leave the garden of my fate, 
 Nor let perfection put my toil to shame. 
 
 Love ! O Sorrow ! hold me safely here,— 
 
 1 choose the love by sorrow's self made clear, 
 
 The stony ground I claim. 
 
 My wayward soul resigns 
 
 The perfect ways, — 
 In Death, in Pain, in dark laborious days 
 Some wide and starry destiny divines. 
 
 22 
 
Eve's Garden 
 
 Far from the flicker of the Sword of Fire 
 Beyond all sin, all parting, all desire, 
 A fairer Eden shines. 
 
 So, till that place be known, 
 
 Take solace sweet, — 
 Here, children, there are daisies for your feet, 
 Through scanty leaves a wand'ring wind is 
 
 thrown, 
 Beloved, though hearts must weep, though hands 
 
 must toil, 
 Last night, — the tempest swept the bitter soil, — 
 To-day, — a rose is blown. 
 
 23 
 
THE THRUSH 
 
 A song of exultation, strange and sweet ! 
 What hidden dreams of spring within thy breast 
 Console thee, in that passionate strain expressed ? 
 A poor caged captive, in a narrow street, 
 No respite from the fret of passing feet, 
 No listening mate, no outspread wing, no nest ; 
 Yet visions of some inward charm possessed 
 Make blissful freedom of thy sad retreat. 
 
 If I, a captive singer, for one hour 
 Upon the confines of such joy might stand, 
 I too should share thy courage and thy power, 
 Give me one glimpse of thine enchanted land 
 I too would utter transport. None should guess 
 A broken heart that sings of happiness. 
 
 24 
 
THE SWORD AND THE HARP 
 IN THE SALE ROOM, March 1904 
 
 Stilled are the busy voices of the Mart 
 Just for one living moment, as we stand 
 And look on Sword and Harp that bore a part 
 In the past song and glory of the land. 
 Here, linked together for the last, last time 
 Her Harp, across whose strings were lost and won 
 Battles and loves in many a passionate rhyme, 
 His Sword, that touches still the heart to tears 
 Here they clasp hands across the dark'ning 
 years,— 
 The Royal ancestress, the Royal son. 
 
 The sounding Harp, that thrilled her battle-cries, 
 The flashing Sword, that fired our tend'rest song, 
 What radiant hopes, what wistful memories, 
 What courage and what joy to these belong ! 
 Forgotten deeds, and sorrows overpast,— 
 Love, Fate, and Chivalry with one accord 
 Like happy visions on the path are cast, — 
 Keen is the sense of waking,— bitter,— sharp, 
 Alas! "Lot one, five, nought, Queen Mary's 
 
 Harp." 
 Alas ! " Lot one four seven, Charles Edward's 
 
 Sword." 
 
 25 
 
The Sword and the Harp 
 
 Mary ! we crave no pardon ! You have passed 
 Where clearly you discern a lasting love. 
 Prince ! all the loyalty you woke shall last 
 A starry memory all boasts above. 
 If some diviner hand the Harp has strung 
 Across whose magic chords your hands may roam, 
 If clearer notes your valorous Sword have sung, 
 Yet sometimes turn your thoughts to where abide 
 1 he old lost hopes for which you lived and died, 
 Come back in dreams to your remembered Home. 
 
 afi 
 
THE TRIBUTE OF GASK 
 
 In 136? Walter Oliphant received a charter of the lands of 
 Gask from King David II., for the reddendum of a chaplet 
 of white roses, yearly, at the Manor place of Gask. 
 
 Now ken ye the gift Gask has brought to the 
 
 King? 
 'Tis an off 'ring sae royal, sae perfect and fair, 
 Than jewels of silver more dainty and rare, 
 A crown for a maid or a monarch to wear. 
 The Courtier's tribute is but a poor thing, 
 For what can he offer, or what can he bring 
 Like the Crown of White Roses from Gask to the 
 
 King? 
 
 Now ken ye the service Gask does for the King? 
 All for his sake in the bloom of the year 
 In the gardens of Gask the White Roses appear, 
 The royal White Roses to Scotland sae dear. 
 Then far o'er Strathearn let the praise of them ring, 
 Let them live once again in the song that we sing, 
 The Crown of White Roses from Gask to the 
 King! 
 
 27 
 
The Tribute of Gask 
 
 Now ken ye what Gask will still do for the King 
 In the days that may come, when the roses are 
 
 dead, 
 When the pledge is forgotten, the vows left unsaid, 
 What then shall be found for an off 'ring instead ? 
 Oh then at his feet his heart he will fling, 
 Truth, Honour, Devotion as tribute will bring 
 For the Crown of White Roses from Gask to the 
 
 King! 
 
 28 
 
AN OLD BOOK 
 
 MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS 
 
 In silent eloquence the years you spend 
 In your broad tolerance smiling at the age 
 That half forgets you, witty, sound, and sage, 
 And yet must love you, did it comprehend,— 
 I take your sombre volume down, old friend, 
 To turn again the worn and honoured page 
 Your happy wisdom left for heritage 
 To man, till men and books shall have an end. 
 
 You were on Shakespeare's shelves, and so may 
 
 claim 
 Honour no time can tarnish nor estrange. 
 Your soul with his held converse warm and free. 
 I kindle at your fire my humble flame, 
 While golden through the mists of Time and 
 
 Change 
 The voice that spoke to Shakespeare, speaks to 
 
 me. 
 
