is true of the poet. And does the utilising of Shakespeare as a class-book make him beloved by the young? We are afraid it does not. Yet do not throw notes aside—only remember—do remember!—they touch nothing but the form; the spirit of poetry eludes them altogether. We may imagine two students of a poem brought into comparison. The one regards it as a task alone; she has conscientiously learnt by heart the notes of an erudite commentator, has looked up every allusion, can expatiate on “Grimm’s Law,” and give instances of its working. The other can do none of these things; she has found the volume in some library, has pored over the poem till it has become part of her inner life; its music rings in her ears; she loves it passionately, and it haunts her inner consciousness like sweet, strange music. If both girls are suddenly examined for the “Cambridge Local,” the latter will fail and the former will pass. Yet the latter is the one for whom the poem has really done its true work. We are not denying that she would be the better for the technical knowledge possessed by the other; but if one has to choose between them, she it is who really understands her poet. Love and knowledge should go hand in hand, as Browning has taught us by his legend of Paracelsus and Aprile; but the modern tendency in much-examined young people is to dwell so largely on the knowledge that the love flies away. Read and love poetry as much as you can. It will open and enlarge your mind; feed and enlighten your imagination; make life beautiful to you, and teach you of the greater things that lie beyond life. One sometimes hears a girl remark in a self-satisfied voice, “Oh, I don’t care for poetry!” Dear young friend, are you aware that Goethe said: “Wer der Dichtkunst Stimme nicht vernimmt, Ist ein Barbar, er sei auch wer er sei”? (He who has no ear for the voice of poetry is a barbarian, be he who he may.) And there is considerable truth in the statement. No one would be proud of physical partial deafness and blindness; they constitute nothing to be elated about in the mental sphere. If you “do not care for poetry,” you had better at least give yourself a chance of caring for it by reading some poem on a subject which seems likely to appeal to you. In this way you may find out that you have an unsuspected capacity of being touched by this music. If you do not appreciate Milton, you may enjoy a simple poem by Coleridge; if Tennyson does not please you, Rudyard Kipling’s stirring words may cause your heart to throb and your eyes to melt; if Browning is too obscure, Tennyson’s melody may charm you; if Keats and Shelley are too mystical, Scott’s “Marmion,” or “Lady of the Lake,” may prove fascinating. In any case, give yourself every chance of entering into your immortal and divine heritage of “truth and pure delight.”