Book .<p^^ 
 
 CopightN" 
 
 74 8. 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 PRECEDED BY 
 
 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
 
 u ;/ 
 
 3" 7 7,' i i 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 H. W. FISHER AND COMPANY 
 
 MDCCCCII 
 

 I ^C'X* 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY H. W. FISHER AND COMPANY 
 
 'THtTieRAi^Y OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 T'/VO CCIPILH RtOSIVEC 
 
 CJ yss cLxXXq no. 
 
 D. B. UPDIKE, THE JIERRY3I0UNT PRESS, BOSTON 
 
M 
 
 ^ CONTENTS 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE vii 
 
 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 3 
 
 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 31 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 "A Word on the Annuals" was printed in 
 Frasers Magazine for December, 1837, and 
 was ascribed to Thackeray's pen "with what 
 amounts to absolute certainty" by Mr. Charles 
 Plumptre Johnson in the Athenceum for March 
 19, 1887, and, afterwards, in "The Early Writ- 
 ings of Thackeray," London: 1888 (page 43). 
 Mr. Johnson's opinion was based upon the 
 reference to Yellowplush on page 760 of the 
 magazine; but confirmatory evidence, if any 
 were needed, is to be found in " Our Annual 
 Execution," in which the writer refers to 
 "having belaboured one or two of them [the 
 Annuals], twelve months since," proving, at 
 least, that both articles were written by the 
 same hand. Mr. Melville includes this paper 
 in his bibliography, but did not, for some un- 
 known reason, reprint it in "Stray Papers," 
 nor has it ever been reprinted elsewhere. 
 
viii INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 "Our Annual Execution" appeared in Fra- 
 ser's Magazine for January, 1839. In it, it will 
 be noticed, the reviewer pauses a moment to 
 introduce the correspondence of Miss Rosalba 
 de Montmorency (another Thackeray pen- 
 name, by the way), who ventures to send to 
 the editor of Fraser two ballads, both parodies 
 on " Wapping Old Stairs,"— "The Battle-Axe 
 Polacca" and "The Almacks' Adieu." Both 
 of these ballads were afterwards included by 
 Mr. Thackeray in the edition of the Ballads 
 pubhshed with the "Miscellanies" in 1855, the 
 title of "The Battle-Axe Polacca," however, 
 being changed to "The Knightly Guerdon," 
 and in reprinting, also, Mr. Thackeray omitted 
 the last Une of each stanza. "The Almacks' 
 Adieu" was reprinted without alteration. 
 
 This Fraser paper has thus far escaped the 
 notice of all the bibliographers, and, as late as 
 1899, Mr. Williams, in his admirable "Bibli- 
 ography" contributed to the Biographical Edi- 
 tion of the Works of Thackeray, states that 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE ix 
 
 these two ballads *'do not appear to have been 
 published anywhere previously"; that is, before 
 1855. Nevertheless, "Our Annual Execution," 
 with the two ballads in question, had appeared 
 once in an edition of Thackeray's Works, be- 
 ing printed in the "Miscellanies," Volume V, 
 pubUshed by Fields, Osgood, and Company, 
 Boston: 1870 (pages 116-126). This reprint 
 was marred, however, by numerous errors and 
 omissions. Apparently this paper appeared 
 then only to disappear again, for it has never 
 been reprinted elsewhere, and even Messrs. 
 Houghton, Mifflin, and Company, the ulti- 
 mate successors of Fields, Osgood, and Com- 
 pany, failed to include it in their edition of 
 Thackeray published in 1889. 
 
 Both of these papers are reprinted from the 
 pages of Fraser's Magazine exactly as they 
 originally appeared, with no changes in either 
 spelling or punctuation. 
 
 "We must have his opera omnia,'' exclaimed 
 Dr. John Brown in his appreciative essay on 
 
X INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 "Thackeray's Literary Career," written, by the 
 way, mainly by Henry H. Lancaster, Esq., 
 and printed in the North Biitish Review for 
 February, 1864, and these characteristic papers 
 are here reprinted in a limited edition, for the 
 benefit of those who, thirty-seven years later, 
 are still in sympathy with the dictum of Dr. 
 Brown and Mr. Lancaster. 
 
 ALMON DEXTER. 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 A PARCEL of the little gilded books, which gen- 
 erally make their appearance at this season, 
 now lies before us. There are the Friendships 
 Offering embossed, and the Forget Me Not in 
 morocco ; Jennings's Landscape in dark green, 
 and the Christian Keepsake in pea; Gems of 
 Beauty in shabby green calico, and Flowers 
 of Loveliness in tawdry red woollen ; moreover, 
 the Juvenile Scrap-book for good little boys 
 and girls; and, among a host of others, and 
 greatest of all, the Book of Gems, with no less 
 than forty-three pretty pictures, for the small 
 sum of one guinea and a half. 
 
 Now, with the exception of the last, which 
 is a pretty book, containing a good selection 
 of modern poetry, and a series of vignettes 
 (which, though rather small, are chiefly from 
 good sketches, or pictures), and of Jennings s 
 Landscape Annual,"^ which contains the admi- 
 
 * Jennings's Landscape Annual for 1838 : Spain and Morocco. By- 
 Thomas Roscoe. Illustrated from Drawings by David Roberts. 
 8vo. London, 1838. Jennings. 
 
4 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 rable designs of Mr. Roberts, nothing can be 
 more trumpery than the whole collection — as 
 works of art, we mean. They tend to encour- 
 age bad taste in the public, bad engraving, and 
 worse painting. As to their literary pretensions, 
 they are such as they have been in former 
 years. There have been, as we take it, since 
 the first fashion for Annuals came up, some 
 hundred and fifty volumes of the kind; and 
 such a display of miserable mediocrity, such a 
 collection of feeble verse, such a gathering of 
 small wit, is hardly to be found in any other 
 series. But the wicked critics have sufficiently 
 abused them already; and our business, there- 
 fore, at present, is chiefly with the pictorial 
 part of the books. 
 
 The chief point upon which the publishers 
 and proprietors of these works have insisted, is 
 the encouragement which they have affi)rded 
 to art and artists, by keeping them constantly 
 before the world, set off by all the advantages 
 of a pretty binding, a skilful engraver, and a 
 poet, paid at a shilling a-line, more or less, to 
 point out the beauties of the artists' composi- 
 tions, and to awaken, by his verses or his tale, 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 5 
 
 the public attention towards the painter. But 
 the poor painter is only the publisher's slave: 
 to live, he must not follow the bent of his own 
 genius, but cater, as best he may, for the pub- 
 lic inclination; and the consequence has been, 
 that his art is little better than a kind of pros- 
 titution : for the species of pictorial skill which 
 is exhibited in such books as Beauty s Costume, 
 the Book of Beauty, Findens Tableaux, kc, 
 is really nothing better. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to examine these books 
 and designs one by one — they all bear the 
 same character, and are exactly like the ''Books 
 of Beauty,'' *' Flowers of Loveliness,'' and so on, 
 which appeared last year. A large weak plate, 
 done in what we believe is called the stipple 
 style of engraving, a woman badly drawn, with 
 enormous eyes — a tear, perhaps, upon each 
 cheek — and an exceedingly low-cut dress — 
 pats a greyhound, or weeps into a flower-pot, 
 or delivers a letter to a bandy-legged, curly- 
 headed page. An immense train of white satin 
 fills up one corner of the plate ; an urn, a stone- 
 railing, a fountain, and a bunch of hollyhocks, 
 adorn the other: the picture is signed Sharpe, 
 
6 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 Parris, Corbould, Corbaux, Jenkins, Brown, as 
 the case may be, and is entitled "the Pearl," "la 
 Dolorosa," "la Biondina," "le Gage d' Amour," 
 "the Forsaken One of Florence," "the Water- 
 lily," or some such name. Miss Landon, Miss 
 Mitford, or my Lady Blessington, writes a 
 song upon the opposite page, about water- 
 lily, chilly, stilly, shivering beside a streamlet, 
 plighted, blighted, love-benighted, falsehood 
 sharper than a gimlet, lost affection, recollec- 
 tion, cut connexion, tears in torrents, true-love 
 token, spoken, broken, sighing, dying, girl of 
 Florence ; and so on. The poetry is quite worthy 
 of the picture, and a little sham sentiment is 
 employed to illustrate a little sham art. 
 
 It would be curious to know who are the 
 gods from whom these fair poetesses draw their 
 inspiration (and, whatever be their Castaly, 
 they have, as it were, but to turn the cock, 
 and out comes a ready dribble of poetry, which 
 lasts for any given time), or who are the per- 
 sons from whom the painters receive their 
 orders. It cannot be supposed that Miss Lan- 
 don, a woman of genius — Miss Mitford, a lady 
 of exquisite wit and taste — should, of their 
 
A AVORD ON THE ANNUALS 7 
 
 own accord, sit down to indite namby-pamby 
 verses about silly, half-decent pictures ; or that 
 Jenkins, Parris, Meadows, and Co., are not 
 fatigued by this time with the paltry labour 
 assigned to them. Mr. Parris has exhausted all 
 possible varieties of ringlets, eyelashes, naked 
 shoulders, and slim waists; Mr. Meadows, as a 
 humorous painter, possesses very great comic 
 feeling and skill : who sets them to this wretched 
 work ? — to paint these eternal fancy portraits, 
 of ladies in voluptuous attitudes and various 
 stages of dishabille, to awaken the dormant sen- 
 sibilities of misses in their teens, or tickle the 
 worn-out palates of elderly rakes and roues? 
 What a noble occupation for a poet! What a 
 delicate task for an artist! *'How sweet!" says 
 miss, examining some voluptuous Inez, or some 
 loving Haidee, and sighing for an opportunity 
 to imitate her. "How rich!" says the gloating 
 old bachelor, who has his bed-room hung round 
 with them, or the dandy young shopman, who 
 can only afford to purchase two or three of the 
 most undressed ; and the one dreams of opera- 
 girls and French milliners, and the other, of 
 the "splendid women" that he has seen in Mr. 
 
8 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 Yates's last new piece at the Adelphi. 
 
