Bothwell the queen declares her love to him thus:

Wait you for love? 'Tis worth the waiting for.
God put a power of closer tenderness
In mine than in most women's souls. Who thrills
The senses, holds the heart, in all inspiring
Ways sweetens and magnifies to good
Love's life, conceiving colder estimate
Of love? So will I love you, without stint.

Compare this feeble and disjointed utterance with the corresponding
speech in Swinburne's play. Mary says:

O my fair lord!
How fairer is this warrior face, and eyes
With the iron light of battle in them, left
As the after-fire of sunset left in heaven
When the sun sinks, than any fool's face made
Of smiles and courtly color! Now I feel
As I were man too, and had part myself
In your great strength; being one with you as I,
How should I not be strong?

Cartoons. By Margaret J. Preston. Boston: Roberts Brothers.

If Mrs, Aitken's poems suggest Mrs. Browning's, these _Cartoons_ of
Mrs. Preston's have a slight flavor of Robert Browning's _Men and
Women_ in their subjects and in their mode of thought. A cartoon is
usually supposed to be a design for tapestry or mosaic, but we suppose
that Mrs. Preston has taken the significance given the word by our
illustrated papers, where it is held to mean a large outline sketch.
The title is not a very happy one, but the poems, are much better than
the title. They are strong, simple and well-written, and the subjects
are usually very well chosen. They are divided into "Cartoons from the
Life of the Old Masters," "Cartoons from the Life of the Legends" and
"Cartoons from the Life of To-day." Of these, the second division is
perhaps the weakest, the first the most interesting, while the third
makes up in religious sentiment what it lacks in poetic strength and
beauty. It contains more commonplace verses and ideas than either
of the other two. Of the stories of the old masters, "Mona Lisa's
Picture," "The Duke's Commission" and "Woman's Art" are perhaps the
best, and the last poem especially is very spirited and terse.
Mrs. Preston's style has the rare merit in these days of uniting
conciseness and directness to grace and beauty of expression. Her
greatest failing is a lack of the sense of climax. There are several
of these poems, like the two on the Venerable Bede and that called
"Bacharach Wine," that rather disappoint one by the insignificance
of their closing stanzas or the g