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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10730 ***
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 10730-h.htm or 10730-h.zip:
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/7/3/10730/10730-h/10730-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/7/3/10730/10730-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
+
+VOL. XII, No. 344.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+EHRENBREITSTEIN ON RHINE.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall,
+  Black with the miners' blast, upon her height,
+  Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball
+  Rebounding idly on her strength, did light;
+  A tower of victory! from whence the flight
+  Of baffled foes was watched along the plain:
+  But peace destroyed what war could never blight,
+  And laid those proud roofs bare to summer's rain,
+  On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.
+
+  _Childe Harold._
+
+
+SPIRIT OF THE "ANNUALS."
+
+
+We have the pleasure of presenting to the readers of the MIRROR, the
+completion of our notices of these very elegant publications; and
+in pursuance of the plan of our former Supplement, we are enabled
+to assemble within the present sheet the characteristics of _eight
+works_, whilst our quotations include _fourteen_ prose tales and
+sketches, and poetical pieces, of great merit.
+
+The above engraving and its pendant are copied from the _Literary
+Souvenir_, specially noticed in our last Supplement. The original
+is a drawing by J.M.W. Turner, R.A. and the plate in the _Souvenir_
+is by J. Pye--both artists of high excellence in their respective
+departments:--
+
+The waters of the Rhine have long maintained their pre-eminence,
+as forming one of the mightiest and loveliest among the highways
+of Europe.
+
+But among all its united trophies of art and nature, there is not
+one more brightly endowed with picturesque beauty, or romantic
+association, than the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. When the eye of
+our own Childe Harold rested upon its "shattered wall," and when the
+pencil of Turner immortalized its season of desolation, it had been
+smitten in the pride of its strength by the iron glaive of war: and
+its blackened fragments and stupendous ruins had their voice for the
+heart of the moralist, as well as their charm for the inspired mind
+of genius. But now that military art hath knit those granite ribs
+anew,--now that the beautiful eminence rears once more its crested
+head, like a sculptured Cybele, with a coronet of towers,--new
+feelings, and an altered scale of admiration wait upon its glories.
+Once more it uplifts its giant height beside the Rhine, repelling in
+Titan majesty the ambition of France; once more, by its united gifts
+of natural position and scientific aid, it appears prepared to
+vindicate its noble appellation of "the broad stone of honour."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE MUSICAL SOUVENIR.
+
+
+This is an elegant little collection of seven songs, a trio, duet, and
+glee, set to music, or "as they are appointed to be said or sung." As
+we have not our musical types in order, we can only give our readers
+a specimen of its literary merits. The first piece is Akenside's
+beautiful Invocation to Cheerfulness; this is pleasingly contrasted
+with a Song to the Forget-me-not, by Mrs. Opie. Then follow five
+pieces from recent volumes of Friendship's Offering and the Amulet.
+The three remaining compositions (expressly for the work) are a Song
+by T. Bradford, Esq.; a Scotch Song, by Mr. Feist; and the following
+pathetic Lines, by the Rev. Thomas Dale:--
+
+    Oft as the broad sun dips
+      Beneath the western sea,
+    A prayer is on my lips,
+      Dearest! a prayer for thee.
+  I know not where thou wand'rest now,
+  O'er ocean-wave, or mountain brow--
+    I only know that He,
+      Who hears the suppliant's prayer,
+    Where'er thou art, on land or sea,
+      Alone can shield thee there.
+
+    Oft as the bright dawn breaks
+      Behind the eastern hill,
+    Mine eye from slumber wakes,
+      My heart is with the still--
+  For thee my latest vows were said,
+  For thee my earliest prayers are pray'd--
+    And O! when storms shall lour
+      Above the swelling sea,
+    Be it thy shield, in danger's hour,
+      That I have pray'd for thee.
+
+Whether we consider the purity of its sentiments and the amiable
+tone of feeling, or its merit as a musical work, we are induced to
+recommend the present volume as an elegant present for a musical
+friend, and it will doubtless become a favourite with thousands of
+graceful pianists. Thanks to the Muses, our lyrical poetry is rapidly
+rising in the literary scale, when such beautiful compositions as
+those of Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon are no sooner written than set
+to music.
+
+The _Musical Souvenir_ is embellished with two engravings and a
+presentation plate, and bound in crimson silk--so that it has all
+the attractions of the annual Christmas presents, except _prose_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE KEEPSAKE.
+
+_EDITED BY F.M. REYNOLDS, ESQ._
+
+
+This is a magnificent affair, and is one of the proud triumphs of
+the union of Painting, Engraving, and Literature--to which we took
+occasion to allude in a recent number of THE MIRROR. Each department
+is _unique_, and the lists are like the Morning Post account of a
+drawing room, or Almack's--the princes of the arts, and the peers
+of the pen. _Painters_--Lawrence, Howard, Corbould, Westall,
+Turner, Landseer, Stephanoff, Chalon, Stothard, &c. _Engravers_--C.
+Heath, Finden, Engleheart, Portbury, Wallis, Rolls, Goodyear, &c.
+_Contributors_--Scott, Mackintosh, Moore, the Lords Normanby,
+Morpeth, Porchester, Holland, Gower, and Nugent; Wordsworth, Southey,
+Coleridge, Shelley, Hook, Lockhart, Croker, Mrs. Hemans, and Miss
+Landon; and the cost of the whole _eleven thousand guineas!_ Of
+course, such a book has not been the work of a day, month, or,
+perhaps, a year; and its literature entitles it to a permanent place
+in the library, where we hope to see it stand _auro perennius_;
+were its fate to be otherwise, we should condemn the public--for we
+hate ingratitude in every shape--and write in the first page the
+epitaph--_For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot_. A guinea to
+twopence--Hyperion to a Satyr--how can we extend the fame of _The
+Keepsake!_
+
+We cannot particularize the engravings; but they are all worthy
+companions of the frontispiece--a lovely portrait of Mrs. Peel,
+engraved by Heath, from Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture. In the literary
+department--a very court of fiction--is, My Aunt Margaret's Mirror, a
+tale of forty-four pages; and, The Tapestried Chamber, by Sir Walter
+Scott; both much too long for extract, which would indeed be almost
+unfair. Next comes an exquisite gem--
+
+
+ON LOVE.
+
+_BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY_.
+
+
+What is Love? Ask him who lives what is life; ask him who adores what
+is God.
+
+I know not the internal constitution of other men, nor even of thine
+whom I now address. I see that in some external attributes they
+resemble me, but when, misled by that appearance, I have thought to
+appeal to something in common, and unburden my inmost soul to them, I
+have found my language misunderstood, like one in a distant and savage
+land. The more opportunities they have afforded me for experience, the
+wider has appeared the interval between us, and to a greater distance
+have the points of sympathy been withdrawn. With a spirit ill-fitted
+to sustain such proof, trembling and feeble through its tenderness,
+I have every where sought, and have found only repulse and
+disappointment.
+
+_Thou_ demandest what is Love. It is that powerful attraction towards
+all we conceive, or fear, or hope, beyond ourselves, when we find
+within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek
+to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience
+within ourselves. If we reason we would be understood; if we imagine,
+we would that the airy children of our brain were born anew within
+another's; if we feel, we would that another's nerves should vibrate
+to our own, that the beams of their eyes should kindle at once, and
+mix and melt into our own; that lips of motionless ice should not
+reply to lips quivering and burning with the heart's best blood:--this
+is Love. This is the bond and the sanction which connects not only
+man with man, but with every thing which exists. We are born into the
+world, and there is something within us, which, from the instant that
+we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness. It is probably
+in correspondence with this law that the infant drains milk from
+the bosom of its mother; this propensity develops itself with the
+development of our nature. We dimly see within our intellectual
+nature, a miniature as it were of our entire self, yet deprived of
+all that we condemn or despise, the ideal prototype of every thing
+excellent and lovely that we are capable of conceiving as belonging
+to the nature of man. Not only the portrait of our external being,
+but an assemblage of the minutest particles of which our nature is
+composed: a mirror whose surface reflects only the forms of purity and
+brightness: a soul within our own soul that describes a circle around
+its proper Paradise, which pain and sorrow and evil dare not overleap.
+To this we eagerly refer all sensations, thirsting that they should
+resemble and correspond with it. The discovery of its antitype; the
+meeting with an understanding capable of clearly estimating our own;
+an imagination which should enter into and seize upon the subtle
+and delicate peculiarities which we have delighted to cherish and
+unfold in secret, with a frame, whose nerves, like the chords of two
+exquisite lyres, strung to the accompaniment of one delightful voice,
+vibrate with the vibrations of our own; and a combination of all these
+in such proportion as the type within demands: this is the invisible
+and unattainable point to which Love tends; and to attain which, it
+urges forth the powers of man to arrest the faintest shadow of that,
+without the possession of which, there is no rest or respite to the
+heart over which it rules. Hence in solitude, or that deserted state
+when we are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not
+with us; we love the flowers, the grass, the waters, and the sky. In
+the motion of the very leaves of Spring, in the blue air, there is
+then found a secret correspondence with our heart. There is eloquence
+in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the
+rustling of the reeds beside them, which, by their inconceivable
+relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to dances of
+breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the
+eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one
+beloved singing to you alone. Sterne says that if he were in a desert
+he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is dead, man
+becomes a living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the
+mere husk of what once he was.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This and a fragment, with a character of Mr. Canning, by Sir James
+Mackintosh, are the _transcendentals_ of the volume; as are the
+tale--The Half-brothers, by Mr. Banim, with an Ossian-like plate of
+the heroine; The Sisters of Albano, by Mrs. Shelley--Death of the
+Laird's Jock, by the author of Waverley--and Ferdinando Eboli, by Mrs.
+Shelley, with Adelinda, a plate, by Heath, on which we could feast our
+eyes for a full hour. Next, a sketch, by Theodore Hook, part of which
+will serve to vary our sheet:--
+
+
+THE OLD GENTLEMAN.
+
+
+"To-morrow morning," said my friend, "when you awake, the power will
+be your own; and so, sir, I wish you a very good night."--"But, sir,"
+said I, anxious to be better assured of the speedy fulfilment of the
+wish of my heart, (for such indeed it was,) "may I have the honour of
+knowing your name and address?"--"Ha, ha, ha!" said the old gentleman;
+"_my_ name and address; ha, ha, ha! my name is pretty familiar to you,
+young gentleman; and as for my address, I dare say you will find your
+way to me some day or another, and so, once more, good night."--Saying
+which, he descended the stairs and quitted the house, leaving me to
+surmise who my extraordinary visiter could be. I never _knew_; but
+I recollect, that after he was gone, I heard one of the old ladies
+scolding a servant-girl for wasting so many matches in lighting the
+candles, and making such a terrible smell of brimstone in the house.
+I was now all anxiety to get to bed, not because I was sleepy, but
+because it seemed to me as if going to bed would bring me nearer to
+the time of getting up, when I should be master of the miraculous
+power which had been promised me. I rang the bell; my servant was
+still out; it was unusual for him to be absent at so late an hour. I
+waited until the clock struck eleven, but he came not; and resolving
+to reprimand him in the morning, I retired to rest. Contrary to my
+expectation, and, as it seemed to me, to the ordinary course of
+nature, considering the excitement under which I was labouring, I had
+scarcely laid my head on my pillow before I dropped into a profound
+slumber, from which I was only aroused by my servant's entrance to my
+room. The instant I awoke, I sat up in bed, and began to reflect on
+what had passed, and for a moment to doubt whether it had not been all
+a dream. However, it was daylight; the period had arrived when the
+proof of my newly acquired power might be made.--"Barton," said I to
+my man, "why were you not at home last night?"--"I had to wait, sir,
+nearly three hours," he replied, "for an answer to the letter which
+you sent to Major Sheringham."--"That is not true," said I; and, to my
+infinite surprise, I appeared to _recollect_ a series of occurrences,
+of which I never had previously heard, and could have known nothing:
+"you went to see your sweetheart, Betsy Collyer, at Camberwell, and
+took her to a tea-garden, and gave her cakes and cider, and saw
+her home again: you mean to do exactly the same thing on Sunday,
+and to-morrow you mean to ask me for your quarter's wages, although
+not due till Monday, in order to buy her a new shawl."--The man
+stood aghast: it was all true. I was quite as much surprised as the
+man.--"Sir," said Barton, who had served me for seven years without
+having once been found fault with, "I see you think me unworthy your
+confidence; you could not have known this, if you had not watched, and
+followed, and overheard me and my sweetheart; my character will get
+me through the world without being looked after. I can stay with you
+no longer; you will please, sir, to provide yourself with another
+servant."--"But Barton," said I, "I did not follow or watch you;
+I--"--"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied; "it is not for _me_
+to contradict; but you'll forgive me, sir, I would rather go; I
+_must_ go."
+
+At this moment I was on the very point of easing his mind, and
+retaining my faithful servant by a disclosure of my power; but it was
+yet too new to be parted with; so I affected an anger I did not feel,
+and told him he might go where he pleased. I had, however, ascertained
+that the old gentleman had not deceived me in his promises; and,
+elated with the possession of my extraordinary faculty, I hurried the
+operation of dressing, and before I had concluded it, my ardent friend
+Sheringham was announced; he was waiting in the breakfast-room. At
+the same moment, a note from the lovely Fanny Haywood was delivered
+to me--from the divine girl who, in the midst of all my scientific
+abstraction, could "chain my worldly feelings for a moment."
+"Sheringham, my dear fellow," said I, as I advanced to welcome him,
+"what makes you so early a visiter this morning?"--"An anxiety,"
+replied Sheringham, "to tell you that my uncle, whose interest I
+endeavoured to procure for you, in regard to the appointment for which
+you expressed a desire, has been compelled to recommend a relation of
+the marquess; this gives me real pain, but I thought it would be best
+to put you out of suspense as soon as possible."--"Major Sheringham,"
+said I, drawing myself up coldly, "if this matter concerns you so
+deeply as you seem to imply that it does, might I ask why you so
+readily agreed to your uncle's proposition or chimed in with his
+suggestion, to bestow the appointment on this relation of the
+marquess, in order that _you_ might, in return for it, obtain the
+promotion for which you are so anxious?"--"My dear fellow," said
+Sheringham, evidently confused, "I--I--never chimed in; my uncle
+certainly pointed out the possibility to which you allude, but
+_that_ was merely contingent upon what he could not refuse to
+do."--"Sheringham," said I, "your uncle has already secured for you
+the promotion, and you will be gazetted for the lieutenant-colonelcy
+of your regiment on Tuesday. I am not to be told that you called at
+the Horse-guards, in your way to your uncle's yesterday, to ascertain
+the correctness of the report of the vacancy which you had received
+from your friend Macgregor; or that _you_, elated by the prospect
+before you, were the person, in fact, to suggest the arrangement
+which has been made, and promise your uncle 'to smooth me over' for
+the present."--"Sir," said Sheringham, "where you picked up this
+intelligence I know not; but I must say, that such mistrust, after
+years of undivided intimacy, is not becoming, or consistent with the
+character which I hitherto supposed you to possess. When by sinister
+means the man we look upon as a friend descends to be a spy upon our
+actions, confidence is at an end, and the sooner our intercourse
+ceases, the better. Without some such conduct, how could you become
+possessed of the details upon which you have grounded your opinion
+of my conduct?"--"I--," and here again was a temptation to confess
+and fall; but I had not the courage to do it. "Suffice it, Major
+Sheringham, to say, I knew it; and, moreover, I know, that when you
+leave me, your present irritation will prompt you to go to your uncle
+and check the disposition he feels at this moment to serve me."--"This
+is too much, sir," said Sheringham; "this must be our last interview,
+unless indeed your unguarded conduct towards me, and your intemperate
+language concerning me, may render one more meeting necessary; and so,
+sir, here ends our acquaintance."--Saying which, Sheringham, whose
+friendship even to my enlightened eye was nearly as sincere as any
+other man's, quitted my room, fully convinced of my meanness and
+unworthiness; my heart sank within me when I heard the door close
+upon him for the last time. I now possessed the power I had so long
+desired, and in less than an hour had lost a valued friend and a
+faithful servant. Nevertheless, Barton _had_ told me a falsehood, and
+Sheringham _was_ gazetted on the Tuesday night.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I went into the Water-colour Exhibition at Charing-cross; there I
+heard two artists complimenting each other, while their hearts were
+bursting with mutual envy. There, too, I found a mild, modest-looking
+lady, listening to the bewitching nothings of her husband's particular
+friend; and I knew, as I saw her frown and abruptly turn away from him
+with every appearance of real indignation, that she had at that very
+moment mentally resolved to elope with him the following night. In
+Harding's shop I found authors congregated "to laugh the sultry hours
+away," each watching to catch his neighbour's weak point, and make
+it subject matter of mirth in his evening's conversation. I saw a
+viscount help his father out of his carriage with every mark of duty
+and veneration, and knew that he was actually languishing for the
+earldom and estates of the venerable parent of whose health he was
+apparently taking so much care. At Howell and James's I saw more than
+I could tell, if I had ten times the space afforded me that I have;
+and I concluded my tour by dropping in at the National Gallery,
+where the ladies and gentlemen seemed to prefer nature to art, and
+were actively employed in looking at the pictures, and thinking of
+themselves. Oh! it was a strange time then, when every man's heart was
+open to me, and I could sit, and see, and hear, all that was going
+on, and know the workings of the inmost feelings of my associates;
+however, I must not detain the reader with reflections.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl, is an intensely interesting tale
+by Lord Normanby, with a most effective illustration by Heath.
+
+But the prose of the "Keepsake" is decidedly superior to the _poetry_,
+notwithstanding the high names in the latter list. Mr. Moore's
+contribution is, however, only sixteen lines. The poetical pieces
+consist chiefly of fragments or "scraps"--among which those on Italy,
+by Lord Morpeth; and three by Shelley, are very beautiful. Our
+specimen is--
+
+
+THE VICTIM BRIDE.
+
+_BY W.H. HARRISON._
+
+  I saw her in her summer bow'r, and oh! upon my sight
+  Methought there never beam'd a form more beautiful and bright!
+  So young, so fair, she seem'd as one of those aerial things
+  That live but in the poet's high and wild imaginings;
+  Or like those forms we meet in dreams from which we wake, and weep
+  That earth has no creation like the figments of our sleep.
+
+  Her parent--loved not he his child above all earthly things!
+  As traders love the merchandize from which their profit springs:
+  Old age came by, with tott'ring step, and, for the sordid gold
+  With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was sold
+  And thus (for oh! her sire's stern heart was steel'd against her
+      pray'r)
+  The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her despair.
+
+  I saw them through the churchyard pass, but such a nuptial train
+  I would not for the wealth of worlds should greet my sight again.
+  The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve in Eden's bow'rs,
+  Shed bitter tears upon the path they should have strewn with flow'rs.
+  Who had not deem'd that white rob'd band the funeral array,
+  Of one an early doom had call'd from life's gay scene away!
+
+  The priest beheld the bridal group before the altar stand,
+  And sigh'd as he drew forth his book with slow reluctant hand:
+  He saw the bride's flow'r-wreathed hair, and mark'd her streaming
+      eyes,
+  And deem'd it less a Christian rite than a Pagan sacrifice;
+  And when he call'd on Abraham's God to bless the wedded pair,
+  It seem'd a very mockery to breathe so vain a pray'r.
+
+  I saw the palsied bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensigns drest;
+  A shroud were fitter garment far for him than bridal vest;
+  I mark'd him when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his hold,
+  He held it with a miser's clutch--it was his darling gold.
+  His shrivell'd hand was wet with tears she pour'd, alas! in vain,
+  And it trembled like an autumn leaf beneath the beating rain.
+
+  I've seen her since that fatal morn--her golden fetters rest
+  As e'en the weight of incubus, upon her aching breast.
+  And when the victor, Death, shall come to deal the welcome blow,
+  He will not find one rose to swell the wreath that decks his brow:
+  For oh! her cheek is blanch'd by grief which time may not assuage,--
+  Thus early Beauty sheds her bloom on the wintry breast of Age.
+
+Our commendation of the "Keepsake" might be extended much further,
+were we to consult our inclination to do justice to its high
+character. With so lavish an expenditure and such an array of talent
+as we have shown it to contain, to wonder at its success,
+
+  Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
+
+We congratulate the proprietors on their prospects of remuneration,
+for the attractions of their publication are irresistible. It is
+altogether a splendid enterprise, and we doubt not the reward will be
+more than proportionate to the expectation it has raised--both in the
+proprietors and their patrons--the public.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE ANNIVERSARY,
+
+_EDITED BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM._
+
+
+Perhaps we are getting too panegyrical, for panegyric savours of the
+poppy; but we must not flinch from our duty.
+
+_Allan Cunningham_--there is poetry in the name, written or sung--and
+high-wrought poetry too, in nearly every production to which that
+name is attached--and among these "The Anniversary for 1829." All the
+departments of this work too, (as in the "Keepsake") are unique. Mr.
+Sharpe, the proprietor, is a man of refined taste, his Editor and his
+contributors are men of first-rate genius, the Painters and Engravers
+are of the first rank, and the volume is printed at Mr. Whittingham's
+Chiswick-press. Excellence must always be the result of such a
+combination of talent, and so it proves in the _Anniversary_. As
+might have been expected from the talent of its editor, the volume
+is superior in its poetical attractions--both in number and quality.
+
+By way of variety, we begin with the _poetry_. First is a stirring
+little ballad, the Warrior, by the editor; then, a humorous epistle
+from Robert Southey, Esq. to Allan Cunningham, in which the laureat
+deals forth his ire on the "misresemblances and villanous visages"
+which have been published as his portrait.[1] Next is a gem of
+another water, Edderline's Dream, by Professor Wilson, the supposed
+editor of "Blackwood's Magazine." This is throughout a very beautiful
+composition, but we must content ourselves with the following
+extract:--
+
+
+EDDERLINE'S SLEEP.
+
+  Castle-Oban is lost in the darkness of night,
+  For the moon is swept from the starless heaven,
+  And the latest line of lowering light
+  That lingered on the stormy even,
+  A dim-seen line, half cloud, half wave,
+  Hath sunk into the weltering grave.
+  Castle-Oban is dark without and within,
+  And downwards to the fearful din,
+  Where Ocean with his thunder shocks
+  Stuns the green foundation rocks,
+  Through the green abyss that mocks his eye,
+  Oft hath the eerie watchman sent
+  A shuddering look, a shivering sigh,
+  From the edge of the howling battlement!
+
+  Therein is a lonesome room,
+  Undisturbed as some old tomb
+  That, built within a forest glen,
+  Far from feet of living men,
+  And sheltered by its black pine-trees
+  From sound of rivers, lochs, and seas,
+  Flings back its arched gateway tall,
+  At times to some great funeral!
+  Noiseless as a central cell
+  In the bosom of a mountain
+  Where the fairy people dwell,
+  By the cold and sunless fountain!
+  Breathless as a holy shrine,
+  When the voice of psalms is shed!
+  And there upon her stately bed,
+  While her raven locks recline
+  O'er an arm more pure than snow,
+  Motionless beneath her head,--
+  And through her large fair eyelids shine
+  Shadowy dreams that come and go,
+  By too deep bliss disquieted,--
+  There sleeps in love and beauty's glow,
+  The high-born Lady Edderline.
+
+  Lo! the lamp's wan fitful light,
+  Glide,--gliding round the golden rim!
+  Restored to life, now glancing bright,
+  Now just expiring, faint and dim!
+  Like a spirit loath to die,
+  Contending with its destiny.
+  All dark! a momentary veil
+  Is o'er the sleeper! now a pale
+  Uncertain beauty glimmers faint,
+  And now the calm face of the saint
+  With every feature re-appears,
+  Celestial in unconscious tears!
+  Another gleam! how sweet the while,
+  Those pictured faces on the wall,
+  Through the midnight silence smile!
+  Shades of fair ones, in the aisle
+  Vaulted the castle cliffs below,
+  To nothing mouldered, one and all,
+  Ages long ago!
+
+  From her pillow, as if driven
+  By an unseen demon's hand
+  Disturbing the repose of heaven,
+  Hath fallen her head! The long black hair
+  From the fillet's silken band
+  In dishevelled masses riven,
+  Is streaming downwards to the floor.
+  Is the last convulsion o'er?
+  And will that length of glorious tresses,
+  So laden with the soul's distresses.
+  By those fair hands in morning light,
+  Above those eyelids opening bright,
+  Be braided nevermore!
+  No, the lady is not dead,
+  Though flung thus wildly o'er her bed;
+  Like a wretched corse upon the shore,
+  That lies until the morning brings
+  Searchings, and shrieks, and sorrowings;
+  Or, haply, to all eyes unknown,
+  Is borne away without a groan,
+  On a chance plank, 'mid joyful cries
+  Of birds that pierce the sunny skies
+  With seaward dash, or in calm bands
+  Parading o'er the silvery sands,
+  Or mid the lovely flush of shells,
+  Pausing to burnish crest or wing.
+  No fading footmark see that tells
+  Of that poor unremembered thing!
+
+  O dreadful is the world of dreams,
+  When all that world a chaos seems
+  Of thoughts so fixed before!
+  When heaven's own face is tinged with blood!
+  And friends cross o'er our solitude,
+  Now friends of our's no more!
+  Or dearer to our hearts than ever.
+  Keep stretching forth, with vain endeavour,
+  Their pale and palsied hands,
+  To clasp us phantoms, as we go
+  Along the void like drifting snow.
+  To far-off nameless lands!
+  Yet all the while we know not why,
+  Nor where those dismal regions lie,
+  Half hoping that a curse to so deep
+  And wild can only be in sleep,
+  And that some overpowering scream
+  Will break the fetters of the dream,
+  And let us back to waking life,
+  Filled though it be with care and strife;
+  Since there at least the wretch can know
+  The meanings on the face of woe,
+  Assured that no mock shower is shed
+  Of tears upon the real dead,
+  Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,
+  When bending o'er the death-like cheek
+  Of one who scarcely seems alive,
+  At every cold but breathing kiss.
+  He hears a saving angel speak--
+  'Thy love will yet revive!'
+
+    [1] An artist of celebrity is now engaged on a portrait of Mr.
+    Southey, _cum privilegio_, we suppose, Mr. Southey is not the only
+    public man, whose lineaments have been traduced by engravers.
+    Only look at some of the patriotic gentlemen who figure at public
+    meetings, and in _outline_ on cards, &c. But Houbraken is now
+    known to have been no more honest than his successors in portrait
+    engraving: although physiognomy and craniology ought to help the
+    moderns out in these matters.
+
+Then comes A Farewell to the year, one of Mr. Lockhart's elegant
+translations from the Spanish; a pretty portrait of rustic
+simplicity--the Little Gleaner, by the editor; and some playful
+lines by M.A. Shee, accompanying an engraving from his own picture
+of the Lost Ear-Rings. The Wedding Wake, by George Darley, Esq. is
+an exquisite picture of saddened beauty. The Ettrick Shepherd has
+the Carle of Invertine--a powerful composition, and the Cameronian
+Preacher, a prose tale, of equal effect. In addition to the
+pieces already mentioned, by the editor, is one of extraordinary
+excellence--the Magic Bridle: his Lines to a Boy plucking
+Blackberries, are a very pleasing picture of innocence:--
+
+          There stay in joy,
+  Pluck, pluck, and eat thou happy boy;
+  Sad fate abides thee. Thou mayst grow
+  A man: for God may deem it so,
+  I wish thee no such harm, sweet child:
+  Go, whilst thou'rt innocent and mild:
+  Go, ere earth's passions, fierce and proud,
+  Rend thee as lightning rend the cloud:
+  Go, go, life's day is in the dawn:
+  Go, wait not, wish not to be man.
+
+One of his pieces we quote entire:--
+
+
+THE SEA KING'S DEATH-SONG.
+
+  I'll launch my gallant bark no more,
+    Nor smile to see how gay
+  Its pennon dances, as we bound
+    Along the watery way;
+  The wave I walk on's mine--the god
+    I worship is the breeze;
+  My rudder is my magic rod
+    Of rule, on isles and seas:
+  Blow, blow, ye winds, for lordly France,
+    Or shores of swarthy Spain:
+  Blow where ye list, of earth I'm lord,
+    When monarch of the main.
+
+  When last upon the surge I rode,
+    A strong wind on me shot,
+  And tossed me as I toss my plume,
+    In battle fierce and hot.
+  Three days and nights no sun I saw,
+    Nor gentle star nor moon;
+  Three feet of foam dash'd o'er my decks,
+    I sang to see it--soon
+  The wind fell mute, forth shone the sun,
+    Broad dimpling smiled the brine;
+  I leap'd on Ireland's shore, and made
+    Half of her riches mine.
+
+  The wild hawk wets her yellow foot
+    In blood of serf and king:
+  Deep bites the brand, sharp smites the axe,
+    And helm and cuirass ring;
+  The foam flies from the charger's flanks,
+    Like wreaths of winter's snow;
+  Spears shiver, and the bright shafts start
+    In thousands from the bow--
+  Strike up, strike up, my minstrels all
+    Use tongue and tuneful chord--
+  Be mute!--My music is the clang
+    Of cleaving axe and sword.
+
+  Cursed be the Norseman who puts trust
+    In mortar and in stone;
+  Who rears a wall, or builds a tower,
+    Or makes on earth his throne;
+  My monarch throne's the willing wave,
+    That bears me on the beach;
+  My sepulchre's the deep sea surge,
+    Where lead shall never reach;
+  My death-song is the howling wind,
+    That bends my quivering mast,--
+  Bid England's maidens join the song,
+    I there made orphans last.
+
+  Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me
+    Oft, oft, by frith and flood,
+  I called ye forth to feast on kings;
+    Who now shall give ye food?
+  Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea,
+    For of earth's proudest lords
+  We served thee oft a sumptuous feast
+    With our sharp shining swords;
+  Mourn, midnight, mourn, no more thou'lt hear
+    Armed thousands shout my name.
+  Nor see me rushing, red wet shod,
+    Through cities doomed to flame.
+
+  My race is run, my flight is flown;
+    And, like the eagle free,
+  That soars into the cloud and dies,
+    I leave my life on sea.
+  To man I yield not spear nor sword
+    Ne'er harmed me in their ire,
+  Vain on me Europe shower'd her shafts,
+    And Asia pour'd her fire.
+  Nor wound nor scar my body bears,
+    My lip made never moan,
+  And Odin bold, who gave me life,
+    Now comes and takes his own.
+
+  Light! light there! let me get one look,--
+    Yon is the golden sky,
+  With all its glorious lights, and there
+    My subject sea flows by;
+  Around me all my comrades stand,
+    Who oft have trod with me
+  On prince's necks, a joy that's flown,
+    And never more may be.
+  Now put my helmet on my head,
+    My bright sword in my hand,
+  That I may die as I have lived.
+    In arms and high command.
+
+In the prose department the most striking is the description of
+Abbotsford, quoted in our 339th number. There is an affecting Tale of
+the Times of the Martyrs, by the Rev. Edward Irving, which will repay
+the reader's curiosity. The Honeycomb and Bitter Gourd is a pleasing
+little story; and Paddy Kelleger and his Pig, is a fine bit of humour,
+in Mr. Croker's best style. The brief Memoir of the late Sir George
+Beaumont is a just tribute to the memory of that liberal patron of the
+Fine Arts, and is an opportune introduction into such a work as the
+present. The letter of Lord Byron, too, from Genoa in 1823, will be
+interesting to the noble poet's admirers.
+
+Among the illustrations we can only notice the Lute, by C. Rolls,
+after Bonnington; Morning, by E. Goodall, from Linton's "joyful"
+picture; Sir W. Scott in his Study (qy. the forehead); a little
+"Monkeyana," by Landseer; Chillon, by Wallis, from a drawing by
+Clarkson Stanfield--a sublime picture; Fonthill, an exquisite scene
+from one of Turner's drawings; Beatrice, from a picture by Howard; the
+Lake View of Newstead, after Danby; the Snuff-Box, from Stephanoff;
+and last, though not least, Gainsborough's charming Young Cottagers,
+transferred to steel, by J.H. Robinson--perhaps the most attractive
+print in the whole series.
+
+With this hasty notice we conclude, in the language of our
+announcement of the present work, "wishing the publisher _many
+Anniversaries_"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING.
+
+_EDITED BY THOMAS PRINGLE, ESQ._
+
+
+The present volume will support, if not increase, the literary
+reputation which this elegant work has enjoyed during previous years.
+The editor, Mr. Pringle, is a poet of no mean celebrity, and, as we
+are prepared to show, his contribution, independent of his editorial
+judgment, will do much toward the Friendship's Offering maintaining
+its ground among the Annuals for 1829.
+
+There are twelve engravings and a presentation plate. Among the most
+beautiful of these are Cupid and Psyche, painted by J. Wood, and
+engraved by Finden; Campbell Castle, by E. Goodall, after G. Arnald;
+the Parting, from Haydon's picture now exhibiting with his Mock
+Election, "Chairing;" Hours of Innocence, from Landseer; La Frescura,
+by Le Petit, from a painting by Bone; and the Cove of Muscat, a
+spirited engraving by Jeavons, from the painting of Witherington.
+All these are of first-rate excellence; but another remains to be
+mentioned--Glen-Lynden, painted and engraved by _Martin_, a fit
+accompaniment for Mr. Pringle's very polished poem.
+
+The first _prose_ story is the Election, by Miss Mitford, with the
+hero a downright John Bull who reads Cobbett. The next which most
+attracts our attention is Contradiction, by the author of an Essay on
+Housekeepers--but the present is not so Shandean as the last-mentioned
+paper; it has, however, many good points, and want of room alone
+prevents our transferring it. Then comes the Covenanters, a Scottish
+traditionary tale of _fixing_ interest; the Publican's Dream, by Mr.
+Banim, told also in the Winter's Wreath, and Gem:
+
+  _Thrice_ the brindled cat hath mewed;
+
+and Zalim Khan, a beautiful Peruvian tale of thirty pages, by Mr.
+Fraser. The French story, La Fiancée de Marques, is a novelty for an
+annual, but in good taste. Tropical Sun-sets, by Dr. Philip, is just
+to our mind and measure:--
+
+A setting sun between the tropics is certainly one of the finest
+objects in nature.
+
+From the 23rd degree north to the 27th degree south latitude, I used
+to stand upon the deck of the Westmoreland an hour every evening,
+gazing with admiration upon a scene which no effort either of the
+pencil or the pen can describe, so as to convey any adequate idea of
+it to the mind of one who has never been in the neighbourhood of the
+equator. I merely attempt to give you a hasty and imperfect outline.
+
+The splendour of the scene generally commenced about twenty minutes
+before sun-set, when the feathery, fantastic, and regularly
+crystallized clouds in the higher regions of the atmosphere, became
+fully illumined by the sun's rays; and the fine mackerel-shaped
+clouds, common in these regions, were seen hanging in the concave of
+heaven like fleeces of burnished gold. When the sun approached the
+verge of the horizon, he was frequently seen encircled by a halo of
+splendour, which continued increasing till it covered a large space of
+the heavens: it then began apparently to shoot out from the body of
+the sun, in refulgent pencils, or radii, each as large as a rainbow,
+exhibiting, according to the rarity or density of the atmosphere, a
+display of brilliant or delicate tints, and of ever changing lights
+and shades of the most amazing beauty and variety. About twenty
+minutes after sun-set these splendid shooting rays disappeared,
+and were succeeded by a fine, rich glow in the heavens, in which
+you might easily fancy that you saw land rising out of the ocean,
+stretching itself before you and on every side in the most enchanting
+perspective, and having the glowing lustre of a bar of iron when newly
+withdrawn from the forge. On this brilliant ground the dense clouds
+which lay nearest the bottom of the horizon, presenting their dark
+sides to you, exhibited to the imagination all the gorgeous and
+picturesque appearances of arches, obelisks, mouldering towers,
+magnificent gardens, cities, forests, mountains, and every fantastic
+configuration of living creatures, and of imaginary beings; while the
+finely stratified clouds a little higher in the atmosphere, might
+really be imagined so many glorious islands of the blessed, swimming
+in an ocean of light.
+
+The beauty and grandeur of the sunsets, thus imperfectly described,
+surpass inconceivably any thing of a similar description which I have
+ever witnessed, even amidst the most rich and romantic scenery of our
+British lakes and mountains.
+
+Were I to attempt to account for the exquisite enjoyment on beholding
+the setting sun between the tropics, I should perhaps say, that
+it arose from the warmth, the repose, the richness, the novelty,
+the glory of the whole, filling the mind with the most exalted,
+tranquillizing, and beautiful images.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is likewise a tale, Going to Sea, and the Ship's Crew, by Mrs.
+Bowdich, which equally merits commendation.
+
+Powerful as may be the aid which the editor has received from the
+_contributors_ to the "Friendship's Offering," we are bound
+to distinguish one of his own pieces--_Glen-Lynden, a Tale of
+Teviot-dale_, as the sun of the volume. It is in Spenserian verse, and
+a more graceful composition cannot be found in either of the Annuals.
+It is too long for entire extract, but we will attempt to string
+together a few of its beauties. The scenery of the Glen is thus
+described:--
+
+  A rustic home in Lynden's pastoral dell
+  With modest pride a verdant hillock crown'd:
+  Where the bold stream, like dragon from the fell,
+  Came glittering forth, and, gently gliding round
+  The broom-clad skirts of that fair spot of ground,
+  Danced down the vale, in wanton mazes bending;
+  Till finding, where it reached the meadow's bound,
+  Romantic Teviot on his bright course wending.
+  It joined the sounding streams--with his blue waters blending.
+
+  Behind a lofty wood along the steep
+  Fenced from the chill north-east this quiet glen:
+  And green hills, gaily sprinkled o'er with sheep,
+  Spread to the south; while by the brightening pen,
+  Rose the blithe sound of flocks and hounds and men,
+  At summer dawn, and gloaming; or the voice
+  Of children nutting in the hazelly den,
+  Sweet mingling with the winds' and waters' noise,
+  Attuned the softened heart with Nature to rejoice.
+
+  Upon the upland height a mouldering Tower,
+  By time and outrage marked with many a scar,
+  Told of past days of feudal pomp and power
+  When its proud chieftains ruled the dales afar.
+  But that was long gone by: and waste and war,
+  And civil strife more ruthless still than they,
+  Had quenched the lustre of Glen-Lynden's star,
+  Which glimmered now, with dim reclining ray,
+  O'er this secluded spot,--sole remnant of their sway.
+
+Lynden's lord, and possessor of this tower, is now "a grave, mild,
+husbandman," and his wife--
+
+  She he loved in youth and loved alone,
+  Was his.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  And now his pleasant home and pastoral farm
+  Are all the world to him: he feels no sting
+  Of restless passions; but, with grateful arm,
+  Clasps the twin cherubs round his neck that cling,
+  Breathing their innocent thoughts like violets in the spring.
+
+  Another prattler, too, lisps on his knee,
+  The orphan daughter of a hapless pair,
+  Who, voyaging upon the Indian sea,
+  Met the fierce typhon-blast--and perished there:
+  But she was left the rustic home to share
+  Of those who her young mother's friends had been:
+  An old affection thus enhanced the care
+  With which those faithful guardians loved to screen
+  This sweet forsaken flower, in their wild arbours green.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  But dark calamity comes aye too soon--
+  And why anticipate its evil day?
+  Ah, rather let us now in lovely June
+  O'erlook these happy children at their play:
+  Lo, where they gambol through the garden gay,
+  Or round the hoary hawthorn dance and sing,
+  Or, 'neath yon moss-grown cliff, grotesque and grey
+  Sit plaiting flowery wreaths in social ring,
+  And telling wondrous tales of the green Elfin King.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Ah! evil days have fallen upon the land;
+  A storm that brooded long has burst at last;
+  And friends, like forest trees that closely stand
+  With roots and branches interwoven fast,
+  May aid awhile each other in the blast;
+  But as when giant pines at length give way
+  The groves below must share the ruin vast,
+  So men who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway
+  Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they.
+
+  Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew
+  Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears,
+  That rose like distant shadows nearer drew
+  O'ercasting the calm evening of his years;
+  Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears,
+  A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space,
+  Till the horizon closes round of clears,
+  Returns our tale the enchanted path to trace
+  Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting grace.
+  Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers
+  O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood,
+  A lake blue gleaming from deep forest bowers,
+  Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude:
+  Oft by the margin of that quiet flood,
+  And through the groves and hoary ruins round,
+  Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood;
+  Or here, amid tradition's haunted ground,
+  Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Here Arthur loved to roam--a dreaming boy--
+  Erewhile romantic reveries to frame,
+  Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy.
+  Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame;
+  But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame
+  'Gan mingle with his martial musings high;
+  And trembling wishes--which he feared to name,
+  Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh--
+  Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie.
+
+  And there were eyes that from long silken lashes
+  With stolen glance could spy his secret pain--
+  Sweet hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes
+  Like joyous day-spring after summer rain;
+  And she, the enchantress, loved the youth again
+  With maiden's first affection, fond and true,
+  --Ah! youthful love is like the tranquil main,
+  Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue--
+  Beautiful as a spirit--calm, but fearful too!
+
+Our limits compel us to break off once more, which is a source of
+regret, especially when our path is strewn with such gems as these:--
+
+  A gentle star lights up their solitude
+  And lends fair hues to all created things;
+  And dreams alone of beings pure and good
+  Hover around their hearts with angel wings--
+  Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture springs.
+
+Here is a beautiful apostrophe--
+
+  Oh Nature! by impassioned hearts alone
+  Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar mind
+  Sees but the shadow of a power unknown;
+  Thy loftier beauties beam not to the blind
+  And sensual throng, to grovelling hopes resigned:
+  But they whom high and holy thoughts inspire
+  Adore thee, in celestial glory shrined
+  In that diviner fane where Love's pure fire
+  Burns bright, and Genius tunes his loud immortal Lyre!
+
+The halcyon days at length draw to a close, and sorrows "in
+battalions" compel them to emigrate and bid
+
+  Farewell to the scenes they ne'er shall visit more.
+
+The remainder is rather abrupt, at least much more so than the lovers
+of fervid poetry could wish, especially as the termination is with the
+following exquisite ballad:--
+
+  Our native land, our native vale,
+    A long and last adieu!
+  Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,
+    And Cheviot mountains blue.
+
+  Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
+    And streams renowned in song:
+  Farewell, ye blithsome braes and meads
+    Our hearts have loved so long.
+
+  Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes,
+    Where thyme and harebells grow;
+  Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes,
+    O'erhung with birk and sloe.
+
+  The battle-mound, the border-tower,
+    That Scotia's annals tell:
+  Thy martyr's grave, the lover's bower--
+    To each--to all--farewell!
+
+  Home of our hearts! our father's home!
+    Land of the brave and free!
+  The keel is flashing through the foam
+    That bears us far from thee.
+
+  We seek a wild and distant shore
+    Beyond the Atlantic main:
+  We leave thee to return no more,
+    Nor view thy cliffs again.
+
+  But may dishonour blight our fame,
+    And quench our household fires,
+  When we or ours forget thy name,
+    Green island of our sires.
+
+  Our native land--our native vale--
+    A long, a last adieu!
+  Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,
+    And Scotland's mountains blue!
+
+We have only space to add that the poetical pieces are very numerous,
+and those by Allan Cunningham, the Ettrick Shepherd, Delta, and
+William Kennedy, merit especial notice.
+
+The elegant embossed binding is similar to that of last year, which
+we mentioned to our readers, and which we think an improvement on the
+silken array.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE BIJOU.
+
+
+Though last in the field, (for it is scarcely published) the _Bijou_
+will doubtless occupy a different place in public favour. Its
+embellishments are selected with much judgment, and in literary
+merit, it equals either of its contemporaries. Its second title is
+an Annual of Literature and the _Fine Arts_, and from the choice of
+its illustrations, deservedly so. Thus, among the painters, who have
+furnished subjects for the engravers, we have Holbein, Claude, and
+Primaticcio; and two from Sir Thomas Lawrence. The engraving from
+Holbein, Sir Thomas More and his Family,--is a novelty in an Annual,
+and is beautifully executed by Ensom. It has all the quaintness of the
+great master, whose pictures may be called the _mosaic_ of painting.
+The Autumnal Evening, engraved by Dean, after Claude, is not so
+successful; although it should be considered that little space is
+allowed for the exquisite effect of the original: still the execution
+might have been better. The Frontispiece, Lady Wallscourt, after Sir
+Thomas Lawrence is in part, a first-rate engraving; Young Lambton,
+after the same master, is of superior merit. The face is beautifully
+copied; and, by way of hint to the _scrappers_, this print will form
+a companion to the Mountain Daisy, from the _Amulet_ for the present
+year. There are, too, some consecrated landscapes, dear to every
+classical tourist, and of, no common interest at home--as Clisson,
+the retreat of Heloise; Mont Blanc; and the Cascade of Tivoli--all of
+which are delightfully picturesque. The view of Mont Blanc is well
+managed.
+
+In the _prose_ compositions we notice some of intense interest, among
+which are the Stranger Patron and the Castle of Reinspadte--both of
+German origin. There is too, a faithful historiette of the Battle of
+Trafalgar, which, with the History of the Family of Sir Thomas More,
+will be read with peculiar attention. Our extracts from the poetical
+department are by Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon.
+
+
+THE SLEEPERS.
+
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+  A holy thing is sleep.
+  On the worn spirit shed,
+  And eyes that wake to weep:
+
+  A holy thing from heaven,
+  A gracious dewy cloud,
+  A covering mantle, given
+  The weary to enshroud.
+
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+  Revere the pale still brow,
+  The meekly drooping head,
+  The long hair's willowy flow!
+
+  Ye know not what ye do,
+  That call the slumberer back,
+  From the world unseen by you,
+  Unto Life's dim faded track.
+
+  Her soul is far away,
+  In her childhood's land perchance,
+  Where her young sisters play,
+  Where shines her mother's glance.
+
+  Some old sweet native sound
+  Her spirit haply weaves;
+  A harmony profound
+  Of woods with all their leaves:
+
+  A murmur of the sea,
+  A laughing tone of streams:--
+  Long may her sojourn be
+  In the music-land of dreams!
+
+  Each voice of love is there,
+  Each gleam of beauty fled.
+  Each lost one still more fair--
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+
+Miss Landon has contributed more to the "Bijou" than to any other
+Annual, and a piece from her distinguished pen will increase the value
+and variety of our columns.
+
+
+THE FEAST OF LIFE.
+
+  I bid thee to my mystic Feast,
+  Each one thou lovest is gathered there;
+  Yet put thou on a mourning robe,
+  And bind the cypress in thy hair.
+
+  The hall is vast, and cold, and drear;
+  The board with faded flowers is spread:
+  Shadows of beauty flit around,
+  But beauty from each bloom has fled;
+
+  And music echoes from the walls,
+  But music with a dirge-like sound;
+  And pale and silent are the guests,
+  And every eye is on the ground.
+
+  Here, take this cup, tho' dark it seem,
+  And drink to human hopes and fears;
+  'Tis from their native element
+  The cup is filled--it is of tears.
+
+  What! turnest thou with averted brow?
+  Thou scornest this poor feast of mine;
+  And askest for a purple robe,
+  Light words, glad smiles, and sunny wine.
+
+  In vain, the veil has left thine eyes,
+  Or such these would have seemed to thee;
+  Before thee is the Feast of Life,
+  But life in its reality!
+
+We should not, however, pass over in silence a poem, of the antique
+school, entitled the Holy Vengeance for the Martyrdom of George
+Wishart, the merits of which are of a high order. Indeed, this piece,
+and the admirable composition of the History of Sir Thomas More and
+his Family, with the Holbein print, distinguish the Bijou from all
+other publications of its class, and are characteristic of the good
+taste of Mr. Pickering, the proprietor. Altogether, the Bijou for 1829
+is very superior to the last volume, and, to our taste, it is one of
+the most attractive of the Christmas presents.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE WINTER'S WREATH.
+
+
+This is a _provincial_, but not a first appearance in London; the
+present being the fourth "_Wreath_" that has been entwined for the
+lovers of song and sentiment. It is culled from Liverpool, (next to
+our own metropolis) the most literary city in the empire; but many of
+its flowers have been gathered from our metropolitan parterre. Thus,
+in addition to the respected names of Roscoe, Currie, and Shepherd,
+(of Liverpool), we have among the contributors those of Hemans,
+Bowring, Howitt, Opie, with Mitford, Montgomery, and Wiffen. The
+editorship has passed into different hands, and "the introduction of
+religious topics has been carefully avoided" as unsuited to a work of
+elegant amusement.
+
+The plates are twelve in number, among which are _Lady Blanche and
+her Merlin_, after Northcote (rather too hard in the features); an
+exquisite _View of the Thames near Windsor_, after Havell; _Medora
+and the Corsair_, after Howard; the _Sailor Boy_, by Lizars; and a
+beautiful _Wreath_ Title-page, after Vandyke. All these will bear
+comparison with any engravings in similar works.
+
+The Wreath contains 132 pieces or flowers, some of them
+_perennials_--others of great, but less lasting beauty--and but few
+that will fade in a day. Among those entitled to special distinction,
+in the _prose_ department, are an Italian Story, of considerable
+interest; the Corsair, a pleasing sketch; and Lough Neagh, a tale
+of the north of Ireland. One of the _perennials_ is a Journey up the
+Mississippi, by Audubon, the American naturalist. Kester Hobson,
+a legendary tale of the Yorkshire Wolds, which turns upon a lucky
+dream, will probably set thousands dreaming--and we hope with the same
+good effect--viz. half-a-bushel of gold. "A Vision," by the late Dr.
+Currie, is a successful piece of writing; Le Contretems is a pleasant
+tale enough, with a sprinkling of French dialogue. Next is a well-told
+historiette of the eventful times of the Civil Wars.--The Memoir of a
+young Sculptor can scarcely fail to awaken the sympathy of the reader.
+The introduction of the paper on Popular Education, in what the editor
+himself calls "a work of elegant amusement like the present," is
+somewhat objectionable, and the writer's sentiments will be very
+unpalatable to a certain party. The Ridley Coach is a sketch in the
+style of Miss Mitford, who has contributed only one article, and
+that in verse. Mrs. Opie has a slight piece--The Old Trees and New
+Houses--but our prose selection is, (somewhat abridged)--
+
+
+THE LADY ANNE CARR,
+
+_BY THE AUTHOR OF "MAY YOU LIKE IT."_
+
+
+Have you not sometimes seen, upon the bosom of dark, stagnant waters,
