tino." I contrived,
however, to find a place whence I could see _my_ picture, and where I
seemed to be in nobody's way. For some minutes I remained
undisturbed; and then I heard, in an English voice: "Might I beg of
you, sir, to stand a little more to this side, as you interrupt my
view."

I felt vext, for, standing where he asked me, a glare struck on the
picture from the windows, and I could not see it. However, the
request was reasonably made, and from a countryman; so I complied,
and turning away, stood by his easel. I knew it was not worth while;
yet I referred in some way to the work underneath the one he was
copying. He did not laugh, but he smiled as we do in England: "_Very_
odd, is it not?" said he.

The other students near us were all continental; and seeing an
Englishman select an Englishman to speak with, conceived, I suppose,
that he could understand no language but his own. They had evidently
been noticing the interest which the little picture appeared to
excite in me.

One of them, and Italian, said something to another who stood next to
him. He spoke with a Genoese accent, and I lost the sense in the
villainous dialect. "Che so?" replied the other, lifting his eyebrows
towards the figure; "roba mistica: 'st' Inglesi son matti sul
misticismo: somiglia alle nebbie di la. Li fa pensare alla patria,

"E intenerisce il core
Lo di ch' han detto ai dolci amici adio."

"La notte, vuoi dire," said a third.

There was a general laugh. My compatriot was evidently a novice in
the language, and did not take in what was said. I remained silent,
being amused.

"Et toi donc?" said he who had quoted Dante, turning to a student,
whose birthplace was unmistakable even had he been addressed in any
other language: "que dis-tu de ce genre-la?"

"Moi?" returned the Frenchman, standing back from his easel, and
looking at me and at the figure, quite politely, though with an
evident reservation: "Je dis, mon cher, que c'est une specialite dont
je me fiche pas mal. Je tiens que quand on ne comprend pas une chose,
c'est qu' elle ne signifie rein."

My reader thinks possibly that the French student was right.

Reviews

_The Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich: a Long-vacation Pastoral. By Arthur
Hugh Clough. Oxford: Macpherson. London: Chapman and Hall.--1848_

The critic who should undertake to speak of all the poetry which
issues from the press of these present days, what is so called by
courtesy as wel