of Hatherden, to say, that
we could not have the place, as the Norrises were returning to their old
house forthwith. And my Castle is knocked down, blown up--which is the
right word for the demolishing such airy edifices? And Hatherden is as
far-off, and the hill as steep, and the common as dreary as ever.

We have already quoted the most striking of the poetical pieces, at page
283. Allan Cunningham has some spirited lines, My Native Vale; and the
Ettrick Shepherd, a touching Lay of the Martyrs. Archdeacon Wrangham,
one of the most elegant and classical scholars of the day, has
translated twenty-three beautiful verses on the Spider, from Pignotti,
besides a few other little garnishing pieces. The Brothers, a Sketch,
by the Hon. Mrs. Norton, is full of sweet simplicity; and some Stanzas,
which follow, by Mr. Crofton Croker, are gems of affection. Thoughts on
Flowers, by H.G. Bell, breathe the same sweet and touching spirit; and
the Banks of the Dove, written by M.T. Sadler, Esq. on leaving his
"native village in early youth," are not only interesting as gems of
talent which has since ripened into literary distinction in honourable
public service, but will delight every admirer of genuine feeling.

The Engravings are nearly all of first-rate excellence. The
frontispiece, the Minstrel of Chamouni, after Pickersgill, by J.H.
Robinson, in effect, spirit, and finish, cannot be surpassed. But how
shall we describe the Crucifixion, engraved by Le Keux, from a drawing
by Martin: how can we speak of the light shedding over the Holy City
and "Calvary's wild hill," the crucified MESSIAH, the living stream,
and the thousands and tens of thousands that cluster on this "earthly
throne"--the magnificent architectural masses--the vivid light streaming
in the distance; and the warlike turmoil of helmet heads, spears and
floating banners that aid the shout of blood in the foreground: this
must suffice. The First Interview between the Spaniards and Peruvians,
after Briggs, by Greatbach, is a triumph of art; Wilkie's Dorty Bairn
is excellent; the Fisherman's Children, after Collins, by C. Rolls, is
exquisitely delicate; and the Gleaner, by Finden, after Holmes, has
a lovely set of features, which art and fashion may court in vain.
But we have outrun our tether, and must halt here.

* * * * *

The Literary Souvenir.

From the _Amulet_ we turn to Mr. Watts's _El Dorado_ of poetry
and romance in superb