had called into existence. Still there was a _desideratum_, which
these adornments of English Literature, "The Annuals," alone supplied. The
casual tones which emanated from the "transcendent masters of the lyre,"
were not to be lost to "the public ear" for want of "a circulating medium;"
and Ackermann, a name familiar to the lovers of pictorial art, had the
honour of first setting England the example of preserving her valuable
anthology, by producing his attractive Annual, "The Forget-Me-Not;" a
species of literature which presents us with the pleasing facility of
holding yearly communion with our poets and authors, without being
subjected to the tedium of awaiting their protracted appearance in a more
voluminous shape. We can now more frequently greet Anacreon Moore,
wreathing his harp with the paternal shamrock, characteristically mingled
with "pansies _for love_;" Montgomery, mourning over our nature's
degradation; telling us of the affections and passions of earth, yet luring
us to higher hopes and brighter consummation; his every line evincing that
chastened sorrow which Byron threw into the portrait of the Sheffield
bard--


"With broken lyre, and cheek serenely pale."


Coleridge, dropping "some natural tears," on viewing the altered features
of his native valley; sweetly and affectionately telling of


"The meadow, and its babbling brook,
Where roses in the ripple shook."