+a pure, white water-lily lift up its head, breathing there a fresh and
+delicate fragrance, and deriving its existence thence--yet partaking
+in nothing of the loathsome nature of the pool, nor ever sullied by
+its close contact with the foul element beneath?
+
+It is an honest simile to say that the gentle Anne Carr resembled
+that sweet water-lily. Sprung from the guilty loves of the favourite
+Somerset and his beautiful but infamous wife, she was herself pure and
+untainted by the dark and criminal dispositions of her parents. Not
+even a suspicion of their real character had ever crossed her mind;
+she knew that they had met with some reverse of fortune,--for she
+had heard her father regret, for her sake, his altered estate. She
+knew this, but nothing more: her father's enemies, who would gladly
+have added to his wretchedness, by making his child look upon him
+with horror, could not find in their hearts, when they gazed on her
+innocent face, to make one so unoffending wretched. It is a lovely
+blindness in a child to have no discernment of a parent's faultiness;
+and so it happened that the Lady Anne saw nothing in her father's mien
+or manner, betokening a sinful, worthless character.
+
+Of her mother she had but few and faint recollections. Memory pictured
+her pale and drooping, nay gradually sinking under the cureless malady
+which brought her to her grave at last. She remembered, however,
+the soft and beautiful smiles which had beamed over that haggard
+countenance, when it was turned upon her only child--smiles which she
+delighted to recognise in the lovely portrait, from which her idea of
+her mother was chiefly formed. This portrait adorned her own favourite
+apartment. It had been painted when the original was as young and
+happy as herself; and her filial love and fond imagination believed no
+grace had been wanting to make all as beautiful and glorious within.
+
+As the Lady Anne grew up to womanhood, the sweetness of her
+disposition and manners began to be acknowledged by those, who had
+seen without astonishment her extraordinary beauty; and many persons
+of distinction, who would hold no kind of fellowship with the Lord
+Somerset, sought the acquaintance of his innocent daughter for her
+own sake.
+
+The most beloved friend of the Lady Anne was the Lady Ellinor G----,
+the eldest daughter of the Earl of G----: and with her, Lady Anne
+often passed several months in the year. A large party of young ladies
+were assembled at G---- Castle; and it happened that a continual
+rain had confined the fair companions within doors the whole summer
+afternoon. They sat together over their embroidery and various kinds
+of needlework, telling old tales of fearful interest--the strange
+mishaps of benighted travellers--stories of witchcraft, and of
+mysterious murder.
+
+The conversation turned at last to the legends belonging to a certain
+family; and one circumstance was mentioned so nearly resembling, in
+many particulars, the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, that the Lady
+Ellinor, scarcely doubting that some slight suspicion of her parents'
+crimes had reached the ears of the Lady Anne, determined to change
+the subject at once. She proposed to her fair friends that they
+should ramble together through the apartments of the castle; and she
+called for the old housekeeper, who had lived in the family from her
+childhood, to go along with them, and asked her to describe to them
+the person and manners of Queen Elizabeth, when she had visited at the
+castle, and slept in the state apartment; always since called, The
+Queen's Bedchamber.
+
+Led by their talkative guide, the careless, laughing party wandered
+from one chamber to another, listening to her anecdotes, and the
+descriptions she gave of persons and things in former days. She had
+known many of the originals of the stately portraits in the picture
+gallery; and she could tell the names, and the exploits of those
+warriors in the family, whose coats of mail and glittering weapons
+adorned the armoury. "And now," said the Lady Ellinor, "what else is
+there to be seen? Not that I mean to trouble you any longer with our
+questions, good Margaret, but give me this key, this key so seldom
+used," pointing to a large, strangely shaped key, that hung among a
+bunch at the old housekeeper's side. "There!" she added, disengaging
+it herself from the ring, "I have taken it, and will return it very
+safely. I assure you. This key," she said, turning to her young
+companions, "unlocks a gallery at the end of the eastern wing, which
+is always locked up, because the room is full of curious and rare
+treasures, that were brought by my father's brother from many foreign
+lands."
+
+They enter.--"This may be a charming place," said one of the youngest
+and liveliest of the party, "but see, the rain has passed away, and
+the sun has at last burst out from the clouds. How brightly he shines,
+even through these dull and dusty windows!" She gave but a passing
+glance to the treasures around her, and hastened to a half open door
+at the end of the gallery. Some of her companions followed her to a
+broad landing place, at the top of a flight of marble stairs. They
+were absent but a few minutes, and they returned with smiles of
+delight, and glad, eager voices, declaring that they had unbolted a
+door at the bottom of the staircase, and found themselves in the most
+beautiful part of the gardens. "Come!" said the young and sprightly
+girl, "do not loiter here; leave these rare and beautiful things until
+it rains again, and come forth at once with me into the sweet, fresh
+air."
+
+The Lady Ellinor and her friend the Lady Anne were sitting side by
+side, at the same table, and looking over the same volume--a folio of
+Norman chronicles, embellished with many quaint and coloured pictures.
+They both lifted up their faces from the book, as their merry
+companions again addressed them. "Nay, do not _look_ up, but rise up!"
+said the laughing maiden, and drawing away the volume from before
+them, she shut it up instantly, and laid it on another table; throwing
+down a branch of jessamine in its place.
+
+"Yes, yes, you are right, my merry Barbara," replied the Lady Ellinor,
+and she rose up as she spoke, "we have been prisoners all the day
+against our will, why should we now be confined when the smile of
+Nature bids us forth to share her joy. Come, come! my sweet Anne,
+_you_ are not wont to be the last," turning to her friend, who
+lingered behind. "Oh!" cried Lady Anne, "I am coming, I will soon be
+the first amongst you, I only wait a moment to bind up my troublesome
+hair." As she spoke, her eyes rested upon a little volume, which lay
+upon the broad sill of the casement. The wind fluttered in the pages,
+and blew them over and over; and half curiously, half carelessly,
+she looked again, and yet again. The word _murder_ caught her eye;
+her feelings were still in a state of excitement from the tales and
+legends to which she had just been listening. Resting her head upon
+her hand, she leaned over the volume; and stood motionless, absorbed
+by the interest of the tale which she read, forgetful of her young
+companions--of all but the appalling story then before her.
+
+But these feelings were soon lost in astonishment, and horror so
+confounding, that for awhile she lost all power of moving, or even of
+thinking. Still her eyes were fixed upon the words which had pierced
+her heart:--she could not force them away. Again and again, struck
+with shame and horror, she shrunk away;--again and again, she found
+herself forced by doubt, by positive disbelief, to search the terrible
+pages. At last she had read enough--quite, quite enough to be assured,
+not that her father--her mother, had been _suspected_, but that by the
+law of the land they had been convicted, and condemned to death as
+foul, adulterous murderers;--the murderers of Sir Thomas Overbury!
+
+The Lady Ellinor returned alone into the gallery, "You little truant!"
+she cried, "why so long? you said you would soon be with the foremost.
+I thought you must have escaped me, and have sought you through half
+the garden, and you are here all the while!"
+
+No voice replied: not a sound was heard; and the Lady Ellinor had
+already returned to the door of the gallery to seek her friend
+elsewhere, when something fell heavily to the ground.
+
+She flew back; and in one of the receding windows, she found the Lady
+Anne lying senseless in a deep swoon. Throwing herself on the ground
+beside her, she raised her tenderly in her arms, and not without some
+difficulty, restored her to herself. Then laying her head upon her
+bosom, she whispered kind words. "You are ill, I fear, my own Anne,
+who has been here? What have you seen? How so changed in this short
+time? I left you well and smiling, and now--nay, my dear, dear friend,
+do not turn from me, and look so utterly wretched. Do not you see me!
+What can be the matter!" The Lady Anne looked up in her friend's face
+with so piteous and desolate a look, that she began to fear her reason
+was affected.
+
+"Have I lost your confidence? Am I no longer loved?" said the Lady
+Ellinor. "Can you sit heart-broken there, and will not allow me to
+comfort you? Still no answer! Shall I go? Shall I leave you, my love?
+Do you wish me absent?" continued she in a trembling voice, the tears
+flowing over her face, as she rose up. Her motion to depart aroused
+the Lady Anne. "Ellinor! my Ellinor!" she cried, and throwing herself
+forward, she stretched forth her arms. In another moment she was
+weeping on the bosom of her friend. She wept for a long time without
+restraint, for the Lady Ellinor said nothing, but drew her nearer and
+nearer to her bosom, and tenderly pressed the hand that was clasped in
+hers.
+
+"I ought not to be weeping here," at length she said, "I ought to let
+you leave me, but I have not the courage, I cannot bear to lose your
+friendship,--your affection, my Ellinor! Can you love me? Have you
+loved me, knowing all the while, as every one must? To-day--this very
+hour, since you left me, I learned:--no I cannot tell you! Look on
+that page, Ellinor, you will see why you find me thus. I am the most
+wretched, wretched creature!"--here again she burst into an agony of
+uncontrollable grief.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Who can describe the feelings of the Lady Anne--alone, in her chamber,
+looking up at the portrait of her mother, upon which she had so often
+gazed with delight and reverence! "Is it possible?" said she to
+herself, "can this be she, of whom I have read such dreadful things?
+Have all my young and happy days been but a dream, from which I wake
+at last? Is not this dreadful certainty still as a hideous dream to
+me?"
+
+She had another cause of bitter grief. She loved the young and
+noble-minded Lord Russell, the Earl of Bedford's eldest son; and she
+had heard him vow affection and faithfulness to her. She now perceived
+at once the reasons why the Earl of Bedford had objected to their
+marriage: she almost wondered within herself that the Lord Russel
+should have chosen her; and though she loved him more for avowing his
+attachment, though her heart pleaded warmly for him, she determined to
+renounce his plighted love. "It must be done," she said, "and better
+now;--delay will but bring weakness. _Now_ I can write--I feel that I
+have strength." And the Lady Anne wrote, and folded with a trembling
+hand the letter which should give up her life's happiness; and fearing
+her resolution might not hold, she despatched it by a messenger, as
+the Lord Russel was then in the neighbourhood; and returned mournfully
+to her own chamber. She opened an old volume which lay upon her
+toilette--a volume to which she turned in time of trouble, to seek
+that peace which the world cannot give.
+
+Lady Ellinor soon aroused her by the tidings that a messenger had
+arrived with a letter from her father, and she descended in search
+of him.
+
+"Oh, why is this? why am I here?" exclaimed the Lady Anne, as
+trembling and almost sinking to the ground--her face alternately pale
+and covered with crimson blushes, she found herself alone with the
+Lord Russell. "You have received my letter, might not this trial have
+been spared? my cup was already sufficiently bitter--but I had drunk
+it. No!" she continued gently withdrawing her hand which he had taken,
+"Do not make me despise myself--the voice of duty separates us.
+Farewell! I seek a messenger from my father." "I am the messenger you
+seek," replied he, "I have seen the Lord Somerset, and bring this
+letter to his daughter."
+
+The letter from the Earl of Somerset informed his daughter that he had
+seen the Earl of Bedford, and had obviated all obstacle to her union
+with the Lord Russell; that he was going himself to travel in foreign
+parts; and that he wished her to be married during a visit to the Earl
+and Countess of Bedford, whose invitation he had accepted for her.
+
+"Does not your father say, that in this marriage his happiness is at
+stake?" said the Lord Russell, gently pressing her hand. The Lady Anne
+hung down her head, and wept in silence. "Are you still silent, my
+dearest?" continued he, "then will I summon another advocate to plead
+for me."
+
+He quitted the apartment for a moment, but soon returned with the
+Countess of Bedford, who had accompanied him to claim her future
+daughter-in-law. The Lady Anne had made many resolutions, but they
+yielded before the sweet and eloquent entreaties that urged her to
+do what, in fact, she was all too willing to consent to.
+
+They were married, the Lord Russell and the Lady Anne Carr; and they
+lived long and happily together. It was always thought that the Lord
+Russell had loved not only well, but wisely; for the Lady Anne was
+ever a faithful wife, and a loving, tender mother. It was not until
+some years after her marriage, that the Lady Russell discovered how
+the consent of the earl of Bedford had been obtained. Till then,
+she knew not that this consent had been withheld, until the Earl
+of Somerset should give his daughter a large sum as her marriage
+portion:--the Earl of Bedford calculating upon the difficulty, nay
+almost impossibility, of his ever raising this sum.
+
+But he had not calculated upon the devotion of the wretched father's
+love to his fair and innocent child: and he was astounded when his
+terms were complied with, and the money paid at once into his hands.
+He could no longer withhold his consent; nor could he refuse some
+admiration of this proof of a father's love for his child. The Lord
+Somerset had, in fact, sold his whole possessions, and reduced himself
+to an estate not far removed from beggary, to give his daughter the
+husband of her choice.
+
+It was the Lady Anne Carr, of whom Vandyke painted an exquisite and
+well-known portrait, when Countess of Bedford. She was the mother of
+William Lord Russell; and died heart-broken in her old age, when she
+heard of the execution of her noble and first-born son.
+
+This is, perhaps, one of Mr. Tayler's most successful pieces; it has
+more breadth (if we may use such a term) than he is wont to employ,
+the absence of which from his writing, we have more than once had
+occasion to regret.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+TIME'S TELESCOPE.
+
+
+Our old friend Time has this year illustrated his march, or
+object-glass, with a host of _images_ or _spectra_--that is, woodcuts
+of head and tail pieces--to suit all tastes--from the mouldering
+cloister of other days to the last balloon ascent. The Notices of
+Saints' Days and Holidays, Chronology and Biography, Astronomical and
+Naturalist's Notices, are edited with more than usual industry; and
+the poetry, original and selected, is for the most part very pleasing.
+
+As we have a running account with Time's Telescope, (who has not?) and
+occasionally illustrate our pages with extracts during the year, we
+content ourselves for the present with a quotation from an original
+article, by "a correspondent from Alveston," possessing much good
+feeling and a tone of reflection, to us very pleasing:--
+
+
+THE INFLUENCE OF A FLOWER.
+
+
+Towards the close of a most lovely spring day--and such a lovely one,
+to my fancy, has never beamed from the heavens since--I carelessly
+plucked a cowslip from a copse side, and gave it to _Constance_. 'Twas
+on that beautiful evening when she told me all her heart! as, seated
+on a mossy bank, she dissected, with downcast eyes, every part of the
+flower; chives, pointal, and petal, all were displayed; though I am
+sure she never even thought of the class. My destiny through life I
+considered as fixed from that hour.--Shortly afterwards I was called,
+by the death of a relative, to a distant part of England; upon
+my return, _Constance_ was no more. The army was not my original
+destination; but my mind began to be enfeebled by hourly musing upon
+one subject alone, without cessation or available termination; yet
+reason enough remained to convince me, that, without change and
+excitement, it would degenerate into fatuity.
+
+The preparation and voyage to India, new companions, and ever-changing
+scenes, hushed my feelings, and produced a calm that might be called
+a state of blessedness--a condition in which the ignoble and inferior
+ingredients of our nature were subdued by the divinity of mind. Years
+rolled on in almost constant service; nor do I remember many of the
+events of that time, even with interest or regret. In one advance of
+the army to which I was attached, we had some skirmishing with the
+irregulars of our foe; the pursuit was rapid, and I fell behind my
+detachment, wounded and weary, in ascending a ghaut, resting in the
+jungle, with languid eyes fixed on the ground, without any particular
+feeling but that of fatigue, and the smarting of my shoulder.
+A _cowslip_ caught my sight! my blood rushed to my heart--and,
+shuddering, I started on my feet, felt no fatigue, knew of no wound,
+and joined my party. I had not seen this flower for ten years! but it
+probably saved my life--an European officer, wounded and alone, might
+have tempted the avarice of some of the numerous and savage followers
+of an Indian army. In the cooler and calmer hours of reflection since,
+I have often thought that this appearance was a mere phantom, an
+illusion--the offspring of weakness: I saw it but for a moment, and
+too imperfectly to be assured of reality; and whatever I believed at
+the time seems now to have been a painting on the mind rather than an
+object of vision; but how that image started up. I conjecture not--the
+effect was immediate and preservative. This flower was again seen
+in Spain: I had the command of an advance party, and in one of the
+recesses of the Pyrenees, of the romantic, beautiful Pyrenees, upon a
+secluded bank, surrounded by a shrubbery so lovely as to be noticed by
+many--was a _cowslip_. It was now nearly twenty years since I had seen
+it in Mysore: I did not start; but a cold and melancholy chill came
+over me; yet I might possibly have gazed long on this humble little
+flower, and recalled many dormant thoughts, had not a sense of duty
+(for we momentarily expected an attack) summoned my attentions to the
+realities of life: so, drawing the back of my hand across my eyes, I
+cheered my party with, "Forward, lads," and pursued my route, and saw
+it no more, until England and all her flowery meadows met my view;
+but many days and service had wasted life, and worn the fine edge of
+sensibility away; they were now before me in endless profusion, almost
+unheeded, and without excitement; I viewed not the cowslip, when
+fifty, as I had done with the eyes of nineteen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS BOX.
+
+
+This is the happiest _title_ in the whole list of annuals. There
+is nothing sentimental or lachrymose in it; but it is warm and
+seasonable, and done up in a holly-green binding, it is all over
+old Christmas.
+
+The first story in the volume is Old Christmas; one of the gems or
+sweets is Garry Owen, or the Snow-Woman, by Miss Edgeworth, for it
+abounds with good sentiment, just such as we should wish in the hearts
+and mouths of our own children, as a spice for their prattle.
+
+We pass over _L'Egotiste Corrigée_, par Madame de Labourt--pretty
+enough--and the Ambitious Primrose, by Miss Dagley. Then a Song, by
+Miss Mitford; and a Story of Old Times, by Mrs. Hofland; and the
+Tragical History of Major Brown, a capital piece of fun; and Pretty
+Bobby, one of Miss Mitford's delightful sketches. The Visit to
+the Zoological Gardens is not just what we expected; still it is
+attractive. Major Beamish has accommodated military tactics to the
+nursery in a pleasant little sketch; and the proverb of Much Coin Much
+Care, by Mrs. R.S. Jameson is a little farce for the same stage.
+
+But the Cuts--the pictures--of which it would have been more
+_juvenile_ to have spoken first. These are from the pencil of our
+"right trustye" friend and excellent artist, Mr. W.H. Brooke, whose
+horses, coaches, and dogs excite so much mirth among the young friends
+of the MIRROR--for, in truth, Mr. Brooke is an A.M.--an _associate_
+of the MIRROR, and enables us to jump from Whitehall to Constantine's
+Arch at Rome, shake _hands_ with the Bears of the Zoological Society,
+and Peg in the Ring at Abury.
+
+The _Christmas Box cuts_ are all fun and frolic--the tail-piece of the
+preface, a bricklayer on a ladder, "spilling" a hod of bricks--the
+Lord of Misrule, with his polichinel army--the Boar's Head--a little
+squat Cook and a steaming Plum-Pudding--the Bee and Honeysuckle--Major
+Brown with a Munchausen face--the Bear Pit, Monkeys' Houses, and
+Horned Owl, in the Zoological Gardens--and the Parliament of Animals,
+with the Elephant as Chancellor, the Tortoise for "the table," and
+Monkeys for Counsel--the groups of Toy Soldiers--and the head pieces
+of the Cobbler and his Wife--all excellent. Then the Cricket and
+Friar, and a pair of Dancing Crickets--worth all the fairy figures
+of the Smirkes, and a hundred others into the bargain. These are the
+little quips of the pencil that curl up our eye-lashes and dimple
+our faces more than all the Vatican gallery. They are trifles--aye,
+"trifles light as air"--but their influence convinces us that trifling
+is part of the great business of life.
+
+Now we are trifling our readers' time; so to recommend the _Christmas
+Box_ for 1829, as one of the prettiest presents, and as much better
+suited to children than was its predecessor--and--pass we off.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here our motley-minded sheet finishes, and we leave our readers in
+possession of its sweet fancies. Its little compartments of poetry and
+prose remind us of mosaic work, and its sentimentalities have all the
+varieties of the kaleidoscope. To gladden the eye, study the taste,
+and improve the heart, of each reader has been our aim--feelings which
+we hope pervade this and every other Number of the MIRROR.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Number 340 of the MIRROR contains the Notices of the Literary
+Souvenir, Forget-Me-Not, Gem, and Amulet, and with the present Number
+forms the Spirit of the Annuals for 1829.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near
+Somerset-House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market,
+Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers._
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10730 ***
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+, by Various</title>
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10730 ***</div>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and
+Instruction, Vol. 12, Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)
+, by Various</h1>
+***</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page369" name="page369"></a>[pg
+369]</span>
+<h1>THE MIRROR<br />
+OF<br />
+LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.</h1>
+<hr class="full" />
+<table width="100%" summary="Vol., No., Date">
+<tr>
+<td align="left"><b>Vol. XII. No. 344.</b></td>
+<td align="center"><b>SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER</b></td>
+<td align="right"><b>[PRICE 2d.</b></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>Ehrenbreitstein on Rhine.</h2>
+<div class="figure" style="width:100%;"><a href=
+"images/344-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/344-1.png" alt=
+"" /></a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall,</p>
+<p>Black with the miners' blast, upon her height,</p>
+<p>Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball</p>
+<p>Rebounding idly on her strength, did light;</p>
+<p>A tower of victory! from whence the flight</p>
+<p>Of baffled foes was watched along the plain:</p>
+<p>But peace destroyed what war could never blight,</p>
+<p>And laid those proud roofs bare to summer's rain,</p>
+<p>On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><i>Childe Harold.</i></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<h3>SPIRIT OF THE "ANNUALS."</h3>
+<p>We have the pleasure of presenting to the readers of the MIRROR,
+the completion of our notices of these very elegant publications;
+and in pursuance of the plan of our former Supplement, we are
+enabled to assemble within the present sheet the characteristics of
+<i>eight works</i>, whilst our quotations include <i>fourteen</i>
+prose tales and sketches, and poetical pieces, of great merit.</p>
+<p>The above engraving and its pendant are copied from the
+<i>Literary Souvenir</i>, specially noticed in our last Supplement.
+The original is a drawing by J.M.W. Turner, R.A. and the plate in
+the <i>Souvenir</i> is by J. Pye&mdash;both artists of high
+excellence in their respective departments:&mdash;</p>
+<p>The waters of the Rhine have long maintained their pre-eminence,
+as forming one of the mightiest and loveliest among the highways of
+Europe.</p>
+<p>But among all its united trophies of art and nature, there is
+not one more brightly endowed with picturesque beauty, or romantic
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page370" id="page370"></a>[pg
+370]</span> association, than the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. When
+the eye of our own Childe Harold rested upon its "shattered wall,"
+and when the pencil of Turner immortalized its season of
+desolation, it had been smitten in the pride of its strength by the
+iron glaive of war: and its blackened fragments and stupendous
+ruins had their voice for the heart of the moralist, as well as
+their charm for the inspired mind of genius. But now that military
+art hath knit those granite ribs anew,&mdash;now that the beautiful
+eminence rears once more its crested head, like a sculptured
+Cybele, with a coronet of towers,&mdash;new feelings, and an
+altered scale of admiration wait upon its glories. Once more it
+uplifts its giant height beside the Rhine, repelling in Titan
+majesty the ambition of France; once more, by its united gifts of
+natural position and scientific aid, it appears prepared to
+vindicate its noble appellation of "the broad stone of honour."</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>The Musical Souvenir.</h2>
+<p>This is an elegant little collection of seven songs, a trio,
+duet, and glee, set to music, or "as they are appointed to be said
+or sung." As we have not our musical types in order, we can only
+give our readers a specimen of its literary merits. The first piece
+is Akenside's beautiful Invocation to Cheerfulness; this is
+pleasingly contrasted with a Song to the Forget-me-not, by Mrs.
+Opie. Then follow five pieces from recent volumes of Friendship's
+Offering and the Amulet. The three remaining compositions
+(expressly for the work) are a Song by T. Bradford, Esq.; a Scotch
+Song, by Mr. Feist; and the following pathetic Lines, by the Rev.
+Thomas Dale:&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">Oft as the broad sun dips</p>
+<p class="i4">Beneath the western sea,</p>
+<p class="i2">A prayer is on my lips,</p>
+<p class="i4">Dearest! a prayer for thee.</p>
+<p>I know not where thou wand'rest now,</p>
+<p>O'er ocean-wave, or mountain brow&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">I only know that He,</p>
+<p class="i4">Who hears the suppliant's prayer,</p>
+<p class="i2">Where'er thou art, on land or sea,</p>
+<p class="i4">Alone can shield thee there.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">Oft as the bright dawn breaks</p>
+<p class="i4">Behind the eastern hill,</p>
+<p class="i2">Mine eye from slumber wakes,</p>
+<p class="i4">My heart is with the still&mdash;</p>
+<p>For thee my latest vows were said,</p>
+<p>For thee my earliest prayers are pray'd&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">And O! when storms shall lour</p>
+<p class="i4">Above the swelling sea,</p>
+<p class="i2">Be it thy shield, in danger's hour,</p>
+<p class="i4">That I have pray'd for thee.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>Whether we consider the purity of its sentiments and the amiable
+tone of feeling, or its merit as a musical work, we are induced to
+recommend the present volume as an elegant present for a musical
+friend, and it will doubtless become a favourite with thousands of
+graceful pianists. Thanks to the Muses, our lyrical poetry is
+rapidly rising in the literary scale, when such beautiful
+compositions as those of Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon are no sooner
+written than set to music.</p>
+<p>The <i>Musical Souvenir</i> is embellished with two engravings
+and a presentation plate, and bound in crimson silk&mdash;so that
+it has all the attractions of the annual Christmas presents, except
+<i>prose</i>.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>The Keepsake.</h2>
+<h4><i>Edited by F.M. Reynolds, Esq.</i></h4>
+<p>This is a magnificent affair, and is one of the proud triumphs
+of the union of Painting, Engraving, and Literature&mdash;to which
+we took occasion to allude in a recent number of THE MIRROR. Each
+department is <i>unique</i>, and the lists are like the Morning
+Post account of a drawing room, or Almack's&mdash;the princes of
+the arts, and the peers of the pen. <i>Painters</i>&mdash;Lawrence,
+Howard, Corbould, Westall, Turner, Landseer, Stephanoff, Chalon,
+Stothard, &amp;c. <i>Engravers</i>&mdash;C. Heath, Finden,
+Engleheart, Portbury, Wallis, Rolls, Goodyear, &amp;c.
+<i>Contributors</i>&mdash;Scott, Mackintosh, Moore, the Lords
+Normanby, Morpeth, Porchester, Holland, Gower, and Nugent;
+Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Shelley, Hook, Lockhart, Croker,
+Mrs. Hemans, and Miss Landon; and the cost of the whole <i>eleven
+thousand guineas!</i> Of course, such a book has not been the work
+of a day, month, or, perhaps, a year; and its literature entitles
+it to a permanent place in the library, where we hope to see it
+stand <i>auro perennius</i>; were its fate to be otherwise, we
+should condemn the public&mdash;for we hate ingratitude in every
+shape&mdash;and write in the first page the epitaph&mdash;<i>For,
+O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot</i>. A guinea to
+twopence&mdash;Hyperion to a Satyr&mdash;how can we extend the fame
+of <i>The Keepsake!</i></p>
+<p>We cannot particularize the engravings; but they are all worthy
+companions of the frontispiece&mdash;a lovely portrait of Mrs.
+Peel, engraved by Heath, from Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture. In the
+literary department&mdash;a very court of fiction&mdash;is, My Aunt
+Margaret's Mirror, a tale of forty-four pages; and, The Tapestried
+Chamber, by Sir Walter Scott; both much too long for extract, which
+would indeed be almost unfair. Next comes an exquisite
+gem&mdash;</p>
+<h3>ON LOVE.</h3>
+<h4><i>By Percy Bysshe Shelley</i>.</h4>
+<p>What is Love? Ask him who lives <span class="pagenum"><a name=
+"page371" id="page371"></a>[pg 371]</span> what is life; ask him
+who adores what is God.</p>
+<p>I know not the internal constitution of other men, nor even of
+thine whom I now address. I see that in some external attributes
+they resemble me, but when, misled by that appearance, I have
+thought to appeal to something in common, and unburden my inmost
+soul to them, I have found my language misunderstood, like one in a
+distant and savage land. The more opportunities they have afforded
+me for experience, the wider has appeared the interval between us,
+and to a greater distance have the points of sympathy been
+withdrawn. With a spirit ill-fitted to sustain such proof,
+trembling and feeble through its tenderness, I have every where
+sought, and have found only repulse and disappointment.</p>
+<p><i>Thou</i> demandest what is Love. It is that powerful
+attraction towards all we conceive, or fear, or hope, beyond
+ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the chasm of an
+insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are, a
+community with what we experience within ourselves. If we reason we
+would be understood; if we imagine, we would that the airy children
+of our brain were born anew within another's; if we feel, we would
+that another's nerves should vibrate to our own, that the beams of
+their eyes should kindle at once, and mix and melt into our own;
+that lips of motionless ice should not reply to lips quivering and
+burning with the heart's best blood:&mdash;this is Love. This is
+the bond and the sanction which connects not only man with man, but
+with every thing which exists. We are born into the world, and
+there is something within us, which, from the instant that we live,
+more and more thirsts after its likeness. It is probably in
+correspondence with this law that the infant drains milk from the
+bosom of its mother; this propensity develops itself with the
+development of our nature. We dimly see within our intellectual
+nature, a miniature as it were of our entire self, yet deprived of
+all that we condemn or despise, the ideal prototype of every thing
+excellent and lovely that we are capable of conceiving as belonging
+to the nature of man. Not only the portrait of our external being,
+but an assemblage of the minutest particles of which our nature is
+composed: a mirror whose surface reflects only the forms of purity
+and brightness: a soul within our own soul that describes a circle
+around its proper Paradise, which pain and sorrow and evil dare not
+overleap. To this we eagerly refer all sensations, thirsting that
+they should resemble and correspond with it. The discovery of its
+antitype; the meeting with an understanding capable of clearly
+estimating our own; an imagination which should enter into and
+seize upon the subtle and delicate peculiarities which we have
+delighted to cherish and unfold in secret, with a frame, whose
+nerves, like the chords of two exquisite lyres, strung to the
+accompaniment of one delightful voice, vibrate with the vibrations
+of our own; and a combination of all these in such proportion as
+the type within demands: this is the invisible and unattainable
+point to which Love tends; and to attain which, it urges forth the
+powers of man to arrest the faintest shadow of that, without the
+possession of which, there is no rest or respite to the heart over
+which it rules. Hence in solitude, or that deserted state when we
+are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not with
+us; we love the flowers, the grass, the waters, and the sky. In the
+motion of the very leaves of Spring, in the blue air, there is then
+found a secret correspondence with our heart. There is eloquence in
+the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the
+rustling of the reeds beside them, which, by their inconceivable
+relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to dances
+of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to
+the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of
+one beloved singing to you alone. Sterne says that if he were in a
+desert he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is
+dead, man becomes a living sepulchre of himself, and what yet
+survives is the mere husk of what once he was.</p>
+<hr />
+<p>This and a fragment, with a character of Mr. Canning, by Sir
+James Mackintosh, are the <i>transcendentals</i> of the volume; as
+are the tale&mdash;The Half-brothers, by Mr. Banim, with an
+Ossian-like plate of the heroine; The Sisters of Albano, by Mrs.
+Shelley&mdash;Death of the Laird's Jock, by the author of
+Waverley&mdash;and Ferdinando Eboli, by Mrs. Shelley, with
+Adelinda, a plate, by Heath, on which we could feast our eyes for a
+full hour. Next, a sketch, by Theodore Hook, part of which will
+serve to vary our sheet:&mdash;</p>
+<h3>THE OLD GENTLEMAN.</h3>
+<p>"To-morrow morning," said my friend, "when you awake, the power
+will be your own; and so, sir, I wish you a very good
+night."&mdash;"But, sir," said I, anxious to be better assured of
+the speedy fulfilment of the <span class="pagenum"><a name=
+"page372" id="page372"></a>[pg 372]</span> wish of my heart, (for
+such indeed it was,) "may I have the honour of knowing your name
+and address?"&mdash;"Ha, ha, ha!" said the old gentleman;
+"<i>my</i> name and address; ha, ha, ha! my name is pretty familiar
+to you, young gentleman; and as for my address, I dare say you will
+find your way to me some day or another, and so, once more, good
+night."&mdash;Saying which, he descended the stairs and quitted the
+house, leaving me to surmise who my extraordinary visiter could be.
+I never <i>knew</i>; but I recollect, that after he was gone, I
+heard one of the old ladies scolding a servant-girl for wasting so
+many matches in lighting the candles, and making such a terrible
+smell of brimstone in the house. I was now all anxiety to get to
+bed, not because I was sleepy, but because it seemed to me as if
+going to bed would bring me nearer to the time of getting up, when
+I should be master of the miraculous power which had been promised
+me. I rang the bell; my servant was still out; it was unusual for
+him to be absent at so late an hour. I waited until the clock
+struck eleven, but he came not; and resolving to reprimand him in
+the morning, I retired to rest. Contrary to my expectation, and, as
+it seemed to me, to the ordinary course of nature, considering the
+excitement under which I was labouring, I had scarcely laid my head
+on my pillow before I dropped into a profound slumber, from which I
+was only aroused by my servant's entrance to my room. The instant I
+awoke, I sat up in bed, and began to reflect on what had passed,
+and for a moment to doubt whether it had not been all a dream.
+However, it was daylight; the period had arrived when the proof of
+my newly acquired power might be made.&mdash;"Barton," said I to my
+man, "why were you not at home last night?"&mdash;"I had to wait,
+sir, nearly three hours," he replied, "for an answer to the letter
+which you sent to Major Sheringham."&mdash;"That is not true," said
+I; and, to my infinite surprise, I appeared to <i>recollect</i> a
+series of occurrences, of which I never had previously heard, and
+could have known nothing: "you went to see your sweetheart, Betsy
+Collyer, at Camberwell, and took her to a tea-garden, and gave her
+cakes and cider, and saw her home again: you mean to do exactly the
+same thing on Sunday, and to-morrow you mean to ask me for your
+quarter's wages, although not due till Monday, in order to buy her
+a new shawl."&mdash;The man stood aghast: it was all true. I was
+quite as much surprised as the man.&mdash;"Sir," said Barton, who
+had served me for seven years without having once been found fault
+with, "I see you think me unworthy your confidence; you could not
+have known this, if you had not watched, and followed, and
+overheard me and my sweetheart; my character will get me through
+the world without being looked after. I can stay with you no
+longer; you will please, sir, to provide yourself with another
+servant."&mdash;"But Barton," said I, "I did not follow or watch
+you; I&mdash;"&mdash;"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied; "it is
+not for <i>me</i> to contradict; but you'll forgive me, sir, I
+would rather go; I <i>must</i> go."</p>
+<p>At this moment I was on the very point of easing his mind, and
+retaining my faithful servant by a disclosure of my power; but it
+was yet too new to be parted with; so I affected an anger I did not
+feel, and told him he might go where he pleased. I had, however,
+ascertained that the old gentleman had not deceived me in his
+promises; and, elated with the possession of my extraordinary
+faculty, I hurried the operation of dressing, and before I had
+concluded it, my ardent friend Sheringham was announced; he was
+waiting in the breakfast-room. At the same moment, a note from the
+lovely Fanny Haywood was delivered to me&mdash;from the divine girl
+who, in the midst of all my scientific abstraction, could "chain my
+worldly feelings for a moment." "Sheringham, my dear fellow," said
+I, as I advanced to welcome him, "what makes you so early a visiter
+this morning?"&mdash;"An anxiety," replied Sheringham, "to tell you
+that my uncle, whose interest I endeavoured to procure for you, in
+regard to the appointment for which you expressed a desire, has
+been compelled to recommend a relation of the marquess; this gives
+me real pain, but I thought it would be best to put you out of
+suspense as soon as possible."&mdash;"Major Sheringham," said I,
+drawing myself up coldly, "if this matter concerns you so deeply as
+you seem to imply that it does, might I ask why you so readily
+agreed to your uncle's proposition or chimed in with his
+suggestion, to bestow the appointment on this relation of the
+marquess, in order that <i>you</i> might, in return for it, obtain
+the promotion for which you are so anxious?"&mdash;"My dear
+fellow," said Sheringham, evidently confused,
+"I&mdash;I&mdash;never chimed in; my uncle certainly pointed out
+the possibility to which you allude, but <i>that</i> was merely
+contingent upon what he could not refuse to
+do."&mdash;"Sheringham," said I, "your uncle has already secured
+for you the promotion, and you will be gazetted for the
+lieutenant-colonelcy of your regiment on Tuesday. I am not to be
+told that you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page373" id=
+"page373"></a>[pg 373]</span> called at the Horse-guards, in your
+way to your uncle's yesterday, to ascertain the correctness of the
+report of the vacancy which you had received from your friend
+Macgregor; or that <i>you</i>, elated by the prospect before you,
+were the person, in fact, to suggest the arrangement which has been
+made, and promise your uncle 'to smooth me over' for the
+present."&mdash;"Sir," said Sheringham, "where you picked up this
+intelligence I know not; but I must say, that such mistrust, after
+years of undivided intimacy, is not becoming, or consistent with
+the character which I hitherto supposed you to possess. When by
+sinister means the man we look upon as a friend descends to be a
+spy upon our actions, confidence is at an end, and the sooner our
+intercourse ceases, the better. Without some such conduct, how
+could you become possessed of the details upon which you have
+grounded your opinion of my conduct?"&mdash;"I&mdash;," and here
+again was a temptation to confess and fall; but I had not the
+courage to do it. "Suffice it, Major Sheringham, to say, I knew it;
+and, moreover, I know, that when you leave me, your present
+irritation will prompt you to go to your uncle and check the
+disposition he feels at this moment to serve me."&mdash;"This is
+too much, sir," said Sheringham; "this must be our last interview,
+unless indeed your unguarded conduct towards me, and your
+intemperate language concerning me, may render one more meeting
+necessary; and so, sir, here ends our acquaintance."&mdash;Saying
+which, Sheringham, whose friendship even to my enlightened eye was
+nearly as sincere as any other man's, quitted my room, fully
+convinced of my meanness and unworthiness; my heart sank within me
+when I heard the door close upon him for the last time. I now
+possessed the power I had so long desired, and in less than an hour
+had lost a valued friend and a faithful servant. Nevertheless,
+Barton <i>had</i> told me a falsehood, and Sheringham <i>was</i>
+gazetted on the Tuesday night.</p>
+<hr />
+<p>I went into the Water-colour Exhibition at Charing-cross; there
+I heard two artists complimenting each other, while their hearts
+were bursting with mutual envy. There, too, I found a mild,
+modest-looking lady, listening to the bewitching nothings of her
+husband's particular friend; and I knew, as I saw her frown and
+abruptly turn away from him with every appearance of real
+indignation, that she had at that very moment mentally resolved to
+elope with him the following night. In Harding's shop I found
+authors congregated "to laugh the sultry hours away," each watching
+to catch his neighbour's weak point, and make it subject matter of
+mirth in his evening's conversation. I saw a viscount help his
+father out of his carriage with every mark of duty and veneration,
+and knew that he was actually languishing for the earldom and
+estates of the venerable parent of whose health he was apparently
+taking so much care. At Howell and James's I saw more than I could
+tell, if I had ten times the space afforded me that I have; and I
+concluded my tour by dropping in at the National Gallery, where the
+ladies and gentlemen seemed to prefer nature to art, and were
+actively employed in looking at the pictures, and thinking of
+themselves. Oh! it was a strange time then, when every man's heart
+was open to me, and I could sit, and see, and hear, all that was
+going on, and know the workings of the inmost feelings of my
+associates; however, I must not detain the reader with
+reflections.</p>
+<hr />
+<p>Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl, is an intensely interesting
+tale by Lord Normanby, with a most effective illustration by
+Heath.</p>
+<p>But the prose of the "Keepsake" is decidedly superior to the
+<i>poetry</i>, notwithstanding the high names in the latter list.
+Mr. Moore's contribution is, however, only sixteen lines. The
+poetical pieces consist chiefly of fragments or
+"scraps"&mdash;among which those on Italy, by Lord Morpeth; and
+three by Shelley, are very beautiful. Our specimen is&mdash;</p>
+<h3>THE VICTIM BRIDE.</h3>
+<h4><i>By W.H. Harrison.</i></h4>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I saw her in her summer bow'r, and oh! upon my sight</p>
+<p>Methought there never beam'd a form more beautiful and
+bright!</p>
+<p>So young, so fair, she seem'd as one of those aerial things</p>
+<p>That live but in the poet's high and wild imaginings;</p>
+<p>Or like those forms we meet in dreams from which we wake, and
+weep</p>
+<p>That earth has no creation like the figments of our sleep.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Her parent&mdash;loved not he his child above all earthly
+things!</p>
+<p>As traders love the merchandize from which their profit
+springs:</p>
+<p>Old age came by, with tott'ring step, and, for the sordid
+gold</p>
+<p>With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was
+sold</p>
+<p>And thus (for oh! her sire's stern heart was steel'd against her
+pray'r)</p>
+<p>The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her
+despair.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I saw them through the churchyard pass, but such a nuptial
+train</p>
+<p>I would not for the wealth of worlds should greet my sight
+again.</p>
+<p>The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve in Eden's bow'rs,</p>
+<p>Shed bitter tears upon the path they should have strewn with
+flow'rs.</p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page374" id="page374"></a>[pg
+374]</span>
+<p>Who had not deem'd that white rob'd band the funeral array,</p>
+<p>Of one an early doom had call'd from life's gay scene away!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>The priest beheld the bridal group before the altar stand,</p>
+<p>And sigh'd as he drew forth his book with slow reluctant
+hand:</p>
+<p>He saw the bride's flow'r-wreathed hair, and mark'd her
+streaming eyes,</p>
+<p>And deem'd it less a Christian rite than a Pagan sacrifice;</p>
+<p>And when he call'd on Abraham's God to bless the wedded
+pair,</p>
+<p>It seem'd a very mockery to breathe so vain a pray'r.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I saw the palsied bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensigns
+drest;</p>
+<p>A shroud were fitter garment far for him than bridal vest;</p>
+<p>I mark'd him when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his
+hold,</p>
+<p>He held it with a miser's clutch&mdash;it was his darling
+gold.</p>
+<p>His shrivell'd hand was wet with tears she pour'd, alas! in
+vain,</p>
+<p>And it trembled like an autumn leaf beneath the beating
+rain.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I've seen her since that fatal morn&mdash;her golden fetters
+rest</p>
+<p>As e'en the weight of incubus, upon her aching breast.</p>
+<p>And when the victor, Death, shall come to deal the welcome
+blow,</p>
+<p>He will not find one rose to swell the wreath that decks his
+brow:</p>
+<p>For oh! her cheek is blanch'd by grief which time may not
+assuage,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Thus early Beauty sheds her bloom on the wintry breast of
+Age.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>Our commendation of the "Keepsake" might be extended much
+further, were we to consult our inclination to do justice to its
+high character. With so lavish an expenditure and such an array of
+talent as we have shown it to contain, to wonder at its
+success,</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>We congratulate the proprietors on their prospects of
+remuneration, for the attractions of their publication are
+irresistible. It is altogether a splendid enterprise, and we doubt
+not the reward will be more than proportionate to the expectation
+it has raised&mdash;both in the proprietors and their
+patrons&mdash;the public.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>The Anniversary,</h2>
+<h4><i>Edited by Allan Cunningham.</i></h4>
+<p>Perhaps we are getting too panegyrical, for panegyric savours of
+the poppy; but we must not flinch from our duty.</p>
+<p><i>Allan Cunningham</i>&mdash;there is poetry in the name,
+written or sung&mdash;and high-wrought poetry too, in nearly every
+production to which that name is attached&mdash;and among these
+"The Anniversary for 1829." All the departments of this work too,
+(as in the "Keepsake") are unique. Mr. Sharpe, the proprietor, is a
+man of refined taste, his Editor and his contributors are men of
+first-rate genius, the Painters and Engravers are of the first
+rank, and the volume is printed at Mr. Whittingham's
+Chiswick-press. Excellence must always be the result of such a
+combination of talent, and so it proves in the <i>Anniversary</i>.
+As might have been expected from the talent of its editor, the
+volume is superior in its poetical attractions&mdash;both in number
+and quality.</p>
+<p>By way of variety, we begin with the <i>poetry</i>. First is a
+stirring little ballad, the Warrior, by the editor; then, a
+humorous epistle from Robert Southey, Esq. to Allan Cunningham, in
+which the laureat deals forth his ire on the "misresemblances and
+villanous visages" which have been published as his portrait.<a id=
+"footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1"></a><a href=
+"#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> Next is a gem of another water,
+Edderline's Dream, by Professor Wilson, the supposed editor of
+"Blackwood's Magazine." This is throughout a very beautiful
+composition, but we must content ourselves with the following
+extract:&mdash;</p>
+<h3>EDDERLINE'S SLEEP.</h3>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Castle-Oban is lost in the darkness of night,</p>
+<p>For the moon is swept from the starless heaven,</p>
+<p>And the latest line of lowering light</p>
+<p>That lingered on the stormy even,</p>
+<p>A dim-seen line, half cloud, half wave,</p>
+<p>Hath sunk into the weltering grave.</p>
+<p>Castle-Oban is dark without and within,</p>
+<p>And downwards to the fearful din,</p>
+<p>Where Ocean with his thunder shocks</p>
+<p>Stuns the green foundation rocks,</p>
+<p>Through the green abyss that mocks his eye,</p>
+<p>Oft hath the eerie watchman sent</p>
+<p>A shuddering look, a shivering sigh,</p>
+<p>From the edge of the howling battlement!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Therein is a lonesome room,</p>
+<p>Undisturbed as some old tomb</p>
+<p>That, built within a forest glen,</p>
+<p>Far from feet of living men,</p>
+<p>And sheltered by its black pine-trees</p>
+<p>From sound of rivers, lochs, and seas,</p>
+<p>Flings back its arched gateway tall,</p>
+<p>At times to some great funeral!</p>
+<p>Noiseless as a central cell</p>
+<p>In the bosom of a mountain</p>
+<p>Where the fairy people dwell,</p>
+<p>By the cold and sunless fountain!</p>
+<p>Breathless as a holy shrine,</p>
+<p>When the voice of psalms is shed!</p>
+<p>And there upon her stately bed,</p>
+<p>While her raven locks recline</p>
+<p>O'er an arm more pure than snow,</p>
+<p>Motionless beneath her head,&mdash;</p>
+<p>And through her large fair eyelids shine</p>
+<p>Shadowy dreams that come and go,</p>
+<p>By too deep bliss disquieted,&mdash;</p>
+<p>There sleeps in love and beauty's glow,</p>
+<p>The high-born Lady Edderline.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Lo! the lamp's wan fitful light,</p>
+<p>Glide,&mdash;gliding round the golden rim!</p>
+<p>Restored to life, now glancing bright,</p>
+<p>Now just expiring, faint and dim!</p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page375" id="page375"></a>[pg
+375]</span>
+<p>"Like a spirit loath to die,</p>
+<p>Contending with its destiny.</p>
+<p>All dark! a momentary veil</p>
+<p>Is o'er the sleeper! now a pale</p>
+<p>Uncertain beauty glimmers faint,</p>
+<p>And now the calm face of the saint</p>
+<p>With every feature re-appears,</p>
+<p>Celestial in unconscious tears!</p>
+<p>Another gleam! how sweet the while,</p>
+<p>Those pictured faces on the wall,</p>
+<p>Through the midnight silence smile!</p>
+<p>Shades of fair ones, in the aisle</p>
+<p>Vaulted the castle cliffs below,</p>
+<p>To nothing mouldered, one and all,</p>
+<p>Ages long ago!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"From her pillow, as if driven</p>
+<p>By an unseen demon's hand</p>
+<p>Disturbing the repose of heaven,</p>
+<p>Hath fallen her head! The long black hair</p>
+<p>From the fillet's silken band</p>
+<p>In dishevelled masses riven,</p>
+<p>Is streaming downwards to the floor.</p>
+<p>Is the last convulsion o'er?</p>
+<p>And will that length of glorious tresses,</p>
+<p>So laden with the soul's distresses.</p>
+<p>By those fair hands in morning light,</p>
+<p>Above those eyelids opening bright,</p>
+<p>Be braided nevermore!</p>
+<p>No, the lady is not dead,</p>
+<p>Though flung thus wildly o'er her bed;</p>
+<p>Like a wretched corse upon the shore,</p>
+<p>That lies until the morning brings</p>
+<p>Searchings, and shrieks, and sorrowings;</p>
+<p>Or, haply, to all eyes unknown,</p>
+<p>Is borne away without a groan,</p>
+<p>On a chance plank, 'mid joyful cries</p>
+<p>Of birds that pierce the sunny skies</p>
+<p>With seaward dash, or in calm bands</p>
+<p>Parading o'er the silvery sands,</p>
+<p>Or mid the lovely flush of shells,</p>
+<p>Pausing to burnish crest or wing.</p>
+<p>No fading footmark see that tells</p>
+<p>Of that poor unremembered thing!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"O dreadful is the world of dreams,</p>
+<p>When all that world a chaos seems</p>
+<p>Of thoughts so fixed before!</p>
+<p>When heaven's own face is tinged with blood!</p>
+<p>And friends cross o'er our solitude,</p>
+<p>Now friends of our's no more!</p>
+<p>Or dearer to our hearts than ever.</p>
+<p>Keep stretching forth, with vain endeavour,</p>
+<p>Their pale and palsied hands,</p>
+<p>To clasp us phantoms, as we go</p>
+<p>Along the void like drifting snow.</p>
+<p>To far-off nameless lands!</p>
+<p>Yet all the while we know not why,</p>
+<p>Nor where those dismal regions lie,</p>
+<p>Half hoping that a curse to so deep</p>
+<p>And wild can only be in sleep,</p>
+<p>And that some overpowering scream</p>
+<p>Will break the fetters of the dream,</p>
+<p>And let us back to waking life,</p>
+<p>Filled though it be with care and strife;</p>
+<p>Since there at least the wretch can know</p>
+<p>The meanings on the face of woe,</p>
+<p>Assured that no mock shower is shed</p>
+<p>Of tears upon the real dead,</p>
+<p>Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,</p>
+<p>When bending o'er the death-like cheek</p>
+<p>Of one who scarcely seems alive,</p>
+<p>At every cold but breathing kiss.</p>
+<p>He hears a saving angel speak&mdash;</p>
+<p>'Thy love will yet revive!'"</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>Then comes A Farewell to the year, one of Mr. Lockhart's elegant