 The pubhshers of these prints allow that the 
 taste is execrable which renders such abomina- 
 tions popular, but the public will buy nothing 
 else, and the public must be fed. The painter, 
 perhaps, admits that he abuses his talent (that 
 noble gift of God, which was given him for a 
 better purpose than to cater for the appetites 
 of faded debauchees) ; but he must live, and he 
 has no other resource. Exactly the same excuse 
 might be made by Mrs. Cole. 
 
 Let us look at the Keepsake,^ which is in 
 pink calico this year, having discarded its old 
 skin of watered crimson silk. The size of the 
 book is larger than formerly, and the names 
 of the contributors (distinguished though they 
 be) withdrawn from the public altogether; the 
 editor stating, in a preface, that if the public 
 like this plan, the mystery shall be sedulously 
 guarded: if otherwise, in the next series the 
 great names of the contributors to the Keep- 
 sake shall be published, as of old. 
 
 There are a dozen plates. A pretty lady, of 
 course, by Chalon, for a frontispiece: next 
 
 * The Keepsake for 1838. Royal 8vo. London, Longman. 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 9 
 comes an engraving, called, touchingly, "The 
 First." This represents a Greek kissing a Turk- 
 ish lady; and, following it, is a third plate, with 
 heart-breaking pathos entitled " The Last'' It 
 is our old friend Conrad, with Medora dead in 
 her bed ; but there are some other words tricked 
 up to this old tune: "What! is the ladye sleep- 
 ing?" &c. We think we can recognise, in spite 
 of the incog., the fair writer who calls Conrad's 
 mistress a ladye. The next is a very good en- 
 graving, from a clever picture by Mr. Herbert. 
 A fierce Persian significantly touches his sword; 
 a melancholy girl, in front, looks timidly and 
 imploringly at the spectator. Who can have 
 written the history which has been tagged to 
 this print? Is it Lord Nugent, or Lady Emme- 
 line Stuart Wortley, or Lady Blessington, or 
 my Lord Castlereagh, or Lady Carolina Wil- 
 helmina Amelia Skeggs? It is of the most 
 profound and pathetic cast, and is called "My 
 Turkish Visit." We quote from it, chiefly to 
 shew the manner in which these matters are 
 arranged between writer and pubhsher: the tale 
 itself is a perfect curiosity. 
 
 A lady introduces the supposed authoress 
 
10 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 (for, though the ego is feminine in this tale, 
 any one of the above-mentioned noblemen or 
 noblewomen may have written it) to Namich 
 Pasha, the Turkish ambassador at Paris. The 
 authoress longs to see a real Turk, his excel- 
 lency, Namich, not being enough Mahometan 
 for her. Namich wears a skull-cap and a frock- 
 coat; her Turk (dear enthusiast!) must have a 
 turban, a yataghan, a pair of papooshes, a kelaat, 
 a salamaHck (for other Turkish terms, consult 
 Anastasius and Miss Pardoe), and, perhaps, a 
 harem to boot. The gallant Namich has the 
 very thing in his eye ; and the very next day 
 the authoress, in a sledge (sledges were in 
 fashion in Paris that year), drives several miles 
 down the Versailles road, to the kiosk of a 
 Turkish diamond merchant, O happy Lady 
 Skeggs ! what an adventure ! what an imagina- 
 tion above all! Who but a first-rate genius 
 could have invented such an incident, and 
 found a kiosk, and a Turk domiciled in it, on 
 the road to Versailles? 
 
 Her ladyship arrives at the kiosk, and thus 
 describes its owner: 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 11 
 
 "Sooliman was a tall, powerful, but emaci- 
 ated man, advanced in years, whose counte- 
 nance bore the remains of much stern beauty; 
 but his large dark eyes had that glaring rest- 
 lessness which we are apt to ascribe to insanity ; 
 his black brows were contracted with severity, 
 and his mouth bore a harsh expression amidst 
 the flowing beard which surrounded it. 
 
 "His costume consisted of a long, full dress 
 of violet-coloured cloth, under an open robe of 
 dark green, the edges and hanging sleeves of 
 the latter being bordered with rich sable; a 
 fawn-coloured Cashmere formed his girdle, in 
 which was placed a straight dagger; yellow 
 pointed slippers, formed his garments, and on 
 his head he wore a high cap, or kalpak, without 
 ornament." 
 
 There he is, as fierce looking a Mussulman 
 as heart could wish for ; but a strange creature 
 of a Turk, who in a kiosk at Versailles, with 
 an abhorrence of all the innovations introduced 
 by the grand seignior, and a determination to 
 stick by old customs, has adopted a Persian 
 costume! Barikallah, Bismillah, Mahomet re- 
 
12 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 soul AUahi, as our friend Eraser ^ says, he is an 
 Ispahanee, a Shuranzee, a Kizzilbash, and no 
 mistake ; but not a Turk. How does our lovely 
 authoress explain the eccentricity? 
 
 Proceeding, however, with the interesting 
 story, her ladyship is introduced by the power- 
 ful but emaciated Turk to his daughter, who 
 is found in an apartment, of which we delight 
 to give the following tasty description : 
 
 "Emerging from darkness, I was dazzled by 
 the bright winter sunbeams pouring into one 
 of the most brilliantly furnished rooms I had 
 ever seen. On three sides it was fitted up with 
 figured velvet sofas ; but the south side was en- 
 tirely in glass, painted in gay garlands, forming 
 part of a conservatory, which was filled with 
 blossoming orange-trees and bright exotics, 
 emitting a delicious fragrance. Three or four 
 beautiful birds were expanding their plumage 
 to the light, whilst a movable fountain of per- 
 
 * Not the eminent publisher, but the agreeable writer of that 
 name. In spite of the author's assertion (who obtained his intimate 
 knowledge of Persian in a forty-three years' residence at Ispahan), 
 we fancy the figure to be neither Turk nor Persian. There is a Jew 
 model about town, who waits upon artists, and is very like Mr. 
 Herbert's Sooliman. — O. Y. 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 13 
 
 fumed water threw up its wreaths of Uving dia- 
 monds at the entrance. There was no fireplace; 
 yet, notwithstanding the chilly season, the arti- 
 ficial temperature resembled May; and in the 
 centre of the room stood a golden brazier filled 
 with burning scented woods. The velvet sofas 
 were of light gi^een, having golden flowers and 
 tassels ; a number of pink cushions piled near 
 the window were worked in silver patterns ; and 
 one of white satin, edged with down, had what 
 I concluded was a Turkish name embroidered 
 in seed pearls'' 
 
 This description alone is worth a guinea, — 
 let alone twelve engravings, and a pink calico 
 cover. Mr. Bulwer has done some pretty things 
 in the upholstery line of writing; but, ye gods! 
 what is Pelham to compare with our friend at 
 the kiosk, — dirt, at which the delicate mind 
 sickens — dross, pinch-beck, compared to this 
 pure gold. In this kiosk on the Versailles road, 
 nay, in one little chamber of it, we have, im- 
 primis, 
 
 Four different kinds of scents, viz., 
 
14 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 1. Scented orange-trees; 
 
 2. Scented exotics; 
 
 3. Scented water in the movable fountain ; 
 
 4. Scented fire in the golden brazier: 
 Three different kinds of sofas, viz., light 
 
 green velvet and gold; rose-pink and silver; 
 white satin, edged with down, and embroidered 
 with seed pearls. 
 
 If this is not imagination, where the deuce 
 is it to be sought for? If this is not fine writ- 
 ing, genius is dead ! But we must not keep the 
 eager public from the rest of the description, 
 which sweetly runs on thus : 
 
 " The walls of white and gold were panelled, 
 and inlaid in various arabesque devices; and, 
 instead of the rough plafond, too common in 
 French houses, the ceiling was richly carved 
 and ornamented in pale rose-colour and gold. 
 
 "Having taken full time to remark all these 
 wonders — for the negress had departed in- 
 stantly — I approached a low table, on which 
 were several books bound in velvet and gold ; 
 a writing-stand embossed with gems, with a 
 penholder imitating a feather, iii pearls. Beside 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 15 
 
 the table, on a beautiful reading-stand, and 
 covered with a gauze and gold handkerchief, 
 was a large volume, clasped with an amethyst, 
 which I concluded was the Koran, While I was 
 bending over it, I heard the door close at the 
 other end of the room, and, on looking round, 
 I felt that I beheld the princess of this fairy- 
 palace, Amineh Hanoom, the daughter of 
 Sooliman." 
 
 Talk of the silver-fork school of romance, 
 gracious heavens! Give silver forks for the 
 future to base grooms, or lowly dustmen. A 
 silver fork, forsooth ! it may serve to transfix 
 a saveloy, or to perforate a roasted tator; but 
 never let the term be used for the future to 
 designate a series of novels which pretend to 
 describe polite life. After this, all else is low 
 and mean. Who before ever imagined a Mus- 
 sulman writing with a Bramah penholder; who 
 ever invented such jewels for an inkstand, or 
 flung such a handkerchief over such a reading- 
 stand ? 
 
 The authoress (if not a she, it really is too 
 bad) ingratiates herself with Miss Hanoom 
 
16 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 [•^/^1y], and sleeps with her on the very 
 same night. The beauties of the drawing- 
 room are outdone by the splendour of the 
 best chamber. 
 
 ''Gouviah (the nigger girl before mentioned) 
 having entered to attend us for the night, I 
 accompanied Amineh to her own apartment. 
 I had an impression that the Turkish apart- 
 ments were arranged with a simplicity strongly 
 contrasting with their day-rooms; so that I 
 was quite unprepared for the new splendour 
 awaiting me. 
 
 "In two recesses, draperied with silk, were 
 piles of mattrasses, covered in satin, edged with 
 silver fringe ; numerous pillows of spotted gauze 
 over pink satin (we breathe again — it cannot 
 be a man), and eider-down counterpanes cov- 
 ered with velvet. On Amineh's couch the latter 
 was of apricot-coloured velvet, with her initials 
 in small pearls in the centre ; at the side of each 
 couch was placed a purple velvet prayer-carpet. 
 A beautiful ruby-coloured lamp gave its soft 
 light around ; and long after Amineh slumbered 
 I remained in a waking dream, scarcely daring 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 17 
 
 to ask my delighted senses, can all these things 
 be?"=^ 
 
 Sleep, happy Wilhelmina Amelia, we will 
 follow thee no further. 
 
