it, and it
is now covered and concealed by brown paper till he shall again set to
work on it.

* * * * *

M. LAMARTINE recently presented in the French Assembly a petition from
William Tell Poussin, formerly minister of the Republic in the United
States, praying the French Government to grant a block of granite, taken
from the quarries of Cherbourg, for the national monument to Washington.

* * * * *

WIDNMANN, the sculptor, of Munich, has recently completed in plaster a
group of the size of life, of a man defending his wife and child against
the attack of a tiger. The figures are nude, and the only figure yet
finished, that of the man, is spoken of as a model.

HAS THERE BEEN A GREAT POET IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY!

The _Eclectic Review_ for the last month, in an article upon the
writings of Joanna Baillie, answers this question in the manner
following:

"We may enumerate the following names as those of real poets,
dead or alive, included in the first half of the nineteenth
century in Britain:--Bloomfield, Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Southey, Campbell, Moore, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Professor
Wilson, Hogg, Croly, Maturin, Hunt, Scott, James Montgomery,
Pollok, Tennyson, Aird, Mrs. Browning, Mrs. Hemans, Joanna
Baillie, and the author of 'Festus.' We leave this list to be
curtailed, or to be increased, at the pleasure of the reader.
But, we ask, which of those twenty-three has produced a work
uniquely and incontestably, or even, save in one or two
instances, professedly GREAT? Most of those enumerated have
displayed great powers; some of them have proved themselves fit
to begin greatest works; but none of them, whether he has
begun, or only thought of beginning, has been able to finish.
Bloomfield, the tame, emasculate Burns of England, has written
certain pleasing and genuine poems smelling of the soil, but
the 'Farmer's Boy' remained what the Scotch poet would have
called a 'haflin callant,' and never became a full-grown and
brawny man. Wordsworth was equal to the epic of the age, but
has only constructed the great porch leading up to the edifice,
and one or two beautiful cottages lying around. Coleridge could
have written a poem--whether didactic, or epic, or
dramatic--equal in fire and force to the 'Iliad,' or the
'Hamlet,'