Alone beneath the moon I roved, And thought how oft in hours gone by, I heard my Mary say she loved To look upon a moonlight sky! The day had been one lengthened shower, Till moonlight came, with lustre meek, To light up every weeping flower, Like smiles upon a mourner's cheek. I called to mind from Eastern books A thought that could not leave me soon:-- "The moon on many a night-flower looks, The night-flower sees no other moon." And thus I thought our fortune's run, For many a lover sighs to thee; While oh! I feel there is but _one_, _One_ Mary in the world for me! The illustrations are almost unexceptionably good; the _gems_ in this way being Mrs. Siddons, as Lady Macbeth, by C. Rolls, after Harlowe: the face is perhaps the most intellectual piece of engraving ever seen; the sublime effect in so small a space is truly surprising. A Portrait, by W. Danforth, after Leslie, ranks next; and the beauty and variety of the remainder of the prints are so great as to prevent our _individualizing_ them to the reader. Taken altogether, they form one of the finest Annual Galleries or Collections. * * * * * THE KEEPSAKE. * * * * * Without going into a dreamy discussion on the _literature_ of this work, we venture to say it has rather retrograded from, than improved upon the volume of last year. Great and titled names only furnish the _gilt:_ and this fact is now so generally understood, that readers are no longer deceived by them, in the quality of the gingerbread. Mr. Watts is so convinced of this fact, that he has given the cut direct to many titled authors; and, for aught we know, he has produced as good a volume this year as on any former occasion. The proprietor of the _Keepsake_ appears to think otherwise; and his editor has accordingly produced a book of very meagre interest, though of mightier pretensions than his rivals. Months ago we were told by announcement, paragraph and advertisement, of a tragedy, _The House of Aspen_, by Sir Walter Scott, which now turns out to be as dull an affair as any known in these days of dramatic poverty and theatrical ups and downs. Sir Walter, in an advertisement of great modesty, dated April 1, says, that "being of too small a size of consequence for a separate publication, the piece is sent as a contribution to the _Keepsake_, where its demerits may be hidden amid the beauties of more valuable articles." The piece has been adapted to a minor stage with some effect, but nothing higher than a melodrama. We have neither room nor inclination to extract a scene, but one of the metrical pieces has tempted us:-- Sweet shone the sun on the fair Lake of Toro, Weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, As a fair maiden bewilder'd in sorrow, Sigh'd to the breezes and wept to the flood.