 But seriously, or, as Dr. Lardner says, seria- 
 tim, is this style of literature to continue to flour- 
 ish in England? Is every year to bring more 
 nonsense like this, for foolish parents to give to 
 their foolish children ; for dull people to dawdle 
 over till the dinner-bell rings ; to add something 
 to the trash on my lady's drawing-room table, 
 or in Miss's bookcase ? Quousque tandem ? How 
 far, O Keepsake, wilt thou abuse our forbear- 
 ance ? How many more bad pictures are to be 
 engraved, how many more dull stories to be 
 written, how long will journalists puff and the 
 gulled public purchase? It is curious to read 
 the titles of the Keepsake prints, as they follow 
 in order: after the three first which we have 
 noticed come, 
 
 The Greek Maiden; 
 
 Zuleikha ; 
 
 * Our friend Mr. Yellowplush has made inquiries as to the au- 
 thorship of this tale, and his report is that it is universally ascribed 
 in the highest circles to Miss Howell-and-James. 
 
18 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 Angelica ; 
 
 Theresa ; 
 
 Walter and Ida (a clever picture, by Edward 
 Corbould) ; 
 
 The Silver Lady; 
 and all (save the one which we have marked) 
 bad — bad in artistical feeling, careless in draw- 
 ing, poor and feeble in effect. There is not one 
 of these beauties, with her great eyes, and slim 
 * waist, that looks as if it had been painted from 
 a human figure. It is but a slovenly, ricketty, 
 wooden imitation of it, tricked out in some 
 tawdry feathers and frippery, and no more like 
 a real woman than the verses which accompany 
 the plate are like real poetry. 
 
 There are one or two shops in London where 
 German prints are exhibited in the windows; 
 it is humiliating to pass them, and contrast the 
 art of the two countries. Look at the Two 
 Leonoras, for instance, and contrast them with 
 some of the heroines of Mr. Parris, or the 
 plump graces of Mr. Meadows. Take his pic- 
 ture called the Pansies, for instance, in that de- 
 lectable book the Flowers of Loveliness, and 
 contrast it with the German print. In the latter, 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 19 
 nothing escapes the artist's industry, or is too 
 mean for him to slur over or forget. The figures 
 are of actual real flesh and blood ; their dresses, 
 their ornaments, every tittle and corner of the 
 whole picture, carefully copied from nature. 
 Mr. Meadows is, perhaps, more poetic; he 
 trusts to genius, and draws at random; and yet, 
 of the two pictures, which is the most poetical 
 and ideal? those simple, lifelike, tender Leo- 
 noras, with sweet calm faces, and pure earnest 
 eyes; or the fat indecency in "the Pansies,"'^ 
 whose shoulders are exposed as shoulders never 
 ought to be, and drawn as shoulders never were. 
 Another fat creature, in equal dishabille, em- 
 braces Fatima, No. 1 ; a third, archly smiling, 
 dances away, holding in her hand a flower — 
 there is no bone or muscle in that coarse bare 
 bosom, those unnatural naked arms, and fat 
 dumpy fingers. The idea of the picture is coarse, 
 mean, and sensual — the execution of it no 
 better. 
 
 We have seized upon Mr. Meadows, for 
 
 * Flowers of Loveliness. Twelve groups of Female Figures repre- 
 senting Flowers. Designed by various Artists, with Poetical Illus- 
 trations by L. E. L. London, 1838. Ackermann. 
 
20 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 he is the cleverest man of the whole bunch of 
 artists to whom this style of painting is con- 
 fided, and can do far better things. Why not con- 
 descend to be decent, and careful, and natural? 
 And why should Miss Corbaux paint naked 
 women, called water-lilies, and paint them ill ? 
 or Mr. Uwins design a group of females (the 
 Hyacinths), who have limbs that females never 
 had, and crouch in attitudes so preposterous 
 and unnatural? Both these artists have shewn 
 how much more they can do: it is only the 
 taste of the age which leads them to degrade 
 the talent with which they are gifted, and the 
 art which they profess. 
 
 It is tedious to continue a criticism upon a 
 subject which offers so little room for remark 
 or praise. It is the test of a good picture, after 
 seeing it once, to remember it involuntarily, as 
 it were, and to distinguish it from a host of the 
 inferior brood. Yet, in looking through those 
 dozen volumes of Annuals, there is not one 
 plate in the whole two hundred which can be 
 recalled to memory the day after it has been 
 seen. It is a shame that so much time and 
 cleverness should be wasted upon things so 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 21 
 
 unproductive. In FriendsMps Offering^ and 
 the Forget'Me-Not,^ there are, with the ex- 
 ception of the frontispieces, but two pictures 
 of moderate merit — an ItaUan view by Stan- 
 field, and a picture of Venice by Werner : all 
 the engraver's skill and labour goes for naught, 
 when employed upon the paltry subjects which 
 illustrate the volumes. In Roberts' Annual, the 
 prints are more successful; for the artist is 
 skilful, and his drawings are far more easily 
 copied in engraving than subjects of history or 
 figures. The pictorial illustrations of the Chris- 
 tian Keepsake \ and Fishers Drawing-room 
 Scrap-Book § are, to speak with due reverence, 
 humbug. Some of them have already figured 
 in evangelical magazines, some in missionary 
 memoirs, some in historical portrait galleries 
 — some few are original; but the general char- 
 acter of the works is not original — the draw- 
 
 * Friendship's Offering, and Winter's Wreath : a Christmas and 
 New Year's Present for 1838. London, 1838. Smith and Co. 
 
 t Forget-Me-Not ; a Christmas, New Year's, and Birth-day Pres- 
 ent, for 1838. Edited by Frederick Shoberl. London, 1838. Acker- 
 mann. 
 
 X The Christian Keepsake for 1838. Edited by the Rev. William 
 Ellis. 8vo. London, 1838. Fisher. 
 
 § The Drawing-room Scrap-Book. Dedicated to Queen Victoria. 
 With Poetical Illustrations by L. E. L. 4to. London, 1838. Fisher. 
 
22 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 ings have served, most likely, some profane 
 purpose, before they were converted to pious 
 use: and it is painful to read so frequently 
 the name of religion exploitee in this instance 
 to pufF oiF old prints, and enhance publishers' 
 profits. Of a similar degree of humbug is the 
 Juvenile Scrap-Book^ — it comes from the 
 same firm to which we owe the Christian 
 Keepsake. The prints, with an affectation of 
 novelty, and with new stories or poems to illus- 
 trate them, are poor and old. There is the old 
 plate of the Princess Victoria, published two 
 years ago, and the old plate of Carlisle Castle, 
 and Gainsborough's milk-girl, and Duppa's 
 Magdalen (or Carlo Dolce's), newly scraped 
 up by the engraver, and with a fine new title. 
 The unwary public, who purchase Mr. Fisher's 
 publications, will be astonished, if they knew 
 but the secret, with the number of repetitions, 
 and the ingenuity with which one plate is made 
 to figure, now in the Scrap-Book, now in the 
 Views of Syria, f and now in the Christian 
 
 * Fisher's Juvenile Scrap-Book. By Agnes Strickland and Bernard 
 Barton. London, 1838. Fisher. 
 
 t Fisher's Oriental Keepsake, 1838. Syria, the Holy Land, Asia 
 Minor, &c. illustrated. In a series of Views drawn from Nature, 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 23 
 
 Keepsake. Heaven knows how many more 
 periodicals are issued from the same estabhsh- 
 ment, and how many different titles are given 
 to each individual print! 
 
 We have arrived almost at the end of the 
 list. Mr. Hall's Book of Gevis^ has far higher 
 pretensions and merits than the rest of the 
 collection. The paintings are new, and gener- 
 ally good, and the engravings are careful and 
 brilliant — if they were but three times the 
 size, both painters and engravers would have 
 done themselves justice : the poetry is also very 
 well selected ; and the book may lie upon all 
 drawing-room tables in the country, and not 
 offend modesty or good taste. But what shall 
 we say of Gems of Beauty t and Findens Tab- 
 leaux ?\ There is not a good picture among all 
 
 by W. H. Bartlett, William Purser, &c. With Descriptions of the 
 Plates, by John Carne, Esq. Author of "Letters from the East." 
 Second edition, 4to. London ; Fisher. 
 
 * The Book of Gems : the Modern Poets and Artists of Great 
 Britain. Edited by S. C. Hall. 8vo. London, 1838. Whittaker. 
 
 t Gems of Beauty, displayed in a Series of Twelve highly finished 
 Engravings of the Passions, from Designs by E. T. Parris, Esq. 
 With fanciful Illustrations in Verse, by the Countess of Blessing- 
 ton. 4to. London, 1838. Longman. 
 
 X Finden's Tableaux : a Series of Picturesque Scenes of National 
 Character, Beauty, and Costume. From Paintings by various Ar- 
 
24 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 the numerous illustrations to these gaudy vol- 
 umes. We have not meddled with the prose or 
 verse which illustrates the illustrations. Miss 
 Landon writes so many good things, that it 
 would be a shame to criticise any thing indif- 
 ferent from her pen — Miss Mitford has made 
 the English reader pass so many pleasant hours, 
 that we must pardon a few dull ones. The 
 wonder is that either of the ladies can write so 
 well, and affix to this endless succession of 
 paltry prints, verses indifferent sometimes, but 
 excellent so often. In the work called Fishers 
 Scrap-Book, for instance. Miss Landon has 
 performed a miracle — it may be "a miracle 
 instead of wit ; " but it is a perfect wonder how 
 any lady could have penned such a number of 
 verses upon all sorts of subjects, and upon sub- 
 jects, perhaps, on which, in former volumes of 
 this Scrap-Book, she has poetised half-a-dozen 
 times before. She will pardon us for asking, if 
 she does justice to her great talent by employ- 
 ing it in this way? It is the gift of God to her 
 — to watch, to cherish, and to improve: it was 
 
 tists, after Sketches by W. Perring. Edited by Mary Russell Mit- 
 ford, author of "Our VUlage," &c. London, 1838. Tilt. 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 25 
 not given her to be made over to the highest 
 bidder, or to be pawned for so many pounds 
 per sheet. An inferior talent (hke that of many 
 of whom we have been speaking) must sell 
 itself to live— a genius has higher duties; and 
 Miss Landon degrades hers, by producing what 
 is even indifferent. 
 
