It is interesting to know that this writer chose her pen name to mark her loyalty to her state. The last verse of her poem to "Virginia" carries an idea the present writer has believed to be her own-another proof of fellowship of thought; namely, that resurrection is only needed for that which has died and an affection, a loyalty which has never changed, cannot, because it need not, be renewed; it goes on eternally. The poet's words are,

I know not if the land rates high

As ducats count this thing,

But close, it ever will deny

Me, resurrection's spring.

Virginia Stait is Mrs. Winifred Russell of Gordonville, Virginia, whose prose work as well as verses have become known from the Atlantic to the Pacific, while both are no less known in England. FLORENCE JACKSON STODDARD.

The Road to the Isles. By KENNETH MACLEOD. E. P. Dutton and Company, New York, 1927.

To lovers of folklore in general and to those among them who trace their ancestry to the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, this work will make a powerful appeal, and for anyone visiting the Islands it will be a delightful companion. It is not, however, to be regarded merely as a kind of Hebridean Baedeker: its indications for the tourist, for one thing, are not sufficiently precise. Compare, for instance:

In another isle there stands, or let us say there stood, within sight and sound of the Outer Sea a tack-house known to a lucky few as the House o' Music.

with the following from the excellent Mr. Baedeker:

Several pleasant walks (guide-posts and benches); to the (20 min.) Piani di Brunate, on the slopes above the lake; to the (12 min.) Fontana Pissarottina (2385 ft.) past the Alb. Riposo (Pens. 51⁄2-7 fr.) to San Maurizio (2860 ft. Restaurant).

Besides, its mood is poetic, and its author has undoubtedly the soul of a poet. But again, it is not exactly a Gaelic Childe Harold; for though it links up places with their stories and the emotions to which they give rise, there is no continuity of narrative in the work; there is no trace of the moping misanthrope in Mr. Kenneth Macleod; and besides, nearly half the volume consists of prose. Moreover, though much patient research and much gathering and sifting of material from the lips of a generation fast passing away

have gone to the making of this book, those who look for exact scholarship or for a scientific treatment of the old folktales and fragments of ancient verse will be somewhat disappointed. Some of the poems are original, while a considerable number are adaptations or restorations of ancient Celtic fragments; but where the old material ends and the new begins we cannot tell. The writer, indeed observes in his introduction: "It is made quite clear in the Notes what of the material is old, and what is new, and what is partly new and partly old;" but a reference to the Notes hardly confirms this assertion; for there the indications range from 'Words old' and 'Words partly old' to ‘A fragment eked out' and 'A fragment completed.' Where the ancient foundations end and the modern superstructure commences not even the writer can tell us. For, he says, having been born and reared in the Isles, and having absorbed the spirit of these legends as early and as naturally as he breathed in the salt sea air, he cannot now be always sure whether this thought or that verse was really his own or something out of the past; and he rather naïvely adds, "Not that it greatly matters." Putting the matter figuratively we may say: this is the genuine Hebridean music you are hearing, though the record is modern.

In fairness to Mr. Macleod, however, we must admit that he is something very much finer than a highly efficient phonograph. In his original work he has admirably caught the spirit of the ancient singers, as in the Iona Boat Song, The Road to the Isles, and Say, Thou Weaver, a tribute to Patuffa Kennedy-Fraser on her marriage. He has none of the passionate utterance of the great poets, but his technical skill is great, his imagery is pleasing, and his language so well chosen that an occasional cacophony like Hey! the itch for witchery shorelands,

gives a shock of surprise.

In his adaptations and restorations he is even more successful. Among these we find the croon of the "knee-woman" over the newborn babe, the cradle spell to guard its slumbers, the love songs of the young men and maidens, the lilting tunes they sang at their spinning and harvesting, the tales told in the ceilidh or social gathering, the weird superstitions of fairies, seal-women and water kelpies, and the death croon chanted over those whose voyaging was over.

Every phase of the island life finds an echo in these poems, but behind all, recurring and developed in a variety of forms, like the

theme in some great symphony, is the ever present sound of the sea. The geographical situation of the islands makes this inevitable, and the mingled Celtic and Norse strain in the ancestry of the people gives a peculiar richness and color to the music. To the imaginative Celt the sea is a dark, mysterious power, to the Norseman a sure path to glory and high adventure. Thus the Islesman sails forth,

Past the mountains dark and frowning,
Past the reefs so low and cold,
And athwart through mountain billows
To the Brindled Isle of brave men,

To the Sunny Isle of fair ones.

The world is before him: he too, like Ulysses, 'will sail beyond the sunset, and the paths of all the western stars,' until he dies.

All the wonders 'yont our croft-dykes

I will see, if I but may.

All the ships that sail to Lochlann

I will steer, if I but may.

All the sunsets 'yont the Coolins

I will reach, if I but may.

