ten to mention The Spanish Princess, by Wilkie but it is not in his usual or best style.

There are two or three other embellishments that we have not alluded to but we have noticed the most noticeable, and our Printer will bitterly complain of us if we further extend our remarks at the eleventh hour. We regret much that we did not receive the London Annuals at a more convenient time when we should have entered into fuller details, and have done more justice to their merits.

THE BENGAL ANNUAL, MDCCCXXX.

As the BENGAL ANNUAL, is conducted by the Editor of this Magazine, we are placed in a rather delicate position, for it is not fair towards the publishers, nor even to our readers, that the work should be altogether passed over on this account.

Our best plan perhaps will be to offer no remarks of our own, but content ourselves with quoting the following flattering notices from the Calcutta Papers.

[FROM THE INDIA GAZETTE.]

We have been favoured by the Editor with the loose sheets of the Bengal Annual, and we have much pleasure in availing ourselves of his courtesy to make our readers acquainted with some of its interesting contents. The attempt to get up an Indian Annual is worthy of high commendation; and if we may judge by the variety and excellence of the contributions, it has been rewarded with a degree of public support eminently flattering to the projectors. Amongst the names of the writers we find those of Dr. Wilson, Dr. Grant, Miss Roberts, Mr. Derozio, Mr. Parker, Colonel Young, and others, whom we cannot enumerate, all of whom have contributed from their stores to present a rich and varied treat to the Indian public. Considering the disadvantages under which the Bengal Annual has been given to the world, it may appear invidious to institute any comparison between it and the similiar publications that are received from Europe. But we do not think that it need shrink from the comparison; for the taste and beauty of many of the pieces, the trne poetic inspiration under which they have been conceived and expressed, appear to us to give the entire work a general style of excellence and power superior to its European compeers. Most of the eminent poets of the present day who contribute to the English Annuals, seem to furnish only the sweepings of their study-the mere exuvia of the poetic charac ter: several of the contributors to the Bengal Annual have, on the contrary, put forth their powers, and their productions are consequently worthy of themselves, and the public to whom they are addressed. JANUARY 1830.

The nameless writer of the Introductory Stanzas* concludes his and plaintive lines with the exclamation

Home! Home! there-there alone

The minstrel's harp gives all its tone.

But the real pathos, the glow of poetic feeling, which pervades hi verses, shows that even the Exile's harp can give forth tones whic their ready response in the human heart. Yet why regard oursel Exiles? Why not make this the land of our adoption, and endeav make it all that the patriot and philanthropist can desire? *

[FROM THE GOVERNMENT GAZETTE.]

Literature-to use an American phrase, seems to be progres mong us. Not only is an Annual to be issued in a few days fr Press of Calcutta-but we are promissed a Monthly Magazine We have been always aware that there was no want of talent for sition amongst our Indian Sojourners-and that all that was requi its developement, was some kind of motive or stimulus to call it for the spirited Editor of the "Bengal Annual"—it is due to acknowle that he has given the required motive for literary concentration nouncing that he would undertake a task never tried here before which rendered it a point of honour in his literary Brethren to p shoulders heartily to the wheel, to help him.

We have been favoured with the unbound sheets of the worktypographical execution is really most creditable. Of its literary we would, rather leave our Readers to judge for themselves-whe ever, we state that amongst the contributors to its pages are to be the names of the fair authoress of the "Houses of York and Lan

of the Translator of the "Hindu Theatre”—and of the author o Draught of Immortality"-we say enough, we presume, to indica a work distinguished by such aid cannot fail to be worthy of cor tion.

It is dedicated to Lady William Bentinck, and we trust will pr avant courier of many others in esse and posse still more deser the honor of such patronage.

The chief end of publications like the one in question, has 1 been to amuse, accordingly the matter of the Bengal Annual is, most part, of a light and entertaining character-the Poetry and being pretty equally balanced.

A few pictorial embellishments are to be found in the work-wh the friendly contributions of Amateurs. Although not wanting in el of design and spirit of execution, they are not of course amenable t rigid rules of Criticism which hold in England, and which consider infant state of the arts in Calcutta, to apply here, would be to giant's strength as a giant-and therefore tyrannously. They wil years hence, be interesting, were it only as showing the progress European arts in this quarter of Asia.

