LITERATURE OF THE ANNUALS—CONTINUED. THE Keepsake has several points about

it; the most striking being a practical joke of lIatassafs, not only good in itself, but conveying a " great moral lesson" to all editors who, like the young married couples of certain countries, depend upon the contributions of friends to make up the feast. To one of the Annuals of last year the author of Petei. Simple (unless we are dreaming) contributed a story, or something in the nature of a story, whose locality was laid in the Isle of Wight, and whose chief actor was a Negro servant. The story, or whatever it may be called, was hardly worthy of his pen ; but the sketch of the " Quadroon Wife," with her heraldic ambition and hatred of the name of Cockle, was done with humour. Indifferent to the honours of Auuual- writing, and beset perhaps by applications which he would not grant and did not like to refuse, the gallant Captain has stuck a tail to this old story ; and it now figures in the pages of the Keep- sake as an original contribution, and as an example possessing less of gallantry than of dry reproof. Another feature in the volume is MOORE'S " Progress of Paint- ing ; " a poem that displays his point, his polish, and his easy harmony, with that felicity of simile and of expression which would be of an unrivalled excellence were not the ideas too finely artifi- cial. The defect of this exquisite gem is the remoteness of the allegory and its imperfect evolution. The subject would not be known without the title, or the text intelligible without the notes. As DRYDEN, when he flatteringly prophesied that from the es- tablishment of the Royal Society

" Instructed ships shall sail to quick commerce, By which remotest regions are allied,"

was reduced to explain in a commentary that he meant " a more exact measure of longitude,' so the author of Leila Rookh conti- nually refers his reader, at the opening of his poem, to the foot of his page, in order that he may understand the allusions in the verses. A third point of the Keepsake is the change in its editor, (Mr. REYNOLDS giving place to Mrs. NORTON,) and the quiet rejec- tion of those aristocratical contributors whose presence, ere Re- form of the Lords was mooted, gave the distinctive character to the Annual. Lord HOLLAND is the sole remaining member of the Aristocracy whose name figures in the table of contents. It has been said that the alteration is for the better ; but we do not recognize the amendment. If the articles in the present num- ber exhibit more of skill, they have less of freshness than those of last year : but then, last year's Keepsake was the best that had yet appeared; so that, on the whole, this silken Annual is Im- proved. The Book of Beauty has either taken a step in advance, or it shows off favourably in contrast with the something like deterioration which many of the other Annuals exhibit. There is a judicious interchange of prose and verse, and an agreeable variety of volunteers and regulars. Amongst the former, are Lady EMMELINE STUART WORTLEY, Lord FRANCIS EGERTON, sundry lords, honourables, and M.P.s, and, last but not least, Mr. RALPH BERNAL, who contributes a pleasant tale of jocular interest. The Book is rich in the names of professionals; e. g. the author of Harold de Baran, Mr. Wittig, Mr. CHORLEY, Mrs. S. C. HALL, WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, DISRAELI the Younger, WASHINGTON IRVING, and EDWARD LYTTON BULWER. Of these, the papers of Mr. Illy r No, Mr. BULWER, and Mrs. H ALL, are the most conspicuous fbr their merit. The lady contributes an interesting Irish story of a dumb peasant girl,—well varied, &moldering its brevity, by characters and changes. IRVING has furnished a ghost story of a ship found floating in the Gulf of Florida, and which continued to be haunted by her crew, who, it was conjectured, had been murdered by pirates,—slight, and ob- viously thrown off for an Annual, but displaying his wonted ease and humour. B LIVER has given an Eastern allegory,—inferior to the best of his smaller pieces, and more distinguished for play ful and pungent satire than distinctness of plan or purpose, but far superior to any other article in the volume. If we read it rightly, the allegory is intended to shadow forth the temptations of early manhood, especially in men of great eminence from their worldly position : but, as we have said, the interpretation is a mystery. The tale in which it is hidden consists of the adventures of a royal heir apparent in a desert and enchanted region, which, by a law of the country, he must traverse for three years alone, before ho cart succeed to the throne. The vulgar, of course, differ in their re- ports of what is to be found there ; but even his predecessors, when their kingly reserve has occasionally melted, have varied in their accounts. From these circumstances, and from having been presented with a fairy gift of an eagle's feather, a pigeon's feather, and the tuft of a swan's down, Prince Chairolas is eager to de- part. The first spot he sojourns at in the enchanted ground is the city of Chrysaor,—the abode, perhaps, of fashion and pleasure,— where he discards the swan's down, to escape being liughed at. He next visits the capital of Apatia,—apparently the resort of business,—and throws away the pigeon's feather, on account of the impositions to which it subjects him. Retaining only the eagle's

feather,—typical of ambition,—but procuring counterfeits of the gifts be has lost, the Prince returns to his kingdom; where his sole remaining virtue, unregulated by any other, involves him in warfare, tyranny, and parricide, and eventually ends in his death by a conspiracy which is formed against him. And,

After the death of Chairolas, the following sentences were written in gold letters before the gates of the great Academy of Paida, by a priest who pre- tended to be inspired : " The ridicule of common men aspires to be the leveller of genius.

