y
and consistently undervalued. The low estimate of the dramatic
profession entertained by Dr. Johnson is a sad illustration of the
one-sided state of mind prevailing even amongst scholars, concerning an
art which is certainly not inferior to painting and sculpture, and
probably much superior to music, in the aesthetic and intellectual scale.

"The Wizard of the North," an essay on Sir Walter Scott, is the current
instalment of Miss Mappin's Modern Literature Series. It is marred by a
seeming hiatus, discernible not so much in the flow of words as in the
flow of the narrative, which leads us to believe that a considerable
portion has been left out, either through accident, or through an
attempt at abridgment.

"My Books," by Alfred H. Pearce is a sonnet of apt idea and perfect
construction.

"On Self-Sacrifice," by W. Townsend Ericson, is one of the "Essays of a
Dreamer" which are regularly appearing in the =Budget=. The effort is
marked by much sincerity and idealism, though in grammar and
practicability it is less distinguished. We might mention the erroneous
use of =whom= for =who= (a not uncommon defect amongst amateur writers),
the faulty use of the word =usurping= where =depriving= is meant, and
the split infinitive "to at least make;" all three of which mistakes
occur on page 138. Mr. Ericson should drill himself more thoroughly in
the principles of syntax. Other essays of this series are included in
the present issue. "On Contentment" gives an illustration which we fear
will injure Mr. Ericson's contention more than it will aid it. It is the
=reductio ad absurdum= of the typical "Pollyanna" school of philosophy.

"Down an' Out," by Ernest L. McKeag, is a very clever ballad of the
"rough and ready" school; picturesque in atmosphere, but somewhat
defective in technique. Lieut. McKeag should pay a trifle more attention
to his rhymes; which are not, however, worse than many of the rhymes in
"Hudibras" and other comic pieces.

"Why Roses are White," a children's story, by Margaret Mahon, is marked
by much grace and ingenuity; the central idea being quite original so
far as we know. Further contributions to the children's department are
made by Miss Birkmyre, whose woodland sketches will be appreciated by
older readers as well.

"Selfish Ambition," a poem, by Nell Hilliard, is as correct and fluent
in metre as we might expect from the author, though the expletive =does=
in the final line of the first stanza is