107

THE SEASON IN LONDON. MDCCCXXX.

BY CAPTAIN MCNAGHTEN,

[FOR THE CALCUTTA MAGAZINE.]

“fill'd.".

Good morrow to the Season! it is coming round again,
And though I shall be divided from its revels by the main,
I shall not forget the sooner all the joyousness it gave,
When to every eye that smil'd on me, I bow'd a willing slave.
When every form I gaz'd on (if 'twere like a Sylph's at all)
In the crush-room of the Opera, or the glories of a ball,
And every cheek of rosy hue, and every snowy hand,
Had a charm for one so newly from the sable-beautied land.
So, good morrow to the Season! with its witching revelry,
So quickly coming round again-though coming not for me.
Good morrow to the Season!-will each girl I left behind,
When on another, as on me, she throws her glances kind,
Remember him she flirted with, through many a mellow hour,
In the noise of glittering parties, or the silence of the bower:
Will she, whose cheek was crush'd to mine, on that unvictuall'd day,
When the horticultural people sent us empty all away,
Remember those soft whispers that were in her ear distill'd,-
The only really "good things" with which that day she was
Oh! good morrow to the Season! with its witching revelry,
So quickly coming round again---though coming not for me.
Good morrow to the Season!-what a change be in that heaven,
Among the angels, bright and fair, I knew in twenty-seven!
Young Phoebe may have settled down a rul'd, or ruling, spouse,
And Lucy may to Gretna Green have gone to take the vows.
Gay Julia may have turn'd a Saint, or turn'd - a fopling's head,
And pretty little Jessy may have left her Booby's bed.
Jane still may play the light guitar, or play the lighter fool,
And Fanny's younger sister may have made her lover cool.
But good morrow to the Season! with its witching revelry,
And to all its blooming beauties-though they bloom no more for me.
Good morrow to the Season! by the Ganges, distant shore,
I have sat me down, an alter'd man from what I was before,
I am never going to flirt again -- pink cheek and lily brow,
May blush and beam-they once had pow'r-but that is over now.
An eye could play the deuce with me, unless it chanc'd to squint,
And I should have thought it hard to find a female heart of flint.
But the greenness of my youth is o'er that effervescent time-
And I listen more to reason now, and rather less to rhyme.
So good morrow to the Season! with its witching revelry
And to all its blooming beauties-though they bloom no more for me.
Good morrow to the Season!-when life's tree to autumn's brown
Its verdure yields, I'll go and pass the winter months in town;
And if some old familiar form should cross my downward path,
With wrinkles where the blushes are which she at present bath:
Borne slowly on her tottering feet, down life's declivous hill,
Which now so lightly float her through the waltz and the quadrille ;

No one who was there will ever forget the Horticultural Breakfast of 1827 ! The gourmand who deemed it a new "pleasure" to feel hungry, might have had it, on that occasion, to his heart's content, but whether to his stomach's also is quite another question.

1

"T will be pleasant (if she have not got a wheezing husband by her)
To try and eye her wither'd shape as now my eye might eye her.

So good morrow to the Season !---with its witching revelry,
And a blessing on each face that ever kindly beam'd on me!

Good morrow to the Season! I have had my fluttering day,
I have been with jilts a butterfly, but twigg'd their birdlime spray,
I have gone through all the forms of adoration with Coquettes,
Have admir'd their slips and laces, but kept clear of all their nets.
A hundred thousand foolish things, no doubt, I must have said,
But the warm ones never caught my heart-though the cold ones caug
head.

If some of them were fond of airs-I fann'd them in a trice,
And if others would be chilly-why, I handed them an ice.

