How Little We Know Of Each Other.

How little we know of each other ! Of ourselves , too , how little we know We are all weak when under temptation , All subject to error and woe . Then let blessed Charity rule us , Let us put away envy and spite—Or the skeleton grim in our closet May some day be brought to the light .

A Review.

A Review .

Proverbs in Porcelain , and other Verses . By Austin Dobson . Henry S . King & Co . Mr . Austin Dobson is well known as the author of some very facile verse , and as a most successful sonneteer in the always pleasant school of his great master , W . M . Praed . On his merits we need

not now descant ; they are well known to all who study the " outcome" of our modern Parnassus , as being neither few nor doubtful . He has much of the older " Minnesinger ' s " sweetness of expression and flow of rhythm , with a great deal of his wonderful art of mingling fun and

pathos in his stirring lines . And so we will take as No . 1 of the examples we propose to quote from a very pleasant book of verse , " A Chapter of Froissart . " And we do it for this reason : that as our young men do not read , and do not like

Froissart , the sooner they learn to stud y and to appreciate that famous chronicler the better for them and us . They may learn something in his neglected pages , of the good Kni ghts , generous , chivalrous , and loyal , how brave they were in

action , how stern in duty , how full of pity for the vanquished foe , and above all , how devoted to their "ladye love . " All good lessons then , and which , as it seems to us , we want . in this age , all of us , to re-learn , so to say , and lay to heartwhenas some

, , one has wittily said , our mouths are full of brass , and our hearts are stuffed with cotton , when truth and honour and right and chivalry , seem to us but idle words ;

A CHAPTEE or FEOISSART . ( Roman de Grand-pere . ) You don't know Froissart now , youn ° - folks . This age . I think , prefers recitals

A Review.

Of high-spiced crime , with " slang for jokes , And startling titles ; But , in my time , when still some few Loved " old Montaigne , " and praised Pope ' s "Homer " ( Nay , thought to style him " poet , " too , Were scarce misnomer ) ,

Sir John , was less ignored . Indeed , I can re-call how Some-one present ( Who spoils her grand-son , Frank !) would read , And find him pleasant ;

For , —by this copy , —hangs a Tale . Long since , in an old house in Surrey , Where men knew more of " morning ale " Than " Lindley Murray , " In a dim-lighted , whip-hung hall , 'Neath Hogarth ' s " Midnight

Conversation " It stood ; and oft 'twixt spring and fall , With fond elation , I turned the brown old leaves . For there All through one hopeful happy summer . At such a page ( I well knew where ) ,

Some secret comer , Whom I can picture , Trix , like you ( Though scarcely such a colt unbroken ) , Would sometimes place for private view A certain token ;—A rose-leaf meaning " Garden Wall , "

An ivy-leaf for " Orchard corner , " A thorn to say " Don ' t come at all , "Unwelcome warner !¦—Not that , in truth , our friends gainsaid ; But then Romance required dissembling , ( Ann Radcliffe taught us that !) which bred Some genuine trembling ;

Though , as a rule , all used to end In such kind confidential parley As may to you kind Fortune send , You long-legged Charlie , When your time comes . How years slip on !

We had our crosses like our betters ; Pate sometimes looked askance upon Those floral letters ; And once , for three long days disdained , The dust upon the folio settled ; For some-one , in the right , was pained , And some-one nettled ,