The Sun.
London, England, 1848-03-09 00:00:00

DAVIDSON'S CLASSICAL ATLAS.

So many maps have already appeared illustrative of
modern and antique geography, that we cannot but
look with considerable incredulity upon a prospectus
or a title-page which arrogates to any new publica-
tion of the like kind a decided superiority over its
predecessors. Here, however, is an atlas upon "
an
entirely new plan," and such a plan as must secure to
it the approbation of even the most fastidious. We
do not recollect ever to have seen a volume of maps
so remarkable for neatness, compactness, and accu-
racy. The whole is comprised in eighteen plates, in
which plates the ancient and modern names of places
are given together. This is accomplished, moreover,
without the slightest confusion, the difference being
rendered perceptible by a brilliant dissimilarity of
colour—the ancient names being printed in red ink,
and the modern names in black. At one glance,
therefore, the student may obtain from " Davidson's
Classical Atlas" a knowledge of the relative position
of the spots mentioned in the Greek and Latin autho-
rities and those which are now-a-days recognizable in
the eastern hemisphere.

THE OLD PALACE.
(FOR music.)
Oh, the Palace looked so great and grand,
When its walls stood up in giant pride ;
When it held the highest in the land,
And its triumph gates were flinging wide ;
When its turrets bore the bannered stair,
And the court-yard rung with the prancing hoof;
When the dancing strain and the revel laugh
Went merrily up to the spanning roof.
Oh, the Palace was a noble place,
In its palmy days of strength and grace.
Tower and terrace have fallen low,
And the banquet hall is dimly seen
Through ivy and bine-weed that twine as they go,
In shadowy folds of grey and green.
Ages have blotted the sculptured crest,
The wind sings through the portal of stone ;
It stands like an eagle's forsaken nest,
Dreary and desolate, mournful and lone.
The sun of its brightness for ever has set,
But the brave old Palace is beautiful yet.
We may see a heart as grand and rare,
stand like the Palace in its prime ;
Rich in all that is noble and fair,
Till stricken by Grief, as the Palace by Time.
We may see the moss of a blighted trust
Creeping aruund its pillars of joy ;
But amid the ruin, the gloom, and the dust,
There's a glory abiding that nought can destroy—
For the true Heart is great in its lonely decay/
As the Palace is grand in its passing away.
—Weekly Dispatch. ELIZA COOK.

THE LOST GAME.

At cards a sly and an old man played
With a nation across the sea,
And oaths were taken, and bets were made
As to whose the game should be.
They played solong, and they played so well,
It was difficult to scan
If the sly old man should the people " sell,"
Or the people the sly old man.
The people were " flush" of " clubs" and "spades"
And play ed as if in despair ;
And " diamonds" he had, in all their grades,
But never a " heart" was there.
The last " heat" came of the game I sing,
And the people played pele•m6lo ;
But the old man lost, tho' be played the " king,
For he played the " knave" as welL_Pu'ch•

ROBBERY AT MONK FRYSTONE HALL.—On Mon-
day night, or early on Tuesday morning, Monk Fry-
stone Hall, Yorkshire, the residence of Manes, Esq.,
father of Mr. Mines, M.P., was broken into by thieves,
who succeeded in carrying away nearly the whole of the
silver plate belonging to the family.
LIVERPOOL, WEDNESDAY.—The new packet- ship
Richard Allsop arrived to-day from New York, with
14,0004 iu specie on freight.