Whence the mouldering tablet, carved with long-forgotten letters, falls. Through these chambers sadly wending, and to other halls ascending, Newer they appear, though tending slowly to a like decay; ARISTOTLE'S, PLATO'S pages, which, through long succeeding ages, O'er the minds of other sages held so absolute a sway; Panels, which APELLES used, with all the colours worn away; Witty jests of PERIANDER; bulletins of ALEXANDER; Systems of ANAXIMANDER; fossil _Pterodactyles_ found In the old Homeric strata; speeches that could once create a New soul in a dying state, or burst the chains a tyrant bound; Once loved arts and cherished customs; moulder on the dusty ground. To the higher rooms approaching, still we find the new encroaching On the old; the Moderns poaching coolly on the Ancients' land. NIEBUHR'S stern determination many an ancient reputation Tumbles from its lofty station; HARDOUIN'S sacrilegious hand Threatens Virgil; SHEPHERD scarce will let one ancient father stand. Nay, our predecessors hearing our approach, and greatly fearing Hurt from us, on our appearing, mostly haste to give us way; BREWSTER with delight is glowing, laurels won from NEWTON showing; CUVIER yields his wreath to OWEN, DAVY _his_ to FARADAY; HUME does homage to MACAULAY; FIELDING welcomes THACKERAY. But though on the topmost story now we stand, we know our glory Shall at best be transitory; brief our triumph is, though proud, For, far down the mountain glancing, rays, that set for us, are dancing On the rapidly advancing columns of a mighty crowd; As their leaders cheer them on we hear them shouting long and loud. That, as ours was, so their race is; that their course our track defaces; That they crave our hard-won places; thrills us like a sudden flame; And the high celestial chorus once again descending o'er us, As of old it would implore _us_, sings, to urge _them_ on, the same Strain of "Hasten, favoured mortals! Hasten to the House of Fame!" * * * * * NEW AMERICAN MOVEMENT. [Illustration] Somebody writing from Naples, about Music, to a fashionable contemporary, says:-- "I know, too, more than half-a-dozen Americans who have left their gold cupidity behind them, and are now in Italy, living in small dirty back rooms with a piano-forte, practising _solfeggios_, with the intention of becoming singers of Italian opera."