MRS. WEBSTER'S ':PORTRAITS." * To those who are interested in

women's work in literature the name of Augusta Webster must be familiar. Her trans- lations of Greek tragedies are well known, as are also her numerous volumes of poems and plays. One of these volumes, entitled Portraits, was first published by Messrs. Macmillan in 1870. A second edition quickly followed, and now, after a lapse of twenty-three years, a third and somewhat enlarged and altered edition has appeared. It consists of monologues written in blank-verse rather after the manner of Robert Browning's A Death in the Desert. In these dramatic studies Mrs. Webster has kept for the most part at a very high level, and shown great ability in bringing out the special character- istics of each personality. We find a power of analysing, a subtlety of insight, and, above all, a great depth of feeling.

Indeed, earnestness might be said to be the prevailing note of Mrs. Webster's work.

The contents of this book consist, for the most part, in studies of the different ways in which the struggle against doubt and despair assail different kinds of minds. The troubled hearts and restless spirits in such pieces as "A Soul in Prison," " A Castaway," An Inventor," are among the most strongly drawn. In "A Soul in Prison" Mrs. Webster shows a very clear perception of that inly aching sorrow, that weariness and wretchedness experienced by a mind that gropes painfully in darkness or uncertain light. The misery of doubt is shown forcibly in the following lines :— "Why will you not divine

The fathomless sorrow of doubt ? Why not divine The yearning to be lost from it in love ?

And who doubts wholly ? That were not to doubt.

* Portraits, Ay Augusta W.,i.Aer. Third Edition. Lenclon and Now York ; Macmillan nod CO. 1(03.

Doubt's to be ignorant, not to deny

Doubt's to be wistful af,er perfect faith.

You will not think that: you come not to us To ask of us, who know doubt, what doubt is, But one by one you pass the echoes on, Each of his own pulpit, each of all the pulpits, And in the swelling sound can never catch The tremulous voice of doubt that wails in the cold.

, . ..... • Oh teachers, teach us, you who have been taught ; Learn for us, you who have learned how to learn ; We jostling, jostled, through the market world Where our work lies, lack breathing space, lack calm, Lack skill, lack tools, lack heart, lack everything, For your work of the studies.

Too bold, too bold.

Would I had been appeased with the earth's wont

Of helpful sunbeams bringing down

Only so much heaven's light as may be borne,— Heaven's light enough for many a better man

To see his (led by. Well, but it is done: Never in any day shall I now be As if I had not gazed and seen strange lights Swim amid darknesses against the sky.

Never and, when I dream as if I saw,

'Tis dreaming of the sun, and, when I yearn,

Not for the sight I had in happier days, But for the eagle's strong gaze at the sun."

" The Castaway" is the tale of a fallen woman, who works out for herself with hard, unflinching logic the simple facts of her life. It is not pleasant reading, but for directness and forcibleness of reasoning it is unsurpassed in the book. Looking at the ninny types of character here drawn, we are struck with the variety to be found, and the way each individual one stands out. The majority of these poems portray minds in moments of discouragement; but there are a few bright exceptions. These musings on the " might- have.beens " of life tend inevitably to give rather a mournful tone to the book ; but a lighter note is struck occasionally, as in "The Happiest Girl in the World," "The Dilettante," and others. The first is a charming idyll of a young girl's love- story, prettily told.

Mrs. Webster has a real love of Nature. Numberless little scenes in the book are drawn with delicacy and feeling.

The following passage on the beauty of Nature is a fair specimen:— " And beauty is our lesson : for, look there,

That exquisite curve and cluster of rich leaves, Emerald and shadow, in that patch of sun, What is it but a nettle ? And that knoll Of woven green, where all fantastic grace Of shaggy stems and lush and trailing shoots, And all a thousand delicate varied tints, Are mingled in a wanton symmetry, What is it but a thorn and bramble copse ?