"To renounce a virtue because it has made then suffer from fraud, is to play the robber to thyself. " Wouldst thou imitate the qualities of the swan and the pigeon, borrow from the fox and the vulture : but no man can wear the imitations all his life ; when he abandons them he is undone.

" If thou lust three virtues and thou losest two, the third by itself may become a vice.

" There is no blessing to the world like ambition joined to sympathy and benevolence; no scourge to the world like ambition divorced from them.

" The choicest gifts of the roost benevolent genii are impotent, unless accom- panied by a charm against experience.

" The charm agaiust experience is woven by two spirits—Patience and Self- esteem."

There are many passages of point, or felicity, or power, in the tale; from which we take one, descriptive of

TIIE COURTIERS OF CURYSAOR.

The next day, almost ere Chairolas was dressed, his lodging was besieged by all the courtiers of the city. He found that, though his dialect was a little dif- ferent from theirs, the language itself was much the same : for, perhaps, there is no court in the universe where a prince is not tolerably understood. The servile adulation Chairolas had experienced in Paida was not nearly so delight- ful as the polished admiration he received from the courtiers of Chrysaor: while they preserved that tone of equality, without which all society is but the interchange of ceremonies, they evinced, by a thousand nameless and subtle expressions, their admiration for his good qualities, which they seemed to pene- trate as if by au instinct. The gaiety, the life, the grace of those he saw, per- fectly intoxicated the prince. He was immediately involved in a round of engagements. It was impossible that lie should ever be alone. As the confusions of first impressions wore off, Clairolas remarked a singular peculiarity in the manners of his new friends. They were the greatest laughers he had ever met. Not that they laughed loud, or made nine!' noise, but that they laughed constantly. This habit was not attended with any real merri • meat, or happiness: many of the saddest persons laughed the most. What was yet more strange, the principal objects of their cachinatory ebullitions were precisely those which Chairolas had been taught to consider most removed from ludicrous associations. They never laughed at any thing witty or humorous, at a comedy or a joke ; but if one of their friends became poor, then how they laughed at his poverty ! If a son broke the heart of his father, or a wife ran away from her husband, or a grent lord cheated at play, or ruined his tradesmen, then they had no command over their muscles, they laughed reaady to kill themselves : in a wind, misfortune, or vice, was one principal object of this epidemical affection. But besides this, they laughed at any thing that differed from their general habits : if a lady blushed, if a sage talked wisdom, if a man did any thing uncommon, no matter what, they were instantly seized with these jovial convulsions: they laughed at generosity, they laughed at sentiment, they laughed at patriotism, and, though affecting. to be exceed- ingly pious, they laughed with particular pleasure at any extraordinary show of religion.

Chairolas was extremely puzzled ; for he saw that if they laughed at what was bad, they laughed also at what was good ; it seemed as if they had no other mode of condemning or applauding.

Fisher's Juvenile Scrap-Book is a new Annual, addressed to the youthful, but adapted to readers of every age, who admire the re- fined homeliness, the sober joyfulness, and the poetical shrewdness, that characterize the muse of BERNARD BARTON. The work, we are told, was designed and executed in haste,—little more than a fortnight being allowed the Quaker poet to furnish forth the verse and prose with which he has accompanied the plates: but the book exhibits no traces of hurry, from the preface—in which he so pleasantly pleads his excuses to his young readers, and deprecates harsh criticism—to the closing tales, half-moralizing half-chival- rous, of Westminster Abbey and the Tower, in which his young friend, the author of Chronological Rhymes, illustrates NORTH- COTE'S pictures of the Marriage of RICHARD Duke of York with Lady ANN MOWIIRAY and the Murder of the young Plan- tagenet Princes.