 Here, however, rather late in the month, 
 appear the Children of the Nobility^— a charm- 
 ing series of portraits by Chalon, Bostock, and 
 Maclise. The beauty of the collection is that 
 the pictures are really from nature; while your 
 Leilas, Lillas, and such trash, are but the off- 
 spring of a very poor imagination. O lovely, 
 melancholy Miss Copleys! O sweet, fantastic 
 Lady Somersets! O charming Lady Mary 
 Howard! you are brighter than all the Gems 
 of Beauty melted down, and all the Flowers 
 of Loveliness in a bunch. This book is a real 
 treasure. Mr. Chalon, our Watteau, has con- 
 tributed the greater part of the series. Both 
 
 * Portraits of the Children of the Nobihty : a Series of highly fin- 
 ished Engravings, executed under the superintendence of Mr. 
 Charles Heath. From Drawings by Alfred E. Chalon, Esq. R. A., 
 and other eminent Artists. With Illustrations in Verse, by distm- 
 guished Contributors. Edited by Mrs. Fairhe. First Series, 4to. 
 London, 1838. Longman. 
 
26 A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 
 
 Mr. Maclise's drawings are admirable in truth 
 and feeling ; and the contributions of Mr. Bos- 
 tock merit no less praise. These gentlemen, not 
 the humblest among artists, will condescend to 
 copy flesh and blood, and the consequence is 
 that there is not a single bad drawing in the 
 collection. Now, let us look at the Book of 
 Beauty,^ in which are many portraits likewise. 
 The difference between the natural beauties 
 and the artificial is quite ludicrous. Chalon's 
 Ayesha, Meadows s Dolorida, and somebody 
 else by Jenkins, are, of course, from imagina- 
 tion, and are, in consequence, the three worst 
 plates of the book. Dolorida is neither more nor 
 less than shameful — another of Mr. Meadows's 
 fatties in a chemise. If it were but a good 
 honest fat woman, dressed or undressed in real 
 cahco, we should not cry out; but the chemise 
 is unnatural, and so is the woman, who has 
 not even the merit of beauty to recommend 
 her. Let the reader look, too, at the difference 
 between Chalon's Ayesha, and Chalon's Mrs. 
 Lane Fox ; the former is a caricature of a wo- 
 
 * Book of Beauty, 1838, with highly finished Engravings. Edited 
 by the Countess of Blessington. Royal 8vo. London, 1838. Long- 
 
A WORD ON THE ANNUALS 27 
 
 man, and the other — it is difficult to speak of 
 the other — such a piece of voluptuous loveliness 
 is dangerous to look at or describe. The bind- 
 ing of this book, by the way, is perfectly hideous 
 — it looks like one of Lord Palmerston's cast- 
 off waistcoats. 
 
 The Authors of England^ are engraved in 
 that admirable medallion style which has lately 
 been invented by JNIr. Collas. They are from 
 reliefs by Weeks and Wyon, and are startling 
 in effect and reality. This book can hardly be 
 called an Annual, for it has a permanent inter- 
 est, and is sure, we should think, of an exten- 
 sive popularity. Artists alone should buy it as 
 a study, for there is no better, in the science of 
 light and shade, and line drawing. It is marvel- 
 lous what effects and imitations of nature are 
 produced by this method, by which the engrav- 
 ings look as real as the medals from which they 
 are taken. 
 
 * The Authors of England : a Series of Medallion Portraits of 
 Modern Literary Characters, engraved from the works of British 
 artists, by Achille Collas. With Illustrative Notices by Henry F. 
 Chorley. 4to. London, 1838. Tilt. 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 The best part of education in England used 
 formerly to be the rod. It made good scholars, 
 brave soldiers, and honest gentlemen : it acted 
 upon our English youth in a manner the most 
 gentle, the most wholesome, the most effec- 
 tual. It was applied indiscriminately, it is true ; 
 but were any the worse for it? Is there any 
 man, of Eton or Westminster, who reads this, 
 and can say that any part of him was injured 
 by the rod-application ? Not one ? Is there any, 
 to go a step further, who can say that he was 
 not benefited? We pause for a reply. None? 
 Then none has it offended. Blessings be on the 
 memory of the rod! It is dead now: all the 
 twigs are withered, all the buds have dropped 
 off. It is a moss-grown and forgotten ruin, 
 sacred only to a few, who worship timidly at 
 the shrine where their fathers bowed openly, 
 who still exercise the rod-worship, and cherish 
 the recollections of the dear old times. 
 
 The critical rod, too, is, for the most part, 
 thrown aside. This, however, was subject to 
 
32 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 more abuses than the scholastic rod (which was 
 apphed moderately only, and to parts where the 
 defences against injury are naturally strong); 
 critics were too fierce with their weapon, and 
 did not mind where their blows hit. A poor, 
 harmless fellow, has been whipped unto death's 
 door almost, when the critic thought that he 
 was only wholesomely correcting him ; another 
 has been maimed for life, whom fierce-handed 
 flagellifer had thought only to tickle. Such 
 abuses came sometimes from sheer exuberance 
 of spirits on the part of the critic (take the Great 
 Professor, who, in fun, merely seizes on an un- 
 lucky devil, and flogs every morsel of skin off 
 his back, so that he shall not be able to sit, lie, 
 or walk, for months to come) ; sometimes from 
 professional enthusiasm (like that which some 
 great surgeons have, who cannot keep their 
 fingers from the knife); sometimes, alas! from 
 personal malice, when the critic is no more 
 than a literary cut-throat and brutal assassin, for 
 whose infamy no punishment is too strong. The 
 proper method, finally — for why affect mod- 
 esty, and beat about the bush? — is that par- 
 ticular method which we adopt. If the subject 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 33 
 to be operated upon be a poor weak creature, 
 switch him gently, and then take him down. 
 If he be a pert pretender, as well as an igno- 
 ramus, cut smartly, and make him cry out; his 
 antics will not only be amusing to the lookers 
 on, but instructive likewise : a warning to other 
 impostors, who will hold their vain tongues, 
 and not be quite so ready for the future to 
 thrust themselves in the way of the public. 
 But, as a general rule, never flog a man, unless 
 there are hopes of him ; if he be a real male- 
 factor, sinning not against taste merely, but 
 truth, give him a grave trial and punishment: 
 don't flog him, but brand him solemnly, and 
 then cast him loose. The best cure for humbug 
 is satire — here above typified as the rod; for 
 crime, you must use the hot iron: but this, 
 thank Heaven! is seldom needful, not more 
 than once or twice in the seven-and-thirty years 
 that we ourselves have sate on the bench. 
 
 Some such gentle switching as we have 
 spoken of (mingled, however, with much sweet 
 praise and honour for the meritorious) we are 
 about to administer to the writers and draughts- 
 men for the Annuals of the present year. We 
 
34 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 had intended to pass them over altogether, 
 having belaboured one or two of them twelve 
 months since, had not the rest of the London 
 critics, as we see by the advertisements, chosen 
 to indulge in such unseemly praises and inde- 
 cent raptures as may mislead the painters, au- 
 thors, and the public, and prove the critics 
 themselves to be quite unworthy of the posts 
 they fill. Bad as the system of too much abus- 
 ing is, the system of too much praising is a 
 thousand times worse; and praise, monstrous, 
 indiscriminate, wholesale, is the fashion of the 
 day. The critics, for the most part, are down 
 on their knees to authors and artists: every 
 twaddling rhymester who fills a page in an 
 Annual, and every poor dabbler in art who 
 illustrates it, turn out to be a Raphael, a 
 Byron the Second; and the pubhc — with re- 
 spect be it spoken, in matters of art the most 
 ignorant, the most credulous public in Europe 
 — falls down on its knees in imitation of the 
 critic, and to every one of his prayers roars out 
 its stupid amen.^ 
 
 * In matters of art, the public is entirely led by critics, or by 
 names: for instance, in theatrical matters, what was the Kean 
 mania of last season? The power of a name merely. Why is the 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 35 
 
 Thus we have been compelled to revert to 
 the Annuals, for there are dangerous symp- 
 toms of a return to the old superstition, and 
 unless we cry out it is not improbable that the 
 public will begin to fancy once more that the 
 verses which they contain are real poetry, and 
 the pictures real painting: and thus painters, 
 poets, and public, will be spoiled ahke. 
 
 An eminent artist, who read those remark- 
 able pages on the Annuals which appeared in 
 this Magazine last year, was pleased to give us 
 his advice, in case we ever should be tempted 
 to return to the same subject at a future 
 season. He had adopted the new faith about 
 criticism, and was of opinion that it is the 
 writer's duty only to speak of pictures par- 
 ticularly, when one could speak in terms of 
 praise ; not, of course, to praise unjustly, but to 
 be discreetly silent when there was no oppor- 
 
 Olyrapic Theatre not so well attended during the absence of the 
 fair lady who rents it? The performances are, if possible, better and 
 smarter than ever; but the public has been accustomed to think 
 Madame Vestris charming, and will have no other. Why was the 
 opera of Barbara, at Covent Garden, the prettiest, the liveliest, the 
 best acted piece, we have seen for many a day, unsuccessful — 
 hissed even regularly? Because the public has a notion that Covent 
 Garden is for tragedy only, and wiU not allow that it can produce 
 a good musical piece. 
 
