THE STORY OF A SOUL.* Tam little poem is one

which we ought to have reviewed

before Easter, as it is obviously meant to. celebrate Easter-

tide ; but we regret our delay the less that we cannot say

that the prologue on " Eastertide" with which the poem opens,

is nearly so touching as some of the subsequent verses in which the struggle between the angels of light and the angels of dark- ness for the possession of a human soul is portrayed. The first title, too, seems to us a misnomer. "I'sychologus " should

surely mean a reasoner on the phenomena of the soul, and

should not represent, as this poem represents chiefly, the story of the temptations which beset a soul from without, and the strength which it receives to resist those temptations.

Even Theologus would have been a truer name for the poem than Psyehologue, and yet it would not have been

a tree one. Indeed, these abstract names are not very fortunate, and have an air of pedantry about them. We believe that we should have taken up the little poem sooner, but for

its grand title of Psyehologus ; and when the reader comes to

the point where the hero of the struggle between the powers of good and powers of evil, falls in love, and when he finds that

the object of that love is called Psyohologia, we may pardon

him if he has a hearty laugh. The notion of a reasoner on the phenomena of the soul falling in love with a feminine reasoner on the phenomena of the soul, is, to our mind, an exceedingly quaint one. The chances are very great indeed that a psycholo- gist in any true sense would fall in love with any one but a psychologist, and the mere suggestion of the loves of a mascu- line and feminine psychologist is comic. However, of course, that idea is not carried out, and we mention the subject only to express a regret that anything like pedantry should disfigure a little poem in which there is much that is touching, and not a little that is impressive. This account, for instance, of the temptation which arises in the consciousness of the extreme insignificance of the soul in presence of an infinite universe and an infinite God, is finely put :— " I am a mystery I cannot solve;

The world lies stretched before me, yet to choose.

My path I know not how, all is so vast, That from my giant mood I dwindle down, And am appalled, e'en at my nothingness.

ANGELS Or DARKNESS.

Call, call, yet call in vain !

Doet think that thou Canst move creation's Loan To hear thee now ?

What cares He for tby wants, He sees thee not, Ho is engrossed with all His wondrous plans, He spreads the starry firmament and rules A million worlds larger than this of man's.

He has not time each whining soul to heed, That cries oat of its miserable need : The LORD ! the mighty GOD ! dost think that He Knows in his might and majesty of thee ?

ANGELS OF LIGHT.

Not a sparrow falleth to the ground, Bat the Loan knoweth ; Not a blade of grass springs up, Nor a blossom bloweth, But the Loan heedeth ;

Ho hears thy cry,

Knows all man needeth : He knows not man's distinctions; great and small, Alike within omniscient empire fall.

FSTCHOLOGIIH (as if in reverie.)

Ay ! ay ! there's nothing small in nature; all Doth need the Hand Omnipotent to mould it, And set it into motion. And perchance That which seems smallest unto man, may be The very hinge on which the world shall turn.

Talk of ' it matters not, the world goes on If this one fails, or if that other dies; Or if a thousand ills fall to this lot, Or if unmeasured good help that one on; The world goes on the same.' Ay, so it does, But all these chips and bits of circumstance Have had their lawful force to urge it on."

Still better, perhaps, is the description of the temptation of the soul to depend on itself, and to refuse to lean on the love and power of another,—a temptation which begins in the dream that a man must make his own spiritual world for himself, and must complete for himself the ideal dream of his own being :— ..,:aPovehologos: the Story of o Soul. By Jolla Goddard. London: Masters

" Unfathomable aye is soul to soul, And man must live alone, and die alone In his soul-life; unto himself and Con.

And spite his yearnings to reveal himself;.

He still remains a secret unto all.

Thus thrown upon himself, what can he do But in himself dream out each act and scene That makes the drama of his soul complete ; Inblending thought in action, act in thought, Subject in object and again reverse, Until at lest he so refines himself, And is so permeated with the flow And essence of his immortality, That he doth lose himself in Deity: And in the Deity all earth doth fade, And the lone soul doth lose his loneliness.

(Starring.) Ha! what was that ? I seemed to hear a voice That pierced my soul with sweetness. Hark! again.

A VOICE.

Behold I knock. If thou wilt ope the door, Then will I enter in; I and My FATHER ;

And We will sap with thee, and make with thee

Our home. Open ! I stand without and knock.

ANGELS OF DARKNESS.

Coward ! why lean upon another ?

Why need'st thou any stay ?

Thou heat a gaide infallible within thee, To guide thee day by day.

Make perfect thy humanity ! nought else can aid thee, To doubt thy strength is to doubt GOD Who made thee.

ANGELS. or LIGHT.

CHRIST the Crucified For thee hath died; Beneath the shadow of the Cross: Shalt thou be justified- Cling closely to Him, ding ; Peace He alone can bring, PSYCHOLOGUS.

