is written in a pure style; but the story is rather heavy-though the subject did not admit of sprightliness, it might have been less grave. But there is the Utilitarian--(Phoebus, what a name for a love story!) in the very best manner of John Neal, which we think very clever. The closing article, furnished by Rev. J. Pierpont is appropriate and beautiful. "The fashion of this world passeth away is its burden. That sentence is surely descriptive of an "Annual." And yet who can look on the "Token" in its splendid covering of crimson and gold, and contemplate its rich ornaments of pictured scenes and sentiments and not regret that it is so soon to be laid on the shelf! We are consoled by the hope of seeing a new one more beautiful. "Man never is, but always to be blest."

So we expect, next season, that the Token will be vastly improved; in the literary department it surely may be; the engravings it will be more difficult to excel. "The Lost Children," as regards effect, is an admirable thing-and the explanation of the scene is finely written. Mr. Willis has, in that little piece, displayed some of the highest attributes of genius; the intuitive perception of the just (which is always the beautiful) in character, and the pathos, (call it the electric power of mind !) which can convey his own impressions to the feelings of his readers. It is worth a folio of his mawkish sentimental

poetry.

THE ATLANTIC SOUVENIR, 1830. Philadelphia, Carey, Lea & Carey. In splendid external appearance the Souvenir and Token might be thought to have been designed by the same taste and executed by the same skill. The character of the literary department is also similar, the best articles in both being furnished by the same writers. Miss Sedgwick has given, as she never fails to do, a superior production. "Cacoethes Scribendi " is an exquisite tale, and worth the price of the book. We hope it will be read by every young lady ambitious of becoming an author.

"Love's Falconrie" is a very good story for a courtly one, because it displays the sacrifices which the maintainence of rank, or political exigencies often imposes on the great ones of the earth. Then there is "Early Impressions," and the "Heroine of Suli," and the " Ghost," all quite respectable productions, but not exactly what we wish for an American Annual--not American. We do not mean aboriginal-Indian tales are usually so near alike in their catastrophe that when opening one we always expect a tragedy. "The Fawn's Leap" is, however, an exception. It is a well told, and highly interesting story-and ends happily.

There is a few highly finished and beautiful poems in the Souvenir; but they are not, with the exception of the " Gipseying Party," those given as explanations of the Engravings. Such poems are usually written under a feeling of constraint, as a task, and cannot be expected to have much of the in

spiration of genius. But there is grandeur in the opening poem, by Charles West Thompson. We quote a few stanzas.

THE AMERICAN EAGLE.

Bird of the heavens! whose matchless eye
Alone can front the blaze of day,
And, wandering through the radiant sky,
Ne'er from the sunlight turns away,
Whose ample wing was made to rise
Majestic o'er the loftiest peak,
On whose chill top the winter skies
Around thy nest, in tempests speak,
What ranger of the winds can dare,
Proud mountain king! with thee compare,
Or lift his gaudier plumes on high
Before thy native majesty,

When thou hast ta'en thy seat alone,
Upon thy cloud-encircled throne ?

Bird of Columbia! well art thou

An emblem of our native land,
With unblenched front and noble brow,
Among the nations doomed to stand,
Proud, like her mighty mountain woods-
Like her own rivers wandering free,
And sending forth from hills and floods
The joyous shout of liberty!

Like thee, majestic bird! like thee,
She stands in unbought majesty,

With spreading wing, untired and strong,

That dares a soaring far and long,

That mounts aloft, nor looks below,

And will not quail though tempests blow.

Long may her happiness be found
Based on that firm and holy ground,
And like her population's sweep

Still spread abroad from deep to deep

Where day declines, where morning springs,

The eagle stretches out her wings."

Lays of the Seasons," by Percival, is a fine spirited poem: the versification happily adapted to the subject, flowing on with a ringing melody that thrills like the music of a flute. We were reminded of the songs of the Spirits in Manfred ;—How temptingly Autumn describes his luxuries :—

But the description of a winter morning will be more fully appreciated by us who dwell in this land of frost, than the beauties of a southern autumn.

"The east is growing bright,
The crystal forest flashes,
And in the dawning light,
Like gold the cascade dashes.
The rainbow spans the sky,
But all her proudest show,
Her deepest tinctures die
Before the pomp below.

Rock and river, tree and fountain

Glitter thick with gems;

Rolling hill and craggy mountain

Glow like diadems."

There are several other poems deserving of particular praise, but it cannot be expected we should note all the beauties in this very beautiful book. The productions of Mrs. Sigourney, Carey, Embury and Miss Gould-the Mellens, and J. N. Barker are worthy of commendation, especially the "Gipseying Party," by the latter and "The true Glory of America," by G. Mellen. We would quote from them both had we room. There is a poem-" Night," by Miss E. M. Chandler which, had we never read "Childe Harold," we should have thought fine. It is however something more than an imitation—it is an appropriation of the thoughts of the pilgrim bard.

