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HOW IT AFFECTS READERS

"I consider it first among the best periodicals of the world. It has charm, variety, dignity, wit and wisdom.”

"Never before have I seen so many stimulating, sound, and
suggestive articles gathered together by a single editor."

"A quality of individuality, of surprise, and of fascination . . .
that I defy any man... to discover in any other publication.”
“I entered upon it prepared to scoff, but have remained to
pray
for more."

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"Who said there could be nothing new under the sun? He never read THE UNPOP!... It makes most everything else sound so wordy and opaque and muddleheaded!"

"I especially commend the omission of the names of the authors, since it forces the reader to judge by worth, and not by reputation."

THE UNPOPULAR REVIEW

Specimen copy on application

Contents of the January-March, 1917, Number:

No Names of Contributors are given in the number containing their Contributions

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BEEBE AND HIS COMPANIONS

William Beebe, emissary to British Guiana of the New York Zoological Society, has now returned from the Tropical Research Station at Kalacoon, on the Mazaruni River, where, in the company of two other devoted spirits, he has been studying the swarming wild creatures of the tropics in their jungle haunts, without interference on the part of man, or the wholesale killing and slaying which is practiced for museum work. This new venture, he writes, has fulfilled its purpose beyond the most hopeful dreams; and Atlantic readers are to be given the measure of this success in a notable series of papers, to which The Pomeroon Trail' is the introduction.

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but to connoisseurs of Eastern art he is equally well known as curator of the department of Oriental Prints and Drawings in the British Museum. Florence Converse, whose work is well known to Atlantic readers, is a member of the magazine's staff. She lives in Wellesley, Massachusetts, where Margaret Sherwood also has her home.

**

In his article in this month's Atlantic Mr. Surette has left untouched the question of the form of the several movements of a symphony, and has referred only incidentally to specific compositions in this form. He has also postponed the subject of chamber music (which is the Symphony in miniature). In the next, and last, paper of this notable series he will show how symphonies adjust themselves to the general laws of proportion and balance; he will deal with typical symphonies of great composers, and also with the string quartet and kindred forms. At the same time, he will sum up the whole subject of Music and Life; for Mr. Surette looks upon the pure music with which he is now dealing as the real music, and believes that it contains more stimulation for the listener than can be obtained from any other type of musical expression.

Dr. Charles M. Sheldon's book, In His Steps, and the amazing discussion it provoked, is still vividly recalled. Dr. Sheldon, as every one knows, is pastor of the Central Congregational Church in Topeka, Kansas, where for one week he performed the remarkable journalistic enterprise of editing a local newspaper as a distinctively Christian daily. Radoslav Tsanoff, whose collaboration with his wife results so happily for Atlantic readers, left Bulgaria and Constantinople for Oberlin College, Ohio. where he received his doctor's degree. In 1913 he was sent to London by the Bulgarian Foreign Office on an informal mission. Robert M. Gay observes life from the chair of English at Goucher College, Baltimore.

* *

Lieutenant R. N., of the French Army, tells, as the Atlantic believes it has never been told before, the story of a highly educated man who refuses to be brutalized by

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RON. By the late Lieutenant❘ THE INSURRECTION IN DUBHarold Rosher. With an Introduction by Arnold Bennett. "A poignant human record of endeavor, and achievement, of failure and sacrifice." Illustrated, $1.25

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LIN. By James Stephens. A vivid, first-hand account of the Irish uprising of Easter week.

$1.25

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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, Publishers, New York

the recurrent horrors of war. The great classics are his friends, and they keep him company through terrible vigils in the trenches as Virgil walked with Dante through the Inferno. R. N. was a pupil of the École Normale in Paris,' writes a friend, and a very promising young fellow. He has won several honors, including a prize from the French Government which enabled him to pursue special studies in Munich and Nancy. He was a pupil of Professors Lanson and Lichtenberger.'

In pronouncing his severe indictment on "The sleepless Fat Boy,' Alfred G. Gardiner draws on the experience of a lifetime devoted to journalism. He is at present editor of the London Daily News. Lieutenant Auguste d'Harcourt of the French Aviation Corps gives a vivid idea of how it feels to be condemned to idle security when one's country is fighting for very life. His fate was happier than that of the unfortunate aviator Gilbert, who thrice escaped from internment in Switzerland and was thrice returned by his Government because of parole difficulties. Lieutenant d'Harcourt collected some interesting statistics before taking French leave of his captors:

There were interned in Holland in May, 1916 [he writes], 36,000 Belgians, of the garrison from Antwerp, who went over into Holland before the surrender of the city in October, 1914. Of the British, there were a brigade of the Royal Naval Division, sent to the relief of Antwerp; about a dozen aviators; and the crew of a submarine. There were also 4 French officers, and a small German contingent, consisting of about 7 officers and 150 men: reconnoitring parties, patrols, aviators, a submarine crew, and some deserters.

I have heard it said [he adds] that 3000 Belgian soldiers had escaped by the end of 1915.

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are some extracts from the letter of a lady who, in the serenity of old age, reviews the profound spiritual experiences that stand out as the real milestones of her long life:

I am of that set of persons who believe you are speaking the truth in 'Twenty Minutes of Reality' that you 'saw into reality,' and felt the ecstasy of its atmosphere - I believe, because I too have had several of those 'rare and fleeting occasions' of which you write so well.

