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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12643 ***
+
+TWENTY
+
+BY
+
+STELLA BENSON
+
+Author of "This Is the End," "I Pose"
+
+1918
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the
+majority of them included in two books, _I Pose_ and _This is
+the End_. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind
+in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the
+Editors of the _Athenaeum, Everyman_, and the _Pall Mall
+Gazette_ for allowing me to reprint verses.
+
+The title of the book has no reference to the writer's age.
+
+S.B.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+                                                             PAGE
+
+CHRISTMAS, 1917                                                 1
+THE SECRET DAY                                                  3
+SONG                                                            6
+THE ORCHARD                                                     8
+THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY                  11
+SONG                                                           13
+WORDS                                                          15
+REDNECK'S SONG                                                 17
+TO THE UNBORN                                                  19
+THE NEWER ZION                                                 21
+TWO WOMEN SING                                                 26
+THE WOMAN ALONE                                                28
+THE INEVITABLE                                                 30
+THE DOG TUPMAN                                                 32
+SAINT BRIDE                                                    34
+THE SLAVE OF GOD                                               36
+TRUE PROMISES                                                  40
+THE CORNISHMAN                                                 43
+FIVE SMOOTH STONES                                             45
+NEW YEAR, 1918                                                 51
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  CHRISTMAS, 1917
+
+
+  A key no thief can steal, no time can rust;
+  A faery door, adventurous and golden;
+  A palace, perfect to our eyes--Ah must
+  Our eyes be holden?
+
+  Has the past died before this present sin?
+  Has this most cruel age already stonèd
+  To martyrdom that magic Day, within
+  Those halls, enthronèd?
+
+  No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain,
+  Through the faint summer, and the autumn's burning,
+  Our still immortal Day has heard again
+  Our steps returning.
+
+
+
+
+  THE SECRET DAY
+
+
+  My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired,
+  And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door;
+  So I have built To-day, the day that I desired,
+  Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more,
+  Lest comfort come no more.
+
+  So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day,
+  And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands;
+  The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way;
+  The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands,
+  Grew pink beneath my hands.
+
+  So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream;
+  And I have painted peace upon the sky above;
+  And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem
+  More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love--
+  More beautiful than love.
+
+  And I have built a house--a house upon the brink
+  Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea's low singing fills it;
+  And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think
+  I'll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it--
+  A cold to-morrow kills it.
+
+  Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow,
+  So let To-morrow knock--I shall not be afraid,
+  For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow,
+  And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made.
+  No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade
+  This day that I have made.
+
+
+
+
+  SONG
+
+
+  There is the track my feet have worn
+  By which my fate may find me:
+  From that dim place where I was born
+  Those footprints run behind me.
+  Uncertain was the trail I left,
+  For--oh, the way was stormy;
+  But now this splendid sea has cleft
+  My journey from before me.
+
+  Three things the sea shall never end,
+  Three things shall mock its power:
+  My singing soul, my Secret Friend,
+  And this, my perfect hour.
+  And you shall seek me till you reach
+  The tangled tide advancing,
+  And you shall find upon the beach
+  The traces of my dancing,
+  And in the air the happy speech
+  Of Secret Friends romancing.
+
+
+
+
+  THE ORCHARD
+
+
+  I will repent me of my ways;
+  I will come here and bury
+  Five thousand odd superfluous days
+  Beneath a flow'ring cherry.
+
+  Between a pear and a cherry tree
+  My temple I will enter--
+  My place, where even I may be
+  The altar and the centre.
+
+  One altar to a thousand aisles,
+  A hundred thousand arches ...
+  The loud lamb-choir about me files,
+  The bleating bishop marches,
+
+  The congregation kneels and nods,
+  The bishop leads its praises,
+  So I'll pray too, to their dim gods
+  Whose feet are decked with daisies:
+
+     _Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let
+      Me not grow old, and falter
+      In my delusion, or forget
+      My heart was once an altar.
+      Let me still think myself a star
+      With these my rays about me;
+      Pretend these green perspectives are
+      All purposeless without me._
+
+     _Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid
+      The coming night retire,
+      And all the good I ever did
+      Shall feed your altar fire;
+      The hour shall stand and sing your praise,
+      The minute shall adore you,
+      And my ten thousand unborn days
+      I'll sacrifice before you._
+
+      _Gods of great joy, and little grief,
+      See--I will wear as token
+      A pear leaf and a cherry leaf
+      Until this pledge be broken_....
