CURRENT LITERATURE.
There is still a gleaning to be gathered up of "Christmas Books," or books which may be conveniently described by this title ; which, like the shooting stars, appear occasionally throughout the year, but make their great display periodically. Loyalty makes us give the first place to a stately volume, The Duke of Edinburgh in Ceylon. By John Capper. (Provost.)—The author describes it as "a book of elephant and elk sport," and this is certainly the best part of the book. The ceremonies, receptions, salutes, and all the formalities by which royal dukes are made to pay for their grandeur are tiresome enough to read about ; but 'the scenes in the "kraals," men and their subject allies, the tame elephants, matched with the wild herd which they are seeking to subdue, are very exciting. The gigantic wild " Walter " in the first of the two narratives who rents his anemic% and stands triumphant till the cowardly aid of the rifle is called in against him especially excites our sympathies. There are some illustrations which are interesting, that of " Adam's Peak " is particularly so, but which do not call for farther praise.—Little Rosy's Picture-Book (Seeley) gives twenty-four coloured illustrations ; charming little drawings of children, birds, beasts, &c., from the fertile pencil of Lorenz Frolich.— flout/edge's Album for Children, by Mrs. Charles Heaton (Routledge), offers an abundant supply of amuse- ment and instruction to the young people for whom it is intended. Oar attention has been called to the price, and in estimating books of this kind, indeed, in estimating most books, the price is an element which ought not to be left out of the calculation. Not to depart too far from the common etiquette of criticism, we will content ourselves with saying that the children may get five capital pictures,—we need not say any- thing farther on the score of their excellence, than that they are done by the pencils of Birket Foster, John Gilbert, J. E. Millais, J. Wolf, J. B. Zwecker,—five capital pictures, each with its page of appropriate letter-press, for every penny that is spent upon the book, and the pennies are not so many as would be required to go to the pantomime.—Little Pussy Willow, by Mrs H. B. Stowe (Sampson Low and Co.), is a charming little story, which has the charm for English readers of unfamiliar scenes and manners— of the life of a New England maiden ; how she got her pot name from the "pussy willow," a tree which puts forth its buds at the earliest sunshine of the year, and made good her right to it by being the cheeriest, blithest, most contented of creatures ; how she made her home and all her belongings happy ; and finally, was the salvation of a languid fine lady from New York, whom Dr. Hardback, blunt physician whom it was the fashion to consult, sends to the farmhouse as her only chance of health.—The Boy is Grey, by Henry Kingsley (Strahan), is a book that has puzzled us. It may possibly be the case, by some rule of contraries, that a book which a grown-up person does not understand is a good book for children, and we must confess to not having understood The Boy in Grey. Sometimes indeed, in reading it we saw light. Sometimes it was quite plain that Mr. Kingsley meant to talk nonsense, and for such nonsense as he can talk when he pleases, grandly outrageous, we have, it need scarcely be said, the highest respect. Sometimes, on the other hand, it was quite plain that he meant to talk sense ; as, for instance, here, about one of the birthday presents of Prince Philareto "Next be had a box of French soldiers, each three inches high, exactly like life. There were I don't know how many of these beautiful wooden soldiers, and the band of the little army was mounted on a musical box like a triumphal arch, inside of which was a barrel with two tunes, 'Pedant pour la Syria,' and the Marseillaise ;' and when you wound it up you never knew which it was going to play next, which was great fun,—to folks at a distance."
That is good satire, but what about the children ? So when the Prince is journeying down the Minneseewahaha, or River of Happy Recollec- tions, we can understand why he should see Maggie and Torn Tulliver and Colonel Crawley and Elsie Veinier; but than it is not every child, thank Heaven! though they are admirable books, that has read "The Mill on the Floss," and "Vanity Fair," and Mr. Holmes' weird tale of the "Snake Maiden." But there are things in the book of which we do not know whether they are sense or nonsense, and The Boy in Grey himself is among them. The King of Topsy-Tu'vy, by Arthur Lillie (Tinsley), is another book in which the author means to write nonsense—we need scarcely explain that this word means something very admirable, but difficult of attainment—and sometimes succeeds, but often sinks into sense and satire. Satire Is evidently the thing which the writers of children's books must most earnestly strive to avoid.—The Story of Captain Cook's Three Voyages round the World, told by Mr. Jones (Cassell and Co.), is a good book. The voyages of Cook, notwithstanding the vast variety of travels and adventures which have been described since his day, still retain a fresh interest, and Mr. Jones gives the narrative with a skill which we have had occa- sion more than once to praise.—The Story of Madge and the Fairy Content, by Blanchard Jerrold (J. C. Rotten), is a story somewhat after the manner of the "Christmas Carol," in which "The Fairy Content" carries the discontented Madge, a housemaid, who thinks that masters and mistresses have by far too much the best of things, and shows her how many people are worse off than she is, people, for instance, who bring the metal out of mines, make sugar, and so forth. But is it not happily an anachronism to make her nee Russian serfs bringing wag- gons of corn for exportation 2—With this we may class Autobiographies of a Lump of Coal, &c., by Annie Carey (Cassell and Co.), a little book which sufficiently explains its object, the imparting of useful knowledge in a pleasant form, by its title. —The Mere.hant's Sermon, rte., by L. B. Walford (Edmonston and Douglas), is a volume of very modest appear- ance, which deserves more than the brief notice for which we can find space. The four tales which it contains aro all pleasant and spirited little stories, the last of them, " Dolly Spanker's Green Feather," really admirable. We must protest against a way our tale-writers seem to be getting into,—the consoling a man who has been jilted by the mother by making him marry the daughter. —My New Suit, and other Tales, by H. A. F. (W. W. Gardner), is a volume of good little stories. Against Fairy Tales and Fables, by Miss Crompton (W. W. Gardner), we have no objection to make, except that "The Ugly Duckling" is not common property, which, like the "White Cat," may be appropriated without acknowledgment.—Brown, Tones, and Robinson, edited by Anthony Trollope (Smith, Elder, and Co.), is the reprint of an amusing story which appeared some time ago in the Cornhill. Many of our readers will remember how "Mr. Brisket did not see his way."
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