And that far plain, on which through all the day. Change still grows lovelier, and every cloud Makes different softer dimness, every light Another coloured glory, what is it?

A desolate barren waste, marshland, or moor.

And in some other moment, when the rain Spurts greyly downwards on the soddening fields, Or the dark autumn fog veils leaden skies, Or the keen, baleful east winds nip the bloom Of frightened spring with bleak and parching chills,

The waste, the thorns, the nettle, each would seam Cursed with the unloveliness of evil things.

So beauty comes and goes."

This collection of latter-day thought is headed by two pieces, Greek in subject and in feeling, which stand apart from the rest of the book. The study of Greek tragedies has enabled Mrs. Webster to realise in a striking manner the chief characteristics of Greek thought, fatalism and super- stition. The shadow of the Rrinnyes hangs over Medea as she muses over her past life, recalled to her by the news of Jason's death. There is something very touching, as well as curious, in the line of thought that is here depicted :— "Dead, is he P Yes, our stranger guest said dead— Said it by noonday, when it seemed a thing Most natural and so indifferent,

As if the tale ran that an hour ago

There died a man I had talked with a chance hour When he, by chance, was near me. If I spoke Good news for us, but ill news for the dead, When the gods sweep a villain down to thorn,' 'Twas a prompt trick of words, like a pat phrase From someone other's song found on one's lips, And used because 'tis there ; for through all day The news seemed neither. good nor ill to me. .

And now when day, with all it3 useless talk, And useless smiles and idiots' prying eyes

•

That impotently poor into one's life, When day, with all its seemly lying shows, Has gone its way, and left pleased fools to sleep, While weary Mummers, taking off the mask, Discern that face themselves forgot anon, And, sitting in the lap of sheltering night, Learn their own secrets from her—even now Does it seem either good or ill to me P

No; but mere strange. And this most strange of all, That I care nothing."

In looking thrOugh these poems we are very much struck with the unevenness to be found in them. This unevenness is to be noticed not only between one poem and another, but also between the different parts of the same poem. We also regret to notice a great carelessness about making the lines scan. This fault recurs incessantly. To keep for long in blank-verse at a high standard in both form and matter, is a task that has taxed the powers of the greatest poets ; but to leave such lines as the following :— "The time I got the germ and ringingest lines," and-

" Old grammar shot with daring grammarlossness,"

—is unpardonable. It is not poetry. The right to coin words in poetry has been often debated; but we do not think Mrs. Webster has been happy in those she has invented. We do not think the English language is the better for having such words as " accessless," " blindling," "sundown," added to it ; and the constant use of verbs for adjectives, as, for example, "drowsed languor" and "battling phrases," is so nnnecessary. What is a "filmed sight" ?

in spite of the many thoughtful and beautiful passages to be found in this book, and in spite of Mrs. Webster's un- doubted abilities, we cannot help feeling a little disappointed when we consider it as a whole. Certain parts are undoubtedly fine, but the rest do not come up to the level of her other works. The pages which deal with modern problems deal in a rather limited manner with them, and we feel irritated with those people who think carefully and seriously, to a certain extent, but do not go far enough. The problems which vex them have occupied the " thinking " world for half-a- century. The fight for freedom of thought in religious matters is now ended ; and though this collection was first published twenty-three years ago, the fight was then nearly over. Intolerance, alas ! has not vanished ; but the decay of cant and formalism is one of the chief results of the past struggle. There is no reason to gird at orthodox people on that score now.

From those whose admiration for Mrs. Webster's work makes them look upon her as Mrs. Browning's successor, we must differ. As Carlyle says, "the degree of vision that dwells in a man is the correct measure of the man," and in this volume we miss the "larger vision, ampler air" of the dead poetess.

We miss that upward lift of the heart, that deeply religious feeling, which give such . intensity • and beauty to her work.

Mrs. Webster is not Browning's successor; but she takes a high rank among modern singers for the earnestness and depth of feeling which, as we said before, are the chief characteristics of her work.