All my life I seem to have been asking my friends, those I loved best, those who valued the dearest, the kindest, the greatest, and the strongest, in our strange human life, to come with me and see Forbes-Robertson die in _Hamlet_. I asked them because, as that strange young dead king sat upon his throne, there was something, whatever it meant--death, life, immortality, what you will--of a surpassing loneliness, something transfiguring the poor passing moment of trivial, brutal murder into a beauty to which it was quite natural that that stern Northern warrior, with his winged helmet, should bend the knee. I would not exchange anything I have ever read or seen for Forbes-Robertson as he sits there so still and starlit upon the throne of Denmark.--Richard Le Gallienne in _The Century_. To feel, to do, to stride forward in elation, chanting a poem of triumphant life!--James Stephens in _The Crock of Gold_. Why is it that in some places there is such a feeling of life being all one; not merely a long picture-show for human eyes, but a single breathing, glowing, growing thing, of which we are no more important a part than the swallows and magpies, the foals and sheep in the meadows, the sycamores and ash trees and flowers in the fields, the rocks and little bright streams, or even than the long fleecy clouds and their soft-shouting drivers, the winds?--John Galsworthy in _The Atlantic Monthly_. The Dying Pantheist to the Priest Henry A. Beers, the author of this dynamic poem from which we quote only a part, is a professor of literature at Yale--a man supposedly conventional and soft spoken! Take your ivory Christ away: No dying god shall have my knee, While live gods breathe in this wild wind And shout from yonder dashing sea. O no, the old gods are not dead: I think that they will never die; But I, who lie upon this bed In mortal anguish--what am I? A wave that rises with a breath Above the infinite watery plain, To foam and sparkle in the sun A moment ere it sink again. The eternal undulation runs: A man, I die; perchance to be, Next life, a white-throat on the wind, A daffodil on Tempe's lea. They lied who said that Pan was dead: Life was, life is, and life shall be. So take away your crucifix-- The ever-living gods for me! --_The Yale Review._ Interesting New or Forthcoming Books [Classification in this list implies a review in an early issue.] _Notes of a Son and Brother_, by Henry James. _Collected Essays of Rudolph Eucken._ _The Fugitive_, by John Galsworthy. _Plays_, by Tchekoff and Andreyeff. _Stories of Russian Life_, by Tchekoff. _Selected Essays of Alice Meynell._ _Second Nights_, by Arthur Ruhl.