and gliding over the illumined edges and delicate fissures until they sank into the deep dark hollow between the marble blocks of the sunk foundation, lighting every other moment one isolated emerald lamp on the crest of the intermittent waves, when the wild sea-weeds and crimson lichens drifted and crawled with their thousand colours and fine branches over its decay, and the black, clogging, accumulated limpets hung in ropy clusters from the dripping and tinkling stone. What has Canaletti given us for this?" Alas, neither a _crawling_ lichen, nor _clogging_ limpets, nor a _tinkling_ stone, but "one square, red mass, composed of--let me count--five-and-fifty--no, six-and-fifty--no, I was right at first, five-and-fifty bricks," &c. The picture, if it be painted by the graduate, must be a curiosity--we can make neither head nor tail of his words. But let us find another strange specimen--where he compares his own observations of nature with Poussin and Turner. Every one must remember a very pretty little picture of no great consequence by Gaspar Poussin--a view of some buildings of a town said to be Aricia, the modern La Riccia--just take it for what it is intended to be, a quiet, modest, agreeable scene--very true and sweetly painted. How unfit to be compared with an ambitious description of a combination of views from Rome to the Alban Mount, for that is the range of the description, though, perhaps, the description is taken from a poetical view of one of Turner's incomprehensibles, which may account for the conclusion, "Tell me who is likest this, Poussin or Turner?" Now, though Poussin never intended to be like this, let us see the graduate's description of it. We know the little town; it received us as well as our author, having left Rome to visit it. "Egressum magnâ me accepit Aricia Roma."