the fine arts. Perhaps it may be fairly said, that no painter, since the days of Michael Angelo, has introduced so many figures in a single work, and exhibited them in such a variety of attitudes. The whole of this work manifested a powerful mind, and great professional knowledge, but it was "caviare to the million," and it is much to be regretted that so admirable a design should have been thrown away upon such an occasion. The curtain, we believe, was destroyed in the fire, which consumed the whole interior of that elegant building, so honourable to the genius of our countryman Wyatt; but the original drawing was fortunately preserved,and is in the possession of a nobleman of acknowledged taste. When the enterprising spirit of the Boydells, and Mr. Nicol, began to form their celebrated gallery, in honour of our great dramatic bard, Mr. Tresham was very properly selected among those who were employed in the illustration of his scenes. The choice was proper in two respects, for Mr. Tresham is himself a poet as well as a painter, and has a mind capable of entering into the profoundest views, or rising with the sublimest conceptions of that unrivalled bard. Mr. Tresham's genius is chiefly directed towards the historical and poetical departments, and his works are uniformly characterized by deep knowledge, energy, and expression, It is much to be regretted that ill health has for some years prevented him from exercising his talents in his profession with that zeal and assiduity to which his mind impels him but such is the generous enthusiasm of his charactcr, that in spite of a chronic indisposition, which has long affected him, he went last summer to his native country, for the purpose of forming an altar-piece for the College of Maynooth. He is the author of several poetical works, which are highly creditable to his heart as well as to his imagination. They are all animated by the genuine spirit of liberty, and an attachment to the essential rights of man, but free from that licentiousness which tends to produce a barbarous confusion, or a military despotism. Several of his poetical works display also a strong vein of satire and unaffected humour. Mr. Tresham is of convivial turn, of frank and easy manners, with a spirit that enables him to keep up the true dignity of genius, and an independent mind. His judgment in works of art is universally acknowledged; no man is less disposed to look on the productions of his competitors with more candour and liberal admiration, and, in every view of his character he is entitled to respect, esteem, and friendship.

ENDYMION THE EXILE.

LETTER XV.

I LAST night encountered a sprig of Parnassus, at the New Hummums Coffee-house in Covent-Garden, pert as a poplar, yet complaisant as an osier, and possessed of a tongue tremulous as the aspen leaf. I think it will bear transplanting to the banks of the Seine.

12

HARRY GOSSAMER, Esq. is nominally a student at law, but actually the son of an eminent poulterer in Honey-Lane Market, and one of those flirters with the Muses, whom I formerly described to thee. He began by assuring me that he worshipped those nine ladies, and never suffered a remarkable event to pass by unrecorded. "It does not signify what it is, sir, so it be remarkable-Young Betty, Old Macklin, Colonel Despard, fut Lambert, or the tortoise-shell Tom Cat. Egad, sir, I have 'em all spick and span in my poetical repository, a-hem!" "Indeed, sir," answered I, " an excellent plan, a sort of Annual Register in rhyme?" Exactly so, a-hem! I'll make a memorandum to give it that name. Now, Mr. Endymion, that being my plan, I could not let slip so great an event as the conflagration of DruryLane theatre, without invoking the Muses. Egad, if I had, I believe Apollo would have served me as he served the boy in Ovid's Metamorphoses?" "And pray how was that, Mr. Gossamer?" Why, sir, he would have knocked me on the head with a quoit. At least so I read it in Ozell's translation of Ovidfor Lord love ye, I know no more of Latin than the Pope of Rome -but that's a secret." "Do you happen to have them about you, Mr. Gossamer." "O yes, sir, thank ye for the da саро, here they are. You must know the subject of my poem-a hem! is a remonstrance made by Vulcan to Apollo at the top of the aforesaid theatre, because he (Apollo) was always enticing Venus (who you know is Vulcan's wife) from Mount Olympus to his abominable play-house.” "A pretty idea, sir !" Aye, sir, you may well say that-now for the execution." He then began as follows with a gesticulation to which my pen will not attempt to do justice.

O give me back my rambling jade,
And check your fiery hobbies,
My wife is drinking lemonade,

All night within your lobbies.

What, no reply? good lack, good lack,
'Tis vice beyond endurance,
I'll smoak your godship in a crack,
In spite of your assurance,

Ah me! it was no empty boast,

Most mischief mars, when most hid,
The god whose radiance rules the roast,
Himself by fires is roasted.

"Excellent," exclaimed I, "there's nothing in Martial to equal this." "Dear Mr. Endymion you enchant me-a-hem! and now, sir, having had a coup-d'-ail of the building," said the bard, "we will proceed to examine it pillar by pillar, and first of the first, as the parsons say...-

O give me back my rambling jade.

