betwixt rocks and
pulling the noses of seals and gulls. ("Book for a Corner," 1868, i. 68,
&c.) Could criticism be more delightful? But in the "London Journal,"
November 5, 1834, the genial essayist's fancy dallied even more daintily
with the theme: "A peacock with his plumage displayed, full of 'rainbows
and starry eyes,' is a fine object, but think of a lovely woman set in
front of an ethereal shell and wafted about like a Venus.... We are to
picture to ourselves a nymph in a vest of the finest texture and most
delicate carnation. On a sudden this drapery parts in two and flies
back, stretched from head to foot like an oval fan or an umbrella; and
the lady is in front of it, preparing to sweep blushing away from us and
'winnow the buxom air.'"

For many of us the conduct of life is becoming evermore a thing of
greater perplexity. It is wearisome to be rudely jostling one another
for the world's prizes, while myriads are toiling round us in an
Egyptian bondage unlit by one ray of sunshine from the cradle to the
grave. Some have attained to Lucretian heights of philosophy, whence
they look with indifference over the tossing world-wide sea of human
misery; but others are fain to avert their eyes, to clean forget for a
season the actual world and lose themselves in the mazes of romance. In
moments of despondency there is no greater relief to a fretted spirit
than to turn to the "Odyssey" or Mr. Payne's exquisite translation of
the "Arabian Nights." Great should be our gratitude to Mr. Morris for
teaching us in golden verse that "Love is Enough," and for spreading
wide the gates of his "Earthly Paradise." Lucian's "True History," that
carries us over unknown seas beyond the Atlantic bounds to enchanted
islands in the west, is one of those books which we do not half
appreciate. And among the world's benefactors Robert Paltock deserves a
place. An idle hour could not be spent in a much pleasanter way than in
watching Peter Wilkins go a-field with his gun or haul up the beast-fish
at the lonely creek. What can be more delightful than the description
how, wakened from dreams of home by the noise of strange voices
overhead, he sees fallen at his door the lovely winged woman Youwarkee!
Prudish people may be scandalised at the unreserved frankness shown
in the account of the consummation of Wilkins' marriage with this fair
creature; but the editor was unwilling to mutilate the book in the
interests of such refined readers. A man