.

It may be interesting to observe that the colour so much admired on bronze
statues is fine dark green from the oxide formed upon the metal, which,
being placed without doors, is more liable to be corroded by water holding
in solution the principles of the atmosphere; "and the rust and corrosion,
which are made poetically, qualities of time, depend upon the oxydating
powers of water, which, by supplying oxygen in a dissolved or condensed
state enable the metal to form new combinations."--_Sir H. Davy_.

* * * * *

THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

RHYMING RUMINATIONS ON OLD LONDON BRIDGE.

Oh! ancient London Bridge,
And art thou done for?
To walk across thee were a privilege
That some unborn enthusiasts would run for.
I have crossed o'er thee many and many a time,
And hold my head the higher for having done it;
Considering it a prime
And rare adventure--worthy of a sonnet
Or little flight in rhyme,
A monody, an elegy, or ode,
Or whatsoever name may be bestowed
On this wild rhapsody of lawless chime--
When I have done it.

How many busy hands, and heads, and hearts--
What quantities of great and little people
As thick as shot;
Some of considerable pride and parts,
And high in their own eyes as any steeple,
Though now forgot!
How many dogs, and sheep, and pigs, and cattle,
How many trays of hot-cross buns and tarts,
How many soldiers ready armed for battle,
How many cabs, and coaches, drags, and carts,
Bearing the produce of a thousand marts,
How many monarchs poor, and beggars proud,
Bishops too humble to be contumacious;
How many a patriot--many a watchman loud--
Lawyers too honest, ay, and thieves too gracious:
In short, how great a number
Of busy men--
As well as thousand loads of human lumber
Have past, old fabric, o'er thee!
How can I then
But heartily deplore thee!

Milton himself thy path has walked along,
That noble, bold, and glorious politician,
That mighty prince of everlasting song!
That bard of heaven, earth, chaos, and perdition!
Poor hapless Spenser, too, that sweet musician
Of faery land,
Has crossed thee, mourning o'er his sad condition,
And leaning upon sorrow's outstretched hand.
Oft, haply, has great Newton o'er thee stalked
So much entranced,
He k