The Juvenile Scrap-Book advantageously differs from most other works of the Annual race in several ways. Its tone is more sen- sible; its estimate of things much more discriminating; and whereas poetry is with many an exception, in the book of BERNARD BARTON it is the rule. As specimens of sense and dis- crimination, take the treatment of the old story of Little Red Riding-Hood, and the mild remark upon the "too great elegance and grace" of Sir THOMAS LAWRENCE "S figure; or the very charm- ing criticism on GAINSHOROUGIeS general merits, which opens the verses written to accompany the painter's "Broken Pitcher;" or the poet's analysis of the equalities of good and evil in the dif- ferent conditions of life, in the oimmencement of "England's Maimed Defender." To find specimens of poetry, would be no trouble : poetry, indeed, is rife throughout the volume, not only in the rroductions of the editor, but of his friendly coadjutor ; and scarcely a piece can be pointed out which does not rise above that medium et tolerabile which is not conceded to a poem. The main defect is one which is prevalent in most modern verse—a want of strength and condensation. Were the world attending to nothing but song, we could linger over this volume, quoting its pleasant passages, commenting upon their merits, and assenting to the kindly feelings and the thought- ful truths they aim at impressing. But this may not be. We can only pick out a few stray flowers here and there, as specimens of what the garland contains. The following stanza is from a poem by the author of Chronological Rhymes, called "The Green Churchyard." It seems to express with felicity and elegance ideas which, if not original, are not stale. Perhaps the language may have something to do with it, but the two last thoughts appear

novel.

The green churchyard, the frequent scat The green churchyard, the frequent scat Of gladsome childhood's summer hour, When life was but a carol sweet, A wandering voice through brake and bower ; When sorrow's touch fell light and brief, And sunshine followed summer rain, And thought was like a whispering leaf Just startling, and then still again.

Not even the presence of the tomb

O'er the young spirit darkness cast ; For in its depths there dwelt no gloom, No lengthening shadow from the past.

Differing from the former, and perhaps unequal to them, these verses from "Children at Evening Play" present a pleasing collec- tion of rural images; and the question in the last is exquisitely natural, and suggestive of more melancholy thought than one cares to pursue. There is, however, a critical fault: the personation, is defective. To a child, the time of evening play brings boister- ous joy : both the images and the sentiment of these lines partake of the pensive character which the closing day suggests to the adult.

They say your face was full of glee When you were young and small : Tell me if mine as grave will be

When I am grown us tall ? If ever I shall little care

For merry dance and play, And silently sit working there At the sweet fall of day ?

We must not close without a sample of the editor. If room, were no consideration, the choice would not be difficult ; but as it is, we see nothing that so well bears transplanting as a bit de-

I see them driving up the cows, Long winding through the lane; I see beneath the elm-tree boughs

The homeward turning wain ; I see the slowly folding flowers

Within our garden gay ;- Oh, still a little while is ours Of the sweet fall of day.

The sun is setting on the hill, Behind the elm-trees tall ; Along the lattice window-sill I see its last light fall : Its glow upon our cottage-wall Is passing fast away; And with it will go shout and call, For with it goes the day.

Not yet the bat begins its flight,

Fast wheeling round and round ; Not yet the hooting owl flits white

Above the dusky ground ; Not yet beneath the kettle bright 'Tis time the lugs to lay ;- Oh, come while rests a little light Of the sweet fall of day.

scriptive of a picture, which follows the character of GAINS- BOROUGH, already alluded to.

THE BROKEN PITCHER.

. But glance at this

Slight offspring of thy taste and skill ; And who can for one moment miss To recognize, with cordial will, Objects each ramble may recall ? The scene—the group—are English all.

The first has no exotic aids To charm the fancy, catch the eye ; Old England in her rural glades Could soon a hundred such supply : Its separate parts, its general mien, Are those of a familiar scene.

Its group, too, has a native charm,

Unborrowed from all foreign ground; Round hamlet, village, cut, or firm,

Such youngsters might by scores be found: Her prattling, and his pouting mood, Are born of English flesh and blood.

If right I read his rueful face,

His is, I fear, a piteous scrape, Involving hard words and disgrace, If, haply, he the birch escape; And she, unless my fancy errs, Is but one of Job's comforters.

And yet, perchance, my fancy wrongs That cottage maiden's eloquence ; And unto her the praise belongs Of seeking comfort to dispense, By pointing to her brother's eye Some substitute, or remedy.

I would it were so : I were loath harshly to judge 0° maid so fair ; And feel good-will ete igh for both, To wish them a nu t happy pair, Brightening with smiles their lowly cot, And gladdening labour's weary lot.

Prose is intermingled with the poetry in the Juvenile Scrap- Book ; but it is not the best portion of the book, and the whole of it is of too slight a nature to require remark.

