We have received a fragmentary and—alas !--painfully self-laudatory Autobiography of
John Payne, with preface and annotations by Mr. Thomas Wright (Thomas Wright, Olney, near Bedford. 15s.). The pen drawings by Mr. Jones are excellent, the photographs of the drab houses in which Payne translated the Arabian Nights and Hap, remind us rather . of The Pines, Putney, where a greater than Payne was at work. But Payne was a great minor poet, a pilgrim of " the spiritual Alpiands of the Vedanta." Except for the illustrations, we would wish that this little book had never seen the light of day, so that we could preserve our ideal of him who wrote (it might have been of himself instead of Ittflz) : ". Ye, who bear the royal blazon of a heart afire with grief, Hearken, hearken to my calling, for I proffer you relief. See my hands are full of jewels from the len& beyond the tomb, -Here be pearls of perfect passion from the middle dreamland's • womb."
However, it is something to find that there are illusions still to shatter in one's. middle age. -
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