Supposing you were asked to enter a Great Palace? And within that palace, you were told, were more than a thousand golden doors? And those doors opened into rooms and upon gardens and balconies, all of which were the most beautiful of palace rooms and gardens? And some were more beautiful than anything the world had ever known before? Do you think you would go through the gate to that palace?

And if you were told that in the palace were lamps so bright that they lighted not only the palace, but cast a glow over the whole world? And that these lamps hung from chains the ends of which you could not see, just as Pryderi was not able to see the ends of the hanging golden chains in the palace which he entered? And once within the Great Palace you were not only better for being there, but also happier and stronger and more beautiful, and never any more could you be lonely? It sounds like an Aladdin's lamp, does it not, which, once seen and touched, could bring so much beauty and power into our lives! Indeed, it is Aladdin's lamp—the lamp of men's minds and souls. And the Great Palace is the Palace of English Literature.

Over those doors are many names written—names never to be forgotten while the English tongue is spoken. And in that palace there is fairyland; there are giants and monsters; there are warrior heroes like Beowulf, and saintly heroes like Cuthbert; there are noble boys like Alfred; there are poets, princes, lovely ladies, little children, spirited horses, faithful dogs; there are heard the sound of singing, the playing of the harp, the beat of feet dancing, cries of gladness, cries of sorrow, the rolling of the organ, the fluting of birds, the laughter of water, and the whisper of every wind that has blown upon the fields of the world; there are seen flowers of every marvelous and starlike shape, of every rainbow hue, and jewels as shining as the lamps hanging in the Great Palace, and fruits rare and strange filling the Great Palace with sweet fragrance and color; there are rooms unlike any rooms we have ever seen before; and the years are there—nearly two thousand—numbered and made beautiful; there, too, are Wisdom and Kindness and Courage and Faith and Modesty and Love and Self-Control, coming and going hither and yon through the wide hallways or on service bent up and down the narrow corridors.

It is a Palace of Enchantment, is it not? Yes, it is a Palace of Enchantment, and I can think of no greater happiness, no stronger assurance that we shall learn how to be our best selves and to rule ourselves, no greater inspiration to be wise and kind while we are boys and girls, and when we grow up no fuller promise of a good time and many kinds of happiness and pleasure, than just to take the gate into that palace, listen to its songs and poems and stories, taste of its fruits, hold some of its flowers in our hands, grow warm in its sunshine, dream in its moonlight, and watch the fairies dance with the feet that dance there, play with its jewels, listen to the whisper of the winds that blow around the world, lay our hands in the brave hands of Love and Courage, Wisdom and Kindness, who dwell there; knock on those golden doors where we would go in and be alone; and come out again, knowing that we have won the great enchantment, which is the companionship of beautiful and imperishable story and poem, song and play.

It is a wonderful Palace of English Literature in which we shall see many marvels: the first English hero, Beowulf, and the monster Grendel; all the fortunes and misfortunes of the little, radiant-browed Welsh boy called Taliesin, the battle of the friends Cuchulain and Ferdiad, who were betrayed by the false Irish Queen Maeve; how song came to our first great English poet, C?dmon, in the cow-stall at the Monastery of Whitby (670); of the courage of a shepherd lad who had became a saint, and of even the seals who loved St. Cuthbert (seventh century); of the young Prince Alfred who won a book as a prize (849-900); of Havelok, the son of the King of Denmark, who lived with Fisherman Grim at Grimsby; of a man who was under enchantment as a wolf part of the week and whom Marie de France called a Werewolf; of all the marvels that Geoffrey of Monmouth (1147) saw from his window; and especially of the wonders which King Arthur's magician, Merlin, worked; and of the red and white dragons that came out of a drained pond; and of a famous kitchen-boy who became a great knight, and about whom Sir Thomas Malory tells one exciting adventure in the Morte d'Arthur (1469).

What boys and girls will enter the gate with me? Shall we go into the Great Palace to-day? And on what golden door shall we rap first that we may be admitted?

J. M.

South Hadley, Mass., January, 1915.