—Epigrams of Art, Life, and Nature. By William Watson. (Gilont
and Walmesley, Liverpool.)—Here there are Some really vigorous and sprightly things. We do not agree with all his judgments about men and things. It sounds very fine, for instance, to say, "the sole uncleanness is a lie." Lying is an unclean thing, doubtless, but there is a sadly numerous company of other things also unclean which a book of some authority we hope in Mr. Watson's eyes enumerates. But we will not dwell on points of difference, but rather, having been condemned to wade through a quantity of wearisome writing, give ourselves and our readers some- thing better as a bonne.bouche
ON LONGFELLOW'S DEATH.
"No puissant singer he, whose silence grieves
To-day the great West's tender heart and strong; No singer vast of voice yet one who leaves His native air the sweeter for his song."
"Love, like a bird, bath perch'd upon a spray For thee and me to hearken what he sings. Contented, he forgets to fly away; But hush remind not Eros of his wings."
"A MAIDEN'S EPITAPH.
"She dwelt among us till the flowers, 'tis said, Grew jealous of her, with precipitate feet, As loth to wrong them unawares, she fled. Earth is less fragrant now, and heaven more sweet."
"ON SUCH A NIGHT.'
"On such a night as this, pale Hero found, By the blown waters, the world's sweetness drown'd. And all was woe beneath the moonbeam, save The innumerable laugh of leagues of wave."
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