I begin in the Il pensieroso style, like Ovid begging for his wife. A common rhymer would say, O give me back my wife, and tag it with the comfort of my life, or some such common-place; but rambling jade poetically denotes, a truant disposition, good my lord,' as the play-book says." "True," said I," the epithet is accurately chosen, and denotes no shorter an excursion than from Olympus to Great Russell-Street; if she had been a mere visiting wife, you would have walking jade, or trotting jade." ' Right, sir, I should—but to proceed :

And check your fiery hobbies.

Here, sir, we are upon classic ground, the horses of the sun." "But pray, Mr. Gossamer, what are hobbies? There is a great shoemaker in my neighbourhood, named Hoby --perhaps they are called hobbies because he shod them."66 Lord, sir, how preposterous, a-hem! no sir, hobbies, horses-did you never ride a hobby-horse." "Yes, I never ride any other, and now I comprehend your meaning-fiery hobbies signifies having shoes that strike fire, that is, iron shoes-nay, as Vulcan was a black.

smith, he probably nailed them on." "Nothing more likely, sir, a-hem! I plainly see you have a prodigious taste-but let us go on :

My wife is drinking lemonade.

There, sir! isn't that an elegant beverage? not a drop of spirits will she touch! There's a pattern for all her votaries! No bawling out like that vulgar fellow, MACHEATH, "If any lady chuses gin, I beg she'd call for it. No, sir, she is like an elegant young lady, at a hop at the Crown and Anchor, drinking lemonade." "But why, Mr. Gossamer," interrupted I,

"All night within the lobbies.

Is that so elegant a resort for a goddess to frequent?" "To be sure, sir, it is what would the lobbies be without Venus? You must not suppose her strolling about the passages up-stairs, but reclining under the bas-relief of GARRICK, or gossiping with Pomona, in the garb of a fruit-woman." "Ah! sly dog!" exclaimed I," here is a hit too at modern dramatists. Venus, having a free admission for the season, is tired with the run of a new piece, and treats all that passes on the stage with the most sovereign contempt." "Dear Mr. Endymion, you enchant me again! What a critic you are! the very Longinus of the Hummums! he! he he!-a-hem! And now to it again.

The first line of my second stanza, continued Mr. Gossamer, is both pathetic and comic,

What, no reply ? good lack! good luck!

The poor lame cuckold is here in the extremity of distress. An injury sharpened by contempt, is too much even for a god, and what is his exclamation? good luck! good lack! how true to character. Miss CHINTZ Who writes in the Ladies' Museum, burst into tears when she heard me recite it. And at the same time so comic. JOE MUNDEN tells me it is worth a Jew's eye for a comic song. Egad, he'd work it up, with a grin at the galle ries, and his left shoulder overhanging the foot lamps. I think I'll give it him for his benefit. My next line :

'Tis vice beyond endurance.

is chiefly commendable for the happy equivoque on the word vice, applying either to a blacksmith's vice, or to moral turpitude." I must own, Ambrose, I did not see the exact application of this equivoque, but I was too humane to put him to the proof, and Gossamer thus continued:

I'll smoak your godship in a crack,

There, sir, is a line in the true style of burletta! Smoak figuratively, I'll be up to you; literally, I'll smother you, and Vulcan the god of smoak and smother: and then again, in a crack, figuratively in an instant; literally in a cranny, smoak you know rushes through a cranny!" "Foh!" said I, coughing, methinks I see the yellow-haired god as black as a Westphalia ham. Go on, or I shall be suffocated."

"In spite of your “assurance.”

"Equivoque again," said I, meaning in spite of his insolence, or of his policies at the Hope and Phanix. "Exactly so," said Gossamer, and now for my catastrophe:

Ah me! it was no empty boast.

This begets an awful attention-and is quite à la MARMION.
Most mischief mars when most hid.

A moral truth alliteratively expressed. Ever while you live, study alliteration; it is the true key-stone of all modern pathos. And pray how do you like my pun upon Vulcan's old enemy, Mars ?" "Admirable,” cried I, bursting into a laugh, it did not strike me at first." "And now, sir, for more alliteration.

The god whose radiance rules the roast.

Here, sir, it was my duty as drawing to a close, to stick to mere narrative, and avoid ornament; but my wit will not be controlled. It's like the bottle of spruce, which the waiter just now let off." "What a march of R's," cried I, (6 as your M's moved in melancholy march, now your R's rattle in riotous revelry." "Bravo," cried Gossamer," why could'nt I say that? But prithee note my epigrammatic termination.

Himself by fires is roasted.

I may be mistaken," cried the humble rhymer, " but in my opinion this line unites poetical justice with epigrammatic smartness, and I'll prove it to you." Luckily I escaped the proof. The door opened, and a young man dressed in black, with dark eyes, and an aquiline nose, entered the coffee-room, and walked towards our table. Gossamer cried, Hush, he's a decided quizzer," and cramming his poetical morceau into his waistcoat pocket, threw down eighteen-pence for his negus, and tripped. away on tiptoe, muttering to himself,

The god whose radiance rules the roast,
Himself by fires is roasted.