re the
difference between prose,--healthy and energetic prose,
indeed, but still prose,--and poetry. Clevenger's is such as
we see Mr. Webster on any public occasion, when his genius
is not called forth. No child could fail to recognize it in
a moment. Powers' is not so good as a likeness, but has the
higher merit of being an ideal of the orator and statesman at
a great moment. It is quite an American Jupiter in its eagle
calmness of conscious power.

'A marble copy of the beautiful Diana, not so spirited as
the Athenaeum cast. S. C---- thought the difference was one of
size. This work may be seen at a glance; yet does not tire
one after survey. It has the freshness of the woods, and of
morning dew. I admire those long lithe limbs, and that column
of a throat. The Diana is a woman's ideal of beauty; its
elegance, its spirit, its graceful, peremptory air, are what
we like in our own sex: the Venus is for men. The sleeping
Cleopatra cannot be looked at enough; always her sleep seems
sweeter and more graceful, always more wonderful the drapery.
A little Psyche, by a pupil of Bartolini, pleases us much thus
far. The forlorn sweetness with which she sits there, crouched
down like a bruised butterfly, and the languid tenacity of
her mood, are very touching. The Mercury and Ganymede with
the Eagle, by Thorwaldsen, are still as fine as on first
acquaintance. Thorwaldsen seems the grandest and simplest of
modern sculptors. There is a breadth in his thought, a freedom
in his design, we do not see elsewhere.

'A spaniel, by Gott, shows great talent, and knowledge of the
animal. The head is admirable; it is so full of playfulness
and of doggish knowingness.'

I am tempted, by my recollection of the pleasure it gave her, to
insert here a little poem, addressed to Margaret by one of her
friends, on the beautiful imaginative picture in the gallery of 1840,
called "The Dream."

"A youth, with gentle brow and tender cheek,
Dreams in a place so silent, that no bird,
No rustle of the leaves his slumbers break;
Only soft tinkling from the stream is heard,
As in bright little waves it comes to greet
The beauteous One, and play upon his feet.

"On a low bank, beneath the thick shade thrown,
Soft gleams over his brown hair are flitting,
His golden plumes, bending, all lovely shone;
It seeme