are the signs of the zodiac brilliantly coloured-Sir John Sinclair is mounted on Aries, who is represented as galloping backwards; Mr. G. Wilson holding up his tail-motto, Abstract currency. Lord Castlereagh was so condescending as to sit for Virgo, and the likeness is said to be striking. Libra is properly omitted, as there are no more guineas to weigh; and the partnership is dissolved between Gemini (as the Papists split one of the commandments), to complete the number of the signs, and atone for the necessary omission. To enumerate all the devices, would be an endless task: suffice it to say, that in splendour, taste, and magnificence, if this illumination has ever been equalled, it has never been, nor ever will be, surpassed.

EPIGRAM ON THE RETREAT OF MASSENA.

[From the General Evening Post, April 30.]

MASSENA, Fortune's favourite son,

Swore he would make the Britons run;
And did so -How?-Refrain from laughter—
He ran away, and they ran after.

OWEN AP HOEL.

VERSES WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY,

WH

AFTER THE FUNERAL OF

THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES JAMES FOX,

ост. 10, 1806.

By Samuel Rogers, Esq.

[From the Morning Chronicle.]

HOE'ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh,
Mark where the small remains of greatness lie *.

* Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, &c. Bossuet, Oraison funèbre de Louis de Bourbon. K 3

There

There sleeps the dust of him for ever gone,

How near the scene where once his glory shone !
And though no more ascends the voice of prayer,
Though the last footsteps cease to linger there,
Still, like an awful dream that comes again,
Alas, at best, as transient and as vain,

Still do I see (while through the vaults of night
The funeral-song once more proclaims the rite),
The moving pomp along the shadowy aisle,
That, like a darkness, fill'd the solemn pile;
The illustrious line, that in long order led,

Of those that lov'd him living, mourn'd him dead;
Of those, the few, that for their country stood
Round him who dar'd be singularly good;
All, of all ranks, that claim'd him for their own;
And nothing wanting-but himself alone + !

Oh! say, of him now rests there but a name;
Wont, as he was, to breathe ethereal flame?
Friend of the absent! guardian of the dead ‡ !
Who but would here his sacred sorrows shed?
(Such as he shed on Nelson's closing grave;
How soon to claim the sympathy he gave!)
In him, resentful of another's wrong,
The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong.
Truth from his lips a charm celestial drew-
Ah! who so mighty and so gentle too?

What though with war the madding nations rung,
"Peace," when he spoke, dwelt ever on his tongue
Amidst the frowns of power, the tricks of state,
Fearless, resolv'd, and negligently great!
In vain malignant vapours gather'd round;
He walk'd, erect, on consecrated ground.
The clouds, that rise to quench the orb of day,
Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away!
When in retreat he laid his thunder by,
For letter'd ease and calm philosophy,

Et rien enfin ne manque dans tous ces honneurs, que celui à qui on les rend. Bossuet, Oraison funèbre de Louis de Bourbon. Alluding particularly to his speech on moving a new writ for the borough of Tavistock, March 16, 1802.

Blest

Blest were his hours within the silent grove,
Where still his godlike spirit deigns to rove;
Blest by the orphan's smile, the widow's prayer,
deed long done in secret there.

For many

There shone his lamp on Homer's hallow'd page;
There, list'ning, sate the hero and the sage;
And they, by virtue and by blood allied,

Whom most he lov'd, and in whose arms he died.
Friend of all human kind! not here alone
(The voice that speaks, was not to thee unknown),
Wilt thou be miss'd.-O'er every land and sea
Long, long shall England be rever'd in thee!
And, when the storm is hush'd-in distant years.
Foes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears!

THE EXCUSE.

AN EPIGRAM

ON A VERY INDIFFERENT PREACHER, AT A CHURCH NEAR HANOVER SQUARE, THE VAULTS OF WHICH ARE CONVERTED INTO WINE-CELLARS.

ΤΗ

[From the British Press, May 2.]

HE cellars so stock'd, one would think, might inspire
The dullest of parsons with spirit to teach;

And, seated below, not ev'n

would tire

But, over his liquor, he never could preach! April 30.

EQUESTRIAN THEATRICALS.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE.

[May 2.]

SIR,

AFTER an absence of seven years, being obliged to

come to town upon business, I went the other evening to Covent Garden-the play was. The Gazette Extraordinary, which, to tell you the truth, about the third act, threw me into a sound sleep, from which I

was roused by the clattering of the hoofs of the Princess of Mingrelia's Palfry-you may judge I was, during the rest of the representation of Timour, kept broad awake, by the bray of kettle-drums, the galloping of horses, and the clangor of trumpets-this greatly shocked and surprised me who remembered Garrick's time, when a fine tragedy was succeeded by an entertaining farce, and the audience dispersed, not merely amused, but I verily believe, improved, by the night's entertainment ;-but I will confess to you, what still more than the nummery astonished me, was, to behold the shouting and delirious acclamation that prevailed, and my hearing many grave men and women exclaim, "Delightful! charming! wonderful!" and, in a word, curvet round the whole circus of superlatives with as much alacrity as Bluebeard's charger. This, I own, puzzled me-I went home to my coffee-house, took a tumbler of brandy and water, and still could not solve this phenomenon of bad taste. After a night's rather disturbed rest, in the morning at breakfast, a sort of solution of the difficulty occurred to me, which I beg permission to communi. cate to you-We are becoming a warlike people, Mr. Editor. We had wars in Queen Anne's time; but then we fought by a sort of proxy; but at present the case is different, and the military spirit is diffused from the cot to the throne. Thanks to Buonaparte's threats of invasion, every man now is a soldier, and therefore naturally becomes enamoured of the "pomp, pride, and circumstance of glorious war;" and among them "the neighing steed," of course, holds a conspicuous place in his affections-the field of battle is become familiar to his thoughts ;" and from what before he would have turned in disgust, he now contemplates with pleasure. It was just so in Rome—iț was not till after the time of Terence, who was the friend of Scipio and Lælius, that the Romans took so violently

violently to gladiatorial exhibitions; nor did they prefer them to his comedies, till, like us, they were at war with the whole world. Cæsar, in the true feeling of a martial critic, blames Terence for his want of spirit, and adds a wish, in which, I am sure, as applied to our modern dramatists, every playgoer of the present day heartily joins':

Lenibus atque utinam scriptis, adjuncta foret vis comica. This spirit-stirring observation of Cæsar's is, I am certain, the opinion of every militia and volunteer colonel throughout the nation-no wonder then that a body of such weight should have an influence in tarning the scale of national taste.

There is another, and a very strong concurring cause for this partiality towards equestrian performers; need I say that I allude to that respectable fraternity called the four-in-hand Club; who, with a laudable veneration for antiquity, are trying, as far as in them lies, to revive the glories of the Olympic Games in the exalted characters of mail-coachmen: excellent members, not merely of the community, but of Parliament, they are preparing themselves to superintend the great scheme of the Post-office conveyances (invented by Mr. Palmer, who, unfortunately for himself, did not, like Lord Liverpool, make his bargain sure), and to obtain a personal knowledge of all the turnpike and bye roads, in the kingdom.

Go on, brave youths, till, in some future age,.
Whips shall become the senatorial badge;
And England see her thronging senators,.
Meet all at Westminster in boots and spurs ;;
Of bets and taxes learnedly debate,

And guide, with equal reins, a steed or state.

Yes, Mr. Editor, it is to the prevalence of the military spirit and the four-in-hand that I ascribe this passion for equestrian mummery; and while I hail the cause, 1 cannot

K 5