The first of these came when I was a child of eleven years. Mother had often talked with me about Jesus, so that I think I really loved him, but I did doubt a bit whether he loved me. I longed to know he did. One Sunday noon, after I had been speaking to him in my childish way, suddenly a great light seemed to burst upon me: not an external light—an inward light. I cannot put it in words as you can. It was a new and glorious world, a world of ineffable love and light which seemed to emanate from a Presence which I knew to be there but which I could not see. I thought it was Jesus. My little heart throbbed with ecstasy at what seemed to me his smile. My body seemed light and I felt as if walking on air. I had to tell some one my joy, and sought my oldest sister and said timidly, 'I have found Jesus! I am so happy. It is all light now!'

This sort of inner glory lasted an hour or two, or till the middle of the afternoon service, when it vanished as suddenly as it came and left me bewildered and desolate. I had to whisper to my sister then, for I could not wait for the end of the service. I said in my distress, 'I've lost Him! It is all dark again. What shall I do?' I am eighty-one years old, but that vision and its ecstasy are so vivid in memory as had it opened on me to-day.

Several Twenty Minutes of Reality' have come to me later in life. Once at a great crisis, a mental strain, accompanied with a humiliating sense of inability to act strongly, I had a sudden vision of a central self which almost overwhelmed me. It was a reservoir of new, unguessed powers, measureless capacities, and unfathomed emotions -a reservoir from which I had never drawn because this present life offered neither time nor scope for what was there, and I involuntarily exclaimed, 'Now, I know I am immortal! I am more than I dreamed I was!'

At another time of prolonged mental strain and perplexity, I went one day to walk in the fields. All at once the strain ceased as would the pres sure on a severed cord. I was flooded with an ineffable soul-light which seemed to radiate from a great Personality with whom I was in immediate touch. I felt it to be the touch of God. The ecstasy was beyond description - but you know it. I was passing through a patch of 'beggar's grass,' which you may know, with its wiry stems, ending in feathery heads. Every head shone and glistened like pearls. I could hardly walk for the overwhelming sense of the Divine Presence, and its joy. I almost saw God.

A singular thing accompanied this experience. A little white dog, which was my companion, and which had walked discreetly by my side all the way, began to dance and frisk about me at this

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"I have observed that a Reader seldom peruses a Book with Pleasure until he knows whether the Writer of it be a black or a fair Man, of a mild or choleric Disposition, Married or a Bachelor, with other particulars of the like Nature that conduce very much to the right understanding of an Author." The Spectator.

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As the New Republic says: "It is the gesture of Paul Claudel that sets him apart from the literary figures of our time. Astute man of affairs, consul in Boston and New York, in Tientsin and Fouchow, in Frankfurt and in Hamburg, where the outbreak of the war found him, authority on the economic situation in China, he comes to tell us once more that life lies in the search for beatitude. . . He shows us once again that art is the handmaiden of God. In that lies his chief glory."

Two years ago the first English version of Claudel appeared, when the Yale University Press published "The East I Know." This autumn, while he is serving his country in the Department of the Interior, the Yale Press issues the first of Claudel's plays to be published in English. "The Tidings Brought to Mary," a translation of "L'Annonce Faite à Marie," made by Louise Morgan Sill, is heralded by the London Nation as "that rare thing, a piece of genuine literature."

William Rose Benét is a Yale man, a graduate of the Sheffield Scientific School in the Class of 1907. True to his ideals, he has written and lived as a poet since graduation. His experiences include crossing the Pacific as deck yeoman on an army transport, touching at Honolulu, Guam, Manila and Nagasaki. He is at present working on the Century Magazine, acting as the friend of poets. One of his recent letters speaks for itself:

"Herewith I return paged proof of 'The Great White Wall.' I have a letter from

Douglas Duer this morning and it seems likely that he will illustrate the poem. I am tremendously glad, as Duer is a splendid fellow. There is no one I should rather see illustrate my work.

"Is it soon to be that I receive (this sounds like the French translations I used to do in college!) proofs of those other poems which are to make a neat but not gaudy 'other book'? I should like to hack at them with plenty of time for the hacking.

"I really have hopes for 'The Great White Wall.' I really have hopes. It is probably damned, because it tells a story' - but I think it will be read."

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Frederick E. Pierce, the son of a New England farmer, was left early in life with the responsibilities of a man. By his determination and ability he was able to prepare himself for college, studying at home. course at Yale was marked by honors and prizes. He is now an assistant professor in the University. Mr. Pierce has published several books, the latest being "Jordan Farms," which he describes as an Epic in Homespun. In this last poem the author reflects the fatalism of New England farm life and the fight with nature in its pastures, which he has known and felt in his own experience.

J. H. Wallis, Class Poet of Yale 1906 and (an unusual combination) recipient of a mathematical prize, has become known outside his college audience through the publication of verses in various magazines. It is interesting to know that he has been discovered hundreds of miles from home and that his manuscript was brought to the attention of the Publishers by that critic of poetry, William Stanley Braithwaite.

The Tidings Brought to Mary. By PAUL CLAUDEL. $1.50 net, postpaid.
The East I Know. By PAUL CLAUDEL. $1.25 net, postpaid.

The Great White Wall. By WILLIAM ROSE BENET. $1.00 net, postpaid.
Jordan Farms. By FREDERICK E. PIERCE. $1.00 net, postpaid.

The Testament of William Windune, and Other Poems. By J. H. WALLIS. $1.00 net, postpaid.

YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS

209 Elm Street, New Haven, Conn. 280 Madison Avenue, New York City

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