36 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 tunity. This was the dictum of old Goethe (as 
 may be seen in Mrs. Austin's "Characteristics" 
 of that gentleman), who employed it, as our 
 own Scott did likewise, as much, we do be- 
 lieve, to save himself trouble, and others an- 
 noyance, as from any conviction of the good 
 resulting from the plan. It is a fine maxim, and 
 should be universally adopted — across a table. 
 Why should not Mediocrity be content, and 
 fancy itself Genius? Why should not Vanity 
 go home, and be a little more vain ? If you tell 
 the truth, ten to one but Dullness only grows 
 angry, and is not a whit less dull than before, — 
 such being its nature. But when / becomes we 
 — sitting in judgment, and delivering solemn 
 opinions — we must tell the truth, the whole 
 truth, and nothing but the truth; for then 
 there is a third party concerned — the public — 
 between whom and the writer, or painter, the 
 critic has to arbitrate, and he is bound to shew 
 no favour. What is kindness to the one, is in- 
 justice to the other, who looks for an honest 
 judgment, and is by far the most important 
 party of the three ; the two others being, the 
 one the pubUc's servant, the other the public's 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 37 
 
 appraiser, sworn to value, to the best of his 
 power, the article that is for sale. The critic 
 does not value rightly, it is true, once in a thou- 
 sand times ; but if he do not deal honestly, wo 
 be to him ! The hulks are too pleasant for him, 
 transportation too light. For ourselves, our 
 honesty is known; every man of the band of 
 critics (that awful, unknown iO^ljntgBrtdjt, that 
 sits in judgment in the halls of Regina) is 
 gentle, though inexorable, loving though stern, 
 just above all. As fathers, we have for our 
 dutiful children the most tender yearning and 
 love ; but we are, every one of us, Brutuses, and 
 at the sad intelhgence of our childrens' treason 
 we weep — the father will; but we chop their 
 heads off. 
 
 Enough of apology and exposition of our 
 critical creed ; let us proceed to business. 
 
 The Book of Royalty ^ has the finest coat 
 of all the Annuals, and contains, by way of 
 illustration, a number of lithographic drawings, 
 
 *The Book of Royalty. Characteristics of British Palaces. By 
 Mrs. S. C. Hall. The Drawings by W. Perring and J. Brown. 
 London, 1839. Ackermann. 
 
38 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 by Messrs. Perring and Brown, gaily coloured 
 with plenty of carmine, emerald green, and 
 cobalt blue. The pictures are agreeable, though 
 not very elaborate — perhaps because not very 
 elaborate ; for the sketches of the above-named 
 artists are far better than their pictures in a 
 great book which is called Findens Tableaux 
 of the Affections,^ and in which Messrs. Per- 
 ring and Brown have had every thing in their 
 own way. Nothing can be more false, poor, or 
 meretricious, than the taste characteristic of 
 these productions, which consist of female 
 pages, in light pantaloons, dissolved in grief; 
 Moorish ladies; Greek wives; Swiss shepherd- 
 esses; and such like. They are bad figures, 
 badly painted, and drawn, standing in the midst 
 of bad landscapes; the whole engraved in that 
 mean, weak, conventional manner, which en- 
 gravers have nowadays, — in which there is no 
 force, breadth, texture, nor feeling of drawing ; 
 but only that paltry smoothness and effect 
 which are the result of pure mechanical skill, 
 
 * Finden's Tableaux of the Affections. A Series of Picturesque 
 Illustrations of the Womanly Virtues. From Paintings by W. Per- 
 ring. Edited by Mary Russell Mitford, author of "Our Village." 
 London, 1839. Tilt. 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 39 
 
 and which a hundred workhouse-boys or tailors' 
 apprentices would learn equally well — better 
 than a man of genius would do. But, what 
 matters? The beauty of certain English en- 
 gravings is, that they are so entirely without 
 character, that one may look at them year 
 after year, and forget them always; especially 
 if a new set of verses appear every Christmas, 
 being fresh illustrations of the old plates. 
 
 The dumpy little Forget-Me-Not^ opens 
 with a very poor engraving, from a very poor 
 picture by Parris, which is as flimsy as an en- 
 graving in the Petit Courrier des Dames, but 
 not so authentic; and contains a dozen other 
 pieces, of which "Pocahontas," by Middleton, 
 and Nash's "Sir Henry Lee at Prayers," are 
 perhaps the best specimens. This and the 
 Friendships Offering t are the last of the origi- 
 nal Annuals : and a great comfort it is that the 
 publishers and public have found out the mis- 
 take of size, and that the younger Annuals are 
 in dimensions far more capacious than their fa- 
 
 * Forget-Me-Not : a Christmas, New Year, and Birth-day Pres- 
 ent for 1839. London. Ackermann. 
 
 t Friendship's Offering and Winter's Wreath for 1839. London. 
 Smith and Elder. 
 
40 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 thers and mothers — young Jupiters, who have 
 deposed the old paternal dynasty. Unable to 
 say much for the pictorial part of the For- 
 get- Me- Not, we are glad to find the literary 
 contents much superior to many of the very 
 biggest Annuals ; and quote a piece of an ad- 
 mirable marine story, at which the reader can- 
 not but be frightened : — 
 
 "The lad performed his task, and gave the 
 result to the mate, who was seated before his 
 log-book. * Latitude, 3° 6' N.; longitude, 63° 20' 
 5" E., sir,' said he, as the captain slowly opened 
 the door of his cabin. It was instantly closed 
 with the utmost violence, and the startled ap- 
 prentice hurried away. 
 
 "The dinner hour arrived, and the steward 
 summoned his chief. No reply was given, till 
 the mate repeated that the table was served. 
 * I do not choose any dinner, Mr. Osborne,' was 
 the reply: * these warm latitudes take away my 
 appetite. Let me have some soda-water.' 
 
 "The order was obeyed, and the solitary mate 
 hurried over his meal in silence. The day passed 
 on with its accustomed duties ; and, to the as- 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 41 
 tonishment of every one, the captain appeared 
 on deck with a more cheerful countenance than 
 he had ever been seen to assume: he looked 
 around and inhaled the cool breeze of the even- 
 ing with apparent pleasure. He spoke kindly 
 to the mate, and attempted to smile at the fine 
 lad who had reported the progress of the ship. 
 A gentle ripple curled against the sides of the 
 vessel; and there was almost an air of gladness 
 throughout her inhabitants, as she skimmed 
 the surface of the deep blue waters. 
 
 "The next day, the mate, the apprentice, and 
 the captain himself, prepared to make their ob- 
 servations. The sun reached its meridian, and 
 the latitude was worked; the lad looked at the 
 mate with astonishment — the latitude was the 
 same as the day before. The quadrant dropped 
 from the hands of the captain; but, as Mr. Os- 
 borne picked it up, he said, * Perhaps we have 
 had too much easting, sir; we will work the 
 longitude.' 
 
 "'Ah, true!' said the captain. 
 
 "*I am sure,' said the helmsman, 'we have 
 been steering N. E. by N. ever since yesterday.' 
 
 "'Hold your tongue,' said the mate. He and 
 
42 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 the lad retired to the cuddy, and made their 
 calculations; and the longitude proved to be 
 the same as the day before. 
 
 " ' There must have been some mistake/ said 
 the mate; *but we must enter it as such. She 
 seems to be going along nicely now, however. 
 But so she did yesterday,' thought he. 'What 
 can be hanging over us?' 
 
 " No rest was taken by either master or mate 
 the whole of that night: the latter paced the 
 deck, and the former the cuddy, throughout the 
 dreamy hours ; and they met at breakfast with- 
 out exchanging a word. Noon approached ; and, 
 as they took their stand, 'Now, my lad,' said 
 the mate to the apprentice, * we have been steer- 
 ing due north all night, and I think we shall 
 find some difference.' 
 
 "Again did the sun, with its dazzling bright- 
 ness, reach the southernmost point, and again 
 did the mate and the apprentice look aghast at 
 each other: the figures were the same; and yet 
 the quadrants were in excellent order. The mate 
 first recovered himself: 'For your life,' said he, 
 in a low voice, 'tell this to no man, but see 
 what your longitude is, and come quietly into 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 43 
 
 the cuddy with it, written on the edge of your 
 quadrant. Again, I charge you not to utter a 
 sound.' 
 
 "The lad sat down in a corner close to the 
 door, and having performed his task, trem- 
 bhngly presented it to the mate within, who 
 was leaning his head upon his hand, as if buried 
 in thought, but evidently knowing the result : 
 he copied the figures into the log-book, left it 
 open on the table, and quitted the cuddy with 
 the apprentice. No sooner had they departed 
 than the captain softly opened the door of his 
 cabin, and, with stealthy pace, crept to the log : 
 the same figures, three times repeated, saluted 
 his eyes. A look of frenzied despair passed over 
 his features ; then, clenching his fist and strik- 
 ing his forehead, he rushed back into his cabin. 
 
 "A deathlike stillness reigned upon deck; 
 the crew stared at each other with wondering 
 and anxious looks; the mate seemed to gasp 
 for breath as he sadly leaned over the gang- 
 way; the sky was bright and clear, and of that 
 deep colour which is so beautiful between the 
 tropics ; not another living thing was seen in the 
 equally clear and blue ocean; and that doomed 
 
44 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 vessel, with her twenty-six souls, seemed to be 
 the only speck in the vast wilderness around. 
 Five minutes more, and the captain rushed on 
 deck in a frantic state : * Crowd on all sail, Os- 
 borne — let her stagger under it! By all the 
 powers in Heaven, we will leave this accursed 
 spot!' 
 
 "His orders were obeyed, and he himself 
 lent a hand to facilitate their execution; his 
 hat fell off; his long black locks blew from his 
 ample forehead ; his flashing eyes, his finely cut 
 features, his muscular frame, seeming to pos- 
 sess superhuman strength; his sonorous, yet me- 
 lodious voice, resounding from stem to stern, 
 seemed to fill the vault above. But, crowd as 
 they would, they were now sensible that the 
 vessel did not move. The sea became smooth 
 as glass; the canvass flapped listlessly against 
 the masts: but still the ship did not roll as in 
 a calm ; she seemed to be out of the power of 
 ordinary events. 
 
 "As the last rope was pulled, and the men 
 could do no more, a loud ringing laugh was 
 heard by every one; each thought it was his 
 neighbour. A breeze passed over every won- 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 45 
 
 dering face; and still the sails flapped. But 
 presently a small black cloud appeared in the 
 horizon. *A white squall!' said one of the men. 
 
 "*Take in all sail, stand by to cut the hal- 
 liards,' cried the mate, *or we are lost!' 
 
 "*A white squall do you call it?' said one of 
 the men, sulkily. *I call it a black one.' 
 
 "They looked round for the captain for 
 orders, but he was gone; and they heard his 
 door close with frightful violence. 
 