+
+  Between a pear and a cherry tree
+  A cold hand touched my shoulder--
+     _Ah, my false gods have forsaken me,
+      I am a minute older_.
+
+
+
+
+  THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY
+
+
+  That day you wrought for me
+  Shone, and was ended.
+  Perfect your thought for me,
+  Whom you befriended.
+  Such joy was new to me--
+  New, and most splendid,
+  More than was due to me.
+  More than was due to me.
+
+  Though I do wrong to you,
+  Having no power,
+  Singing no song to you,
+  Bringing no flower,
+  Yet does my youth again
+  Thrill, for the hour
+  Cometh in truth again.
+  Cometh in truth again.
+
+  I shall possess to-day
+  All I have wanted,
+  All I lacked yesterday
+  Now shall be granted.
+  No longer dumb to you,
+  Changed and enchanted,
+  Singing I'll come to you.
+  Singing I'll come to you.
+
+  I will amass for you
+  Very great treasure.
+  Swift years shall pass for you
+  Dancing for pleasure.
+  Time shall be slave to me,
+  Giving--full measure--
+  All that you gave to me.
+  All that you gave to me.
+
+
+
+
+  SONG
+
+
+  If I have dared to surrender some imitation of splendour,
+  Something I knew that was tender, something I loved that was brave,
+  If in my singing I showed songs that I heard on my road,
+  Were they not debts that I owed, rather than gifts that I gave?
+
+  If certain hours on their climb up the long ladder of time
+  Turned my confusion to rhyme, drove me to dare an attempt,
+  If by fair chance I might seem sometimes abreast of my theme,
+  Was I translating a dream? Was it a dream that you dreamt?
+
+  High and miraculous skies bless and astonish my eyes;
+  All my dead secrets arise, all my dead stories come true.
+  Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you unlocked it for me;
+  Now, since you gave me the key, shall I unlock it for you?
+
+
+
+
+  WORDS
+
+
+  Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule
+  The world? What is it but the tongue
+  That doth proclaim a man a fool,
+  So that his best songs go unsung,
+  So that his dreams are sent to school
+  And all die young.
+
+  There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these
+  My soul adores--my words condemn--
+  Oh, I would fall upon my knees
+  To kiss their golden garments' hem,
+  Yet words do lie in wait to seize
+  And murder them.
+
+  To-night the swinging stars shall plumb
+  The silence of the sky. And herds
+  Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come
+  To hunt with dreams the restless birds.
+  To-night the moon shall strike you dumb,
+  Oh words, oh words....
+
+
+
+
+  REDNECK'S SONG
+
+
+  These thirty years
+  Old men have filled my ears
+  With middle-aged ideas
+  That never have been young,
+  They made me wise.
+  I learnt to whitewash lies.
+  I learnt to shut my eyes,
+  And hold my tongue.
+
+  Damned Philistine.
+  And was it then so fine
+  To learn to draw the line.
+  (Is there a line to draw?)
+  And must I then
+  For threescore years and ten
+  Worship the laws of men
+  Who worshipped law?
+
+  Those laws are dust
+  To-day, and yet I must
+  Be faithful still, and trust
+  In what dead men did prove.
+  Magic may kill
+  Their wisdom and their will,
+  Yet I must follow still
+  Their path ... my groove....
+
+
+
+
+  TO THE UNBORN
+
+
+  Oh, bend your eyes, nor send your glance about.
+  Oh, watch your feet, nor stray beyond the kerb.
+  Oh, bind your heart lest it find secrets out.
+  For thus no punishment
+  Of magic shall disturb
+  Your very great content.
+
+  Oh, shut your lips to words that are forbidden.
+  Oh, throw away your sword, nor think to fight.
+  Seek not the best, the best is better hidden.
+  Thus need you have no fear,
+  No terrible delight
+  Shall cross your path, my dear.
+
+  Call no man foe, but never love a stranger.
+  Build up no plan, nor any star pursue.
+  Go forth with crowds; in loneliness is danger.
