to slide back with a bang into the rear of the train. Then the engine is detached with a loud noise and disappears like a rocket, apparently into space. A deep peace falls upon the scene; the horse retires into his shed and the staff melts away; there is not a sound but the murmur of voices and the drowsy hum of bees. After about ten minutes of apparently quite wanton and fantastic delay, a similar but perhaps more complicated evolution takes place, and the porters again rouse themselves to the game. For a quarter of an hour ensue more bumpings, staggerings of the horse, flying switches, and shrieking of brake blocks; with the final result that three arks have been detached from the train and sent into a siding where they will presently wander off among the happy fields of Lavenham.

The Saturday Review.

Then the

engine reappears in the distance, as though it had forgotten something. It had; it had forgotten the train. But you will not forget the train, even if you never see it again; neither will you, however often you may use it or however familiar its sooty outlines may become to you, ever lose your sense of wonder and amazement at the rites and mysteries and ceremonies connected with it.

This is why people do not know much about Suffolk. It is more easy to go to China than to some parts of Suffolk; and though you were to cross the Himalayas into Tibet and penetrate to the very heart of Lhassa, you would encounter less quaint superstition and be involved in a less staggering ritual than that which you will meet with between Liverpool Street and Ipswich. Filson Young.

Prof. Chamberlain's singularly able volume seeks to give "a bird's-eye view of standard Japanese poetry as a whole," and this aim is fully realized. Well-ordered and succinct, keen in critical insight and abounding in illuminating detail, it makes clear for English readers the radical divergences separating the poetical ideals of Japan from those of the West.

Japanese poetry was in the beginning, as far as recorded history shows, little more than a form of recreation indulged in by a limited class, the Court, to which narrow circle it was exclusively confined. Its sole productions

were to be found in the numerous anthologies issued from time to time by Imperial command, and the writers of these, as Prof. Chamberlain points out, displayed a spirit of docility altogether

"Japanese Poetry." By Basil Hall Chamberlain. (John Murray.)

appropriate in the circumstances, shunning any suspicion of vulgarity, looking always upward, never downward in the social scale, and lamenting such disasters as drought and famine, not for the sufferings of a starving population, but for the loss thereby entailed to the Imperial exchequer. The complete absence at this early period of anything in the nature of a popular element, corresponding, for example, with the English mediæval ballad circulating from mouth to mouth among the humbler classes, produces a sense of artificiality which even the more advanced productions of recent years do not entirely escape.

It is not surprising that poetry evolved under such conditions should busy itself almost exclusively with little things-little, that is, either in themselves or by reason of the treatment accorded to them-such as con

gratulations, acrostics, the

seasons, Love itself,

parting, and the like. which can inspire epics, makes no attempt to do so through the medium of Japanese, epic grandeur of conception and execution being foreign to the trend of poetical thought. As in spirit, so in form, the miniature has always been the national desideratum. With the exception of the lyrical dramas, examples of which are given in Part III. of the present volume, there is no such thing as a long poem in the language, and the history of the various verse-forms successively in vogue is a history of condensation.

This history may, roughly, be divided into three main periods, illustrated by Parts I., II., and IV. of Prof. Chamberlain's work. Part I. consists of excerpts from the "Man-yoshu" or "Collection of a Myriad Leaves." This, which dates from the eighth century, was, we are told, "the first Japanese anthology proper"; its poems approximate in length to the various forms of the average English short lyric, and represent the Golden Age of Japanese poesy, yielding place in Part II. (selected from the "Collection of Odes, Ancient and Modern" belonging to the tenth century) to the "Short Ode" of 31 syllables, which, though temporarily displaced by the wider activities of the Golden Age, survived by reason of the national passion for brevity, and became the classical verse-form. In Part IV. the "Hokku" or 17-syllable poem-surely the apotheosis of brevity -is the subject of a learned and exhaustive treatise, to which is appended a small anthology of examples. We have spoken in former years of the "Hokku." Indigenous to Japan, and not easily transplantable into any European tongue, it furnishes perhaps the most striking illustration of the essential cleavage between Japanese and Western ideas and methods. Prof. Chamberlain describes it as "reminding

us less of an actual picture than of the
title or legend attached to a picture";
and the description seems both apt and
accurate. It is, as our author ex-
plains, the first half of the 31-syllable
poem or "Shore Ode" already men-
tioned, the other half-to such a pitch
had the craze for brevity risen-being
left to the reader's imagination.
while some examples of the "Hokku"
may fairly rank as little epigrammatic
poems, clear-cut and gemlike such as
But for its voice, the heron were
A line of snow, and nothing more;
or,

Did it but sing, the butterfly
Might have to suffer in a cage;

or, again,

But

Ah! yes, my passage through the world Is a mere shelter from a showerothers can make no such claim.

