THE BOOKSHELF. 
251 
Of a Bird-cage. 
One of those made in Germany by convicts sentenced to penal servitude. 
“ A tiny prison, built by prisoned hands 
To coop some bright-winged thing ; a mimic cell, 
Wrought amid sighs by one who knew full well 
The smart and pressure of enforced bands. 
When high-souled courage failed him to assuage 
The close-laid ,lorture of a life-locked cage. 
“ Perchance he wept his own deep grief and pain, 
Alas, each day the sun rose high to set 
In clouds of golden hope ! And yet, and yet. 
Time mattered naught. Him freedom called in vain 
As in the future she might beckon it — 
That bird now free — who captive here should sit. 
“ Thus with vague sympathy was each space barr’d 
Yet none less sure. Here shall the creature eat. 
Here drink, here restless perch in cold or heat. 
Setting to melody the sentence hard 
Fate spells the words of. Plane the cramping floor. 
llend down the latch, and firmly bolt the door.” 
Miss Alicia Donne sends us her Peeps, into Bird Life (Simpkin and Marshall), 
to which Dr. Walsham How, the late Hishop of Wakefield, contributes a preface 
in verse — the last rhymes, we believe, which came from his pen. This gives us an 
opportunity of expressing our regret that, through the carelessness of the Post 
Office authorities, our readers were deprived of a charming sketch of this true 
Selbomian, which Mr. William Whitewell had written for these pages. Miss 
Donne’s verses are simple and pretty — didactic, perhaps, rather than poetical, 
but eminently suitable for children on account of the lessons they convey in a 
tuneful and pleasant way. The country printer has worked his wild will in the 
matter of “ embellishments.” 
A contribution to our poetical literature of general and permanent value is 
supplied in the long looked for Second Series of the Golden Treasury of Poems 
and Lyrics (Macmillan, 2 s. 6d. net), which may be regarded as Mr. F. T. 
Palgrave’s legacy to the literary world. Although more open to criticism than 
the First Series — which has become a household word and a popular possession — 
on account of its omissions and inclusions, it is no unworthy companion to its 
predecessor, and, like it, is a book to put in the pocket for use during the odd 
spare minutes which occur sometimes in the busiest life. Nor only then ; on a 
country walk, or a railway journey, or when tired out at night before going to 
bed, a dip into its pages cannot fail to soothe and refresh. 
Mr. Palgrave’s penultimate work — Landscape Poetry (Macmillan, 6s.) — has 
been on our shelves for some months, awaiting a longer notice than we are now 
able to bestow on it. Viewed only as a collection of extracts, it is a charming 
volume, showing, as might be expected, a vast range of reading and a great 
power of selection. But it is much more than this ; the author’s appreciation of 
his subject, from Greek, Latin, and Hebrew poetry, through early Italian, Celtic, 
Anglo-Saxon verse, and on through the media-val period and the rise of romanti- 
cism, down to the men of our own day — Browning, Arnold, Burns and Tenny- 
son, to the last of whom a chapter is devoted — is admirably conveyed, and forms 
delightful reading. This is a book which may be read with equal enjoyment in 
the field or by the fireside ; it cannot fail to enable the reader to appreciate more 
fully the charms of landscape, especially that of his own land. 
Another book which has stood over for some time is The Poetry of Sport 
(los. 6d.), edited and selected by Hedley Peek; this forms the concluding 
volume of Messrs. Longmans’ “ Badminton Library,” several instalments of 
which have been noticed in these pages. It is an interesting volume, largely on 
account of its capital illustrations, ancient and modern, and shows much pains- 
taking research ; but we confess that we are inclined to demur to the editor’s 
