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Stoicism teaches the four cardinal virtues for a good life, wisdom, temperance, justice and courage. As a Stoic, Seneca argued that passionate anger or grief should be moderated and he would approve of the classic stiff upper lip. Stoicism teaches that happiness is found in acceptance and by not allowing our desire for pleasure and our fear of pain to control actions. Seneca thought it was important for everyone to consider their own mortality and face up to dying, not to encourage a pessimistic attitude but to reinforce how lucky we are to be alive and live for today. Studying Stoicism can lead to reflection and philanthropy and can help us understand our place in the world and encourage us to treat others fairly and justly. As a Stoic Seneca recognised his own short-comings compared to his own role models and was always willing to learn.

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LETTERS lN CANADA, 1943 457 V. NEW-CANADIAN LETTERS WATSON KIRKCONNELL The first volume of Czech poetry to be printed in Canada was published in Montreal in April, 1943. Night on Mount Royal is the work of Captain Rudolf Nekola, member of a Czechoslovak military mission, who has recorded in verse of vigour and modernity his impressions of Canada. Strictly sp~aking, Captain Nekola is not a Canadian; but his present work, like that of the French novelist, Louis.Hemon, represents the effect of the Canadian scene on a sensitive spirit from abroad. As a book inspired by Canada and printed in Canada, it merits a place in the present survey. The volume comprises twenty-seven poems, arranged in three series: The first group, subtitled "Voyage to Canada," consists of seven poems: Liverpool, The Irish Sea, Homesickness at Sea, On Deck, A Psalm at Sea, The Convoy, The Last \Vatch. The second group, subtitled "From Sea to Sea," consists of nine poems: I Saw the Light of Halifax, Montreal, The Prairie, Maria Chapdelaine, Christmas at Quebec, Moon over the Rockies, Chinook, Vancouver, A Song from Canada. The third ~nd longest section, subtitled "Night on Mount Royal," includes eleven poems: Moon over Montreal, Saturday Evening, Sunday, Sport, Conversation, Till I Shall be Home, Serpentine in the Park, Victory, The Humble Pilgrim, Night on Mount Royal, Good-bye. In his minuscular line-headings, his free verse, his e)imination of ali punctuation except question-marks, and his frequent use of incantatory repetition , Captain Nekola is a sophisticated modern. Nevertheless, he has an eye for traditional patterns as well, and frequently uses. strictly rhymed quatrains, cinquains, sestets and octaves as stanzaforms . His impressions of Canada are interwoven with his tragic memories of Czechoslovakia. Thus, in his title-poem, the nocturnal mass of Mount Royal, rising high and dark and implacable amid the human maze of Montreal, becomes a tremendous symbol of the obstacles that stand in the very midst of the world's life today. By leaving his experiences of Canada in enduring poetic form for Canadians to appreciate, Captain Nekola has forged a permanent cultural link between our countries. Ukrainian fiction is 'represented by Volume II of Elias Kiriak's Sons of the Soil, the first volume of which was published in 1939. This work is entirely innocent of plot and novel-structure in the ordinary sense. It attempts rather to present the day-te-day life 458 THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO QUARTERLY of .a small Ukrainian community somewhere in Western Canada. The first volume (reviewed in "Letters in Canada, 1939") dealt with the first three years of the pioneer experience, without benefit of church, priest, school or physician, in a settlementeighty miles from the railway and accessible only by an old Indian trail. The adaptation of Ukrainians to life in the New World is presented through five different families of varyin.g types; and one can see both their colourful heritage of East European tradition and their versatility in facing the hard problems of the frontier. The second volume brings the iit.t1e community a stage further in its progress towards Canadianization. We watch the building of the church and the school, the coming of the first teacher, the celebration of the first Mass, the opening of the post office and the neighbourhood store. Mr Kiriak is also interested in th-e changing mor~s of the community, and shows how some of the daughters, after finding employment in a distant town, bring back innovations to the homes~ of their parents. Intermarriage enters the picture, and with it the problem of the mutual relations between Slav and Angle-Saxon in the community. Sons of the Soil is not great fiction, but it is a sociological document of real value, setting forth with interest, and even with touches of humour, the drama of human readjustment involved in the life of Ukrainian pioneers in the Canadian West. Mr Kiriak, who came to Canada in 1906 as a boy of thirteen, has lived through the whole experience and presents it in convincing detail. He received his education at the University of Alberta, and has taught school for the past twenty-five years. In...

