A Pocket of Pebbles. By William Philpot. (Macmillan.)—In spite of
the modest title, claiming no special brilliancy or value, which Mr. Philpot gives to his apophthegms, reflections, and moralisings, his book is one which excites expectations that are not easy to satisfy. In this case, ;such expectations are further raised by the admirable preface which Mr. Philpot has written. This is so good, that it is scarcely censure to say that we find nothing equal to it in the book itself ; and yet that the preface should be the best part of the book, is not as it should be, Yet there are grace, scholarship, fooling, and piety in these three hundred and seventy-five fragments of philosophy and fancy, rhymed and in prose. We quote one, not for any spooial excellence of form, but for the interest which it will have for many readers :—
'[To THE DINNER-TAMA Or THE AGED MOTHER OP THE OGNINGTONS.] Thou fine-grained square, whose Una of ebony
Our handmaids chafe to radiance as of old, How many faces of the past in thee
My tranee-fed soul is bending to behold I
What polished quips, what fruits of thought, what glee,
What clear-cut tales thy mirror might unfold;
Thy memory might upserve what pleasantry Of genial gossip, were the store outrolled ; I see the same bright ball above thee shine, Whose imago then thy magic glass down-took, The lamp that fit those lineaments, divine Because on ;Testes face, we trust, they look :—
As the moon, clear-set in yon heavenly land,
Repeats herself far down in sea-left sand."
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