faces," ," that rise upon his memory like dreams he sees the rude hut that sheltered his youth, standing upon the rugged heath-but he sees also his grey-haired mother's smile, and hears his father's voice, tremulous with age, and shaking with emotions, the bitterest a father's heart can feel, when parting for ever from his only son. He hears the light songs of his sisters, and sees the arch sparkle of their eyes, as they banter him about the beautiful Annette-and the young man starts from his waking dreams to sad realities --and marvel ye, as his eye takes in the blossoms of the vine, or his ear drinks the wild carols of the vintage train, that he despises them as things foreign to his heart and his affections; and that he longs, with a passionate longing, for the rude rocks which friendship has clothed for him with beauty, and the desolate height which love has sprinkled for him with flowers? Reverse the matter, and see if the proposition holds. Take some fat Cockney, for instance, and keep him in any of the Highland moors for a year-see if he won't have a longing to return to his snug house, his pint of port, and rubber of whist. Ask him, when he was sojourning among the roes and moorcocks, if he did'n't frequently wish to be comfortably seated on his sofa in the parlor, with his wife by his side, and his two or three children about his knee, and then ask him, after looking at young Johnnie's squinting eye, and little Sophy's swelled cheek, whether he was so anxious for his home, merely because it was warm, and bien, and comfortable, or whether it was not the presence of his wife and little ones that made him pant for it as the hart does for the water-brook? Even Betty, his Dorsetian

cook, with her red arms and carrotty hair, seemed to him, in his dreamings on that Aberdeenshire desert, more beautiful than the loveliest mountain lassie that tript barefoot among the heather, and vanished in a moment from his jaundiced eyes, as light as the butterfly that fluttered among the thyme which bloomed beneath her feet. Think ye not that the peasant of some rich plain in England loves that plain in all its richness of vegetation and beauty of sky, as truly and as devotedly as the "habitant" of the Hebrides loves his native hut, with the cataract roaring over the linn a few yards from the door, and the tempest howling down the unsheltered ravine, where at midnight he fancies he hears the yelling of disembodied ghosts, and the voices of the spirits of the storm? Every man loves his country—but it is not the earth, the insensate clod, that is the bond-it is the associations of his youth, his manhood, or even his ancestry, which bind him with such intensity of strength; and never may those feelings be eradicated from human hearts! Still dear to men be the home, however bleak, where first they lifted their pure hearts to Heaven, and taught their young lips to lisp the name of God-still dear be the sunny vale, the barren heath, or the shrubless mountain, where they wandered in their thoughtless youth-and dear be the solemn aisle, or small desolate kirkyard, where they have laid their wee bairn that died, with its sweet smiles and long soft hair, and where they may shortly be laid themselves, to mingle their bones with the bones of their fathers and grandfathers, who lived and died in the same quiet valley a hundred years before!

MR. MARTIN has published an Engraving from his Picture of "the Deluge."―Of all living artists, Mr. Martin appears to attain the sublime with the greatest facility. It springs forth spontaneously, as it were, from the constitution of his mind, and more or less palpably pervades everything he produces. This sublime is not, however, the sublime of passion, exhibited in the workings of a single countenance, or in the countenances of a group: it arises from the simultaneous sufferings of multitudes crowded together by some terrible catastrophe, from a combination of innumerable energies, from confusion, darkness, and immensity. It may generally, perhaps, be termed the sublime of the material world, in which man, contrasted with the huge masses of rock, gigantic architecture, mountains, torrents, and abysses, by which he is surrounded, appears a miserable pigmy, created to be the sport of the elements, or crushed to dust amid their convulsions. In the present magnificent engraving, all that we have said is literally exemplified the sun, the moon, the streaming comet, in miraculous conjunction, and half eclipsed by the canopy of vapor now hung densely round the globe, and melting into torrents of rain, glare menacingly upon the earth. In the centre of the picture, directly beneath the light, which breaks down in pale masses through the clouds, are the lofty beetling precipices of Caucasus or Ararat, clothed with wood, and pouring down diminutive cataracts. On the right and left thick darkness broods upon the mountains, except where the forked lightning pierces through it, blasting the rocks, and setting on fire the forests. On the left foreground, the waters, in foaming, tremendous torrents, rush towards the centre, where, upon the brink of precipices, and directly beneath the toppling mountains, the wretched remnant of the human race, including the aged Methuselah, mingled with horses, ele

phants, and every wild and ferocious animal, act those terrible extravagances which are usually dictated by the last despair; while far above, beneath the streaming light, the ark is discovered awaiting tranquilly among tufted groves, the rising of the waters, which is to float it over the ruins of the world.

The invention displayed in this print is admirable. Every terrible circumstance that might be supposed to accompany the destruction of a world, is introduced the multitude, broken into groups and clinging to each other to the last, or crowding together in confusion, as affection or terror predominates, is admirably distributed; and the savage animals, no longer thirsting for blood, but stricken with instinctive fear, and gazing upwards at the black heavens, are finely imagined, and, as well as the groups of human beings, the torn mountains, and the rushing waters, depicted with prodigious power. The lights and shadows are exquisitely managed, so as to produce an idea of vast depth and distance; and the effect of the whole is eminently impressive and sublime.-The following poem, from the pen of a very amiable contemporary, was produced by a sight of the picture, which we need not say is inferior to the engraving. The awful Vision haunts me still,

In thoughts by day, in dreams by night; So well had Art's creative skill

There shown its fearless might. The flood-gates of the foaming deep By power supreme asunder riven ! The dark, terrific, arching sweep

Of clouds by tempests driven !

