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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.”
" 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 au-
thors, 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.

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.

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One admires the physical endurance of Lieutenant C. A. Bonesteel almost as much as his ability to do justice to the story of Mauna Loa's latest exuberances. Graduating from West Point in the class of 1908, he served in the United States and the Philippines before being detailed for duty, a junior officer of infantry, with the National Guard of Hawaii.

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.

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Eugene Lyman Fisk, whose first article, * Alcohol and Life Insurance,' appeared in the November Atlantic, is director of the Life Extension Institute, New York. The reading public has long been accustomed to think of Laurence Binyon as one of the

distinguished of England's poets,

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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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:- !

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 journalisın. 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 she adds) that 3000 Belgian soldiers had escaped by the end of 1915.

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, 3 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 be cause 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 pressure 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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THE CONTRIBUTORS' COLUMN — YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS

The Advice of The Spectator 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.

As the New Republic says: “It is Douglas Duer this morning and it seems the gesture of Paul Claudel that sets

likely that he will illustrate the poem. I am him apart from the literary figures

tremendously glad, as Duer is a splendid fel

low. There is no one I should rather see of our time. Astute man of affairs, illustrate my work. consul in Boston and New York, in “Is it soon to be that I receive (this sounds Tientsin and Fouchow, in Frankfurt

like the French translations I used to do in

college!) proofs of those other poems which and in Hamburg, where the outbreak

are to make a neat but not gaudy other of the war found him, authority on book'? I should like to hack at them with the economic situation in China, he plenty of time for the hacking. comes to tell us once more that life

“I really have hopes for 'The Great White

Wall.' I really have hopes. It is probably lies in the search for beatitude. ... damned, because it tells a story but I He shows us once again that art is think it will be read.” the handmaiden of God. In that lies his chief glory."

Frederick E. Pierce, the son of a Two years ago the first English

New England farmer, was left early version of Claudel appeared, when

in life with the responsibilities of a the Yale University Press published

man. By his determination and abil. “The East I Know.” This autumn,

ity he was able to prepare himself while he is serving his country in the

for college, studying at home. His Department of the Interior, the Yale

course at Yale was marked by honPress issues the first of Claudel's

ors and prizes. He is now an assistplays to be published in English.

ant professor in the University. Mr. "The Tidings Brought to Mary," a

Pierce has published several books, translation of “L'Annonce Faite à

the latest being “ Jordan Farms, Marie," made by Louise Morgan

which he describes as an Epic in Sill, is heralded by the London Nation

Homespun. In this last poem the as “that rare thing, a piece of genuine

author reflects the fatalism of New literature."

England farm life and the fight with

nature in its pastures, which he has William Rose Benét is a Yale man, known and felt in his own experience. a graduate of the Sheffield Scientific School in the Class of 1907. True to

J. H. Wallis, Class Poet of Yale his ideals, he has written and lived as 1906 and an unusual combination) a poet since graduation. His experi- recipient of a mathematical prize, has ences include crossing the Pacific as become known outside his college deck yeoman on an army transport, audience through the publication of touching at Honolulu, Guam, Manila verses in various magazines. It is and Nagasaki. He is at present work- interesting to know that he has been ing on the Century Magazine, acting discovered hundreds of miles from as the friend of poets. One of his

home and that his manuscript was recent letters speaks for itself: brought to the attention of the Pub"Herewith I return paged proof of 'The

lishers by that critic of poetry, Great White Wall.' I have a letter from 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 BENÉT. $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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