was juggling with the conventional themes of the lady's beauty, her heart of flint, conceits as to hearts, souls, eyes, transitoriness of beauty, classic gods and time. Immortality of verse, touched upon by most of the sonneteers, was an especially alluring theme to Drayton.

Scattered thronghout the cycle, however, we find sonnets which show that Drayton occasionally rubbed his eyes and saw his "Idea" plainly, saw the river by which she dwelt, and felt the emotions which her true form awakened. We read his sixtieth sonnet :

"Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun.

Tell me if ever since the world begun

So fair a rising had so foul a set."

And we are faintly reminded of Shakespeare's expression of the same thought:

"Full many a glorious morning have I seen

Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye....

Even so my sun one early morn did shine....

The region cloud hath masked him from me now."

Drayton's tribute to the river Ankor is spontaneous and full:
"Clear Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrined Saint, my fair Idea lives,....
When nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Amongst the dainty, dew-impearlèd flowers."

His sixty-first sonnet is rich with simple dignity:

"Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part."

That the sonnet fashion on conventional themes soon became tiresome is shown by Chapman's "Coronet for his Mistress Philosophy", 1595. Here he informs the sonneteers that they :

"Dwell in darkness, for their god is blind."

Davies' "Gulling Sonnets" and the "Spiritual Sonnets" of Barnes, Constable and Donne show the truth of Drayton's lines: "My Muse is rightly of the English strain That cannot long one fashion entertain."

66

66

In a world that is moving so rapidly, we are proud to be of the English strain", which so cheerfully moves its fashions along in the great cycle of development. In this great cycle the Sixteenth Century Sonneteers cannot well be spared. For if they accomplished nothing else, they certainly helped greatly to purify and make beloved our English tongue.

ISABELLA RACHEL GILL.

A SERENADE

Afar in the eastern sky

The orient hordes appear;
With flaming plumes on high

Their crimson crests they rear.
O'er the hills they are riding near,
They ride gold-shod on the lake.
Love, do you hear, do you hear

How their clarions bid you awake?

Oh, rise and welcome the Dawn,
You whom she comes to greet!

See, lying athwart the lawn

A pathway of gems for your feet!

Come, make the triumph complete,

Lend your grace to the pageant of day,
The steeds of the dawning are fleet,
Come, let us mount and away!

The world it is fair to see

From the gentian agleam with dew
To the glint of the sun on the sea,
And the world is waiting for you.
From the Heaven's uttermost blue
To the least hare-bell on the lea,
The world, it was made for you,
And you-you were made for me!
ALICE MORGAN WRIGHT.

JACK CADE'S REBELLION

Whether John Cade, of Hilltown, had ever heard of the historical Jack Cade, is a matter of question. He named his son after himself, without asking the opinion of history or his wife. Then he died. As John junior acquired friends among the rising generation of Hilltown, he was named Jack. It was the village minister who gave the name of "Jack Cade's Rebellion" to the last and most important of that youth's uprisings.

For the spirit of liberty had incarnated itself in the young John. He had rebelled from the day of his birth. He seemed to feel indignant because he had been brought into the world at all. At the highest pitch of a lusty voice he expressed his indignation. He kept on expressing it through a rebellious boyhood.

Not that the fault was all John's. No, circumstances and neighbors had done their share. Perhaps the neighbors had done a little more than their share. In the first place they decided that Jack was the very image of his father, who had chosen the broad and easy path which led to destruction; like father, like son; and the youthful John had had mapped out for him, before he was out of long clothes, a career similar to his father's. All the village was waiting to say, "I told you so." Moreover, Jack's mother was a widow, and furthermore she was not a self-assertive widow. Anna Cade was a very meek little woman who took opinions ready-made. When her lord and master could no longer make them for her, she took them from the neighbors. Worse for Jack, when the various opinions disagreed, especially those which concerned his up-bringing, she tried each one.

Added to this was Jack's own temperament. Headstrong, unruly by nature, he needed a strong hand to guide him. The strong hand failing, he grew up as the wind listed, and the wind never listed from the south. For all her anxiety over his wild ways, Jack's mother had little thanks. An unkempt, disreputable looking son, a disordered house, passionate outbursts of temper, were the usual marks of filial affection on Jack's part. Complaints of his misdemeanors were brought home daily by the officious neighbors. He had broken limbs from somebody's best apple-trees; had let loose a herd of cows; or had started a revolt among the school-children. He was the recognized leader of the roughest boys in town. Mothers in Israel cried aloud that he was leading their sons astray. And Anna Cade sat in her kitchen and wrung her hands. She had tried remonstrances, bribes, pleading, caresses, but none apparently had any effect on the hardened soul of her son. The minister came to pray with Jack Cade and his mother. Jack went fishing and the minister went home. The town voted him a public nuisance, yet he never was caught in his pranks and seldom was punished. Satan protected his own.

