The Engraving will furnish the reader with a correct idea of such of Mr. Gurney's improvements as are most interesting to the public. The present arrangement is certainly very preferable to placing the boiler and engine in immediate contact with the carriage, which is to convey goods and passengers. Men of science are still much divided on the practical economy of using steam instead of horses as a travelling agent; but we hope, like all great contemporaries they may whet and cultivate each other till the desired object is attained. One of them, a writer in the _Atlas_, observes, that "if ultimately found capable of being brought into public use, it would probably be most convenient and desirable that several locomotive engines should be employed on one line of road, in order that they might be exchanged at certain stages for the purposes of examination, tightening of screws, and other adjustments, which the jolting on passing over the road might render necessary, and for the supply of fuel and water." An effectively-coloured lithographic of Mr. Gurney's carriage (by Shoesmith) has recently appeared at the printsellers', which we take this opportunity of recommending to the notice of collectors and scrappers. [Footnote 1: "Literary Gazette," Sept. 19, 1829.] [Footnote 2: The propellers, I am informed, are not absolutely discarded. They are now not fixed, but movable, and reserved for extreme possible emergencies, or for certain military purposes.] * * * * * PUNNING SATIRE ON AN INCONSTANT LOVER. You are as faithless as a _Carthaginian_, To love at once, _Kate, Nell, Doll, Martha, Jenny, Anne._ SWIFT. * * * * * BRIMHAM ROCKS[3] BY MOONLIGHT. (_FOR THE MIRROR._) The sun hath set, but yet I linger still, Gazing with rapture on the face of night; And mountain wild, deep vale, and heathy hill, Lay like a lovely vision, mellow, bright, Bathed in the glory of the sunset light, Whose changing hues in flick'ring radiance play, Faint and yet fainter on the outstretch'd sight, Until at length they wane and die away, And all th' horizon round fades into twilight gray. But, slowly rising up the vaulted sky, Forth comes the moon, night's joyous, sylvan queen, With one lone, silent star, attendant by Her side, all sparkling in its glorious sheen; And, floating swan-like, stately, and serene, A few light fleecy clouds, the drapery of heav'n, Throw their pale shadows o'er this witching scene, Deep'ning its mystic grandeur--and seem driven Round these all shapeless piles like Time's wan spectres risen