GENERAL INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. PRICE 6d. ever been done before. The mere laborious student who for ever quarries on the lore of nations and tongues that THE literature of this country has undergone, since the are extinct, is known by the depreciating titles of the commencement of the present century, one of those peri-pedant and bookworm;-the abstracted reveller among odical changes, which, in the revolution of years, seem theories which exclude all human sympathies, and reinseparably to connect themselves with all the intellect-late only to the mysterious laws that govern thought and ual pursuits to which the genius and talents of man are mental perceptions, is distinguished by the equivocal directed. It is not to the great ebbs and flows of mind appellation of metaphysician, which, in the lips of many, -to the golden or iron ages, which have alternately il- is meant to imply, that in devoting himself to the invesluminated and darkened the world, that we mean to al-tigation of an essence he connot comprehend, he has lade. We refer to changes of a more limited descrip- overlooked the only part of human nature towards the tion; but scarcely less interesting to the philosophical improvement of which his wisdom might have been useinquirer into the nature of mind, and the various phe- fully expended. Yet, whilst we perceive the errors into nomena attendant on its developement. To such a one which the over-enthusiastic scholar, or the too ardent worit must be apparent, that even when the higher powers shipper of German philosophy, have fallen, it becomes of man's nature seem to be in equal states of activity, the us not to point at them the finger of derision, or to turn leading features of those productions by which that activity away with the self-satisfied conviction of superiority. is made apparent, are widely different at different periods. Without the scholar, the wisdom of the past would have The fluctuation of taste-the alteration in the spirit of the been buried under the ruins of fallen empires; and times the commanding influence of one or two bold without the metaphysician, glimpses of a remoter world, and peculiarly constituted minds are, in general, vague-of a higher origin, and of a far nobler destiny, might ly and unsatisfactorily set down, as the causes why to some have never been revealed, a new order of things should arise in the world of intellect, and all the old canons of criticism, by which the value of mental labour used to be ascertained, rendered unstable or swept away altogether. We enter not at present upon any investigation which might lead to more accurate conclusions upon this subject; we wish only to point out the fact, and to direct attention to the influence it is but too apt imperceptibly to exercise over all our judgments. And most especially ought they to be aware of its power, who take upon themselves the important task of attempting to guide, in any degree, the public mind. The same observations which apply to different classes of men, may with propriety be extended to different periods in the history of this or any other country. There was a time when knightly daring and deeds of bold emprize went hand in hand with intellectual culture; and he therefore stood the most conspicuous, whose sword was seen to flash in every word, and whose resounding verse seemed but an echo to the trampling of his warsteed;-there was a time when theological research and polemical controversy gave the leading tone and colour to the mind, and when its efforts were estimated only in reference to that engrossing subject;-there was a Whether there be in reality a definable and essential time when the quiet happiness of an agricultural and standard of taste although, like the precious stone pastoral state of society took a strong hold of the imasought for by the enthusiasm of early science, it may gination, and, as in the Arcadia of Greece, or of Sir Phihave hitherto baffled discovery-it is at all events cer-lip Sidney, the whole population" babbled of green tain, that every age has had its own standard, to which an appeal was made, and by which its decisions were regulated. Different as these standards have commonly been from each other, it is impossible that they can all have been correct; yet, with much error, there may have been much truth in each. That man possesses but a shallow and bigoted discernment who pins his faith upon the predominant mode and fashion, or literary and scientific creed of any one country, or any isolated portion of time. By all reflecting minds this is a truth which is generally admitted; yet in the practice of every day it is but too frequently forgotten. We are all too apt to look only to what is going on around us, and in the pride of our hearts to believe, that what we and our contemporaries are doing is better than what has fields," and limpid rivulets murmured through a thousand eclogues;-there was a time when quaint conceits, and strong antithesis, and startling paradox, and all the untrodden paths of thought, however abstract and refined, or however