Am I still in a dream ? I thought I woke Just for an instant to a perfect:peace, But now 'tie fled; and I am sore perplexed.

A Voice.

Come unto Me, all ye that are a-weary, And I will give you rest.

Ye who will take My yoke and learn of Me, For aye are bleat. ANGELS OF DARKNESS.

Pour your subtleties Into his ears, Fill him with doubts, Fill him with fears.

Pervert the truth and hide what we would hide ; And yet some corner difficult reveal That it were better for our cause to show, Though it be truth, than for us to minced; Whose ragged edge shall deal a backward blow Sharper than any argument we know.

FSTCHOLOGITS.

Wherefore should I be so tormented now—

Hemmed in by fate; tossed into this great world, Not of my own accord, but driven here,

Only to reap distraction and despair ?

A Voice.

Behold I stand and knock ; Open the door.

I am, and was, and shall be, Evermore.

I stand without and wait ; Open ere 'tie too late. ANGELS OF DARKNESS.

Be a man—great art then ; Gon wills thee to use On thine own sacrifice, Not that of another.

He will accept thee alone On merits of thine own, And on none other.

ANGELS OF LIGHT.

Thou art weighed and found wanting ;

Who will plead for thee ?

See His Wounds afresh Bleed for thee.

He His Life laid down, That thou might'at wear a crown.

PSYCHOLOGDS.

Fainter and fainter ! still I hear the Voice, Like a sweet echo dying in my coal ; But other voices drown its tender tones, Yet I have heard it—it was not a dream, Though I scarce hear it now—faint, faint and lo v, Too far away now to discern the words. ANGELS OF DARKNESS.

Thou art rejected. ANGELS OF LIGHT.

Bias, 0 Psychologus! He calleth thee !"

That is a fine touch where the true tempter is described as unveiling a portion of the truth in order to serve better the cause of falsehood. But Miss Goddard shows a certain power, too, on lower themes. The picture of thp garrulous old sexton's musings

on the weaknesses of the people he has to bury, and the effect of these musings in depressing the mood of him who hears them, is vigorous :— " in THE CHTJECHYAHD.—[i sexton digging a grave.] SEXTON, (mumbling.)

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,

Rotting and mouldering in the grave,

To this end in time all must Come, there is nothing to save.

Here my lady who hours has spent At her mirror, upon her beauty intent Little she thought as she looked in the glass, How soon her beauty from earth should pass;

Gewgaws and vanities filled her soul,

How did they help her tower& the goal ?

Here the epicure wont to dine On the choicest food and the rarest wine ; And now as if in irony grim, The worms are making a meal of him : Here the scholar, and here the dunce,

Poor and rich, the fool and the knave :

Wit or wisdom, or riches that once Were man's, what matters it in the grave ?

All in a heap huddled into the clay,

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust ; 'Tie not for me their sentence to say,

Whatever it may be, it will be just.

But one can't help making a moral reflection, Digging and delving as I do here; There's a good deal in human imperfection, That though one reasons, one cannot make clear. What a world ! and the people in it !

How they fight, and strive, and lie, End up life as they think to begin it, Possessions all useless, for they must die!

Nothing they brought with them, nothing can take Out of the world ; and yet for the sake Of all that is earthly they strive as if they Were living in old Methuselah's day ; Grubbing and scrubbing, their lives they give, Their mortal wants to supply,

Aod though its so very hard to live,

Yet they never wish to die. (Sees Psychologus, ,rho has been listening.) Neat-kept churchyard as any you'll see, And I say with pride it's all done by me. Which is the grave you are wanting to find ? This way, air. Your steps your most mind, For there's a grave that is open wide.

Take care, sir. A little more on this side.

I've been sexton here many a year, . Many changes I've seen in my time ; Ah ! we must part with what we hold dear, The joy-bell is hushed by the funeral chime. Sir, did you speak F I could not catch the name,

I'm a little deaf, but age is to blame;

As years roll on we decay and rust, A sign we shall soon be laid in the dust.

Pseenommes.

Leave me, old man, for I would be alone.

How he doth mumble forth his long tirade, With the garrulity of age's tongue.

Ashes to ashes ! dust to dust ! I came With no intention of such lower moiling, And now his words are droning through my brain."

On the whole, we take Miss Goddard's poem as an attempt to delineate the deeper suggestions of evil and the deeper sug- gestions of good which struggle together for the victory over the will of a thoughtful and devotional nature, and as an attempt of considerable beauty. There are many feeble passages in the poem, as well as many of considerable vigour ; but, on the whole, the shock of the spectacle of the world as it presses on a fine nature is truthfully delineated, as well as the victory of the higher voices and the higher instigations over the lower. But it must be understood that the temptations delineated are not those of an ordinary life, but those presented to a carefully watched and carefully trained nature as it watches the many evidences that God permits many shocks to scare us which a loving human parent would carefully ward off from his child's life.