+  Thus nothing God can send,
+  And nothing God can do
+  Shall pierce your peace, my friend.
+
+
+
+
+  THE NEWER ZION
+
+
+  When I achieve the chestnut joke of dying,
+  When I slip through that Gate at Kensal Green,
+  Shall I go spoil the fantasy by prying
+  Behind the staging of this darling scene?
+
+  Shall I--a cast-off puppet--seek to study
+  The Showman who manipulates the strings,
+  The Hand that paints the western drop-scene ruddy,
+  The prosy truths of all these faery things?
+
+  Shall I--self-conscious by a glassy ocean--
+  Stammer strange songs amid an alien host?
+  Or shall I not, refusing such promotion,
+  Bequeath to London my contented ghost?
+
+  I will come back to my Eternal City;
+  Her fogs once more my countenance shall dim;
+  I will enliven your austere committee
+  With gossip gleaned among the cherubim.
+
+  By day I'll tread again the sounding mazes,
+  By night I'll track the moths about the Park;
+  My feet shall fall among the dusky daisies,
+  Nor break nor bruise a petal in the dark.
+
+  I will repeat old inexpensive orgies;
+  Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shoreditch,
+  Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. George's,
+  And with a ghost-tip make the waitress rich.
+
+  My soundless feet shall fly among the runners
+  Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid,
+  My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners,
+  The fires shall glare--but I shall cast no shade.
+
+  And if a Shadow, wading in the torrent
+  Of high excitement, snatch me from the riot--
+  (Fool that he is)--and fumble with his warrant,
+  And hail a hearse, and beg me to "Go quiet,"
+
+  Mocking I'll go, and he shall be postillion,
+  Until we reach the Keeper of the Door:
+  "H'm ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ...
+  There's some mistake, we've had this soul before...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion;
+  Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless
+  The splendid voice of London, like a lion
+  Calling its lover in the wilderness.
+
+
+
+
+  TWO WOMEN SING
+
+  FIRST WOMAN
+
+
+  Oh woman--woman--woman,--
+  Shall I to woman be a friend?
+  I deal with man, and when I can
+  Reclaim with interest all I lend.
+  Who but a witless gambler plays
+  For farthing stakes these golden days?
+  No, woman--woman--woman--
+  Must only play the game that pays.
+
+
+
+  SECOND WOMAN
+
+
+  Oh woman--woman--woman,--
+  To-morrow woman shall awake.
+  She shall arise, and realise
+  The goodly value of her stake.
+  And she shall lend her loan, and claim
+  Her rightful interest on the same.
+  So woman--woman--woman--
+  Shall learn at last the paying game.
+
+
+
+
+  THE WOMAN ALONE
+
+
+  My eyes are girt with outer mists;
+  My ears sing shrill, and this I bless;
+  My finger-nails do bite my fists
+  In ecstasy of loneliness.
+  This I intend, and this I want,
+  That--passing--you may only mark
+  A dumb soul with its confidant
+  Entombed together in the dark.
+
+  The hoarse church-bells of London ring;
+  The hoarser horns of London croak;
+  The poor brown lives of London cling
+  About the poor brown streets like smoke;
+  The deep air stands above my roof
+  Like water, to the floating stars.
+  My Friend and I--we sit aloof,--
+  We sit and smile, and bind our scars.
+
+  For you may wound and you may kill--
+  It's such a little thing to die--
+  Your cruel God may work his will,
+  We do not care, my Friend and I.
+  Though, at the gate of Paradise,
+  Peter the Saint withhold his keys,
+  My Friend and I--we have no eyes
+  For Heav'n or Hell--or dreams like these....
+
+
+
+
+  THE INEVITABLE
+
+
+  _There is a sword, a fatal blade,
+  Unthwarted, subtle as the air,
+  And I could meet it unafraid
+  If I might only meet it fair.
+  Yet how I wonder why the Smith
+  Who wrought that steel of subtle grain
+  Should also be contented with
+  So blunt and mean a thing as pain_.
+
+  The stars and fire-flies dance in rings.
+  The fire-flies set my heart alight,
+  Like fingers, writing magic things
+  In flame, upon the wall of night.
+  There is high meaning in the skies--
+  (The stars and fire-flies--high and low--)
+  And all the spangled world is wise
+  With knowledge that I almost know.