 "The black cloud came, and spread over a 
 large surface immediately above the ship: it 
 then opened, and two figures of frightful form 
 descended from it, bearing between them a 
 coffin, which they placed on the deck. One of 
 them stationed himself by its side, with a huge 
 hammer and several nails in his hand, and the 
 other took the lid from the coffin. * Charles Os- 
 borne ! ' exclaimed he. The mate advanced, and 
 was laid in the coffin: it was much too narrow 
 for him, and he was rudely pushed upon the 
 deck. Another and another was summoned by 
 name, till all the twenty -five had tried the di- 
 mensions : for some it was too short, for others 
 too long ; it was then too wide, or too slender in 
 
46 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 its proportions : but, as each took his station in 
 it, the figure with the hammer and nails stood 
 with uphfted hands, ready to strike and to close 
 the victim within it. 
 
 "Those who had clear consciences advanced 
 with pale but calm countenances ; others trem- 
 bled violently. Those who had much to repent 
 of were convulsed, and big drops of perspiration 
 stood upon their foreheads. These were so near 
 fitting, that the figures grinned with delight; 
 they were even pressed down into the coffin, 
 as if to stuff* them in : but the demons, shaking 
 their heads, violently tossed them out again, 
 with an impatient gesture. 
 
 "At length the whole of the twenty-five had 
 taken their turn ; and, while they blessed their 
 own escape, they anxiously fixed their eyes on 
 the cuddy-door. 
 
 "'There is yet another,' said one of the de- 
 mons, in a hollow tone : *Come forth, Ferdinand 
 Conder ! ' 
 
 "With erect mien and ghastly smile, the 
 captain for the last time issued from his place 
 of refuge, looking like a man who knew that 
 his hour was come, but determined to meet 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 47 
 
 his fate with firmness. He gave one look of 
 affection at the mate, and quietly laid himself 
 in the coffin. In an instant the lid was closed 
 over him ; nine nails were driven in, with one 
 blow to each: and, taking the coffin in their 
 arms, the figures ascended into the black cloud, 
 which closed over them. The vessel seemed to 
 rise out of the waters ; and as she returned to 
 their surface with a mighty plunge, a tremen- 
 dous rush and the word 'Murder' were heard 
 above. The cloud disappeared, and all was still!" 
 
 The first and most important fact of the 
 Keepsake^ is the binding. Hancock's India- 
 rubber binding answers to a wonder, and dis- 
 plays the plates and the letterpress of the 
 Keepsake as they never were displayed be- 
 fore: as for the latter, perhaps, the binding is 
 a little too liberal towards it, for it compels one 
 to read the text willy-nilly, and, of course, to 
 grow angry over the silly twaddle one reads. 
 How much better, in this respect, is the ar- 
 rangement of the Forget'Me-Not ; of which the 
 copies before us will neither open nor shut, so 
 
 * The Keepsake for 1839. Edited by Frederick Mansell Reynolds. 
 London. Longman. 
 
48 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 cleverly has the binder arranged it. But ''re- 
 venons a nos Kipsicks'' In the frontispiece fig- 
 ures Madame Guiccioh, a clever engraving by 
 Thompson, after Chalon the monopoHzer. Next 
 follows: — 
 
 2. " The Unearthly Visitant." A beautiful pic- 
 ture, by Herbert; engraved by Stacks. This 
 picture is in the very best style of English art, 
 carefully drawn, well composed, graceful, ear- 
 nest, and poetical; and we, the most ruthless 
 critics in the world, are pleased to say, "Well 
 done, Herbert 1" 
 
 3. "The Shipwreck." A scene from Don 
 Juan. By Bentley. 
 
 4. "Maida." By Miss Corbaux. Portraits, 
 most probably. The child is pretty and grace- 
 ful, like one of Sir Joshua's. 
 
 5. "Mary Danvers." Dyce. A charming, 
 smiling, little girl. One of the very best figures 
 that appear among the prints of the season. 
 
 6. "The Tableau," alias Beppo. Mr. Herbert 
 never makes bad pictures, but this is not a very 
 good one. 
 
 7. "The Battle-Field." Harding. Alp's mid- 
 night interview with Miss Minotti, from the 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 49 
 
 popular poem of the Siege of Corinth, Guns, 
 ruins, horse-tails, moonlight, ghosts, and Turks. 
 Not quite the best of Mr. Harding's works. 
 
 8. "Constantine and Euphrasia." A picture, 
 by E. Corbould, in the fiddle-faddle style. This 
 picture represents Conrad carrying off Gulnare 
 in the most milk-and-water manner imaginable. 
 The corsair has his right foot forwards, like 
 Monsieur Albert; and Gulnare, in his arms, 
 smiles like Mademoiselle Duvernay. 
 
 9. "The Reefer." Chalon. One of Mr. Cha- 
 lon's pretty affectations. A young midshipman 
 leans across the foretop-gallant yard, and turns 
 towards heaven the largest pair of eyes ever seen. 
 The dear little fellow's collar is sadly rumpled, 
 and his hair entirely out of curl. Sweet fellow ! 
 Pray Heaven he don't catch cold ! 
 
 10. "Mary of Mantua." Miss Corbaux. A 
 beautiful head, but a droll pair of hands. 
 
 11. "Speranza appearing to Vane," alias 
 Manfred. Meadows. Oh, Mr. Meadows! 
 
 And this is the catalogue raisonne of the 
 Keepsake gallery for the present year : an im- 
 provement, decidedly, on the last, containing, 
 for the most part, better pictures, and of a 
 
50 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 better class. A great improvement, too, is in 
 the size of the plates, which, since the first un- 
 lucky discovery of Annuals, have been expand- 
 ing and expanding, until, at last, painter and 
 engraver may hope for justice, and their hands 
 need no longer be so miserably cramped as 
 they have been. 
 
 So much for the plates of the Keepsake; 
 and now for the poetry and the prose. We 
 have bestowed praise enough on Mr. Herbert's 
 *' Unearthly Visitors;" a noble lady has com- 
 posed the following verses to it: — 
 
 " The grave hath opened now, and hath restored 
 The lost, the loved, the lovely, and the adored. 
 Death! thou'rt the awful, thou'rt the mighty Death! 
 And who but trembles at thy power beneath! 
 But thou art not the almighty Death ; thou'rt not — 
 Despite thy mastery o'er our troubled lot — 
 
 1 23 456 7 89 10 11 
 
 The unconquerable, the unconquered of the earth. 
 
 12 13 
 
 ^A good liberal measure for a decasyllabic lineJ] 
 No! Praised be Heaven that called us this birth! 
 Love is the mightier ! He thy bounds can break. 
 And bid the slumberers from the tombs awake. 
 What is this form, from thy dark realms set free, 
 That looks a sovereign thing o'er Fate and Thee? 
 That thus hath burst thy dull and dismal bound. 
 With beauty beatific clad and crowned } 
 Ay! beatifically beauteous there 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 51 
 
 She stands^, than life more lovely far^ and fair. 
 
 Spirit to spirit the long parted meet. 
 
 And solemnly, mysteriously, they greet. 
 
 The world recedes; gray Time draws back in fear — 
 
 Gray Time, a monarch and a master here. 
 
 With all his shadowy years, thaX fleetly fly 
 
 Before the presence of the Eternity : 
 
 Before the Eternity that looks in light. 
 
 From those calm eyes the spiritually bright. 
 
 Earth's son shakes off earth's pain-surrounding things ; 
 
 His soul soars proudly on unfettered wings. 
 
 Spirit to spirit, the long parted meet. 
 
 And solemnly, mysteriously they meet!" 
 
 What can we say of these Hnes? They are 
 "beatifically beauteous," and no mistake. One 
 is puzzled to know whether they are the more 
 clear in thought, or lucid in expression ; one is 
 puzzled, above all, to know why ladies will write 
 such things, or editors of Annuals print them. 
 Here are some more aristocratic 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 By Lord J. Manners. 
 
 " Most beautiful! I love thee. 
 By thy eye of melting blue: 
 In life and death I '11 prove me 
 Faithful, kind, and true. 
 
 Most beautiful ! I love thee. 
 By the heart that now I give: 
 
52 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 O let my fond prayers move thee 
 To bid me hope and live!" 
 
 When it is recollected that the above lines 
 were made by his lordship at six years of age, 
 the reader will make every allowance for him; 
 had he been six years older we might have 
 been inclined to be severe. One more specimen 
 let us give, from a sweet tale by the Honour- 
 able Grantley Fitzhardinge Berkeley, M. P., 
 who says that, since he published an article in 
 the Keepsake, in the year 1835 — 
 
 "I have mingled much in the world, and, 
 with a heart cold and storm-worn as the brow 
 of Jura, sought out its associations, and affected 
 to feel and be swayed by impulses and attach- 
 ments, of which I only remembered the force ; 
 but which remembrance enabled me to act the 
 part, or feign a reality, sufficiently to make my 
 fellow-creatures believe I was as gaily, as gre- 
 gariously inclined as they were. Had the un- 
 disguised truth been known, I stood amid the 
 pliant and breeze-swayed forest of humanity, 
 as the blighted and lightning-struck oak rears 
 its dry and unmovable limbs above the sur- 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 53 
 
 rounding verdure of the wilderness ; stretching 
 forth my arms, and pointing alone to that 
 blessed sky, to which, as it is the home of all 
 blessed souls, I deemed my own, my sweet, my 
 fascinating spirit of the Wye had, in all her 
 loveliness, departed ! " 
 
 O day and night! But he is a rare genius! 
 Fancy the hero of the tale of the Honourable 
 Grantley Fitzhardinge Berkeley standing "a 
 blighted oak, amid the pliant and breeze-swayed 
 forest of humanity!" "with a heart cold and 
 storm-worn as the brow of Jura!" "rearing his 
 dry and unmovable limbs above the surround- 
 ing verdure of the wilderness!" "stretching 
 forth his arms, and pointing alone to that 
 blessed sky!" ^ ^ where dwells the kindred 
 spirit of Bayes! This man — we speak it as a 
 Niagara cataract of impetuous emotion gushes 
 softly from each eye, and an abysmal earth- 
 quake of storm-up-rooted feelings, and smoul- 
 dering chaotic lava, heaves the tempestuous 
 bosom — this is the man of the Annuals ! Amid 
 the desert of contributors he stands, a huge 
 and lonely pyramid, in solitary greatness. Let 
 
54 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 the red simoom rage at his base, what cares he ? 
 Awe-stricken, the red simoom scuds screaming 
 away, and the lustrous stars look calm upon 
 his stalactitic apex ! In a word (for if we were 
 to keep the steam of our style crescendo^ we 
 might blow the Magazine and all Regent 
 Street into atoms), as the Athenceum says, Mr. 
 Berkeley "may now take his place," &c. &c. 
 among the brightest spirits, &c. &c. of our time. 
 There are three landscape annuals, as before. 
 The Orient aU^ with engravings after sketches 
 by Mr. Bacon; the Landscape,^ which Mr. 
 Holland has illustrated with Portuguese views ; 
 and the Picturesque, \ which contains an elab- 
 orate description of Versailles, with numerous 
 engravings after Callow, Mackenzie, and Col- 
 lignon. All the letterpress of these books merits 
 applause. Mr. Bacon tells pleasant Indian stories ; 
 Mr. Harrison has a store of Portuguese sketches 
 
 * The Oriental Annual. Containing a Series of Tales, Legends, 
 and Historical Romances. By Thomas Bacon, Esq., F. S. A. With 
 Engravings by W. and E. Finden, from Sketches by the Author. 
 London, 1839. Tilt 
 
 t Jennings's Landscape Annual; or. Tourist in Portugal. By 
 W. H. Harrison. Illustrated by Paintings by James Holland. 
 London, 1839. Jennings. 
 
