“Some Sonnets of Sir Philip Sydney” gives a dozen of Sidney’s sonnets with appreciatory comment.  “Newspapers Thirty Years Ago” is particularly interesting for its reminiscences of the days when Lamb wrote half a dozen daily jests for “The Morning Post” at sixpence per jest, and for its sketches of Daniel Stuart and Fenwick, two diversely typical journalists of a century since.  “Barrenness of the Imaginative Faculty in the Productions of Modern Art” is a criticism of the prevailing taste in art matters, inspired by Martin’s “Belshazzar’s Feast,” and contrasts the modern methods of painting as—­a Dryad, “a beautiful naked figure recumbent under wide-stretched oaks” (a figure that with a different background would do just as well as a Naiad), with the older method illustrated by Julio Romano’s dryad, in which was “an approximation of two natures.”  “Rejoicings Upon the New Year’s Coming of Age” is a graceful, sparkling piece of humorous fancy: 

I should have told you, that cards of invitation had been issued.  The carriers were the Hours; twelve little, merry whirligig foot-pages, as you should desire to see, that went all round, and found out the persons invited well enough, with the exception of Easter Day, Shrove Tuesday, and a few such Moveables, who had lately shifted their quarters.

Well, they all met at last, foul Days, fine Days, all sorts of Days, and a rare din they made of it.  There was nothing but, Hail! fellow Day,—­well met—­brother Day—­sister Day,—­only Lady Day kept a little on the aloof, and seemed somewhat scornful.  Yet some said Twelfth Day cut her out and out, for she came in a tiffany suit, all white and gold, like a queen on a frost-cake—­all royal, glittering, and Epiphanous.  The rest came—­some in green, some in white—­but old Lent and his family were not yet out of mourning.  Rainy Days came in, dripping; and sun-shiny Days helped them to change their stockings. Wedding Day was there in his marriage finery, a little the worse for wear. Pay Day came late, as he always does; and Doomsday sent word—­he might be expected.

“The Wedding” describes such a ceremony at which Elia had assisted, and illustrates at once his sympathy with the young people and with their parents—­“is there not something untender, to say no more of it, in the hurry which a beloved child is in to tear herself from the paternal stock and commit herself to strange graftings.”  “The Child Angel” is a beautiful poetic apologue in the form of a dream.

In “Old China,” one of the most attractive of this varied series, Elia is ready with reminiscences of the days when the purchase of the books, pictures, or old china that they loved, meant a real sacrifice, and the things purchased were therefore the more deeply prized.