For the little daughter, who died at an early age, Kipling wrote his first _Jungle Book_. In this American home he wrote, also, many of the poems collected in _The Seven Seas_ and the short stories, _Many Inventions_. In the latter book were the daring pictures of life like “The Disturber of Traffic,” the haunting tale of “The Lost Legion,” and the tragic “Love o’ Women.” The inspiration of Mrs. Kipling, her perfect appreciation of her husband’s gifts and moods, and her gracious influence have been attested by him in many tender words, as well as in the more impersonal tributes to womanhood of brains and heart, which one finds expressed in _From Sea to Sea_ or “His Chance in Life.” The world will never forget the persistent story that Mrs. Kipling saved, from the wastebasket, that grand hymn of all time, “The Recessional.” In some of his tales he antagonized Americans, notably in _The Light That Failed_ and “An Habitation Enforced” in _Actions and Reactions_; as compensation one recalls “An Error of the Fourth Dimension” from _Plain Tales_, the story of Wilton Sargent, American. The writing of Kipling showed advance in form during the decade from 1890 to 1900. There was gradual elimination of the jingoism and cynicism which tainted some of his earlier work. In 1897 he visited South Africa again. He recounted an actual experience in riding on a Cape Government Railway in his tale “.007,” among the stories in _The Day’s Work_, published in 1898. In this same collection is found “The Brushwood Boy,” a masterpiece of mystic idealism which will stand beside his more poetic allegory, “They.” The year 1899 has been regarded sometimes as a crisis in the life of Kipling which affected his later writing. On his arrival in New York, in the late autumn of that year, he was attacked by a severe case of pneumonia and was desperately ill for many weeks. The press of America, England, and the Continent awaited the bulletins with anxiety. He recovered but some critics have affirmed that he lost his vigor and literary power. Looking over the dates of his poems, and recalling the books which have appeared since this crisis, such a surmise is not warranted. One could scarcely expect that any author could continue to write, on a level or ascending scale, many more books about India than he had already written or many more poems of vital spell like “If,” “When Earth’s Last Picture is Painted,” and “M’Andrew’s Hymn.”