an iconoclastic attack on that love of
natural beauty which is inherent in every poetical, imaginative and
delicately strung brain. In prose of faultless technique and polished
style, Mr. Ashby catalogues like a museum curator every species of flaw
that he can possibly pick in the scenes and events of rustic life. But
while the career of the farmer is assuredly not one of uninterrupted
bliss, it were folly to assert that Nature's superlative loveliness is
not more than enough to compensate for its various infelicities. No mind
of high grade is so impervious to aesthetic emotion that it can behold
without admiration the wonders of the rural realm, even though a vein of
sordid suffering ran through the beauteous ensemble. Of all our personal
friends, the one who most adores and loves to personify Nature is a
successful farmer of unceasing diligence. Mr. Ashby errs, we are
certain, in taking the point of view of the unimaginative and
unappreciative peasant. This sort of animal interprets Nature by
physical, not mental associations, and is unfitted by heredity to
receive impressions of the beautiful in its less material aspects.
Whilst he grumbles at the crimson flames of Aurora, thinking only of the
afternoon rain thus predicted, the man of finer mould, though equally
cognizant that a downpour may follow, rejoices impulsively at the pure
beauty of the scene itself, a scene whose intellectual exaltation will
help him the better to bear the dull afternoon. Is not the beauty-lover
the happier of the two? Both must endure the trials, but the poet enjoys
compensating pleasures which the boor may never know. The
personification and deification of Nature is a legacy from primitive
ages which will delight us in an atavistical way till our very race
shall have perished. And let Mr. Ashby remember that those early tribes
who placed a god or goddess in every leafy tree, crystal fount, reedy
lake or sparkling brook, were far closer to Nature and the soil than is
any modern tenant farmer.

_The United Official Quarterly_ for May has resumed its former
attractive appearance, and contains a very creditable assortment of
literary matter. "Atmosphere," by Mrs. Shepphird, is a thoughtful and
pleasing essay, whose second half well describes the individuality of
the various amateur authors and editors. "The Kingly Power of Laughter,"
by Louena Van Norman, is no less just and graphic, illustrating the
supreme force of humour and ridicule. Leo