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"TILE MAT QUEEN."
Our readers will remember that, some years ago, we claimed their admiration for a delightful book of sketches, called A Children's Summer, ,f.- from the pencil of E. V. B., whose earlier and charming production, Child's Play, had won for her distinguished recognition as an artist. Those who are familiar with these graceful representations of the divinity and poetry of childhood will rejoice to learn that E. V. B. has recently devoted her genius to the illustration of Tennyson's poem, The May Queen.
Of our living artists who have dared pictorial interpretation of our Poet Laureate's verse, there are some whose success justifies their lofty aims; and might we be allowed to select, from the volume before us, those illustrations only which sustain the beauty and sentiment of the poem, and are conceived and executed with the truth, tenderness, and grace, which characterize her delineations of home affections, and of childhood's ideal life, we should unhesitatingly class E. V. B. with these true readers of the poet's thought. We speak thus confidently only of the choicest among the illustrations. From the first division of the poem
we would not spare a single picture. They are all beautiful in their quiet reality, in their love, and joy, and tenderness ; though we could have imagined the " Queen o' the May" with a more radiant face, in- toxicated with the anticipated delight of " the maddest merriest day," not quite so calm as in the rather Dutch representation of " You must
wake and call me early-call me early, mother, dear." Kate and Caro-
line, with their canary and their tame fluttering pigeons, are pretty vil- lage girls, at a cottage window ; Caroline sorrowful, and scarce believing
that " Of many a black black eye none is so bright" as hers, the chosen " Queen o' the May." The third picture is perfect in its repose. The Queen of the morrow is tranced in sleep, under the soft moonlight streaming through the lattice, and revealing every detail of cottage slumber ; not forgetting the crowning wreath suspended above the sleeper, and the lilies creeping round-the evident objects of her dreams who slept " so sound all night." The drawing of Robin is less finished; but we see him there pensive and sad, leaning on a wall covered with creepers of Nature's own dis- posing, till startled, by the coquetish, exulting Queen o' the May, who "ran by him without speaking like a flash of light," he turns his wistful eyes to Alice in the distance. The young Queen, circled with flowers and wreathing garlands, under the trees ; the little Effie at her knee, who shades her dazzled eyes from the bright and blinding sun ; the mother in the rustic ivy-covered porch, with her springing baby in her arms ; are figures drawn with much grace, and tell the story of the poem. But of all the gems of the book, the little herald of the New Year, sitting among the ferns, and wrapping his snow white limbs in his downy feathery wings, to protect him from the wintry blast, is the most elmming. The companion of this vignette, "May," with its "crown of flowers," is scarcely less lovely; the leg is exquisitely moulded, though the arm is of more doubtful drawing. We pass over some of the sadder scenes without comment, feeling sure that in one or two instances, the engraving has not given expression to the intended sentiment, and has marred the features ; in "the last sun- set," and in "the telling of the sign," which ought to have been beau- tiful. But the picture of the mother's embrace of her dying daugh- ter, set in a framework of snowdrops, illustrating the line, " You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me are I go," is unspeakably touching and rich in artistic beauty. Still more touching is the drawing of the mother "sitting in the house," and her daughter Alice no longer there. The desolate silent chamber, the mother's attitude, little Effie on her stool restrained and quiet, the black cat sitting upright close to the dying embers, the covered bird-cage, the cold moonlight casting shadows on the floor ; the whole tale of death is here, and needs no further illustra- tion. Why have we the shadowy corpse in the churchyard, and those unmeaning angels ; why is the mother's deep gaze into the highest heaven, so calm and so resigned, spoiled by the ghost "she does not see ?" We turn with delight from these sad mistakes, to a sketch re- calling the artist's earlier drawings. Little Effie is training her sister's favourite rose-bush, her sleek purring cat her now sole companion, sit- ting on the window-sill. Equally happy is the picture of the children gathering wild flowers in the valley ; the flowers that Alice used to
pluck. In the vignettes of violets and rosebriars, the convolvulus and the wild strawberry, there is true poetical feeling, especially in the frag- ment of larch, whose barren branches sustain the now withered wreath of the Queen o' the May.
The imaginative, and symbolical illustrations are of unequal merit. In some, the realization attempted, falls sadly short of the grandeur of con-
ception indicated, as in " the Angels call in the wild March wind ; " and " When the night and morning meet." In others, painful failure and poverty of conception are exhibited, as in " The end of the new year." " The Crucifixion," and " The Angel of Death." We should deem the book far more perfect without these though we would not part with "The Late Lighted Lamp," however willingly we would cover over the in- quiring face and hands in the background. We also greatly admire the closing illustration, the saintly figure floating away into space, "to lie within the light of God." These last are striking and artistic, and em- body deep religious feeling.
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