The beetling crags, which, on the right,
Menace swift ruin in their fall,
Yet rise on Memory's wistful sight,
And Memory's dreams appal.
The rocky foreground-where await

Man, beast, and bird their fearful doom;
Wonder, and awe, and love, and hate,

Mute grief, and sterner gloom;

All passions of the human heart,

Here, by the mastery of Art,
In energy are shown.

In moods the darkest, fiercest known,

All wildest fancy can portray

Of that tremendous scene and hour, Exerts its own resistless sway,

And triumphs in its power.

It is no momentary spell,

Unfelt-when we behold it not : Its woes on after hours must dwell, Its fears be unforgot.

Yet not of woe or fear alone

It tells a sad and solemn story;

One object in the wreck is shown
Of love-and grace-and glory!
One gleam-where all beside is dark,
From stern and hopeless horror saves,
Shows where the Heaven-protected ark
The world of waters braves!
To that, amid Creation's doom,
Meek Hope, and holy Faith may cling,
And, in Destruction's darkest gloom,
Of Mercy's triumph sing!
B. BARTON.

We are inundated with notices of these forthcoming productions; all of them possessing claims to public attention, and some of them making extraordinary efforts both in literature and the arts. When we consider the vast cost lavished on these small volumes, which nothing but a very large sale could enable the parties to expend, (from not less than two to the amount of perhaps six or eight thousand pounds and more,) it will appear that they are publications of comparatively the cheapest kind, since the engravings of the least emulous of them would, in any other form, be worth more than the price of the whole work with its contributions from so many distinguished hands. Indeed, but for the use of steel plates, from which thousands of impressions can be taken, it would be impossible to get up such books at such prices. We do not therefore think that the increase of their numbers will have any other effect than that of creating a corresponding increase of demand the best will, of course, carry off the palm: but we are of opinion that every one that is well conducted will meet with sufficient encouragement. To promote this, we give a list as far as we can.

1. Ackerman's Forget-me-not-the first in the field, and one which has hitherto merited and enjoyed a very large circulation.

2. The Souvenir, Mr. Alaric Watts's, which set the example, so beneficial to arts and artists, of having the highest style of embellishments in works of this class. This year, if we may judge from the beautiful proofs

lying before us, these efforts have been continued with augmented spirit and success. Most of the engravings are indeed exquisite, and the subjects remarkably well chosen both for appropriateness and variety.

3. The Amulet, by Mr. Hall, which takes a more serious tone than its compeers, and has established its character with a very large and influential part of the community.

4. Friendship's Offering, is under the direction of another poet of no mean celebrity, Mr. T. Pringle. We have as yet seen nothing of its composition, but expect good things from the talents and assiduity of its editor.

5. The Pledge of Friendship, the name of which is altered into The Gem, promises to realise its new title, as it is edited by Mr. T. Hood, whose tender as well as sportive muse is competent greatly to enrich any production of this kind. But of this Annual we must also allow we have as yet seen nothing.

6. The Bijou, published by Mr. Pickering, and edited, we believe, by Mr. N. H. Nicholas. This is its second year: the first No. had some striking features, which attracted much notice.

7. The Keepsake, under the direction of Mr. C. Heath for the arts, and of Mr. F. M. Reynolds for the literature. The beauty of its illustrations last year commanded great applause, and this season even more strenuous exertions have been made to raise it still higher, especially in its literary compositions. We have seen three or four of the plates, which it is impossible to surpass.

of excellence. One proof, of Sir W. Scott in his study, is shown as an example of the engravings. Scotland has, we hear, furnished many of the literary contributions.

9. The Winter's Wreath resembles the Amulet in some measure, and is, we understand, principally derived from Liverpool, but the contributors are of all quarters, as in the other Annuals, from John o' Groat's House to the Land's End.

10. 11. 12. The Christmas Box, the New Year's Gift, and the Juvenile Forget-me-not, are for children. Among the engravings of the New

A Musical Annual has also been announced, and we should not wonder to see several other projects of the same kind, peculiarly addressed to different pursuits and orders of society.

The Almanacs, too, have been much improved by this new species of composition, which has in other respects had considerable effects upon the Fine Arts and the floating literature of the country. Moore, Campbell, and Rogers, are almost the only eminent names which have not been begged or bought into the fact of contributing.

THE THUMB.

THE thumb is a very important part of the hand, and is, at least, so far as strength is concerned, almost peculiar to man; for in the hands of apes and lemurs, the thumb is small and feeble, ("altogether ridiculous," as Eustachius, the anatomist, asserted,) and cannot act, as in man, in opposition to the combined force of the fingers. The muscles of the fingers, for the most part, are placed in the fore-arm. The most important muscles of the thumb-those which bend it in opposition to the fingers-could not have been fixed in the arm, as the required motion is across the palm, and not in the line of the arm. These muscles are accordingly placed around the inner ball of the thumb, forming a firm and vigorous assemblage of cords, ready to move the thumb in every useful direction. Their thickness and firmness make up for their want of length. From this it is evident, that man can never, with any show of

plausible argument, be traced to any of the monkey tribes, which have in the course of ages found out the art of turning one of their fingers into the use of a thumb,-a theory which, wild as it is, has been maintained by more than one philosopher.

COMETS.

The two comets, which are soon to appear, excite much interest. According to the calculations of M. Damoiseau, of the French Academy, that, the mean revolution of which is 2460 days, will arrive at the perihelion on the 27th of November, 1832, at thirty-two minutes, twenty-one seconds after eleven: its perturbations may be nine days, fifteen hours, fifty-six minutes, twenty-seven seconds. comet, the period of which is three years and a third, has a less irregular motion. It re-appeared towards the end of the last summer on the 11th of November it will reach its shortest distance from the earth; and towards

The