Messrs. Methuen and Co. last year issued a limited edition of the works of Oscar Wilde, in twelve volumes, priced at 12s. 6d. each—the first collected edition of the complete works published. Under the terms of the issue a reprint was precluded, but the reception of the edition was such that the publishers are now bringing out a new edition, smaller and cheaper and lacking some of the special matter included last year, but still in refined and attractive form. The volumes are handsomely bound, the paper and printing are all that could be desired by the most fastidious—and all admirers of Wilde are inclined to be fastidious—and the price (5s.) places the edition within the reach of all who are likely to be interested. Three of the twelve works have now been issued. A beginning has been made with the brilliant satire on palmistry, 'Lord Arthur Savile's Crime'—appropriately, because Mr. H. B. Irving is about to produce a play founded on the murder of Lady Windermere's objectionable little 'cheiromantist.' This has been followed by 'The Duchess of Padua,' that striking tragedy which this country has not yet had an opportunity of seeing on the stage, although the play has been performed in America, Germany, and Russia. The third volume contains the poems, almost Byronic denunciations, many of them, which reveal for us more of Wilde's inner nature than any other of his works. The poems include two discovered by Mr. Ross, the editor, since the uniform edition was published last year. One of these has a pathetic interest. Who can read the following verse without pitying thoughts on Wilde's last few years of life?—

But what of life whose bitter hungry sea

Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night

Covers the days which never more return?

Ambition, love, and all the thoughts that burn

We lose too soon, and only find delight

In withered husks of some dead memory.

The edition will be in twelve volumes, all of which are to be published before the end of the year.