A wild goose alone in a shower at Hirosawa,

and

November, with a butcher-bird

Perched on a post on the open moor,

answer precisely to Prof. Chamberlain's above-cited comparison, and give rise to a quaintly anomalous state of things from a Western point of view. It is as though one, lighting on a title for a picture, or a novel, or a poem, should deem himself accredited there and then with the picture perfectly painted, the novel complete and equipped with every excellence of plot, characterization, and style, or the poem with innumerable subtleties of thought and beauties of imagery; and all this has to lurk in the exiguous suggestions of seventeen syllables. It becomes in effect, in most cases, a shifting of the burden of composition from the poet's shoulders to those of his readers, and inevitably suggests the Horatian "Brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio." To the irreverent it may recall the fran

tic efforts of the average Briton to say all that is needed in a sixpenny telegram-usually with confusing results to the recipient.

It is in Part IV. that the principal value of the book lies. Though nominally devoted solely to the "Hokku" or poetical "Epigram," and to Basho, the supreme master of the epigrammatic art, his predecessors and disciples, it actually supplies a concise and lucid exposition of the whole history of Japanese poetry, laying due stress on the half-comprehended influence exercised by the literature of China. The fact that Chinese poetry had made itself known in Japan, principally in the form of "elegant extracts," may, thinks Prof. Chamberlain, have been the ultimate cause of the rigid code of "legislation" brought to bear, between 1087 and 1501, upon the then fashionable system of "linked verses." These, based on Chinese models, were finally limited in length to 100 hemistichs, and subjects, endings, and occasionally even phrases were arbitrarily commanded for each hemistich, with the result that the completed poem gave no continuous sense at all.

Of the translations which fill the greater part of the volume, those contained in Parts I., II., and III. first appeared some thirty years ago, when Prof. Chamberlain was apparently content with an approximate rendering. Since then he has "gone over to the camp of the literalists," and the renderings appended to Part IV. are, without exception, literal. The change is to be commended, for it is only by such translation that we can hope to come at the spirit of a language so widely different from our own. Anything in the nature of an approximate The Athenæum.

version runs the risk of importing some leaven of Occidentalism, and thereby falsifying the impression which ought to be conveyed.

Space forbids us to pursue further the numerous paths of comparison and speculation opened up by Prof. Chamberlain's fascinating book, except in respect of a passage on p. 204, which is helpful in deciding what common ground, if any, exists for English poetical ideals and those of Japan. The trend of modern Japanese criticism is, we are told, to concede supremacy to no literature other than its own, and in consequence Japanese critics are busy turning all their geese into swans. Such easy assumption, not unknown in Europe, doubtless explains the discovery by one of them of "that absolute transparency and truth to nature which are of the essence of the epigram," in the words

Oh! how cool, dangling one's legs over the veranda!

But the fact that the serious enunciation of such a criticism should be seriously accepted goes far towards satisfying the present writer, at least, that common ground between English verse and Japanese, if it exist, is of the narrowest.

The negative sense of humor which makes, or should make, certain expressions impossible in English can hardly be realized by a foreigner, and even brings some of our own poets to grief. It is one of the most delicate tests of style and language. On the other hand, we get what seems to us an adorable quaintness at its best when such writers as Mr. Yoshio Markino strive to give expression to their newfound delight in England and English.

It is said that the Aerial Navigation Act, 1911, which received the Royal assent on June 2nd, is the first attempt of the Legislature of any State to control the flight of aircraft; and, if this be so, the measure deserves at least passing recognition. This statute empowers a Secretary of State to prohibit, under severe penalties, the navigation of aircraft over any prescribed area; and it will be remembered that Mr. Churchill issued a decree, in the form of a Russian ukase, forbidding flights over the metropolitan area during the period devoted to the Coronation. Amidst the stir and stress of this busy summer, the novel decree did not attract much attention; but it appears that, for the purpose of protecting the public from danger, a Secretary of State may apply such an order to the navigation of aircraft over a prescribed area, "either at all times or at such times or on such occasions only as may be specified, and either absolutely or subject to such exceptions or conditions as may be specified." Dipping into the future during the eighteenth century, Erasmus Darwin foretold the coming of a time when the arm of steam would

On wide waving wings expanded bear The flying chariots through the field or air.

