ART. IX.-The Annuals.

1. The Token and Atlantic Souvenir, a Christmas and New Year's Present. Edited by S. G. GOODRICH. Boston. 1834.

2. The Religious Souvenir. Philadelphia. 1834.

THESE beautiful volumes are highly creditable to the state of learning, as well as of the arts, in this country. If they fall below the British publications of the same description, in the luxury of their typographical execution, binding, and embellishments, in all which particulars, however, they are worthy of high praise, they are on the other hand decidedly superior to their foreign competitors in the more important department of literary merit. We have seen no British annual, that could be compared in this respect with the Tokens of this and the preceding years. The latter have, in fact, been enriched by contributions from many of the best writers in the United States. In the one now before us, there are articles avowedly from the pens of President Adams, Miss Sedgwick, Rev. Messrs. Dewey, Greenwood, and Pierpont, Mr. Thatcher, Mr. Cushing, and other persons of established reputation, as well as some anonymous writers, whose names, if known, would do no discredit to the above list. In attending carefully to the point of literary execution, the editors of our annuals may, perhaps, have been stimulated by the example of their brethren of Germany, where the similar publications are often replete with contributions of the greatest merit, some of which have taken their station in the literature of the country as standard works. It is well known, for example, that Schiller's History of the Thirty Years' War,-the best historical work in the German language,-made its first appearance in this form. We hope that the publishers of these works will continue to pay the same attention to the literary department, that they have heretofore done. It is quite desirable that volumes, which circulate so widely as these do, especially among the younger part of the community, should not only gratify the eye of taste by the beauty of their embellishments, but should be made the vehicle of good principles and valuable informa

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Of the annuals of this year, the Token is decidedly the first. The engravings are unequal, but some of them have very great merit, particularly those of Cheney, of which Orphans' is the best. This is really a beautiful thing, and does the highest credit to the skill and taste of the young artist. The poetry of the volume is not as a whole equal to the prose, although it includes some very agreeable articles. Of the prose contributions, the Reminiscence of Federalism' and the Modern Job' are, perhaps, the most remarkable. The former is from the eloquent pen of Miss Sedgwick, and serves in some degree as a compensation for her long and much-regretted silence in the way of extended publications. The Diamond,' and two shorter tales with the same signature, though they bear some marks of hasty composition, exhibit the felicity of style and various information which distinguish the other productions of the fair author. The Convent of the Paular,'-probably by Professor Longfellow,-is a very striking sketch. The Reflections on the opening and on the close of the Year, the former from the pen of Mr. Dewey, the latter by an anonymous writer, may well be compared with the finest efforts of the kind in the language. There are also various other articles, which our limits do not permit us to notice particularly, but which are equal, perhaps superior, in merit to some of those which we have named.

As a specimen of the poetry, we extract the Plague in the Forest,' which, if not absolutely the best poem in the volume, is very agreeably versified, and is curious as the production of President Adams. It is well known, that this illustrious statesman has, through life, amused his leisure by occasional compositions in verse, some of which have found their way to the public eye, and exhibit, with the vigor of thought and warmth of expression that distinguish all his writings, a command of the forms of poetry, which was hardly to be expected from a mere amateur.

Time was, when round the lion's den,

A peopled city raised its head;

'Twas not inhabited by men,

But by four-footed beasts instead.
The lynx, the leopard and the bear,
The tiger and the wolf, were there;
The hoof-defended steed;

The

The bull, prepared with horns to gore, The cat with claws, the tusky boar, And all the canine breed.

In social compact thus combined,
Together dwelt the beasts of prey;
Their murderous weapons all resigned,
And vowed each other not to slay.
Among them Reynard thrust his phiz;
Not hoof, nor horn, nor tusk was his,
For warfare all unfit;

He whispered to the royal dunce,
And gained a settlement at once;
His weapon was,—his wit.

One summer, by some fatal spell,
(Phoebus was peevish for some scoff,)
The plague upon that city fell,

And swept the beasts by thousands off. The lion, as became his part, Loved his own people from his heart, And taking counsel sage, His peerage summoned to advise And offer up a sacrifice,

To soothe Apollo's rage.

Quoth lion, we are sinners all,
And even it must be confessed,
If among sheep I chance to fall,—
I, I am guilty as the rest.
To me the sight of lamb is curst,
It kindles in my throat a thirst,-
I struggle to refrain,—

Poor innocent! his blood so sweet!
His flesh so delicate to eat!

I find resistance vain.

'Now to be candid, I must own

The sheep are weak and I am strong,

But when we find ourselves alone,

The sheep have never done me wrong. And, since I purpose to reveal

All my offences, nor conceal

One trespass from your view;

My appetite is made so keen,
That with the sheep the time has been
I took, the shepherd too.

'Then let us all our sins confess,
And whosesoe'er the blackest guilt,
To ease my people's deep distress,
Let his atoning blood be spilt.
My own confession now you hear,
Should none of deeper dye appear,
Your sentence freely give,
And if on me should fall the lot,
Make me the victim on the spot;
And let my people live.'

The council with applauses rung,

To hear the Codrus of the wood;
Though still some doubt suspended hung,
If he would make his promise good,-
Quoth Reynard,-'Since the world was made,
Was ever love like this displayed?

Let us like subjects true

Swear, as before your feet we fall,
Sooner than you should die for all,
We all will die for you.

'But please your majesty, I deem,
Submissive to your royal grace,
You hold in far too high esteem

That paltry, poltroon, sheepish race;
For oft, reflecting in the shade,
I ask myself why sheep were made
By all-creating power?
And howsoe'er I tax my mind,
This the sole reason I can find,
For lions to devour.

And as for eating now and then,

As well the shepherd as the sheep,-
How can that braggart breed of men

Expect with you the peace to keep?
'Tis time their blustering boast to stem,
That all the world was made for them,
And prove creation's plan;
Teach them by evidence profuse
That man was made for lion's use,

Not lions made for man.'

And now the noble peers begin,

And, cheered with such examples bright,
Disclosing each his secret sin,

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Some midnight murder brought to light,
Reynard was counsel for them all,
No crime the assembly could appal,
But he could botch with paint:
Hark! as his honied accents roll,
Each tiger is a gentle soul:

Each blood-hound is a saint.

When each had told his tale in turn,
The long-eared beast of burden came
And meekly said, 'my bowels yearn

To make confession of my shame ;
But I remember on a time

I passed, not thinking of a crime,
A haystack on my way:

His lure some tempting devil spread,
I stretched across the fence my head,
And cropped,-a lock of hay.'

'Oh, monster! villain!' Reynard cried,-
'No longer seek the victim, sire;
Nor why your subjects thus have died,

To expiate Apollo's ire.'

The council with one voice decreed ;

All joined to execrate the deed,

What, steal another's grass!'

The blackest crime their lives could show,

Was washed as white as virgin snow;

The victim was,-The Ass.

As a specimen of the prose, we extract the conclusion of the Modern Job.' The hero of this little tale, Mr. Evelyn, like his ancient prototype, is suddenly reduced, by a 'concurrence of calamitous circumstances,' from affluence to a bare competency; upon which, however, he contrives to live, with his family, in a retired situation in the country, with some degree of comfort and even elegance. This excites first the astonishment, and then the envy of the gossips of Tattleborough where the scene is laid; who can in no other way account for Mr. Evelyn's incomprehensible resources, but by supposing him to have discovered the Philosopher's Stone. After suffering a good deal of uneasiness on the subject, the gossips finally conclude to consult Moll Pitcher, and obtain her advice as to the course they ought to pursue. The passage we extract, and which forms the conclusion of the tale, contains some