 29 
 
CHRISTMAS ROSES 
 
 When from the bleak and barren winter ground 
 To pluck a flower I went at your request, 
 Searching the lifeless garden through, I found 
 These Christmas Roses, Dearest, for your breast. 
 Not theirs the splendour of the rose of June, 
 Not theirs such summer shining as shall greet 
 Your eyes, when all your budding borders soon 
 Shall flame in rainbow glory at your feet. 
 
 The heart will have its winter. While for spring 
 
 To clothe his barren borders Love must wait, 
 
 These are the blossoms pale and pure that bring 
 
 Promise of richer beauty soon or late. 
 
 So take these Roses. Happy be your part 
 
 In all the hidden hopes that April knows, 
 
 Whose glowing dreams efface the frost. One 
 
 heart 
 Shall keep remembrance of its winter Rose. 
 
 30 
 
THE KNIGHTS SONG 
 
 What is the voice that has called me to-day ? 
 
 The roll of the drum or the cry of distress ? 
 
 The need of my country? To horse and away ! 
 
 What wrong shall exist that my arm can redress ? 
 Ride ! Ride ! Sword by my side, 
 Danger for comrade, and war for my bride. 
 
 What is the voice that has called me to-day ? 
 I hear it the clamour of battle above, 
 The whisper that bids me to go or to stay, 
 The sigh of the heart that has need of my love. 
 
 Ride ! Ride ! Carry in pride 
 
 The shield of my Strength and my Faith to 
 her side ! 
 
 Voice of my glory and voice of my heart, 
 Valiant your summons or tender your breath, 
 Sing you together or sing you apart, 
 Yours is the music I follow till death. 
 
 Ride ! Ride ! Sword by my side, 
 
 Honour for standard and Love for my guide. 
 
 31 
 
SONG OF THE APPLE 
 
 Where you shelter in the shadow, where you 
 
 ripen in the air, 
 So dainty in your seeming - , so innocent and fair, 
 Oh Apple on the shining tree, it never will be 
 
 known 
 In what enchanted orchard first your fatal seeds 
 
 were sown, 
 Beneath what prehistoric skies, your scarlet fruit 
 
 began 
 To complicate relationships 'twixt womanhood 
 
 and man. 
 O redden, rosy Apple, for the part that you 
 
 have played 
 While silently you ripen in the sunshine and 
 
 the shade ! 
 
 Yours was the earliest quarrel, and yours the dawn 
 
 of shame, 
 Temptation wears you for a sign, and discord 
 
 bears your name. 
 To Paris in his choosing, as to Adam in his sin, 
 Yours was the rosy signal for the mischief to begin ; 
 3 2 
 
Song of the Apple 
 
 For when he made decision with the apple of his 
 
 fate, 
 You filled one heart with vanity, and two with 
 mortal hate, 
 O Apple, crafty Apple, what mischief you 
 
 have done, 
 While silently you ripen in the shadow and 
 the sun ! 
 
 Yet thou treasure of the orchard, shining glory of 
 
 the wood, 
 Sweet is the learning you have brought of evil and 
 
 of good. 
 If on that Tree of Knowledge your fruit were 
 
 hanging now, 
 My hand should be the eager hand that plucked 
 
 you from the bough, 
 And mine the first immortal sin, that saw and 
 
 plucked and ate, 
 Though a Snake were in my Eden, and a Sword 
 
 before the Gate. 
 O Apple, fateful Apple, I thank you once 
 
 again, 
 Where silently you ripen in the sunshine and 
 
 the rain ! 
 
 33 
 
THE GIFT 
 
 See before you lying 
 Thousand gifts and golden 
 Yet you still are crying, 
 Something is withholden. 
 What plaything can I find you, 
 Fit for Love the Scoffer? 
 Still you cast behind you 
 Every gift I offer. 
 
 Hush ! no more contending, 
 Not a tear, I pray you ! 
 Patience has an ending, 
 No more I gainsay you. 
 Though when the fancy seize you 
 Quickly you'll forsake it, 
 Since nought else will please you 
 Take my heart and break it ! 
 
 34 
 
A LITANY 
 
 From the friendship of men that demands a 
 
 returning, 
 From the glory that looks from a lonely height, 
 From wisdom too lofty for further discerning, 
 From the love that can measure its own delight, 
 From the strength that is blind to the power of 
 
 meekness, 
 From the bliss that is born without pang of grief, 
 From the faith that has never known moment of 
 
 weakness, 
 
 God, give us relief ! 
 
 From success that is born to a tumult of praising, 
 From achievements that seem in themselves com- 
 plete, 
 From the rapture that comes of a sudden upraising, 
 From the labour too light and the rest too sweet, 
 From all promises lost in an instant fruition, 
 From the safety that lies in the might of the sword, 
 From our sins overlooked, and forgotten contrition, 
 Spare us, good Lord ! 
 
 35 
 
A Litany 
 
 By the kingship of One whose desire was in losing, 
 By the serfdom elected that kingship above, 
 By the splendid defeat on the Cross of His choosing, 
 By the Death that was Life and the Life that is Love, 
 By the heart of compassion no scorning could 
 
 harden, 
 By the victory won and its hidden reward, 
 By the Love that grew strong with the gift of its 
 
 pardon, 
 
 Deliver us, Lord ! 
 
Printed by Frank & Edward Murray, 
 The Edinburgh Press, 9 & n Young Street. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 INTERLIBRAriY 
 
 SEP 6 
 
 THREE WEEKS 1 
 N0N-KENEWA6LE 
 
 : '- 
 
 'DAT 
 
 OCT 1 
 
 FRECUK 
 
 31967 
 
 C5 
 
 LOANS 
 
 Form L0-32m-8,'57(C8680s4)444 
 
 MtK LIBKAKT 
 V ,m ANOBLB8 
 
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 374 150