dependent upon the mere play and jingle of conventional sounds, constituted what was denominated wit, when wit meant something more than mere quickness of fancy or readiness of repartee, and when, for the reputation of possessing that wit, all the dictates of a more sober, and perhaps sounder, taste, were willingly sacrificed ;-there was a time when the nation once more reverted to the chaste and classical models of antiquity,-when their productions, if more subdued in tone, were more sustained in execution— when the feelings were never violently overwrought, nor supported; but let us always remember, that wherever there is thought, there is an exertion of the most god the imagination taxed to give birth to all grotesque and fantastic combinations, when the natural passions of the human breast were thought to possess sufficient in-like attribute which belongs to man-of all his possesterest in themselves, without being distorted into hideous convulsions, or microscopically magnified into impossible proportions,-when beauty was not considered less beautiful because it was simple, or sorrow less deep because it was unpretending ;—and last of all, there was a time, and it commenced with the commencement of the nineteenth century, when this order of things was entirely reversed,-when mere classical correctness was pronounced tame and spiritless, and fast producing that apathetic monotony which would never be roused into animation, startled into energy, or surprised into delight then came the restless longing after novelty, however perplexing,-the never-ceasing anxiety to explore regions of thought-of sentiment of passion-of sensation, hitherto undiscovered,—the dangerous craving after strong and stimulating intellectual food, intent only on the present excitement, and altogether regardless of the consequent languor; innumerable delineations followed, not of what human nature was, but of what it was possible it might become: genius was deified, genius was called upon to create, and judgment and knowledge were taken from their thrones, and made to bow the knee before the idols which genius erected. : In every country there have been intellectual changes such as these; and the comprehensive mind, without allowing itself to be stamped with the features of any one era, may find much profit in all. The gay wild songs of the Troubadour need not be despised, because Milton, lifted on the wings of religion, soared a far higher flight; the rural felicities in which Sidney delighted need not be turned from as weak and girlish, because Donne and Cowley thought more intensely, if not with a sounder estimation of the beauty of creation's works; nor should Addison be left unread, and Pope pronounced uninspired, because the author of "Waverley" sprung into existence, and Byron conceived "Childe Harold." sions the most valuable; and that in exact proportion to its value is the importance of the use to which it may be put, and the deep responsibility of those who undertake to superintend its progress, and advise regarding its management. We hope that we feel as we ought the weight of this responsibility; we hope we are sufficiently aware that it is no light sin to send forth to the world crude and hastily formed opinions upon works which it took long time and much labour to produce. It is our most earnest desire never to attempt to influence our readers by ill-digested speculations, in which a certain sparkling facility of diction might occupy the place of those solid conclusions to be alone deduced from careful and accurate inquiry. Never may we be led to speak of the books which come before us, until we have bestowed upon them that sufficient and impartial examination, which will satisfy even the authors themselves of our candour, and prove to our readers that we are actuated only by an honourable anxiety to lay before them their true merits. Steadily guided by these principles, we may proceed boldly, and whatever worldly success may crown our labours, we shall ever carry along with us the abiding happiness of a clear conscience. LITERARY CRITICISM. THE ANNUALS FOR 1829. unknown to our ancestors, and of very recent and rapid It is the peculiar feature of Annuals—a class of books growth-that they embody in their pages all the miscellaneous, minor, and fugitive pieces of most living authors of celebrity. The plan, in theory at least, is a good one. If the shorter productions of a Sir Walter Scott, a Wordspublished separately, it is but fair to calculate that the worth, or a Coleridge, would be eagerly purchased when volume will be greatly increased in interest that contains within itself joint effusions from the pens of those and many other master-spirits of the day. But in this, as in all terrestrial undertakings, theory is one thing and execution another. There are moments when the very ablest men are little more inspired than the most commost always are for time, they are frequently tempted to commit their thoughts to paper. It is natural to suppose that, in looking over their manuscripts to select scraps for the Annuals, they do not always reject things