+translations from the Spanish; a pretty portrait of rustic
+simplicity&mdash;the Little Gleaner, by the editor; and some
+playful lines by M.A. Shee, accompanying an engraving from his own
+picture of the Lost Ear-Rings. The Wedding Wake, by George Darley,
+Esq. is an exquisite picture of saddened beauty. The Ettrick
+Shepherd has the Carle of Invertine&mdash;a powerful composition,
+and the Cameronian Preacher, a prose tale, of equal effect. In
+addition to the pieces already mentioned, by the editor, is one of
+extraordinary excellence&mdash;the Magic Bridle: his Lines to a Boy
+plucking Blackberries, are a very pleasing picture of
+innocence:&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i8">There stay in joy,</p>
+<p>Pluck, pluck, and eat thou happy boy;</p>
+<p>Sad fate abides thee. Thou mayst grow</p>
+<p>A man: for God may deem it so,</p>
+<p>I wish thee no such harm, sweet child:</p>
+<p>Go, whilst thou'rt innocent and mild:</p>
+<p>Go, ere earth's passions, fierce and proud,</p>
+<p>Rend thee as lightning rend the cloud:</p>
+<p>Go, go, life's day is in the dawn:</p>
+<p>Go, wait not, wish not to be man.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>One of his pieces we quote entire:&mdash;</p>
+<h3>THE SEA KING'S DEATH-SONG.</h3>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"I'll launch my gallant bark no more,</p>
+<p class="i2">Nor smile to see how gay</p>
+<p>Its pennon dances, as we bound</p>
+<p class="i2">Along the watery way;</p>
+<p>The wave I walk on's mine&mdash;the god</p>
+<p class="i2">I worship is the breeze;</p>
+<p>My rudder is my magic rod</p>
+<p class="i2">Of rule, on isles and seas:</p>
+<p>Blow, blow, ye winds, for lordly France,</p>
+<p class="i2">Or shores of swarthy Spain:</p>
+<p>Blow where ye list, of earth I'm lord,</p>
+<p class="i2">When monarch of the main.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"When last upon the surge I rode,</p>
+<p class="i2">A strong wind on me shot,</p>
+<p>And tossed me as I toss my plume,</p>
+<p class="i2">In battle fierce and hot.</p>
+<p>Three days and nights no sun I saw,</p>
+<p class="i2">Nor gentle star nor moon;</p>
+<p>Three feet of foam dash'd o'er my decks,</p>
+<p class="i2">I sang to see it&mdash;soon</p>
+<p>The wind fell mute, forth shone the sun,</p>
+<p class="i2">Broad dimpling smiled the brine;</p>
+<p>I leap'd on Ireland's shore, and made</p>
+<p class="i2">Half of her riches mine.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"The wild hawk wets her yellow foot</p>
+<p class="i2">In blood of serf and king:</p>
+<p>Deep bites the brand, sharp smites the axe,</p>
+<p class="i2">And helm and cuirass ring;</p>
+<p>The foam flies from the charger's flanks,</p>
+<p class="i2">Like wreaths of winter's snow;</p>
+<p>Spears shiver, and the bright shafts start</p>
+<p class="i2">In thousands from the bow&mdash;</p>
+<p>Strike up, strike up, my minstrels all</p>
+<p class="i2">Use tongue and tuneful chord&mdash;</p>
+<p>Be mute!&mdash;My music is the clang</p>
+<p class="i2">Of cleaving axe and sword.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Cursed be the Norseman who puts trust</p>
+<p class="i2">In mortar and in stone;</p>
+<p>Who rears a wall, or builds a tower,</p>
+<p class="i2">Or makes on earth his throne;</p>
+<p>My monarch throne's the willing wave,</p>
+<p class="i2">That bears me on the beach;</p>
+<p>My sepulchre's the deep sea surge,</p>
+<p class="i2">Where lead shall never reach;</p>
+<p>My death-song is the howling wind,</p>
+<p class="i2">That bends my quivering mast,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Bid England's maidens join the song,</p>
+<p class="i2">I there made orphans last.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me</p>
+<p class="i2">Oft, oft, by frith and flood,</p>
+<p>I called ye forth to feast on kings;</p>
+<p class="i2">Who now shall give ye food?</p>
+<p>Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea,</p>
+<p class="i2">For of earth's proudest lords</p>
+<p>We served thee oft a sumptuous feast</p>
+<p class="i2">With our sharp shining swords;</p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page376" id="page376"></a>[pg
+376]</span>
+<p>Mourn, midnight, mourn, no more thou'lt hear</p>
+<p class="i2">Armed thousands shout my name.</p>
+<p>Nor see me rushing, red wet shod,</p>
+<p class="i2">Through cities doomed to flame.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"My race is run, my flight is flown;</p>
+<p class="i2">And, like the eagle free,</p>
+<p>That soars into the cloud and dies,</p>
+<p class="i2">I leave my life on sea.</p>
+<p>To man I yield not spear nor sword</p>
+<p class="i2">Ne'er harmed me in their ire,</p>
+<p>Vain on me Europe shower'd her shafts,</p>
+<p class="i2">And Asia pour'd her fire.</p>
+<p>Nor wound nor scar my body bears,</p>
+<p class="i2">My lip made never moan,</p>
+<p>And Odin bold, who gave me life,</p>
+<p class="i2">Now comes and takes his own.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>"Light! light there! let me get one look,&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">Yon is the golden sky,</p>
+<p>With all its glorious lights, and there</p>
+<p class="i2">My subject sea flows by;</p>
+<p>Around me all my comrades stand,</p>
+<p class="i2">Who oft have trod with me</p>
+<p>On prince's necks, a joy that's flown,</p>
+<p class="i2">And never more may be.</p>
+<p>Now put my helmet on my head,</p>
+<p class="i2">My bright sword in my hand,</p>
+<p>That I may die as I have lived.</p>
+<p class="i2">In arms and high command."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>In the prose department the most striking is the description of
+Abbotsford, quoted in our 339th number. There is an affecting Tale
+of the Times of the Martyrs, by the Rev. Edward Irving, which will
+repay the reader's curiosity. The Honeycomb and Bitter Gourd is a
+pleasing little story; and Paddy Kelleger and his Pig, is a fine
+bit of humour, in Mr. Croker's best style. The brief Memoir of the
+late Sir George Beaumont is a just tribute to the memory of that
+liberal patron of the Fine Arts, and is an opportune introduction
+into such a work as the present. The letter of Lord Byron, too,
+from Genoa in 1823, will be interesting to the noble poet's
+admirers.</p>
+<p>Among the illustrations we can only notice the Lute, by C.
+Rolls, after Bonnington; Morning, by E. Goodall, from Linton's
+"joyful" picture; Sir W. Scott in his Study (qy. the forehead); a
+little "Monkeyana," by Landseer; Chillon, by Wallis, from a drawing
+by Clarkson Stanfield&mdash;a sublime picture; Fonthill, an
+exquisite scene from one of Turner's drawings; Beatrice, from a
+picture by Howard; the Lake View of Newstead, after Danby; the
+Snuff-Box, from Stephanoff; and last, though not least,
+Gainsborough's charming Young Cottagers, transferred to steel, by
+J.H. Robinson&mdash;perhaps the most attractive print in the whole
+series.</p>
+<p>With this hasty notice we conclude, in the language of our
+announcement of the present work, "wishing the publisher <i>many
+Anniversaries</i>"</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>Friendship's Offering.</h2>
+<h4><i>Edited by Thomas Pringle, Esq.</i></h4>
+<p>The present volume will support, if not increase, the literary
+reputation which this elegant work has enjoyed during previous
+years. The editor, Mr. Pringle, is a poet of no mean celebrity,
+and, as we are prepared to show, his contribution, independent of
+his editorial judgment, will do much toward the Friendship's
+Offering maintaining its ground among the Annuals for 1829.</p>
+<p>There are twelve engravings and a presentation plate. Among the
+most beautiful of these are Cupid and Psyche, painted by J. Wood,
+and engraved by Finden; Campbell Castle, by E. Goodall, after G.
+Arnald; the Parting, from Haydon's picture now exhibiting with his
+Mock Election, "Chairing;" Hours of Innocence, from Landseer; La
+Frescura, by Le Petit, from a painting by Bone; and the Cove of
+Muscat, a spirited engraving by Jeavons, from the painting of
+Witherington. All these are of first-rate excellence; but another
+remains to be mentioned&mdash;Glen-Lynden, painted and engraved by
+<i>Martin</i>, a fit accompaniment for Mr. Pringle's very polished
+poem.</p>
+<p>The first <i>prose</i> story is the Election, by Miss Mitford,
+with the hero a downright John Bull who reads Cobbett. The next
+which most attracts our attention is Contradiction, by the author
+of an Essay on Housekeepers&mdash;but the present is not so
+Shandean as the last-mentioned paper; it has, however, many good
+points, and want of room alone prevents our transferring it. Then
+comes the Covenanters, a Scottish traditionary tale of
+<i>fixing</i> interest; the Publican's Dream, by Mr. Banim, told
+also in the Winter's Wreath, and Gem:</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p><i>Thrice</i> the brindled cat hath mewed;</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>and Zalim Khan, a beautiful Peruvian tale of thirty pages, by
+Mr. Fraser. The French story, La Fianc&eacute;e de Marques, is a
+novelty for an annual, but in good taste. Tropical Sun-sets, by Dr.
+Philip, is just to our mind and measure:&mdash;</p>
+<p>A setting sun between the tropics is certainly one of the finest
+objects in nature.</p>
+<p>From the 23rd degree north to the 27th degree south latitude, I
+used to stand upon the deck of the Westmoreland an hour every
+evening, gazing with admiration upon a scene which no effort either
+of the pencil or the pen can describe, so as to convey any adequate
+idea of it to the mind of one who has never been in the
+neighbourhood of the equator. I merely attempt to give you a hasty
+and imperfect outline.</p>
+<p>The splendour of the scene generally commenced about twenty
+minutes before sun-set, when the feathery, fantastic, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page377" id="page377"></a>[pg
+377]</span> regularly crystallized clouds in the higher regions of
+the atmosphere, became fully illumined by the sun's rays; and the
+fine mackerel-shaped clouds, common in these regions, were seen
+hanging in the concave of heaven like fleeces of burnished gold.
+When the sun approached the verge of the horizon, he was frequently
+seen encircled by a halo of splendour, which continued increasing
+till it covered a large space of the heavens: it then began
+apparently to shoot out from the body of the sun, in refulgent
+pencils, or radii, each as large as a rainbow, exhibiting,
+according to the rarity or density of the atmosphere, a display of
+brilliant or delicate tints, and of ever changing lights and shades
+of the most amazing beauty and variety. About twenty minutes after
+sun-set these splendid shooting rays disappeared, and were
+succeeded by a fine, rich glow in the heavens, in which you might
+easily fancy that you saw land rising out of the ocean, stretching
+itself before you and on every side in the most enchanting
+perspective, and having the glowing lustre of a bar of iron when
+newly withdrawn from the forge. On this brilliant ground the dense
+clouds which lay nearest the bottom of the horizon, presenting
+their dark sides to you, exhibited to the imagination all the
+gorgeous and picturesque appearances of arches, obelisks,
+mouldering towers, magnificent gardens, cities, forests, mountains,
+and every fantastic configuration of living creatures, and of
+imaginary beings; while the finely stratified clouds a little
+higher in the atmosphere, might really be imagined so many glorious
+islands of the blessed, swimming in an ocean of light.</p>
+<p>The beauty and grandeur of the sunsets, thus imperfectly
+described, surpass inconceivably any thing of a similar description
+which I have ever witnessed, even amidst the most rich and romantic
+scenery of our British lakes and mountains.</p>
+<p>Were I to attempt to account for the exquisite enjoyment on
+beholding the setting sun between the tropics, I should perhaps
+say, that it arose from the warmth, the repose, the richness, the
+novelty, the glory of the whole, filling the mind with the most
+exalted, tranquillizing, and beautiful images.</p>
+<hr />
+<p>There is likewise a tale, Going to Sea, and the Ship's Crew, by
+Mrs. Bowdich, which equally merits commendation.</p>
+<p>Powerful as may be the aid which the editor has received from
+the <i>contributors</i> to the "Friendship's Offering," we are
+bound to distinguish one of his own pieces&mdash;<i>Glen-Lynden, a
+Tale of Teviot-dale</i>, as the sun of the volume. It is in
+Spenserian verse, and a more graceful composition cannot be found
+in either of the Annuals. It is too long for entire extract, but we
+will attempt to string together a few of its beauties. The scenery
+of the Glen is thus described:&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A rustic home in Lynden's pastoral dell</p>
+<p>With modest pride a verdant hillock crown'd:</p>
+<p>Where the bold stream, like dragon from the fell,</p>
+<p>Came glittering forth, and, gently gliding round</p>
+<p>The broom-clad skirts of that fair spot of ground,</p>
+<p>Danced down the vale, in wanton mazes bending;</p>
+<p>Till finding, where it reached the meadow's bound,</p>
+<p>Romantic Teviot on his bright course wending.</p>
+<p>It joined the sounding streams&mdash;with his blue waters
+blending.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Behind a lofty wood along the steep</p>
+<p>Fenced from the chill north-east this quiet glen:</p>
+<p>And green hills, gaily sprinkled o'er with sheep,</p>
+<p>Spread to the south; while by the brightening pen,</p>
+<p>Rose the blithe sound of flocks and hounds and men,</p>
+<p>At summer dawn, and gloaming; or the voice</p>
+<p>Of children nutting in the hazelly den,</p>
+<p>Sweet mingling with the winds' and waters' noise,</p>
+<p>Attuned the softened heart with Nature to rejoice.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Upon the upland height a mouldering Tower,</p>
+<p>By time and outrage marked with many a scar,</p>
+<p>Told of past days of feudal pomp and power</p>
+<p>When its proud chieftains ruled the dales afar.</p>
+<p>But that was long gone by: and waste and war,</p>
+<p>And civil strife more ruthless still than they,</p>
+<p>Had quenched the lustre of Glen-Lynden's star,</p>
+<p>Which glimmered now, with dim reclining ray,</p>
+<p>O'er this secluded spot,&mdash;sole remnant of their sway.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>Lynden's lord, and possessor of this tower, is now "a grave,
+mild, husbandman," and his wife&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>She he loved in youth and loved alone,</p>
+<p>Was his.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<hr /></div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And now his pleasant home and pastoral farm</p>
+<p>Are all the world to him: he feels no sting</p>
+<p>Of restless passions; but, with grateful arm,</p>
+<p>Clasps the twin cherubs round his neck that cling,</p>
+<p>Breathing their innocent thoughts like violets in the
+spring.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Another prattler, too, lisps on his knee,</p>
+<p>The orphan daughter of a hapless pair,</p>
+<p>Who, voyaging upon the Indian sea,</p>
+<p>Met the fierce typhon-blast&mdash;and perished there:</p>
+<p>But she was left the rustic home to share</p>
+<p>Of those who her young mother's friends had been:</p>
+<p>An old affection thus enhanced the care</p>
+<p>With which those faithful guardians loved to screen</p>
+<p>This sweet forsaken flower, in their wild arbours green.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<hr /></div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>But dark calamity comes aye too soon&mdash;</p>
+<p>And why anticipate its evil day?</p>
+<p>Ah, rather let us now in lovely June</p>
+<p>O'erlook these happy children at their play:</p>
+<p>Lo, where they gambol through the garden gay,</p>
+<p>Or round the hoary hawthorn dance and sing,</p>
+<p>Or, 'neath yon moss-grown cliff, grotesque and grey</p>
+<p>Sit plaiting flowery wreaths in social ring,</p>
+<p>And telling wondrous tales of the green Elfin King.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<hr />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page378" id="page378"></a>[pg
+378]</span></div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Ah! evil days have fallen upon the land;</p>
+<p>A storm that brooded long has burst at last;</p>
+<p>And friends, like forest trees that closely stand</p>
+<p>With roots and branches interwoven fast,</p>
+<p>May aid awhile each other in the blast;</p>
+<p>But as when giant pines at length give way</p>
+<p>The groves below must share the ruin vast,</p>
+<p>So men who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway</p>
+<p>Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew</p>
+<p>Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears,</p>
+<p>That rose like distant shadows nearer drew</p>
+<p>O'ercasting the calm evening of his years;</p>
+<p>Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears,</p>
+<p>A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space,</p>
+<p>Till the horizon closes round of clears,</p>
+<p>Returns our tale the enchanted path to trace</p>
+<p>Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting
+grace.</p>
+<p>Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers</p>
+<p>O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood,</p>
+<p>A lake blue gleaming from deep forest bowers,</p>
+<p>Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude:</p>
+<p>Oft by the margin of that quiet flood,</p>
+<p>And through the groves and hoary ruins round,</p>
+<p>Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood;</p>
+<p>Or here, amid tradition's haunted ground,</p>
+<p>Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<hr /></div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Here Arthur loved to roam&mdash;a dreaming boy&mdash;</p>
+<p>Erewhile romantic reveries to frame,</p>
+<p>Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy.</p>
+<p>Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame;</p>
+<p>But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame</p>
+<p>'Gan mingle with his martial musings high;</p>
+<p>And trembling wishes&mdash;which he feared to name,</p>
+<p>Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh&mdash;</p>
+<p>Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And there were eyes that from long silken lashes</p>
+<p>With stolen glance could spy his secret pain&mdash;</p>
+<p>Sweet hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes</p>
+<p>Like joyous day-spring after summer rain;</p>
+<p>And she, the enchantress, loved the youth again</p>
+<p>With maiden's first affection, fond and true,</p>
+<p>&mdash;Ah! youthful love is like the tranquil main,</p>
+<p>Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue&mdash;</p>
+<p>Beautiful as a spirit&mdash;calm, but fearful too!</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>Our limits compel us to break off once more, which is a source
+of regret, especially when our path is strewn with such gems as
+these:&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A gentle star lights up their solitude</p>
+<p>And lends fair hues to all created things;</p>
+<p>And dreams alone of beings pure and good</p>
+<p>Hover around their hearts with angel wings&mdash;</p>
+<p>Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture
+springs.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>Here is a beautiful apostrophe&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Oh Nature! by impassioned hearts alone</p>
+<p>Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar mind</p>
+<p>Sees but the shadow of a power unknown;</p>
+<p>Thy loftier beauties beam not to the blind</p>
+<p>And sensual throng, to grovelling hopes resigned:</p>
+<p>But they whom high and holy thoughts inspire</p>
+<p>Adore thee, in celestial glory shrined</p>
+<p>In that diviner fane where Love's pure fire</p>
+<p>Burns bright, and Genius tunes his loud immortal Lyre!</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>The halcyon days at length draw to a close, and sorrows "in
+battalions" compel them to emigrate and bid</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Farewell to the scenes they ne'er shall visit more.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>The remainder is rather abrupt, at least much more so than the
+lovers of fervid poetry could wish, especially as the termination
+is with the following exquisite ballad:&mdash;</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Our native land, our native vale,</p>
+<p class="i2">A long and last adieu!</p>
+<p>Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,</p>
+<p class="i2">And Cheviot mountains blue.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,</p>
+<p class="i2">And streams renowned in song:</p>
+<p>Farewell, ye blithsome braes and meads</p>
+<p class="i2">Our hearts have loved so long.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes,</p>
+<p class="i2">Where thyme and harebells grow;</p>
+<p>Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes,</p>
+<p class="i2">O'erhung with birk and sloe.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>The battle-mound, the border-tower,</p>
+<p class="i2">That Scotia's annals tell:</p>
+<p>Thy martyr's grave, the lover's bower&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">To each&mdash;to all&mdash;farewell!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Home of our hearts! our father's home!</p>
+<p class="i2">Land of the brave and free!</p>
+<p>The keel is flashing through the foam</p>
+<p class="i2">That bears us far from thee.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>We seek a wild and distant shore</p>
+<p class="i2">Beyond the Atlantic main:</p>
+<p>We leave thee to return no more,</p>
+<p class="i2">Nor view thy cliffs again.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>But may dishonour blight our fame,</p>
+<p class="i2">And quench our household fires,</p>
+<p>When we or ours forget thy name,</p>
+<p class="i2">Green island of our sires.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Our native land&mdash;our native vale&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">A long, a last adieu!</p>
+<p>Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,</p>
+<p class="i2">And Scotland's mountains blue!</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>We have only space to add that the poetical pieces are very
+numerous, and those by Allan Cunningham, the Ettrick Shepherd,
+Delta, and William Kennedy, merit especial notice.</p>
+<p>The elegant embossed binding is similar to that of last year,
+which we mentioned to our readers, and which we think an
+improvement on the silken array.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>The Bijou.</h2>
+<p>Though last in the field, (for it is scarcely published) the
+<i>Bijou</i> will doubtless occupy a different place in public
+favour. Its embellishments are selected with much judgment, and in
+literary merit, it equals either of its contemporaries. Its second
+title is an Annual of Literature and the <i>Fine Arts</i>, and from
+the choice of its illustrations, deservedly so. Thus, among the
+painters, who have furnished subjects for the engravers, we have
+Holbein, Claude, and Primaticcio; and two from Sir Thomas Lawrence.
+The engraving from Holbein, Sir Thomas More and his
+Family,&mdash;is a novelty in an Annual, and is beautifully
+executed by Ensom. It has all the quaintness of the great master,
+whose pictures may be called the <i>mosaic</i> of painting. The
+Autumnal Evening, engraved by Dean, after Claude, is not so
+successful; although it should be considered that little space is
+allowed for the exquisite effect of the original: <span class=
+"pagenum"><a name="page379" id="page379"></a>[pg 379]</span> still
+the execution might have been better. The Frontispiece, Lady
+Wallscourt, after Sir Thomas Lawrence is in part, a first-rate
+engraving; Young Lambton, after the same master, is of superior
+merit. The face is beautifully copied; and, by way of hint to the
+<i>scrappers</i>, this print will form a companion to the Mountain
+Daisy, from the <i>Amulet</i> for the present year. There are, too,
+some consecrated landscapes, dear to every classical tourist, and
+of, no common interest at home&mdash;as Clisson, the retreat of
+Heloise; Mont Blanc; and the Cascade of Tivoli&mdash;all of which
+are delightfully picturesque. The view of Mont Blanc is well
+managed.</p>
+<p>In the <i>prose</i> compositions we notice some of intense
+interest, among which are the Stranger Patron and the Castle of
+Reinspadte&mdash;both of German origin. There is too, a faithful
+historiette of the Battle of Trafalgar, which, with the History of
+the Family of Sir Thomas More, will be read with peculiar
+attention. Our extracts from the poetical department are by Mrs.
+Hemans and Miss Landon.</p>
+<h3>THE SLEEPERS.</h3>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Oh! lightly, lightly tread!</p>
+<p>A holy thing is sleep.</p>
+<p>On the worn spirit shed,</p>
+<p>And eyes that wake to weep:</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A holy thing from heaven,</p>
+<p>A gracious dewy cloud,</p>
+<p>A covering mantle, given</p>
+<p>The weary to enshroud.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Oh! lightly, lightly tread!</p>
+<p>Revere the pale still brow,</p>
+<p>The meekly drooping head,</p>
+<p>The long hair's willowy flow!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Ye know not what ye do,</p>
+<p>That call the slumberer back,</p>
+<p>From the world unseen by you,</p>
+<p>Unto Life's dim faded track.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Her soul is far away,</p>
+<p>In her childhood's land perchance,</p>
+<p>Where her young sisters play,</p>
+<p>Where shines her mother's glance.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Some old sweet native sound</p>
+<p>Her spirit haply weaves;</p>
+<p>A harmony profound</p>
+<p>Of woods with all their leaves:</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>A murmur of the sea,</p>
+<p>A laughing tone of streams:&mdash;</p>
+<p>Long may her sojourn be</p>
+<p>In the music-land of dreams!</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Each voice of love is there,</p>
+<p>Each gleam of beauty fled.</p>
+<p>Each lost one still more fair&mdash;</p>
+<p>Oh! lightly, lightly tread!</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>Miss Landon has contributed more to the "Bijou" than to any
+other Annual, and a piece from her distinguished pen will increase
+the value and variety of our columns.</p>
+<h3>THE FEAST OF LIFE.</h3>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>I bid thee to my mystic Feast,</p>
+<p>Each one thou lovest is gathered there;</p>
+<p>Yet put thou on a mourning robe,</p>
+<p>And bind the cypress in thy hair.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>The hall is vast, and cold, and drear;</p>
+<p>The board with faded flowers is spread:</p>
+<p>Shadows of beauty flit around,</p>
+<p>But beauty from each bloom has fled;</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>And music echoes from the walls,</p>
+<p>But music with a dirge-like sound;</p>
+<p>And pale and silent are the guests,</p>
+<p>And every eye is on the ground.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>Here, take this cup, tho' dark it seem,</p>
+<p>And drink to human hopes and fears;</p>
+<p>'Tis from their native element</p>
+<p>The cup is filled&mdash;it is of tears.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>What! turnest thou with averted brow?</p>
+<p>Thou scornest this poor feast of mine;</p>
+<p>And askest for a purple robe,</p>
+<p>Light words, glad smiles, and sunny wine.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>In vain, the veil has left thine eyes,</p>
+<p>Or such these would have seemed to thee;</p>
+<p>Before thee is the Feast of Life,</p>
+<p>But life in its reality!</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>We should not, however, pass over in silence a poem, of the
+antique school, entitled the Holy Vengeance for the Martyrdom of
+George Wishart, the merits of which are of a high order. Indeed,
+this piece, and the admirable composition of the History of Sir
+Thomas More and his Family, with the Holbein print, distinguish the
+Bijou from all other publications of its class, and are
+characteristic of the good taste of Mr. Pickering, the proprietor.
+Altogether, the Bijou for 1829 is very superior to the last volume,
+and, to our taste, it is one of the most attractive of the
+Christmas presents.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>The Winter's Wreath.</h2>
+<p>This is a <i>provincial</i>, but not a first appearance in
+London; the present being the fourth "<i>Wreath</i>" that has been
+entwined for the lovers of song and sentiment. It is culled from
+Liverpool, (next to our own metropolis) the most literary city in
+the empire; but many of its flowers have been gathered from our
+metropolitan parterre. Thus, in addition to the respected names of
+Roscoe, Currie, and Shepherd, (of Liverpool), we have among the
+contributors those of Hemans, Bowring, Howitt, Opie, with Mitford,
+Montgomery, and Wiffen. The editorship has passed into different
+hands, and "the introduction of religious topics has been carefully
+avoided" as unsuited to a work of elegant amusement.</p>
+<p>The plates are twelve in number, among which are <i>Lady Blanche
+and her Merlin</i>, after Northcote (rather too hard in the
+features); an exquisite <i>View of the Thames near Windsor</i>,
+after Havell; <i>Medora and the Corsair</i>, after Howard; the
+<i>Sailor Boy</i>, by Lizars; and a beautiful <i>Wreath</i>
+Title-page, after Vandyke. All these will bear comparison with any
+engravings in similar works.</p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page380" id="page380"></a>[pg
+380]</span>
+<p>The Wreath contains 132 pieces or flowers, some of them
+<i>perennials</i>&mdash;others of great, but less lasting
+beauty&mdash;and but few that will fade in a day. Among those
+entitled to special distinction, in the <i>prose</i> department,
+are an Italian Story, of considerable interest; the Corsair, a
+pleasing sketch; and Lough Neagh, a tale of the north of Ireland.
+One of the <i>perennials</i> is a Journey up the Mississippi, by
+Audubon, the American naturalist. Kester Hobson, a legendary tale
+of the Yorkshire Wolds, which turns upon a lucky dream, will
+probably set thousands dreaming&mdash;and we hope with the same
+good effect&mdash;viz. half-a-bushel of gold. "A Vision," by the
+late Dr. Currie, is a successful piece of writing; Le Contretems is
+a pleasant tale enough, with a sprinkling of French dialogue. Next
+is a well-told historiette of the eventful times of the Civil
+Wars.&mdash;The Memoir of a young Sculptor can scarcely fail to
+awaken the sympathy of the reader. The introduction of the paper on
+Popular Education, in what the editor himself calls "a work of
+elegant amusement like the present," is somewhat objectionable, and
+the writer's sentiments will be very unpalatable to a certain
+party. The Ridley Coach is a sketch in the style of Miss Mitford,
+who has contributed only one article, and that in verse. Mrs. Opie
+has a slight piece&mdash;The Old Trees and New Houses&mdash;but our
+prose selection is, (somewhat abridged)&mdash;</p>
+<h3>THE LADY ANNE CARR,</h3>
+<h4><i>By the Author of "May you like it."</i></h4>
+<p>Have you not sometimes seen, upon the bosom of dark, stagnant
+waters, a pure, white water-lily lift up its head, breathing there
+a fresh and delicate fragrance, and deriving its existence
+thence&mdash;yet partaking in nothing of the loathsome nature of
+the pool, nor ever sullied by its close contact with the foul
+element beneath?</p>
+<p>It is an honest simile to say that the gentle Anne Carr
+resembled that sweet water-lily. Sprung from the guilty loves of
+the favourite Somerset and his beautiful but infamous wife, she was
+herself pure and untainted by the dark and criminal dispositions of
+her parents. Not even a suspicion of their real character had ever
+crossed her mind; she knew that they had met with some reverse of
+fortune,&mdash;for she had heard her father regret, for her sake,
+his altered estate. She knew this, but nothing more: her father's
+enemies, who would gladly have added to his wretchedness, by making
+his child look upon him with horror, could not find in their
+hearts, when they gazed on her innocent face, to make one so
+unoffending wretched. It is a lovely blindness in a child to have
+no discernment of a parent's faultiness; and so it happened that
+the Lady Anne saw nothing in her father's mien or manner,
+betokening a sinful, worthless character.</p>
+<p>Of her mother she had but few and faint recollections. Memory
+pictured her pale and drooping, nay gradually sinking under the
+cureless malady which brought her to her grave at last. She
+remembered, however, the soft and beautiful smiles which had beamed
+over that haggard countenance, when it was turned upon her only
+child&mdash;smiles which she delighted to recognise in the lovely
+portrait, from which her idea of her mother was chiefly formed.
+This portrait adorned her own favourite apartment. It had been
+painted when the original was as young and happy as herself; and
+her filial love and fond imagination believed no grace had been
+wanting to make all as beautiful and glorious within.</p>
+<p>As the Lady Anne grew up to womanhood, the sweetness of her
+disposition and manners began to be acknowledged by those, who had
+seen without astonishment her extraordinary beauty; and many
+persons of distinction, who would hold no kind of fellowship with
+the Lord Somerset, sought the acquaintance of his innocent daughter
+for her own sake.</p>
+<p>The most beloved friend of the Lady Anne was the Lady Ellinor
+G&mdash;&mdash;, the eldest daughter of the Earl of
+G&mdash;&mdash;: and with her, Lady Anne often passed several
+months in the year. A large party of young ladies were assembled at
+G&mdash;&mdash; Castle; and it happened that a continual rain had
+confined the fair companions within doors the whole summer
+afternoon. They sat together over their embroidery and various
+kinds of needlework, telling old tales of fearful
+interest&mdash;the strange mishaps of benighted
+travellers&mdash;stories of witchcraft, and of mysterious
+murder.</p>
+<p>The conversation turned at last to the legends belonging to a
+certain family; and one circumstance was mentioned so nearly
+resembling, in many particulars, the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury,
+that the Lady Ellinor, scarcely doubting that some slight suspicion
+of her parents' crimes had reached the ears of the Lady Anne,
+determined to change the subject at once. She proposed to her fair
+friends that they should ramble together through the apartments of
+the castle; and she called for the old housekeeper, who had lived
+in the family from her childhood, to go along with them, and asked
+her to describe <span class="pagenum"><a name="page381" id=
+"page381"></a>[pg 381]</span> to them the person and manners of
+Queen Elizabeth, when she had visited at the castle, and slept in
+the state apartment; always since called, The Queen's
+Bedchamber.</p>
+<p>Led by their talkative guide, the careless, laughing party
+wandered from one chamber to another, listening to her anecdotes,
+and the descriptions she gave of persons and things in former days.
+She had known many of the originals of the stately portraits in the
+picture gallery; and she could tell the names, and the exploits of
+those warriors in the family, whose coats of mail and glittering
+weapons adorned the armoury. "And now," said the Lady Ellinor,
+"what else is there to be seen? Not that I mean to trouble you any
+longer with our questions, good Margaret, but give me this key,
+this key so seldom used," pointing to a large, strangely shaped
+key, that hung among a bunch at the old housekeeper's side.
+"There!" she added, disengaging it herself from the ring, "I have
+taken it, and will return it very safely. I assure you. This key,"
+she said, turning to her young companions, "unlocks a gallery at
+the end of the eastern wing, which is always locked up, because the
+room is full of curious and rare treasures, that were brought by my
+father's brother from many foreign lands."</p>
+<p>They enter.&mdash;"This may be a charming place," said one of
+the youngest and liveliest of the party, "but see, the rain has
+passed away, and the sun has at last burst out from the clouds. How
+brightly he shines, even through these dull and dusty windows!" She
+gave but a passing glance to the treasures around her, and hastened
+to a half open door at the end of the gallery. Some of her
+companions followed her to a broad landing place, at the top of a
+flight of marble stairs. They were absent but a few minutes, and
+they returned with smiles of delight, and glad, eager voices,
+declaring that they had unbolted a door at the bottom of the
+staircase, and found themselves in the most beautiful part of the
+gardens. "Come!" said the young and sprightly girl, "do not loiter
+here; leave these rare and beautiful things until it rains again,
+and come forth at once with me into the sweet, fresh air."</p>
+<p>The Lady Ellinor and her friend the Lady Anne were sitting side
+by side, at the same table, and looking over the same
+volume&mdash;a folio of Norman chronicles, embellished with many
+quaint and coloured pictures. They both lifted up their faces from
+the book, as their merry companions again addressed them. "Nay, do
+not <i>look</i> up, but rise up!" said the laughing maiden, and
+drawing away the volume from before them, she shut it up instantly,
+and laid it on another table; throwing down a branch of jessamine
+in its place.</p>
+<p>"Yes, yes, you are right, my merry Barbara," replied the Lady
+Ellinor, and she rose up as she spoke, "we have been prisoners all
+the day against our will, why should we now be confined when the
+smile of Nature bids us forth to share her joy. Come, come! my
+sweet Anne, <i>you</i> are not wont to be the last," turning to her
+friend, who lingered behind. "Oh!" cried Lady Anne, "I am coming, I
+will soon be the first amongst you, I only wait a moment to bind up
+my troublesome hair." As she spoke, her eyes rested upon a little
+volume, which lay upon the broad sill of the casement. The wind
+fluttered in the pages, and blew them over and over; and half
+curiously, half carelessly, she looked again, and yet again. The
+word <i>murder</i> caught her eye; her feelings were still in a
+state of excitement from the tales and legends to which she had
+just been listening. Resting her head upon her hand, she leaned
+over the volume; and stood motionless, absorbed by the interest of
+the tale which she read, forgetful of her young companions&mdash;of
+all but the appalling story then before her.</p>
+<p>But these feelings were soon lost in astonishment, and horror so
+confounding, that for awhile she lost all power of moving, or even
+of thinking. Still her eyes were fixed upon the words which had
+pierced her heart:&mdash;she could not force them away. Again and
+again, struck with shame and horror, she shrunk away;&mdash;again
+and again, she found herself forced by doubt, by positive
+disbelief, to search the terrible pages. At last she had read
+enough&mdash;quite, quite enough to be assured, not that her
+father&mdash;her mother, had been <i>suspected</i>, but that by the
+law of the land they had been convicted, and condemned to death as
+foul, adulterous murderers;&mdash;the murderers of Sir Thomas
+Overbury!</p>
+<p>The Lady Ellinor returned alone into the gallery, "You little
+truant!" she cried, "why so long? you said you would soon be with
+the foremost. I thought you must have escaped me, and have sought
+you through half the garden, and you are here all the while!"</p>
+<p>No voice replied: not a sound was heard; and the Lady Ellinor
+had already returned to the door of the gallery to seek her friend
+elsewhere, when something fell heavily to the ground.</p>
+<p>She flew back; and in one of the receding <span class=
+"pagenum"><a name="page382" id="page382"></a>[pg 382]</span>
+windows, she found the Lady Anne lying senseless in a deep swoon.
+Throwing herself on the ground beside her, she raised her tenderly
+in her arms, and not without some difficulty, restored her to
+herself. Then laying her head upon her bosom, she whispered kind
+words. "You are ill, I fear, my own Anne, who has been here? What
+have you seen? How so changed in this short time? I left you well
+and smiling, and now&mdash;nay, my dear, dear friend, do not turn
+from me, and look so utterly wretched. Do not you see me! What can
+be the matter!" The Lady Anne looked up in her friend's face with
+so piteous and desolate a look, that she began to fear her reason
+was affected.</p>
+<p>"Have I lost your confidence? Am I no longer loved?" said the
+Lady Ellinor. "Can you sit heart-broken there, and will not allow
+me to comfort you? Still no answer! Shall I go? Shall I leave you,
+my love? Do you wish me absent?" continued she in a trembling
+voice, the tears flowing over her face, as she rose up. Her motion
+to depart aroused the Lady Anne. "Ellinor! my Ellinor!" she cried,
+and throwing herself forward, she stretched forth her arms. In
+another moment she was weeping on the bosom of her friend. She wept
+for a long time without restraint, for the Lady Ellinor said
+nothing, but drew her nearer and nearer to her bosom, and tenderly
+pressed the hand that was clasped in hers.</p>
+<p>"I ought not to be weeping here," at length she said, "I ought
+to let you leave me, but I have not the courage, I cannot bear to
+lose your friendship,&mdash;your affection, my Ellinor! Can you
+love me? Have you loved me, knowing all the while, as every one
+must? To-day&mdash;this very hour, since you left me, I
+learned:&mdash;no I cannot tell you! Look on that page, Ellinor,
+you will see why you find me thus. I am the most wretched, wretched
+creature!"&mdash;here again she burst into an agony of
+uncontrollable grief.</p>
+<hr />
+<p>Who can describe the feelings of the Lady Anne&mdash;alone, in
+her chamber, looking up at the portrait of her mother, upon which
+she had so often gazed with delight and reverence! "Is it
+possible?" said she to herself, "can this be she, of whom I have
+read such dreadful things? Have all my young and happy days been
+but a dream, from which I wake at last? Is not this dreadful
+certainty still as a hideous dream to me?"</p>
+<p>She had another cause of bitter grief. She loved the young and
+noble-minded Lord Russell, the Earl of Bedford's eldest son; and
+she had heard him vow affection and faithfulness to her. She now
+perceived at once the reasons why the Earl of Bedford had objected
+to their marriage: she almost wondered within herself that the Lord
+Russel should have chosen her; and though she loved him more for
+avowing his attachment, though her heart pleaded warmly for him,
+she determined to renounce his plighted love. "It must be done,"
+she said, "and better now;&mdash;delay will but bring weakness.
+<i>Now</i> I can write&mdash;I feel that I have strength." And the
+Lady Anne wrote, and folded with a trembling hand the letter which
+should give up her life's happiness; and fearing her resolution
+might not hold, she despatched it by a messenger, as the Lord
+Russel was then in the neighbourhood; and returned mournfully to
+her own chamber. She opened an old volume which lay upon her
+toilette&mdash;a volume to which she turned in time of trouble, to
+seek that peace which the world cannot give.</p>
+<p>Lady Ellinor soon aroused her by the tidings that a messenger
+had arrived with a letter from her father, and she descended in
+search of him.</p>
+<p>"Oh, why is this? why am I here?" exclaimed the Lady Anne, as
+trembling and almost sinking to the ground&mdash;her face
+alternately pale and covered with crimson blushes, she found
+herself alone with the Lord Russell. "You have received my letter,
+might not this trial have been spared? my cup was already
+sufficiently bitter&mdash;but I had drunk it. No!" she continued
+gently withdrawing her hand which he had taken, "Do not make me
+despise myself&mdash;the voice of duty separates us. Farewell! I
+seek a messenger from my father." "I am the messenger you seek,"
+replied he, "I have seen the Lord Somerset, and bring this letter
+to his daughter."</p>
+<p>The letter from the Earl of Somerset informed his daughter that
+he had seen the Earl of Bedford, and had obviated all obstacle to
+her union with the Lord Russell; that he was going himself to
+travel in foreign parts; and that he wished her to be married
+during a visit to the Earl and Countess of Bedford, whose
+invitation he had accepted for her.</p>
+<p>"Does not your father say, that in this marriage his happiness
+is at stake?" said the Lord Russell, gently pressing her hand. The
+Lady Anne hung down her head, and wept in silence. "Are you still
+silent, my dearest?" continued he, "then will I summon another
+advocate to plead for me."</p>
+<p>He quitted the apartment for a moment, but soon returned with
+the Countess of <span class="pagenum"><a name="page383" id=
+"page383"></a>[pg 383]</span> Bedford, who had accompanied him to
+claim her future daughter-in-law. The Lady Anne had made many
+resolutions, but they yielded before the sweet and eloquent
+entreaties that urged her to do what, in fact, she was all too
+willing to consent to.</p>
+<p>They were married, the Lord Russell and the Lady Anne Carr; and
+they lived long and happily together. It was always thought that
+the Lord Russell had loved not only well, but wisely; for the Lady
+Anne was ever a faithful wife, and a loving, tender mother. It was
+not until some years after her marriage, that the Lady Russell
+discovered how the consent of the earl of Bedford had been
+obtained. Till then, she knew not that this consent had been
+withheld, until the Earl of Somerset should give his daughter a
+large sum as her marriage portion:&mdash;the Earl of Bedford
+calculating upon the difficulty, nay almost impossibility, of his
+ever raising this sum.</p>
+<p>But he had not calculated upon the devotion of the wretched
+father's love to his fair and innocent child: and he was astounded
+when his terms were complied with, and the money paid at once into
+his hands. He could no longer withhold his consent; nor could he
+refuse some admiration of this proof of a father's love for his
+child. The Lord Somerset had, in fact, sold his whole possessions,
+and reduced himself to an estate not far removed from beggary, to
+give his daughter the husband of her choice.</p>
+<p>It was the Lady Anne Carr, of whom Vandyke painted an exquisite
+and well-known portrait, when Countess of Bedford. She was the
+mother of William Lord Russell; and died heart-broken in her old
+age, when she heard of the execution of her noble and first-born
+son.</p>
+<p>This is, perhaps, one of Mr. Tayler's most successful pieces; it
+has more breadth (if we may use such a term) than he is wont to
+employ, the absence of which from his writing, we have more than
+once had occasion to regret.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>Time's Telescope.</h2>
+<p>Our old friend Time has this year illustrated his march, or
+object-glass, with a host of <i>images</i> or
+<i>spectra</i>&mdash;that is, woodcuts of head and tail
+pieces&mdash;to suit all tastes&mdash;from the mouldering cloister
+of other days to the last balloon ascent. The Notices of Saints'
+Days and Holidays, Chronology and Biography, Astronomical and
+Naturalist's Notices, are edited with more than usual industry; and
+the poetry, original and selected, is for the most part very
+pleasing.</p>
+<p>As we have a running account with Time's Telescope, (who has
+not?) and occasionally illustrate our pages with extracts during
+the year, we content ourselves for the present with a quotation
+from an original article, by "a correspondent from Alveston,"
+possessing much good feeling and a tone of reflection, to us very
+pleasing:&mdash;</p>
+<h3>THE INFLUENCE OF A FLOWER.</h3>
+<p>Towards the close of a most lovely spring day&mdash;and such a
+lovely one, to my fancy, has never beamed from the heavens
+since&mdash;I carelessly plucked a cowslip from a copse side, and
+gave it to <i>Constance</i>. 'Twas on that beautiful evening when
+she told me all her heart! as, seated on a mossy bank, she
+dissected, with downcast eyes, every part of the flower; chives,
+pointal, and petal, all were displayed; though I am sure she never
+even thought of the class. My destiny through life I considered as
+fixed from that hour.&mdash;Shortly afterwards I was called, by the
+death of a relative, to a distant part of England; upon my return,
+<i>Constance</i> was no more. The army was not my original
+destination; but my mind began to be enfeebled by hourly musing
+upon one subject alone, without cessation or available termination;
+yet reason enough remained to convince me, that, without change and
+excitement, it would degenerate into fatuity.</p>
+<p>The preparation and voyage to India, new companions, and
+ever-changing scenes, hushed my feelings, and produced a calm that
+might be called a state of blessedness&mdash;a condition in which
+the ignoble and inferior ingredients of our nature were subdued by
+the divinity of mind. Years rolled on in almost constant service;
+nor do I remember many of the events of that time, even with
+interest or regret. In one advance of the army to which I was
+attached, we had some skirmishing with the irregulars of our foe;
+the pursuit was rapid, and I fell behind my detachment, wounded and
+weary, in ascending a ghaut, resting in the jungle, with languid
+eyes fixed on the ground, without any particular feeling but that
+of fatigue, and the smarting of my shoulder. A <i>cowslip</i>
+caught my sight! my blood rushed to my heart&mdash;and, shuddering,
+I started on my feet, felt no fatigue, knew of no wound, and joined
+my party. I had not seen this flower for ten years! but it probably
+saved my life&mdash;an European officer, wounded and alone, might
+have tempted the avarice of some of the numerous and savage
+followers of an Indian army. In the cooler and calmer hours of
+reflection since, I have often thought that this appearance
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page384" id="page384"></a>[pg
+384]</span> was a mere phantom, an illusion&mdash;the offspring of
+weakness: I saw it but for a moment, and too imperfectly to be
+assured of reality; and whatever I believed at the time seems now
+to have been a painting on the mind rather than an object of
+vision; but how that image started up. I conjecture not&mdash;the
+effect was immediate and preservative. This flower was again seen
+in Spain: I had the command of an advance party, and in one of the
+recesses of the Pyrenees, of the romantic, beautiful Pyrenees, upon
+a secluded bank, surrounded by a shrubbery so lovely as to be
+noticed by many&mdash;was a <i>cowslip</i>. It was now nearly
+twenty years since I had seen it in Mysore: I did not start; but a
+cold and melancholy chill came over me; yet I might possibly have
+gazed long on this humble little flower, and recalled many dormant
+thoughts, had not a sense of duty (for we momentarily expected an
+attack) summoned my attentions to the realities of life: so,
+drawing the back of my hand across my eyes, I cheered my party
+with, "Forward, lads," and pursued my route, and saw it no more,
+until England and all her flowery meadows met my view; but many
+days and service had wasted life, and worn the fine edge of
+sensibility away; they were now before me in endless profusion,
+almost unheeded, and without excitement; I viewed not the cowslip,
+when fifty, as I had done with the eyes of nineteen.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<h2>The Christmas Box.</h2>
+<p>This is the happiest <i>title</i> in the whole list of annuals.
+There is nothing sentimental or lachrymose in it; but it is warm
+and seasonable, and done up in a holly-green binding, it is all
+over old Christmas.</p>
+<p>The first story in the volume is Old Christmas; one of the gems
+or sweets is Garry Owen, or the Snow-Woman, by Miss Edgeworth, for
+it abounds with good sentiment, just such as we should wish in the
+hearts and mouths of our own children, as a spice for their
+prattle.</p>
+<p>We pass over <i>L'Egotiste Corrig&eacute;e</i>, par Madame de
+Labourt&mdash;pretty enough&mdash;and the Ambitious Primrose, by
+Miss Dagley. Then a Song, by Miss Mitford; and a Story of Old
+Times, by Mrs. Hofland; and the Tragical History of Major Brown, a
+capital piece of fun; and Pretty Bobby, one of Miss Mitford's
+delightful sketches. The Visit to the Zoological Gardens is not
+just what we expected; still it is attractive. Major Beamish has
+accommodated military tactics to the nursery in a pleasant little
+sketch; and the proverb of Much Coin Much Care, by Mrs. R.S.
+Jameson is a little farce for the same stage.</p>
+<p>But the Cuts&mdash;the pictures&mdash;of which it would have
+been more <i>juvenile</i> to have spoken first. These are from the
+pencil of our "right trustye" friend and excellent artist, Mr. W.H.
+Brooke, whose horses, coaches, and dogs excite so much mirth among
+the young friends of the MIRROR&mdash;for, in truth, Mr. Brooke is
+an A.M.&mdash;an <i>associate</i> of the MIRROR, and enables us to
+jump from Whitehall to Constantine's Arch at Rome, shake
+<i>hands</i> with the Bears of the Zoological Society, and Peg in
+the Ring at Abury.</p>
+<p>The <i>Christmas Box cuts</i> are all fun and frolic&mdash;the
+tail-piece of the preface, a bricklayer on a ladder, "spilling" a
+hod of bricks&mdash;the Lord of Misrule, with his polichinel
+army&mdash;the Boar's Head&mdash;a little squat Cook and a steaming
+Plum-Pudding&mdash;the Bee and Honeysuckle&mdash;Major Brown with a
+Munchausen face&mdash;the Bear Pit, Monkeys' Houses, and Horned
+Owl, in the Zoological Gardens&mdash;and the Parliament of Animals,
+with the Elephant as Chancellor, the Tortoise for "the table," and
+Monkeys for Counsel&mdash;the groups of Toy Soldiers&mdash;and the
+head pieces of the Cobbler and his Wife&mdash;all excellent. Then
+the Cricket and Friar, and a pair of Dancing Crickets&mdash;worth
+all the fairy figures of the Smirkes, and a hundred others into the
+bargain. These are the little quips of the pencil that curl up our
+eye-lashes and dimple our faces more than all the Vatican gallery.
+They are trifles&mdash;aye, "trifles light as air"&mdash;but their
+influence convinces us that trifling is part of the great business
+of life.</p>
+<p>Now we are trifling our readers' time; so to recommend the
+<i>Christmas Box</i> for 1829, as one of the prettiest presents,
+and as much better suited to children than was its
+predecessor&mdash;and&mdash;pass we off.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>Here our motley-minded sheet finishes, and we leave our readers
+in possession of its sweet fancies. Its little compartments of
+poetry and prose remind us of mosaic work, and its sentimentalities
+have all the varieties of the kaleidoscope. To gladden the eye,
+study the taste, and improve the heart, of each reader has been our
+aim&mdash;feelings which we hope pervade this and every other
+Number of the MIRROR.</p>
+<hr />
+<p>Number 340 of the MIRROR contains the Notices of the Literary
+Souvenir, Forget-Me-Not, Gem, and Amulet, and with the present
+Number forms the Spirit of the Annuals for 1829.</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name=
+"footnote1"></a><b>Footnote 1:</b><a href=
+"#footnotetag1">(return)</a>
+<p>An artist of celebrity is now engaged on a portrait of Mr.
+Southey, <i>cum privilegio</i>, we suppose, Mr. Southey is not the
+only public man, whose lineaments have been traduced by engravers.
+Only look at some of the patriotic gentlemen who figure at public
+meetings, and in <i>outline</i> on cards, &amp;c. But Houbraken is
+now known to have been no more honest than his successors in
+portrait engraving: although physiognomy and craniology ought to
+help the moderns out in these matters.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p><i>Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near
+Somerset-House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market,
+Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.</i></p>
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10730 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #10730 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10730)
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and
+Instruction, Vol. 12, Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)
, by Various
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 12,
+Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)

