caves Waker, Eanes Robe Prie'é skiing. a Mr. Graves is a modern pact! whose technique always carries hing through. There is a peculiar Robin, Hood and longbow quality about his verse, with a fierce tang of yew-persis "in it—good Bnglst It is only to be expected, therefore, that sooner or later he should have something to say about the folk-measures of this country, has said it, provocatively in his preface to this little collections of ballads, a ballad? Mr, Graves that it is a simple song, without plot, without a moral, and without an author. Nobody wrote it, Like Topsy, it just "growed up." Seventy or eighty ancestors got together at folk moot and put their—superptitions and jokes into a pool in the centre. The Little John of the party stined up the mixture and Jet it simmer for a hundred yearg or 80, and the result was a ballad, Here'is a dip from the pot: erped in, gave her 9 brand he brought hi Hes Both was sve hee ul ere nates mane abet the Aa'taie a woman us tale could be dingy ae came boa
bye otk doth ety the cly Goth hebnevin' qvorm doth chides Gin we Lo mist out o' our place, sale pain we maun bide' ike to think of the parish come mittee evolving that wonderful lino about the eternal worm that waits in the grave for kings and clowns, Mr, Graves might defend his theory by pointing out. that th Authorized Version of the Bible, the most splendidly in our Itievature, was the committee. I must agree, but nevertheless I am sure that there was an under-secretary, oF a clerk. to the committee, working obviously away day by day(careless also to wher claimed the fruits and the rewards of his genius when he submitted them' to the chairman, What happens when we gathered together in a we become poignant, inten we vent our souls in a introspective craving? imagine a genial, humorous row, drinking song, a bit of ribaldry and harmless cynicism; but I will never jove that men or women could together to evolve such a sentiment as informs these veri "But hod 1 wine, before 1 "that love bad been an locked my heart in' ease of Bold,
ely if ay young babe, were barn oth ay pin "inset upon the nurse's knee, aay wind, when, wilt thou blow "chat the small rain down Christ, that my love were Tin my bed again!
If Mr. Gi were content, to y that a ballad had a sexies'of would admit the possibility of a periodical intrusion of genius suifickent to account for the vigour, the crystalline perfection, the simplicity of the anonymous' songs, But it is beyond the bounds of credibility to imagine that concourse of genius inspiring a single group of people at anyone time. Mr. Grave points his argument by citing som of the charities which sprang up in the Army during the early yearg of the war, such things as went to go. home, The conten and Shrapnel they whistle 1 don't rant to go to the trenches [ant © ce over the son, Whee So Allemand" "can shoot
out Don't want to die, want to 0° home"
But I feel that any gathering of people will be able to push forward tone of those convivial hacks who can produce this sort of stuff by the yard. Every old sailing ship had such a boan boy, who, with the help of a little seaport tradition, would string together the charities that are now the rage of suburbi:
However, it is hardly fair to harp on this flaw in Mr, Graves' argument, for, as his essay goes on, it becomes historical, and gives us opportunities to reconcile cur ideas with his, He has given us, after SSU, much to think about, and mach to, enjoy.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.