And the march of human invention in the domain of air has been distinctly rapid of late. We have just had a fleet of aircraft hurtling over our heads at a speed of forty or fifty miles an hour, contending for the prize in a "European circuit" contest. "Providence," said Richter, "hath given to the French the empire of the land, to the English that of the sea"; and these two nations are now seen struggling, in friendly strife, for that which Jean Paul ironically declared to be the birth

right of Germany, "the empire of the air."

Already writers in the Press are demanding "international legislation" as a safeguard against invasion; while suggestions are made as to the possibility of smuggling a cargo of goods by air-involving fearful danger to Tariff Reform projects-and fears are expressed as to mishaps resulting in broken heads and damaged homesteads. Those who are more directly interested in aviation protest that it is in an "experimental stage," and its progress ought not to be hampered by "irksome restrictions." As to certain cases, the chairman of the Aero Club is reported to have declared that they fall "within the province of our common law. Take, for instance, a claim for trespass in the air. Damages can be obtained in the ordinary way." But is this so clear?

It is, we believe, a moot point with the lawyers whether the ownership of land carries with it the exclusive possession of the column of air situate immediately above it, or whether the owner can only complain in case there is some material interference with his enjoyment of the surface. Many years ago, Lord Ellenborough, it seems, doubted whether an aeronaut would be liable to an action of trespass at the suit of the occupier of every field over which his balloon might happen to pass. But, however this may be, there cannot arise much difficulty, we should suppose, as to the position of a man who undertakes to propel a modern "heavier-than-air" machine over his neighbor's land. The circumstances which attended the death of the French War Minister, the injury to his colleague, and other recent accidents, seem to show clearly enough that the flight of such a machine involves peril

so grave as to constitute its passage an invasion of the rights of the landowner. The presence of even a single aviator, circling around or shooting through the air, introduces serious risk, not merely to property, but also to life or limb.

The Aerial Navigation Bill, as presented to the House, made it highly penal to navigate an aircraft "recklessly or negligently, or in a manner which is dangerous to the public." But this vague proposal did not pass muster. Such, indeed, are the difficulties of observation and identification, that any legislation of this perfunctory kind, inadequate as it has been shown to be in the case of motor-cars, would prove quite futile when applied to aircraft in rapid motion a thousand feet above the surface of the earth. It may, however, soon become of urgent necessity to devise some checks upon reckless or dangerous aviation such as would operate even where no mishap has actually occurred. But upon what lines would legislation proceed? Is there any ground for believing that the statutory restrictions would be based on the principle of attaining the greatest happiness of the greatest number? We fear not, when we reflect upon the complete failure of existing legislation to suppress the frightful abuses of the motor-cars, which minister to the pleasure of a few at the expense of the whole popuThe Economist.

lation; the daily destruction of life in the streets of our towns, and even in our country lanes; the grave damage to house property; the noises which make night and day alike hideous; the disease-scattering dust; and finally the wholesale destruction of roads, whose maintenance, often at double the old cost, falls upon the general ratepayer. But after years of experience there seems to be no chance of obtaining from Government Departments or Parliament any amendment in the laws regulating motor traffic. And why? Probably because most influential people are motorists.

An acute lawyer confesses he can propound no practical method whereby a private citizen could, under existing laws, enforce his rights or protect himself against peril or apprehended loss from aircraft. One learned writer suggests, as a preliminary to more drastic measures, that blank cartridge should be fired as an invitation to the airman to fly away or alight, just as a gunboat warns a trawler fishing in prohibited waters by firing, in the first instance, a blank shot across the trawler's bows! But the problem, even if approached on these lines, seems insoluble where the danger arises from some unknown craft, 1,000 or 1,500 feet above the surface of the land, travelling with the velocity of an express train.

Charles E. Van Loan's "The Big League" (Small, Maynard & Co.) contains nine short base ball stories, each of independent interest although the same characters reappear in several. The author is apparently well-versed in the slang of the "bleachers," which he uses fluently. The stories are spirited

but pitched on rather a high key and with a superfluity of fracases and knock-outs.

The two latest volumes in the "First Folio" Shakespeare present the first and second Parts of Henry the Fourth. One has for frontispiece a view of