The paper in the Amulet that we like the best, is the Reverend R. WALSH'S "Shreds and Patches ;" which contains the germ of an agreeable volume—the singular facts and anecdotes that a scholar and a traveller has picked up in his reading—not com- mented upon, but pervaded by the spirit of commentary. "The Wreck," by a Post-Captain, is rather literal, but fresh and truth- ful—the narrative of an actual occurrence, and not the fancies of a visionary. " Sour Grapes," by Mr. LAmAN BLANCHARD, is a capital little thing—terse, weighty, and picture-like in parts, with a touch of conceit now and then, and a very good moral at- tached. " The Island of Jerbi" is an inartificial, but agreeable enough medley, of tour, sketching, history, and romance; the best part about it being the character of the jolly old bigoted ljahometan, lax only upon the subject of strong drinks, but keeping within the letter of his interpretation, by considering common wine medicine, placing spirits beyond the pale, and swal- lowing other intoxicating compounds under various names,—cal- ling champagne " bubbling sugar and water," porter " barley- water," &c. In "The Drowned Fisherman," Mrs. S. C. HALL has given a clever sketch of Irish characters, manners, and su- perstitions, embodied in a slight but not uninteresting story. But the most singular paper in this or any other Annual is "The Insurrection in Trinidad." The fair writer has read the historians, and acquired something of an historical style ; and she writes a narrative of her own fears in the manner of TACITUS. She does nothing but tell of tragedies in expectancy : we go on confident that a catastrophe will occur, but we never reach even the opening act of the drama. The only vivid bit of action in her long paper is an attack upon the cupboard ; whose beginning is the admission, by a wicked Negro girl, of " three of the very worst Negroes" into the house at night ; whose middle is a jolli- fication, accompanied by "a clatter of glasses and decanters ;" and whose end is the slipping away of the trio before dawn, "one by one, stealthily out of the house."

Had our previous quotations not been poetical, we would have taken "Sour Grapes. As it is, we cull a couple of prose bits.

CACOPHONY.

In the reign of Elizabeth a proposal was made to abolish the Irish language. When it was urged that the extinction of a tongue in which an ancient nation had spoken and written for so lung a period would be an act of singular injus- tice, it was replied, that the language was so barbarous it was not worth pre- serving; and the advocates of the measure repeated to the Queen, in proof of it, the following sentence of genuine Irish, which sounded as it is here spelled- " dhuv dhauve ev oove auve ; " which literally means, "a black ox eat a raw egg." The Queen, it is said, moved by this cacophonous example, assented to the project, satisfied that any language was not worth preserving which ad- rutted of such a juxtaposition of sounds. But there is no language in exist- ence that is not susceptible of a similiar and even more harsh combination of words. In Greek poetry is the following line of Homer, which it is impos- sible to pronounce; yet the critics applaud it for its very cacophony :

"Trichtha te kai tetrachtha diatruphen ekpese elleiros."

In Latin is an hexameter which almost dislocates the organs of speech to otter. It occurs iu Alvary's Prosody, and begins with " Gryps, thrax, 'Arm" ke. But the most curious cacophony occurs in French; not made for any combi- nation of sound, but used in common discourse. During the insurrection at Paris, a magistrate directed a chain to be drawn across one of the streets to cut of a communication ' • and finding it not done as soon as he wished, he cried out--" Qte attend on done tent ? Que ne la tend on done tut ?" This, articu- lated with the volubility and nasal tone of a Frenchman, produced, I thought, sounds less human than any I had ever heard in the form of a language.

LUCK OP FATALISS!.

At Tunis, by permission, we visited the Powder-manufactory: it so hap. pened that it took place after our having been presented to the Bey ; en that we were in uniform, and, to make the matter worse, cavalry uniform. ()a en- tering the manufacture, we were rather surprised at finding part of the guard quietly enjoying their pipes under the archway, within a few yards only of many hundredweights of powder drying on frames. One spark, carried by a sudden gust of wind, would have sent them, us, and the fabrique, heaven knows where. This is not all. We went through the place with our sabres on, not to name spurs. Some of the mules, too, working at the mill, were shod ; and very little attention seemed to be paid as to whether or not there were flints on the ground. And yet, who ever heard of the explosion of a Turkish powder-mill? At Tunis, at least, the thing was never dreamt of as probable, or possible ; and I was informed, never had, in the memory of the inhabitants, occurred. Go into an English store-loom, and behold list shoes, &c. And yet, where has Dartford, &c. been more than once?

The Excitement, or a Book to induce Young People to Read, has forced its way amongst the Annuals, as plebeians rise from the ranks, by dint of sheer merit. The first volume was published some years ago as an isolated work ; but its success was so con- siderable that it was continued book after book ; and here we have arrived at the seventh volume—better, if any thing, than its predecessors—a collection to enchain the young and amuse the old. The best books both old and new have been laid under contribution, and the cream of hairbreadth escapes, stirring in- cidents, and interesting facts in natural history, combined together in a neat little volume.