, is not on record; but many whose names are forgotten on earth,
have been, I doubt not, received and rewarded in heaven.

* * * * *

The Bijou

Is a new adventurer in the "annual" field, and deserves a foremost rank
as a work of art. Thus, the _Child with Flowers_, by Humphreys, after
Sir Thomas Laurence, is really fit company for the president's beautiful
picture; the _Boy and Dog_, by the same painter and engraver, is also very
fine; but the selection of both of the pictures for one volume is hardly
judicious. With _Haddon Hall_ our readers are already familiar. _Sans
Souci_, after Stothard, is a delightful scene. In the literature, almost
the only very striking composition is Sir Walter Scott's illustration of
Wilkie's painting of the baronet's own family, which, having been copied
into every newspaper, we do not reprint. For our part, we do not admire
the painting; there is too much _rank and file_ for a family group. Mr.
Hood has a _Lament of Chivalry_, in his best style; and a few _Verses
for an Album_, by Charles Lamb, are to our taste.

A LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY.

BY THOMAS HOOD, ESQ.

Well hast thou cried, departed Burke,
All chivalrous romantic work,
Is ended now and past!--
That iron age--which some have thought
Of metal rather overwrought--
Is now all over-cast!

Ay,--where are those heroic knights
Of old--those armadillo wights
Who wore the plated vest,--
Great Charlemagne, and all his peers
Are cold--enjoying with their spears
An everlasting rest!--

The bold King Arthur sleepeth sound,
So sleep his knights who gave that Round
Old Table such eclat!
Oh Time has pluck'd the plumy brow!
And none engage at turneys now
But those who go to law!

Grim John o' Gaunt is quite gone by,
And Guy is nothing but a Guy,
Orlando lies forlorn!--
Bold Sidney, and his kidney--nay,
Those "early champions"--what are they
But _Knights_ without a morn!

No Percy branch now perseveres
Like those of old in breaking spears--
The name is now a lie!--
Surgeons, alone, by any chance,
Are all that ever couch a lance
To couch a body's eye!

Alas! for Lion-Hearted Dick,
That cut the Moslem to the quick,
His weapon lies in peace,--
Oh, it would warm them in a trice,
If they could only have a spice
Of his old mace in Greece!

The fam'd Rinaldo lies a-cold,