The situation of the statue has been judiciously chosen, being but a short distance from the senate wherein Canning built up his earthly fame. The association is unavoidable; and scores of patriotic men who pass by this national tribute to splendid talent may feel its inspiring influence. Still, rather than speculate upon Mr. Canning's political career, we quote Lord Byron's manly eulogium on the illustrious dead: "Canning," said Byron, in his usual energetic manner, "is a genius, almost an universal one, an orator, a wit, a poet, and a statesman." Again, Yet something may remain, perchance, to chime With reason, and what's stranger still, with rhyme; Even this thy genius, CANNING! may permit, Who, bred a statesman, still was born a wit, And never, even in that dull house, could'st tame To unleaven'd prose thine own poetic flame; Our last, our best, our only Orator, Ev'n I can praise thee. It may be interesting to observe that the colour so much admired on bronze statues is fine dark green from the oxide formed upon the metal, which, being placed without doors, is more liable to be corroded by water holding in solution the principles of the atmosphere; "and the rust and corrosion, which are made poetically, qualities of time, depend upon the oxydating powers of water, which, by supplying oxygen in a dissolved or condensed state enable the metal to form new combinations."--_Sir H. Davy_. * * * * * THE PUBLIC JOURNALS. RHYMING RUMINATIONS ON OLD LONDON BRIDGE. Oh! ancient London Bridge, And art thou done for? To walk across thee were a privilege That some unborn enthusiasts would run for. I have crossed o'er thee many and many a time, And hold my head the higher for having done it; Considering it a prime And rare adventure--worthy of a sonnet Or little flight in rhyme, A monody, an elegy, or ode, Or whatsoever name may be bestowed On this wild rhapsody of lawless chime-- When I have done it. How many busy hands, and heads, and hearts-- What quantities of great and little people As thick as shot; Some of considerable pride and parts, And high in their own eyes as any steeple, Though now forgot! How many dogs, and sheep, and pigs, and cattle, How many trays of hot-cross buns and tarts, How many soldiers ready armed for battle, How many cabs, and coaches, drags, and carts, Bearing the produce of a thousand marts, How many monarchs poor, and beggars proud, Bishops too humble to be contumacious; How many a patriot--many a watchman loud-- Lawyers too honest, ay, and thieves too gracious: In short, how great a number Of busy men-- As well as thousand loads of human lumber Have past, old fabric, o'er thee! How can I then But heartily deplore thee!