+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: January 17, 2004  [eBook #10730]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: iso-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE,
+AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 12, ISSUE 344 (SUPPLEMENTARY ISSUE)
***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram; The Mirror of Literature, Amusement,
+and Instruction; William Flis; and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 10730-h.htm or 10730-h.zip:
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/7/3/10730/10730-h/10730-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/7/3/10730/10730-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
+
+VOL. XII, No. 344.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+EHRENBREITSTEIN ON RHINE.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall,
+  Black with the miners' blast, upon her height,
+  Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball
+  Rebounding idly on her strength, did light;
+  A tower of victory! from whence the flight
+  Of baffled foes was watched along the plain:
+  But peace destroyed what war could never blight,
+  And laid those proud roofs bare to summer's rain,
+  On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.
+
+  _Childe Harold._
+
+
+SPIRIT OF THE "ANNUALS."
+
+
+We have the pleasure of presenting to the readers of the MIRROR, the
+completion of our notices of these very elegant publications; and
+in pursuance of the plan of our former Supplement, we are enabled
+to assemble within the present sheet the characteristics of _eight
+works_, whilst our quotations include _fourteen_ prose tales and
+sketches, and poetical pieces, of great merit.
+
+The above engraving and its pendant are copied from the _Literary
+Souvenir_, specially noticed in our last Supplement. The original
+is a drawing by J.M.W. Turner, R.A. and the plate in the _Souvenir_
+is by J. Pye--both artists of high excellence in their respective
+departments:--
+
+The waters of the Rhine have long maintained their pre-eminence,
+as forming one of the mightiest and loveliest among the highways
+of Europe.
+
+But among all its united trophies of art and nature, there is not
+one more brightly endowed with picturesque beauty, or romantic
+association, than the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. When the eye of
+our own Childe Harold rested upon its "shattered wall," and when the
+pencil of Turner immortalized its season of desolation, it had been
+smitten in the pride of its strength by the iron glaive of war: and
+its blackened fragments and stupendous ruins had their voice for the
+heart of the moralist, as well as their charm for the inspired mind
+of genius. But now that military art hath knit those granite ribs
+anew,--now that the beautiful eminence rears once more its crested
+head, like a sculptured Cybele, with a coronet of towers,--new
+feelings, and an altered scale of admiration wait upon its glories.
+Once more it uplifts its giant height beside the Rhine, repelling in
+Titan majesty the ambition of France; once more, by its united gifts
+of natural position and scientific aid, it appears prepared to
+vindicate its noble appellation of "the broad stone of honour."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE MUSICAL SOUVENIR.
+
+
+This is an elegant little collection of seven songs, a trio, duet, and
+glee, set to music, or "as they are appointed to be said or sung." As
+we have not our musical types in order, we can only give our readers
+a specimen of its literary merits. The first piece is Akenside's
+beautiful Invocation to Cheerfulness; this is pleasingly contrasted
+with a Song to the Forget-me-not, by Mrs. Opie. Then follow five
+pieces from recent volumes of Friendship's Offering and the Amulet.
+The three remaining compositions (expressly for the work) are a Song
+by T. Bradford, Esq.; a Scotch Song, by Mr. Feist; and the following
+pathetic Lines, by the Rev. Thomas Dale:--
+
+    Oft as the broad sun dips
+      Beneath the western sea,
+    A prayer is on my lips,
+      Dearest! a prayer for thee.
+  I know not where thou wand'rest now,
+  O'er ocean-wave, or mountain brow--
+    I only know that He,
+      Who hears the suppliant's prayer,
+    Where'er thou art, on land or sea,
+      Alone can shield thee there.
+
+    Oft as the bright dawn breaks
+      Behind the eastern hill,
+    Mine eye from slumber wakes,
+      My heart is with the still--
+  For thee my latest vows were said,
+  For thee my earliest prayers are pray'd--
+    And O! when storms shall lour
+      Above the swelling sea,
+    Be it thy shield, in danger's hour,
+      That I have pray'd for thee.
+
+Whether we consider the purity of its sentiments and the amiable
+tone of feeling, or its merit as a musical work, we are induced to
+recommend the present volume as an elegant present for a musical
+friend, and it will doubtless become a favourite with thousands of
+graceful pianists. Thanks to the Muses, our lyrical poetry is rapidly
+rising in the literary scale, when such beautiful compositions as
+those of Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon are no sooner written than set
+to music.
+
+The _Musical Souvenir_ is embellished with two engravings and a
+presentation plate, and bound in crimson silk--so that it has all
+the attractions of the annual Christmas presents, except _prose_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE KEEPSAKE.
+
+_EDITED BY F.M. REYNOLDS, ESQ._
+
+
+This is a magnificent affair, and is one of the proud triumphs of
+the union of Painting, Engraving, and Literature--to which we took
+occasion to allude in a recent number of THE MIRROR. Each department
+is _unique_, and the lists are like the Morning Post account of a
+drawing room, or Almack's--the princes of the arts, and the peers
+of the pen. _Painters_--Lawrence, Howard, Corbould, Westall,
+Turner, Landseer, Stephanoff, Chalon, Stothard, &c. _Engravers_--C.
+Heath, Finden, Engleheart, Portbury, Wallis, Rolls, Goodyear, &c.
+_Contributors_--Scott, Mackintosh, Moore, the Lords Normanby,
+Morpeth, Porchester, Holland, Gower, and Nugent; Wordsworth, Southey,
+Coleridge, Shelley, Hook, Lockhart, Croker, Mrs. Hemans, and Miss
+Landon; and the cost of the whole _eleven thousand guineas!_ Of
+course, such a book has not been the work of a day, month, or,
+perhaps, a year; and its literature entitles it to a permanent place
+in the library, where we hope to see it stand _auro perennius_;
+were its fate to be otherwise, we should condemn the public--for we
+hate ingratitude in every shape--and write in the first page the
+epitaph--_For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot_. A guinea to
+twopence--Hyperion to a Satyr--how can we extend the fame of _The
+Keepsake!_
+
+We cannot particularize the engravings; but they are all worthy
+companions of the frontispiece--a lovely portrait of Mrs. Peel,
+engraved by Heath, from Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture. In the literary
+department--a very court of fiction--is, My Aunt Margaret's Mirror, a
+tale of forty-four pages; and, The Tapestried Chamber, by Sir Walter
+Scott; both much too long for extract, which would indeed be almost
+unfair. Next comes an exquisite gem--
+
+
+ON LOVE.
+
+_BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY_.
+
+
+What is Love? Ask him who lives what is life; ask him who adores what
+is God.
+
+I know not the internal constitution of other men, nor even of thine
+whom I now address. I see that in some external attributes they
+resemble me, but when, misled by that appearance, I have thought to
+appeal to something in common, and unburden my inmost soul to them, I
+have found my language misunderstood, like one in a distant and savage
+land. The more opportunities they have afforded me for experience, the
+wider has appeared the interval between us, and to a greater distance
+have the points of sympathy been withdrawn. With a spirit ill-fitted
+to sustain such proof, trembling and feeble through its tenderness,
+I have every where sought, and have found only repulse and
+disappointment.
+
+_Thou_ demandest what is Love. It is that powerful attraction towards
+all we conceive, or fear, or hope, beyond ourselves, when we find
+within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek
+to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience
+within ourselves. If we reason we would be understood; if we imagine,
+we would that the airy children of our brain were born anew within
+another's; if we feel, we would that another's nerves should vibrate
+to our own, that the beams of their eyes should kindle at once, and
+mix and melt into our own; that lips of motionless ice should not
+reply to lips quivering and burning with the heart's best blood:--this
+is Love. This is the bond and the sanction which connects not only
+man with man, but with every thing which exists. We are born into the
+world, and there is something within us, which, from the instant that
+we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness. It is probably
+in correspondence with this law that the infant drains milk from
+the bosom of its mother; this propensity develops itself with the
+development of our nature. We dimly see within our intellectual
+nature, a miniature as it were of our entire self, yet deprived of
+all that we condemn or despise, the ideal prototype of every thing
+excellent and lovely that we are capable of conceiving as belonging
+to the nature of man. Not only the portrait of our external being,
+but an assemblage of the minutest particles of which our nature is
+composed: a mirror whose surface reflects only the forms of purity and
+brightness: a soul within our own soul that describes a circle around
+its proper Paradise, which pain and sorrow and evil dare not overleap.
+To this we eagerly refer all sensations, thirsting that they should
+resemble and correspond with it. The discovery of its antitype; the
+meeting with an understanding capable of clearly estimating our own;
+an imagination which should enter into and seize upon the subtle
+and delicate peculiarities which we have delighted to cherish and
+unfold in secret, with a frame, whose nerves, like the chords of two
+exquisite lyres, strung to the accompaniment of one delightful voice,
+vibrate with the vibrations of our own; and a combination of all these
+in such proportion as the type within demands: this is the invisible
+and unattainable point to which Love tends; and to attain which, it
+urges forth the powers of man to arrest the faintest shadow of that,
+without the possession of which, there is no rest or respite to the
+heart over which it rules. Hence in solitude, or that deserted state
+when we are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not
+with us; we love the flowers, the grass, the waters, and the sky. In
+the motion of the very leaves of Spring, in the blue air, there is
+then found a secret correspondence with our heart. There is eloquence
+in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the
+rustling of the reeds beside them, which, by their inconceivable
+relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to dances of
+breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the
+eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one
+beloved singing to you alone. Sterne says that if he were in a desert
+he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is dead, man
+becomes a living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the
+mere husk of what once he was.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This and a fragment, with a character of Mr. Canning, by Sir James
+Mackintosh, are the _transcendentals_ of the volume; as are the
+tale--The Half-brothers, by Mr. Banim, with an Ossian-like plate of
+the heroine; The Sisters of Albano, by Mrs. Shelley--Death of the
+Laird's Jock, by the author of Waverley--and Ferdinando Eboli, by Mrs.
+Shelley, with Adelinda, a plate, by Heath, on which we could feast our
+eyes for a full hour. Next, a sketch, by Theodore Hook, part of which
+will serve to vary our sheet:--
+
+
+THE OLD GENTLEMAN.
+
+
+"To-morrow morning," said my friend, "when you awake, the power will
+be your own; and so, sir, I wish you a very good night."--"But, sir,"
+said I, anxious to be better assured of the speedy fulfilment of the
+wish of my heart, (for such indeed it was,) "may I have the honour of
+knowing your name and address?"--"Ha, ha, ha!" said the old gentleman;
+"_my_ name and address; ha, ha, ha! my name is pretty familiar to you,
+young gentleman; and as for my address, I dare say you will find your
+way to me some day or another, and so, once more, good night."--Saying
+which, he descended the stairs and quitted the house, leaving me to
+surmise who my extraordinary visiter could be. I never _knew_; but
+I recollect, that after he was gone, I heard one of the old ladies
+scolding a servant-girl for wasting so many matches in lighting the
+candles, and making such a terrible smell of brimstone in the house.
+I was now all anxiety to get to bed, not because I was sleepy, but
+because it seemed to me as if going to bed would bring me nearer to
+the time of getting up, when I should be master of the miraculous
+power which had been promised me. I rang the bell; my servant was
+still out; it was unusual for him to be absent at so late an hour. I
+waited until the clock struck eleven, but he came not; and resolving
+to reprimand him in the morning, I retired to rest. Contrary to my
+expectation, and, as it seemed to me, to the ordinary course of
+nature, considering the excitement under which I was labouring, I had
+scarcely laid my head on my pillow before I dropped into a profound
+slumber, from which I was only aroused by my servant's entrance to my
+room. The instant I awoke, I sat up in bed, and began to reflect on
+what had passed, and for a moment to doubt whether it had not been all
+a dream. However, it was daylight; the period had arrived when the
+proof of my newly acquired power might be made.--"Barton," said I to
+my man, "why were you not at home last night?"--"I had to wait, sir,
+nearly three hours," he replied, "for an answer to the letter which
+you sent to Major Sheringham."--"That is not true," said I; and, to my
+infinite surprise, I appeared to _recollect_ a series of occurrences,
+of which I never had previously heard, and could have known nothing:
+"you went to see your sweetheart, Betsy Collyer, at Camberwell, and
+took her to a tea-garden, and gave her cakes and cider, and saw
+her home again: you mean to do exactly the same thing on Sunday,
+and to-morrow you mean to ask me for your quarter's wages, although
+not due till Monday, in order to buy her a new shawl."--The man
+stood aghast: it was all true. I was quite as much surprised as the
+man.--"Sir," said Barton, who had served me for seven years without
+having once been found fault with, "I see you think me unworthy your
+confidence; you could not have known this, if you had not watched, and
+followed, and overheard me and my sweetheart; my character will get
+me through the world without being looked after. I can stay with you
+no longer; you will please, sir, to provide yourself with another
+servant."--"But Barton," said I, "I did not follow or watch you;
+I--"--"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied; "it is not for _me_
+to contradict; but you'll forgive me, sir, I would rather go; I
+_must_ go."
+
+At this moment I was on the very point of easing his mind, and
+retaining my faithful servant by a disclosure of my power; but it was
+yet too new to be parted with; so I affected an anger I did not feel,
+and told him he might go where he pleased. I had, however, ascertained
+that the old gentleman had not deceived me in his promises; and,
+elated with the possession of my extraordinary faculty, I hurried the
+operation of dressing, and before I had concluded it, my ardent friend
+Sheringham was announced; he was waiting in the breakfast-room. At
+the same moment, a note from the lovely Fanny Haywood was delivered
+to me--from the divine girl who, in the midst of all my scientific
+abstraction, could "chain my worldly feelings for a moment."
+"Sheringham, my dear fellow," said I, as I advanced to welcome him,
+"what makes you so early a visiter this morning?"--"An anxiety,"
+replied Sheringham, "to tell you that my uncle, whose interest I
+endeavoured to procure for you, in regard to the appointment for which
+you expressed a desire, has been compelled to recommend a relation of
+the marquess; this gives me real pain, but I thought it would be best
+to put you out of suspense as soon as possible."--"Major Sheringham,"
+said I, drawing myself up coldly, "if this matter concerns you so
+deeply as you seem to imply that it does, might I ask why you so
+readily agreed to your uncle's proposition or chimed in with his
+suggestion, to bestow the appointment on this relation of the
+marquess, in order that _you_ might, in return for it, obtain the
+promotion for which you are so anxious?"--"My dear fellow," said
+Sheringham, evidently confused, "I--I--never chimed in; my uncle
+certainly pointed out the possibility to which you allude, but
+_that_ was merely contingent upon what he could not refuse to
+do."--"Sheringham," said I, "your uncle has already secured for you
+the promotion, and you will be gazetted for the lieutenant-colonelcy
+of your regiment on Tuesday. I am not to be told that you called at
+the Horse-guards, in your way to your uncle's yesterday, to ascertain
+the correctness of the report of the vacancy which you had received
+from your friend Macgregor; or that _you_, elated by the prospect
+before you, were the person, in fact, to suggest the arrangement
+which has been made, and promise your uncle 'to smooth me over' for
+the present."--"Sir," said Sheringham, "where you picked up this
+intelligence I know not; but I must say, that such mistrust, after
+years of undivided intimacy, is not becoming, or consistent with the
+character which I hitherto supposed you to possess. When by sinister
+means the man we look upon as a friend descends to be a spy upon our
+actions, confidence is at an end, and the sooner our intercourse
+ceases, the better. Without some such conduct, how could you become
+possessed of the details upon which you have grounded your opinion
+of my conduct?"--"I--," and here again was a temptation to confess
+and fall; but I had not the courage to do it. "Suffice it, Major
+Sheringham, to say, I knew it; and, moreover, I know, that when you
+leave me, your present irritation will prompt you to go to your uncle
+and check the disposition he feels at this moment to serve me."--"This
+is too much, sir," said Sheringham; "this must be our last interview,
+unless indeed your unguarded conduct towards me, and your intemperate
+language concerning me, may render one more meeting necessary; and so,
+sir, here ends our acquaintance."--Saying which, Sheringham, whose
+friendship even to my enlightened eye was nearly as sincere as any
+other man's, quitted my room, fully convinced of my meanness and
+unworthiness; my heart sank within me when I heard the door close
+upon him for the last time. I now possessed the power I had so long
+desired, and in less than an hour had lost a valued friend and a
+faithful servant. Nevertheless, Barton _had_ told me a falsehood, and
+Sheringham _was_ gazetted on the Tuesday night.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I went into the Water-colour Exhibition at Charing-cross; there I
+heard two artists complimenting each other, while their hearts were
+bursting with mutual envy. There, too, I found a mild, modest-looking
+lady, listening to the bewitching nothings of her husband's particular
+friend; and I knew, as I saw her frown and abruptly turn away from him
+with every appearance of real indignation, that she had at that very
+moment mentally resolved to elope with him the following night. In
+Harding's shop I found authors congregated "to laugh the sultry hours
+away," each watching to catch his neighbour's weak point, and make
+it subject matter of mirth in his evening's conversation. I saw a
+viscount help his father out of his carriage with every mark of duty
+and veneration, and knew that he was actually languishing for the
+earldom and estates of the venerable parent of whose health he was
+apparently taking so much care. At Howell and James's I saw more than
+I could tell, if I had ten times the space afforded me that I have;
+and I concluded my tour by dropping in at the National Gallery,
+where the ladies and gentlemen seemed to prefer nature to art, and
+were actively employed in looking at the pictures, and thinking of
+themselves. Oh! it was a strange time then, when every man's heart was
+open to me, and I could sit, and see, and hear, all that was going
+on, and know the workings of the inmost feelings of my associates;
+however, I must not detain the reader with reflections.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl, is an intensely interesting tale
+by Lord Normanby, with a most effective illustration by Heath.
+
+But the prose of the "Keepsake" is decidedly superior to the _poetry_,
+notwithstanding the high names in the latter list. Mr. Moore's
+contribution is, however, only sixteen lines. The poetical pieces
+consist chiefly of fragments or "scraps"--among which those on Italy,
+by Lord Morpeth; and three by Shelley, are very beautiful. Our
+specimen is--
+
+
+THE VICTIM BRIDE.
+
+_BY W.H. HARRISON._
+
+  I saw her in her summer bow'r, and oh! upon my sight
+  Methought there never beam'd a form more beautiful and bright!
+  So young, so fair, she seem'd as one of those aerial things
+  That live but in the poet's high and wild imaginings;
+  Or like those forms we meet in dreams from which we wake, and weep
+  That earth has no creation like the figments of our sleep.
+
+  Her parent--loved not he his child above all earthly things!
+  As traders love the merchandize from which their profit springs:
+  Old age came by, with tott'ring step, and, for the sordid gold
+  With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was sold
+  And thus (for oh! her sire's stern heart was steel'd against her
+      pray'r)
+  The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her despair.
+
+  I saw them through the churchyard pass, but such a nuptial train
+  I would not for the wealth of worlds should greet my sight again.
+  The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve in Eden's bow'rs,
+  Shed bitter tears upon the path they should have strewn with flow'rs.
+  Who had not deem'd that white rob'd band the funeral array,
+  Of one an early doom had call'd from life's gay scene away!
+
+  The priest beheld the bridal group before the altar stand,
+  And sigh'd as he drew forth his book with slow reluctant hand:
+  He saw the bride's flow'r-wreathed hair, and mark'd her streaming
+      eyes,
+  And deem'd it less a Christian rite than a Pagan sacrifice;
+  And when he call'd on Abraham's God to bless the wedded pair,
+  It seem'd a very mockery to breathe so vain a pray'r.
+
+  I saw the palsied bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensigns drest;
+  A shroud were fitter garment far for him than bridal vest;
+  I mark'd him when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his hold,
+  He held it with a miser's clutch--it was his darling gold.
+  His shrivell'd hand was wet with tears she pour'd, alas! in vain,
+  And it trembled like an autumn leaf beneath the beating rain.
+
+  I've seen her since that fatal morn--her golden fetters rest
+  As e'en the weight of incubus, upon her aching breast.
+  And when the victor, Death, shall come to deal the welcome blow,
+  He will not find one rose to swell the wreath that decks his brow:
+  For oh! her cheek is blanch'd by grief which time may not assuage,--
+  Thus early Beauty sheds her bloom on the wintry breast of Age.
+
+Our commendation of the "Keepsake" might be extended much further,
+were we to consult our inclination to do justice to its high
+character. With so lavish an expenditure and such an array of talent
+as we have shown it to contain, to wonder at its success,
+
+  Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
+
+We congratulate the proprietors on their prospects of remuneration,
+for the attractions of their publication are irresistible. It is
+altogether a splendid enterprise, and we doubt not the reward will be
+more than proportionate to the expectation it has raised--both in the
+proprietors and their patrons--the public.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE ANNIVERSARY,
+
+_EDITED BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM._
+
+
+Perhaps we are getting too panegyrical, for panegyric savours of the
+poppy; but we must not flinch from our duty.
+
+_Allan Cunningham_--there is poetry in the name, written or sung--and
+high-wrought poetry too, in nearly every production to which that
+name is attached--and among these "The Anniversary for 1829." All the
+departments of this work too, (as in the "Keepsake") are unique. Mr.
+Sharpe, the proprietor, is a man of refined taste, his Editor and his
+contributors are men of first-rate genius, the Painters and Engravers
+are of the first rank, and the volume is printed at Mr. Whittingham's
+Chiswick-press. Excellence must always be the result of such a
+combination of talent, and so it proves in the _Anniversary_. As
+might have been expected from the talent of its editor, the volume
+is superior in its poetical attractions--both in number and quality.
+
+By way of variety, we begin with the _poetry_. First is a stirring
+little ballad, the Warrior, by the editor; then, a humorous epistle
+from Robert Southey, Esq. to Allan Cunningham, in which the laureat
+deals forth his ire on the "misresemblances and villanous visages"
+which have been published as his portrait.[1] Next is a gem of
+another water, Edderline's Dream, by Professor Wilson, the supposed
+editor of "Blackwood's Magazine." This is throughout a very beautiful
+composition, but we must content ourselves with the following
+extract:--
+
+
+EDDERLINE'S SLEEP.
+
+  Castle-Oban is lost in the darkness of night,
+  For the moon is swept from the starless heaven,
+  And the latest line of lowering light
+  That lingered on the stormy even,
+  A dim-seen line, half cloud, half wave,
+  Hath sunk into the weltering grave.
+  Castle-Oban is dark without and within,
+  And downwards to the fearful din,
+  Where Ocean with his thunder shocks
+  Stuns the green foundation rocks,
+  Through the green abyss that mocks his eye,
+  Oft hath the eerie watchman sent
+  A shuddering look, a shivering sigh,
+  From the edge of the howling battlement!
+
+  Therein is a lonesome room,
+  Undisturbed as some old tomb
+  That, built within a forest glen,
+  Far from feet of living men,
+  And sheltered by its black pine-trees
+  From sound of rivers, lochs, and seas,
+  Flings back its arched gateway tall,
+  At times to some great funeral!
+  Noiseless as a central cell
+  In the bosom of a mountain
+  Where the fairy people dwell,
+  By the cold and sunless fountain!
+  Breathless as a holy shrine,
+  When the voice of psalms is shed!
+  And there upon her stately bed,
+  While her raven locks recline
+  O'er an arm more pure than snow,
+  Motionless beneath her head,--
+  And through her large fair eyelids shine
+  Shadowy dreams that come and go,
+  By too deep bliss disquieted,--
+  There sleeps in love and beauty's glow,
+  The high-born Lady Edderline.
+
+  Lo! the lamp's wan fitful light,
+  Glide,--gliding round the golden rim!
+  Restored to life, now glancing bright,
+  Now just expiring, faint and dim!
+  Like a spirit loath to die,
+  Contending with its destiny.
+  All dark! a momentary veil
+  Is o'er the sleeper! now a pale
+  Uncertain beauty glimmers faint,
+  And now the calm face of the saint
+  With every feature re-appears,
+  Celestial in unconscious tears!
+  Another gleam! how sweet the while,
+  Those pictured faces on the wall,
+  Through the midnight silence smile!
+  Shades of fair ones, in the aisle
+  Vaulted the castle cliffs below,
+  To nothing mouldered, one and all,
+  Ages long ago!
+
+  From her pillow, as if driven
+  By an unseen demon's hand
+  Disturbing the repose of heaven,
+  Hath fallen her head! The long black hair
+  From the fillet's silken band
+  In dishevelled masses riven,
+  Is streaming downwards to the floor.
+  Is the last convulsion o'er?
+  And will that length of glorious tresses,
+  So laden with the soul's distresses.
+  By those fair hands in morning light,
+  Above those eyelids opening bright,
+  Be braided nevermore!
+  No, the lady is not dead,
+  Though flung thus wildly o'er her bed;
+  Like a wretched corse upon the shore,
+  That lies until the morning brings
+  Searchings, and shrieks, and sorrowings;
+  Or, haply, to all eyes unknown,
+  Is borne away without a groan,
+  On a chance plank, 'mid joyful cries
+  Of birds that pierce the sunny skies
+  With seaward dash, or in calm bands
+  Parading o'er the silvery sands,
+  Or mid the lovely flush of shells,
+  Pausing to burnish crest or wing.
+  No fading footmark see that tells
+  Of that poor unremembered thing!
+
+  O dreadful is the world of dreams,
+  When all that world a chaos seems
+  Of thoughts so fixed before!
+  When heaven's own face is tinged with blood!
+  And friends cross o'er our solitude,
+  Now friends of our's no more!
+  Or dearer to our hearts than ever.
+  Keep stretching forth, with vain endeavour,
+  Their pale and palsied hands,
+  To clasp us phantoms, as we go
+  Along the void like drifting snow.
+  To far-off nameless lands!
+  Yet all the while we know not why,
+  Nor where those dismal regions lie,
+  Half hoping that a curse to so deep
+  And wild can only be in sleep,
+  And that some overpowering scream
+  Will break the fetters of the dream,
+  And let us back to waking life,
+  Filled though it be with care and strife;
+  Since there at least the wretch can know
+  The meanings on the face of woe,
+  Assured that no mock shower is shed
+  Of tears upon the real dead,
+  Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,
+  When bending o'er the death-like cheek
+  Of one who scarcely seems alive,
+  At every cold but breathing kiss.
+  He hears a saving angel speak--
+  'Thy love will yet revive!'
+
+    [1] An artist of celebrity is now engaged on a portrait of Mr.
+    Southey, _cum privilegio_, we suppose, Mr. Southey is not the only
+    public man, whose lineaments have been traduced by engravers.
+    Only look at some of the patriotic gentlemen who figure at public
+    meetings, and in _outline_ on cards, &c. But Houbraken is now
+    known to have been no more honest than his successors in portrait
+    engraving: although physiognomy and craniology ought to help the
+    moderns out in these matters.
+
+Then comes A Farewell to the year, one of Mr. Lockhart's elegant
+translations from the Spanish; a pretty portrait of rustic
+simplicity--the Little Gleaner, by the editor; and some playful
+lines by M.A. Shee, accompanying an engraving from his own picture
+of the Lost Ear-Rings. The Wedding Wake, by George Darley, Esq. is
+an exquisite picture of saddened beauty. The Ettrick Shepherd has
+the Carle of Invertine--a powerful composition, and the Cameronian
+Preacher, a prose tale, of equal effect. In addition to the
+pieces already mentioned, by the editor, is one of extraordinary
+excellence--the Magic Bridle: his Lines to a Boy plucking
+Blackberries, are a very pleasing picture of innocence:--
+
+          There stay in joy,
+  Pluck, pluck, and eat thou happy boy;
+  Sad fate abides thee. Thou mayst grow
+  A man: for God may deem it so,
+  I wish thee no such harm, sweet child:
+  Go, whilst thou'rt innocent and mild:
+  Go, ere earth's passions, fierce and proud,
+  Rend thee as lightning rend the cloud:
+  Go, go, life's day is in the dawn:
+  Go, wait not, wish not to be man.
+
+One of his pieces we quote entire:--
+
+
+THE SEA KING'S DEATH-SONG.
+
+  I'll launch my gallant bark no more,
+    Nor smile to see how gay
+  Its pennon dances, as we bound
+    Along the watery way;
+  The wave I walk on's mine--the god
+    I worship is the breeze;
+  My rudder is my magic rod
+    Of rule, on isles and seas:
+  Blow, blow, ye winds, for lordly France,
+    Or shores of swarthy Spain:
+  Blow where ye list, of earth I'm lord,
+    When monarch of the main.
+
+  When last upon the surge I rode,
+    A strong wind on me shot,
+  And tossed me as I toss my plume,
+    In battle fierce and hot.
+  Three days and nights no sun I saw,
+    Nor gentle star nor moon;
+  Three feet of foam dash'd o'er my decks,
+    I sang to see it--soon
+  The wind fell mute, forth shone the sun,
+    Broad dimpling smiled the brine;
+  I leap'd on Ireland's shore, and made
+    Half of her riches mine.
+
+  The wild hawk wets her yellow foot
+    In blood of serf and king:
+  Deep bites the brand, sharp smites the axe,
+    And helm and cuirass ring;
+  The foam flies from the charger's flanks,
+    Like wreaths of winter's snow;
+  Spears shiver, and the bright shafts start
+    In thousands from the bow--
+  Strike up, strike up, my minstrels all
+    Use tongue and tuneful chord--
+  Be mute!--My music is the clang
+    Of cleaving axe and sword.
+
+  Cursed be the Norseman who puts trust
+    In mortar and in stone;
+  Who rears a wall, or builds a tower,
+    Or makes on earth his throne;
+  My monarch throne's the willing wave,
+    That bears me on the beach;
+  My sepulchre's the deep sea surge,
+    Where lead shall never reach;
+  My death-song is the howling wind,
+    That bends my quivering mast,--
+  Bid England's maidens join the song,
+    I there made orphans last.
+
+  Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me
+    Oft, oft, by frith and flood,
+  I called ye forth to feast on kings;
+    Who now shall give ye food?
+  Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea,
+    For of earth's proudest lords
+  We served thee oft a sumptuous feast
+    With our sharp shining swords;
+  Mourn, midnight, mourn, no more thou'lt hear
+    Armed thousands shout my name.
+  Nor see me rushing, red wet shod,
+    Through cities doomed to flame.
+
+  My race is run, my flight is flown;
+    And, like the eagle free,
+  That soars into the cloud and dies,
+    I leave my life on sea.
+  To man I yield not spear nor sword
+    Ne'er harmed me in their ire,
+  Vain on me Europe shower'd her shafts,
+    And Asia pour'd her fire.
+  Nor wound nor scar my body bears,
+    My lip made never moan,
+  And Odin bold, who gave me life,
+    Now comes and takes his own.
+
+  Light! light there! let me get one look,--
+    Yon is the golden sky,
+  With all its glorious lights, and there
+    My subject sea flows by;
+  Around me all my comrades stand,
+    Who oft have trod with me
+  On prince's necks, a joy that's flown,
+    And never more may be.
+  Now put my helmet on my head,
+    My bright sword in my hand,
+  That I may die as I have lived.
+    In arms and high command.
+
+In the prose department the most striking is the description of
+Abbotsford, quoted in our 339th number. There is an affecting Tale of
+the Times of the Martyrs, by the Rev. Edward Irving, which will repay
+the reader's curiosity. The Honeycomb and Bitter Gourd is a pleasing
+little story; and Paddy Kelleger and his Pig, is a fine bit of humour,
+in Mr. Croker's best style. The brief Memoir of the late Sir George
+Beaumont is a just tribute to the memory of that liberal patron of the
+Fine Arts, and is an opportune introduction into such a work as the
+present. The letter of Lord Byron, too, from Genoa in 1823, will be
+interesting to the noble poet's admirers.
+
+Among the illustrations we can only notice the Lute, by C. Rolls,
+after Bonnington; Morning, by E. Goodall, from Linton's "joyful"
+picture; Sir W. Scott in his Study (qy. the forehead); a little
+"Monkeyana," by Landseer; Chillon, by Wallis, from a drawing by
+Clarkson Stanfield--a sublime picture; Fonthill, an exquisite scene
+from one of Turner's drawings; Beatrice, from a picture by Howard; the
+Lake View of Newstead, after Danby; the Snuff-Box, from Stephanoff;
+and last, though not least, Gainsborough's charming Young Cottagers,
+transferred to steel, by J.H. Robinson--perhaps the most attractive
+print in the whole series.
+
+With this hasty notice we conclude, in the language of our
+announcement of the present work, "wishing the publisher _many
+Anniversaries_"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING.
+
+_EDITED BY THOMAS PRINGLE, ESQ._
+
+
+The present volume will support, if not increase, the literary
+reputation which this elegant work has enjoyed during previous years.
+The editor, Mr. Pringle, is a poet of no mean celebrity, and, as we
+are prepared to show, his contribution, independent of his editorial
+judgment, will do much toward the Friendship's Offering maintaining
+its ground among the Annuals for 1829.
+
+There are twelve engravings and a presentation plate. Among the most
+beautiful of these are Cupid and Psyche, painted by J. Wood, and
+engraved by Finden; Campbell Castle, by E. Goodall, after G. Arnald;
+the Parting, from Haydon's picture now exhibiting with his Mock
+Election, "Chairing;" Hours of Innocence, from Landseer; La Frescura,
+by Le Petit, from a painting by Bone; and the Cove of Muscat, a
+spirited engraving by Jeavons, from the painting of Witherington.
+All these are of first-rate excellence; but another remains to be
+mentioned--Glen-Lynden, painted and engraved by _Martin_, a fit
+accompaniment for Mr. Pringle's very polished poem.
+
+The first _prose_ story is the Election, by Miss Mitford, with the
+hero a downright John Bull who reads Cobbett. The next which most
+attracts our attention is Contradiction, by the author of an Essay on
+Housekeepers--but the present is not so Shandean as the last-mentioned
+paper; it has, however, many good points, and want of room alone
+prevents our transferring it. Then comes the Covenanters, a Scottish
+traditionary tale of _fixing_ interest; the Publican's Dream, by Mr.
+Banim, told also in the Winter's Wreath, and Gem:
+
+  _Thrice_ the brindled cat hath mewed;
+
+and Zalim Khan, a beautiful Peruvian tale of thirty pages, by Mr.
+Fraser. The French story, La Fiancée de Marques, is a novelty for an
+annual, but in good taste. Tropical Sun-sets, by Dr. Philip, is just
+to our mind and measure:--
+
+A setting sun between the tropics is certainly one of the finest
+objects in nature.
+
+From the 23rd degree north to the 27th degree south latitude, I used
+to stand upon the deck of the Westmoreland an hour every evening,
+gazing with admiration upon a scene which no effort either of the
+pencil or the pen can describe, so as to convey any adequate idea of
+it to the mind of one who has never been in the neighbourhood of the
+equator. I merely attempt to give you a hasty and imperfect outline.
+
+The splendour of the scene generally commenced about twenty minutes
+before sun-set, when the feathery, fantastic, and regularly
+crystallized clouds in the higher regions of the atmosphere, became
+fully illumined by the sun's rays; and the fine mackerel-shaped
+clouds, common in these regions, were seen hanging in the concave of
+heaven like fleeces of burnished gold. When the sun approached the
+verge of the horizon, he was frequently seen encircled by a halo of
+splendour, which continued increasing till it covered a large space of
+the heavens: it then began apparently to shoot out from the body of
+the sun, in refulgent pencils, or radii, each as large as a rainbow,
+exhibiting, according to the rarity or density of the atmosphere, a
+display of brilliant or delicate tints, and of ever changing lights
+and shades of the most amazing beauty and variety. About twenty
+minutes after sun-set these splendid shooting rays disappeared,
+and were succeeded by a fine, rich glow in the heavens, in which
+you might easily fancy that you saw land rising out of the ocean,
+stretching itself before you and on every side in the most enchanting
+perspective, and having the glowing lustre of a bar of iron when newly
+withdrawn from the forge. On this brilliant ground the dense clouds
+which lay nearest the bottom of the horizon, presenting their dark
+sides to you, exhibited to the imagination all the gorgeous and
+picturesque appearances of arches, obelisks, mouldering towers,
+magnificent gardens, cities, forests, mountains, and every fantastic
+configuration of living creatures, and of imaginary beings; while the
+finely stratified clouds a little higher in the atmosphere, might
+really be imagined so many glorious islands of the blessed, swimming
+in an ocean of light.
+
+The beauty and grandeur of the sunsets, thus imperfectly described,
+surpass inconceivably any thing of a similar description which I have
+ever witnessed, even amidst the most rich and romantic scenery of our
+British lakes and mountains.
+
+Were I to attempt to account for the exquisite enjoyment on beholding
+the setting sun between the tropics, I should perhaps say, that
+it arose from the warmth, the repose, the richness, the novelty,
+the glory of the whole, filling the mind with the most exalted,
+tranquillizing, and beautiful images.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is likewise a tale, Going to Sea, and the Ship's Crew, by Mrs.
+Bowdich, which equally merits commendation.
+
+Powerful as may be the aid which the editor has received from the
+_contributors_ to the "Friendship's Offering," we are bound
+to distinguish one of his own pieces--_Glen-Lynden, a Tale of
+Teviot-dale_, as the sun of the volume. It is in Spenserian verse, and
+a more graceful composition cannot be found in either of the Annuals.
+It is too long for entire extract, but we will attempt to string
+together a few of its beauties. The scenery of the Glen is thus
+described:--
+
+  A rustic home in Lynden's pastoral dell
+  With modest pride a verdant hillock crown'd:
+  Where the bold stream, like dragon from the fell,
+  Came glittering forth, and, gently gliding round
+  The broom-clad skirts of that fair spot of ground,
+  Danced down the vale, in wanton mazes bending;
+  Till finding, where it reached the meadow's bound,
+  Romantic Teviot on his bright course wending.
+  It joined the sounding streams--with his blue waters blending.
+
+  Behind a lofty wood along the steep
+  Fenced from the chill north-east this quiet glen:
+  And green hills, gaily sprinkled o'er with sheep,
+  Spread to the south; while by the brightening pen,
+  Rose the blithe sound of flocks and hounds and men,
+  At summer dawn, and gloaming; or the voice
+  Of children nutting in the hazelly den,
+  Sweet mingling with the winds' and waters' noise,
+  Attuned the softened heart with Nature to rejoice.
+
+  Upon the upland height a mouldering Tower,
+  By time and outrage marked with many a scar,
+  Told of past days of feudal pomp and power
+  When its proud chieftains ruled the dales afar.
+  But that was long gone by: and waste and war,
+  And civil strife more ruthless still than they,
+  Had quenched the lustre of Glen-Lynden's star,
+  Which glimmered now, with dim reclining ray,
+  O'er this secluded spot,--sole remnant of their sway.
+
+Lynden's lord, and possessor of this tower, is now "a grave, mild,
+husbandman," and his wife--
+
+  She he loved in youth and loved alone,
+  Was his.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  And now his pleasant home and pastoral farm
+  Are all the world to him: he feels no sting
+  Of restless passions; but, with grateful arm,
+  Clasps the twin cherubs round his neck that cling,
+  Breathing their innocent thoughts like violets in the spring.
+
+  Another prattler, too, lisps on his knee,
+  The orphan daughter of a hapless pair,
+  Who, voyaging upon the Indian sea,
+  Met the fierce typhon-blast--and perished there:
+  But she was left the rustic home to share
+  Of those who her young mother's friends had been:
+  An old affection thus enhanced the care
+  With which those faithful guardians loved to screen
+  This sweet forsaken flower, in their wild arbours green.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  But dark calamity comes aye too soon--
+  And why anticipate its evil day?
+  Ah, rather let us now in lovely June
+  O'erlook these happy children at their play:
+  Lo, where they gambol through the garden gay,
+  Or round the hoary hawthorn dance and sing,
+  Or, 'neath yon moss-grown cliff, grotesque and grey
+  Sit plaiting flowery wreaths in social ring,
+  And telling wondrous tales of the green Elfin King.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Ah! evil days have fallen upon the land;
+  A storm that brooded long has burst at last;
+  And friends, like forest trees that closely stand
+  With roots and branches interwoven fast,
+  May aid awhile each other in the blast;
+  But as when giant pines at length give way
+  The groves below must share the ruin vast,
+  So men who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway
+  Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they.
+
+  Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew
+  Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears,
+  That rose like distant shadows nearer drew
+  O'ercasting the calm evening of his years;
+  Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears,
+  A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space,
+  Till the horizon closes round of clears,
+  Returns our tale the enchanted path to trace
+  Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting grace.
+  Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers
+  O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood,
+  A lake blue gleaming from deep forest bowers,
+  Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude:
+  Oft by the margin of that quiet flood,
+  And through the groves and hoary ruins round,
+  Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood;
+  Or here, amid tradition's haunted ground,
+  Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Here Arthur loved to roam--a dreaming boy--
+  Erewhile romantic reveries to frame,
+  Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy.
+  Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame;
+  But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame
+  'Gan mingle with his martial musings high;
+  And trembling wishes--which he feared to name,
+  Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh--
+  Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie.
+
+  And there were eyes that from long silken lashes
+  With stolen glance could spy his secret pain--
+  Sweet hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes
+  Like joyous day-spring after summer rain;
+  And she, the enchantress, loved the youth again
+  With maiden's first affection, fond and true,
+  --Ah! youthful love is like the tranquil main,
+  Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue--
+  Beautiful as a spirit--calm, but fearful too!
+
+Our limits compel us to break off once more, which is a source of
+regret, especially when our path is strewn with such gems as these:--
+
+  A gentle star lights up their solitude
+  And lends fair hues to all created things;
+  And dreams alone of beings pure and good
+  Hover around their hearts with angel wings--
+  Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture springs.
+
+Here is a beautiful apostrophe--
+
+  Oh Nature! by impassioned hearts alone
+  Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar mind
+  Sees but the shadow of a power unknown;
+  Thy loftier beauties beam not to the blind
+  And sensual throng, to grovelling hopes resigned:
+  But they whom high and holy thoughts inspire
+  Adore thee, in celestial glory shrined
+  In that diviner fane where Love's pure fire
+  Burns bright, and Genius tunes his loud immortal Lyre!
+
+The halcyon days at length draw to a close, and sorrows "in
+battalions" compel them to emigrate and bid
+
+  Farewell to the scenes they ne'er shall visit more.
+
+The remainder is rather abrupt, at least much more so than the lovers
+of fervid poetry could wish, especially as the termination is with the
+following exquisite ballad:--
+
+  Our native land, our native vale,
+    A long and last adieu!
+  Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,
+    And Cheviot mountains blue.
+
+  Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
+    And streams renowned in song:
+  Farewell, ye blithsome braes and meads
+    Our hearts have loved so long.
+
+  Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes,
+    Where thyme and harebells grow;
+  Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes,
+    O'erhung with birk and sloe.
+
+  The battle-mound, the border-tower,
+    That Scotia's annals tell:
+  Thy martyr's grave, the lover's bower--
+    To each--to all--farewell!
+
+  Home of our hearts! our father's home!
+    Land of the brave and free!
+  The keel is flashing through the foam
+    That bears us far from thee.
+
+  We seek a wild and distant shore
+    Beyond the Atlantic main:
+  We leave thee to return no more,
+    Nor view thy cliffs again.
+
+  But may dishonour blight our fame,
+    And quench our household fires,
+  When we or ours forget thy name,
+    Green island of our sires.
+
+  Our native land--our native vale--
+    A long, a last adieu!
+  Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,
+    And Scotland's mountains blue!
+
+We have only space to add that the poetical pieces are very numerous,
+and those by Allan Cunningham, the Ettrick Shepherd, Delta, and
+William Kennedy, merit especial notice.
+
+The elegant embossed binding is similar to that of last year, which
+we mentioned to our readers, and which we think an improvement on the
+silken array.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE BIJOU.
+
+
+Though last in the field, (for it is scarcely published) the _Bijou_
+will doubtless occupy a different place in public favour. Its
+embellishments are selected with much judgment, and in literary
+merit, it equals either of its contemporaries. Its second title is
+an Annual of Literature and the _Fine Arts_, and from the choice of
+its illustrations, deservedly so. Thus, among the painters, who have
+furnished subjects for the engravers, we have Holbein, Claude, and
+Primaticcio; and two from Sir Thomas Lawrence. The engraving from
+Holbein, Sir Thomas More and his Family,--is a novelty in an Annual,
+and is beautifully executed by Ensom. It has all the quaintness of the
+great master, whose pictures may be called the _mosaic_ of painting.
+The Autumnal Evening, engraved by Dean, after Claude, is not so
+successful; although it should be considered that little space is
+allowed for the exquisite effect of the original: still the execution
+might have been better. The Frontispiece, Lady Wallscourt, after Sir
+Thomas Lawrence is in part, a first-rate engraving; Young Lambton,
+after the same master, is of superior merit. The face is beautifully
+copied; and, by way of hint to the _scrappers_, this print will form
+a companion to the Mountain Daisy, from the _Amulet_ for the present
+year. There are, too, some consecrated landscapes, dear to every
+classical tourist, and of, no common interest at home--as Clisson,
+the retreat of Heloise; Mont Blanc; and the Cascade of Tivoli--all of
+which are delightfully picturesque. The view of Mont Blanc is well
+managed.
+
+In the _prose_ compositions we notice some of intense interest, among
+which are the Stranger Patron and the Castle of Reinspadte--both of
+German origin. There is too, a faithful historiette of the Battle of
+Trafalgar, which, with the History of the Family of Sir Thomas More,
+will be read with peculiar attention. Our extracts from the poetical
+department are by Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon.
+
+
+THE SLEEPERS.
+
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+  A holy thing is sleep.
+  On the worn spirit shed,
+  And eyes that wake to weep:
+
+  A holy thing from heaven,
+  A gracious dewy cloud,
+  A covering mantle, given
+  The weary to enshroud.
+
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+  Revere the pale still brow,
+  The meekly drooping head,
+  The long hair's willowy flow!
+
+  Ye know not what ye do,
+  That call the slumberer back,
+  From the world unseen by you,
+  Unto Life's dim faded track.
+
+  Her soul is far away,
+  In her childhood's land perchance,
+  Where her young sisters play,
+  Where shines her mother's glance.
+
+  Some old sweet native sound
+  Her spirit haply weaves;
+  A harmony profound
+  Of woods with all their leaves:
+
+  A murmur of the sea,
+  A laughing tone of streams:--
+  Long may her sojourn be
+  In the music-land of dreams!
+
+  Each voice of love is there,
+  Each gleam of beauty fled.
+  Each lost one still more fair--
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+
+Miss Landon has contributed more to the "Bijou" than to any other
+Annual, and a piece from her distinguished pen will increase the value
+and variety of our columns.
+
+
+THE FEAST OF LIFE.
+
+  I bid thee to my mystic Feast,
+  Each one thou lovest is gathered there;
+  Yet put thou on a mourning robe,
+  And bind the cypress in thy hair.
+
+  The hall is vast, and cold, and drear;
+  The board with faded flowers is spread:
+  Shadows of beauty flit around,
+  But beauty from each bloom has fled;
+
+  And music echoes from the walls,
+  But music with a dirge-like sound;
+  And pale and silent are the guests,
+  And every eye is on the ground.
+
+  Here, take this cup, tho' dark it seem,
+  And drink to human hopes and fears;
+  'Tis from their native element
+  The cup is filled--it is of tears.
+
+  What! turnest thou with averted brow?
+  Thou scornest this poor feast of mine;
+  And askest for a purple robe,
+  Light words, glad smiles, and sunny wine.
+
+  In vain, the veil has left thine eyes,
+  Or such these would have seemed to thee;
+  Before thee is the Feast of Life,
+  But life in its reality!
+
+We should not, however, pass over in silence a poem, of the antique
+school, entitled the Holy Vengeance for the Martyrdom of George
+Wishart, the merits of which are of a high order. Indeed, this piece,
+and the admirable composition of the History of Sir Thomas More and
+his Family, with the Holbein print, distinguish the Bijou from all
+other publications of its class, and are characteristic of the good
+taste of Mr. Pickering, the proprietor. Altogether, the Bijou for 1829
+is very superior to the last volume, and, to our taste, it is one of
+the most attractive of the Christmas presents.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE WINTER'S WREATH.
+
+
+This is a _provincial_, but not a first appearance in London; the
+present being the fourth "_Wreath_" that has been entwined for the
+lovers of song and sentiment. It is culled from Liverpool, (next to
+our own metropolis) the most literary city in the empire; but many of
+its flowers have been gathered from our metropolitan parterre. Thus,
+in addition to the respected names of Roscoe, Currie, and Shepherd,
+(of Liverpool), we have among the contributors those of Hemans,
+Bowring, Howitt, Opie, with Mitford, Montgomery, and Wiffen. The
+editorship has passed into different hands, and "the introduction of
+religious topics has been carefully avoided" as unsuited to a work of
+elegant amusement.
+
+The plates are twelve in number, among which are _Lady Blanche and
+her Merlin_, after Northcote (rather too hard in the features); an
+exquisite _View of the Thames near Windsor_, after Havell; _Medora
+and the Corsair_, after Howard; the _Sailor Boy_, by Lizars; and a
+beautiful _Wreath_ Title-page, after Vandyke. All these will bear
+comparison with any engravings in similar works.
+
+The Wreath contains 132 pieces or flowers, some of them
+_perennials_--others of great, but less lasting beauty--and but few
+that will fade in a day. Among those entitled to special distinction,
+in the _prose_ department, are an Italian Story, of considerable
+interest; the Corsair, a pleasing sketch; and Lough Neagh, a tale
+of the north of Ireland. One of the _perennials_ is a Journey up the
+Mississippi, by Audubon, the American naturalist. Kester Hobson,
+a legendary tale of the Yorkshire Wolds, which turns upon a lucky
+dream, will probably set thousands dreaming--and we hope with the same
+good effect--viz. half-a-bushel of gold. "A Vision," by the late Dr.
+Currie, is a successful piece of writing; Le Contretems is a pleasant
+tale enough, with a sprinkling of French dialogue. Next is a well-told
+historiette of the eventful times of the Civil Wars.--The Memoir of a
+young Sculptor can scarcely fail to awaken the sympathy of the reader.
+The introduction of the paper on Popular Education, in what the editor
+himself calls "a work of elegant amusement like the present," is
+somewhat objectionable, and the writer's sentiments will be very
+unpalatable to a certain party. The Ridley Coach is a sketch in the
+style of Miss Mitford, who has contributed only one article, and
+that in verse. Mrs. Opie has a slight piece--The Old Trees and New
+Houses--but our prose selection is, (somewhat abridged)--
+
+
+THE LADY ANNE CARR,
+
+_BY THE AUTHOR OF "MAY YOU LIKE IT."_
+
+
+Have you not sometimes seen, upon the bosom of dark, stagnant waters,
+a pure, white water-lily lift up its head, breathing there a fresh and
+delicate fragrance, and deriving its existence thence--yet partaking
+in nothing of the loathsome nature of the pool, nor ever sullied by
+its close contact with the foul element beneath?
+
+It is an honest simile to say that the gentle Anne Carr resembled
+that sweet water-lily. Sprung from the guilty loves of the favourite
+Somerset and his beautiful but infamous wife, she was herself pure and
+untainted by the dark and criminal dispositions of her parents. Not
+even a suspicion of their real character had ever crossed her mind;
+she knew that they had met with some reverse of fortune,--for she
+had heard her father regret, for her sake, his altered estate. She
+knew this, but nothing more: her father's enemies, who would gladly
+have added to his wretchedness, by making his child look upon him
+with horror, could not find in their hearts, when they gazed on her
+innocent face, to make one so unoffending wretched. It is a lovely
+blindness in a child to have no discernment of a parent's faultiness;
+and so it happened that the Lady Anne saw nothing in her father's mien
+or manner, betokening a sinful, worthless character.
+
+Of her mother she had but few and faint recollections. Memory pictured
+her pale and drooping, nay gradually sinking under the cureless malady
+which brought her to her grave at last. She remembered, however,
+the soft and beautiful smiles which had beamed over that haggard
+countenance, when it was turned upon her only child--smiles which she
+delighted to recognise in the lovely portrait, from which her idea of
+her mother was chiefly formed. This portrait adorned her own favourite
+apartment. It had been painted when the original was as young and
+happy as herself; and her filial love and fond imagination believed no
+grace had been wanting to make all as beautiful and glorious within.
+
+As the Lady Anne grew up to womanhood, the sweetness of her
+disposition and manners began to be acknowledged by those, who had
+seen without astonishment her extraordinary beauty; and many persons
+of distinction, who would hold no kind of fellowship with the Lord
+Somerset, sought the acquaintance of his innocent daughter for her
+own sake.
+
+The most beloved friend of the Lady Anne was the Lady Ellinor G----,
+the eldest daughter of the Earl of G----: and with her, Lady Anne
+often passed several months in the year. A large party of young ladies
+were assembled at G---- Castle; and it happened that a continual
+rain had confined the fair companions within doors the whole summer
+afternoon. They sat together over their embroidery and various kinds
+of needlework, telling old tales of fearful interest--the strange
+mishaps of benighted travellers--stories of witchcraft, and of
+mysterious murder.
+
+The conversation turned at last to the legends belonging to a certain
+family; and one circumstance was mentioned so nearly resembling, in
+many particulars, the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, that the Lady
+Ellinor, scarcely doubting that some slight suspicion of her parents'
+crimes had reached the ears of the Lady Anne, determined to change
+the subject at once. She proposed to her fair friends that they
+should ramble together through the apartments of the castle; and she
+called for the old housekeeper, who had lived in the family from her
+childhood, to go along with them, and asked her to describe to them
+the person and manners of Queen Elizabeth, when she had visited at the
+castle, and slept in the state apartment; always since called, The
+Queen's Bedchamber.
+
+Led by their talkative guide, the careless, laughing party wandered
+from one chamber to another, listening to her anecdotes, and the
+descriptions she gave of persons and things in former days. She had
+known many of the originals of the stately portraits in the picture
+gallery; and she could tell the names, and the exploits of those
+warriors in the family, whose coats of mail and glittering weapons
+adorned the armoury. "And now," said the Lady Ellinor, "what else is
+there to be seen? Not that I mean to trouble you any longer with our
+questions, good Margaret, but give me this key, this key so seldom
+used," pointing to a large, strangely shaped key, that hung among a
+bunch at the old housekeeper's side. "There!" she added, disengaging
+it herself from the ring, "I have taken it, and will return it very
+safely. I assure you. This key," she said, turning to her young
+companions, "unlocks a gallery at the end of the eastern wing, which
+is always locked up, because the room is full of curious and rare
+treasures, that were brought by my father's brother from many foreign
+lands."
+
+They enter.--"This may be a charming place," said one of the youngest
+and liveliest of the party, "but see, the rain has passed away, and
+the sun has at last burst out from the clouds. How brightly he shines,
+even through these dull and dusty windows!" She gave but a passing
+glance to the treasures around her, and hastened to a half open door
+at the end of the gallery. Some of her companions followed her to a
+broad landing place, at the top of a flight of marble stairs. They
+were absent but a few minutes, and they returned with smiles of
+delight, and glad, eager voices, declaring that they had unbolted a
+door at the bottom of the staircase, and found themselves in the most
+beautiful part of the gardens. "Come!" said the young and sprightly
+girl, "do not loiter here; leave these rare and beautiful things until
+it rains again, and come forth at once with me into the sweet, fresh
+air."
+
+The Lady Ellinor and her friend the Lady Anne were sitting side by
+side, at the same table, and looking over the same volume--a folio of
+Norman chronicles, embellished with many quaint and coloured pictures.
+They both lifted up their faces from the book, as their merry
+companions again addressed them. "Nay, do not _look_ up, but rise up!"
+said the laughing maiden, and drawing away the volume from before
+them, she shut it up instantly, and laid it on another table; throwing
+down a branch of jessamine in its place.
+
+"Yes, yes, you are right, my merry Barbara," replied the Lady Ellinor,
+and she rose up as she spoke, "we have been prisoners all the day
+against our will, why should we now be confined when the smile of
+Nature bids us forth to share her joy. Come, come! my sweet Anne,
+_you_ are not wont to be the last," turning to her friend, who
+lingered behind. "Oh!" cried Lady Anne, "I am coming, I will soon be
+the first amongst you, I only wait a moment to bind up my troublesome
+hair." As she spoke, her eyes rested upon a little volume, which lay
+upon the broad sill of the casement. The wind fluttered in the pages,
+and blew them over and over; and half curiously, half carelessly,
+she looked again, and yet again. The word _murder_ caught her eye;
+her feelings were still in a state of excitement from the tales and
+legends to which she had just been listening. Resting her head upon
+her hand, she leaned over the volume; and stood motionless, absorbed
+by the interest of the tale which she read, forgetful of her young
+companions--of all but the appalling story then before her.
+
+But these feelings were soon lost in astonishment, and horror so
+confounding, that for awhile she lost all power of moving, or even of
+thinking. Still her eyes were fixed upon the words which had pierced
+her heart:--she could not force them away. Again and again, struck
+with shame and horror, she shrunk away;--again and again, she found
+herself forced by doubt, by positive disbelief, to search the terrible
+pages. At last she had read enough--quite, quite enough to be assured,
+not that her father--her mother, had been _suspected_, but that by the
+law of the land they had been convicted, and condemned to death as
+foul, adulterous murderers;--the murderers of Sir Thomas Overbury!
+
+The Lady Ellinor returned alone into the gallery, "You little truant!"
+she cried, "why so long? you said you would soon be with the foremost.
+I thought you must have escaped me, and have sought you through half
+the garden, and you are here all the while!"
+
+No voice replied: not a sound was heard; and the Lady Ellinor had
+already returned to the door of the gallery to seek her friend
+elsewhere, when something fell heavily to the ground.
+
+She flew back; and in one of the receding windows, she found the Lady
+Anne lying senseless in a deep swoon. Throwing herself on the ground
+beside her, she raised her tenderly in her arms, and not without some
+difficulty, restored her to herself. Then laying her head upon her
+bosom, she whispered kind words. "You are ill, I fear, my own Anne,
+who has been here? What have you seen? How so changed in this short
+time? I left you well and smiling, and now--nay, my dear, dear friend,
+do not turn from me, and look so utterly wretched. Do not you see me!
+What can be the matter!" The Lady Anne looked up in her friend's face
+with so piteous and desolate a look, that she began to fear her reason
+was affected.
+
+"Have I lost your confidence? Am I no longer loved?" said the Lady
+Ellinor. "Can you sit heart-broken there, and will not allow me to
+comfort you? Still no answer! Shall I go? Shall I leave you, my love?
+Do you wish me absent?" continued she in a trembling voice, the tears
+flowing over her face, as she rose up. Her motion to depart aroused
+the Lady Anne. "Ellinor! my Ellinor!" she cried, and throwing herself
+forward, she stretched forth her arms. In another moment she was
+weeping on the bosom of her friend. She wept for a long time without
+restraint, for the Lady Ellinor said nothing, but drew her nearer and
+nearer to her bosom, and tenderly pressed the hand that was clasped in
+hers.
+
+"I ought not to be weeping here," at length she said, "I ought to let
+you leave me, but I have not the courage, I cannot bear to lose your
+friendship,--your affection, my Ellinor! Can you love me? Have you
+loved me, knowing all the while, as every one must? To-day--this very
+hour, since you left me, I learned:--no I cannot tell you! Look on
+that page, Ellinor, you will see why you find me thus. I am the most
+wretched, wretched creature!"--here again she burst into an agony of
+uncontrollable grief.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Who can describe the feelings of the Lady Anne--alone, in her chamber,
+looking up at the portrait of her mother, upon which she had so often
+gazed with delight and reverence! "Is it possible?" said she to
+herself, "can this be she, of whom I have read such dreadful things?
+Have all my young and happy days been but a dream, from which I wake
+at last? Is not this dreadful certainty still as a hideous dream to
+me?"
+
+She had another cause of bitter grief. She loved the young and
+noble-minded Lord Russell, the Earl of Bedford's eldest son; and she
+had heard him vow affection and faithfulness to her. She now perceived
+at once the reasons why the Earl of Bedford had objected to their
+marriage: she almost wondered within herself that the Lord Russel
+should have chosen her; and though she loved him more for avowing his
+attachment, though her heart pleaded warmly for him, she determined to
+renounce his plighted love. "It must be done," she said, "and better
+now;--delay will but bring weakness. _Now_ I can write--I feel that I
+have strength." And the Lady Anne wrote, and folded with a trembling
+hand the letter which should give up her life's happiness; and fearing
+her resolution might not hold, she despatched it by a messenger, as
+the Lord Russel was then in the neighbourhood; and returned mournfully
+to her own chamber. She opened an old volume which lay upon her
+toilette--a volume to which she turned in time of trouble, to seek
+that peace which the world cannot give.
+
+Lady Ellinor soon aroused her by the tidings that a messenger had
+arrived with a letter from her father, and she descended in search
+of him.
+
+"Oh, why is this? why am I here?" exclaimed the Lady Anne, as
+trembling and almost sinking to the ground--her face alternately pale
+and covered with crimson blushes, she found herself alone with the
+Lord Russell. "You have received my letter, might not this trial have
+been spared? my cup was already sufficiently bitter--but I had drunk
+it. No!" she continued gently withdrawing her hand which he had taken,
+"Do not make me despise myself--the voice of duty separates us.
+Farewell! I seek a messenger from my father." "I am the messenger you
+seek," replied he, "I have seen the Lord Somerset, and bring this
+letter to his daughter."
+
+The letter from the Earl of Somerset informed his daughter that he had
+seen the Earl of Bedford, and had obviated all obstacle to her union
+with the Lord Russell; that he was going himself to travel in foreign
+parts; and that he wished her to be married during a visit to the Earl
+and Countess of Bedford, whose invitation he had accepted for her.
+
+"Does not your father say, that in this marriage his happiness is at
+stake?" said the Lord Russell, gently pressing her hand. The Lady Anne
+hung down her head, and wept in silence. "Are you still silent, my
+dearest?" continued he, "then will I summon another advocate to plead
+for me."
+
+He quitted the apartment for a moment, but soon returned with the
+Countess of Bedford, who had accompanied him to claim her future
+daughter-in-law. The Lady Anne had made many resolutions, but they
+yielded before the sweet and eloquent entreaties that urged her to
+do what, in fact, she was all too willing to consent to.
+
+They were married, the Lord Russell and the Lady Anne Carr; and they
+lived long and happily together. It was always thought that the Lord
+Russell had loved not only well, but wisely; for the Lady Anne was
+ever a faithful wife, and a loving, tender mother. It was not until
+some years after her marriage, that the Lady Russell discovered how
+the consent of the earl of Bedford had been obtained. Till then,
+she knew not that this consent had been withheld, until the Earl
+of Somerset should give his daughter a large sum as her marriage
+portion:--the Earl of Bedford calculating upon the difficulty, nay
+almost impossibility, of his ever raising this sum.
+
+But he had not calculated upon the devotion of the wretched father's
+love to his fair and innocent child: and he was astounded when his
+terms were complied with, and the money paid at once into his hands.
+He could no longer withhold his consent; nor could he refuse some
+admiration of this proof of a father's love for his child. The Lord
+Somerset had, in fact, sold his whole possessions, and reduced himself
+to an estate not far removed from beggary, to give his daughter the
+husband of her choice.
+
+It was the Lady Anne Carr, of whom Vandyke painted an exquisite and
+well-known portrait, when Countess of Bedford. She was the mother of
+William Lord Russell; and died heart-broken in her old age, when she
+heard of the execution of her noble and first-born son.
+
+This is, perhaps, one of Mr. Tayler's most successful pieces; it has
+more breadth (if we may use such a term) than he is wont to employ,
+the absence of which from his writing, we have more than once had
+occasion to regret.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+TIME'S TELESCOPE.
+
+
+Our old friend Time has this year illustrated his march, or
+object-glass, with a host of _images_ or _spectra_--that is, woodcuts
+of head and tail pieces--to suit all tastes--from the mouldering
+cloister of other days to the last balloon ascent. The Notices of
+Saints' Days and Holidays, Chronology and Biography, Astronomical and
+Naturalist's Notices, are edited with more than usual industry; and
+the poetry, original and selected, is for the most part very pleasing.
+
+As we have a running account with Time's Telescope, (who has not?) and
+occasionally illustrate our pages with extracts during the year, we
+content ourselves for the present with a quotation from an original
+article, by "a correspondent from Alveston," possessing much good
+feeling and a tone of reflection, to us very pleasing:--
+
+
+THE INFLUENCE OF A FLOWER.
+
+
+Towards the close of a most lovely spring day--and such a lovely one,
+to my fancy, has never beamed from the heavens since--I carelessly
+plucked a cowslip from a copse side, and gave it to _Constance_. 'Twas
+on that beautiful evening when she told me all her heart! as, seated
+on a mossy bank, she dissected, with downcast eyes, every part of the
+flower; chives, pointal, and petal, all were displayed; though I am
+sure she never even thought of the class. My destiny through life I
+considered as fixed from that hour.--Shortly afterwards I was called,
+by the death of a relative, to a distant part of England; upon
+my return, _Constance_ was no more. The army was not my original
+destination; but my mind began to be enfeebled by hourly musing upon
+one subject alone, without cessation or available termination; yet
+reason enough remained to convince me, that, without change and
+excitement, it would degenerate into fatuity.
+
+The preparation and voyage to India, new companions, and ever-changing
+scenes, hushed my feelings, and produced a calm that might be called
+a state of blessedness--a condition in which the ignoble and inferior
+ingredients of our nature were subdued by the divinity of mind. Years
+rolled on in almost constant service; nor do I remember many of the
+events of that time, even with interest or regret. In one advance of
+the army to which I was attached, we had some skirmishing with the
+irregulars of our foe; the pursuit was rapid, and I fell behind my
+detachment, wounded and weary, in ascending a ghaut, resting in the
+jungle, with languid eyes fixed on the ground, without any particular
+feeling but that of fatigue, and the smarting of my shoulder.
+A _cowslip_ caught my sight! my blood rushed to my heart--and,
+shuddering, I started on my feet, felt no fatigue, knew of no wound,
+and joined my party. I had not seen this flower for ten years! but it
+probably saved my life--an European officer, wounded and alone, might
+have tempted the avarice of some of the numerous and savage followers
+of an Indian army. In the cooler and calmer hours of reflection since,
+I have often thought that this appearance was a mere phantom, an
+illusion--the offspring of weakness: I saw it but for a moment, and
+too imperfectly to be assured of reality; and whatever I believed at
+the time seems now to have been a painting on the mind rather than an
+object of vision; but how that image started up. I conjecture not--the
+effect was immediate and preservative. This flower was again seen
+in Spain: I had the command of an advance party, and in one of the
+recesses of the Pyrenees, of the romantic, beautiful Pyrenees, upon a
+secluded bank, surrounded by a shrubbery so lovely as to be noticed by
+many--was a _cowslip_. It was now nearly twenty years since I had seen
+it in Mysore: I did not start; but a cold and melancholy chill came
+over me; yet I might possibly have gazed long on this humble little
+flower, and recalled many dormant thoughts, had not a sense of duty
+(for we momentarily expected an attack) summoned my attentions to the
+realities of life: so, drawing the back of my hand across my eyes, I
+cheered my party with, "Forward, lads," and pursued my route, and saw
+it no more, until England and all her flowery meadows met my view;
+but many days and service had wasted life, and worn the fine edge of
+sensibility away; they were now before me in endless profusion, almost
+unheeded, and without excitement; I viewed not the cowslip, when
+fifty, as I had done with the eyes of nineteen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS BOX.
+
+
+This is the happiest _title_ in the whole list of annuals. There
+is nothing sentimental or lachrymose in it; but it is warm and
+seasonable, and done up in a holly-green binding, it is all over
+old Christmas.
+
+The first story in the volume is Old Christmas; one of the gems or
+sweets is Garry Owen, or the Snow-Woman, by Miss Edgeworth, for it
+abounds with good sentiment, just such as we should wish in the hearts
+and mouths of our own children, as a spice for their prattle.
+
+We pass over _L'Egotiste Corrigée_, par Madame de Labourt--pretty
+enough--and the Ambitious Primrose, by Miss Dagley. Then a Song, by
+Miss Mitford; and a Story of Old Times, by Mrs. Hofland; and the
+Tragical History of Major Brown, a capital piece of fun; and Pretty
+Bobby, one of Miss Mitford's delightful sketches. The Visit to
+the Zoological Gardens is not just what we expected; still it is
+attractive. Major Beamish has accommodated military tactics to the
+nursery in a pleasant little sketch; and the proverb of Much Coin Much
+Care, by Mrs. R.S. Jameson is a little farce for the same stage.
+
+But the Cuts--the pictures--of which it would have been more
+_juvenile_ to have spoken first. These are from the pencil of our
+"right trustye" friend and excellent artist, Mr. W.H. Brooke, whose
+horses, coaches, and dogs excite so much mirth among the young friends
+of the MIRROR--for, in truth, Mr. Brooke is an A.M.--an _associate_
+of the MIRROR, and enables us to jump from Whitehall to Constantine's
+Arch at Rome, shake _hands_ with the Bears of the Zoological Society,
+and Peg in the Ring at Abury.
+
+The _Christmas Box cuts_ are all fun and frolic--the tail-piece of the
+preface, a bricklayer on a ladder, "spilling" a hod of bricks--the
+Lord of Misrule, with his polichinel army--the Boar's Head--a little
+squat Cook and a steaming Plum-Pudding--the Bee and Honeysuckle--Major
+Brown with a Munchausen face--the Bear Pit, Monkeys' Houses, and
+Horned Owl, in the Zoological Gardens--and the Parliament of Animals,
+with the Elephant as Chancellor, the Tortoise for "the table," and
+Monkeys for Counsel--the groups of Toy Soldiers--and the head pieces
+of the Cobbler and his Wife--all excellent. Then the Cricket and
+Friar, and a pair of Dancing Crickets--worth all the fairy figures
+of the Smirkes, and a hundred others into the bargain. These are the
+little quips of the pencil that curl up our eye-lashes and dimple
+our faces more than all the Vatican gallery. They are trifles--aye,
+"trifles light as air"--but their influence convinces us that trifling
+is part of the great business of life.
+
+Now we are trifling our readers' time; so to recommend the _Christmas
+Box_ for 1829, as one of the prettiest presents, and as much better
+suited to children than was its predecessor--and--pass we off.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here our motley-minded sheet finishes, and we leave our readers in
+possession of its sweet fancies. Its little compartments of poetry and
+prose remind us of mosaic work, and its sentimentalities have all the
+varieties of the kaleidoscope. To gladden the eye, study the taste,
+and improve the heart, of each reader has been our aim--feelings which
+we hope pervade this and every other Number of the MIRROR.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Number 340 of the MIRROR contains the Notices of the Literary
+Souvenir, Forget-Me-Not, Gem, and Amulet, and with the present Number
+forms the Spirit of the Annuals for 1829.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near
+Somerset-House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market,
+Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers._
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT,
+AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 12, ISSUE 344 (SUPPLEMENTARY ISSUE)
***
+
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 12, Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)
, by Various</title>