 X Heath's Picturesque Annual for 1839. Versailles: by Leitch 
 Ritchie, Esq. London. Longman. 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 55 
 
 and legends ; Mr. Leitch Ritchie, finally, writes 
 or translates a history of Versailles, which alone 
 will give the reader a very tolerable smattering 
 of French history. Mr. Bacon is not, we pre- 
 sume, artist enough to do more than sketch; 
 so Roberts, Stanfield, and others, have been 
 employed to complete the drawings. Mr. Cal- 
 low's are capital designs for the Picturesque; 
 and Mr. Holland is a welcome addition to the 
 landscape painters. His drawings are not quite 
 so glib and smooth as those from more prac- 
 tical hands; but they are, perhaps, more like 
 nature, and certainly less mannered, than the 
 excellent, though exaggerated, performances 
 of some of the seniors in the art. 
 
 Mr. Fisher has employed, as usual, the aid 
 of L. E. L. to set off his old plates, many of 
 which we recognise as having been shifted from 
 a work published by Mr. Tilt into the Draw- 
 ing-room Scrap-book^ and Juvenile \ ditto: 
 not, however, that there is any harm in so do- 
 ing; for, luckily, such is the character of Eng- 
 
 * Fisher's Drawing-Room Scrap-Book for 1839. With Poetical 
 Illustrations by L. E. L. London. Fisher. 
 
 t Fisher's Juvenile Scrap-Book for 1839. By Agnes Strickland 
 and Bernard Barton. London. Fisher. 
 
56 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 lish art, such a beautiful vapidity pervades the 
 chief portion of the pictures submitted to the 
 pubHc, that to remember them is a sheer im- 
 possibihty : we may look at them over and over 
 again, year after year, Scrap-book after Scrap- 
 book, and never recognise our former insipid 
 acquaintances; so that the very best plan is 
 this of the Messrs. Fisher, to change, not the 
 plates, but just the names underneath, and 
 make Medora into Haidee, or Desdemona, or 
 what you will. As for the poets, they are al- 
 ways ready, and will turn you off a set of 
 stanzas regarding either or every one of the 
 characters with ingenuity never failing. 
 
 Here, apropos, comes a letter which has been 
 slipped into our box, written on pink paper, in 
 a hand almost illegible, without the aid of a 
 magnifying glass, smelling of musk, and signed 
 "Rosalba de Montmorency." 
 
 To the Editor of Eraser's Magazine. 
 
 Sir, — In making you vies complimens empresses^ 
 allow me to state hov^ flattered and proud I 
 should feel if the accompanying chansonnettes 
 could appear in the pages of your RecueiL 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 57 
 I have presented them, I confess, to the edi- 
 tors of one or two of the Keepsakes, in humble 
 hope, that, amid the poetesses of our chme, 
 the humble Rosalba de Montmorency might 
 be permitted to rank — a wild flower amidst 
 the gorgeous blossoms which form the dewy 
 coronal that binds the lofty brow of the female 
 Poesy of England! Say, sir, have I or have I 
 not drunk of the Castahan cup? 
 
 In almost the same words did I address my- 
 self to the editors of the Annuals above hinted 
 at. They replied not — responded not — an- 
 swered not. In vain I have cast o'er their 
 gilded and illuminated page an eye of fever; 
 my strains were not permitted to be heard in 
 their exclusive temples, or swell the chorus of 
 England's aristocratic minstrelsy. 
 
 Will you, sir, succour a damsel in distress? 
 Yes, your true heart I know responds to the 
 echo ! Will you tell me, are not my stanzas as 
 impassioned, ay, 2l^ fashionable, as those of my 
 gemmed or coronetted sisterhood, whose passion- 
 songs twine round so many a page? 
 
 The idea of the little stanzas I enclose is not 
 altogether new. A strain oft sung by vulgar 
 
58 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 mariners has, I know not how, come to my 
 ears; and as I thought I discovered in the 
 coarse garment which envelopes them some 
 lurking gems of poesy, these I have extracted, 
 and set them in more appropriate guise. Should 
 you accept them, 'twill be the proudest mo- 
 ment in the existence of 
 
 ROSALBA DE MoNTMORENCY. 
 
 P. S. — My real name is Miss Eliza Slabber, 
 Margaret Cottages, Buffalo Row, Hick's Street 
 West, Upper Cuttle Place, Camden Town; 
 where, if you vn:\tQ, please address, — E. S. 
 
 My first is in the romantic style, and has 
 
 been sung with much applause at Rouse, 
 
 esquire's, the Eagle Tavern, City Road, and 
 other fashionable assemblies, by a celebratedy*^- 
 male vocalist who shall be nameless. It is called 
 
 The Battle- Axe Polacca. 
 
 Untrue to my Ulric I never could be, 
 I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie. 
 Since the desolate hour when we stood by the shore, 
 And your dark galley waited to carry you o'er, 
 My faith then I plighted, my love I confessed. 
 As I gave you the Battle-axe marked with your Crest ! 
 Eleleu ! in the desolate hour ! 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 59 
 
 When the bold barons met in my father's old hall. 
 Was not Edith the flower of the banquet and ball? 
 In the festival hour, on the lips of your bride. 
 Was there ever a smile save with thee at my side? 
 Alone in my turret I loved to sit best, 
 To blazon your banner and broider your crest. 
 
 Eleleu ! in the festival hour ! 
 
 The knights were assembled, the tourney was gay ! 
 Sir Ulric rode first in the warrior-me/(ee. 
 In the dire battle-hour, when the tourney was done. 
 And you gave to another the wreath you had won ! 
 Though I never reproached thee, cold, cold was my breast, 
 As I thought of that battle-axe, ah ! and that crest ! 
 Eleleu ! in the dire battle-hour ! 
 
 But away with remembrance, no more will I pine 
 That others usurped for a time what was mine ! 
 There's a festival hour for my Ulric and me; 
 Once more, as of old, shall he bend at my knee ; 
 Once more by the side of the knight I love best 
 Shall I blazon his banner and broider his crest. 
 
 Tralala ! for the festival hour ! 
 
 The little turn from eleleu in the first three 
 stanzas to tralala in the last has been admired 
 very much, and is considered by judges as a 
 beautiful alternation from grief to joy. It is 
 quite in the regular way of modern poets, I 
 assure you. Now follows a sprightly ditty. A 
 French friend has kindly inserted several 
 
60 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 phrases, and the whole is pronounced quite 
 fashionable. It is called 
 
 The Ahnachs Adieu, 
 
 Your Fanny was never false-hearted. 
 
 And this she protests and she vows. 
 From the triste moment when we parted 
 
 On the staircase at Devonshire House ! 
 I blushed when you asked me to marry, 
 
 I vowed I would never forget ; 
 And at parting I gave my dear Harry 
 
 A beautiful vinegarette ! 
 
 We spent, en province, all December, 
 
 And I ne'er condescended to look 
 At Sir Charles, or the rich county member, 
 
 Or even at that darling old duke. 
 You were busy with dogs and with horses. 
 
 Alone in my chamber I sat. 
 And made you the nicest of purses. 
 
 And the smartest black satin cravat ! 
 
 At night with that vile Lady Frances 
 
 (Jefaisois moi tapisserie) 
 You danced every one of the dances. 
 
 And never once thought of poor me ! 
 Mon pauvre petit cceur! what a shiver 
 
 I felt as she danced the last set, 
 And you gave, oh, mon Dieu! to revive her. 
 
 My beautiful vinegarette! 
 
 Return, love ! away with coquetting ; 
 This flirting disgraces a man ! 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 61 
 
 And ah ! all the while you're forgetting 
 
 The heart of your poor little Fan ! 
 Reviens! break away from those Circes, 
 
 Reviens for a nice little chat ; 
 And I 've made you the sweetest of purses_, 
 
 And a lovely black satin cravat ! 
 
 There: Is it not the thing now? Perhaps you 
 will hke to see the vulgar ballad on which I 
 have founded my strains? It is so paltry and 
 low, that were it not for curiosity's sake I 
 really would not send it. 
 
 '^ Still your I '11 wash, and your grog too I '11 make." 
 
 Improper stuff! I am really almost ashamed 
 to write it. 
 
 Trapping Old Stairs, 
 
 "Your Molly has never been false,, she declares. 
 Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs ; 
 When I vowed I would ever continue the same. 
 And gave you the 'bacco-box marked with your name. 
 When I passed a whole fortnight between decks with you. 
 Did I e'er give a kiss, Tom, to one of the crew.? 
 To be useful and kind with my Thomas I stayed, — 
 For his trousers I washed, and his grog too I made. 
 
 Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall 
 With Susan from Deptford, and likewise with Sal ; 
 In silence I stood your unkindness to hear, 
 And only upbraided my Tom with a tear. 
 
62 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 Why should Sal or should Susan than me be more prized? 
 For the heart that is true it should ne'er be despised. 
 Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake ; 
 Still your trousers I '11 wash, and your grog too I '11 make." 
 