of this sort, which might never otherwise have seen the light. Aliquando dormitat bonus Homerus;" but sleep are eagerly pounced on by the whole host of even the broken mutterings that fall from him in his Annual Editors. Besides, it by no means follows, that, because an author is a great novelist or poet, he is on that account better fitted than any body else to write a short love-tale, or an harmonious copy of verses, calfair reader. Milton, we suspect, would have made but culated to kindle the smiles or draw forth the tears of a an indifferent contributor to the "Keepsake ;" and Locke, Bacon, and Jeremy Taylor, would in all probability have ranked among the rejected writers to the "Forget-me-Not." Byron failed in his attempt to establish a periodical; and Southey's articles in the Annuals are in general among the very worst they contain. The truth seems to be, that they who, at the promptings of views of all subjects, find it extremely difficult to connature, have accustomed their minds to take enlarged tract their thoughts into a narrower compass, and to content themselves with a more microscopic range of The peculiar character which distinguishes any passing generation must be interesting to it, and may afford matter for much useful discourse; but the peculiar character of man, and of the mind of man-for ever active, yet for ever varying is a theme of more permanent uti-mon-place, and in those moments, pressed as they allity and sublimer interest. Let us not then rashly join with those who, with a flippant cleverness, the very common endowment of inferior minds, either maintain that the present infinitely surpasses all past ages, or, falling into an opposite extreme, affect to undervalue every thing that does not agree with their own ideal standard of excellence, and to discover nothing in the unwearying exertion of mental activity which this country exhibits but extreme unprofitableness,—a mere gilding of the external surface of thought, or vain and unjustifiable attempts to penetrate into the hidden arcana of the material and immaterial universe. Let us rejoice, rather, that whatever may be the imperfections attendant upon the mode of its dissemination, the light of knowledge, and the softening influence of the litteræ humaniores, now rest, as a sunbeam, alike upon the palace of the prince and the cabin of the peasant. Much may we have to say, ere the labours which we now commence be concluded, concerning the errors or excellences of many systems and schools, as well as of the merits or imperfections of those by whom they are 327 vision. A much humbler degree of talent accomplishes this task with far greater facility. disagreeably felt, although want of experience might fail to suggest the remedy. In like manner, the paperIt is upon these principles that we are inclined to ac- maker may have his own partialities for ribbed paper, count for the disappointment we commonly experience for wove paper, for cream-coloured paper, for thick pain looking over an Annual. For weeks before, our ex-per, or for thin paper; but there is only one sort of papectations have been raised by advertisements of all kinds, per which, under the circumstances, is the paper that and announcements of the splendid preparations which should be used ;-the binder also may prefer plain bindthe editor and publishers are making;-long lists of names ing, or rich tooling, or crimson, blue, or green silk, but are circulated; and every name is a household word in nothing which he proposes may be exactly that which our lips, and seems in itself a host. But when at length ought to be adopted ;—and the engraver may see beauties the expected volume is put into our hands, and we anxi- in certain paintings which no one else sees, and may inously turn over leaf after leaf, till we come to the end, sist on making them the subjects of his burine, until a car exclamation, with the countryman in the fable, is superior mind either convinces him of his mistake, or one of mingled regret and surprise,-Quale caput! ceredeclines making use of his assistance. When we give brum non habet!-There is, at the same time, an ele- praise to a book, therefore, for its nearly unequalled exgance and grace about these little books-a lucky choice cellence in all these particulars, the praise is of some in the time of their appearance and a pleasant feeling consequence; and certainly a lovelier volume than the in their intended appropriation,—all of which are apt to "Keepsake" we could never wish to hold in our hands. soften the critic's heart, and to When there were only one or two of these New-Year's The Keepsake, edited by F. M. Reynolds. Hurst, It is to the admirable artist, Charles Heath, that it is chiefly indebted for its exquisite embellishments. Line engraving was undoubtedly never before carried to the perfection it has attained in this country within the last few years. We do not mean to assert that finer specimens of the art have been recently produced upon that larger scale, which till lately was rarely deviated from by engravers of celebrity. But the rapidly-increasing taste for