But good morrow to the Season!-with its witching revelry,
And a blessing on each face that ever kindly beam'd on me!
Good morrow to the Season! I have tasted all its joys,
Its dancing, flirting, whisp'ring, pressing, visiting, and noise.
Its scandal I have chatted, and have scann'd all my acquaintance,
The artless ones, the sinful ones, the blue ones, and the saint ones
But I'm not the sour misan-thropist, to say I dont miss Ann,
The laughing little girl with whom my Season I began.
Nor do I look with hypocrite regret upon the past,

I was happy while it lasted, and I'm happy at the last.
So good morrow to the Season! with its witching revelry,
And a health to those whose gentle hearts may yet remember me!
Good morrow to the Season!-though the ocean's wide expanse
Will not let me dance again with those with whom I us'd to dance.
I cannot with Rigge's lavender, their beauteous forheads lave,
For the briny wave compels me all that happiness to waive.
No more Mammas I chatter to about their darling daughters,-
I have left off all such nonsense, upon this side of the waters ;-
But still I think with kindly warmth on both the young and old,
For this is not a clime in which a person can feel cold!

So good morrow to the Season! - with its witching revelry,
And a health to those whose gentle hearts may yet remember me !
Good morrow to the Season! may it gaily come and go?
May eyes be brighter than its wine, and joy more sparkling flow!
May they who fear they're growing fat, ungrow again to thin!
May the puppies be rejected, and the jilts be taken in!
To sit without a partner may manœuvrers be compelled :
And may thy Hell, St. James's Street, no longer be up-held!
May sighing maids be married, and cross old ones end their lives!
And may husbands all be cuckolded who take coquettes for wives!
So good morrow to the Season! with its witching revelry.
And may those again enjoy it, who enjoy'd it once with me.

Good morrow to the Season! and a kind adieu to all,
Whom I have ever prattled with, in boat, or bower, or hall,
They shall all be recollected when my spirits may be high,
But one or two shall oftenest be remember'd with a sigh.
Farewell! thou pretty, warbling bird-thou guileless one in heart,
Full he thy share of every good,-of ill be thine no part!
And to thee, the warm and gentle, who had last my dancing hand,
Be happiness, as great as mine, in this all sunny land?

Now good morrow to the Season! -with its witching revelry,
And may those again enjoy it, who enjoy'd it once with me!

Spirit of the English Periodicals.

MOZART.

[FROM THE FOREIGN QUARTERLY REVIEW, NO. VIII. FOR AUGUST 1829.] Between the years 1773 and 1775, Mozart visited Vienna and Munich, with his father. In the latter city he composed two grand masses, an offertorium, a vesper service, and the opera buffa La finta Giardiniera, and on his return to Salzburg, Il Re Pastore, a serenata for the Archduke Maximilian. The epoch at which Mozart's genius was ripe may be dated from his twentieth year; constant study and practice had given him ease in composition, and ideas came thicker with his early manhood-the fire, the melodiousness, the boldness of harmony, the inexhaustible invention which characterize his works, were at this time apparent; he began to think in a manner entirely independent, and to perform what he had promised as a regenerator of the musical art. The situation of his father as Kapell-meister, in Salzburg, indeed gave Mozart some opportunities of writing church music, but not such as he most coveted, the sacred musical services of the court being restricted to a given duration, and the orchestra but poorly supplied with singers; it was therefore his earnest desire to get some permanent appointment in which he could exercise freely his talent for composition, and reckon on a sufficient income. When childhood and boyhood had passed away, his quondam patrons ceased to wonder at, or feel interest in his genius, and Mozart, whose early years had been spent in familiar intercourse with the principal nobility of Europe, who had been from court to court, and received distinctions and caresses unparalleled in the history of musicians, up to the period of his death gained no situation worthy his acceptance, but earned his fame in the midst of worldly cares and annoyances, in alternate abundance and poverty, deceived by pretended friendship, or persecuted by open enmity. The obstacles which Mozart surmounted in establishing the immortality of his muse, leave those without excuse who plead other occupations and the necessity of gaining a livelihood as an excuse for want of success in the art. Where the creative faculty has been bestowed, it will not be repressed by cir

cumstances.

*

In the hope of gaining some comfortable settlement in life, Mozart quitted Salzburg for Paris in 1777, in company with his mother, and to this journey, stimulated as he was by the necessity for exertion, we owe some of his most masterly compositions. His extreme youth was however an impassable barrier to his reception of the office of Kapellmeister, in an age when wig and wrinkles were the only title to respect. The careful and good father, whose life, as he expressed it, hung on his son's, parted from him with great sorrow and melancholy forebodingsJanuary 1830.