voted to aëronautics, namely, the Aëronautical Society, the Aëro Club, and the Aërial League. The Aëronautical Society mainly exists for the purpose of promoting discussions on aëronautical matters, and these consequently fall within its province. The Aëro Club undertakes the development of aëronautics from the point of view of sport. It desires to encourage men of means and leisure to practise aviation and ballooning for the pleasure they derive, and with the incentive of competing for prizes. Finally, the Aërial League is to be the paramount body in Nature. influencing public opinion in the development of the subject from the point of view of national defence. An agreement to this effect has been drawn up and signed by the presidents of the several societies. England's neglect of science has lost the chemical and optical industries, and in the automobile industry France had a long start of us. It certainly does appear evident that in regard to aëronautics at least a serious attempt is being made to recover lost ground in the field of international competition. G. H. Bryan. THE ISLAND HAWK. I. Chorus Ships have swept with my conquering name Over the waves of war, Swept thro' the Spaniards' thunder and flame To the splendor of Trafalgar: On the blistered decks of their great renown, In the wind of my storm-beat wings, Hawkins and Hawke went sailing down To the harbor of deep-sea kings! By the storm-beat wings of the hawk, the hawk, Bent beak and pitiless breast, They clove their way thro' the red sea-fray: Who wakens me now to the quest? II. Hushed are the whimpering winds on the hill, Dumb is the shrinking plain, And the songs that enchanted the woods are still As I shoot to the skies again! Does the blood grow black on my fierce bent beak, Does the down still cling to my claw? Who brightened these eyes for the prey they seek? For I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk! Who knoweth my pitiless breast? Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way? Flee-flee-for I quest, I quest. III. As I glide and glide with my peering head, Or swerve at a puff of smoke, Who watcheth my wings on the wind outspread, Who toucheth the glory of life. I feel As I buffet this great glad gale, For I am the hawk, the island hawk, Who knoweth my pitiless breast? Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way? IV. Had they given me “Cloud-cuckoo-city” to guard Between mankind and the sky!— Tho' the dew might shine on an April sward, Iris had ne'er passed by, Swift as her beautiful wings might be From the rosy Olympian hill; Had Epops entrusted the gates to me Earth were his kingdom still. For I am the hawk, the archer, the hawk! Who knoweth my pitiless breast? Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way? V. My mate in the nest on the high bright tree Blazing with dawn and dew, She knoweth the gleam of the world and the glee As I drop like a bolt from the blue; She knoweth the fire of the level flight As I skim, close, close to the ground, With the long grass lashing my breast and the bright Dew-drops flashing around. She watcheth the hawk, the hawk, the hawk (Oh, the red-blotched eggs in the nest!) Watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way; Flee-flee-for I quest, I quest. VI. She builded her nest on the high bright wold, She was taught in a world afar, The lore that is only an April old Yet old as the evening star; Life of a far off ancient day In an hour unhooded her eyes; In the time of the budding of one green spray She was wise as the stars are wise, Brown flower of the tree of the hawk, the hawk, On the old elm's burgeoning breast, She watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way: VII. Spirit and sap of the sweet swift Spring, Fire of our island soul, Burn in her breast and pulse in her wing That plundered the golden West, Her glance is a sword, but it sweeps too wide For a rumor to trouble her rest. She goeth her glorious way, the hawk, She nurseth her brood alone: She will not swoop for an urchin's whoop, VIII. There was never a dale in our isle so deep Is it there, is it here in the rolling skies, Look once, look once in her glittering eyes, Ye shall find her the same, the same. Up to the skies with the hawk, the hawk, As it was in the days of old! Ye shall sail once more, ye shall soar, ye shall soar IX. She hath ridden on white Arabian steeds Thro' the ringing English dells, For the joy of a great queen, hunting in state, To the music of golden bells; A queen's fair fingers have drawn the hood And tossed her aloft in the blue, A white hand eager for needless blood; I hunt for the needs of two. Yet I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk! Who knoweth my pitiless breast? Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way? X. Who fashioned her wide and splendid eyes That have stared in the eyes of kings? With a silken twist she was looped to their wrist: She has clawed at their jewelled rings! Who flung her first thro' the crimson dawn To pluck him a prey from the skies, Who fashioned the hawk, the hawk, the hawk, Bent beak and pitiless breast? Who watcheth him sway in the wild wind's way? XI. Is there ever a song in all the world Shall say how the quest began With the beak and the wings that have made us kings And cruel-almost-as man? The wild wind whimpers across the heath Where the sad little tufts of blue And the red-stained gray little feathers of death Flutter! Who fashioned us? Who? Who fashioned the scimitar wings of the hawk, Bent beak and arrowy breast? Who watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way? XII. Linnet and wood-pecker, red-cap and jay, Shriek that a doom shall fall One day, one day, on my pitiless way From the sky that is over us all; But the great blue hawk of the heavens above King and Queen and hawk and dove, Shall I not welcome him, I, the hawk? Yea, cry, as they shrink from his claw, Cry, as I die, to the unknown sky, Life, I follow thy law! Chorus XIII. Ships have swept with my conquering name Over the world and beyond, Hark! Bellerophon, Marlborough, Thunderer, On the blistered decks of their dread renown, In the rush of my storm-beat wings, Hawkins and Hawke went sailing down To the glory of deep-sea kings! By the storm-beat wings of the hawk, the hawk, Bent beak and pitiless breast, They clove their way thro' the red sea-fray! Who wakens me now to the quest? The Fortnightly Review. Alfred Noyes. BOOKS AND AUTHORS. Mrs. Augusta Hale Gifford's "New Italy" covers a longer period than is indicated by its title, for nearly half of its space is occupied by the period between the close of the fifth and the middle of the sixteenth century, but in the remaining half is a very good account of Italy under Napoleon, the period of revolution, the unification, the end of the temporal power, and the union of Italy under the princes of Savoy. The author gives all necessary dates, but prefers to fix her readers' attention upon the statesmen who have made Italy rather than upon the precise order of their deeds, in order that young students may have a clear idea of the kingdom's rise and growth. author, the sister of Senator Hale, and the wife of Mr. Gifford of the diplo matic service, has lived for many years in Italy and is thoroughly familiar with her subject. Her work is illustrated by many portraits, and the story is brought down to the earthquake of 1908. Lothrop. Lee & Shepard. The Mr. Percy Brebner's "A Royal Ward" is a romance of the time when. what with Napoleon, smugglers, high waymen, the Prince Regent, and discontented laborers, almost anything might happen in England, and the author has so arranged his plot that all the causes of disturbance touch his heroine's life. Lady Betty Walmisley is a Devon heiress who gives her heart to a mysterious man, who thus becomes involved in the web of intrigue woven about her by an enemy of her dead father. As abduction is the amusement of many of the personages everybody in the story leads an eventful life and a mere list of the incidents would be a formidable array. They are logically and ingeniously arranged, and not for a chapter is the reader allowed to fancy that he knows what the end may be. The story is long, the old threedecker beloved by Mr. Kipling, and really takes those who embark upon it to those islands of the blest, where for the moment they may forget the tariff, the Panama Canal, railway companies in rebellion, and all other realities. Little, Brown & Co. Says the publishers' notice on the loose cover of Mrs. Humphry Ward's “Marriage à la Mode,” “The story pic |