combining pictorial embellishment with literary productions, and the lucrative employment thus afforded to artists, have induced an attention to minuteness of detail and inimitable delicacy of execution, which have not hitherto been paralleled. The largest picture is reduced to the size of a duodecimo page, with a degree of accuracy so complete, that the smallest leaf does not disappear from a landscape,-nor is the slightest shade of difference in the expression of the individual features of a magnificent portrait ever perceived. There is here a very great triumph of human ingenuity; and it is impossible to avoid feeling obligation to the artist who thus not only gives to perpetuity, but sends into our own closet bound up with the books we read, all the most brilliant creations of painting. Judging by the numerous engravings in the Annuals before us, the persons to whom England is most indebted for their successful exertions in this way are, Charles Heath, Charles Rolls, E. and W. Finden, E. Goodall, J. H. Robinson, H. Le Keux, F. Engleheart, F. and E. Portbury, J. Romney, R. Graves, J. Goodyear, and one or two others, who, we doubt not, deserve to be named, though we have not had the same opportunities of discovering their abilities. There are nineteen embellishments in the "Keepsake," of which Heath himself has supplied ten, and on the whole the best,-if we except "Anne Page and Slender," by Rolls, who is an artist of first-rate talent. It is unnecessary to particularize the engravings which please us most-they are all beautiful. "Lucy and her Bird" is probably the most common-place, both in subject and execution; whilst the portraits of the Duchess of Bedford and Mrs Peel are of that sort which set criticism at defiance. THIS Annual is of a larger size, and sold at a higher price, than any of the rest, with the exception of the “Anniversary.” All that it is in the power of typography, paper, binding, and engraving, to do for a book, has been done for the "Keepsake," of which one of the earliest copies that has been sent to Scotland is now before us. When we give the "Keepsake" this Though we have dwelt thus long on the embellishpraise, we say a good deal more than some of our read-ments, we are happy to have it in our power to say, that ers may be inclined at first sight to suspect. It is no easy matter either for editor or publisher, and implies no trifling degree of taste and judgment, to get up a work which, in so far as external beauty is concerned, ill, in all respects, do honour to the drawing-room of the fairest and the noblest of the land. This is a talent of itself, which ought not to go unnoticed. Printers, however excellent, may, to the cultivated eye, destroy the appearance of a whole page, by making the margin too long or too short by a single line, too broad or too arrow by a single letter, by misarranging a title, by using capitals instead of italics, by inserting a single space more or a single space less,-by a thousand minute rers of judgment, the general effect of which would be the literary contents of the "Keepsake" are in many respects little less deserving of notice. None of the Annuals exhibits so strong a list of names, though several of them contain a greater number of articles. There is scarcely a contribution in the "Keepsake" to which a well-known signature is not attached. Sir Walter Scott comes first. He has contributed four pieces of prose,two of which are little more than anecdotes; the third is only a new edition of a story he heard many years ago from Miss Seward; but the fourth is a very powerful and highly graphic sketch, occupying the first forty-four pages of the book, and entitled" My Aunt Margaret's Mirror." It is a tale of necromancy; and the scene is laid in Edinburgh, about the beginning of the eighteenth century. It is one of those productions which, however hurriedly the Author of Waverley may occasionally write, are continually presenting themselves to convince us that no man living possesses the same graphic and extraordinary powers. The three other pieces are of a much inferior kind. That called the Death of the Laird's Jock," which was written to furnish a subject for the pencil, does not, we think, supply very successfully what was wanted; and accordingly, we perceive by Heath's engraving after Corbould, that the attempt to make a fine picture out of it has entirely failed,—the effect produced is overstrained, disagreeable, end unnatural. Sir Walter Scott is not altogether to blame for this: the incident, as he relates it, is poetical, but not resting on any known historical foundation, it does not possess any point sufficiently striking to merit its being embodied on canvass. --Some posthumous fragments of Percy Bysshe Shelley next attract our attention. The few remarks, in prose, "On Love," are pregnant with thought, as indeed is all that Shelley has ever written. Yet the remarks will not be popular, for the thoughts do not lie at the surface, and ordinary readers will not give themselves the trouble to penetrate deeper in search of them. There are three scraps of poetry, too, by