What had been said, I asked my soul, what done, How flowed our mirth, and when the source begun. Perhaps the jest that charmed the sprightly crowd And made the jovial table laugh so loud Seed of severe distrust and fierce debate, Unhappy man! whom sorrow thus and rage Fell adders hiss and poisonous serpents roll. SEA-LORE. UP stole, creeping on the shore, Lore of many a mile-deep sea Our Beasts and our Thieves and our Chattels Blue, rising, sinking endlessly Have weight for good or for ill; But the Poor are only His image, ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. O'er depths, once mountain, plain, and tree, Now merged and sunk eternally. Lore of earthquake, storm, and flood, That swallowed, scorched, and bathed in blood; Lore of diamonds, pearls, and gold, Waves whispering of ancient lore, Lore of wrecks untold and dread; From The Eclectic Review. altogether acquit the writer of some indefiniteness in the telling of her story. We especially notice this in "The Convent Threshold; on the contrary, some of her most distinct are her devotional pieces : here is a piece. Shall we say this is in the manner of Herbert ?— I 66 6 THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE.' I bore with thee long weary days and nights, Through many pangs of heart, through many tears; bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, For three and thirty years. "Who else had dared for thee what I have I plunged the depth most deep from bliss Give thou me love for love. "For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth, MISS ROSSETTI'S GOBLIN MARKET.* WE have ever been of the number of those who speak of the rare delight and refreshment with which they have read some volumes of poems by a new or unknown hand; and the truth is, such delight is a very common happening to us. Whether it arises from our wholly inartistic nature, that we are unhappily so constituted as to be, which few critics are, easily pleased, we know not nor care to inquire, but so it is; we are much more surprised by the amaz-I ing quantity of good refreshing poetry which is produced in stray volumes, charming a few readers for an hour or two, and floating away into oblivion, than disposed to be hypercritical or indignant at the production of bad, worthless, or even feeble poetry. Doubtless there is enough of all this latter order; but what a succession there is of genuine harpers, harping with their harps. Here, in Miss Rossetti's volume, is a volume of really true poetry. That critics may find sundry imperfections here and there in conception or expression is very likely. Critics are always perfect, and the sum of every attribute in their own being, and not less in the artist faculty by which they are able to represent their almightiness. Criticisms, therefore, are, by ordinary mortals, to be expected, and it will ever be the case that the extraordinary creature will treat the ordinary with very considerable torture and flagellation. We do not know that Miss Rossetti has been treated with any measure of critical unfairness. Certainly there is the manifestation of very deep powers in her little volume; it is of quite a singular type, and many of the pieces beside the first have the atmosphere of goblin kingdom about them. No doubt the influence of Tennyson on the mind of the author "I bore thee on my shoulders and rejoiced: Men only marked upon my shoulders borne I, "A thief upon my right hand and my left; "Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down So did I win a kingdom,―share my crown; But, of course, as our readers turn to the may be suspected; but of positive disciple- volume they will learn to expect in every ship and imitation, there is no trace. The piece a certain mystical atmosphere. The volume has very decided character and following is suffused in a very rich haze of originality, both in theme and treatment; befitting expression :— it is also a volume upon which many readers would pronounce a very hasty verdict-of rubbish, perhaps, unless themselves gifted in some measure with that faculty of insight into the occult and dark which is not always possessed even by true poets: nor can we Goblin Market and other Poems. By Christina Rossetti. Macmillan & Co. Surely, He is not far to seek '-'All night we watch and rise.' The days are evil looking back, the coming days are dim; Yet count we not his promise slack, but watch and wait for him.' "One with another, soul with soul, they kindle fire from fire: "But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. "Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? "Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Will there be beds for me and all who seek? If the reader were now to lay down this little volume, he would still leave unread some of the most original and distinctive verses. "Goblin Market "-we know not how to describe or characterize it-is as wild as if some vision of Grimm, or Tieck, or Andersen had found its way to the author's eyes and verse; it is a perfect little fairy gem; in verse remarkably fresh and "There no more parting, no more pain, the dis-free, and happily in unison. Very likely 'Friends watch us who have touched the goal.' With Christ. They sweet, but he most sweet, tant ones brought near, The lost so long are found again, long lost but longer dear: Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, nor heart conceived that rest, With them our good things long deferred, with Jesus Christ our Best. some readers will say, What is it all about? "Out of the church she followed them "Son Thomas,' his lady mother