We do not like the outside of the cover of Mr Oscar Wilde's House of Pomegranates (Osgood) [sic]. The Indian club with a house-painter's brush on the top which passes muster for a peacock, and the chimney-pot  hat with a sponge in it, which is meant to represent a basket containing a pomegranate, or a fountain, or something of that kind, are grotesque, but not ideally so. The inside of the cover, however, with its olive sheaves of corn falling apart, its fluttering quails, and crawling snails, delights the eye. So do the pictures and the type and the paper. Mr Ricketts has learned the art of drawing dreams and visions, and Mr Shannon can make decorative designs full of charming detail. We can well believe that the book is as delightful as it looks.