the same author, which we perused with interest; for all that remains of Shelley tends to throw some light upon the peculiar idiosyncrasy of one of the most remarkable and original minds that this country ever produced. Our readers will be glad to see one of those effusions, which, though on a lighter subject, bears the strong impress of Shelley's usual current of thought :— By wood and stream, meadow and mountain side, Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird Unlike-and far sweeter than them all, From Shelley the transition is easy to his widowone of the daughters of Godwin-and well known as the author of "Frankenstein" and "The Last Man." She has furnished two tales to the "Keepsake," written in a less wild and gloomy style than that in which she usually indulges, and bearing evident indications of a well-cultivated and masculine mind, with here and there some touches of a softer description, which do as much credit to the heart as the rest does to the head.There is a good deal of poetry from Wordsworth, but we have seen the bard (as his more enthusiastic admirers have christened him) to greater advantage. There are some fine thoughts, sprinkled here and there like flowers over a meadow, in the pieces alluded to; but between these thoughts there is too much of the bare sod-or, to talk less metaphorically, a little of the prolixity and feebleness of advancing life. "The Triad," in particular, is rather a long poem, and is meant to contain a highly poetical description of three beautiful nymphs; but to us we confess it is, on the whole, exceedingly mystical and unintelligible, and, moreover, considerably There are two sonnets, fuller of words than of ideas. however, by the same author, which possess much simple beauty and force.-Lord Nugent's Apropos of Bread" is clever, but not quite so good as we had hoped.L. E. L. (Miss Landon) has this year wisely written much less in the Annuals, and consequently what she has written is better, and has a more vigorous tone. She has two copies of verses in the "Keepsake," both of which are good.-Moore is the only living author who seems resolutely to have held out against the temptations offered by the Editors of Annuals. We do not remember ever to have seen a single line of his in any of these books. There is a trifle entitled "Extempore" by him in the "Keepsake," but we are informed in the preface it was obtained from a friend, in whose possession it happened to be-not from the author himself. We are not sure that Moore's conduct is not more dignified, and evinces higher self-respect, than that of those who, from motives either of gain or vanity, allow their name and productions to be continually bound up with so much that is trifling and ephemeral. But this is matter of opinion, upon which we would not too dogmatically insist. If we did, a strong argument would start up against us in Coleridge. He has several contributions in the "Keepsake," and one of these, "The Garden of Boccaccio," is out of all sight the finest poem in the book,-indeed, we regard it as one of the finest minor pieces which even Coleridge himself, with all his variety of imagery, and fine flow of strong and original thought, has ever written. We cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of quoting at least a part of it : THE GARDEN OF BOCCACCIO. Of late, in one of those most weary hours, I sate and cower'd o'er my own vacancy! Like flocks adown a newly-bathed steep, The brightness of the world, O thou once free, O Florence! with the Tuscan fields and hills, Thine all delights, and every Muse is thine: The rest of the contents of the "Keepsake" may be mentioned more rapidly. Southey has several better short poems than he usually produces, especially one entitled "Lucy and her bird;"the author of "The Roué," and the author of "Gilbert Earle," have each a piece of imaginative writing, and each is respectable ;Luttrell has given some tolerable rhymes, but not much poetry-Lord Porchester some very polished and elegant verses “To a Pearl ;"-Thomas Bayly rather an insipid story, called "A Legend of Killarney ;"-Mrs Hemans a poem of a more vigorous kind than is common with her;-Theodore Hook a spirited tale, called "The Old Gentleman;"-Sir James Mackintosh a classical and interesting paper, entitled "Sketch of a Fragment of the History of the Nineteenth Century," which is occupied principally with an estimate of the character political, intellectual, and domestic, of the late Mr Canning; -Lockhart a very admirable specimen of a translation from the Norman French, called "The King, and the Minstrel of Ely;"-and Lord Normanby a very carefully finished, and somewhat laboured tale, "Clorinda, or the Necklace of Pearl." There are a few other things from persons of inferior note, but it is unnecessary to particularize them. To the Editor, however, Mr F. M. Reynolds, we have a single observation to make. He has acted wisely in not pushing himself too obtrusively forward, and one or two of his contributions are clever; but we discover in his style a tendency to occasional coarseness-we might perhaps add