not English at all. We should not have thought this worth notice in criticising the works of an inferior poet; but when it is sanctioned by a scholar and a man of taste, whose authority may hereafter serve as a precedent, we deem it our duty most strongly to protest against it.

Omne animi vitium tanto conspectius in se

Crimen habet, quanto major qui peccat habetur.

There is occasionally a carelessness of diction, which is extremely inelegant; as, for instance, the following:

Had but Ambition's Wisdom's voice withstood,

which, to say the least of it, is ambiguous. And again, in the beginning of the poem, stanza 10,

Alas, that aught so false as beauty's smile

Should thus to deeds accurst the sons of peace beguile.

which is evidently a mistake. There is sometimes too a corresponding inattention to the rhymes: thus we find responding and resounding, which occur twice; and one or two others of a similar nature.

The last defect which we shall notice is the very frequent use of aye instead of ever. This occurs no less than eight or ten times in the course of the poem. That the expression is an allowable one, we are not disposed to deny; but it should be used sparingly.

Dabitur licentia sumpta pudenter.

which we

At the end of the volume are some very sweet poems, have not room to notice; and there are also specimens of a new version of the Psalms, the most excellent of their kind of any we have hitherto seen. As, however, it is our intention shortly to animadvert on the defective state of our psalmody, which we consider a national disgrace, we shall then have a more favourable opportunity of noticing them.

IV. Holkham, a Poem, dedicated, without permission, to Joseph Hume, Esq., M.P., A.S.S.

THIS exquisite piece of satire did not make its appearance till so late a period, that neither our time nor our limits will permit us to do justice to its sterling merit, or our own wishes. We cannot, however, prevail upon ourselves to defer our notice of it to our next Number; for in that case we should be debarring our readers for a whole month from the delicious treat, which we do not hesitate to promise them, in the enjoyment of this VOL. I.

Z

precious morceau. Holkham is, as every body knows, the seat of that hoary dotard, who, at the very meeting, of which this poem is an imperishable record, made a public boast that he had, every day during the American war, toasted the health of General Washington. Of what materials that assembly was composed which received this declaration with applause, our readers will have no difficulty in guessing: fortunately, however, they are not left to mere surmise; the names of these worthies are here

"damn'd to everlasting fame."

It is not our intention to enumerate the assembled guests; suffice it to say, that they consisted of the most notorious whigs and radicals, each of whom is described, as he is supposed to enter the dining-room, with a fidelity and accuracy that renders mistake impossible. The following portrait of Lord Grey is life itself:

With menials mix'd, and scarce more mark'd than they,
There sits the proud, the once illustrious Grey,
Whose manhood mocks the hopes his youth had built,
The princely patron of blaspheming guilt!
Well skill'd alike to give, or to withhold,
As worth or worthlessness requires his gold.
The feeble soldier mourns his helpless lot,
In want unpitied, and in peace forgot;
The groan of suffering anguish rends the air,
Pale Pity weeps, yet Grey has nought to spare!
But if dark Faction writhes beneath the stroke
Of power it slighted, and of laws it broke;

If angry Justice stretches out her rod,

To scathe the impious wretch who mock'd his God;
Quickly his lordship hears the mournful cry,
His purse-strings open, and his hundreds fly;
Anxious to set the shackled reason free,

To pen some newer, darker, blasphemy!

The next picture is that of the yellow dandy, which we have copied as an introduction to our Reflector of that worthy. There are also most faithful representations of the learned Bedford, the pious Grosvenor, the saintly Erskine, the cadging Wilson, the philanthropic Bennet, the gigantic Taylor,

With shoals unnumber'd of a nameless fry,.

Like lying hounds, known only by their cry.

After the important business of dinner, at which there was less confusion than might have been expected, and when the guests had imbibed a sufficient quantity of black strap to render them rather obstreperous; each became anxious to display his vocal powers. Coke, as in duty bound, endeavours to restore some degree of order. He tells them

All cannot sing at once; this truth confest,

We next inquire who sings or chants the best?

He proposes that three shall be chosen by lot from the company, who shall contend for the three prizes which he intends to offer: his advice is followed, and the three candidates are Hume, Brougham, and Cocky Taylor. The prize for the first of the combatants is the skin of a favourite ass;

Who next excels, shall gain a rope of silk,

The last a dainty curd of asses' milk.

-Meanwhile, the few with wealth and fortune blest,
Sported with glee their money on the rest;

Some ventured largely on the voice of Brougham,
On Taylor some, but most inclined to Hume;
Perchance they deem'd his wit and head akin
To that grave beast who erst possess'd the skin.

Whether, indeed, it was the amiable wish that this family. ornament should not pass into other hands, or some unexplained cause, that stimulated Joseph to peculiar exertions, we know not; certain, however, it is, that the umpires thus decreed:

To Hume's desert the richest prize we cast

Taylor the next-let Brough'm possess the last.

The arraying of Hume in the ass's skin, and the various frolics that succeeded, we are compelled, most unwillingly, to omit. We, however, most earnestly recommend this Satire to the perusal of those of our readers who are neither whigs nor radicals; for, these excepted, we know none to whom it will not afford gratification and delight. The poetry, as will be seen from the few extracts we have been enabled to give, possesses the great essentials, strength and harmony; the language is chaste, classical, and elegant; and the sentiments do equal honour to the head and heart of the writer. The only thing with which we are disposed to find fault, is that his Highness of Sussex is too leniently treated. The excellent, the inimitable castigation, however, which this royal personage has lately received from John Bull, renders this less a subject of regret; and we do not think the less highly of the powers of our author, because he has refrained from trespassing on ground, which has already been beaten by his compeer in talent, and in loyalty, in the exposure of humbug, and contempt of whiggism.

