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Rh the hands of men who use them almost wholly to produce misery and crush out whatever is excellent and spontaneous or individual. Unless the champions of humanism rouse themselves to enter the practical world and make themselves masters of the new powers, their cause is doomed.

It is possible, however, that this outlook is mistaken, and that the serpent may be charmed by sweet songs. Men may grow weary of strenuous futility; the ideal of "efficiency" may lose its appeal. If so, what is most needed is to set forth persuasively the conception of life as an art. The Dance of Life does this with great charm; every page is interesting, and the author has our sympathy throughout. May his words, and those of men who feel as he does, prove potent beyond our expectation.