Yet what did Jack think, all this time? He knew he was wicked. Like Topsy, he declared and recounted to his admiring satellites the number and infinite variety of his misdeeds. He recognized, like Ishmael, that every man's hand was against him and his was against every man's. But Jack was not a fiend. He was human; he was a boy. Sometimes a feeling of dissatisfaction would seize him. He felt that something was wrong. Why should everybody in town hate him? Why was he especially in the way? Other boys did things as bad as he did. Besides, the other fellows lied out of it. He wouldn't do that, anyway. And those old Pharisees up at the church did meaner things than he ever thought of doing. Hadn't he seen Deacon Johnson, the richest man in all Hilltown, stealing over his boundary fence and picking off all the berries on Grandma Waite's side? And wasn't Grandma Waite the poorest person in town? Then the very next Sunday evening Deacon Johnson had made the longest prayer of them all. It wasn't fair! Well, if they wanted him to be a sinner, he would be one. Nobody cared what became of him anyway.

But after a dozen years, more or less, of much storm and little sunshine, had blown over Jack's unruly head, his star of fate approached its climax. The change came through his own action. One of the chief causes of complaint against Jack had been his behavior at school. Instigated by him and with his active co-operation, a certain group of boys had made life miserable for every teacher who came there. Graduates fresh from the seminary, prim maiden ladies, inexperienced young girls, had come and gone from the school in kaleidoscopic succession. The last, who was a man, had left just before Christmas, loudly declaring that of all schools of his acquaintance, and he had been acquainted with a great many, Hilltown was the worst.

Then last of all came Arthur Dunton. He was a minister, overworked by his congregation. Pale, thin, round-shouldered, his appearance was in no way remarkable. But he had been a boy himself, once, many years ago; and he had known many other boys since then. So he had faith in them. The first morning of his work at Hilltown, looking down at the boys before him, he realized that Jack was not ordinary. He seemed almost the limb of Satan which the school committee had described. Jack did not look particularly amenable to anything. Yet something in his eyes-an inner struggle, something striving for

expression, but not knowing how to express itself, caught and held the teacher's attention. And he was satisfied.

Somehow, as the days went on, Mr. Dunton and his schoolchildren became very good friends. He skated with them, he took them on long rides. Jack noticed that he never preached. He did things. And little by little a change was coming over Jack. The new teacher's influence was felt by all alike, so that Jack's slow transformation was unnoticed.

The winter months had come and gone, and spring was at hand before it began to dawn on the minds of the community that Jack Cade had materially changed. When once suggested, there were many proofs of his improvemeut. Tom Brown had had only three serious fights with him all winter. He knew, because he always had the worst of it. Old Maid Atkin's bobtail cat had lost none of its remaining six lives. Someone had taken care of Grandma Waite's hens for her during the great blizzard. Last, and greatest proof of all, Mr. Dunton was still teacher.

But alas for Jack! There was another test before him.

It began the night of the church supper. For some time Mrs. Cade had rejoiced over her changed son. A daring project entered her head. Squire Dobson's son, Percival, always accompanied his mother to the church suppers. All the ladies admired and praised Percival, he was such a perfect little gentleman. He never ran off into a corner with the boys, but stayed quietly with the ladies. If only Jack would go, they would see how nicely he behaved, and she could hold up her head with Mrs. Squire Dobson. Jack was a much better looking boy than Percival.

After prolonged persuasion on his mother's part, Jack had consented to go, just once. For fifteen minutes of torture he had set on a stiff-backed chair in the parlor. He felt ill at ease. His hair was neatly plastered over his ears. His collar was too high and his mother had bought him a pink necktie, because Percival Dobson had one. Jack hated pink neckties and despised Percival. His shoes were new, heavy-soled and squeaky. Jack hated shoes. Moreover the ladies had looked at him and talked together in low tones. Jack thought they were talking about his necktie.

He left the room as quietly as he could, went into the hall and up the stairs which led to the audience room above. Where the