Looking over the Christmas books sent to me by various publishers, I find
that these are the best and the most pleasing: Gleanings from the
'Graphic,' by Randolph Caldecott, a most fascinating volume full of
sketches that have real wit and humour of line, and are not simply
dependent on what the French call the legende, the literary explanation;
Meg's Friend, by Alice Corkran, one of our most delicate and graceful
prose-writers in the sphere of fiction, and one whose work has the rare
artistic qualities of refinement and simplicity; Under False Colours, by
Sarah Doudney, an excellent story; The Fisherman's Daughter, by Florence
Montgomery, the author of Misunderstood, a tale with real charm of idea
and treatment; Under a Cloud, by the author of The Atelier du Lys, and
quite worthy of its author; The Third Miss St. Quentin, by Mrs.
Molesworth, and A Christmas Posy from the same fascinating pen, and with
delightful illustrations by Walter Crane. Miss Rosa Mulholland's
Giannetta and Miss Agnes Giberne's Ralph Hardcastle's Will are also
admirable books for presents, and the bound volume of Atalanta has much
that is delightful both in art and in literature.

The prettiest, indeed the most beautiful, book from an artistic point of
view is undoubtedly Mr. Walter Crane's Flora's Feast. It is an
imaginative Masque of Flowers, and as lovely in colour as it is exquisite
in design. It shows us the whole pomp and pageant of the year, the
Snowdrops like white-crested knights, the little naked Crocus kneeling to
catch the sunlight in his golden chalice, the Daffodils blowing their
trumpets like young hunters, the Anemones with their wind-blown raiment,
the green-kirtled Marsh-marigolds, and the 'Lady-smocks all
silver-white,' tripping over the meadows like Arcadian milk-maids.
Buttercups are here, and the white-plumed Thorn in spiky armour, and the
Crown-imperial borne in stately procession, and red-bannered Tulips, and
Hyacinths with their spring bells, and Chaucer's Daisy--

small and sweet,
Si douce est la Marguerite.

Gorgeous Peonies, and Columbines 'that drew the car of Venus,' and the
Rose with her lover, and the stately white-vestured Lilies, and wide
staring Ox-eyes, and scarlet Poppies pass before us. There are Primroses
and Corncockles, Chrysanthemums in robes of rich brocade, Sunflowers and
tall Hollyhocks, and pale Christmas Roses. The designs for the
Daffodils, the wild Roses, the Convolvulus, and the Hollyhock are
admirable, and would be beautiful in embroidery or in any precious
material. Indeed, any one who wishes to find beautiful designs cannot do
better than get the book. It is, in its way, a little masterpiece, and
its grace and fancy, and beauty of line and colour, cannot be
over-estimated. The Greeks gave human form to wood and stream, and saw
Nature best in Naiad or in Dryad. Mr. Crane, with something of Gothic
fantasy, has caught the Greek feeling, the love of personification, the
passion for representing things under the conditions of the human form.
The flowers are to him so many knights and ladies, page-boys or shepherd-
boys, divine nymphs or simple girls, and in their fair bodies or fanciful
raiment one can see the flower's very form and absolute essence, so that
one loves their artistic truth no less than their artistic beauty. This
book contains some of the best work Mr. Crane has ever done.