Were Anthony Trollope and George Eliot
   Alive—­which unfortunately they are not—­
   As regards the subject of ‘quack-snubbing,’ you know,
   To support me I am sure they hadn’t been slow—­
   For they, too, hated the wretched parasite
   That fattens on the freshest, the most bright
   Of the blossoms springing from the—­Public Press!—­
   And that oft are flowers that even our quacks should bless!

(1) Poor Folks’ Lives.  By the Rev. Frederick Langbridge. (Simpkin, Marshall and Co.)

(2) Pictures in the Fire.  By George Dalziel. (Privately Printed.)

(3) Women Must Weep.  By Professor F. Harald Williams. (Swan Sonnenschein and Co.)

(4) Joseph and His Brethren:  a Trilogy.  By Alexander Buchan. (Digby and Long.)

(5) God’s Garden.  By Heartsease. (James Nisbet and Co.)

(6) Voices of the Street.  By Cyrus Thornton. (Elliot Stock.)

(7) In the Watches of the Night.  By Mrs. Horace Dobell. (Remington and Co.)

LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES—­IV

(Woman’s World, February 1888.)

Canute The Great, by Michael Field, is in many respects a really remarkable work of art.  Its tragic element is to be found in life, not in death; in the hero’s psychological development, not in his moral declension or in any physical calamity; and the author has borrowed from modern science the idea that in the evolutionary struggle for existence the true tragedy may be that of the survivor.  Canute, the rough generous Viking, finds himself alienated from his gods, his forefathers, his very dreams.  With centuries of Pagan blood in his veins, he sets himself to the task of becoming a great Christian governor and lawgiver to men; and yet he is fully conscious that, while he has abandoned the noble impulses of his race, he still retains that which in his nature is most fierce or fearful.  It is not by faith that he reaches the new creed, nor through gentleness that he seeks after the new culture.  The beautiful Christian woman whom he has made queen of his life and lands teaches him no mercy, and knows nothing of forgiveness.  It is sin and not suffering that purifies him—­mere sin itself.  ‘Be not afraid,’ he says in the last great scene of the play: 

      ’Be not afraid;
   I have learnt this, sin is a mighty bond
   ’Twixt God and man.  Love that has ne’er forgiven
   Is virgin and untender; spousal passion
   Becomes acquainted with life’s vilest things,
   Transmutes them, and exalts.  Oh, wonderful,
   This touch of pardon,—­all the shame cast out;
   The heart a-ripple with the gaiety,
   The leaping consciousness that Heaven knows all,
   And yet esteems us royal.  Think of it—­
   The joy, the hope!’