he Rhine_ and the adjacent country, from Cologne to
Mayence, with maps of the routes from London to Cologne, and from
thence to the sources of the Rhine. The _Panorama_ is designed from
nature by F.W. Delkeskamp, and engraved by John Clark. It consists of
a beautiful aqua-tint engraving, upwards of seven feet in length, and
six inches in width, representing the course of the Rhine, and its
picturesque banks, studded with towns and villages; whilst
steam-boats, bridges, and islets are distinctly shown in the river. It
would be difficult to convey to our readers an idea of the extreme
delicacy with which the plate is engraved; and, to speak dramatically,
the entire success of the representation. A more interesting or useful
companion for the tourist could scarcely be conceived; for the
_picture_ is not interrupted by the names of the places, but these
are judiciously introduced in the margins of the plate. In short,
every town, village, fortress, convent, mansion, mountain, dale,
field, and forest, are here represented. By way of Supplement to the
Plate, a Steam-boat Companion is appended, describing the principal
places on the Rhine, with the population, curiosities, _inns_, &c. We
passed an hour over the engraving very agreeably, coasting along till
we actually fancied ourselves in one of the apartments of the Hotel of
Darmstadt at Mayence, when missing our high conic bumper of
Rudesheim--we found our thanks were due to the artist for the luxury
of the illusion. The _Panorama_ folds up in a neat portfolio, and
occupies little more room than a quire of letter paper.

* * * * *

EDINBURGH IN SUMMER.

A' The lumms smokeless! No ae jack turnin' a piece o' roastin' beef
afore ae fire in ony ae kitchen in a' the New Toon! Streets and
squares a' grass-grown, sae that they micht be mawn! Shops like
bee-hives that hae de'd in wunter! Coaches settin' aff for Stirlin',
and Perth, and Glasgow, and no ae passenger either inside or out--only
the driver keepin' up his heart wi' flourishin' his whup, and the
guard, sittin' in perfect solitude, playin' an eerie spring on his
bugle-horn! The shut-up play-house a' covered ower wi' bills that seem
to speak o' plays acted in an antediluvian world! Here, perhaps, a
leevin' creter, like ane emage, staunin' at the mouth o' a close, or
hirplin' alang, like the last relic o' the plague. And oh! but the
stane-statue o' the late Lord Melville, staunin' a' by h