The tempest hurries onward-how the flash
Of the red lightning leaps from cloud to cloud.

Miss Chandler.

Imitation is the besetting sin of our poets; the fault must be corrected or we shall never reach any high degree of excellence in the art of rhyme.

It remains to speak of the engravings, but then we might as well attempt to inspect the colours of a humming bird while darting through the sunbeams, as to delineate the beauties of a picture by a written description. To be understood or valued a picture must be seen. The Souvenir contains some worth seeing and studying,-beautiful specimens of an art the world does not yet sufficiently appreciate. There is, in the language of pictures, a power to move the feelings, and to inform the judgment which may be made of most efficient service in the education of the young. But if there is no benefit there is certainly much gratification in looking on such finely executed plates as The Wife, The Cottage Door,'-and the Temple of Egina.' The Reconciliation' is as striking in effect though not so highly finished as the three first named, but it will probably be quite as often contemplated and admired; and the moral of its teaching, filial obedience, cannot be too highly recommended to romantic young ladies.

THE PEARL, OR AFFECTION'S GIFT. Philadelphia, T. Ash. A very beautiful thing is this Pearl, and the publisher need not fear it will suffer in a comparison with other works of the same class. The improvements in this are more perceptible than in any annual we have seen. The illustrations are

happily chosen, and the engravings finely executed. We hardly know which to select for particular commendation where so many are pretty, but the “Father's Pride' we think very beautiful. The arch expression of the happy face is so redolent of the joy of innocence, that we feel the emotion which prompted the address of the gifted author of the explanation ;-(we are glad to meet her in rhyme.)

"Sweet babe! would I again could be

As innocent as thou

With heaven's pure ray, so calm and free,
Upon my heart and brow."

The picture of "The Storm" is faulty in one respect, and it is a fault which we have before observed in pictures intended to portray grown children. The expression of juvenility is not preserved in the countenance, and there is nothing that distinguishes between the girl of fourteen and four and twenty. The eldest sister appears too old: we should never dream, were it not for the story, but that she was the mother of the little one she is protecting. Indeed, from the array of her head, her large basket, and monstrous foot and ancle, we might think her a market-woman. Compare this picture with the "Little Foreigners," and see how much more appropriately the motherly girl is there portrayed.

“Mother and Boy" is an interesting picture, and Mrs. Sigourney has writ

ten a poem worthy of the engraving.

"There's a smile on the earth, and the waters mild,

For the sports of a good and happy child;

And the sighing leaves on the wind-rocked limb
Shall lull him to sleep like a cradle hymn ;
While nature, with pencil of deathless dye,
Writes the name of God' for his waking eye.
Remember him, babe, ere thy day of care,

At morn, and at eve, in thy simple prayer,

Breathe the heart's first incense forth fresh and free,

And He, in thine age, shall remember thee."

The genius of woman is never so nobly employed as when thus consecrated to the service of pure religion by elevating the sweet affections of the heart, and teaching the young that innocent happiness and confident love is the homage God requires of his creatures.

Mrs. Wells has contributed some of her pure and touching poetry to this collection. Mrs. Hughs has written several excellent stories in prose, and on the whole, we think the Pearl well deserving of patronage, and doubt not but it will receive it.

THE YOUTH'S KEEPSAKE. Boston, Carter & Hendee. This is a new annual-prepared for youth, or rather children. It is ornamented with six handsome engravings and several wood cuts. We understand one of its editors is Rev. F. W. P. Greenwood, and his name is a sufficient guaranty of the morality and refined taste which must characterize the productions admitted into the literary department. Accordingly, we find some of our most popular writers have lent their aid to this small, but valuable work. Miss Sedgwick has given a charming story; and there is a short History of Bees,' furnished by 'A mother,' which we think better for children than a story, because it is true as well as instructive. Mr. Greenwood has contributed an excellent article"Childhood of Jesus." "The Child's Wish in June," by Mrs. Gilman is very pretty, but the best rhyme is from the pen of Willis. "The Torn Hat " is very fine, better than any poem he has written for the other annuals. It seems breathed from his heart-there is no affectation of sentiment-nothing 'unshadowed,' or 'bewildering-it is the expression of deep feeling, in the language and manner of a true poet. Would that we could afford space to extract the whole.

"There's something in a noble boy,
A brave, free-hearted, careless one,
With his unchecked, unbidden joy,
His dread of books and love of fun,
And in his clear and ready smile,
Unshaded by a thought of guile,

And unrepressed by sadness-
Which brings me to my childhood back,
As if I trod its very track,

And felt its very gladness."