The Panorama is well executed throughout, and in parts, with much delicacy and finish.  The distant country, bays, and points, are for the most part delightfully painted.  Here and there are spots which almost remind us of Virgil’s

      —­locos loetos, et amoena vireta,
  Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas: 

and, without any view to a transportable offence, a man might well wish to settle himself here “for life.”

Mr. Burford’s “Descriptions” are perhaps better drawn up than those of exhibitions in general.  In the Keyplate before us, fifty-two points or objects are denoted, and further illustrated by half-a-dozen pages of letter-press.—­In the town are seen the barracks; the governor’s, commissary’s, and judges’ residences; hotel, jail, lime-kilns, church, court-house, bank, hospital, treasury, pier, &c., and Mrs. Midwood’s seminary.  Groups of convicts enliven the picture—­we had almost said en_lighten_ it, from recollection of the picking propensities to which hundreds of them are indebted for their abode here.  They are deplorable specimens of fallen nature—­such as may be seen in droves slinking to their work in the dock-yard at Portsmouth, or elsewhere, and still bearing the front of humanity in their begrimed features, but harrowing the spectator with painful recollections of their moral abandonment.  One of the groups is a chain gang at work—­breaking stones for the road—­or, a last effort at self-improvement, by mending the ways of others.  How different would these worthies appear in a rabble rout at a London fire, or in all the sleekness of civilization, as exhibited in the sundry avocations of picking a pocket, in easing a country gentleman of his uncrumpled or bright dividend, or studying our ease and comfort by helping themselves to all our houses contain without the rudeness of disturbing our slumbers.  A neighbouring group of natives, though less sightly than these fallen sons of civilization, in a moral point of view, would be a happy contrast, could we but look into the hearts of both parties, and see what is passing therein.

But we are moralizing, and this may not be the most showy inducement for the reader to visit Mr. Burford’s Panorama, and admire its pictorial beauties.  Let him do so; and before he leaves the place, turn about, and think for himself, and be assured there is good in every thing.

* * * * *

INK LITHOGRAPHY.

An exquisite specimen of this branch of art, by the ingenious Mr. R. Martin, of Holborn, has hitherto escaped our notice.  It was forwarded to us some weeks since, and accidentally mislaid.  It is, however, never too late to be just—­by saying that the performance before us, in clearness, delicacy, and finish, equals, if not exceeds, every specimen yet produced in this country, or those we have seen on or from the continent.  The Drawing is about