 ^ ^ ¥r ^ ■¥: 
 
 Although we do not agree with Miss de 
 Montmorency as to the merits of the piece last 
 quoted — one of the simplest and most ex- 
 quisite ditties in our language, — we are quite 
 ready to acknowledge that her parodies are to 
 the full as original and spirited as the chief part 
 of the verses in the Annuals. Here, for instance, 
 are some verses by a clever lady — a beautiful 
 lady — a lady of rank, which we quote, because 
 they have been quoted and admired by some 
 of our contemporaries. 
 
 " The Letrilla. 
 
 When the knight to battle went, 
 
 Leaving her he loved so well, 
 How the maid grew pale and pined 
 
 None might witness, none could tell. 
 
 Weep ! the while I sing ! 
 
 Through the gardens like a ghost 
 
 All the evenings she would creep. 
 Fears, not dreams, her pillow strew'd — 
 
 Ah, that youth should fail to sleep ! 
 
 Weep ! the while I sing ! 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 63 
 
 Still she hoped— the tower would climb. 
 
 Whence she saw him ride away — 
 There to watch for casque and plume 
 
 Glancing in the evening ray. 
 
 Weep ! the while I sing ! 
 
 There she watch'd; but tidings came — 
 
 AVo is me ! — by Moorish guile 
 Fell the knight ! A broken flower 
 
 Marks her tomb in minster-aisle ! 
 
 Weep ! my song is done !" 
 
 Weep ! my song is done, indeed ! On the con- 
 trary, one is by no means sorry to arrive at the 
 conclusion, and only weeps that the song should 
 ever be begun. Miss Montmorency Slabber has 
 quite as much pathos as the Spanish "Letrilla;" 
 and her pathetic refimin of " Eleleu " to the full 
 as touching as the burden of the latter ditty. 
 We have chosen the words because they really 
 are good and smooth, not from a desire to 
 seize upon the worst portion of the silly bits 
 of clinquant strung together, and called gems 
 of beauty. It is a harmless, worthless little 
 book, as ever was seen. All the pictures are 
 poor. Except Dyce's "Signal," and Cattermole's 
 "Duenna," not one is worth a penny. 
 
 In Fishers Scrap-Book, Miss Landon has 
 
64 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 some pretty verses ; and we give a set from the 
 same publication, which shew that, among the 
 annual contributors, at least somebody can write 
 good, honest, manly lines. Such verses are per- 
 fectly intoxicating, after so much fashionable 
 milk and water. 
 
 " The Sack of Magdeburgh, 
 
 When the breach was open laid. 
 Bold we mounted to the attack : 
 
 Five times the assault was made. 
 Four times were we beaten back. 
 
 Many a gallant comrade fell 
 
 In the desperate melee there ; 
 Sped their spirits ill or well. 
 
 Know I not, nor do I care. 
 
 But the fifth time, up we strode 
 
 O'er the dying and the dead ; 
 Hot the western sunbeam glowed, 
 
 Sinking in a blaze of red. 
 
 Redder in the gory ^ay 
 
 Our deep-plashing footsteps sank, 
 
 As the cry of ' Slay ! slay ! slay ! ' 
 Echoed fierce from rank to rank. 
 
 And we slew^ and slew, and slew — 
 Slew them with unpitying sword : 
 
 Negligently could we do 
 
 The commanding of the Lord? 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 65 
 
 Fled the coward— fought the brave, 
 Wailed the mother — wept the child; 
 
 But there did not 'scape the glave 
 
 Man who frowned, or babe who smiled. 
 
 There were thrice ten thousand men 
 
 When the morning sun arose ; 
 Lived not twice three hundred when 
 
 Sunk that sun at evening close. 
 
 Then we spread the wasting flame. 
 
 Fanned to fury by the wind : 
 Of the city, but the name — 
 
 Nothing more — is left behind ! 
 
 Hall and palace, dome and tower. 
 
 Lowly shed and soaring spire. 
 Fell in that victorious hour 
 
 Which consigned the town to fire. 
 
 All that man had wrought — all— all — 
 
 To its pristine dust had gone ; 
 For, inside the shattered wall. 
 
 Left we never stone on stone. 
 
 For it burnt not till it gave 
 
 All it had to yield of spoil : 
 Should not brave soldadoes have 
 
 Some rewarding for their toil? 
 
 What the villain sons of trade 
 
 Earned by years of toil and care, 
 Prostrate at our bidding laid, 
 
 By one moment won, was there. 
 
66 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 There, within the burning town, 
 
 'Mid the steaming heaps of dead, 
 Cheered by sound of hostile moan. 
 
 Did we the joyous banquet spread. 
 
 Laughing loud, and quaffing long. 
 
 With our glorious labours o'er: 
 To the sky our jocund song 
 
 Told the city was no more." 
 
 The reader knows the name that is signed 
 to these verses — that of the Standard-bearing 
 Doctor: not GifFord, the learned Doctor; not 
 Southey, the polyglot Doctor; not Bowring, 
 the encyclop^edian Doctor; not Dennis — the 
 Doctor, in short, and long life to him! — the 
 man who reads, writes, and knows every thing, 
 and adorns every thing of which he writes — 
 even Homer. Modesty forbids us to mention 
 his name; but it hangs to the end of certain 
 translations from the Odyssey, to which we 
 refer the public, and which may be found in 
 this very Magazine. 
 
 And now, after the Doctor's fierce lyrics, let 
 us give some of Mr. Milnes's stanzas; which 
 ought to have appeared among the other ex- 
 tracts from the Keepsake, but that they are fit 
 for much better company. 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 67 
 
 "SONG. 
 By R. M. Millies, Esq., M. P. 
 
 I wandered by the brook-side^ 
 
 I wandered by the mill ; 
 I could not hear the brook flow. 
 
 The noisy wheel was still ; 
 There was no burr of grashopper^ 
 
 No chirp of any bird ; 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 I sat beneath the elm-tree, 
 
 I watched the long, long shade. 
 And as it grew still longer, 
 
 I did not feel afraid ; 
 For I listened for a footfall, 
 
 1 listened for a word ; 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 He came not — no, he came not! 
 
 The night came on alone. 
 The little stars sat one by one. 
 
 Each on his golden throne ; 
 The evening air past by my cheek. 
 
 The leaves above were stirr'd ; 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 Fast, silent tears were flowing. 
 When something stood behind ; 
 
68 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 A hand was on my shoulder, 
 
 I knew its touch was kind : 
 It drew me nearer^ nearer — 
 
 We did not speak a word ; 
 But the breathing of our own hearts 
 
 Was all the sound we heard." 
 
 Kissing, actually! Oh, Mr. Milnes, you 
 naughty, naughty man! 
 
 #.ii. ^ J/, .SL. 
 
 -TV- -TT -A~ -TV- 
 
 The diversion made by Miss Slabber has 
 occupied us so long, that we are obliged to 
 bring our remarks abruptly to a close, with the 
 briefest possible notice of the remaining Keep- 
 sakes. The Amaranth^ is remarkable for the 
 very bad engravings it contains, and the excel- 
 lence of its literary department. The Children 
 of the Nobility t contains Landseer's beautiful 
 picture of Miss Blanche Egerton, and no more. 
 In the Book of Beauty^ \ most especially to be 
 
 * The Amaranth : a Miscellany of Original Prose and Verse, con- 
 tributed by distinguished Writers, and edited by T. K. Hervey. 
 London, 1839. Baily. 
 
 t Portraits of the Children of the Nobility. A series of highly 
 finished Engravings, executed under the superintendence of Mr. 
 Charles Heath, from Drawings by Alfred E. Chalon, Esq. R. A., 
 Edwin Landseer, Esq. R. A., and other eminent Artists; with 
 Illustrations in Verse by distinguished Contributors. Edited by 
 Mrs. Fairlie. Second Series. London, 1839. Longman. 
 
 X Heath's Book of Beauty for 1839. Edited by the Countess of 
 Blessington. London. Longman. 
 
OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 69 
 
 admired is the most beautiful, smiling, spar- 
 kling Duchess of Sutherland ; Lady Mahon, who 
 looks beautiful, gentle, and kind; and Lady 
 Powerscourt, whose face and figure seem to be 
 modelled from Diana and Hebe. Oh, Medora, 
 Zuleika, Juana, Juanina, Juanetta, and Com- 
 pany! — oh ye of the taper fingers and six- 
 inch eyes ! shut those great fringes of eyelashes, 
 close those silly coral slits of mouths. Avaunt 
 ye spider- waisted monsters ! who have flesh, but 
 no bones, silly bodies, but no souls. And ye, O 
 young artists ! who were made for better things 
 than to paint such senseless gimcracks, and 
 make fribble furniture for tawdry drawing- 
 room tables, look at Nature and blush! See 
 how much nobler she is than your pettifogging 
 art! — how much more beautiful Truth is than 
 your miserable tricked-up Hes. More lovely is 
 she than a publisher's bill at three months — a 
 better pay-mistress in the end than Messrs. 
 Heath, Finden, and all the crew. The world 
 loves bad pictures, truly; but yours it is to 
 teach the world, for you know better. Copy 
 Nature. Don't content yourselves with idle 
 recollections of her — be not satisfied with 
 
70 OUR ANNUAL EXECUTION 
 
 knowing pretty tricks of drawing and colour — 
 stand not still because donkeys proclaim that 
 you have arrived at perfection. Above all, read 
 sedulously Regina, who watches you with an 
 untiring eye, "and, whether stern or smiling, 
 loves you still." Remember that she always 
 tells you the truth — she never pufFeth, neither 
 doth she blame unnecessarily. Recollect, too, 
 that the year beginneth. Can there be a more 
 favourable opportunity to pour in with your 
 subscriptions ? 
 
 One word more. Thank Heaven, the nudities 
 have gone out of fashion! — the public has to 
 thank us for that. 
 
OF THIS EDITION THERE HAVE BEEN PRINTED FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY 
 NUMBERED COPIES ONLY FOR H. W. FISHER AND COMPANY OF PHILA- 
 DELPHIA. 
 
 XO. 
 
SEP 4- 1902 
 
cK ^ 4 19U2 
 
 .., ; ..... 10 CAT, CIV, 
 
 ^cp^ 4 1902 
 SEP. 8 no2 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 548 4819 •