SOME BOOKS OF THE WEEK.
[ruder this heading we notice such Books of the week as have not been reserved for review in other forms.]
Book of Scottish Verse. Edited by T. F. Henderson. (Methuen and Co. ls. Gd. net.)—The earliest piece in this volume dates back, it is said, to the death of Alexander III. in 1285 ; among the latest is Allan Cunningham's " Bonnie Lady Ann," a curiously senti- mental little ballad, of what we may call the sham pastoral kind. Here are some characteristic verses :- " The morning cloud is tossed we gowd, Like my love's broidered cap ;
An' on the mantle which my love wears Are mony a gowden drop.
Her bonnie eebree's a holie arch, Cast by no earthlie hate - An' the breath o' God's atreen the lips 0' my bonnie Lady Ann!"
If the earliest poem really belongs to the thirteenth century, its form must have been much changed. A less doubtful " antique" is James I.'s " Chrystis Kirk of the Green." Doubtless the most important contributor is William Dunbar. There are thirteen of his poems, beginning with the famous " Lament of the Makaris," with its well-known burden, " Timor Mortis conturbat me." Among the other writers are Alexander Scott, Alexander Mont- gomerie, Allan Ramsay, Burns, Walter Scott (whose " Bonnie Dundee" may be matched with any), and James Hogg. Some of the finest things, as " Fair Helen of Kirkconnel," are anonymous. The collection is a remarkably interesting one. The glossary is conveniently furnished in footnotes.—Another anthology is Flowers of the Cave, compiled and edited by Laurie Magnus, M.A., and Cecil Headlam, B.A. (W. Blackwood and Sons, 5s.) The title may need some explanation, and, indeed, it is not a very happy one, for flowers do not grow in caves. It means, then, the thoughts of consolation and hope that are called forth by death. These are in both prose and verse, and gathered from many sources, old and new, Hebrew, Greek, and Roman. It is not easy to judge of such a collection as a whole. We may say, however, that we have not come across any passage that we would wish away, though we may have thought of some that might well be present. (The fine passage of Colonel Newcome's death is here ; why not that by which it was probably suggested, " The Death of Leather-Stocking " in Fenimore Cooper's " Pioneers" ?) Among the classical extracts is the letter of con- solation addressed to Cicero on the death of Tullis by his friend Ser. Sulpicius Rufus. (Why " Pyrmus," we may ask the editors, who are responsible for the translation.) Next to it comes Propertius's beautiful letter of " Cornelia to Paullus " in Paley's translation, fairly good, but not good enough for the Latin at its best. " In greeting, with dry cheeks your grief disguise " is but a poor equivalent for the pathetic "Cum venient siccis °sculls falle genis." Could not some better versions of Horace have been found than the poor work of Dr. Francis ? We miss the noble ending of the Agricola, " Si gills piorum manihus locus." A feature of the volume is a French section, in which Victor Hugo naturally occupies a prominent place.—Yet another anthology is The Jubilee Book of Canterbury Rhymes, edited by 0. C. J. Alpers (Whitcombe and Tombs, Christchurch, N.Z., and London). " Canterbury," it should be understood, is Canterbury in New Zealand, and the volume before us modestly asks for "a welcome only on Canterbury soil and from Canterbury men and women." As, however, it has somehow found its way to us, an outside opinion may be welcomed. There aro nine contributors to the volume. Mr. C. C. Bowen, one of the original " Canterbury Pilgrims," is among them. He has had a distinguished career in the Colony. Another is Mr. Reeves, now Agent-General, who has had much to do in shaping the " labour " legislation of New Zealand. His, we think, is the surest literary touch in all the company. Not far off we should place Miss Jessie Mackay, who is a native of Canterbury. " The Grey Company," the men " before the picneers,," the men who scarcely knew- " Ere the day they perished
That their beacon-star Was not glint of marsh light In the shadows far "—
is good ; so is "The Passing of Macphail" ; while " Sydney " has some rich local colour. Here is the first stanza :-
" And she—the crimson flowers are on her hair, A Southern coronet of torrid glows ; kfer full lips murmur to the languid air Songs of repose."
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