llishments throughout the interior, are
extremely beautiful. The pewing, gallery fronts, and fittings will be of
fine oak; and we learn that the altar and eight clere story windows will
be filled with painted glass. The church is calculated to hold about 900
persons.

The tower is connected with the main body by a lobby, and will front the
street, enclosed with a handsome railing. The builders of the church are
Messrs. Browne and Atkinson, of Goswell-street, London; and the pewing
and interior fittings are about to be executed by Messrs. Cubitt.

* * * * *

We could occupy a column or a page with enumerating the monumental
remains of the old church, although we have already mentioned the
principal of them. (_See Mirror_, vol. xiv. p. 145-243.) It is our
intention to return to them, even if it be but to point the attention of
the lover of parochial antiquities to a Series of Views of St. Dunstan
and its Monuments, with an Historical Account of the Church, by the Rev.
J.F. Denham; which by its concise yet satisfactory details, leads us to
wish that every parish in the metropolis were illustrated by so
accomplished an annalist.

* * * * *

ITALIAN HYMN TO THE MADONNA.

When the cypress-tree is weeping
With the bright rose o'er the tomb.
And the sunny orb is sleeping
On the mountain's brow of gloom.
Sweet mother at thy shrine
Our spirits melt in prayer,
Beneath the loveliness divine,
Which art has pictured there.

Or when the crystal star of Even
Is mirror'd in the silent sea,
And we can almost deem that heaven
Derives its calmest smile from thee.
Oh, virgin, if the lute
Invokes thy name in song,
Be thine the only voice that's mute,
Amid the tuneful throng.

When battle waves her falchion gory,
Over the dead on sea or land,
And one proud heart receives the glory,
Won by the blood of many a band,
If the hero's prayer to thee,
From his fading lips be given,
Awake his heart to ecstacy,
With brightest hopes of heaven.

Madonna! on whose bosom slumber'd,
The infant, Christ, with sunny brow,
The viewless hours have pass'd unnumber'd,
Since we adored thy shrine as now;
But not the gorgeous sky,
Nor the blue expansive sea,
To us such beauty could supply,
As that which hallow'd thee!

And when the scenes of life are faded
From our dim eyes l