If one might conceive, in the heliotrope future, any Ph. Demon so inspired as to set about compiling a list of dull books by interesting authors, one could hardly doubt that Ezra Pound's Pavannes and Divisions would be his first entry. An incredible performance! Somehow, one has had all these years (for alas, Mr. Pound's indiscretions can no longer be called the indiscretions of youth) the impression that this King-Maker among poets was quite the most mercurial of our performers. One associated with his name the deftest ofjugglery, sleights of mind without number, lightning-like tergiversatility, and a genius for finding the latest procession and leading it attired in the most dazzling of colors. Of course, Mr. Pound has himself been at some pains to encourage us in this view. As a publicist he has few equals. But surely it has not been entirely a deception ! . . . And nevertheless he comes now upon us with Pavannes and Divisions-'a collection,' says Mr. Knopf, 'of the best prose written by Mr. Pound during the last six years'-and therewith threatens, if we are not careful, to destroy our illusions about him forever.