+
+  To-morrow I will don my cloak
+  Of opal-grey, and I will stand
+  Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke
+  Across the dazzle of the sand.
+  To-morrow I will throw this blind
+  Blind whiteness from my soul away,
+  And pluck this blackness from my mind,
+  And only leave the medium--grey.
+
+  To-morrow I will cry for gains
+  Upon the blue and brazen sky.
+  The precious venom in my veins
+  To-morrow will be parched and dry.
+  To-morrow it shall be my goal
+  To throw myself away from me,
+  To lose the outline of my soul
+  Against the greyness of the sea.
+
+
+
+
+  THE DOG TUPMAN
+
+
+  Oh little friend of half my days,
+  My little friend, who followed me
+  Along those crooked sullen ways
+  That only you had eyes to see.
+
+  You felt the same. You understood
+  You too, defensive and morose,
+  Encloaked your secret puppyhood--
+  Your secret heart--and hid them close.
+
+  For I alone have seen you serve,
+  Disciple of those early springs,
+  With ears awry and tail a-curve
+  You lost yourself in puppy things.
+
+  And you saw me. You bore in mind
+  The clean and sunny things I felt
+  When, throwing hate along the wind,
+  I flashed the lantern at my belt.
+
+  The moment passed, and we returned
+  To barren words and old cold truth,
+  Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned,
+  We two had seen each other's youth.
+
+  When filthy pain did wrap me round
+  Your upright ears I always saw,
+  And on my outflung hand I found
+  The blessing of your horny paw;
+
+  And yet--oh impotence of men--
+  My paw, more soft but not more wise,
+  Old friend, was lacking to you when
+  You looked your crisis in the eyes....
+
+  You shared my youth, oh faithful friend,
+  You let me share your puppyhood;
+  So, if I failed you in the end,
+  My friend, my friend, you understood.
+
+
+
+
+  SAINT BRIDE
+
+
+  About your brow a starry wreath,
+  About your feet a wilderness,
+  Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath
+  The tangled bondage of the press.
+  Set like a saint within a niche--
+  A strait and narrow niche--you hide,
+  And weave a veil about you, which
+  Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.
+
+  The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man
+  Are sceptic and satirical.
+  "_What, little saint, and still you scan
+  Old heaven for that miracle?_"
+  Oh heart deceived, yet harmèd not,
+  Child-widow of a truth that died,
+  Bearer in mind of things forgot,
+  Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.
+
+  About you and about you thunders
+  The wise young public on its 'bus,
+  Exploding all your faery blunders,
+  Explaining neatly--"_Thus and thus
+  Hath science banished heaven now,
+  And see--your Groom is crucified--_"
+  On heaven's breast you lean your brow
+  And laugh, and love--Saint Bride, Saint Bride.
+
+
+
+
+  THE SLAVE OF GOD
+
+
+      The finest fruit God ever made
+      Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue.
+      It hangs above the steel sea blade
+      That cuts the world's great globe in two.
+
+      The keenest eye that ever saw
+      Stares out of Heaven into mine,
+      Spins out my heart, and seems to draw
+      My soul's elastic very fine.
+
+      The greatest beacon ever fired
+      Stands up on Heaven's Hill to show
+      The limit of the thing desired,
+      Beyond which man may never go.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *       *
+
+      At midnight, when the night did dance
+      Along the hours that led to morning,
+      I saw a little boat advance
+      Towards the great moon's beacon warning.
+
+      (The moon, God's Slave, who lights her torch,
+      Lest men should slip between the bars,
+      And run aground on Heav'n, and scorch
+      To death upon a bank of stars.)
+
+      The little boat, on leaning keel,
+      Sang up the mountains of the sea,
+      Bearing a man who hoped to steal
+      God's Slave from out eternity.
+
+
+  "_My love, I see you through my tears.
+  No pity in your face I see.
+  I have sailed far across the years:
+  Stretch out, stretch out your arms to me._
+
+  "_My love, I have an island seen,
+  So shadowed, God's most piercing star
+  Shall never see where we have been,
+  Shall never whisper where we are._
+
+  "_There we will wander, you and I,
+  Down guilty and delightful ways,
+  While palm-trees plait their fingers high
+  Against your God's enormous gaze._
+
+  "_For oh--the joy of two and two
+  Your Paradise shall never see,
+  The ecstasy of me and you,
+  The white delight of you and me._
+
+  "_I know the penalty--the clutch
+  Of God's great rocks upon my keel.
