Above him spreads the purple sky, Beneath him spreads the ether sea, And everywhere about him lie Dim ports of peace and mystery. • • • • He sees the white mists softly curl, He sees the moon drift pale and wan, Sees Venus climb the stars of pearl To hold her court of Love at dawn. Jean Blewett is chiefly loved by the people for her _forte_—her sincere, simple singing of true love and faith, of childhood, and the field flowers, and the joys of the Canadian Spring and Winter. But, as a _genre_ poet, she is gifted with a whimsical humor which is quite unique in the poetic literature of Canada. _For He was Scotch and So Was She_ is a fetching example of Jean Blewett’s humor and humorous treatment of a simple or homely subject and is to be found in many Canadian anthologies. Francis Sherman, one of the truest and most individual poets that Canada has produced, is a relative of Charles G. D. Roberts and Bliss Carman. His literary output has been meagre, comprising only one regularly published volume, a small, thin booklet, _Matins_ (1896), and three or four privately printed pamphlets of verse. But the quality is sufficient to fix his place in the company of the authentic Canadian poets of the First Renaissance. Sherman’s poetry shows a distinct tendency to mysticism. He was, evidently, influenced by the Pre-Raphaelite School. But he had an independent individuality. He possessed, as a poet, eyes and feelings of his own; and could express what he saw and felt, with ready and confident artistry. The Pre-Raphaelite influence on Francis Sherman and his own natural gifts for individual expression are disclosed in _Between the Battles_ (from _Matins_):— Let us bury him here Where the maples are! He is dead, And he died thanking God that he fell with the fall of the leaf and the year. Where the hillside is sheer, Let it echo our tread Whom he led; Let us follow as gladly as ever we followed who never knew fear. Ere he died, they had fled; Yet they heard his last cheer Ringing clear,— When we lifted him up, he would fain have pursued, but grew dizzy instead. Break his sword and his spear! Let his last prayer be said By the bed We have made underneath the wet wind in the maple trees moaning so drear: ‘O Lord God, by the red Sullen end of the year That is here, We beseech Thee to guide us and strengthen our swords till his slayers be dead!’ Many of Sherman’s poems have the ‘great out-of-doors’ world in Canada as their theme, and are marked by grave, meditative beauty, disclosing, on his part, intimate communing with and brooding on Nature’s moods. These qualities of Francis Sherman’s mind and art are observed in the following sonnet, quoted from his _In Memorabilia Mortis_:—