F all the poets (5 all the lovers of poetry should be asked to name the most precious of the price less things which time has wrung in tribute from the triumphs of human genius, the answer which would rush to every tongue would be the lost poems of Sappho. These we know to have been jewels of a radiance so imperishable that the broken gleams of them still dazzle men's eyes, whether shining from the two small brilliants and the hand ful of star-dust which alone remain to us, or re?ected merely from the adoration of those poets of old time who were so fortunate as to witness their full glory. For about two thousand five hundred years Sappho has held her place as not only the supreme poet of her sex, but the chief lyrist of all lyrists. Everyone who reads acknowledges her fame, con cedes her supremacy; but to all except poets and Hellenists her name is a vague and uncompre hended splendour, rising secure above a persistent mist of misconception. In spite of all that is in these days being written about Sappho, it is perhaps not out of place now to enquire, in a few words, into the substance of this supremacy which towers sounassailably secure from what appear to be such shadowy foundations.