"'Love Letters of a Violinist.'—Letters to make the ordinary writer envious, and to awaken in lovers thanks to the poetical pen that has given forth utterances so suited to their good health or malady. Here a verse to cheer the almost hopeless; a stanza to teach the refraining a lesson in charge and capture; lines to fall in love with the memory, to charm the darkness, and be another light to rule the day. London was yawning behind her giant hand. The moment was propitious, and any strain of beauty was sure of an audience. At this felicitous moment a pipe of splendour sounded. London ceased to yawn. A violinist was communicating the passions of his heart to those who would listen, and amid great interest he went from house to house a-singing.... Eric Mackay is one of those wise men who have no immature volumes to haunt them. He first asked right of way on the road to Parnassus with a bundle of melodies which have never lost their appeal. While youth seeks the pink cheek, these Love Letters will command the homage of lovers. Your Petrarchs are not as common as sparrows.... These outpourings from a burning heart will always compel the student of our literature to weigh them, sift them, and establish them in some very honourable position. The charm of this early book is its freedom from drag. It moves on always. The reader is hastened along; he has wonderful and unexpected views, which ravish him as the abrupt magnificences of the Pyrenees ravished Gautier. Perhaps you expect a tree, but you see a stream. Now, at last, it must be a great green hill, and behold! you peep down into an echoless mossy depth of glen. At the next break in the quick, up towers a height of fancy and simile! Thus the everlasting surprise goes on enchanting. From wild to wild, from passion to passion, from cavern to star, are we borne, and as we travel there is music about us—music of the true tone, ringing with all the natural pathos of lyrical carelessness. There have been instances in literature of the music mastering the thought, but in the case under notice the proportions are justly ministered to. There is thought and witchery of measure. The ice of craftsmanship is mingled with the wine of passion."—Norman Gale, in The Literary World, March 10th, 1893.

"We are indebted to Eric Mackay for the latest ode to the lark, one of peculiar gracefulness and impassioned beauty. In my opinion, this is a better production than either of Wordsworth's, superior to Hogg's, and, though not so intellectual as Shelley's, rivals it in truth. Mackay's is the lark itself, Shelley's is himself listening, with unwearied ears and tightly-stretched imagination, to the lark. Who is surprised that Eric Mackay's lyric, 'The Waking of the Lark,' sent a thrill through the heart of America? This poem, which appeared in the New York Independent, is undoubtedly the lark-poem of the future. From the opening to the closing stanza there is not an imperfect verse, not a commonplace. The sentiment is pure, and the fancy glowing. It is, indeed, an exquisite ode."—Wintringham's "Birds of Wordsworth." Edition, 1892.

"He (the lecturer) ventured to call the author of the 'Love Letters' a new poet. His published volume is a work of immense promise. His fancy is splendid.... The 'Love Letters' are twelve poems, separate, and yet intrinsically one. It is a compound lyric, with an epic theme and somewhat of an epic cast. The theme is the triumph of woman's love. It is the story of love's redemption. It has something of the tone, colour, and luxuriance of Solomon's Song; both, too, have the same theme, though treated in a different way.... The form is charming—as if the sonatas of Beethoven had been translated into poetry! The dÉnouement is reached when Beethoven himself—

is introduced in a vision. The lecturer gave a number of quotations to illustrate his points."—Lecture on Eric Mackay, by the Rev. Elvet Lewis, at the Hull Literary Institute.

"The 'Love Letters' of Eric Mackay are the handiwork of a brilliant metrical artist and poet born.... A beautiful and passionate work; its beauty that of construction, language, imagery,—its passion, characteristic of the artistic nature, and, while intensely human, free from any taint of vulgar coarseness.... The poem is quite original, its manner Elizabethan.... Eric Mackay is a lyrist with a singing faculty and a novel metrical form such as few lyrists have at command. With the very striking poem of 'Mary Arden,' we have at last something new said of Shakespeare, and it is said sweetly and imaginatively."—E. C. Stedman, in "Victorian Poets," 21st Edition, 1893.