ought to be reopened. It ought to be reopened for two reasons. The first reason is that the French authorities are not properly looking after the aforesaid antiquities, and, of course, we are getting the blame for the neglect into which precious remains have fallen. Pierre Loti, in his dolorous ecstasy La Mort de Phila, chid the wretched barbaric English alone. (Which is just what he would do.) The second reason is that antiquities cannot be satisfactorily handled unless the direction of the matter is under the control of the Government which is actually governing the country where the antiquities lie. When the management of antiquities is in the hands of a subject of one government and the country is run by another government, little can be done at the instance of the latter without a 'diplomatic question' immediately arising. Be it borne in mind that nothing can relieve us of our responsibility before the world for Egyptian antiquities. The Director thereof ought plainly to be an Englishman, and I doubt not that the Englishman can be provided. We might then cut a better figure than we are cutting. We might even try to catch up with the United States, which, as a nation, is capable of far more excitement about antiquities than ourselves. THE LATEST FROM THE DEUTSCHLAND THE German 'commerce carrying' submarine, the Deutschland, is now moored in the Thames. The British crew reported that when taken over the Deutschland was in a horrible condition, with a bad stench, potatoes and other rotten vegetables and old bread lying everywhere. There was evidently no scarcity on submarines. Before leaving the German crew had played some tricks with the engines, but nothing serious. The machinery was very roughly finished, and although it differed in many ways from all English types it did not show any new ideas. The officer in charge, who had evidently enjoyed himself professionally in finding out all its workings, said that after his two days on board he thought he could dive or trim the submarine all right. 'Did the Germans leave any keepsakes for you?' I asked one of the sailors. 'Well, not what you might call keepsakes,' he replied, rubbing his.shoulder vigorously. A NOTE BY E. RAY LANKESTER THE following letter by Sir E. Ray Lankester is headed 'Anglo-Saxons and Anglo-Celts.' To the Editor of the Times: Sir, The attempt to apply to existing 'nationalities' and 'peoples' names involving a statement of their racial constituents is open to the objections (a) that such names are almost invariably incorrect and misleading; (b) that they are frequently used in order to disseminate baseless prejudice. The people of Great Britain are not 'Anglo-Saxons,' nor are they correctly described as 'Anglo-Celts'; nor does either name apply with any degree of accuracy to the people of the United States of America. Both are English-speaking peoples,' and that is the only designation which applies equally to them and to the peoples of the British Dominions and Commonwealth overseas. The term 'Celtic' is hopelessly wrong and confusing as popularly used to indicate racial elements in the British Islands - though less open to objection when limited to the designation of language, literature, and culture which is closely related to that of the great 'Alpine' or Celtic race of Europe. A distinct kind of popular misapplication of a significant word is the thoughtless limitation of the adjective 'American' (which belongs to 'all that is' in both North and South America) to that restricted population, so dear and near to us, which inhabits the United States of North America. Yours faithfully, E. Ray Lankester. NIGHT IN INDIA FROM a little essay called 'An Indian Gaol,' comes this vivid memory of a tropical night. In India night is so much night. With the dropping of the sun a new world has birth. The air is hushed into a dreadful lm; the moon, if there be one, hangs magnified threefold, pouring a steady river of light on house and field and jungle; not a leaf stirs, but the trees stand out as if carved in stone, as if the very sap in their veins had ceased to run, as if they dared not breathe for fear of missing one moment of this gracious coolness after the terrible blaze of the day. Strange shapes pass to and fro overhead with wings which make no sound fruit bats and owls and nightjars and huge, soft-bodied moths. The shadows under the trees are densely black and clear-cut as if marked in ink. On such a night our great iron gate as it clangs to can be heard for miles. Our lantern casts huge dancing shadows. Snakes rustle away in the dry, crisp grass which grows by the drains. In the far distance is the barking of dogs in a village, and anon the howling of the jackals. Heavy perfumes lade the air. The night seems to draw the existence out of one, so that one wonders sometimes if things are real, if this is not the solemn country of the dead in which men are walking unwittingly. My garden is like a map with its great shadows bright and dark. The bungalow stands up like a rock at sea, the oil lamp shining murkily through an open door. A frog is croaking monotonously from one of the tanks where the water has been left to stand. The bed with its shining white mosquito curtains set in the middle of the lawn invites us to join Nature in her repose, or at least to close our eyes to that world to which we scarcely seem to belong. BY C. A. A. "These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off.'-Heb. xi, 13. They trusted God God-unslumbering and unsleeping He sees and sorrows for a world at war, BY DAVID A. ROBISON We who remain shall speak the word on peace, Its terms shall they be ours to frame? ah, no; Graven long since earth's charter of release, Sealed with the million graves that daily grow. His ancient covenant securely keeping; Ours still the faith that burned in their And these had seen His promise from afar, young eyes, Who, naught withholding, took the way untried, Freedom their watchword, liberty the prize, Honor their only and unquestioned guide. Not ours their terms to whittle nor increase, They, giving all, on our sure faith relied All valiant dead who warred that war might cease What peace seek we save that for which you died? The London Chronicle TELL ME NOW BY WANG CHI (6th and 7th Cent A. D.) 'Tell me now, what should a man want But to sit alone, sipping his cup of wine?' I should like to have visitors come and discuss philosophy And not to have the tax-collector coming to collect taxes: My three sons married into good families And my five daughters wedded to steady husbands. Then I could jog through a happy five-score years, And, at the end, need no Paradise. (Translated from the Chinese by Arthur Waley.) The New Statesman |