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+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and

+Instruction, Vol. 12, Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)

+, by Various</h1>

+<pre>

+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

+with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>

+<p>Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 12, Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)
</p>

+<p>Author: Various</p>

+<p>Release Date: January 17, 2004  [eBook #10730]</p>

+<p>Language: English</p>

+<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p>

+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 12, ISSUE 344 (SUPPLEMENTARY ISSUE)
***</p>

+<center><h3>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram;<br />

+            The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction;<br />

+            William Flis;<br />

+            and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</h3></center>

+

+<hr class="full" />

+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page369" name="page369"></a>[pg

+369]</span>

+<h1>THE MIRROR<br />

+OF<br />

+LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.</h1>

+<hr class="full" />

+<table width="100%" summary="Vol., No., Date">

+<tr>

+<td align="left"><b>Vol. XII. No. 344.</b></td>

+<td align="center"><b>SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER</b></td>

+<td align="right"><b>[PRICE 2d.</b></td>

+</tr>

+</table>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>Ehrenbreitstein on Rhine.</h2>

+<div class="figure" style="width:100%;"><a href=

+"images/344-1.png"><img width="100%" src="images/344-1.png" alt=

+"" /></a>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall,</p>

+<p>Black with the miners' blast, upon her height,</p>

+<p>Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball</p>

+<p>Rebounding idly on her strength, did light;</p>

+<p>A tower of victory! from whence the flight</p>

+<p>Of baffled foes was watched along the plain:</p>

+<p>But peace destroyed what war could never blight,</p>

+<p>And laid those proud roofs bare to summer's rain,</p>

+<p>On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p><i>Childe Harold.</i></p>

+</div>

+</div>

+</div>

+<h3>SPIRIT OF THE "ANNUALS."</h3>

+<p>We have the pleasure of presenting to the readers of the MIRROR,

+the completion of our notices of these very elegant publications;

+and in pursuance of the plan of our former Supplement, we are

+enabled to assemble within the present sheet the characteristics of

+<i>eight works</i>, whilst our quotations include <i>fourteen</i>

+prose tales and sketches, and poetical pieces, of great merit.</p>

+<p>The above engraving and its pendant are copied from the

+<i>Literary Souvenir</i>, specially noticed in our last Supplement.

+The original is a drawing by J.M.W. Turner, R.A. and the plate in

+the <i>Souvenir</i> is by J. Pye&mdash;both artists of high

+excellence in their respective departments:&mdash;</p>

+<p>The waters of the Rhine have long maintained their pre-eminence,

+as forming one of the mightiest and loveliest among the highways of

+Europe.</p>

+<p>But among all its united trophies of art and nature, there is

+not one more brightly endowed with picturesque beauty, or romantic

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page370" id="page370"></a>[pg

+370]</span> association, than the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. When

+the eye of our own Childe Harold rested upon its "shattered wall,"

+and when the pencil of Turner immortalized its season of

+desolation, it had been smitten in the pride of its strength by the

+iron glaive of war: and its blackened fragments and stupendous

+ruins had their voice for the heart of the moralist, as well as

+their charm for the inspired mind of genius. But now that military

+art hath knit those granite ribs anew,&mdash;now that the beautiful

+eminence rears once more its crested head, like a sculptured

+Cybele, with a coronet of towers,&mdash;new feelings, and an

+altered scale of admiration wait upon its glories. Once more it

+uplifts its giant height beside the Rhine, repelling in Titan

+majesty the ambition of France; once more, by its united gifts of

+natural position and scientific aid, it appears prepared to

+vindicate its noble appellation of "the broad stone of honour."</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>The Musical Souvenir.</h2>

+<p>This is an elegant little collection of seven songs, a trio,

+duet, and glee, set to music, or "as they are appointed to be said

+or sung." As we have not our musical types in order, we can only

+give our readers a specimen of its literary merits. The first piece

+is Akenside's beautiful Invocation to Cheerfulness; this is

+pleasingly contrasted with a Song to the Forget-me-not, by Mrs.

+Opie. Then follow five pieces from recent volumes of Friendship's

+Offering and the Amulet. The three remaining compositions

+(expressly for the work) are a Song by T. Bradford, Esq.; a Scotch

+Song, by Mr. Feist; and the following pathetic Lines, by the Rev.

+Thomas Dale:&mdash;</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p class="i2">Oft as the broad sun dips</p>

+<p class="i4">Beneath the western sea,</p>

+<p class="i2">A prayer is on my lips,</p>

+<p class="i4">Dearest! a prayer for thee.</p>

+<p>I know not where thou wand'rest now,</p>

+<p>O'er ocean-wave, or mountain brow&mdash;</p>

+<p class="i2">I only know that He,</p>

+<p class="i4">Who hears the suppliant's prayer,</p>

+<p class="i2">Where'er thou art, on land or sea,</p>

+<p class="i4">Alone can shield thee there.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p class="i2">Oft as the bright dawn breaks</p>

+<p class="i4">Behind the eastern hill,</p>

+<p class="i2">Mine eye from slumber wakes,</p>

+<p class="i4">My heart is with the still&mdash;</p>

+<p>For thee my latest vows were said,</p>

+<p>For thee my earliest prayers are pray'd&mdash;</p>

+<p class="i2">And O! when storms shall lour</p>

+<p class="i4">Above the swelling sea,</p>

+<p class="i2">Be it thy shield, in danger's hour,</p>

+<p class="i4">That I have pray'd for thee.</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>Whether we consider the purity of its sentiments and the amiable

+tone of feeling, or its merit as a musical work, we are induced to

+recommend the present volume as an elegant present for a musical

+friend, and it will doubtless become a favourite with thousands of

+graceful pianists. Thanks to the Muses, our lyrical poetry is

+rapidly rising in the literary scale, when such beautiful

+compositions as those of Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon are no sooner

+written than set to music.</p>

+<p>The <i>Musical Souvenir</i> is embellished with two engravings

+and a presentation plate, and bound in crimson silk&mdash;so that

+it has all the attractions of the annual Christmas presents, except

+<i>prose</i>.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>The Keepsake.</h2>

+<h4><i>Edited by F.M. Reynolds, Esq.</i></h4>

+<p>This is a magnificent affair, and is one of the proud triumphs

+of the union of Painting, Engraving, and Literature&mdash;to which

+we took occasion to allude in a recent number of THE MIRROR. Each

+department is <i>unique</i>, and the lists are like the Morning

+Post account of a drawing room, or Almack's&mdash;the princes of

+the arts, and the peers of the pen. <i>Painters</i>&mdash;Lawrence,

+Howard, Corbould, Westall, Turner, Landseer, Stephanoff, Chalon,

+Stothard, &amp;c. <i>Engravers</i>&mdash;C. Heath, Finden,

+Engleheart, Portbury, Wallis, Rolls, Goodyear, &amp;c.

+<i>Contributors</i>&mdash;Scott, Mackintosh, Moore, the Lords

+Normanby, Morpeth, Porchester, Holland, Gower, and Nugent;

+Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Shelley, Hook, Lockhart, Croker,

+Mrs. Hemans, and Miss Landon; and the cost of the whole <i>eleven

+thousand guineas!</i> Of course, such a book has not been the work

+of a day, month, or, perhaps, a year; and its literature entitles

+it to a permanent place in the library, where we hope to see it

+stand <i>auro perennius</i>; were its fate to be otherwise, we

+should condemn the public&mdash;for we hate ingratitude in every

+shape&mdash;and write in the first page the epitaph&mdash;<i>For,

+O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot</i>. A guinea to

+twopence&mdash;Hyperion to a Satyr&mdash;how can we extend the fame

+of <i>The Keepsake!</i></p>

+<p>We cannot particularize the engravings; but they are all worthy

+companions of the frontispiece&mdash;a lovely portrait of Mrs.

+Peel, engraved by Heath, from Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture. In the

+literary department&mdash;a very court of fiction&mdash;is, My Aunt

+Margaret's Mirror, a tale of forty-four pages; and, The Tapestried

+Chamber, by Sir Walter Scott; both much too long for extract, which

+would indeed be almost unfair. Next comes an exquisite

+gem&mdash;</p>

+<h3>ON LOVE.</h3>

+<h4><i>By Percy Bysshe Shelley</i>.</h4>

+<p>What is Love? Ask him who lives <span class="pagenum"><a name=

+"page371" id="page371"></a>[pg 371]</span> what is life; ask him

+who adores what is God.</p>

+<p>I know not the internal constitution of other men, nor even of

+thine whom I now address. I see that in some external attributes

+they resemble me, but when, misled by that appearance, I have

+thought to appeal to something in common, and unburden my inmost

+soul to them, I have found my language misunderstood, like one in a

+distant and savage land. The more opportunities they have afforded

+me for experience, the wider has appeared the interval between us,

+and to a greater distance have the points of sympathy been

+withdrawn. With a spirit ill-fitted to sustain such proof,

+trembling and feeble through its tenderness, I have every where

+sought, and have found only repulse and disappointment.</p>

+<p><i>Thou</i> demandest what is Love. It is that powerful

+attraction towards all we conceive, or fear, or hope, beyond

+ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the chasm of an

+insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are, a

+community with what we experience within ourselves. If we reason we

+would be understood; if we imagine, we would that the airy children

+of our brain were born anew within another's; if we feel, we would

+that another's nerves should vibrate to our own, that the beams of

+their eyes should kindle at once, and mix and melt into our own;

+that lips of motionless ice should not reply to lips quivering and

+burning with the heart's best blood:&mdash;this is Love. This is

+the bond and the sanction which connects not only man with man, but

+with every thing which exists. We are born into the world, and

+there is something within us, which, from the instant that we live,

+more and more thirsts after its likeness. It is probably in

+correspondence with this law that the infant drains milk from the

+bosom of its mother; this propensity develops itself with the

+development of our nature. We dimly see within our intellectual

+nature, a miniature as it were of our entire self, yet deprived of

+all that we condemn or despise, the ideal prototype of every thing

+excellent and lovely that we are capable of conceiving as belonging

+to the nature of man. Not only the portrait of our external being,

+but an assemblage of the minutest particles of which our nature is

+composed: a mirror whose surface reflects only the forms of purity

+and brightness: a soul within our own soul that describes a circle

+around its proper Paradise, which pain and sorrow and evil dare not

+overleap. To this we eagerly refer all sensations, thirsting that

+they should resemble and correspond with it. The discovery of its

+antitype; the meeting with an understanding capable of clearly

+estimating our own; an imagination which should enter into and

+seize upon the subtle and delicate peculiarities which we have

+delighted to cherish and unfold in secret, with a frame, whose

+nerves, like the chords of two exquisite lyres, strung to the

+accompaniment of one delightful voice, vibrate with the vibrations

+of our own; and a combination of all these in such proportion as

+the type within demands: this is the invisible and unattainable

+point to which Love tends; and to attain which, it urges forth the

+powers of man to arrest the faintest shadow of that, without the

+possession of which, there is no rest or respite to the heart over

+which it rules. Hence in solitude, or that deserted state when we

+are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not with

+us; we love the flowers, the grass, the waters, and the sky. In the

+motion of the very leaves of Spring, in the blue air, there is then

+found a secret correspondence with our heart. There is eloquence in

+the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the

+rustling of the reeds beside them, which, by their inconceivable

+relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to dances

+of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to

+the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of

+one beloved singing to you alone. Sterne says that if he were in a

+desert he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is

+dead, man becomes a living sepulchre of himself, and what yet

+survives is the mere husk of what once he was.</p>

+<hr />

+<p>This and a fragment, with a character of Mr. Canning, by Sir

+James Mackintosh, are the <i>transcendentals</i> of the volume; as

+are the tale&mdash;The Half-brothers, by Mr. Banim, with an

+Ossian-like plate of the heroine; The Sisters of Albano, by Mrs.

+Shelley&mdash;Death of the Laird's Jock, by the author of

+Waverley&mdash;and Ferdinando Eboli, by Mrs. Shelley, with

+Adelinda, a plate, by Heath, on which we could feast our eyes for a

+full hour. Next, a sketch, by Theodore Hook, part of which will

+serve to vary our sheet:&mdash;</p>

+<h3>THE OLD GENTLEMAN.</h3>

+<p>"To-morrow morning," said my friend, "when you awake, the power

+will be your own; and so, sir, I wish you a very good

+night."&mdash;"But, sir," said I, anxious to be better assured of

+the speedy fulfilment of the <span class="pagenum"><a name=

+"page372" id="page372"></a>[pg 372]</span> wish of my heart, (for

+such indeed it was,) "may I have the honour of knowing your name

+and address?"&mdash;"Ha, ha, ha!" said the old gentleman;

+"<i>my</i> name and address; ha, ha, ha! my name is pretty familiar

+to you, young gentleman; and as for my address, I dare say you will

+find your way to me some day or another, and so, once more, good

+night."&mdash;Saying which, he descended the stairs and quitted the

+house, leaving me to surmise who my extraordinary visiter could be.