vulgarity-which ought to have been most carefully eschewed in a publication like the "Keepsake," and which, in truth, is the only circumstance that detracts from the general elegance of the whole. The work, however, take it for all in all," cannot fail to be a favourite; and the enterprising spirit which has induced the proprietor to expend upon it the enormous sum of eleven thousand guineas, will not, we hope, go unrewarded. The Anniversary; or, Poetry and Prose for 1829, edited by Allan Cunningham. John Sharp, London. NOT less splendid than the "Keepsake " in outward show, though perhaps slightly less perfect in some of the minutiæ of elegance, the "Anniversary " presents itself for the first time to the notice of the public. It appears to us, that of all the Annuals, this is the one which possesses peculiar claims upon the people of Scotland. It is edited by our countryman, Allan Cunningham-a man not more remarkable for his free, fresh genius, gushing out like one of his own mountain streams, and natural to him as the yellow broom is to his own hills, than for that artless simplicity of manner, and gentle urbanity of heart, which are ever the concomitants, and most commonly the leading characteristics, of true genius. He loves his country ardently, and he has not hesitated to breathe over the pages of his "Anniversary a sentiment so dear to his heart. There is a Scottish feeling pervades the work, and wherever it is circulated, it will succeed in awakening a mingled respect and esteem for the "land of the mountain and the flood." Upon this subject we may, indeed, remark generally, that it is highly gratifying to observe the prominent place which the contributions of For some highly interesting details of the expense incurred in the publication of these Annuals, we refer our readers to a communication from London, which they will find in a subsequent column. Scotchmen hold in all these Annuals. Without them, they certainly would not be what they are. Two of them are edited by Scotchmen-" The Anniversary," by Allan Cunningham, and "Friendship's Offering," by Thomas Pringle. Then look at the names which shine most conspicuously in their table of contents. Are they not Sir Walter Scott, Professor Wilson, J. G. Lockhart, James Hogg, Montgomery, the Rev. Edward Irving, Kennedy, Malcolm, Moir? The first four names on this list are in themselves a galaxy; and the rest have each a strong light of their own. In so far, then, as any of the Annuals is concerned, we may say with Iago," he who filches from me these good names, will make me poor indeed." Our southern friends may perhaps discover an over degree of nationality in these observations; but they will hardly blame us that we are proud of men of whom the world is proud. The poetry of the "Anniversary" is considerably superior to its prose, as was naturally to be expected from the habits of its editor. Of the latter, the only pieces which seem worthy of mention are two;-"The Cameronian Preacher's Tale," by Hogg, a story of strange and supernatural interest; "one of those terrible sermons which God preaches to mankind of blood unrighteously shed, and most wondrously avenged;" and told with all that unadorned strength of narrative, and clear intuitive perception of the best mode of treating those incidents that bear upon the superstitious part of our nature, which unquestionably make the Ettrick Shepherd the best inditer of a ghost story extant;-and "A Tale of the Time of the Martyrs," by the celebrated Edward Irving, which, though not in any way very astonishing, possesses more vigour, polish, and, what is of still greater consequence, more intelligibleness, than his sermons, orations, or homilies. As we have already said, the poetry of the "Anniversary" deserves more notice than the prose. There is something curious in Edward Irving writing for an Annual, and Cunningham has been fortunate in having his work made the chosen vehicle for the preacher's lucubrations; but far more fortunate is he in having secured the only contribution with which Professor Wilson has, through any channel of this kind, favoured the public. Edderline's Dream" is the first canto of which the other five have been most unfortunately of a poem, which was at one time complete in six, but lost, and we suspect there is some doubt whether they will ever be re-written. No one can read what has been preserved, without deeply regretting the accident that has robbed him of the continuation and conclusion of a composition which opens so beautifully. We regret much that Professor Wilson's multifarious pursuits prevent him from indulging more frequently in that fine poetical vein he unquestionably possesses. There is in his style a richness of imagery, and a fresh unwearying enjoyment of all that is beautiful and sublime in nature, which are themselves sufficient to form the staple commodities of a poem that would delight the fancy and win the heart. Nothing can be more vivid and spirit-stirring than the following description of a fine summer morning: Hark! the martlet twittering by The crevice, where her twittering brood |