and duels of Sir Henry (then known as Parson Bate) with Messrs. Miles and Fitzgerald, took .place nearly fifty years since, was the beautiful Mrs. Hartley, the actress, who died on the same day with Sir Henry. John Bull.

ON SIR R. WILSON'S LOSS OF MARIA THERESA'S RIBBON.

"Farewel ye gilded follies→→
Farewel ye honour'd rags—

Fame's but a hollow echo;

Their honour the darling but of one short day,

Their state a gaudy prison to live in,

And torture' free-born minds."

Sir H. Wotton's Farewel.

IN life's early morn when thy young soul was fir'd,
Unskill'd in the course thou to glory aspir'd,
To the battle field rush'd-on chivalry's wing,
And sav'd from the foeman a fugitive King-
Thy guerdon a bauble of hoyhood the prize,
Which aye is the jest of the good and the wise;
'Tis tyranny's badge hung on slavery's chain,
Which the breast of a freeman ought ne'er to sustain;
Let conclaves of Kings with their sceptres of lead,
With tinsel and ribbons deck the slaves who have sped;
Their craft is abhorr'd, the Holy redressors,
Who scourge the oppress'd, and shield the oppressors !
But redeem'd is thy honour, restor'd is thy truth,
The bubble has burst, the vain phantom of youth,
Not for one didst thou bleed, but millions to save,
And hail'd art thou now by the free and the brave;
Dispers'd o'er the world they'll rally again,
Their watch-word remember, Riego and Spain;
Kings cannot disgrace thee, nor rob of thy fame,
'Tis enroll'd, 'tis recorded-thy glory, their shame.

Chronicle.

SPIRITS OF THE AGE.

No. III.-MRS. HARTLEY.

THE once beautiful and admired actress, Mrs. Hartley, died on the 1st of February, aged 73, at Woolwich. She was a contemporary with Garrick, and, we believe, the only one that remained, excepting Mr. Quick and Mrs. Mattocks, who are still alive. Her extreme beauty, and the truth and nature of her acting, attracted universal admiration, and caused her to rank the highest (as a female) in her profession, previous to the appearance of Mrs. Siddons. Mr. Hull had written his tragedy of Henry the Second, or Fair Rosamond, several years previous to its production, and despaired of obtaining a proper representative for the character of Rosamond, until the above lady appeared. Mason also, the celebrated poet, wrote his tragedy of Elfrida, that she might personify the principal character. Elfrida has always been admired as a beautiful poem, but it is not calculated for stage effect; it was, nevertheless, at that time supported, and even rendered highly attractive, by the person and talents of the late Mrs. Hartley. She was the very favourite subject of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and appears as the beautiful female in a number of his most celebrated pictures; two in particular are professed portraits of her, called "Mrs. Hartley, as Jane Shore," and "Mrs. Hartley, as a Bacchante." A fine study for the former was recently sold at the late celebrated sale of the

G

Marchioness of Thomond's pictures, at Christie's She died in easy circumstances, her merits, during her public services, having procured her a handsome independence.

British Press.

THE INIMITABLE CHARLES MATHEWS.

THE following jeu d'esprit on his performances at Oxford, is a parody on the Sapphics of Ho

race:

Mathews Comici Laudes.

Prime Mimorum! Thou rare mimic Mathews,
Quem jocus circum volat blithe as May-day,
To canant Gownsmen giddy and the grave too,
All over Oxford.

Tu potes Proctors comitesque Bull-dogs
Ducere, et Redcoats celeres morari;
E'en the stern Masters tibi blandienti

Smilingly cedunt.

Quin et each high Don Sociique vultu
Titter invito 'mid the gay assemblage;
Shouts of applause rise rapid, dum catervas

Carmine mulces.

Tu, merry fellow, velut es levamen

To the pale forms whose final doom approaches,

Who, citò coram solio Minervæ

Shuddering shall stand.

Fell are her Priests! Quum Vitulos prehendant,

Singulos, eheu! lacerant in pieces!

Hi tamen mites sweetly gaze at Mathews

Full of his frolics.

Serus in Lunnum redeas, diuque

Gratus intersis populo togato!

Leave the dull Cockneys,—with us be at Home, Sir!

Go it in Oxford!

Literary Gazette.

THE THREE BLIND TIPPLERS.

THREE sightless inmates of the sky,

Whose names were Justice-Fortune-Cupid, Finding their public life on high

Somewhat monotonous and stupid,

Resolved one morning to unite

Their powers in an Alliance Holy,
And purify the Earth, whose plight
They all agreed was melancholy.
Quoth Justice-Of the world below
I doubtless have the best idea,
Since in the Golden Age, you know,
I ruled it jointly with Astræa;
While, therefore, we on earth abide,
For fear our forces should be parted,
Let me be your perpetual guide:-
Agreed, nem. con., and off they started.
Love first, and Fortune next descends,
Then Justice, though awhile she tarried,
When Cupid cries-This flight, my friends,
Has made my throttle somewhat arid :
Beneath each wing, before our trip,

I popp❜d a golden vase of nectar,
And I for one should like a sip-
What says our worshipful Director?
The proposition, 'twas decreed,
Redounded to the mover's glory,
So down they sate upon the mead,
And plied the flagon con amore;
But not reflecting that the draught

With air of earth was mix'd and muddled,
Before the second vase was quaff'd,
They all became completely fuddled.

Now reeling, wrangling, they proceed,
Each loudly backing his opinion,
And 'stead of letting Justice lead,

All struggle fiercely for dominion:

Whereat her sword in wrath she draws,

And throws it in her scales with fury,
Maintaining that the rightful cause
Requires no other judge and jury.

Fortune, purloining Cupid's darts,
Tips them with gold for sordid suitors,
Making sad havoc in the hearts

Of matrimonial computers;

While Love on Fortune's wheel apace
Plagues mortals with incessant changes,
Gives flying glimpses of his face,

Then presto! pass!-away he ranges.
Their pranks, their squabbles day by day,
Gave censurers a better handle,
Till Jove, impatient of their stay,
And anxious to arrest the scandal,
Bade Fortune-Justice-Love return;
But to atone for their miscarriage,

Lest men for substitutes should yearn,

He sent them down, Luck, Law, and Marriage.

New Monthly Magazine.

THE GREATEST BORE IN LONDON.

WHEN Sir William Curtis returned from his voyage to Italy and Spain, he called to pay his respects to Mr. Canning at Gloucester Lodge. Among other questions, Sir William said, "But, pray, Mr. Canning, what do you say to the tunnel under the Thames?"-" Say," replied the Secretary, "Why, I say it will be the greatest bore London ever had, and that is saying a great deal."

Times.