Mr. Upson’s work has had its meed of recognition abroad: his first volume, _Westwind Songs_, contained a warmly appreciative introduction by “Carmen Sylva,” the poet-queen of Roumania, and his drama, _The City_, just issued in Edinburgh, is introduced by Count Lützow of the University of Prague, a well-known scholar and authority upon Bohemian literature. Taking a backward glance at the first volume before looking at _The City_, one finds few of the ear-marks of a first collection of poetry, which it must become the subsequent effort of the writer to live down. The lines “When We Said Good-Bye” are among the truest in feeling, though almost too intimate to quote; and this sympathetic lyric, entitled “Old Gardens,” has a delicate grace: The white rose tree that spent its musk For lovers’ sweeter praise, The stately walks we sought at dusk, Have missed thee many days. Again, with once-familiar feet, I tread the old parterre— But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet Than when thy face was there. I hear the birds of evening call; I take the wild perfume; I pluck a rose—to let it fall And perish in the gloom. _Westwind Songs_, however, waft other thoughts than those of love. There is a heavier freight in this “Thought of Stevenson”: High and alone I stood on Calton Hill Above the scene that was so dear to him Whose exile dreams of it made exile dim. October wooed the folded valleys till In mist they blurred, even as our eyes upfill Under a too sweet memory; spires did swim, And gables rust-red, on the gray sea’s brim— But on these heights the air was soft and still. Yet not all still: an alien breeze did turn Here as from bournes in aromatic seas, As round old shrines a new-freed soul might yearn With incense to his earthly memories. And then this thought: Mist, exile, searching pain, But the brave soul is free, is home again! How fine is the imaginative thought of October wooing the valleys till they blurred with mist, as one’s “eyes upfill under a too sweet memory,” and still finer the touch of the “alien breeze” turning Here as from bournes in aromatic seas. So one might imagine the journeying winds blowing hither from Vaea, and the intensely human soul of Stevenson yearning to the vital sympathies of earth. Mr. Upson has recently published in Edinburgh and America a poem-drama entitled _The City_, and containing, as previously mentioned, a scholarly introduction by Count Lützow of the Bohemian University of Prague, who points out the historical and traditional sources of the story.