n order to connect
the hill with Prince's-street, all these have been swept away, and an
elegant arch, called _Regent Bridge_, has been thrown over the hollow,
which makes the descent from the hill into this street easy and
agreeable. Thus, in place of being carried, as formerly, through long
and narrow streets, the great road from the east into Edinburgh sweeps
along the side of the steep and singular elevation of the Calton Hill;
whence the traveller has first a view of the Old Town, with its elevated
buildings crowning the summit of the adjacent ridges, and rising upon
the eye in imposing masses; and, afterwards, of the New Town finely
contrasted with the Old, in the regularity and elegance of its general
outline.

_Regent Bridge_ was begun in 1816, and finished in 1819. The arch is
semicircular, and fifty feet wide. At the north front it is forty-five
feet in height, and at the south front sixty-four feet two inches, the
difference being occasioned by the ground declining to the south. The
roadway is formed by a number of reverse arches on each side. The great
arch is ornamented on the south and north by two open arches, supported
by elegant columns of the Corinthian order. The whole property purchased
to open the communication to the city by this bridge cost 52,000l, and
the building areas sold for the immense sum of 35,000l. The street along
the bridge is called Waterloo-place, as it was founded in the year on
which that memorable battle was fought.

The engraving[1] is an interesting picture of classic beauty; and as the
"approaches" and proposed "dry arches" to the New London Bridge are now
becoming matters of speculative interest, we hope this entrance to our
metropolis will ultimately present a similar display of architectural
elegance. LONDON, with all her opulence, ought not to yield in
comparison with any city in the world; and it is high time that the
march of taste be quickened in this quarter.

[1] from an exquisite lithograph by J. Goldicutt.

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF CARL MARIA VON WEBER.

Weep, for the word is spoken--
Mourn, for the knell hath knoll'd--
The master chord is broken,
And the master's hand is cold!
Romance hath lost her minstrel,
No more his magic strain
Shall throw a sweeter spell around,
The legends of Almaine.

His fame had flown before him
To many a foreign land,
His lays are sung by every tongue,