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In a world where time is both a constant and a canvas, the collaboration between watch brands and a diverse cast of artists, individuals, sports figures - you name it has redefined the boundaries of creativity. Like the gears of a finely crafted timepiece, these partnerships turn the wheels of imagination offering a glimpse into the boundless potential when worlds collide. Together, they create something extraordinary proving that in the realm of timekeeping, the whole is far greater than the sum of its meticulously measured parts.

Louis Vuitton charts a new course, embarking on a series of collaborative timepieces with renowned independent watchmakers following the inauguration of the Louis Vuitton Watch Prize for Independent Creatives early this year. The maiden voyage begins with Atelier Akrivia, helmed by wunderkind watchmaker Rexhep Rexhepi and headlined by the horological marvel LVRR-01 Chronographe Sonnerie.

When Emerson on his second voyage to England, thirty-five years ago, passed along the southern coast of Ireland, looking with the eye of a poet on the green fields that clothed the bold headlands of Cork and Kerry, he observed: As we neared the land, its genius was felt. There lay the green shore of Ireland, like some coast of plenty. We could see towns, towers, churches, harvests; but the curse of eight hundred years we could not discern.

Now, to what extent has the Irish Church suffered in the past? Our losses for the last thirty years have been so frequently mentioned that they no longer excite either curiosity or pain. It is enough to say that the Irish Church has been shorn of half its strength during that period. It has lost half the merits that would have been accumulated in that time by a nation of saints, half the merits that would have been stored away in the treasury of Heaven, gained by the patience and the prayers, the humility and stainless purity of our people. It has lost, too, half its material strength1  half the assistance that might have been given to works of religion and charity by a people who would sacrifice their last shred of clothing or food for the honour of God and the glory of the Church. We are afraid we should scarcely be believed, if we drew from the experience of the present a picture of what Ireland would have been, had her three millions of children been spared her. With all her poverty and misery, she has spent on works of ecclesiastical architecture alone 4,000,000 in thirty years; and during that time she was afflicted with three famines that would have swept from the earth any nation not endued with her marvellous vitality. What would the Irish Church have been if the towns, now half deserted and impoverished, were filled with Catholic populations, full, of Celtic faith and generosity, carefully directed under the skilful hands of holy directors through the medium of confraternities and sodalities? What would she have been if her rich valleys teemed with life, the fruitful life of the first peasantry in the world, as Lucas used to call them? What would she have been if her schools were filled with that brave, strong, bright-hued, bright-eyed youth, who have upheld the honour of Ireland and Ireland's faith in the sanctuaries, the senates, the forums, and the exchanges of the world? What would she have been if her convents were filled with those gentle, holy children, whose innocence and simplicity shining p.605

But these figures are vague. Let us apply them. The departure of 100,000 people in twelve months, means the destruction of thirty Irish parishes  it means the annihilation of an Irish diocese! If the city of Cork, with its bright intelligent population, its wonderful charitable and educational institutions, its wealth and its public buildings, were suddenly engulfed by an earthquake, or swept to destruction by a tornado, Ireland would mourn the loss for years. Yet she suffers an equivalent loss year by year, and remains apparently unconscious of it. If twenty-five towns of the size and population of Youghal or Tipperary, or Kilkenny, were suddenly destroyed, with their inhabitants, Ireland and the world would be appalled. Yet, so far as our country and Church are concerned, we are actually suffering this pictured calamity. The student of Irish history reads with horror the attempted extermination of the Irish people by Cromwell. Eviction and emigration are doing more than Cromwellian work in our day. Such, briefly, is the extent of the depopulation that is going on at present. Now, what is its character? There is a marked difference between the emigration of 1850 and succeeding years, and the emigration of 1882. During the former period, Queenstown was thronged with a multitude of pale, panic-stricken people, flying from that awful vision of plague and famine that had haunted them night and day for three years. They made no account of the wretched vessels that were to bear them on a tedious and perilous voyage across the Atlantic. They did not reckon their chances of reaching the shores of America alive, in those dreadful hulks, justly designated coffin-ships. They felt as if escaping from a prison of death; and yet it was with tearful eyes and heavy hearts they turned from the dark masses that lined the quays, to the dark chambers and the dismal daily duties of an emigrant ship. For their future was very uncertain. They did not know what awaited them in the strange land beyond the waters. And the crowds of friends on shore shared their apprehensions and their fears. Shall we ever see them again? was the question that passed from lip to lip, as they looked and strained their eyes after the vessel, until she turned to the west, and passed from their sight beyond the headland. Then arose, day after day, in the ears of the torturedp.607 2351a5e196