+I never <i>knew</i>; but I recollect, that after he was gone, I

+heard one of the old ladies scolding a servant-girl for wasting so

+many matches in lighting the candles, and making such a terrible

+smell of brimstone in the house. I was now all anxiety to get to

+bed, not because I was sleepy, but because it seemed to me as if

+going to bed would bring me nearer to the time of getting up, when

+I should be master of the miraculous power which had been promised

+me. I rang the bell; my servant was still out; it was unusual for

+him to be absent at so late an hour. I waited until the clock

+struck eleven, but he came not; and resolving to reprimand him in

+the morning, I retired to rest. Contrary to my expectation, and, as

+it seemed to me, to the ordinary course of nature, considering the

+excitement under which I was labouring, I had scarcely laid my head

+on my pillow before I dropped into a profound slumber, from which I

+was only aroused by my servant's entrance to my room. The instant I

+awoke, I sat up in bed, and began to reflect on what had passed,

+and for a moment to doubt whether it had not been all a dream.

+However, it was daylight; the period had arrived when the proof of

+my newly acquired power might be made.&mdash;"Barton," said I to my

+man, "why were you not at home last night?"&mdash;"I had to wait,

+sir, nearly three hours," he replied, "for an answer to the letter

+which you sent to Major Sheringham."&mdash;"That is not true," said

+I; and, to my infinite surprise, I appeared to <i>recollect</i> a

+series of occurrences, of which I never had previously heard, and

+could have known nothing: "you went to see your sweetheart, Betsy

+Collyer, at Camberwell, and took her to a tea-garden, and gave her

+cakes and cider, and saw her home again: you mean to do exactly the

+same thing on Sunday, and to-morrow you mean to ask me for your

+quarter's wages, although not due till Monday, in order to buy her

+a new shawl."&mdash;The man stood aghast: it was all true. I was

+quite as much surprised as the man.&mdash;"Sir," said Barton, who

+had served me for seven years without having once been found fault

+with, "I see you think me unworthy your confidence; you could not

+have known this, if you had not watched, and followed, and

+overheard me and my sweetheart; my character will get me through

+the world without being looked after. I can stay with you no

+longer; you will please, sir, to provide yourself with another

+servant."&mdash;"But Barton," said I, "I did not follow or watch

+you; I&mdash;"&mdash;"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied; "it is

+not for <i>me</i> to contradict; but you'll forgive me, sir, I

+would rather go; I <i>must</i> go."</p>

+<p>At this moment I was on the very point of easing his mind, and

+retaining my faithful servant by a disclosure of my power; but it

+was yet too new to be parted with; so I affected an anger I did not

+feel, and told him he might go where he pleased. I had, however,

+ascertained that the old gentleman had not deceived me in his

+promises; and, elated with the possession of my extraordinary

+faculty, I hurried the operation of dressing, and before I had

+concluded it, my ardent friend Sheringham was announced; he was

+waiting in the breakfast-room. At the same moment, a note from the

+lovely Fanny Haywood was delivered to me&mdash;from the divine girl

+who, in the midst of all my scientific abstraction, could "chain my

+worldly feelings for a moment." "Sheringham, my dear fellow," said

+I, as I advanced to welcome him, "what makes you so early a visiter

+this morning?"&mdash;"An anxiety," replied Sheringham, "to tell you

+that my uncle, whose interest I endeavoured to procure for you, in

+regard to the appointment for which you expressed a desire, has

+been compelled to recommend a relation of the marquess; this gives

+me real pain, but I thought it would be best to put you out of

+suspense as soon as possible."&mdash;"Major Sheringham," said I,

+drawing myself up coldly, "if this matter concerns you so deeply as

+you seem to imply that it does, might I ask why you so readily

+agreed to your uncle's proposition or chimed in with his

+suggestion, to bestow the appointment on this relation of the

+marquess, in order that <i>you</i> might, in return for it, obtain

+the promotion for which you are so anxious?"&mdash;"My dear

+fellow," said Sheringham, evidently confused,

+"I&mdash;I&mdash;never chimed in; my uncle certainly pointed out

+the possibility to which you allude, but <i>that</i> was merely

+contingent upon what he could not refuse to

+do."&mdash;"Sheringham," said I, "your uncle has already secured

+for you the promotion, and you will be gazetted for the

+lieutenant-colonelcy of your regiment on Tuesday. I am not to be

+told that you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page373" id=

+"page373"></a>[pg 373]</span> called at the Horse-guards, in your

+way to your uncle's yesterday, to ascertain the correctness of the

+report of the vacancy which you had received from your friend

+Macgregor; or that <i>you</i>, elated by the prospect before you,

+were the person, in fact, to suggest the arrangement which has been

+made, and promise your uncle 'to smooth me over' for the

+present."&mdash;"Sir," said Sheringham, "where you picked up this

+intelligence I know not; but I must say, that such mistrust, after

+years of undivided intimacy, is not becoming, or consistent with

+the character which I hitherto supposed you to possess. When by

+sinister means the man we look upon as a friend descends to be a

+spy upon our actions, confidence is at an end, and the sooner our

+intercourse ceases, the better. Without some such conduct, how

+could you become possessed of the details upon which you have

+grounded your opinion of my conduct?"&mdash;"I&mdash;," and here

+again was a temptation to confess and fall; but I had not the

+courage to do it. "Suffice it, Major Sheringham, to say, I knew it;

+and, moreover, I know, that when you leave me, your present

+irritation will prompt you to go to your uncle and check the

+disposition he feels at this moment to serve me."&mdash;"This is

+too much, sir," said Sheringham; "this must be our last interview,

+unless indeed your unguarded conduct towards me, and your

+intemperate language concerning me, may render one more meeting

+necessary; and so, sir, here ends our acquaintance."&mdash;Saying

+which, Sheringham, whose friendship even to my enlightened eye was

+nearly as sincere as any other man's, quitted my room, fully

+convinced of my meanness and unworthiness; my heart sank within me

+when I heard the door close upon him for the last time. I now

+possessed the power I had so long desired, and in less than an hour

+had lost a valued friend and a faithful servant. Nevertheless,

+Barton <i>had</i> told me a falsehood, and Sheringham <i>was</i>

+gazetted on the Tuesday night.</p>

+<hr />

+<p>I went into the Water-colour Exhibition at Charing-cross; there

+I heard two artists complimenting each other, while their hearts

+were bursting with mutual envy. There, too, I found a mild,

+modest-looking lady, listening to the bewitching nothings of her

+husband's particular friend; and I knew, as I saw her frown and

+abruptly turn away from him with every appearance of real

+indignation, that she had at that very moment mentally resolved to

+elope with him the following night. In Harding's shop I found

+authors congregated "to laugh the sultry hours away," each watching

+to catch his neighbour's weak point, and make it subject matter of

+mirth in his evening's conversation. I saw a viscount help his

+father out of his carriage with every mark of duty and veneration,

+and knew that he was actually languishing for the earldom and

+estates of the venerable parent of whose health he was apparently

+taking so much care. At Howell and James's I saw more than I could

+tell, if I had ten times the space afforded me that I have; and I

+concluded my tour by dropping in at the National Gallery, where the

+ladies and gentlemen seemed to prefer nature to art, and were

+actively employed in looking at the pictures, and thinking of

+themselves. Oh! it was a strange time then, when every man's heart

+was open to me, and I could sit, and see, and hear, all that was

+going on, and know the workings of the inmost feelings of my

+associates; however, I must not detain the reader with

+reflections.</p>

+<hr />

+<p>Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl, is an intensely interesting

+tale by Lord Normanby, with a most effective illustration by

+Heath.</p>

+<p>But the prose of the "Keepsake" is decidedly superior to the

+<i>poetry</i>, notwithstanding the high names in the latter list.

+Mr. Moore's contribution is, however, only sixteen lines. The

+poetical pieces consist chiefly of fragments or

+"scraps"&mdash;among which those on Italy, by Lord Morpeth; and

+three by Shelley, are very beautiful. Our specimen is&mdash;</p>

+<h3>THE VICTIM BRIDE.</h3>

+<h4><i>By W.H. Harrison.</i></h4>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>I saw her in her summer bow'r, and oh! upon my sight</p>

+<p>Methought there never beam'd a form more beautiful and

+bright!</p>

+<p>So young, so fair, she seem'd as one of those aerial things</p>

+<p>That live but in the poet's high and wild imaginings;</p>

+<p>Or like those forms we meet in dreams from which we wake, and

+weep</p>

+<p>That earth has no creation like the figments of our sleep.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Her parent&mdash;loved not he his child above all earthly

+things!</p>

+<p>As traders love the merchandize from which their profit

+springs:</p>

+<p>Old age came by, with tott'ring step, and, for the sordid

+gold</p>

+<p>With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was

+sold</p>

+<p>And thus (for oh! her sire's stern heart was steel'd against her

+pray'r)</p>

+<p>The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her

+despair.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>I saw them through the churchyard pass, but such a nuptial

+train</p>

+<p>I would not for the wealth of worlds should greet my sight

+again.</p>

+<p>The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve in Eden's bow'rs,</p>

+<p>Shed bitter tears upon the path they should have strewn with

+flow'rs.</p>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page374" id="page374"></a>[pg

+374]</span>

+<p>Who had not deem'd that white rob'd band the funeral array,</p>

+<p>Of one an early doom had call'd from life's gay scene away!</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>The priest beheld the bridal group before the altar stand,</p>

+<p>And sigh'd as he drew forth his book with slow reluctant

+hand:</p>

+<p>He saw the bride's flow'r-wreathed hair, and mark'd her

+streaming eyes,</p>

+<p>And deem'd it less a Christian rite than a Pagan sacrifice;</p>

+<p>And when he call'd on Abraham's God to bless the wedded

+pair,</p>

+<p>It seem'd a very mockery to breathe so vain a pray'r.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>I saw the palsied bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensigns

+drest;</p>

+<p>A shroud were fitter garment far for him than bridal vest;</p>

+<p>I mark'd him when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his

+hold,</p>

+<p>He held it with a miser's clutch&mdash;it was his darling

+gold.</p>

+<p>His shrivell'd hand was wet with tears she pour'd, alas! in

+vain,</p>

+<p>And it trembled like an autumn leaf beneath the beating

+rain.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>I've seen her since that fatal morn&mdash;her golden fetters

+rest</p>

+<p>As e'en the weight of incubus, upon her aching breast.</p>

+<p>And when the victor, Death, shall come to deal the welcome

+blow,</p>

+<p>He will not find one rose to swell the wreath that decks his

+brow:</p>

+<p>For oh! her cheek is blanch'd by grief which time may not

+assuage,&mdash;</p>

+<p>Thus early Beauty sheds her bloom on the wintry breast of

+Age.</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>Our commendation of the "Keepsake" might be extended much

+further, were we to consult our inclination to do justice to its

+high character. With so lavish an expenditure and such an array of

+talent as we have shown it to contain, to wonder at its

+success,</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>We congratulate the proprietors on their prospects of

+remuneration, for the attractions of their publication are

+irresistible. It is altogether a splendid enterprise, and we doubt

+not the reward will be more than proportionate to the expectation

+it has raised&mdash;both in the proprietors and their

+patrons&mdash;the public.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>The Anniversary,</h2>

+<h4><i>Edited by Allan Cunningham.</i></h4>

+<p>Perhaps we are getting too panegyrical, for panegyric savours of

+the poppy; but we must not flinch from our duty.</p>

+<p><i>Allan Cunningham</i>&mdash;there is poetry in the name,

+written or sung&mdash;and high-wrought poetry too, in nearly every

+production to which that name is attached&mdash;and among these

+"The Anniversary for 1829." All the departments of this work too,

+(as in the "Keepsake") are unique. Mr. Sharpe, the proprietor, is a

+man of refined taste, his Editor and his contributors are men of

+first-rate genius, the Painters and Engravers are of the first

+rank, and the volume is printed at Mr. Whittingham's

+Chiswick-press. Excellence must always be the result of such a

+combination of talent, and so it proves in the <i>Anniversary</i>.

+As might have been expected from the talent of its editor, the

+volume is superior in its poetical attractions&mdash;both in number

+and quality.</p>

+<p>By way of variety, we begin with the <i>poetry</i>. First is a

+stirring little ballad, the Warrior, by the editor; then, a

+humorous epistle from Robert Southey, Esq. to Allan Cunningham, in

+which the laureat deals forth his ire on the "misresemblances and

+villanous visages" which have been published as his portrait.<a id=

+"footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1"></a><a href=

+"#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> Next is a gem of another water,

+Edderline's Dream, by Professor Wilson, the supposed editor of

+"Blackwood's Magazine." This is throughout a very beautiful

+composition, but we must content ourselves with the following

+extract:&mdash;</p>

+<h3>EDDERLINE'S SLEEP.</h3>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"Castle-Oban is lost in the darkness of night,</p>

+<p>For the moon is swept from the starless heaven,</p>

+<p>And the latest line of lowering light</p>

+<p>That lingered on the stormy even,</p>

+<p>A dim-seen line, half cloud, half wave,</p>

+<p>Hath sunk into the weltering grave.</p>

+<p>Castle-Oban is dark without and within,</p>

+<p>And downwards to the fearful din,</p>

+<p>Where Ocean with his thunder shocks</p>

+<p>Stuns the green foundation rocks,</p>

+<p>Through the green abyss that mocks his eye,</p>

+<p>Oft hath the eerie watchman sent</p>

+<p>A shuddering look, a shivering sigh,</p>

+<p>From the edge of the howling battlement!</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"Therein is a lonesome room,</p>

+<p>Undisturbed as some old tomb</p>

+<p>That, built within a forest glen,</p>

+<p>Far from feet of living men,</p>

+<p>And sheltered by its black pine-trees</p>

+<p>From sound of rivers, lochs, and seas,</p>

+<p>Flings back its arched gateway tall,</p>

+<p>At times to some great funeral!</p>

+<p>Noiseless as a central cell</p>

+<p>In the bosom of a mountain</p>

+<p>Where the fairy people dwell,</p>

+<p>By the cold and sunless fountain!</p>

+<p>Breathless as a holy shrine,</p>

+<p>When the voice of psalms is shed!</p>

+<p>And there upon her stately bed,</p>

+<p>While her raven locks recline</p>

+<p>O'er an arm more pure than snow,</p>

+<p>Motionless beneath her head,&mdash;</p>

+<p>And through her large fair eyelids shine</p>

+<p>Shadowy dreams that come and go,</p>

+<p>By too deep bliss disquieted,&mdash;</p>

+<p>There sleeps in love and beauty's glow,</p>

+<p>The high-born Lady Edderline.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"Lo! the lamp's wan fitful light,</p>

+<p>Glide,&mdash;gliding round the golden rim!</p>

+<p>Restored to life, now glancing bright,</p>

+<p>Now just expiring, faint and dim!</p>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page375" id="page375"></a>[pg

+375]</span>

+<p>"Like a spirit loath to die,</p>

+<p>Contending with its destiny.</p>

+<p>All dark! a momentary veil</p>

+<p>Is o'er the sleeper! now a pale</p>

+<p>Uncertain beauty glimmers faint,</p>

+<p>And now the calm face of the saint</p>

+<p>With every feature re-appears,</p>

+<p>Celestial in unconscious tears!</p>

+<p>Another gleam! how sweet the while,</p>

+<p>Those pictured faces on the wall,</p>

+<p>Through the midnight silence smile!</p>

+<p>Shades of fair ones, in the aisle</p>

+<p>Vaulted the castle cliffs below,</p>

+<p>To nothing mouldered, one and all,</p>

+<p>Ages long ago!</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"From her pillow, as if driven</p>

+<p>By an unseen demon's hand</p>

+<p>Disturbing the repose of heaven,</p>

+<p>Hath fallen her head! The long black hair</p>

+<p>From the fillet's silken band</p>

+<p>In dishevelled masses riven,</p>

+<p>Is streaming downwards to the floor.</p>

+<p>Is the last convulsion o'er?</p>

+<p>And will that length of glorious tresses,</p>

+<p>So laden with the soul's distresses.</p>

+<p>By those fair hands in morning light,</p>

+<p>Above those eyelids opening bright,</p>

+<p>Be braided nevermore!</p>

+<p>No, the lady is not dead,</p>

+<p>Though flung thus wildly o'er her bed;</p>

+<p>Like a wretched corse upon the shore,</p>

+<p>That lies until the morning brings</p>

+<p>Searchings, and shrieks, and sorrowings;</p>

+<p>Or, haply, to all eyes unknown,</p>

+<p>Is borne away without a groan,</p>

+<p>On a chance plank, 'mid joyful cries</p>

+<p>Of birds that pierce the sunny skies</p>

+<p>With seaward dash, or in calm bands</p>

+<p>Parading o'er the silvery sands,</p>

+<p>Or mid the lovely flush of shells,</p>

+<p>Pausing to burnish crest or wing.</p>

+<p>No fading footmark see that tells</p>

+<p>Of that poor unremembered thing!</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"O dreadful is the world of dreams,</p>

+<p>When all that world a chaos seems</p>

+<p>Of thoughts so fixed before!</p>

+<p>When heaven's own face is tinged with blood!</p>

+<p>And friends cross o'er our solitude,</p>

+<p>Now friends of our's no more!</p>

+<p>Or dearer to our hearts than ever.</p>

+<p>Keep stretching forth, with vain endeavour,</p>

+<p>Their pale and palsied hands,</p>

+<p>To clasp us phantoms, as we go</p>

+<p>Along the void like drifting snow.</p>

+<p>To far-off nameless lands!</p>

+<p>Yet all the while we know not why,</p>

+<p>Nor where those dismal regions lie,</p>

+<p>Half hoping that a curse to so deep</p>

+<p>And wild can only be in sleep,</p>

+<p>And that some overpowering scream</p>

+<p>Will break the fetters of the dream,</p>

+<p>And let us back to waking life,</p>

+<p>Filled though it be with care and strife;</p>

+<p>Since there at least the wretch can know</p>

+<p>The meanings on the face of woe,</p>

+<p>Assured that no mock shower is shed</p>

+<p>Of tears upon the real dead,</p>

+<p>Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,</p>

+<p>When bending o'er the death-like cheek</p>

+<p>Of one who scarcely seems alive,</p>

+<p>At every cold but breathing kiss.</p>

+<p>He hears a saving angel speak&mdash;</p>

+<p>'Thy love will yet revive!'"</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>Then comes A Farewell to the year, one of Mr. Lockhart's elegant

+translations from the Spanish; a pretty portrait of rustic

+simplicity&mdash;the Little Gleaner, by the editor; and some

+playful lines by M.A. Shee, accompanying an engraving from his own

+picture of the Lost Ear-Rings. The Wedding Wake, by George Darley,

+Esq. is an exquisite picture of saddened beauty. The Ettrick

+Shepherd has the Carle of Invertine&mdash;a powerful composition,

+and the Cameronian Preacher, a prose tale, of equal effect. In

+addition to the pieces already mentioned, by the editor, is one of

+extraordinary excellence&mdash;the Magic Bridle: his Lines to a Boy

+plucking Blackberries, are a very pleasing picture of

+innocence:&mdash;</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p class="i8">There stay in joy,</p>

+<p>Pluck, pluck, and eat thou happy boy;</p>

+<p>Sad fate abides thee. Thou mayst grow</p>

+<p>A man: for God may deem it so,</p>

+<p>I wish thee no such harm, sweet child:</p>

+<p>Go, whilst thou'rt innocent and mild:</p>

+<p>Go, ere earth's passions, fierce and proud,</p>

+<p>Rend thee as lightning rend the cloud:</p>

+<p>Go, go, life's day is in the dawn:</p>

+<p>Go, wait not, wish not to be man.</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>One of his pieces we quote entire:&mdash;</p>

+<h3>THE SEA KING'S DEATH-SONG.</h3>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"I'll launch my gallant bark no more,</p>

+<p class="i2">Nor smile to see how gay</p>

+<p>Its pennon dances, as we bound</p>

+<p class="i2">Along the watery way;</p>

+<p>The wave I walk on's mine&mdash;the god</p>

+<p class="i2">I worship is the breeze;</p>

+<p>My rudder is my magic rod</p>

+<p class="i2">Of rule, on isles and seas:</p>

+<p>Blow, blow, ye winds, for lordly France,</p>

+<p class="i2">Or shores of swarthy Spain:</p>

+<p>Blow where ye list, of earth I'm lord,</p>

+<p class="i2">When monarch of the main.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"When last upon the surge I rode,</p>

+<p class="i2">A strong wind on me shot,</p>

+<p>And tossed me as I toss my plume,</p>

+<p class="i2">In battle fierce and hot.</p>

+<p>Three days and nights no sun I saw,</p>

+<p class="i2">Nor gentle star nor moon;</p>

+<p>Three feet of foam dash'd o'er my decks,</p>

+<p class="i2">I sang to see it&mdash;soon</p>

+<p>The wind fell mute, forth shone the sun,</p>

+<p class="i2">Broad dimpling smiled the brine;</p>

+<p>I leap'd on Ireland's shore, and made</p>

+<p class="i2">Half of her riches mine.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"The wild hawk wets her yellow foot</p>

+<p class="i2">In blood of serf and king:</p>

+<p>Deep bites the brand, sharp smites the axe,</p>

+<p class="i2">And helm and cuirass ring;</p>

+<p>The foam flies from the charger's flanks,</p>

+<p class="i2">Like wreaths of winter's snow;</p>

+<p>Spears shiver, and the bright shafts start</p>

+<p class="i2">In thousands from the bow&mdash;</p>

+<p>Strike up, strike up, my minstrels all</p>

+<p class="i2">Use tongue and tuneful chord&mdash;</p>

+<p>Be mute!&mdash;My music is the clang</p>

+<p class="i2">Of cleaving axe and sword.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"Cursed be the Norseman who puts trust</p>

+<p class="i2">In mortar and in stone;</p>

+<p>Who rears a wall, or builds a tower,</p>

+<p class="i2">Or makes on earth his throne;</p>

+<p>My monarch throne's the willing wave,</p>

+<p class="i2">That bears me on the beach;</p>

+<p>My sepulchre's the deep sea surge,</p>

+<p class="i2">Where lead shall never reach;</p>

+<p>My death-song is the howling wind,</p>

+<p class="i2">That bends my quivering mast,&mdash;</p>

+<p>Bid England's maidens join the song,</p>

+<p class="i2">I there made orphans last.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me</p>

+<p class="i2">Oft, oft, by frith and flood,</p>

+<p>I called ye forth to feast on kings;</p>

+<p class="i2">Who now shall give ye food?</p>

+<p>Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea,</p>

+<p class="i2">For of earth's proudest lords</p>

+<p>We served thee oft a sumptuous feast</p>

+<p class="i2">With our sharp shining swords;</p>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page376" id="page376"></a>[pg

+376]</span>

+<p>Mourn, midnight, mourn, no more thou'lt hear</p>

+<p class="i2">Armed thousands shout my name.</p>

+<p>Nor see me rushing, red wet shod,</p>

+<p class="i2">Through cities doomed to flame.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"My race is run, my flight is flown;</p>

+<p class="i2">And, like the eagle free,</p>

+<p>That soars into the cloud and dies,</p>

+<p class="i2">I leave my life on sea.</p>

+<p>To man I yield not spear nor sword</p>

+<p class="i2">Ne'er harmed me in their ire,</p>

+<p>Vain on me Europe shower'd her shafts,</p>

+<p class="i2">And Asia pour'd her fire.</p>

+<p>Nor wound nor scar my body bears,</p>

+<p class="i2">My lip made never moan,</p>

+<p>And Odin bold, who gave me life,</p>

+<p class="i2">Now comes and takes his own.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>"Light! light there! let me get one look,&mdash;</p>

+<p class="i2">Yon is the golden sky,</p>

+<p>With all its glorious lights, and there</p>

+<p class="i2">My subject sea flows by;</p>

+<p>Around me all my comrades stand,</p>

+<p class="i2">Who oft have trod with me</p>

+<p>On prince's necks, a joy that's flown,</p>

+<p class="i2">And never more may be.</p>

+<p>Now put my helmet on my head,</p>

+<p class="i2">My bright sword in my hand,</p>

+<p>That I may die as I have lived.</p>

+<p class="i2">In arms and high command."</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>In the prose department the most striking is the description of

+Abbotsford, quoted in our 339th number. There is an affecting Tale

+of the Times of the Martyrs, by the Rev. Edward Irving, which will

+repay the reader's curiosity. The Honeycomb and Bitter Gourd is a

+pleasing little story; and Paddy Kelleger and his Pig, is a fine

+bit of humour, in Mr. Croker's best style. The brief Memoir of the

+late Sir George Beaumont is a just tribute to the memory of that

+liberal patron of the Fine Arts, and is an opportune introduction

+into such a work as the present. The letter of Lord Byron, too,

+from Genoa in 1823, will be interesting to the noble poet's

+admirers.</p>

+<p>Among the illustrations we can only notice the Lute, by C.

+Rolls, after Bonnington; Morning, by E. Goodall, from Linton's

+"joyful" picture; Sir W. Scott in his Study (qy. the forehead); a

+little "Monkeyana," by Landseer; Chillon, by Wallis, from a drawing

+by Clarkson Stanfield&mdash;a sublime picture; Fonthill, an

+exquisite scene from one of Turner's drawings; Beatrice, from a

+picture by Howard; the Lake View of Newstead, after Danby; the

+Snuff-Box, from Stephanoff; and last, though not least,

+Gainsborough's charming Young Cottagers, transferred to steel, by

+J.H. Robinson&mdash;perhaps the most attractive print in the whole

+series.</p>

+<p>With this hasty notice we conclude, in the language of our

+announcement of the present work, "wishing the publisher <i>many

+Anniversaries</i>"</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>Friendship's Offering.</h2>

+<h4><i>Edited by Thomas Pringle, Esq.</i></h4>

+<p>The present volume will support, if not increase, the literary

+reputation which this elegant work has enjoyed during previous

+years. The editor, Mr. Pringle, is a poet of no mean celebrity,

+and, as we are prepared to show, his contribution, independent of

+his editorial judgment, will do much toward the Friendship's

+Offering maintaining its ground among the Annuals for 1829.</p>

+<p>There are twelve engravings and a presentation plate. Among the

+most beautiful of these are Cupid and Psyche, painted by J. Wood,

+and engraved by Finden; Campbell Castle, by E. Goodall, after G.

+Arnald; the Parting, from Haydon's picture now exhibiting with his

+Mock Election, "Chairing;" Hours of Innocence, from Landseer; La

+Frescura, by Le Petit, from a painting by Bone; and the Cove of

+Muscat, a spirited engraving by Jeavons, from the painting of

+Witherington. All these are of first-rate excellence; but another

+remains to be mentioned&mdash;Glen-Lynden, painted and engraved by

+<i>Martin</i>, a fit accompaniment for Mr. Pringle's very polished

+poem.</p>

+<p>The first <i>prose</i> story is the Election, by Miss Mitford,

+with the hero a downright John Bull who reads Cobbett. The next

+which most attracts our attention is Contradiction, by the author

+of an Essay on Housekeepers&mdash;but the present is not so

+Shandean as the last-mentioned paper; it has, however, many good

+points, and want of room alone prevents our transferring it. Then

+comes the Covenanters, a Scottish traditionary tale of

+<i>fixing</i> interest; the Publican's Dream, by Mr. Banim, told

+also in the Winter's Wreath, and Gem:</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p><i>Thrice</i> the brindled cat hath mewed;</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>and Zalim Khan, a beautiful Peruvian tale of thirty pages, by

+Mr. Fraser. The French story, La Fianc&eacute;e de Marques, is a

+novelty for an annual, but in good taste. Tropical Sun-sets, by Dr.

+Philip, is just to our mind and measure:&mdash;</p>

+<p>A setting sun between the tropics is certainly one of the finest

+objects in nature.</p>

+<p>From the 23rd degree north to the 27th degree south latitude, I

+used to stand upon the deck of the Westmoreland an hour every

+evening, gazing with admiration upon a scene which no effort either

+of the pencil or the pen can describe, so as to convey any adequate

+idea of it to the mind of one who has never been in the

+neighbourhood of the equator. I merely attempt to give you a hasty

+and imperfect outline.</p>

+<p>The splendour of the scene generally commenced about twenty

+minutes before sun-set, when the feathery, fantastic, and

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page377" id="page377"></a>[pg

+377]</span> regularly crystallized clouds in the higher regions of

+the atmosphere, became fully illumined by the sun's rays; and the

+fine mackerel-shaped clouds, common in these regions, were seen

+hanging in the concave of heaven like fleeces of burnished gold.

+When the sun approached the verge of the horizon, he was frequently

+seen encircled by a halo of splendour, which continued increasing

+till it covered a large space of the heavens: it then began

+apparently to shoot out from the body of the sun, in refulgent

+pencils, or radii, each as large as a rainbow, exhibiting,

+according to the rarity or density of the atmosphere, a display of

+brilliant or delicate tints, and of ever changing lights and shades

+of the most amazing beauty and variety. About twenty minutes after

+sun-set these splendid shooting rays disappeared, and were

+succeeded by a fine, rich glow in the heavens, in which you might

+easily fancy that you saw land rising out of the ocean, stretching

+itself before you and on every side in the most enchanting

+perspective, and having the glowing lustre of a bar of iron when

+newly withdrawn from the forge. On this brilliant ground the dense

+clouds which lay nearest the bottom of the horizon, presenting

+their dark sides to you, exhibited to the imagination all the

+gorgeous and picturesque appearances of arches, obelisks,

+mouldering towers, magnificent gardens, cities, forests, mountains,

+and every fantastic configuration of living creatures, and of

+imaginary beings; while the finely stratified clouds a little

+higher in the atmosphere, might really be imagined so many glorious

+islands of the blessed, swimming in an ocean of light.</p>

+<p>The beauty and grandeur of the sunsets, thus imperfectly

+described, surpass inconceivably any thing of a similar description

+which I have ever witnessed, even amidst the most rich and romantic

+scenery of our British lakes and mountains.</p>

+<p>Were I to attempt to account for the exquisite enjoyment on

+beholding the setting sun between the tropics, I should perhaps

+say, that it arose from the warmth, the repose, the richness, the

+novelty, the glory of the whole, filling the mind with the most

+exalted, tranquillizing, and beautiful images.</p>

+<hr />

+<p>There is likewise a tale, Going to Sea, and the Ship's Crew, by

+Mrs. Bowdich, which equally merits commendation.</p>

+<p>Powerful as may be the aid which the editor has received from

+the <i>contributors</i> to the "Friendship's Offering," we are

+bound to distinguish one of his own pieces&mdash;<i>Glen-Lynden, a

+Tale of Teviot-dale</i>, as the sun of the volume. It is in

+Spenserian verse, and a more graceful composition cannot be found

+in either of the Annuals. It is too long for entire extract, but we

+will attempt to string together a few of its beauties. The scenery

+of the Glen is thus described:&mdash;</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>A rustic home in Lynden's pastoral dell</p>

+<p>With modest pride a verdant hillock crown'd:</p>

+<p>Where the bold stream, like dragon from the fell,</p>

+<p>Came glittering forth, and, gently gliding round</p>

+<p>The broom-clad skirts of that fair spot of ground,</p>

+<p>Danced down the vale, in wanton mazes bending;</p>

+<p>Till finding, where it reached the meadow's bound,</p>

+<p>Romantic Teviot on his bright course wending.</p>

+<p>It joined the sounding streams&mdash;with his blue waters

+blending.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Behind a lofty wood along the steep</p>

+<p>Fenced from the chill north-east this quiet glen:</p>

+<p>And green hills, gaily sprinkled o'er with sheep,</p>

+<p>Spread to the south; while by the brightening pen,</p>

+<p>Rose the blithe sound of flocks and hounds and men,</p>

+<p>At summer dawn, and gloaming; or the voice</p>

+<p>Of children nutting in the hazelly den,</p>

+<p>Sweet mingling with the winds' and waters' noise,</p>

+<p>Attuned the softened heart with Nature to rejoice.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Upon the upland height a mouldering Tower,</p>

+<p>By time and outrage marked with many a scar,</p>

+<p>Told of past days of feudal pomp and power</p>

+<p>When its proud chieftains ruled the dales afar.</p>

+<p>But that was long gone by: and waste and war,</p>

+<p>And civil strife more ruthless still than they,</p>

+<p>Had quenched the lustre of Glen-Lynden's star,</p>

+<p>Which glimmered now, with dim reclining ray,</p>

+<p>O'er this secluded spot,&mdash;sole remnant of their sway.</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>Lynden's lord, and possessor of this tower, is now "a grave,

+mild, husbandman," and his wife&mdash;</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>She he loved in youth and loved alone,</p>

+<p>Was his.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<hr /></div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>And now his pleasant home and pastoral farm</p>

+<p>Are all the world to him: he feels no sting</p>

+<p>Of restless passions; but, with grateful arm,</p>

+<p>Clasps the twin cherubs round his neck that cling,</p>

+<p>Breathing their innocent thoughts like violets in the

+spring.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Another prattler, too, lisps on his knee,</p>

+<p>The orphan daughter of a hapless pair,</p>

+<p>Who, voyaging upon the Indian sea,</p>

+<p>Met the fierce typhon-blast&mdash;and perished there:</p>

+<p>But she was left the rustic home to share</p>

+<p>Of those who her young mother's friends had been:</p>

+<p>An old affection thus enhanced the care</p>

+<p>With which those faithful guardians loved to screen</p>

+<p>This sweet forsaken flower, in their wild arbours green.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<hr /></div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>But dark calamity comes aye too soon&mdash;</p>

+<p>And why anticipate its evil day?</p>

+<p>Ah, rather let us now in lovely June</p>

+<p>O'erlook these happy children at their play:</p>

+<p>Lo, where they gambol through the garden gay,</p>

+<p>Or round the hoary hawthorn dance and sing,</p>

+<p>Or, 'neath yon moss-grown cliff, grotesque and grey</p>

+<p>Sit plaiting flowery wreaths in social ring,</p>

+<p>And telling wondrous tales of the green Elfin King.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<hr />

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page378" id="page378"></a>[pg

+378]</span></div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Ah! evil days have fallen upon the land;</p>

+<p>A storm that brooded long has burst at last;</p>

+<p>And friends, like forest trees that closely stand</p>

+<p>With roots and branches interwoven fast,</p>

+<p>May aid awhile each other in the blast;</p>

+<p>But as when giant pines at length give way</p>

+<p>The groves below must share the ruin vast,</p>

+<p>So men who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway</p>

+<p>Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew</p>

+<p>Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears,</p>

+<p>That rose like distant shadows nearer drew</p>

+<p>O'ercasting the calm evening of his years;</p>

+<p>Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears,</p>

+<p>A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space,</p>

+<p>Till the horizon closes round of clears,</p>

+<p>Returns our tale the enchanted path to trace</p>

+<p>Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting

+grace.</p>

+<p>Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers</p>

+<p>O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood,</p>

+<p>A lake blue gleaming from deep forest bowers,</p>

+<p>Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude:</p>

+<p>Oft by the margin of that quiet flood,</p>

+<p>And through the groves and hoary ruins round,</p>

+<p>Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood;</p>

+<p>Or here, amid tradition's haunted ground,</p>

+<p>Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<hr /></div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Here Arthur loved to roam&mdash;a dreaming boy&mdash;</p>

+<p>Erewhile romantic reveries to frame,</p>

+<p>Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy.</p>

+<p>Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame;</p>

+<p>But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame</p>

+<p>'Gan mingle with his martial musings high;</p>

+<p>And trembling wishes&mdash;which he feared to name,</p>

+<p>Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh&mdash;</p>

+<p>Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>And there were eyes that from long silken lashes</p>

+<p>With stolen glance could spy his secret pain&mdash;</p>

+<p>Sweet hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes</p>

+<p>Like joyous day-spring after summer rain;</p>

+<p>And she, the enchantress, loved the youth again</p>

+<p>With maiden's first affection, fond and true,</p>

+<p>&mdash;Ah! youthful love is like the tranquil main,</p>

+<p>Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue&mdash;</p>

+<p>Beautiful as a spirit&mdash;calm, but fearful too!</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>Our limits compel us to break off once more, which is a source

+of regret, especially when our path is strewn with such gems as

+these:&mdash;</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>A gentle star lights up their solitude</p>

+<p>And lends fair hues to all created things;</p>

+<p>And dreams alone of beings pure and good</p>

+<p>Hover around their hearts with angel wings&mdash;</p>

+<p>Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture

+springs.</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>Here is a beautiful apostrophe&mdash;</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Oh Nature! by impassioned hearts alone</p>

+<p>Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar mind</p>

+<p>Sees but the shadow of a power unknown;</p>

+<p>Thy loftier beauties beam not to the blind</p>

+<p>And sensual throng, to grovelling hopes resigned:</p>

+<p>But they whom high and holy thoughts inspire</p>

+<p>Adore thee, in celestial glory shrined</p>

+<p>In that diviner fane where Love's pure fire</p>

+<p>Burns bright, and Genius tunes his loud immortal Lyre!</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>The halcyon days at length draw to a close, and sorrows "in

+battalions" compel them to emigrate and bid</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Farewell to the scenes they ne'er shall visit more.</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>The remainder is rather abrupt, at least much more so than the

+lovers of fervid poetry could wish, especially as the termination

+is with the following exquisite ballad:&mdash;</p>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Our native land, our native vale,</p>

+<p class="i2">A long and last adieu!</p>

+<p>Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,</p>

+<p class="i2">And Cheviot mountains blue.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,</p>

+<p class="i2">And streams renowned in song:</p>

+<p>Farewell, ye blithsome braes and meads</p>

+<p class="i2">Our hearts have loved so long.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes,</p>

+<p class="i2">Where thyme and harebells grow;</p>

+<p>Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes,</p>

+<p class="i2">O'erhung with birk and sloe.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>The battle-mound, the border-tower,</p>

+<p class="i2">That Scotia's annals tell:</p>

+<p>Thy martyr's grave, the lover's bower&mdash;</p>

+<p class="i2">To each&mdash;to all&mdash;farewell!</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Home of our hearts! our father's home!</p>

+<p class="i2">Land of the brave and free!</p>

+<p>The keel is flashing through the foam</p>

+<p class="i2">That bears us far from thee.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>We seek a wild and distant shore</p>

+<p class="i2">Beyond the Atlantic main:</p>

+<p>We leave thee to return no more,</p>

+<p class="i2">Nor view thy cliffs again.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>But may dishonour blight our fame,</p>

+<p class="i2">And quench our household fires,</p>

+<p>When we or ours forget thy name,</p>

+<p class="i2">Green island of our sires.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Our native land&mdash;our native vale&mdash;</p>

+<p class="i2">A long, a last adieu!</p>

+<p>Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,</p>

+<p class="i2">And Scotland's mountains blue!</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>We have only space to add that the poetical pieces are very

+numerous, and those by Allan Cunningham, the Ettrick Shepherd,

+Delta, and William Kennedy, merit especial notice.</p>

+<p>The elegant embossed binding is similar to that of last year,

+which we mentioned to our readers, and which we think an

+improvement on the silken array.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>The Bijou.</h2>

+<p>Though last in the field, (for it is scarcely published) the

+<i>Bijou</i> will doubtless occupy a different place in public

+favour. Its embellishments are selected with much judgment, and in

+literary merit, it equals either of its contemporaries. Its second

+title is an Annual of Literature and the <i>Fine Arts</i>, and from

+the choice of its illustrations, deservedly so. Thus, among the

+painters, who have furnished subjects for the engravers, we have

+Holbein, Claude, and Primaticcio; and two from Sir Thomas Lawrence.

+The engraving from Holbein, Sir Thomas More and his

+Family,&mdash;is a novelty in an Annual, and is beautifully

+executed by Ensom. It has all the quaintness of the great master,

+whose pictures may be called the <i>mosaic</i> of painting. The

+Autumnal Evening, engraved by Dean, after Claude, is not so

+successful; although it should be considered that little space is

+allowed for the exquisite effect of the original: <span class=

+"pagenum"><a name="page379" id="page379"></a>[pg 379]</span> still

+the execution might have been better. The Frontispiece, Lady

+Wallscourt, after Sir Thomas Lawrence is in part, a first-rate

+engraving; Young Lambton, after the same master, is of superior

+merit. The face is beautifully copied; and, by way of hint to the

+<i>scrappers</i>, this print will form a companion to the Mountain

+Daisy, from the <i>Amulet</i> for the present year. There are, too,

+some consecrated landscapes, dear to every classical tourist, and

+of, no common interest at home&mdash;as Clisson, the retreat of

+Heloise; Mont Blanc; and the Cascade of Tivoli&mdash;all of which

+are delightfully picturesque. The view of Mont Blanc is well

+managed.</p>

+<p>In the <i>prose</i> compositions we notice some of intense

+interest, among which are the Stranger Patron and the Castle of

+Reinspadte&mdash;both of German origin. There is too, a faithful

+historiette of the Battle of Trafalgar, which, with the History of

+the Family of Sir Thomas More, will be read with peculiar

+attention. Our extracts from the poetical department are by Mrs.

+Hemans and Miss Landon.</p>

+<h3>THE SLEEPERS.</h3>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Oh! lightly, lightly tread!</p>

+<p>A holy thing is sleep.</p>

+<p>On the worn spirit shed,</p>

+<p>And eyes that wake to weep:</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>A holy thing from heaven,</p>

+<p>A gracious dewy cloud,</p>

+<p>A covering mantle, given</p>

+<p>The weary to enshroud.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Oh! lightly, lightly tread!</p>

+<p>Revere the pale still brow,</p>

+<p>The meekly drooping head,</p>

+<p>The long hair's willowy flow!</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Ye know not what ye do,</p>

+<p>That call the slumberer back,</p>

+<p>From the world unseen by you,</p>

+<p>Unto Life's dim faded track.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Her soul is far away,</p>

+<p>In her childhood's land perchance,</p>

+<p>Where her young sisters play,</p>

+<p>Where shines her mother's glance.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Some old sweet native sound</p>

+<p>Her spirit haply weaves;</p>

+<p>A harmony profound</p>

+<p>Of woods with all their leaves:</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>A murmur of the sea,</p>

+<p>A laughing tone of streams:&mdash;</p>

+<p>Long may her sojourn be</p>

+<p>In the music-land of dreams!</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Each voice of love is there,</p>

+<p>Each gleam of beauty fled.</p>

+<p>Each lost one still more fair&mdash;</p>

+<p>Oh! lightly, lightly tread!</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>Miss Landon has contributed more to the "Bijou" than to any

+other Annual, and a piece from her distinguished pen will increase

+the value and variety of our columns.</p>

+<h3>THE FEAST OF LIFE.</h3>

+<div class="poem">

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>I bid thee to my mystic Feast,</p>

+<p>Each one thou lovest is gathered there;</p>

+<p>Yet put thou on a mourning robe,</p>

+<p>And bind the cypress in thy hair.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>The hall is vast, and cold, and drear;</p>

+<p>The board with faded flowers is spread:</p>

+<p>Shadows of beauty flit around,</p>

+<p>But beauty from each bloom has fled;</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>And music echoes from the walls,</p>

+<p>But music with a dirge-like sound;</p>

+<p>And pale and silent are the guests,</p>

+<p>And every eye is on the ground.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>Here, take this cup, tho' dark it seem,</p>

+<p>And drink to human hopes and fears;</p>

+<p>'Tis from their native element</p>

+<p>The cup is filled&mdash;it is of tears.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>What! turnest thou with averted brow?</p>

+<p>Thou scornest this poor feast of mine;</p>

+<p>And askest for a purple robe,</p>

+<p>Light words, glad smiles, and sunny wine.</p>

+</div>

+<div class="stanza">

+<p>In vain, the veil has left thine eyes,</p>

+<p>Or such these would have seemed to thee;</p>

+<p>Before thee is the Feast of Life,</p>

+<p>But life in its reality!</p>

+</div>

+</div>

+<p>We should not, however, pass over in silence a poem, of the

+antique school, entitled the Holy Vengeance for the Martyrdom of

+George Wishart, the merits of which are of a high order. Indeed,

+this piece, and the admirable composition of the History of Sir

+Thomas More and his Family, with the Holbein print, distinguish the

+Bijou from all other publications of its class, and are

+characteristic of the good taste of Mr. Pickering, the proprietor.

+Altogether, the Bijou for 1829 is very superior to the last volume,

+and, to our taste, it is one of the most attractive of the

+Christmas presents.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>The Winter's Wreath.</h2>

+<p>This is a <i>provincial</i>, but not a first appearance in

+London; the present being the fourth "<i>Wreath</i>" that has been

+entwined for the lovers of song and sentiment. It is culled from

+Liverpool, (next to our own metropolis) the most literary city in

+the empire; but many of its flowers have been gathered from our

+metropolitan parterre. Thus, in addition to the respected names of

+Roscoe, Currie, and Shepherd, (of Liverpool), we have among the

+contributors those of Hemans, Bowring, Howitt, Opie, with Mitford,

+Montgomery, and Wiffen. The editorship has passed into different

+hands, and "the introduction of religious topics has been carefully

+avoided" as unsuited to a work of elegant amusement.</p>

+<p>The plates are twelve in number, among which are <i>Lady Blanche

+and her Merlin</i>, after Northcote (rather too hard in the

+features); an exquisite <i>View of the Thames near Windsor</i>,

+after Havell; <i>Medora and the Corsair</i>, after Howard; the

+<i>Sailor Boy</i>, by Lizars; and a beautiful <i>Wreath</i>

+Title-page, after Vandyke. All these will bear comparison with any

+engravings in similar works.</p>

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page380" id="page380"></a>[pg

+380]</span>

+<p>The Wreath contains 132 pieces or flowers, some of them

+<i>perennials</i>&mdash;others of great, but less lasting

+beauty&mdash;and but few that will fade in a day. Among those

+entitled to special distinction, in the <i>prose</i> department,

+are an Italian Story, of considerable interest; the Corsair, a

+pleasing sketch; and Lough Neagh, a tale of the north of Ireland.