said, "Your father thirty years ago Had just your tale to tell; "My lord was pale with inward strife, "Here's my half of the golden chain "Here's my half of the faded leaves We plucked from budding bough, With feet amongst the lily leaves,The lilies are budding now.' "He strove to match her scorn with scorn, He faltered in his place: " Lady,' he said,- Maude Clare,' he said,'Maude Clare: '-and hid his face. "She turned to Nell: 'My Lady Nell, I have a gift for you; Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone, Or were it flowers, the dew. "Take my share of a fickle heart, Mine of a paltry love: Take it or leave it as you will, I wash my hands thereof.' "And what you leave,' said Nell, 'I'll take, "Yea, though you're taller by the head, One of the finest and most sustained poems in the volume is entitled "From House to Home." There is a manner in it which perhaps reminds us of "The House of Sin," or "The Dream of Fair Women," but it is distinctly itself in intention and art; and, indeed, is a very true poem, descriptive of that perfection which comes by suffering. Take these verses : "My love no more,' I muttered stunned with pain: I shed no tear, I wrung no passionate hand, Till something whispered, You shall meet "Then life swooned from me. And I heard the song Of spheres and spirits rejoicing over me: One cried,' Our sister, she hath suffered long.' One answered, Make her see.' Her eyes are opened, and in the opening a revelation : "I saw a vision of a woman, where Night and new morning strive for domination; Incomparably pale, and almost fair, "Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem, Were stately like the stars, and yet were tender; Her figure charmed me like a windy stem * * * * "One cried, "How long? yet founded on the Rock She shall do battle, suffer, and attain.' One answered, Faith quakes in the tempest shock: Strengthen her soul again.' "I saw a cup sent down and come to her Brim full of loathing and of bitterness: She drank with livid lips that seemed to stir The depth, not make it less. "But as she drank I spied a hand distil New wine and virgin honey: making it First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until She tasted only sweet. "Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young; Drinking she sang, My soul shall nothing want;' And drank anew: while soft a song was sung, A mystical slow chant. "One cried, The wounds are faithful of a friend: The wilderness shall blossom as a rose.' One answered, 'Rend the veil, declare the end, Strengthen her ere she goes.' * * * "They stood together in the blessed noon, They sang together through the length of Each loving face bent sunwards like a moon "Therefore, O friend, I would not if I might "Therefore in patience I possess my soul; Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face, To pluck down, to build up again the wholeBut in a distant place. "These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them; This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet : My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem, My heart remembers it. "I lift the hanging hands, the feeble kneesI, precious more than seven times molten gold ON THE DEGREES OF COMPARISON. Grammarians have explained to us how adjectives in the comparative and superlative forms express, in a greater and the greatest degree, the quality of the positive; as from long we have longer and longest; meaning more long and most long. But they have omitted to point out that smaller number of adjectives whose comparative and superlative forms express the quality in a less and the least degree. These, as usual with words unexplained, they call irregular. As examples we have in English, bad, better, best; or, less bad, least bad. In Latin we have malus, melior; or bad, less bad; pius, pejor, pessimus, or good, less good, least good. In some cases the adjective forms its comparative and superlative in both ways with the two meanings. Thus in Latin we have magnus, major, maximus; and also magnus, minor, minimus. In Greek we have μεγας, μείζων, μεγιστος ; and also μεγας, μειων, μειστος. Of these two forms the latter is at least as regular as the former, though less usual. Possibly we might add to these parvus, plus, plurimus, and worthy, worse, worst. A little industry would no doubt produce other instances out of other languages. It would be difficult to trace the change in the human mind which has led us now not to form comparatives and superlatives in this the less usual way. But in the formation of our prepositions we may trace a process of reasoning nearly akin to this now pointed out. Thus STEEL SHOT.-The Americans have been making steel shot with apparently the most successful results. Indeed, theoretically, the greater density and hardness of steel ought to give it a highly superior penetrating power over iron plates, and it would almost seem that in this adaptation they have taken a step in advance of our English experiments. At the proving ground on the Alleghany a number of elongated steel 24-pound shots have been tried against heavy iron plates. The steel balls penetrated the massive target, tearing and shattering the plates at every discharge, whilst the cast-iron balls broke in fragments on striking, and scarcely made an indentation. The steel balls were scarcely injured by the concussion, the points of them only giving way. From these experiments, if the effects are correctly stated, it would seem probable that no iron armor plating would resist steel shot fired from large and appropriate ordnance.-London Review. |