Something of the savage spirit of the old Viking rovers survives for us in the Dunvegan Sea-Hymn:

May the clouds hide us,

May the moon shine on the foe,

Be we to windward

And becalmed be they;

O, keep firmly tethered

All sudden blasts and accidents,

And leave the rest to us

And to our daggers true,

And we shall give the glory

To the Trinity and Clement

And the great clerk who lives in Rodel.

Thus the pirate galley goes a-reiving,

Leaps her way to Isles of daring,

Gleaming Isles of blades and laughter.

But we are constantly reminded of the dangers of the sea, and in such a lyric as the Song of Sea-Widowhood the anguish of the bereaved finds touching expression:

Dear to me the ringleted locks

Ever tossed about on the crest of the waves,

And thou low-lying in the sea-wrack

Where the high tide has stranded thee.

See, O God, how I am

A woman without heart for ever,

A woman without son, without husband,

A woman without gladness or health.

Merry was my Christmas,

Black and sorrowful my Easter.

And when the remorselessness of the waves joins hands with the frenzied jealousy of a woman, in the tragic Sea Tangle, then the pathos of the utterance reaches a power and poignancy that nothing else in the book approaches.

Still the fact remains that these lyrical pieces, as given here without the music to which they were written, are shorn of half their charm; and those who would appreciate them fully must study them in their musical setting in the Songs of the Hebrides by Mrs. Marjory Kennedy-Fraser. No such limitation mars one's enjoyment of Mr. Macleod's prose. The Eigg people, he says,and as a native of the island he ought to know—are great dreamers; and it is not therefore surprising to find in his style a certain dreamy quality that is admirably suited to his subject. The most delightful of the tales are presented as literal translations from some ancient manuscript, or as the actual words of a narrator telling the tale in the glow of the peat fire. Only now and then does a touch of artificiality or an irritating mannerism break the illusion, though an occasional glint of humor-for to judge by this work humor was not a frequent indulgence of the Islesmengives us the feeling that probably the tales owe more of their point and piquancy to the ingenuity of the compiler than he would have us believe. The Lay of Diarmad, the Gaelic counterpart of the Arthurian Guinevere and Lancelot (with a curious variation of the incident of Sir Bedivere and the sword Excalibur) is too long to quote, but the following will give the reader some idea of the author's prose style:

There was once a laddie in the Isles and the longing of his heart was to sail across to Iona to get greeting, if greeting he might get, from Columba the beloved.

As he sat musing, a gentleman appeared and offered to ferry him. over, if the boy would be his servant for ever after. The bargain made, they set out, reached Iona, saw the Abbot, and were about

to return.

"And now it is meet," said the gentleman, “that you should pay the price" and as he spoke his feet began to change into cloven hoofs. The laddie

with a hint of a smile on his face, took out of his bosom a holy candle which he had got from one of the monks of Iona, and he lit one end of it. "By your leave, gentleman," said he, “may I be the servant of Jesus, like Columba the Beloved, until the candle burn out?" "It is too long," said the gentleman. The laddie then lit the other end of the candle. "Until it burn out now?" said he. "It is little enough to ask or to give," said the gentleman, now quite sure of his prey. But the laddie forthwith blew out both ends of the candle and put it back into his bosom, "By your leave, gentleman, it shall never burn out now while I live." "I am thinking," said the gentleman, laughing softly to himself and vanishing in flame, "I am thinking that Jesus has got an artful servant."

G. DUNDAS CRAIG.

Sir Francis Drake. By HENRY R. WAGNER. San Francisco, John Howell, 1926. $10.00.

Among recent books making definite contributions to historical research, the one Sir Francis Drake's Voyage Around the World-Its Aims and Achievements, by Henry R. Wagner, commands especial attention. It is a subject near to our hearts on this coast, and it is a masterly account. Never before has so thorough and so unbiased a treatise on this subject been undertaken. Heretofore the account of Commodore James Burney was the only version using any medium of critical attitude, and the sources of his volume were brief and insufficient. While the sources of the account by Sir Julius S. Corbett, which appeared in 1898, were complete, the version was lacking in critical ability. Twenty-eight years have elapsed since the volume was published and during this time a truly scientific approach to historical research has been developed and is demanded. The present book is a scholarly attempt to fulfil these requirements.

Says Wagner in his introduction,

For the last three years I have made in person and through agents in London and Seville, a continued search for further evidence, and some success has been attained. As it is hardly likely that any other documents of real value will be discovered in the future, it seems not inopportune to attempt once more to reconstruct the voyage with the aid of all available material bearing on the subject, and restore the enterprise to its true status as the first expedition sent out by English adventurers for the discovery of new trade routes to reach the fabled Spice Islands of the East. Drake made some kind of treaty with the Sultan of Ternate for future trade based on mutual concessions, and if he brought home only a few spices, it was because his hold was already filled with silver.

In the story of the voyage my aim has been to present all the facts known regarding it of any importance, leaving to my readers to consult the original texts where my notices may be thought too brief. In making up the narrative it has been necessary, naturally, to exercise a choice where the accounts con