To keep her soul he said she must fly from the city, where men lose their souls in the rituals of materialism. He must go with her to the pure country, to the woods and to the places where the invisible ones whom the Druids knew ceaselessly ascend and descend from earth to heaven, and from heaven to earth, in flame-colored spirals. He told her he knew of a house by a lake shore, and there they might live in communion with nature, and in the fading lights, and in the quiet hollows of the woods she would learn more of God than she could in the convent. In that house they would live; and their child, if the gods gave them one, would unfold among the influences of music and love and song traditions. It was writing of a similar order in Mildred Lawson that evoked from Harry Thurston Peck the declaration: “George Moore is the greatest literary artist who has struck the chords of English since the death of Thackeray.” George Moore always had the voice. He has now both voice and vision. V ANARCHS OF ART A SONNET BY CAMPANELLA The people is a beast of muddy brain That knows not its own strength, and therefore stands Loaded with wood and stone; the powerless hands Of a mere child guide it with bit and rein; One kick would be enough to break the chain. But the beast fears, and what the child demands It does; nor its own terror understands, Confused and stupefied by bugbears vain. Most wonderful! With its own hand it ties And gags itself—gives itself death and war For pence doled out by kings from its own store. Its own are all things between earth and heaven; But this it knows not; and if one arise To tell this truth, it kills him unforgiven. —_Translated by_ JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS.