"There are a variety of dances to which the term National may, with some propriety, be applied. Among the most celebrated of these are,—the Italian Tarantula, the German Waltz, and the Spanish Bolero. To dwell on their peculiarities would, however, as it appears to us, be useless: the first is rarely exhibited, even on the stage: the second, although it still retains much of its original character, has, in this country, been modified into the Waltz Country Dance, and all the objections which it encountered, on its first introduction, seem to have been gradually overcome, since it assumed its present popular form; and the graceful Bolero is restricted to the theatre only, being never introduced to the English ball-room.

"The manner of walking well is an object which all young ladies should be anxious to acquire; but, unfortunately, it is a point too much neglected. In the drawing-room, the ball-room, or during the promenade, an elegant deportment, a 'poetry of motion,'—is, and ever will be, appreciated. The step ought not to exceed the length of the foot; the leg should be put forward, without stiffness, in about the fourth position; but without any effort to turn the foot out, as it will tend to throw the body awry, and give the person an appearance of being a professional dancer. The head should be kept up and the chest open: the body will then attain an advantageous position, and that steadiness so much required in good walking. The arms should fall in their natural position, and all their movements and oppositions to the feet be easy and unconstrained. The employment of soldiers to teach young ladies how to walk, which, we are sorry to say, is a practice adopted by many parents and heads of seminaries, is much to be deprecated. The stiffness acquired under regimental tuition, is adverse to all the principles of grace, and annihilates that buoyant lightness which is so conducive to ease and elegance in the young."

Besides the host of cuts incorporated with the text, each art has a whole page embellishment exquisitely engraved on wood; the designs of which are the very acme of taste. The head and tail, and letter pieces of the chapters are in equally good taste; and taken altogether, the "Young Lady's Book," either as a production of usefulness or illustratration of art, is the finest production of its day. It has been erroneously noticed, from its publication at this season, as an "Annual," but it displays infinitely more pains-taking than either of those elaborate productions—and is, we should judge, neither the labour of one or two years.

We had almost overlooked the imitative Mechlin lace-facings, which would deceive any Nottingham factor.

THE ZOOLOGICAL KEEPSAKE

The design of this "Annual" is good, we may say, very good; but we are alike bound to confess that the execution falls short of the idea. It contains an account of the Gardens and Museum of the Zoological Society, but this is too much interlarded with digressions. All the introductory matter might have been omitted with advantage to the author as well as the public. The descriptions are divided by poetical pieces, which serve as reliefs, one of which we extract:—

THE LOST LAMB; OR, THE CHILD SAVED

BY H.C. DEAKIN, ESQ

Author of "Portraits of the Dead."

Morn rose upon the purple hills, In all his pomp display'd; Flash'd forth like stars a hundred rills, In valley, plain, and glade. The foaming mist, day's chilly shrine, Into the clouds upcurl'd, Forth broke in majesty divine The Grampians' giant world. It was a glorious sight to view Those mountain forms unfold,— The Heavens above intensely blue, The plains beneath like gold. Day woke, a thousand songs arose, Morn's orisons on high, Earth's universal heart o'erflows To Him beyond the sky. The shepherd roused him from his sleep, And down the vale be hied, Like guardian good, to count his sheep, His firstling by his side. His firstling! 'twas his only child— A boy of three years old, The father's weary hours beguiled Whilst watching o'er his fold. And many an hour the child and he Joy'd o'er the vale together; It was a lovely thing to see That child among the heather. The vale is pass'd, the mountains rear Their rugged cliffs in air, He must ascend to view more near His distant fleecy care. "My child! the flowers are bright for thee, The daisy's pearl'd with dew; Go, share them with the honey-bee, Till I return for you, Thy dog and mine with thee shall stay Whilst I the flock am counting,"— He said, and took his tedious way, The hilly green sward mounting. O'er crag and cliff the father toil'd, Unconscious pass'd the hours: He for a time forgot the child He'd left among the flowers. The boiling clouds come down and veil Valley, and wood, and plain; Then fears the father's heart assail, He will descend again. Morn melted into noon, and night Dark on the shepherd shone, Terror in vain impels his flight, His child!—his child is gone! He calls upon his darling's name, His dog in vain he calls; He hears naught but the eagle's scream, Or roar of waterfalls. He rushes home—he is not there— With agony and woe; He hunts him in the cold night air, O'er hill and vale below. Morn rose—the faithful dog appears, He whines for food so mild, The father hied him through his tears, And said, "Tray, where's my child?" Thrice rose the morn—the father's heart With grief was almost dead; But every morn the dog appeared, And whined and begged for bread. Yet through the night and through the day, The dog was never seen— "He is not wont to stay away, Where can the dog have been?" On the fourth morn this faithful friend, As usual whined for meat— They mark the way his footsteps tend, And follow his retreat. They watch him to a cave beside The Grampians' craggy base— Behold! the shepherd's wandering child Within the dog's embrace. He springs—he weeps away his cares, He cries aloud with joy— He kneels, he sobs to heaven his prayers, For his redeemed boy. Then, turning, hugs his favourite hound, The trusty, true, and bold, By whom was saved, through whom was found The firstling of his fold!

The Engravings, which are very numerous, are exclusively on wood. A few of them are views in the Regent's Park Gardens; but in point of execution, we think the best is a Portrait of the Satyr, or "Happy Jerry," at Cross's Menagerie. Though by no means one of nature's favourites, he appears to possess the companionable qualities of sitting in a chair, smoking a pipe, and drinking spirits and water, and appearing to understand every look, word, and action of his keeper; indeed, so thoroughly contented is the creature, that he has obtained the name of "Happy Jerry."

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 406, December 26, 1829

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THE ZOOLOGICAL KEEPSAKE

THE LOST LAMB; OR, THE CHILD SAVED

BY H.C. DEAKIN, ESQ

Author of "Portraits of the Dead."

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