+One of the <i>perennials</i> is a Journey up the Mississippi, by

+Audubon, the American naturalist. Kester Hobson, a legendary tale

+of the Yorkshire Wolds, which turns upon a lucky dream, will

+probably set thousands dreaming&mdash;and we hope with the same

+good effect&mdash;viz. half-a-bushel of gold. "A Vision," by the

+late Dr. Currie, is a successful piece of writing; Le Contretems is

+a pleasant tale enough, with a sprinkling of French dialogue. Next

+is a well-told historiette of the eventful times of the Civil

+Wars.&mdash;The Memoir of a young Sculptor can scarcely fail to

+awaken the sympathy of the reader. The introduction of the paper on

+Popular Education, in what the editor himself calls "a work of

+elegant amusement like the present," is somewhat objectionable, and

+the writer's sentiments will be very unpalatable to a certain

+party. The Ridley Coach is a sketch in the style of Miss Mitford,

+who has contributed only one article, and that in verse. Mrs. Opie

+has a slight piece&mdash;The Old Trees and New Houses&mdash;but our

+prose selection is, (somewhat abridged)&mdash;</p>

+<h3>THE LADY ANNE CARR,</h3>

+<h4><i>By the Author of "May you like it."</i></h4>

+<p>Have you not sometimes seen, upon the bosom of dark, stagnant

+waters, a pure, white water-lily lift up its head, breathing there

+a fresh and delicate fragrance, and deriving its existence

+thence&mdash;yet partaking in nothing of the loathsome nature of

+the pool, nor ever sullied by its close contact with the foul

+element beneath?</p>

+<p>It is an honest simile to say that the gentle Anne Carr

+resembled that sweet water-lily. Sprung from the guilty loves of

+the favourite Somerset and his beautiful but infamous wife, she was

+herself pure and untainted by the dark and criminal dispositions of

+her parents. Not even a suspicion of their real character had ever

+crossed her mind; she knew that they had met with some reverse of

+fortune,&mdash;for she had heard her father regret, for her sake,

+his altered estate. She knew this, but nothing more: her father's

+enemies, who would gladly have added to his wretchedness, by making

+his child look upon him with horror, could not find in their

+hearts, when they gazed on her innocent face, to make one so

+unoffending wretched. It is a lovely blindness in a child to have

+no discernment of a parent's faultiness; and so it happened that

+the Lady Anne saw nothing in her father's mien or manner,

+betokening a sinful, worthless character.</p>

+<p>Of her mother she had but few and faint recollections. Memory

+pictured her pale and drooping, nay gradually sinking under the

+cureless malady which brought her to her grave at last. She

+remembered, however, the soft and beautiful smiles which had beamed

+over that haggard countenance, when it was turned upon her only

+child&mdash;smiles which she delighted to recognise in the lovely

+portrait, from which her idea of her mother was chiefly formed.

+This portrait adorned her own favourite apartment. It had been

+painted when the original was as young and happy as herself; and

+her filial love and fond imagination believed no grace had been

+wanting to make all as beautiful and glorious within.</p>

+<p>As the Lady Anne grew up to womanhood, the sweetness of her

+disposition and manners began to be acknowledged by those, who had

+seen without astonishment her extraordinary beauty; and many

+persons of distinction, who would hold no kind of fellowship with

+the Lord Somerset, sought the acquaintance of his innocent daughter

+for her own sake.</p>

+<p>The most beloved friend of the Lady Anne was the Lady Ellinor

+G&mdash;&mdash;, the eldest daughter of the Earl of

+G&mdash;&mdash;: and with her, Lady Anne often passed several

+months in the year. A large party of young ladies were assembled at

+G&mdash;&mdash; Castle; and it happened that a continual rain had

+confined the fair companions within doors the whole summer

+afternoon. They sat together over their embroidery and various

+kinds of needlework, telling old tales of fearful

+interest&mdash;the strange mishaps of benighted

+travellers&mdash;stories of witchcraft, and of mysterious

+murder.</p>

+<p>The conversation turned at last to the legends belonging to a

+certain family; and one circumstance was mentioned so nearly

+resembling, in many particulars, the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury,

+that the Lady Ellinor, scarcely doubting that some slight suspicion

+of her parents' crimes had reached the ears of the Lady Anne,

+determined to change the subject at once. She proposed to her fair

+friends that they should ramble together through the apartments of

+the castle; and she called for the old housekeeper, who had lived

+in the family from her childhood, to go along with them, and asked

+her to describe <span class="pagenum"><a name="page381" id=

+"page381"></a>[pg 381]</span> to them the person and manners of

+Queen Elizabeth, when she had visited at the castle, and slept in

+the state apartment; always since called, The Queen's

+Bedchamber.</p>

+<p>Led by their talkative guide, the careless, laughing party

+wandered from one chamber to another, listening to her anecdotes,

+and the descriptions she gave of persons and things in former days.

+She had known many of the originals of the stately portraits in the

+picture gallery; and she could tell the names, and the exploits of

+those warriors in the family, whose coats of mail and glittering

+weapons adorned the armoury. "And now," said the Lady Ellinor,

+"what else is there to be seen? Not that I mean to trouble you any

+longer with our questions, good Margaret, but give me this key,

+this key so seldom used," pointing to a large, strangely shaped

+key, that hung among a bunch at the old housekeeper's side.

+"There!" she added, disengaging it herself from the ring, "I have

+taken it, and will return it very safely. I assure you. This key,"

+she said, turning to her young companions, "unlocks a gallery at

+the end of the eastern wing, which is always locked up, because the

+room is full of curious and rare treasures, that were brought by my

+father's brother from many foreign lands."</p>

+<p>They enter.&mdash;"This may be a charming place," said one of

+the youngest and liveliest of the party, "but see, the rain has

+passed away, and the sun has at last burst out from the clouds. How

+brightly he shines, even through these dull and dusty windows!" She

+gave but a passing glance to the treasures around her, and hastened

+to a half open door at the end of the gallery. Some of her

+companions followed her to a broad landing place, at the top of a

+flight of marble stairs. They were absent but a few minutes, and

+they returned with smiles of delight, and glad, eager voices,

+declaring that they had unbolted a door at the bottom of the

+staircase, and found themselves in the most beautiful part of the

+gardens. "Come!" said the young and sprightly girl, "do not loiter

+here; leave these rare and beautiful things until it rains again,

+and come forth at once with me into the sweet, fresh air."</p>

+<p>The Lady Ellinor and her friend the Lady Anne were sitting side

+by side, at the same table, and looking over the same

+volume&mdash;a folio of Norman chronicles, embellished with many

+quaint and coloured pictures. They both lifted up their faces from

+the book, as their merry companions again addressed them. "Nay, do

+not <i>look</i> up, but rise up!" said the laughing maiden, and

+drawing away the volume from before them, she shut it up instantly,

+and laid it on another table; throwing down a branch of jessamine

+in its place.</p>

+<p>"Yes, yes, you are right, my merry Barbara," replied the Lady

+Ellinor, and she rose up as she spoke, "we have been prisoners all

+the day against our will, why should we now be confined when the

+smile of Nature bids us forth to share her joy. Come, come! my

+sweet Anne, <i>you</i> are not wont to be the last," turning to her

+friend, who lingered behind. "Oh!" cried Lady Anne, "I am coming, I

+will soon be the first amongst you, I only wait a moment to bind up

+my troublesome hair." As she spoke, her eyes rested upon a little

+volume, which lay upon the broad sill of the casement. The wind

+fluttered in the pages, and blew them over and over; and half

+curiously, half carelessly, she looked again, and yet again. The

+word <i>murder</i> caught her eye; her feelings were still in a

+state of excitement from the tales and legends to which she had

+just been listening. Resting her head upon her hand, she leaned

+over the volume; and stood motionless, absorbed by the interest of

+the tale which she read, forgetful of her young companions&mdash;of

+all but the appalling story then before her.</p>

+<p>But these feelings were soon lost in astonishment, and horror so

+confounding, that for awhile she lost all power of moving, or even

+of thinking. Still her eyes were fixed upon the words which had

+pierced her heart:&mdash;she could not force them away. Again and

+again, struck with shame and horror, she shrunk away;&mdash;again

+and again, she found herself forced by doubt, by positive

+disbelief, to search the terrible pages. At last she had read

+enough&mdash;quite, quite enough to be assured, not that her

+father&mdash;her mother, had been <i>suspected</i>, but that by the

+law of the land they had been convicted, and condemned to death as

+foul, adulterous murderers;&mdash;the murderers of Sir Thomas

+Overbury!</p>

+<p>The Lady Ellinor returned alone into the gallery, "You little

+truant!" she cried, "why so long? you said you would soon be with

+the foremost. I thought you must have escaped me, and have sought

+you through half the garden, and you are here all the while!"</p>

+<p>No voice replied: not a sound was heard; and the Lady Ellinor

+had already returned to the door of the gallery to seek her friend

+elsewhere, when something fell heavily to the ground.</p>

+<p>She flew back; and in one of the receding <span class=

+"pagenum"><a name="page382" id="page382"></a>[pg 382]</span>

+windows, she found the Lady Anne lying senseless in a deep swoon.

+Throwing herself on the ground beside her, she raised her tenderly

+in her arms, and not without some difficulty, restored her to

+herself. Then laying her head upon her bosom, she whispered kind

+words. "You are ill, I fear, my own Anne, who has been here? What

+have you seen? How so changed in this short time? I left you well

+and smiling, and now&mdash;nay, my dear, dear friend, do not turn

+from me, and look so utterly wretched. Do not you see me! What can

+be the matter!" The Lady Anne looked up in her friend's face with

+so piteous and desolate a look, that she began to fear her reason

+was affected.</p>

+<p>"Have I lost your confidence? Am I no longer loved?" said the

+Lady Ellinor. "Can you sit heart-broken there, and will not allow

+me to comfort you? Still no answer! Shall I go? Shall I leave you,

+my love? Do you wish me absent?" continued she in a trembling

+voice, the tears flowing over her face, as she rose up. Her motion

+to depart aroused the Lady Anne. "Ellinor! my Ellinor!" she cried,

+and throwing herself forward, she stretched forth her arms. In

+another moment she was weeping on the bosom of her friend. She wept

+for a long time without restraint, for the Lady Ellinor said

+nothing, but drew her nearer and nearer to her bosom, and tenderly

+pressed the hand that was clasped in hers.</p>

+<p>"I ought not to be weeping here," at length she said, "I ought

+to let you leave me, but I have not the courage, I cannot bear to

+lose your friendship,&mdash;your affection, my Ellinor! Can you

+love me? Have you loved me, knowing all the while, as every one

+must? To-day&mdash;this very hour, since you left me, I

+learned:&mdash;no I cannot tell you! Look on that page, Ellinor,

+you will see why you find me thus. I am the most wretched, wretched

+creature!"&mdash;here again she burst into an agony of

+uncontrollable grief.</p>

+<hr />

+<p>Who can describe the feelings of the Lady Anne&mdash;alone, in

+her chamber, looking up at the portrait of her mother, upon which

+she had so often gazed with delight and reverence! "Is it

+possible?" said she to herself, "can this be she, of whom I have

+read such dreadful things? Have all my young and happy days been

+but a dream, from which I wake at last? Is not this dreadful

+certainty still as a hideous dream to me?"</p>

+<p>She had another cause of bitter grief. She loved the young and

+noble-minded Lord Russell, the Earl of Bedford's eldest son; and

+she had heard him vow affection and faithfulness to her. She now

+perceived at once the reasons why the Earl of Bedford had objected

+to their marriage: she almost wondered within herself that the Lord

+Russel should have chosen her; and though she loved him more for

+avowing his attachment, though her heart pleaded warmly for him,

+she determined to renounce his plighted love. "It must be done,"

+she said, "and better now;&mdash;delay will but bring weakness.

+<i>Now</i> I can write&mdash;I feel that I have strength." And the

+Lady Anne wrote, and folded with a trembling hand the letter which

+should give up her life's happiness; and fearing her resolution

+might not hold, she despatched it by a messenger, as the Lord

+Russel was then in the neighbourhood; and returned mournfully to

+her own chamber. She opened an old volume which lay upon her

+toilette&mdash;a volume to which she turned in time of trouble, to

+seek that peace which the world cannot give.</p>

+<p>Lady Ellinor soon aroused her by the tidings that a messenger

+had arrived with a letter from her father, and she descended in

+search of him.</p>

+<p>"Oh, why is this? why am I here?" exclaimed the Lady Anne, as

+trembling and almost sinking to the ground&mdash;her face

+alternately pale and covered with crimson blushes, she found

+herself alone with the Lord Russell. "You have received my letter,

+might not this trial have been spared? my cup was already

+sufficiently bitter&mdash;but I had drunk it. No!" she continued

+gently withdrawing her hand which he had taken, "Do not make me

+despise myself&mdash;the voice of duty separates us. Farewell! I

+seek a messenger from my father." "I am the messenger you seek,"

+replied he, "I have seen the Lord Somerset, and bring this letter

+to his daughter."</p>

+<p>The letter from the Earl of Somerset informed his daughter that

+he had seen the Earl of Bedford, and had obviated all obstacle to

+her union with the Lord Russell; that he was going himself to

+travel in foreign parts; and that he wished her to be married

+during a visit to the Earl and Countess of Bedford, whose

+invitation he had accepted for her.</p>

+<p>"Does not your father say, that in this marriage his happiness

+is at stake?" said the Lord Russell, gently pressing her hand. The

+Lady Anne hung down her head, and wept in silence. "Are you still

+silent, my dearest?" continued he, "then will I summon another

+advocate to plead for me."</p>

+<p>He quitted the apartment for a moment, but soon returned with

+the Countess of <span class="pagenum"><a name="page383" id=

+"page383"></a>[pg 383]</span> Bedford, who had accompanied him to

+claim her future daughter-in-law. The Lady Anne had made many

+resolutions, but they yielded before the sweet and eloquent

+entreaties that urged her to do what, in fact, she was all too

+willing to consent to.</p>

+<p>They were married, the Lord Russell and the Lady Anne Carr; and

+they lived long and happily together. It was always thought that

+the Lord Russell had loved not only well, but wisely; for the Lady

+Anne was ever a faithful wife, and a loving, tender mother. It was

+not until some years after her marriage, that the Lady Russell

+discovered how the consent of the earl of Bedford had been

+obtained. Till then, she knew not that this consent had been

+withheld, until the Earl of Somerset should give his daughter a

+large sum as her marriage portion:&mdash;the Earl of Bedford

+calculating upon the difficulty, nay almost impossibility, of his

+ever raising this sum.</p>

+<p>But he had not calculated upon the devotion of the wretched

+father's love to his fair and innocent child: and he was astounded

+when his terms were complied with, and the money paid at once into

+his hands. He could no longer withhold his consent; nor could he

+refuse some admiration of this proof of a father's love for his

+child. The Lord Somerset had, in fact, sold his whole possessions,

+and reduced himself to an estate not far removed from beggary, to

+give his daughter the husband of her choice.</p>

+<p>It was the Lady Anne Carr, of whom Vandyke painted an exquisite

+and well-known portrait, when Countess of Bedford. She was the

+mother of William Lord Russell; and died heart-broken in her old

+age, when she heard of the execution of her noble and first-born

+son.</p>

+<p>This is, perhaps, one of Mr. Tayler's most successful pieces; it

+has more breadth (if we may use such a term) than he is wont to

+employ, the absence of which from his writing, we have more than

+once had occasion to regret.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>Time's Telescope.</h2>

+<p>Our old friend Time has this year illustrated his march, or

+object-glass, with a host of <i>images</i> or

+<i>spectra</i>&mdash;that is, woodcuts of head and tail

+pieces&mdash;to suit all tastes&mdash;from the mouldering cloister

+of other days to the last balloon ascent. The Notices of Saints'

+Days and Holidays, Chronology and Biography, Astronomical and

+Naturalist's Notices, are edited with more than usual industry; and

+the poetry, original and selected, is for the most part very

+pleasing.</p>

+<p>As we have a running account with Time's Telescope, (who has

+not?) and occasionally illustrate our pages with extracts during

+the year, we content ourselves for the present with a quotation

+from an original article, by "a correspondent from Alveston,"

+possessing much good feeling and a tone of reflection, to us very

+pleasing:&mdash;</p>

+<h3>THE INFLUENCE OF A FLOWER.</h3>

+<p>Towards the close of a most lovely spring day&mdash;and such a

+lovely one, to my fancy, has never beamed from the heavens

+since&mdash;I carelessly plucked a cowslip from a copse side, and

+gave it to <i>Constance</i>. 'Twas on that beautiful evening when

+she told me all her heart! as, seated on a mossy bank, she

+dissected, with downcast eyes, every part of the flower; chives,

+pointal, and petal, all were displayed; though I am sure she never

+even thought of the class. My destiny through life I considered as

+fixed from that hour.&mdash;Shortly afterwards I was called, by the

+death of a relative, to a distant part of England; upon my return,

+<i>Constance</i> was no more. The army was not my original

+destination; but my mind began to be enfeebled by hourly musing

+upon one subject alone, without cessation or available termination;

+yet reason enough remained to convince me, that, without change and

+excitement, it would degenerate into fatuity.</p>

+<p>The preparation and voyage to India, new companions, and

+ever-changing scenes, hushed my feelings, and produced a calm that

+might be called a state of blessedness&mdash;a condition in which

+the ignoble and inferior ingredients of our nature were subdued by

+the divinity of mind. Years rolled on in almost constant service;

+nor do I remember many of the events of that time, even with

+interest or regret. In one advance of the army to which I was

+attached, we had some skirmishing with the irregulars of our foe;

+the pursuit was rapid, and I fell behind my detachment, wounded and

+weary, in ascending a ghaut, resting in the jungle, with languid

+eyes fixed on the ground, without any particular feeling but that

+of fatigue, and the smarting of my shoulder. A <i>cowslip</i>

+caught my sight! my blood rushed to my heart&mdash;and, shuddering,

+I started on my feet, felt no fatigue, knew of no wound, and joined

+my party. I had not seen this flower for ten years! but it probably

+saved my life&mdash;an European officer, wounded and alone, might

+have tempted the avarice of some of the numerous and savage

+followers of an Indian army. In the cooler and calmer hours of

+reflection since, I have often thought that this appearance

+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page384" id="page384"></a>[pg

+384]</span> was a mere phantom, an illusion&mdash;the offspring of

+weakness: I saw it but for a moment, and too imperfectly to be

+assured of reality; and whatever I believed at the time seems now

+to have been a painting on the mind rather than an object of

+vision; but how that image started up. I conjecture not&mdash;the

+effect was immediate and preservative. This flower was again seen

+in Spain: I had the command of an advance party, and in one of the

+recesses of the Pyrenees, of the romantic, beautiful Pyrenees, upon

+a secluded bank, surrounded by a shrubbery so lovely as to be

+noticed by many&mdash;was a <i>cowslip</i>. It was now nearly

+twenty years since I had seen it in Mysore: I did not start; but a

+cold and melancholy chill came over me; yet I might possibly have

+gazed long on this humble little flower, and recalled many dormant

+thoughts, had not a sense of duty (for we momentarily expected an

+attack) summoned my attentions to the realities of life: so,

+drawing the back of my hand across my eyes, I cheered my party

+with, "Forward, lads," and pursued my route, and saw it no more,

+until England and all her flowery meadows met my view; but many

+days and service had wasted life, and worn the fine edge of

+sensibility away; they were now before me in endless profusion,

+almost unheeded, and without excitement; I viewed not the cowslip,

+when fifty, as I had done with the eyes of nineteen.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<h2>The Christmas Box.</h2>

+<p>This is the happiest <i>title</i> in the whole list of annuals.

+There is nothing sentimental or lachrymose in it; but it is warm

+and seasonable, and done up in a holly-green binding, it is all

+over old Christmas.</p>

+<p>The first story in the volume is Old Christmas; one of the gems

+or sweets is Garry Owen, or the Snow-Woman, by Miss Edgeworth, for

+it abounds with good sentiment, just such as we should wish in the

+hearts and mouths of our own children, as a spice for their

+prattle.</p>

+<p>We pass over <i>L'Egotiste Corrig&eacute;e</i>, par Madame de

+Labourt&mdash;pretty enough&mdash;and the Ambitious Primrose, by

+Miss Dagley. Then a Song, by Miss Mitford; and a Story of Old

+Times, by Mrs. Hofland; and the Tragical History of Major Brown, a

+capital piece of fun; and Pretty Bobby, one of Miss Mitford's

+delightful sketches. The Visit to the Zoological Gardens is not

+just what we expected; still it is attractive. Major Beamish has

+accommodated military tactics to the nursery in a pleasant little

+sketch; and the proverb of Much Coin Much Care, by Mrs. R.S.

+Jameson is a little farce for the same stage.</p>

+<p>But the Cuts&mdash;the pictures&mdash;of which it would have

+been more <i>juvenile</i> to have spoken first. These are from the

+pencil of our "right trustye" friend and excellent artist, Mr. W.H.

+Brooke, whose horses, coaches, and dogs excite so much mirth among

+the young friends of the MIRROR&mdash;for, in truth, Mr. Brooke is

+an A.M.&mdash;an <i>associate</i> of the MIRROR, and enables us to

+jump from Whitehall to Constantine's Arch at Rome, shake

+<i>hands</i> with the Bears of the Zoological Society, and Peg in

+the Ring at Abury.</p>

+<p>The <i>Christmas Box cuts</i> are all fun and frolic&mdash;the

+tail-piece of the preface, a bricklayer on a ladder, "spilling" a

+hod of bricks&mdash;the Lord of Misrule, with his polichinel

+army&mdash;the Boar's Head&mdash;a little squat Cook and a steaming

+Plum-Pudding&mdash;the Bee and Honeysuckle&mdash;Major Brown with a

+Munchausen face&mdash;the Bear Pit, Monkeys' Houses, and Horned

+Owl, in the Zoological Gardens&mdash;and the Parliament of Animals,

+with the Elephant as Chancellor, the Tortoise for "the table," and

+Monkeys for Counsel&mdash;the groups of Toy Soldiers&mdash;and the

+head pieces of the Cobbler and his Wife&mdash;all excellent. Then

+the Cricket and Friar, and a pair of Dancing Crickets&mdash;worth

+all the fairy figures of the Smirkes, and a hundred others into the

+bargain. These are the little quips of the pencil that curl up our

+eye-lashes and dimple our faces more than all the Vatican gallery.

+They are trifles&mdash;aye, "trifles light as air"&mdash;but their

+influence convinces us that trifling is part of the great business

+of life.</p>

+<p>Now we are trifling our readers' time; so to recommend the

+<i>Christmas Box</i> for 1829, as one of the prettiest presents,

+and as much better suited to children than was its

+predecessor&mdash;and&mdash;pass we off.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<p>Here our motley-minded sheet finishes, and we leave our readers

+in possession of its sweet fancies. Its little compartments of

+poetry and prose remind us of mosaic work, and its sentimentalities

+have all the varieties of the kaleidoscope. To gladden the eye,

+study the taste, and improve the heart, of each reader has been our

+aim&mdash;feelings which we hope pervade this and every other

+Number of the MIRROR.</p>

+<hr />

+<p>Number 340 of the MIRROR contains the Notices of the Literary

+Souvenir, Forget-Me-Not, Gem, and Amulet, and with the present

+Number forms the Spirit of the Annuals for 1829.</p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name=

+"footnote1"></a><b>Footnote 1:</b><a href=

+"#footnotetag1">(return)</a>

+<p>An artist of celebrity is now engaged on a portrait of Mr.

+Southey, <i>cum privilegio</i>, we suppose, Mr. Southey is not the

+only public man, whose lineaments have been traduced by engravers.

+Only look at some of the patriotic gentlemen who figure at public

+meetings, and in <i>outline</i> on cards, &amp;c. But Houbraken is

+now known to have been no more honest than his successors in

+portrait engraving: although physiognomy and craniology ought to

+help the moderns out in these matters.</p>

+</blockquote>

+<hr class="full" />

+<p><i>Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near

+Somerset-House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market,

+Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.</i></p>

+<hr class="full" />

+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 12, ISSUE 344 (SUPPLEMENTARY ISSUE)
***</p>

+<p>******* This file should be named 10730-h.txt or 10730-h.zip *******</p>

+<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br />

+<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/7/3/10730">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/7/3/10730</a></p>

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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and
+Instruction, Vol. 12, Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)
, by Various
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 12,
+Issue 344 (Supplementary Issue)