*

ADVICE TO T. W. C., ESQ. OF NORFOLK.
First" post the Coal,"-Love's flame invoke,
"T will turn e'en beauty-youth-to Coke.

Steyne, 20th Feb.

*"Taken."-Tattersal's vocabulary.

GAS.

THE STAGE.

The Stage we chose a subject fair and free-
'Tis yours 't is ours-'tis public property.

KING'S THEATRE.

THE anticipations expressed in our last, respecting this theatre, have been fully justified. Overflowing and applauding audiences bear testimony to the taste and liberality with which "the Opera concern" is now conducted. Since our last, nothing of novelty has been produced here, with the excep‐ tion of a Ballet, Les Pages du Duc de Vendome. It is a most happy display of the talents of the directors of this particular department. We never witnessed a piece combining more of interest, added to the other requisites for a ballet. The story is very simple. The Duke's army is quartered on the Spanish frontier. Amongst his suite are twelve pages, one of whom, Victor, falls in love with the daughter of a Madame St. Ange, whose castle is in the neighbourhood. Strict military discipline gives way before the impetuous passion of the youthful pages. The aid of his companions is exerted in forwarding his suit, and to evade the consequences. MADEMOISELLE ROLAND played the page, and MERCANDOTTI his beloved Elise. Elise has been betrothed to a general officer, but prefers Victor. In one of the scenes a tent is pitched, where the pages lie down to rest, and place themselves in the most picturesque group imaginable. The balcony of Elise is opposite the tent, and Victor gains her window by a ladder. Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of the Duke, who, overhearing them, lies in wait to intercept the criminal. The page, however, dexterously avoids the snare by leaping over the Duke's head, and effects his retreat to the tent, and throws himself down amongst his companions. The Duke follows, is puzzled to ascertain the identity of the offender, and discovers him at length by the beating of his heart, cuts off Victor's epaulette, and retires. The cunning page defeats the Duke's intention by removing the epaulettes of all his comrades. All obstacles are finally overcomé, and the lovers are united.

We had, thus, at length, an opportunity of seeing the charming Spaniard in one of her own national dances. A beautiful Bolero was introduced, displaying much ingenuity of invention, and was most admirably executed. It afforded to MERCANDOTTI an opportunity for the developement of those powers and graces which her previous performances had prepared us to expect. Her elegance of form, mildness of spirit, tempered by her French education, conspired to render her portion of the Bolero the most charming and effective we ever beheld. Although her exuberant vivacity was in some degree subdued, it afforded room for the display of polish and refinement, which makes this deficiency an advantage. ROLAND performed with spirit. If Les Pages be not destined to be immortal in the history of dance, it was received with so much favour, that the Ballet-master would be very deficient

in discernment, who would not avail himself of the expressed taste for that species of performance. We therefore look for further selections from the Andalusian treasures. The Ballet is full of bustle and incident, and has been repeated with increased approbation and applause. Although ALBERT and Madame ANATOLE had nothing to do with the story of the piece, they delighted the audience by the exhibition of "their art" in its fullest perfection. The house has been crowded every night; Rossini is still expected, and is reported to intend bringing with him a manuscript Opera, which he purposes to present for the first time to a British audience.

COVENT GARDEN.

THE last month has been productive of only one novelty at this house; which is an opera, founded on the story of the legend of Montrose, and denominated Montrose, or the Children of the Mist. Fortunately for our readers as well as ourselves, the novels from the pen of the author of Waverley are almost universally known: we are thus spared the necessity of attempting to reconcile the various inconsistencies and improbabilities of the plot, or to give to others an idea of the connexion between the various parts of the story, of which we ourselves are totally ignorant. The author has availed himself, and pretty liberally, of this familiarity subsisting between the audience and the characters of the drama: without it, indeed, the whole would be unintelligible; having neither a beginning, a middle, or an end. It is little more than a representation of some of the most striking parts of the novel, decorated with scenery, and embellished with music. Mr. Pocock is the architect, or rather the joiner, of this mishapen fabric; although we hardly consider him responsible for either its beauties or defects. It is a species of work to which success attaches no credit, and failure no disgrace. If Mr. Pocock is of a different opinion, he has ample cause for self-gratulation; for the opera has been eminently successful. With the aid of Mr. Bishop's music, Miss Stephens' voice, Mr. Liston's face, and Mr. Astley's stud, it draws very numerous and elegant audiences. The music is indeed beautiful; one or two of the airs which are assigned to Miss Stephens, almost equal any that we remember to have heard. The principal characters of the piece are well supported; yet we cannot help wishing that it had been possible to have rendered the character of Ranald worthy of Mr. Macready's acceptance. It was played very respectably by Mr. Yates. Mrs. Faucit, as Erorcht, did all that could be done for the character, which is only a copy, and a faint one, of Helen Mac Gregor. The other performers did justice to their parts: but there was nothing worthy of peculiar mention.

DRURY LANE.

LAST Saturday produced at this house a new performance, and a new performer. The first is denominated the Veteran, or The Farmer's Sons, and is a comic opera in three acts. The plot, if plot it may be called, is con