+  Drowned in the ocean of Too Much--
+  So ends your thief--yet let me steal...._"
+
+      The Slave of God she froze her face,
+      The Slave of God she paid no heed,
+      And, thund'ring down high Heaven's space,
+      Loud angels mocked the sailor's greed.
+
+      The diamond sun arose, and tossed
+      A billion gems across the sea.
+  "_The Slave of God is lost, is lost,
+  The Slave of God is lost to me...._"
+
+      He grounded on the common beach,
+      He trod the little towns of men,
+      And God removèd from his reach
+      The cup of Heaven's passion then,
+      And gave him vulgar love and speech,
+      And gave him threescore years and ten.
+
+
+
+
+  TRUE PROMISES
+
+
+  You promised War and Thunder and Romance.
+  You promised true, but we were very blind
+  And very young, and in our ignorance
+  We never called to mind
+  That truth is seldom kind.
+
+  You promised love, immortal as a star.
+  You promised true, yet how the truth can lie!
+  For now we grope for hands where no hands are,
+  And, deathless, still we cry,
+  Nor hope for a reply.
+
+  You promised harvest and a perfect yield.
+  You promised true, for on the harvest morn,
+  Behold a reaper strode across the field,
+  And man of woman born
+  Was gathered in as corn.
+
+  You promised honour and ordeal by flame.
+  You promised true. In joy we trembled lest
+  We should be found unworthy when it came;
+  But--oh--we never guessed
+  The fury of the test!
+
+  You promised friends and songs and festivals.
+  You promised true. Our friends, who still are young,
+  Assemble for their feasting in those halls
+  Where speaks no human tongue.
+  And thus our songs are sung.
+
+
+
+
+  THE CORNISHMAN
+
+
+  At sunset, when the high sea span
+  About the rocks a web of foam,
+  I saw the ghost of a Cornishman
+  Come home.
+  I saw the ghost of a Cornishman
+  Run from the weariness of war,
+  I heard him laughing as he ran
+  Across his unforgotten shore.
+  The great cliff, gilded by the west,
+  Received him as an honoured guest.
+  The green sea, shining in the bay,
+  Did drown his dreadful yesterday.
+
+  Come home, come home, you million ghosts,
+  The honest years shall make amends,
+  The sun and moon shall be your hosts,
+  The everlasting hills your friends.
+  And some shall seek their mothers' faces,
+  And some shall run to trysting places,
+  And some to towns, and others yet
+  Shall find great forests in their debt.
+    Oh, I would siege the golden coasts
+    Of  space, and climb high heaven's dome,
+    So I might see those million ghosts
+    Come home.
+
+
+
+
+  FIVE SMOOTH STONES
+
+
+  It was young David, lord of sheep and cattle,
+  Pursued his fate, the April fields among,
+  Singing a song of solitary battle,
+  A loud mad song, for he was very young.
+
+  Vivid the air--and something more than vivid,--
+  Tall clouds were in the sky--and something more,--
+  The light horizon of the spring was livid
+  With a steel smile that showed the teeth of war.
+
+  It was young David mocked the Philistine.
+  It was young David laughed beside the river.
+  There came his mother--his and yours and mine--
+  With five smooth stones, and dropped them in his quiver.
+
+  You never saw so green-and-gold a fairy.
+  You never saw such very April eyes.
+  She sang him sorrow's song to make him wary,
+  She gave him five smooth stones to make him wise.
+
+  _The first stone is love, and that shall fail you.
+  The second stone is hate, and that shall fail you.
+  The third stone is knowledge, and that shall fail you.
+  The fourth stone is prayer, and that shall fail you.
+  The fifth stone shall not fail you_.
+
+  For what is love, O lovers of my tribe?
+  And what is love, O women of my day?
+  Love is a farthing piece, a bloody bribe
+  Pressed in the palm of God--and thrown away.
+
+  And what is hate, O fierce and unforgiving?
+  And what shall hate achieve, when all is said?
+  A silly joke that cannot reach the living,
+  A spitting in the faces of the dead.