+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: January 17, 2004  [eBook #10730]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE,
+AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 12, ISSUE 344 (SUPPLEMENTARY ISSUE)
***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram; The Mirror of Literature, Amusement,
+and Instruction; William Flis; and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 10730-h.htm or 10730-h.zip:
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/7/3/10730/10730-h/10730-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/0/7/3/10730/10730-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
+
+VOL. XII, No. 344.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+EHRENBREITSTEIN ON RHINE.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall,
+  Black with the miners' blast, upon her height,
+  Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball
+  Rebounding idly on her strength, did light;
+  A tower of victory! from whence the flight
+  Of baffled foes was watched along the plain:
+  But peace destroyed what war could never blight,
+  And laid those proud roofs bare to summer's rain,
+  On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain.
+
+  _Childe Harold._
+
+
+SPIRIT OF THE "ANNUALS."
+
+
+We have the pleasure of presenting to the readers of the MIRROR, the
+completion of our notices of these very elegant publications; and
+in pursuance of the plan of our former Supplement, we are enabled
+to assemble within the present sheet the characteristics of _eight
+works_, whilst our quotations include _fourteen_ prose tales and
+sketches, and poetical pieces, of great merit.
+
+The above engraving and its pendant are copied from the _Literary
+Souvenir_, specially noticed in our last Supplement. The original
+is a drawing by J.M.W. Turner, R.A. and the plate in the _Souvenir_
+is by J. Pye--both artists of high excellence in their respective
+departments:--
+
+The waters of the Rhine have long maintained their pre-eminence,
+as forming one of the mightiest and loveliest among the highways
+of Europe.
+
+But among all its united trophies of art and nature, there is not
+one more brightly endowed with picturesque beauty, or romantic
+association, than the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. When the eye of
+our own Childe Harold rested upon its "shattered wall," and when the
+pencil of Turner immortalized its season of desolation, it had been
+smitten in the pride of its strength by the iron glaive of war: and
+its blackened fragments and stupendous ruins had their voice for the
+heart of the moralist, as well as their charm for the inspired mind
+of genius. But now that military art hath knit those granite ribs
+anew,--now that the beautiful eminence rears once more its crested
+head, like a sculptured Cybele, with a coronet of towers,--new
+feelings, and an altered scale of admiration wait upon its glories.
+Once more it uplifts its giant height beside the Rhine, repelling in
+Titan majesty the ambition of France; once more, by its united gifts
+of natural position and scientific aid, it appears prepared to
+vindicate its noble appellation of "the broad stone of honour."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE MUSICAL SOUVENIR.
+
+
+This is an elegant little collection of seven songs, a trio, duet, and
+glee, set to music, or "as they are appointed to be said or sung." As
+we have not our musical types in order, we can only give our readers
+a specimen of its literary merits. The first piece is Akenside's
+beautiful Invocation to Cheerfulness; this is pleasingly contrasted
+with a Song to the Forget-me-not, by Mrs. Opie. Then follow five
+pieces from recent volumes of Friendship's Offering and the Amulet.
+The three remaining compositions (expressly for the work) are a Song
+by T. Bradford, Esq.; a Scotch Song, by Mr. Feist; and the following
+pathetic Lines, by the Rev. Thomas Dale:--
+
+    Oft as the broad sun dips
+      Beneath the western sea,
+    A prayer is on my lips,
+      Dearest! a prayer for thee.
+  I know not where thou wand'rest now,
+  O'er ocean-wave, or mountain brow--
+    I only know that He,
+      Who hears the suppliant's prayer,
+    Where'er thou art, on land or sea,
+      Alone can shield thee there.
+
+    Oft as the bright dawn breaks
+      Behind the eastern hill,
+    Mine eye from slumber wakes,
+      My heart is with the still--
+  For thee my latest vows were said,
+  For thee my earliest prayers are pray'd--
+    And O! when storms shall lour
+      Above the swelling sea,
+    Be it thy shield, in danger's hour,
+      That I have pray'd for thee.
+
+Whether we consider the purity of its sentiments and the amiable
+tone of feeling, or its merit as a musical work, we are induced to
+recommend the present volume as an elegant present for a musical
+friend, and it will doubtless become a favourite with thousands of
+graceful pianists. Thanks to the Muses, our lyrical poetry is rapidly
+rising in the literary scale, when such beautiful compositions as
+those of Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon are no sooner written than set
+to music.
+
+The _Musical Souvenir_ is embellished with two engravings and a
+presentation plate, and bound in crimson silk--so that it has all
+the attractions of the annual Christmas presents, except _prose_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE KEEPSAKE.
+
+_EDITED BY F.M. REYNOLDS, ESQ._
+
+
+This is a magnificent affair, and is one of the proud triumphs of
+the union of Painting, Engraving, and Literature--to which we took
+occasion to allude in a recent number of THE MIRROR. Each department
+is _unique_, and the lists are like the Morning Post account of a
+drawing room, or Almack's--the princes of the arts, and the peers
+of the pen. _Painters_--Lawrence, Howard, Corbould, Westall,
+Turner, Landseer, Stephanoff, Chalon, Stothard, &c. _Engravers_--C.
+Heath, Finden, Engleheart, Portbury, Wallis, Rolls, Goodyear, &c.
+_Contributors_--Scott, Mackintosh, Moore, the Lords Normanby,
+Morpeth, Porchester, Holland, Gower, and Nugent; Wordsworth, Southey,
+Coleridge, Shelley, Hook, Lockhart, Croker, Mrs. Hemans, and Miss
+Landon; and the cost of the whole _eleven thousand guineas!_ Of
+course, such a book has not been the work of a day, month, or,
+perhaps, a year; and its literature entitles it to a permanent place
+in the library, where we hope to see it stand _auro perennius_;
+were its fate to be otherwise, we should condemn the public--for we
+hate ingratitude in every shape--and write in the first page the
+epitaph--_For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot_. A guinea to
+twopence--Hyperion to a Satyr--how can we extend the fame of _The
+Keepsake!_
+
+We cannot particularize the engravings; but they are all worthy
+companions of the frontispiece--a lovely portrait of Mrs. Peel,
+engraved by Heath, from Sir Thomas Lawrence's picture. In the literary
+department--a very court of fiction--is, My Aunt Margaret's Mirror, a
+tale of forty-four pages; and, The Tapestried Chamber, by Sir Walter
+Scott; both much too long for extract, which would indeed be almost
+unfair. Next comes an exquisite gem--
+
+
+ON LOVE.
+
+_BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY_.
+
+
+What is Love? Ask him who lives what is life; ask him who adores what
+is God.
+
+I know not the internal constitution of other men, nor even of thine
+whom I now address. I see that in some external attributes they
+resemble me, but when, misled by that appearance, I have thought to
+appeal to something in common, and unburden my inmost soul to them, I
+have found my language misunderstood, like one in a distant and savage
+land. The more opportunities they have afforded me for experience, the
+wider has appeared the interval between us, and to a greater distance
+have the points of sympathy been withdrawn. With a spirit ill-fitted
+to sustain such proof, trembling and feeble through its tenderness,
+I have every where sought, and have found only repulse and
+disappointment.
+
+_Thou_ demandest what is Love. It is that powerful attraction towards
+all we conceive, or fear, or hope, beyond ourselves, when we find
+within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek
+to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience
+within ourselves. If we reason we would be understood; if we imagine,
+we would that the airy children of our brain were born anew within
+another's; if we feel, we would that another's nerves should vibrate
+to our own, that the beams of their eyes should kindle at once, and
+mix and melt into our own; that lips of motionless ice should not
+reply to lips quivering and burning with the heart's best blood:--this
+is Love. This is the bond and the sanction which connects not only
+man with man, but with every thing which exists. We are born into the
+world, and there is something within us, which, from the instant that
+we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness. It is probably
+in correspondence with this law that the infant drains milk from
+the bosom of its mother; this propensity develops itself with the
+development of our nature. We dimly see within our intellectual
+nature, a miniature as it were of our entire self, yet deprived of
+all that we condemn or despise, the ideal prototype of every thing
+excellent and lovely that we are capable of conceiving as belonging
+to the nature of man. Not only the portrait of our external being,
+but an assemblage of the minutest particles of which our nature is
+composed: a mirror whose surface reflects only the forms of purity and
+brightness: a soul within our own soul that describes a circle around
+its proper Paradise, which pain and sorrow and evil dare not overleap.
+To this we eagerly refer all sensations, thirsting that they should
+resemble and correspond with it. The discovery of its antitype; the
+meeting with an understanding capable of clearly estimating our own;
+an imagination which should enter into and seize upon the subtle
+and delicate peculiarities which we have delighted to cherish and
+unfold in secret, with a frame, whose nerves, like the chords of two
+exquisite lyres, strung to the accompaniment of one delightful voice,
+vibrate with the vibrations of our own; and a combination of all these
+in such proportion as the type within demands: this is the invisible
+and unattainable point to which Love tends; and to attain which, it
+urges forth the powers of man to arrest the faintest shadow of that,
+without the possession of which, there is no rest or respite to the
+heart over which it rules. Hence in solitude, or that deserted state
+when we are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not
+with us; we love the flowers, the grass, the waters, and the sky. In
+the motion of the very leaves of Spring, in the blue air, there is
+then found a secret correspondence with our heart. There is eloquence
+in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the
+rustling of the reeds beside them, which, by their inconceivable
+relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to dances of
+breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the
+eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one
+beloved singing to you alone. Sterne says that if he were in a desert
+he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is dead, man
+becomes a living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the
+mere husk of what once he was.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This and a fragment, with a character of Mr. Canning, by Sir James
+Mackintosh, are the _transcendentals_ of the volume; as are the
+tale--The Half-brothers, by Mr. Banim, with an Ossian-like plate of
+the heroine; The Sisters of Albano, by Mrs. Shelley--Death of the
+Laird's Jock, by the author of Waverley--and Ferdinando Eboli, by Mrs.
+Shelley, with Adelinda, a plate, by Heath, on which we could feast our
+eyes for a full hour. Next, a sketch, by Theodore Hook, part of which
+will serve to vary our sheet:--
+
+
+THE OLD GENTLEMAN.
+
+
+"To-morrow morning," said my friend, "when you awake, the power will
+be your own; and so, sir, I wish you a very good night."--"But, sir,"
+said I, anxious to be better assured of the speedy fulfilment of the
+wish of my heart, (for such indeed it was,) "may I have the honour of
+knowing your name and address?"--"Ha, ha, ha!" said the old gentleman;
+"_my_ name and address; ha, ha, ha! my name is pretty familiar to you,
+young gentleman; and as for my address, I dare say you will find your
+way to me some day or another, and so, once more, good night."--Saying
+which, he descended the stairs and quitted the house, leaving me to
+surmise who my extraordinary visiter could be. I never _knew_; but
+I recollect, that after he was gone, I heard one of the old ladies
+scolding a servant-girl for wasting so many matches in lighting the
+candles, and making such a terrible smell of brimstone in the house.
+I was now all anxiety to get to bed, not because I was sleepy, but
+because it seemed to me as if going to bed would bring me nearer to
+the time of getting up, when I should be master of the miraculous
+power which had been promised me. I rang the bell; my servant was
+still out; it was unusual for him to be absent at so late an hour. I
+waited until the clock struck eleven, but he came not; and resolving
+to reprimand him in the morning, I retired to rest. Contrary to my
+expectation, and, as it seemed to me, to the ordinary course of
+nature, considering the excitement under which I was labouring, I had
+scarcely laid my head on my pillow before I dropped into a profound
+slumber, from which I was only aroused by my servant's entrance to my
+room. The instant I awoke, I sat up in bed, and began to reflect on
+what had passed, and for a moment to doubt whether it had not been all
+a dream. However, it was daylight; the period had arrived when the
+proof of my newly acquired power might be made.--"Barton," said I to
+my man, "why were you not at home last night?"--"I had to wait, sir,
+nearly three hours," he replied, "for an answer to the letter which
+you sent to Major Sheringham."--"That is not true," said I; and, to my
+infinite surprise, I appeared to _recollect_ a series of occurrences,
+of which I never had previously heard, and could have known nothing:
+"you went to see your sweetheart, Betsy Collyer, at Camberwell, and
+took her to a tea-garden, and gave her cakes and cider, and saw
+her home again: you mean to do exactly the same thing on Sunday,
+and to-morrow you mean to ask me for your quarter's wages, although
+not due till Monday, in order to buy her a new shawl."--The man
+stood aghast: it was all true. I was quite as much surprised as the
+man.--"Sir," said Barton, who had served me for seven years without
+having once been found fault with, "I see you think me unworthy your
+confidence; you could not have known this, if you had not watched, and
+followed, and overheard me and my sweetheart; my character will get
+me through the world without being looked after. I can stay with you
+no longer; you will please, sir, to provide yourself with another
+servant."--"But Barton," said I, "I did not follow or watch you;
+I--"--"I beg your pardon, sir," he replied; "it is not for _me_
+to contradict; but you'll forgive me, sir, I would rather go; I
+_must_ go."
+
+At this moment I was on the very point of easing his mind, and
+retaining my faithful servant by a disclosure of my power; but it was
+yet too new to be parted with; so I affected an anger I did not feel,
+and told him he might go where he pleased. I had, however, ascertained
+that the old gentleman had not deceived me in his promises; and,
+elated with the possession of my extraordinary faculty, I hurried the
+operation of dressing, and before I had concluded it, my ardent friend
+Sheringham was announced; he was waiting in the breakfast-room. At
+the same moment, a note from the lovely Fanny Haywood was delivered
+to me--from the divine girl who, in the midst of all my scientific
+abstraction, could "chain my worldly feelings for a moment."
+"Sheringham, my dear fellow," said I, as I advanced to welcome him,
+"what makes you so early a visiter this morning?"--"An anxiety,"
+replied Sheringham, "to tell you that my uncle, whose interest I
+endeavoured to procure for you, in regard to the appointment for which
+you expressed a desire, has been compelled to recommend a relation of
+the marquess; this gives me real pain, but I thought it would be best
+to put you out of suspense as soon as possible."--"Major Sheringham,"
+said I, drawing myself up coldly, "if this matter concerns you so
+deeply as you seem to imply that it does, might I ask why you so
+readily agreed to your uncle's proposition or chimed in with his
+suggestion, to bestow the appointment on this relation of the
+marquess, in order that _you_ might, in return for it, obtain the
+promotion for which you are so anxious?"--"My dear fellow," said
+Sheringham, evidently confused, "I--I--never chimed in; my uncle
+certainly pointed out the possibility to which you allude, but
+_that_ was merely contingent upon what he could not refuse to
+do."--"Sheringham," said I, "your uncle has already secured for you
+the promotion, and you will be gazetted for the lieutenant-colonelcy
+of your regiment on Tuesday. I am not to be told that you called at
+the Horse-guards, in your way to your uncle's yesterday, to ascertain
+the correctness of the report of the vacancy which you had received
+from your friend Macgregor; or that _you_, elated by the prospect
+before you, were the person, in fact, to suggest the arrangement
+which has been made, and promise your uncle 'to smooth me over' for
+the present."--"Sir," said Sheringham, "where you picked up this
+intelligence I know not; but I must say, that such mistrust, after
+years of undivided intimacy, is not becoming, or consistent with the
+character which I hitherto supposed you to possess. When by sinister
+means the man we look upon as a friend descends to be a spy upon our
+actions, confidence is at an end, and the sooner our intercourse
+ceases, the better. Without some such conduct, how could you become
+possessed of the details upon which you have grounded your opinion
+of my conduct?"--"I--," and here again was a temptation to confess
+and fall; but I had not the courage to do it. "Suffice it, Major
+Sheringham, to say, I knew it; and, moreover, I know, that when you
+leave me, your present irritation will prompt you to go to your uncle
+and check the disposition he feels at this moment to serve me."--"This
+is too much, sir," said Sheringham; "this must be our last interview,
+unless indeed your unguarded conduct towards me, and your intemperate
+language concerning me, may render one more meeting necessary; and so,
+sir, here ends our acquaintance."--Saying which, Sheringham, whose
+friendship even to my enlightened eye was nearly as sincere as any
+other man's, quitted my room, fully convinced of my meanness and
+unworthiness; my heart sank within me when I heard the door close
+upon him for the last time. I now possessed the power I had so long
+desired, and in less than an hour had lost a valued friend and a
+faithful servant. Nevertheless, Barton _had_ told me a falsehood, and
+Sheringham _was_ gazetted on the Tuesday night.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I went into the Water-colour Exhibition at Charing-cross; there I
+heard two artists complimenting each other, while their hearts were
+bursting with mutual envy. There, too, I found a mild, modest-looking
+lady, listening to the bewitching nothings of her husband's particular
+friend; and I knew, as I saw her frown and abruptly turn away from him
+with every appearance of real indignation, that she had at that very
+moment mentally resolved to elope with him the following night. In
+Harding's shop I found authors congregated "to laugh the sultry hours
+away," each watching to catch his neighbour's weak point, and make
+it subject matter of mirth in his evening's conversation. I saw a
+viscount help his father out of his carriage with every mark of duty
+and veneration, and knew that he was actually languishing for the
+earldom and estates of the venerable parent of whose health he was
+apparently taking so much care. At Howell and James's I saw more than
+I could tell, if I had ten times the space afforded me that I have;
+and I concluded my tour by dropping in at the National Gallery,
+where the ladies and gentlemen seemed to prefer nature to art, and
+were actively employed in looking at the pictures, and thinking of
+themselves. Oh! it was a strange time then, when every man's heart was
+open to me, and I could sit, and see, and hear, all that was going
+on, and know the workings of the inmost feelings of my associates;
+however, I must not detain the reader with reflections.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl, is an intensely interesting tale
+by Lord Normanby, with a most effective illustration by Heath.
+
+But the prose of the "Keepsake" is decidedly superior to the _poetry_,
+notwithstanding the high names in the latter list. Mr. Moore's
+contribution is, however, only sixteen lines. The poetical pieces
+consist chiefly of fragments or "scraps"--among which those on Italy,
+by Lord Morpeth; and three by Shelley, are very beautiful. Our
+specimen is--
+
+
+THE VICTIM BRIDE.
+
+_BY W.H. HARRISON._
+
+  I saw her in her summer bow'r, and oh! upon my sight
+  Methought there never beam'd a form more beautiful and bright!
+  So young, so fair, she seem'd as one of those aerial things
+  That live but in the poet's high and wild imaginings;
+  Or like those forms we meet in dreams from which we wake, and weep
+  That earth has no creation like the figments of our sleep.
+
+  Her parent--loved not he his child above all earthly things!
+  As traders love the merchandize from which their profit springs:
+  Old age came by, with tott'ring step, and, for the sordid gold
+  With which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was sold
+  And thus (for oh! her sire's stern heart was steel'd against her
+      pray'r)
+  The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her despair.
+
+  I saw them through the churchyard pass, but such a nuptial train
+  I would not for the wealth of worlds should greet my sight again.
+  The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve in Eden's bow'rs,
+  Shed bitter tears upon the path they should have strewn with flow'rs.
+  Who had not deem'd that white rob'd band the funeral array,
+  Of one an early doom had call'd from life's gay scene away!
+
+  The priest beheld the bridal group before the altar stand,
+  And sigh'd as he drew forth his book with slow reluctant hand:
+  He saw the bride's flow'r-wreathed hair, and mark'd her streaming
+      eyes,
+  And deem'd it less a Christian rite than a Pagan sacrifice;
+  And when he call'd on Abraham's God to bless the wedded pair,
+  It seem'd a very mockery to breathe so vain a pray'r.
+
+  I saw the palsied bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensigns drest;
+  A shroud were fitter garment far for him than bridal vest;
+  I mark'd him when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his hold,
+  He held it with a miser's clutch--it was his darling gold.
+  His shrivell'd hand was wet with tears she pour'd, alas! in vain,
+  And it trembled like an autumn leaf beneath the beating rain.
+
+  I've seen her since that fatal morn--her golden fetters rest
+  As e'en the weight of incubus, upon her aching breast.
+  And when the victor, Death, shall come to deal the welcome blow,
+  He will not find one rose to swell the wreath that decks his brow:
+  For oh! her cheek is blanch'd by grief which time may not assuage,--
+  Thus early Beauty sheds her bloom on the wintry breast of Age.
+
+Our commendation of the "Keepsake" might be extended much further,
+were we to consult our inclination to do justice to its high
+character. With so lavish an expenditure and such an array of talent
+as we have shown it to contain, to wonder at its success,
+
+  Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
+
+We congratulate the proprietors on their prospects of remuneration,
+for the attractions of their publication are irresistible. It is
+altogether a splendid enterprise, and we doubt not the reward will be
+more than proportionate to the expectation it has raised--both in the
+proprietors and their patrons--the public.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE ANNIVERSARY,
+
+_EDITED BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM._
+
+
+Perhaps we are getting too panegyrical, for panegyric savours of the
+poppy; but we must not flinch from our duty.
+
+_Allan Cunningham_--there is poetry in the name, written or sung--and
+high-wrought poetry too, in nearly every production to which that
+name is attached--and among these "The Anniversary for 1829." All the
+departments of this work too, (as in the "Keepsake") are unique. Mr.
+Sharpe, the proprietor, is a man of refined taste, his Editor and his
+contributors are men of first-rate genius, the Painters and Engravers
+are of the first rank, and the volume is printed at Mr. Whittingham's
+Chiswick-press. Excellence must always be the result of such a
+combination of talent, and so it proves in the _Anniversary_. As
+might have been expected from the talent of its editor, the volume
+is superior in its poetical attractions--both in number and quality.
+
+By way of variety, we begin with the _poetry_. First is a stirring
+little ballad, the Warrior, by the editor; then, a humorous epistle
+from Robert Southey, Esq. to Allan Cunningham, in which the laureat
+deals forth his ire on the "misresemblances and villanous visages"
+which have been published as his portrait.[1] Next is a gem of
+another water, Edderline's Dream, by Professor Wilson, the supposed
+editor of "Blackwood's Magazine." This is throughout a very beautiful
+composition, but we must content ourselves with the following
+extract:--
+
+
+EDDERLINE'S SLEEP.
+
+  Castle-Oban is lost in the darkness of night,
+  For the moon is swept from the starless heaven,
+  And the latest line of lowering light
+  That lingered on the stormy even,
+  A dim-seen line, half cloud, half wave,
+  Hath sunk into the weltering grave.
+  Castle-Oban is dark without and within,
+  And downwards to the fearful din,
+  Where Ocean with his thunder shocks
+  Stuns the green foundation rocks,
+  Through the green abyss that mocks his eye,
+  Oft hath the eerie watchman sent
+  A shuddering look, a shivering sigh,
+  From the edge of the howling battlement!
+
+  Therein is a lonesome room,
+  Undisturbed as some old tomb
+  That, built within a forest glen,
+  Far from feet of living men,
+  And sheltered by its black pine-trees
+  From sound of rivers, lochs, and seas,
+  Flings back its arched gateway tall,
+  At times to some great funeral!
+  Noiseless as a central cell
+  In the bosom of a mountain
+  Where the fairy people dwell,
+  By the cold and sunless fountain!
+  Breathless as a holy shrine,
+  When the voice of psalms is shed!
+  And there upon her stately bed,
+  While her raven locks recline
+  O'er an arm more pure than snow,
+  Motionless beneath her head,--
+  And through her large fair eyelids shine
+  Shadowy dreams that come and go,
+  By too deep bliss disquieted,--
+  There sleeps in love and beauty's glow,
+  The high-born Lady Edderline.
+
+  Lo! the lamp's wan fitful light,
+  Glide,--gliding round the golden rim!
+  Restored to life, now glancing bright,
+  Now just expiring, faint and dim!
+  Like a spirit loath to die,
+  Contending with its destiny.
+  All dark! a momentary veil
+  Is o'er the sleeper! now a pale
+  Uncertain beauty glimmers faint,
+  And now the calm face of the saint
+  With every feature re-appears,
+  Celestial in unconscious tears!
+  Another gleam! how sweet the while,
+  Those pictured faces on the wall,
+  Through the midnight silence smile!
+  Shades of fair ones, in the aisle
+  Vaulted the castle cliffs below,
+  To nothing mouldered, one and all,
+  Ages long ago!
+
+  From her pillow, as if driven
+  By an unseen demon's hand
+  Disturbing the repose of heaven,
+  Hath fallen her head! The long black hair
+  From the fillet's silken band
+  In dishevelled masses riven,
+  Is streaming downwards to the floor.
+  Is the last convulsion o'er?
+  And will that length of glorious tresses,
+  So laden with the soul's distresses.
+  By those fair hands in morning light,
+  Above those eyelids opening bright,
+  Be braided nevermore!
+  No, the lady is not dead,
+  Though flung thus wildly o'er her bed;
+  Like a wretched corse upon the shore,
+  That lies until the morning brings
+  Searchings, and shrieks, and sorrowings;
+  Or, haply, to all eyes unknown,
+  Is borne away without a groan,
+  On a chance plank, 'mid joyful cries
+  Of birds that pierce the sunny skies
+  With seaward dash, or in calm bands
+  Parading o'er the silvery sands,
+  Or mid the lovely flush of shells,
+  Pausing to burnish crest or wing.
+  No fading footmark see that tells
+  Of that poor unremembered thing!
+
+  O dreadful is the world of dreams,
+  When all that world a chaos seems
+  Of thoughts so fixed before!
+  When heaven's own face is tinged with blood!
+  And friends cross o'er our solitude,
+  Now friends of our's no more!
+  Or dearer to our hearts than ever.
+  Keep stretching forth, with vain endeavour,
+  Their pale and palsied hands,
+  To clasp us phantoms, as we go
+  Along the void like drifting snow.
+  To far-off nameless lands!
+  Yet all the while we know not why,
+  Nor where those dismal regions lie,
+  Half hoping that a curse to so deep
+  And wild can only be in sleep,
+  And that some overpowering scream
+  Will break the fetters of the dream,
+  And let us back to waking life,
+  Filled though it be with care and strife;
+  Since there at least the wretch can know
+  The meanings on the face of woe,
+  Assured that no mock shower is shed
+  Of tears upon the real dead,
+  Or that his bliss, indeed, is bliss,
+  When bending o'er the death-like cheek
+  Of one who scarcely seems alive,
+  At every cold but breathing kiss.
+  He hears a saving angel speak--
+  'Thy love will yet revive!'
+
+    [1] An artist of celebrity is now engaged on a portrait of Mr.
+    Southey, _cum privilegio_, we suppose, Mr. Southey is not the only
+    public man, whose lineaments have been traduced by engravers.
+    Only look at some of the patriotic gentlemen who figure at public
+    meetings, and in _outline_ on cards, &c. But Houbraken is now
+    known to have been no more honest than his successors in portrait
+    engraving: although physiognomy and craniology ought to help the
+    moderns out in these matters.
+
+Then comes A Farewell to the year, one of Mr. Lockhart's elegant
+translations from the Spanish; a pretty portrait of rustic
+simplicity--the Little Gleaner, by the editor; and some playful
+lines by M.A. Shee, accompanying an engraving from his own picture
+of the Lost Ear-Rings. The Wedding Wake, by George Darley, Esq. is
+an exquisite picture of saddened beauty. The Ettrick Shepherd has
+the Carle of Invertine--a powerful composition, and the Cameronian
+Preacher, a prose tale, of equal effect. In addition to the
+pieces already mentioned, by the editor, is one of extraordinary
+excellence--the Magic Bridle: his Lines to a Boy plucking
+Blackberries, are a very pleasing picture of innocence:--
+
+          There stay in joy,
+  Pluck, pluck, and eat thou happy boy;
+  Sad fate abides thee. Thou mayst grow
+  A man: for God may deem it so,
+  I wish thee no such harm, sweet child:
+  Go, whilst thou'rt innocent and mild:
+  Go, ere earth's passions, fierce and proud,
+  Rend thee as lightning rend the cloud:
+  Go, go, life's day is in the dawn:
+  Go, wait not, wish not to be man.
+
+One of his pieces we quote entire:--
+
+
+THE SEA KING'S DEATH-SONG.
+
+  I'll launch my gallant bark no more,
+    Nor smile to see how gay
+  Its pennon dances, as we bound
+    Along the watery way;
+  The wave I walk on's mine--the god
+    I worship is the breeze;
+  My rudder is my magic rod
+    Of rule, on isles and seas:
+  Blow, blow, ye winds, for lordly France,
+    Or shores of swarthy Spain:
+  Blow where ye list, of earth I'm lord,
+    When monarch of the main.
+
+  When last upon the surge I rode,
+    A strong wind on me shot,
+  And tossed me as I toss my plume,
+    In battle fierce and hot.
+  Three days and nights no sun I saw,
+    Nor gentle star nor moon;
+  Three feet of foam dash'd o'er my decks,
+    I sang to see it--soon
+  The wind fell mute, forth shone the sun,
+    Broad dimpling smiled the brine;
+  I leap'd on Ireland's shore, and made
+    Half of her riches mine.
+
+  The wild hawk wets her yellow foot
+    In blood of serf and king:
+  Deep bites the brand, sharp smites the axe,
+    And helm and cuirass ring;
+  The foam flies from the charger's flanks,
+    Like wreaths of winter's snow;
+  Spears shiver, and the bright shafts start
+    In thousands from the bow--
+  Strike up, strike up, my minstrels all
+    Use tongue and tuneful chord--
+  Be mute!--My music is the clang
+    Of cleaving axe and sword.
+
+  Cursed be the Norseman who puts trust
+    In mortar and in stone;
+  Who rears a wall, or builds a tower,
+    Or makes on earth his throne;
+  My monarch throne's the willing wave,
+    That bears me on the beach;
+  My sepulchre's the deep sea surge,
+    Where lead shall never reach;
+  My death-song is the howling wind,
+    That bends my quivering mast,--
+  Bid England's maidens join the song,
+    I there made orphans last.
+
+  Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me
+    Oft, oft, by frith and flood,
+  I called ye forth to feast on kings;
+    Who now shall give ye food?
+  Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea,
+    For of earth's proudest lords
+  We served thee oft a sumptuous feast
+    With our sharp shining swords;
+  Mourn, midnight, mourn, no more thou'lt hear
+    Armed thousands shout my name.
+  Nor see me rushing, red wet shod,
+    Through cities doomed to flame.
+
+  My race is run, my flight is flown;
+    And, like the eagle free,
+  That soars into the cloud and dies,
+    I leave my life on sea.
+  To man I yield not spear nor sword
+    Ne'er harmed me in their ire,
+  Vain on me Europe shower'd her shafts,
+    And Asia pour'd her fire.
+  Nor wound nor scar my body bears,
+    My lip made never moan,
+  And Odin bold, who gave me life,
+    Now comes and takes his own.
+
+  Light! light there! let me get one look,--
+    Yon is the golden sky,
+  With all its glorious lights, and there
+    My subject sea flows by;
+  Around me all my comrades stand,
+    Who oft have trod with me
+  On prince's necks, a joy that's flown,
+    And never more may be.
+  Now put my helmet on my head,
+    My bright sword in my hand,
+  That I may die as I have lived.
+    In arms and high command.
+
+In the prose department the most striking is the description of
+Abbotsford, quoted in our 339th number. There is an affecting Tale of
+the Times of the Martyrs, by the Rev. Edward Irving, which will repay
+the reader's curiosity. The Honeycomb and Bitter Gourd is a pleasing
+little story; and Paddy Kelleger and his Pig, is a fine bit of humour,
+in Mr. Croker's best style. The brief Memoir of the late Sir George
+Beaumont is a just tribute to the memory of that liberal patron of the
+Fine Arts, and is an opportune introduction into such a work as the
+present. The letter of Lord Byron, too, from Genoa in 1823, will be
+interesting to the noble poet's admirers.
+
+Among the illustrations we can only notice the Lute, by C. Rolls,
+after Bonnington; Morning, by E. Goodall, from Linton's "joyful"
+picture; Sir W. Scott in his Study (qy. the forehead); a little
+"Monkeyana," by Landseer; Chillon, by Wallis, from a drawing by
+Clarkson Stanfield--a sublime picture; Fonthill, an exquisite scene
+from one of Turner's drawings; Beatrice, from a picture by Howard; the
+Lake View of Newstead, after Danby; the Snuff-Box, from Stephanoff;
+and last, though not least, Gainsborough's charming Young Cottagers,
+transferred to steel, by J.H. Robinson--perhaps the most attractive
+print in the whole series.
+
+With this hasty notice we conclude, in the language of our
+announcement of the present work, "wishing the publisher _many
+Anniversaries_"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING.
+
+_EDITED BY THOMAS PRINGLE, ESQ._
+
+
+The present volume will support, if not increase, the literary
+reputation which this elegant work has enjoyed during previous years.
+The editor, Mr. Pringle, is a poet of no mean celebrity, and, as we
+are prepared to show, his contribution, independent of his editorial
+judgment, will do much toward the Friendship's Offering maintaining
+its ground among the Annuals for 1829.
+
+There are twelve engravings and a presentation plate. Among the most
+beautiful of these are Cupid and Psyche, painted by J. Wood, and
+engraved by Finden; Campbell Castle, by E. Goodall, after G. Arnald;
+the Parting, from Haydon's picture now exhibiting with his Mock
+Election, "Chairing;" Hours of Innocence, from Landseer; La Frescura,
+by Le Petit, from a painting by Bone; and the Cove of Muscat, a
+spirited engraving by Jeavons, from the painting of Witherington.
+All these are of first-rate excellence; but another remains to be
+mentioned--Glen-Lynden, painted and engraved by _Martin_, a fit
+accompaniment for Mr. Pringle's very polished poem.
+
+The first _prose_ story is the Election, by Miss Mitford, with the
+hero a downright John Bull who reads Cobbett. The next which most
+attracts our attention is Contradiction, by the author of an Essay on
+Housekeepers--but the present is not so Shandean as the last-mentioned
+paper; it has, however, many good points, and want of room alone
+prevents our transferring it. Then comes the Covenanters, a Scottish
+traditionary tale of _fixing_ interest; the Publican's Dream, by Mr.
+Banim, told also in the Winter's Wreath, and Gem:
+
+  _Thrice_ the brindled cat hath mewed;
+
+and Zalim Khan, a beautiful Peruvian tale of thirty pages, by Mr.
+Fraser. The French story, La Fiancee de Marques, is a novelty for an
+annual, but in good taste. Tropical Sun-sets, by Dr. Philip, is just
+to our mind and measure:--
+
+A setting sun between the tropics is certainly one of the finest
+objects in nature.
+
+From the 23rd degree north to the 27th degree south latitude, I used
+to stand upon the deck of the Westmoreland an hour every evening,
+gazing with admiration upon a scene which no effort either of the
+pencil or the pen can describe, so as to convey any adequate idea of
+it to the mind of one who has never been in the neighbourhood of the
+equator. I merely attempt to give you a hasty and imperfect outline.
+
+The splendour of the scene generally commenced about twenty minutes
+before sun-set, when the feathery, fantastic, and regularly
+crystallized clouds in the higher regions of the atmosphere, became
+fully illumined by the sun's rays; and the fine mackerel-shaped
+clouds, common in these regions, were seen hanging in the concave of
+heaven like fleeces of burnished gold. When the sun approached the
+verge of the horizon, he was frequently seen encircled by a halo of
+splendour, which continued increasing till it covered a large space of
+the heavens: it then began apparently to shoot out from the body of
+the sun, in refulgent pencils, or radii, each as large as a rainbow,
+exhibiting, according to the rarity or density of the atmosphere, a
+display of brilliant or delicate tints, and of ever changing lights
+and shades of the most amazing beauty and variety. About twenty
+minutes after sun-set these splendid shooting rays disappeared,
+and were succeeded by a fine, rich glow in the heavens, in which
+you might easily fancy that you saw land rising out of the ocean,
+stretching itself before you and on every side in the most enchanting
+perspective, and having the glowing lustre of a bar of iron when newly
+withdrawn from the forge. On this brilliant ground the dense clouds
+which lay nearest the bottom of the horizon, presenting their dark
+sides to you, exhibited to the imagination all the gorgeous and
+picturesque appearances of arches, obelisks, mouldering towers,
+magnificent gardens, cities, forests, mountains, and every fantastic
+configuration of living creatures, and of imaginary beings; while the
+finely stratified clouds a little higher in the atmosphere, might
+really be imagined so many glorious islands of the blessed, swimming
+in an ocean of light.
+
+The beauty and grandeur of the sunsets, thus imperfectly described,
+surpass inconceivably any thing of a similar description which I have
+ever witnessed, even amidst the most rich and romantic scenery of our
+British lakes and mountains.
+
+Were I to attempt to account for the exquisite enjoyment on beholding
+the setting sun between the tropics, I should perhaps say, that
+it arose from the warmth, the repose, the richness, the novelty,
+the glory of the whole, filling the mind with the most exalted,
+tranquillizing, and beautiful images.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is likewise a tale, Going to Sea, and the Ship's Crew, by Mrs.
+Bowdich, which equally merits commendation.
+
+Powerful as may be the aid which the editor has received from the
+_contributors_ to the "Friendship's Offering," we are bound
+to distinguish one of his own pieces--_Glen-Lynden, a Tale of
+Teviot-dale_, as the sun of the volume. It is in Spenserian verse, and
+a more graceful composition cannot be found in either of the Annuals.
+It is too long for entire extract, but we will attempt to string
+together a few of its beauties. The scenery of the Glen is thus
+described:--
+
+  A rustic home in Lynden's pastoral dell
+  With modest pride a verdant hillock crown'd:
+  Where the bold stream, like dragon from the fell,
+  Came glittering forth, and, gently gliding round
+  The broom-clad skirts of that fair spot of ground,
+  Danced down the vale, in wanton mazes bending;
+  Till finding, where it reached the meadow's bound,
+  Romantic Teviot on his bright course wending.
+  It joined the sounding streams--with his blue waters blending.
+
+  Behind a lofty wood along the steep
+  Fenced from the chill north-east this quiet glen:
+  And green hills, gaily sprinkled o'er with sheep,
+  Spread to the south; while by the brightening pen,
+  Rose the blithe sound of flocks and hounds and men,
+  At summer dawn, and gloaming; or the voice
+  Of children nutting in the hazelly den,
+  Sweet mingling with the winds' and waters' noise,
+  Attuned the softened heart with Nature to rejoice.
+
+  Upon the upland height a mouldering Tower,
+  By time and outrage marked with many a scar,
+  Told of past days of feudal pomp and power
+  When its proud chieftains ruled the dales afar.
+  But that was long gone by: and waste and war,
+  And civil strife more ruthless still than they,
+  Had quenched the lustre of Glen-Lynden's star,
+  Which glimmered now, with dim reclining ray,
+  O'er this secluded spot,--sole remnant of their sway.
+
+Lynden's lord, and possessor of this tower, is now "a grave, mild,
+husbandman," and his wife--
+
+  She he loved in youth and loved alone,
+  Was his.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  And now his pleasant home and pastoral farm
+  Are all the world to him: he feels no sting
+  Of restless passions; but, with grateful arm,
+  Clasps the twin cherubs round his neck that cling,
+  Breathing their innocent thoughts like violets in the spring.
+
+  Another prattler, too, lisps on his knee,
+  The orphan daughter of a hapless pair,
+  Who, voyaging upon the Indian sea,
+  Met the fierce typhon-blast--and perished there:
+  But she was left the rustic home to share
+  Of those who her young mother's friends had been:
+  An old affection thus enhanced the care
+  With which those faithful guardians loved to screen
+  This sweet forsaken flower, in their wild arbours green.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  But dark calamity comes aye too soon--
+  And why anticipate its evil day?
+  Ah, rather let us now in lovely June
+  O'erlook these happy children at their play:
+  Lo, where they gambol through the garden gay,
+  Or round the hoary hawthorn dance and sing,
+  Or, 'neath yon moss-grown cliff, grotesque and grey
+  Sit plaiting flowery wreaths in social ring,
+  And telling wondrous tales of the green Elfin King.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Ah! evil days have fallen upon the land;
+  A storm that brooded long has burst at last;
+  And friends, like forest trees that closely stand
+  With roots and branches interwoven fast,
+  May aid awhile each other in the blast;
+  But as when giant pines at length give way
+  The groves below must share the ruin vast,
+  So men who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway
+  Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they.
+
+  Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew
+  Misfortune's troubles; and foreboding fears,
+  That rose like distant shadows nearer drew
+  O'ercasting the calm evening of his years;
+  Yet still amidst the gloom fair hope appears,
+  A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space,
+  Till the horizon closes round of clears,
+  Returns our tale the enchanted path to trace
+  Where youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting grace.
+  Far up the dale, where Lynden's ruined towers
+  O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood,
+  A lake blue gleaming from deep forest bowers,
+  Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude:
+  Oft by the margin of that quiet flood,
+  And through the groves and hoary ruins round,
+  Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood;
+  Or here, amid tradition's haunted ground,
+  Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Here Arthur loved to roam--a dreaming boy--
+  Erewhile romantic reveries to frame,
+  Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy.
+  Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame;
+  But with fair manhood's dawn a softer flame
+  'Gan mingle with his martial musings high;
+  And trembling wishes--which he feared to name,
+  Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh--
+  Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie.
+
+  And there were eyes that from long silken lashes
+  With stolen glance could spy his secret pain--
+  Sweet hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes
+  Like joyous day-spring after summer rain;
+  And she, the enchantress, loved the youth again
+  With maiden's first affection, fond and true,
+  --Ah! youthful love is like the tranquil main,
+  Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue--
+  Beautiful as a spirit--calm, but fearful too!
+
+Our limits compel us to break off once more, which is a source of
+regret, especially when our path is strewn with such gems as these:--
+
+  A gentle star lights up their solitude
+  And lends fair hues to all created things;
+  And dreams alone of beings pure and good
+  Hover around their hearts with angel wings--
+  Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture springs.
+
+Here is a beautiful apostrophe--
+
+  Oh Nature! by impassioned hearts alone
+  Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar mind
+  Sees but the shadow of a power unknown;
+  Thy loftier beauties beam not to the blind
+  And sensual throng, to grovelling hopes resigned:
+  But they whom high and holy thoughts inspire
+  Adore thee, in celestial glory shrined
+  In that diviner fane where Love's pure fire
+  Burns bright, and Genius tunes his loud immortal Lyre!
+
+The halcyon days at length draw to a close, and sorrows "in
+battalions" compel them to emigrate and bid
+
+  Farewell to the scenes they ne'er shall visit more.
+
+The remainder is rather abrupt, at least much more so than the lovers
+of fervid poetry could wish, especially as the termination is with the
+following exquisite ballad:--
+
+  Our native land, our native vale,
+    A long and last adieu!
+  Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,
+    And Cheviot mountains blue.
+
+  Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
+    And streams renowned in song:
+  Farewell, ye blithsome braes and meads
+    Our hearts have loved so long.
+
+  Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes,
+    Where thyme and harebells grow;
+  Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes,
+    O'erhung with birk and sloe.
+
+  The battle-mound, the border-tower,
+    That Scotia's annals tell:
+  Thy martyr's grave, the lover's bower--
+    To each--to all--farewell!
+
+  Home of our hearts! our father's home!
+    Land of the brave and free!
+  The keel is flashing through the foam
+    That bears us far from thee.
+
+  We seek a wild and distant shore
+    Beyond the Atlantic main:
+  We leave thee to return no more,
+    Nor view thy cliffs again.
+
+  But may dishonour blight our fame,
+    And quench our household fires,
+  When we or ours forget thy name,
+    Green island of our sires.
+
+  Our native land--our native vale--
+    A long, a last adieu!
+  Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale,
+    And Scotland's mountains blue!
+
+We have only space to add that the poetical pieces are very numerous,
+and those by Allan Cunningham, the Ettrick Shepherd, Delta, and
+William Kennedy, merit especial notice.
+
+The elegant embossed binding is similar to that of last year, which
+we mentioned to our readers, and which we think an improvement on the
+silken array.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE BIJOU.
+
+
+Though last in the field, (for it is scarcely published) the _Bijou_
+will doubtless occupy a different place in public favour. Its
+embellishments are selected with much judgment, and in literary
+merit, it equals either of its contemporaries. Its second title is
+an Annual of Literature and the _Fine Arts_, and from the choice of
+its illustrations, deservedly so. Thus, among the painters, who have
+furnished subjects for the engravers, we have Holbein, Claude, and
+Primaticcio; and two from Sir Thomas Lawrence. The engraving from
+Holbein, Sir Thomas More and his Family,--is a novelty in an Annual,
+and is beautifully executed by Ensom. It has all the quaintness of the
+great master, whose pictures may be called the _mosaic_ of painting.
+The Autumnal Evening, engraved by Dean, after Claude, is not so
+successful; although it should be considered that little space is
+allowed for the exquisite effect of the original: still the execution
+might have been better. The Frontispiece, Lady Wallscourt, after Sir
+Thomas Lawrence is in part, a first-rate engraving; Young Lambton,
+after the same master, is of superior merit. The face is beautifully
+copied; and, by way of hint to the _scrappers_, this print will form
+a companion to the Mountain Daisy, from the _Amulet_ for the present
+year. There are, too, some consecrated landscapes, dear to every
+classical tourist, and of, no common interest at home--as Clisson,
+the retreat of Heloise; Mont Blanc; and the Cascade of Tivoli--all of
+which are delightfully picturesque. The view of Mont Blanc is well
+managed.
+
+In the _prose_ compositions we notice some of intense interest, among
+which are the Stranger Patron and the Castle of Reinspadte--both of
+German origin. There is too, a faithful historiette of the Battle of
+Trafalgar, which, with the History of the Family of Sir Thomas More,
+will be read with peculiar attention. Our extracts from the poetical
+department are by Mrs. Hemans and Miss Landon.
+
+
+THE SLEEPERS.
+
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+  A holy thing is sleep.
+  On the worn spirit shed,
+  And eyes that wake to weep:
+
+  A holy thing from heaven,
+  A gracious dewy cloud,
+  A covering mantle, given
+  The weary to enshroud.
+
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+  Revere the pale still brow,
+  The meekly drooping head,
+  The long hair's willowy flow!
+
+  Ye know not what ye do,
+  That call the slumberer back,
+  From the world unseen by you,
+  Unto Life's dim faded track.
+
+  Her soul is far away,
+  In her childhood's land perchance,
+  Where her young sisters play,
+  Where shines her mother's glance.
+
+  Some old sweet native sound
+  Her spirit haply weaves;
+  A harmony profound
+  Of woods with all their leaves:
+
+  A murmur of the sea,
+  A laughing tone of streams:--
+  Long may her sojourn be
+  In the music-land of dreams!
+
+  Each voice of love is there,
+  Each gleam of beauty fled.
+  Each lost one still more fair--
+  Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
+
+Miss Landon has contributed more to the "Bijou" than to any other
+Annual, and a piece from her distinguished pen will increase the value
+and variety of our columns.
+
+
+THE FEAST OF LIFE.
+
+  I bid thee to my mystic Feast,
+  Each one thou lovest is gathered there;
+  Yet put thou on a mourning robe,
+  And bind the cypress in thy hair.
+
+  The hall is vast, and cold, and drear;
+  The board with faded flowers is spread:
+  Shadows of beauty flit around,
+  But beauty from each bloom has fled;
+
+  And music echoes from the walls,
+  But music with a dirge-like sound;
+  And pale and silent are the guests,
+  And every eye is on the ground.
+
+  Here, take this cup, tho' dark it seem,
+  And drink to human hopes and fears;
+  'Tis from their native element
+  The cup is filled--it is of tears.
+
+  What! turnest thou with averted brow?
+  Thou scornest this poor feast of mine;
+  And askest for a purple robe,
+  Light words, glad smiles, and sunny wine.
+
+  In vain, the veil has left thine eyes,
+  Or such these would have seemed to thee;
+  Before thee is the Feast of Life,
+  But life in its reality!
+
+We should not, however, pass over in silence a poem, of the antique
+school, entitled the Holy Vengeance for the Martyrdom of George
+Wishart, the merits of which are of a high order. Indeed, this piece,
+and the admirable composition of the History of Sir Thomas More and
+his Family, with the Holbein print, distinguish the Bijou from all
+other publications of its class, and are characteristic of the good
+taste of Mr. Pickering, the proprietor. Altogether, the Bijou for 1829
+is very superior to the last volume, and, to our taste, it is one of
+the most attractive of the Christmas presents.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE WINTER'S WREATH.
+
+
+This is a _provincial_, but not a first appearance in London; the
+present being the fourth "_Wreath_" that has been entwined for the
+lovers of song and sentiment. It is culled from Liverpool, (next to
+our own metropolis) the most literary city in the empire; but many of
+its flowers have been gathered from our metropolitan parterre. Thus,
+in addition to the respected names of Roscoe, Currie, and Shepherd,
+(of Liverpool), we have among the contributors those of Hemans,
+Bowring, Howitt, Opie, with Mitford, Montgomery, and Wiffen. The
+editorship has passed into different hands, and "the introduction of
+religious topics has been carefully avoided" as unsuited to a work of
+elegant amusement.
+
+The plates are twelve in number, among which are _Lady Blanche and
+her Merlin_, after Northcote (rather too hard in the features); an
+exquisite _View of the Thames near Windsor_, after Havell; _Medora
+and the Corsair_, after Howard; the _Sailor Boy_, by Lizars; and a
+beautiful _Wreath_ Title-page, after Vandyke. All these will bear
+comparison with any engravings in similar works.
+
+The Wreath contains 132 pieces or flowers, some of them
+_perennials_--others of great, but less lasting beauty--and but few
+that will fade in a day. Among those entitled to special distinction,
+in the _prose_ department, are an Italian Story, of considerable
+interest; the Corsair, a pleasing sketch; and Lough Neagh, a tale
+of the north of Ireland. One of the _perennials_ is a Journey up the
+Mississippi, by Audubon, the American naturalist. Kester Hobson,
+a legendary tale of the Yorkshire Wolds, which turns upon a lucky
+dream, will probably set thousands dreaming--and we hope with the same
+good effect--viz. half-a-bushel of gold. "A Vision," by the late Dr.
+Currie, is a successful piece of writing; Le Contretems is a pleasant
+tale enough, with a sprinkling of French dialogue. Next is a well-told
+historiette of the eventful times of the Civil Wars.--The Memoir of a
+young Sculptor can scarcely fail to awaken the sympathy of the reader.
+The introduction of the paper on Popular Education, in what the editor
+himself calls "a work of elegant amusement like the present," is
+somewhat objectionable, and the writer's sentiments will be very
+unpalatable to a certain party. The Ridley Coach is a sketch in the
+style of Miss Mitford, who has contributed only one article, and
+that in verse. Mrs. Opie has a slight piece--The Old Trees and New
+Houses--but our prose selection is, (somewhat abridged)--
+
+
+THE LADY ANNE CARR,
+
+_BY THE AUTHOR OF "MAY YOU LIKE IT."_
+
+
+Have you not sometimes seen, upon the bosom of dark, stagnant waters,
+a pure, white water-lily lift up its head, breathing there a fresh and
+delicate fragrance, and deriving its existence thence--yet partaking
+in nothing of the loathsome nature of the pool, nor ever sullied by
+its close contact with the foul element beneath?
+
+It is an honest simile to say that the gentle Anne Carr resembled
+that sweet water-lily. Sprung from the guilty loves of the favourite
+Somerset and his beautiful but infamous wife, she was herself pure and
+untainted by the dark and criminal dispositions of her parents. Not
+even a suspicion of their real character had ever crossed her mind;
+she knew that they had met with some reverse of fortune,--for she
+had heard her father regret, for her sake, his altered estate. She
+knew this, but nothing more: her father's enemies, who would gladly
+have added to his wretchedness, by making his child look upon him
+with horror, could not find in their hearts, when they gazed on her
+innocent face, to make one so unoffending wretched. It is a lovely
+blindness in a child to have no discernment of a parent's faultiness;
+and so it happened that the Lady Anne saw nothing in her father's mien
+or manner, betokening a sinful, worthless character.
+
+Of her mother she had but few and faint recollections. Memory pictured
+her pale and drooping, nay gradually sinking under the cureless malady
+which brought her to her grave at last. She remembered, however,
+the soft and beautiful smiles which had beamed over that haggard
+countenance, when it was turned upon her only child--smiles which she
+delighted to recognise in the lovely portrait, from which her idea of
+her mother was chiefly formed. This portrait adorned her own favourite
+apartment. It had been painted when the original was as young and
+happy as herself; and her filial love and fond imagination believed no
+grace had been wanting to make all as beautiful and glorious within.
+
+As the Lady Anne grew up to womanhood, the sweetness of her
+disposition and manners began to be acknowledged by those, who had
+seen without astonishment her extraordinary beauty; and many persons
+of distinction, who would hold no kind of fellowship with the Lord
+Somerset, sought the acquaintance of his innocent daughter for her
+own sake.
+
+The most beloved friend of the Lady Anne was the Lady Ellinor G----,
+the eldest daughter of the Earl of G----: and with her, Lady Anne
+often passed several months in the year. A large party of young ladies
+were assembled at G---- Castle; and it happened that a continual
+rain had confined the fair companions within doors the whole summer
+afternoon. They sat together over their embroidery and various kinds
+of needlework, telling old tales of fearful interest--the strange
+mishaps of benighted travellers--stories of witchcraft, and of
+mysterious murder.
+
+The conversation turned at last to the legends belonging to a certain
+family; and one circumstance was mentioned so nearly resembling, in
+many particulars, the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, that the Lady
+Ellinor, scarcely doubting that some slight suspicion of her parents'
+crimes had reached the ears of the Lady Anne, determined to change
+the subject at once. She proposed to her fair friends that they
+should ramble together through the apartments of the castle; and she
+called for the old housekeeper, who had lived in the family from her
+childhood, to go along with them, and asked her to describe to them
+the person and manners of Queen Elizabeth, when she had visited at the
+castle, and slept in the state apartment; always since called, The
+Queen's Bedchamber.
+
+Led by their talkative guide, the careless, laughing party wandered
+from one chamber to another, listening to her anecdotes, and the
+descriptions she gave of persons and things in former days. She had
+known many of the originals of the stately portraits in the picture
+gallery; and she could tell the names, and the exploits of those
+warriors in the family, whose coats of mail and glittering weapons
+adorned the armoury. "And now," said the Lady Ellinor, "what else is
+there to be seen? Not that I mean to trouble you any longer with our
+questions, good Margaret, but give me this key, this key so seldom
+used," pointing to a large, strangely shaped key, that hung among a
+bunch at the old housekeeper's side. "There!" she added, disengaging
+it herself from the ring, "I have taken it, and will return it very
+safely. I assure you. This key," she said, turning to her young
+companions, "unlocks a gallery at the end of the eastern wing, which
+is always locked up, because the room is full of curious and rare
+treasures, that were brought by my father's brother from many foreign
+lands."
+
+They enter.--"This may be a charming place," said one of the youngest
+and liveliest of the party, "but see, the rain has passed away, and
+the sun has at last burst out from the clouds. How brightly he shines,
+even through these dull and dusty windows!" She gave but a passing
+glance to the treasures around her, and hastened to a half open door
+at the end of the gallery. Some of her companions followed her to a
+broad landing place, at the top of a flight of marble stairs. They
+were absent but a few minutes, and they returned with smiles of
+delight, and glad, eager voices, declaring that they had unbolted a
+door at the bottom of the staircase, and found themselves in the most
+beautiful part of the gardens. "Come!" said the young and sprightly
+girl, "do not loiter here; leave these rare and beautiful things until
+it rains again, and come forth at once with me into the sweet, fresh
+air."
+
+The Lady Ellinor and her friend the Lady Anne were sitting side by
+side, at the same table, and looking over the same volume--a folio of
+Norman chronicles, embellished with many quaint and coloured pictures.
+They both lifted up their faces from the book, as their merry
+companions again addressed them. "Nay, do not _look_ up, but rise up!"
+said the laughing maiden, and drawing away the volume from before
+them, she shut it up instantly, and laid it on another table; throwing
+down a branch of jessamine in its place.
+
+"Yes, yes, you are right, my merry Barbara," replied the Lady Ellinor,
+and she rose up as she spoke, "we have been prisoners all the day
+against our will, why should we now be confined when the smile of
+Nature bids us forth to share her joy. Come, come! my sweet Anne,
+_you_ are not wont to be the last," turning to her friend, who
+lingered behind. "Oh!" cried Lady Anne, "I am coming, I will soon be
+the first amongst you, I only wait a moment to bind up my troublesome
+hair." As she spoke, her eyes rested upon a little volume, which lay
+upon the broad sill of the casement. The wind fluttered in the pages,
+and blew them over and over; and half curiously, half carelessly,
+she looked again, and yet again. The word _murder_ caught her eye;
+her feelings were still in a state of excitement from the tales and
+legends to which she had just been listening. Resting her head upon
+her hand, she leaned over the volume; and stood motionless, absorbed
+by the interest of the tale which she read, forgetful of her young
+companions--of all but the appalling story then before her.
+
+But these feelings were soon lost in astonishment, and horror so
+confounding, that for awhile she lost all power of moving, or even of
+thinking. Still her eyes were fixed upon the words which had pierced
+her heart:--she could not force them away. Again and again, struck
+with shame and horror, she shrunk away;--again and again, she found
+herself forced by doubt, by positive disbelief, to search the terrible
+pages. At last she had read enough--quite, quite enough to be assured,
+not that her father--her mother, had been _suspected_, but that by the
+law of the land they had been convicted, and condemned to death as
+foul, adulterous murderers;--the murderers of Sir Thomas Overbury!
+
+The Lady Ellinor returned alone into the gallery, "You little truant!"
+she cried, "why so long? you said you would soon be with the foremost.
+I thought you must have escaped me, and have sought you through half
+the garden, and you are here all the while!"
+
+No voice replied: not a sound was heard; and the Lady Ellinor had
+already returned to the door of the gallery to seek her friend
+elsewhere, when something fell heavily to the ground.
+
+She flew back; and in one of the receding windows, she found the Lady
+Anne lying senseless in a deep swoon. Throwing herself on the ground
+beside her, she raised her tenderly in her arms, and not without some
+difficulty, restored her to herself. Then laying her head upon her
+bosom, she whispered kind words. "You are ill, I fear, my own Anne,
+who has been here? What have you seen? How so changed in this short
+time? I left you well and smiling, and now--nay, my dear, dear friend,
+do not turn from me, and look so utterly wretched. Do not you see me!
+What can be the matter!" The Lady Anne looked up in her friend's face
+with so piteous and desolate a look, that she began to fear her reason
+was affected.
+
+"Have I lost your confidence? Am I no longer loved?" said the Lady
+Ellinor. "Can you sit heart-broken there, and will not allow me to
+comfort you? Still no answer! Shall I go? Shall I leave you, my love?
+Do you wish me absent?" continued she in a trembling voice, the tears
+flowing over her face, as she rose up. Her motion to depart aroused
+the Lady Anne. "Ellinor! my Ellinor!" she cried, and throwing herself
+forward, she stretched forth her arms. In another moment she was
+weeping on the bosom of her friend. She wept for a long time without
+restraint, for the Lady Ellinor said nothing, but drew her nearer and
+nearer to her bosom, and tenderly pressed the hand that was clasped in
+hers.
+
+"I ought not to be weeping here," at length she said, "I ought to let
+you leave me, but I have not the courage, I cannot bear to lose your
+friendship,--your affection, my Ellinor! Can you love me? Have you
+loved me, knowing all the while, as every one must? To-day--this very
+hour, since you left me, I learned:--no I cannot tell you! Look on
+that page, Ellinor, you will see why you find me thus. I am the most
+wretched, wretched creature!"--here again she burst into an agony of
+uncontrollable grief.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Who can describe the feelings of the Lady Anne--alone, in her chamber,
+looking up at the portrait of her mother, upon which she had so often
+gazed with delight and reverence! "Is it possible?" said she to
+herself, "can this be she, of whom I have read such dreadful things?
+Have all my young and happy days been but a dream, from which I wake
+at last? Is not this dreadful certainty still as a hideous dream to
+me?"
+
+She had another cause of bitter grief. She loved the young and
+noble-minded Lord Russell, the Earl of Bedford's eldest son; and she
+had heard him vow affection and faithfulness to her. She now perceived
+at once the reasons why the Earl of Bedford had objected to their
+marriage: she almost wondered within herself that the Lord Russel
+should have chosen her; and though she loved him more for avowing his
+attachment, though her heart pleaded warmly for him, she determined to
+renounce his plighted love. "It must be done," she said, "and better
+now;--delay will but bring weakness. _Now_ I can write--I feel that I
+have strength." And the Lady Anne wrote, and folded with a trembling
+hand the letter which should give up her life's happiness; and fearing
+her resolution might not hold, she despatched it by a messenger, as
+the Lord Russel was then in the neighbourhood; and returned mournfully
+to her own chamber. She opened an old volume which lay upon her
+toilette--a volume to which she turned in time of trouble, to seek
+that peace which the world cannot give.
+
+Lady Ellinor soon aroused her by the tidings that a messenger had
+arrived with a letter from her father, and she descended in search
+of him.
+
+"Oh, why is this? why am I here?" exclaimed the Lady Anne, as
+trembling and almost sinking to the ground--her face alternately pale
+and covered with crimson blushes, she found herself alone with the
+Lord Russell. "You have received my letter, might not this trial have
+been spared? my cup was already sufficiently bitter--but I had drunk
+it. No!" she continued gently withdrawing her hand which he had taken,
+"Do not make me despise myself--the voice of duty separates us.
+Farewell! I seek a messenger from my father." "I am the messenger you
+seek," replied he, "I have seen the Lord Somerset, and bring this
+letter to his daughter."
+
+The letter from the Earl of Somerset informed his daughter that he had
+seen the Earl of Bedford, and had obviated all obstacle to her union
+with the Lord Russell; that he was going himself to travel in foreign
+parts; and that he wished her to be married during a visit to the Earl
+and Countess of Bedford, whose invitation he had accepted for her.
+
+"Does not your father say, that in this marriage his happiness is at
+stake?" said the Lord Russell, gently pressing her hand. The Lady Anne
+hung down her head, and wept in silence. "Are you still silent, my
+dearest?" continued he, "then will I summon another advocate to plead
+for me."
+
+He quitted the apartment for a moment, but soon returned with the
+Countess of Bedford, who had accompanied him to claim her future
+daughter-in-law. The Lady Anne had made many resolutions, but they
+yielded before the sweet and eloquent entreaties that urged her to
+do what, in fact, she was all too willing to consent to.
+
+They were married, the Lord Russell and the Lady Anne Carr; and they
+lived long and happily together. It was always thought that the Lord
+Russell had loved not only well, but wisely; for the Lady Anne was
+ever a faithful wife, and a loving, tender mother. It was not until
+some years after her marriage, that the Lady Russell discovered how
+the consent of the earl of Bedford had been obtained. Till then,
+she knew not that this consent had been withheld, until the Earl
+of Somerset should give his daughter a large sum as her marriage
+portion:--the Earl of Bedford calculating upon the difficulty, nay
+almost impossibility, of his ever raising this sum.
+
+But he had not calculated upon the devotion of the wretched father's
+love to his fair and innocent child: and he was astounded when his
+terms were complied with, and the money paid at once into his hands.
+He could no longer withhold his consent; nor could he refuse some
+admiration of this proof of a father's love for his child. The Lord
+Somerset had, in fact, sold his whole possessions, and reduced himself
+to an estate not far removed from beggary, to give his daughter the
+husband of her choice.
+
+It was the Lady Anne Carr, of whom Vandyke painted an exquisite and
+well-known portrait, when Countess of Bedford. She was the mother of
+William Lord Russell; and died heart-broken in her old age, when she
+heard of the execution of her noble and first-born son.
+
+This is, perhaps, one of Mr. Tayler's most successful pieces; it has
+more breadth (if we may use such a term) than he is wont to employ,
+the absence of which from his writing, we have more than once had
+occasion to regret.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+TIME'S TELESCOPE.
+
+
+Our old friend Time has this year illustrated his march, or
+object-glass, with a host of _images_ or _spectra_--that is, woodcuts
+of head and tail pieces--to suit all tastes--from the mouldering
+cloister of other days to the last balloon ascent. The Notices of
+Saints' Days and Holidays, Chronology and Biography, Astronomical and
+Naturalist's Notices, are edited with more than usual industry; and
+the poetry, original and selected, is for the most part very pleasing.
+
+As we have a running account with Time's Telescope, (who has not?) and
+occasionally illustrate our pages with extracts during the year, we
+content ourselves for the present with a quotation from an original
+article, by "a correspondent from Alveston," possessing much good
+feeling and a tone of reflection, to us very pleasing:--
+
+
+THE INFLUENCE OF A FLOWER.
+
+
+Towards the close of a most lovely spring day--and such a lovely one,
+to my fancy, has never beamed from the heavens since--I carelessly
+plucked a cowslip from a copse side, and gave it to _Constance_. 'Twas
+on that beautiful evening when she told me all her heart! as, seated
+on a mossy bank, she dissected, with downcast eyes, every part of the
+flower; chives, pointal, and petal, all were displayed; though I am
+sure she never even thought of the class. My destiny through life I
+considered as fixed from that hour.--Shortly afterwards I was called,
+by the death of a relative, to a distant part of England; upon
+my return, _Constance_ was no more. The army was not my original
+destination; but my mind began to be enfeebled by hourly musing upon
+one subject alone, without cessation or available termination; yet
+reason enough remained to convince me, that, without change and
+excitement, it would degenerate into fatuity.
+
+The preparation and voyage to India, new companions, and ever-changing
+scenes, hushed my feelings, and produced a calm that might be called
+a state of blessedness--a condition in which the ignoble and inferior
+ingredients of our nature were subdued by the divinity of mind. Years
+rolled on in almost constant service; nor do I remember many of the
+events of that time, even with interest or regret. In one advance of
+the army to which I was attached, we had some skirmishing with the
+irregulars of our foe; the pursuit was rapid, and I fell behind my
+detachment, wounded and weary, in ascending a ghaut, resting in the
+jungle, with languid eyes fixed on the ground, without any particular
+feeling but that of fatigue, and the smarting of my shoulder.
+A _cowslip_ caught my sight! my blood rushed to my heart--and,
+shuddering, I started on my feet, felt no fatigue, knew of no wound,
+and joined my party. I had not seen this flower for ten years! but it
+probably saved my life--an European officer, wounded and alone, might
+have tempted the avarice of some of the numerous and savage followers
+of an Indian army. In the cooler and calmer hours of reflection since,
+I have often thought that this appearance was a mere phantom, an
+illusion--the offspring of weakness: I saw it but for a moment, and
+too imperfectly to be assured of reality; and whatever I believed at
+the time seems now to have been a painting on the mind rather than an
+object of vision; but how that image started up. I conjecture not--the
+effect was immediate and preservative. This flower was again seen
+in Spain: I had the command of an advance party, and in one of the
+recesses of the Pyrenees, of the romantic, beautiful Pyrenees, upon a
+secluded bank, surrounded by a shrubbery so lovely as to be noticed by
+many--was a _cowslip_. It was now nearly twenty years since I had seen
+it in Mysore: I did not start; but a cold and melancholy chill came
+over me; yet I might possibly have gazed long on this humble little
+flower, and recalled many dormant thoughts, had not a sense of duty
+(for we momentarily expected an attack) summoned my attentions to the
+realities of life: so, drawing the back of my hand across my eyes, I
+cheered my party with, "Forward, lads," and pursued my route, and saw
+it no more, until England and all her flowery meadows met my view;
+but many days and service had wasted life, and worn the fine edge of
+sensibility away; they were now before me in endless profusion, almost
+unheeded, and without excitement; I viewed not the cowslip, when
+fifty, as I had done with the eyes of nineteen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS BOX.
+
+
+This is the happiest _title_ in the whole list of annuals. There
+is nothing sentimental or lachrymose in it; but it is warm and
+seasonable, and done up in a holly-green binding, it is all over
+old Christmas.
+
+The first story in the volume is Old Christmas; one of the gems or
+sweets is Garry Owen, or the Snow-Woman, by Miss Edgeworth, for it
+abounds with good sentiment, just such as we should wish in the hearts
+and mouths of our own children, as a spice for their prattle.
+
+We pass over _L'Egotiste Corrigee_, par Madame de Labourt--pretty
+enough--and the Ambitious Primrose, by Miss Dagley. Then a Song, by
+Miss Mitford; and a Story of Old Times, by Mrs. Hofland; and the
+Tragical History of Major Brown, a capital piece of fun; and Pretty
+Bobby, one of Miss Mitford's delightful sketches. The Visit to
+the Zoological Gardens is not just what we expected; still it is
+attractive. Major Beamish has accommodated military tactics to the
+nursery in a pleasant little sketch; and the proverb of Much Coin Much
+Care, by Mrs. R.S. Jameson is a little farce for the same stage.
+
+But the Cuts--the pictures--of which it would have been more
+_juvenile_ to have spoken first. These are from the pencil of our
+"right trustye" friend and excellent artist, Mr. W.H. Brooke, whose
+horses, coaches, and dogs excite so much mirth among the young friends
+of the MIRROR--for, in truth, Mr. Brooke is an A.M.--an _associate_
+of the MIRROR, and enables us to jump from Whitehall to Constantine's
+Arch at Rome, shake _hands_ with the Bears of the Zoological Society,
+and Peg in the Ring at Abury.
+
+The _Christmas Box cuts_ are all fun and frolic--the tail-piece of the
+preface, a bricklayer on a ladder, "spilling" a hod of bricks--the
+Lord of Misrule, with his polichinel army--the Boar's Head--a little
+squat Cook and a steaming Plum-Pudding--the Bee and Honeysuckle--Major
+Brown with a Munchausen face--the Bear Pit, Monkeys' Houses, and
+Horned Owl, in the Zoological Gardens--and the Parliament of Animals,
+with the Elephant as Chancellor, the Tortoise for "the table," and
+Monkeys for Counsel--the groups of Toy Soldiers--and the head pieces
+of the Cobbler and his Wife--all excellent. Then the Cricket and
+Friar, and a pair of Dancing Crickets--worth all the fairy figures
+of the Smirkes, and a hundred others into the bargain. These are the
+little quips of the pencil that curl up our eye-lashes and dimple
+our faces more than all the Vatican gallery. They are trifles--aye,
+"trifles light as air"--but their influence convinces us that trifling
+is part of the great business of life.
+
+Now we are trifling our readers' time; so to recommend the _Christmas
+Box_ for 1829, as one of the prettiest presents, and as much better
+suited to children than was its predecessor--and--pass we off.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here our motley-minded sheet finishes, and we leave our readers in
+possession of its sweet fancies. Its little compartments of poetry and
+prose remind us of mosaic work, and its sentimentalities have all the
+varieties of the kaleidoscope. To gladden the eye, study the taste,
+and improve the heart, of each reader has been our aim--feelings which
+we hope pervade this and every other Number of the MIRROR.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Number 340 of the MIRROR contains the Notices of the Literary
+Souvenir, Forget-Me-Not, Gem, and Amulet, and with the present Number
+forms the Spirit of the Annuals for 1829.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near
+Somerset-House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market,
+Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers._
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT,
+AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 12, ISSUE 344 (SUPPLEMENTARY ISSUE)
***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 10730.txt or 10730.zip *******
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