of national
sympathy. During the three days of his stay the old podesta had found
himself accessible to reason, the podesta's daughter to the tender
passion, and the treasures of the state to the locomotive skill of the
French detachment, that waited in the mountains the result of their
officer's diplomacy. The lion of St. Mark, having nothing else to do,
probably disdained to remain, and in the same night took wing from the
column, to which he has never returned.

As we love to "march in good order," we begin with the plates, the most
striking of which is the Frontispiece, _Marcus Curtius_, by Le Keux,
from a design by Martin, which we are at a loss to describe. It requires
a microscopic eye to fully appreciate all its beauties--yet the
thousands of figures and the architectural background, are so clear and
intelligible as to make our optic nerve sympathize with the labour of
the artist. The next is a _View on the Ganges_, by Finden, after
Daniell; _Constancy_, by Portbury, after Stephanoff, in which the female
figure is loveliness personified; _Eddystone during a Storm_; the
_Proposal_, a beautiful family group; the _Cottage Kitchen_, by Romney,
after Witherington; and the _Blind Piper_, from a painting by Clennell,
who, from too great anxiety in the pursuit of his profession, was some
years since deprived of reason, which he has never recovered.

In the _poetical_ department we notice the Retreat, some beautiful lines
by J. Montgomery; Ellen Strathallan, a pathetic legend, by Mrs.
Pickersgill; St. Mary of the Lows, by the Ettrick Shepherd; Xerxes, a
beautiful composition, by C. Swain, Esq.; the Banks of the Ganges, a
descriptive poem, by Capt. McNaghten; Lydford Bridge, a fearful
incident, by the author of Dartmoor; Alice, a tale of merrie England, by
W.H. Harrison; and two pleasing pieces by the talented editor. Our
extract is

LANGSYNE.

BY DELTA.

Langsyne!--how doth the word come back
With magic meaning to the heart,
As Memory roams the sunny track,
From which Hope's dreams were loath to part!
No joy like by-past joy appears;
For what is gone we peak and pine.
Were life spun out a thousand years,
It could not match Langsyne!

Langsyne!--the days of childhood warm,
When, tottering by a mother's knee,
Each sight and sound had power to charm,
And hope was high, and thought was free.
Langsyne!--the merry schoolboy days--
How sweetly then life's sun did shine!
Oh! for the glorious prank