+
+  And what is knowledge, O young men who tasted
+  The reddest fruit on that forbidden tree?
+  Knowledge is but a painful effort wasted,
+  A bitter drowning in a bitter sea.
+
+  And what is prayer, O waiters for the answer?
+  And what is prayer, O seekers of the cause?
+  Prayer is the weary soul of Herod's dancer,
+  Dancing before blind kings without applause.
+
+  The fifth stone is a magic stone, my David,
+  Made up of fear and failure, lies and loss.
+  Its heart is lead, and on its face is gravèd
+  A crookèd cross, my son, a crookèd cross.
+
+  It has no dignity to lend it value;
+  No purity--alas, it bears a stain.
+  You shall not give it gratitude, nor shall you
+  Recall it all your days, except with pain.
+
+  Oh, bless your blindness, glory in your groping!
+  Mock at your betters with an upward chin!
+  And when the moment has gone by for hoping,
+  Sling your fifth stone, O son of mine, and win.
+
+  Grief do I give you, grief and dreadful laughter;
+  Sackcloth for banner, ashes in your wine.
+  Go forth, go forth, nor ask me what comes after;
+  The fifth stone shall not fail you, son of mine.
+
+  GO FORTH, GO FORTH, AND SLAY THE PHILISTINE.
+
+
+
+
+  NEW YEAR, 1918
+
+
+  A song I never heard
+  I must rehearse,
+  Counting each hour a word,
+  Counting each day a verse.
+  Not of my proper choice
+  Raise I my voice,
+  While others--fierce and strong--
+  Raise theirs to drown my song.
+
+  Must I then sing aloud,
+  Faint as a bird,
+  And, like a bird, be proud
+  To sing--to sing unheard?
+  Weary and very weak,
+  Shall I then seek
+  A hearing, idiot-wise,
+  From the unhearing skies?
+
+  Drowning my whispered dreams,
+  Great voices cry.
+  They sing their songs, it seems,
+  With better heart than I.
+  Hush--I can hear Death sing--
+  "_Here is my sting_."
+  And the Grave echo--"_See,
+  Here is my victory_"
+
+  To-night the heavens bend
+  A little nearer.
+  The singer is my friend,
+  And I--at last--the hearer.
+  No more to sing alone
+  A song unknown,--
+  Hush--very tense and thin,
+  The dawn-like notes begin.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+  Crown 8vo. 6s. net.
+
+  I POSE
+
+  BY
+
+  STELLA BENSON
+
+  Sir Henry Lucy  writes: "One of the brightest, most original, and
+  best-written books that have come my way for a long time."
+
+  "Even the dullest can hardly fail to respond to the brilliant
+  humour of the book. As the mature work of an experienced author it
+  would have been a remarkable achievement; being 'the first book of
+  a new writer' it is an astonishing performance."--_Daily Graphic_.
+
+  "This book is a fantasy, an absurdity, a dream charged with
+  purpose; it has wit and humour, and some deep feeling covered with
+  the gossamer of irresponsibility; it is an act of rebellion, an
+  edged complaint, a protest touched with flame.... There are
+  epigrams and sentences that read like a sob or a stab."--_ Daily
+  Chronicle._
+
+  "For its sheer cleverness the book is a delightful thing."--_Daily
+  News_.
+
+
+  LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
+
+
+
+
+  Crown 8vo.  6s. net.
+
+  THIS IS THE END
+
+  BY
+
+  STELLA BENSON
+
+  "Miss Benson has a delicious sense of humour, and her way of
+  describing people and things is most refreshing. With her
+  sympathy, her realism, her wit and ability, it would seem that
+  Miss Benson's possibilities are limitless."--_The Bookman_.
+
+  "In her second book she not only makes good, but betrays a
+  ripening talent."--_Daily Telegraph._
+
+  "The book shows one thing very clearly, that Miss Benson is a
+  force to be reckoned with."--_Pall Mall Gazette_.
+
+  "It is the second step of a very brilliant beginning ... You will
+  be foolish if you miss this book."--_Punch_.
+
+  "She has unusual originality, illuminating wit, deep feeling, and
+  a gift for startling epigram."--_Daily Graphic_.
+
+
+  LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12643 ***