CURRENT LITERATURE.
POETELY.-21. Century of Emblems. By G. S. Cautley. (Macmillan and Co.)—This quiet book, with its Queen-Anne garb and its lovely little tail-pieces, is just the thing to lay on the tables of the rooms with high mantel-shelfe, windows in deep embrasures, adorned with Persian rugs and wonderful plates ad libitum, which are now the fashion. A lounger in such a room would be none the worse, but we might hope, considerably the better for such morsels of mental food, as are here supplied. The "bivalves" at the end are the only part of which we can give specimens :—
"BOOKS.
Books I prefer. for when not to my mind I shut them up ; not so with human-kind."
" OANDOUR.
You speak out what you think, I hear you boast : To think out what you speak, would profit most."
ORIGINALITY.
A dexterous following is admired by all, But few dare praise the brave original."
"OBSCURE SPECULATION.
If 'tools rush in where angels fear to tread,' When wise men follow, what Is to be said?"
Sate-Lova.
Monimia's constancy we all must feel; She loves herself, and is as true as steeL" Marie de Pontoise, and other Poems. By J. Puntis. (W. Poole.)— The longest poem in the book is the history of the tragic portion of a lovikg lady's life, but even the interest of her sad story cannot glorify this setting of it, so destitute does it seem to be of either the outward form or the inward fire of true poetry. Amongst the shorter pieces, there is but one, "My Simple Friend," which has a redeeming touch of pathos in it.—Becket : the Story of his Quarrel with Henry II. Dramatised from the old Chroniclers. By C. T. Winter. (Remington and Co.)—This short drama includes, strictly speaking, what its title promises,—only the quarrel of Becket with the King, and hardly the whole of that. For dramatic purposes, we should think it would have been well to include the previous courtier- life and period of intimate friendship with the King, and also the penance of the royal master and canonisation of the rebellious sub- ject. There would have been then some scope for action, which, as it is, is limited entirely to the tragedy with which it concludes. The author believes not only in the sincerity of Becket, but also in his simple devotion to the cause of Christ on earth, the only mistake, he thinks, consisting in Becket's desire to have the clergy exempt from ordinary legal jurisdiction, and with this view all the speeches put into his month are quite in harmony. Considering the char- acter attributed to the murderers, their language strikes us as singularly mild. Notwithstanding the interest of the subject, we fear there is scarcely life enough in this poem for it to take the place a good historical drama ought to hold in the estimation of readers, even if unsuitable for acting. We therefore abstain from noting a few halting lines and grammatical inaccuracies which spoil the generally good language. Persons deeply intent on the eccle- siastical problem here worked out will not observe them, and few others will care for the book.—Poems. By W. T. Washburn. Vol. II. (Jesse Haney and Co., New York.)—We have here a renewed effort of this American writer, and it is with regret we observe that if it does not fall below, it certainly does not rise above, his former level, which was, in our estimation, by no means worthy of the grand young country and already respectable literature to which he belongs.
In Stones of England, Westminster Abbey, by Wimsett Boulderg (Bemrose and Sons), we have a thoroughly patriotic Englishman's poetical history of Westminster Abbey, dedicated to its Dean. There is historical accuracy and refined and even vigorous feeling in this book. The writer's sympathies are with his subject, but even when the fine old Abbey forms a background in our vision, the imagination fails to be excited as it should be by a true poem and the name of The Stones of England reminds one unfortunately of "The Stones of Venice," that poem in prose. Still, it is not given to every conscious poet to be an unconscious one, and though we prefer the latter, every one may not.—Legends of the Morrow. By Thomas Gordon Hake. (Chatto and Windus.)—The admirers of Dr. Hake's poetry will re- joice in this new volume, but for ourselves, though we allow that legends are generally obscure, it certainly interferes greatly with the enjoyment of poems when the mental vision feels a continual gossamer mist before it hindering the clearness and distinctness of sight with which one likes to appreciate beauty. Not that all should be revealed— by no means—but there should be no painful groping after meanings and allusions. There is nothing of this kind to regret in the little poem called "Flowers on the Bank," which is very pretty.— Carntina Regia, and other Songs of the Heart, by Edwin Charles Wrenford (Hodder and Stoughton), and Hopefully Waiting (David Bryce and Sons, Glasgow), are both rather more books of hymns than of poems. The first, very sumptuously got up, and dedicated to the Queen, is, we presume, entirely original ; the last is a small compila- tion, containing, amongst many inferior productions, a few gems which would soothe and cheer a listener in a sick-room.
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