All signs of hatred and of bitterness,
Won only access, and through onward flow

Of time relax not on my troubled ear.

If the hope which cheers this gloom be not in vain,
Such penance shall but bide till judgment day;
Then good shall part from evil, and God gather
His own unto his bosom, where no more

The wicked tongue shall smite, and righteous souls
Win of their weary pains eternal rest."

The Chorus thus addresses Charles II. :-
CHORUS.

"Thou that down beneath us, thou

That standing mute with mournful brow,
I' the centre of this kingly throng,
Joining not our choral song-
Changed spirit of him who lent
The mortal hours to merriment,
Drowning life's unnoted measure,
In a very whirl of pleasure-
What o'ercoming glooms of sadness
Dispossess thine eyes of gladness?
Where is gone thy merry madness ?
Utterance give these marble dreams;
Welcome with thy lips of stone,
Speak to one, whose spirit seems
The sister of thine own.

STAT. CHARLES II.

Among the many voices of despair,

That, ever through the pores of earth distilling,
Reach the dark hall of spirits enthron'd and crown'd,
Came one most piteous and complaining tone,

As of a woman weeping; and it said,

'Alas! the love of princes; who doth know
'How deadly sweet, how fair, yet terrible

'It is to the beloved? Light it seems

'From heaven; but wo unto the tender flower
'Whereon doth fall that withering of hell's blight!
'On me, in my youth's innocence, there fell
'Such radiance, I might dream it was the blaze
'Of seraph visitation: and if ever

'Pure thought, and trust in passion's tender tie,

'And generous heart of youthful warm affection,

'Link'd unto beauty more than mortal fair,

'Made dream of heaven in woman's breast, 'twas mine.
But, oh! the dreary setting of that sun,

"The dismal night which follow'd such a day!
'Not one through gradual twilight sinking slow

Into the placid beam of noon or star,

'Or passing into utter gloom obscure;
'But suddenly, in place of the sweet shine

'Around me, was suffus'd a lurid gleam

'Of hate and scorn flashing from demon eyes.

'Ah me! unhappy woman, what I am

'And have been ! For youth, virtue, hope and fame,
'Surrender'd unto him, from him I take
'Unhonour'd age, need, exile, shame, despair.

'And no hope of these miseries, but death,

'Unsolac'd death, unmark'd, unmourn'd of friends!'
Such were the sounds, that still from time to time

Mingled with bitter sobs and burning tears,
And sometimes with sad music, through the gloom
Of that wide mansion, smote upon my spirit;

I could not lose it in the general howl

Of miserable voices from above:

Still through the shrieks of men dying in battle,
The moans of captives, and the famished cries
Of children fatherless, it clung to me;

I know not if by any heard, save me.

STAT. EDWARD IV.

I also heard those sounds.

STAT. ELIZABETH.

And I.

STAT. HENRY VIII.

And I.

But afterward there came another voice,
Which sank into my spirit with more pain;

A low and bitter lament, through many years
Of undeserved suffering endured

By an espoused princess; it came down
Mingled with execrations loud and deep

Uttered by myriad voices, crying out

On George, who, for the pampering of his heart's base lust,

Cast foul dishonour on his lawful bride;

On him the selfish, reckless, pitiless man,

The tyrant and destroyer of his Queen.

Those words have wakened in my brooding heart

Ages of keen unsufferable thought,

Art thou that man, and dost thou share these torments?

STAT. GEORGE IV.

Ye speak to me in sorrow, as I see

By your sad eyes and writhing visages;
Therefore will I not answer bitterly,

Nor taunt you with those high examples ye left

To the inheritors of your kingly titles.

But I am weary of these communings.”

His late Majesty retires sullenly to his iron seat, resolved to hold no more of this unpleasant parley, and after another beautiful address of the Chorus, the statue of Pitt rises in the unoccupied niche, and is compelled by a mysterious but irresistible power to address, in prophet-tones, the royal stony assembly.

"Hear, oh, ye kings! thus saith the King of kings,
Hear, oh, ye kings! consider and be wise,

And humble your proud hearts unto the dust.
Ye did exalt yourselves on earth too much;
Now, therefore, be ye prostrate in humility.
Th' unnatural exaltation ye did own,
Being in life, and to your sons bequeath,
Earth's new condition will no longer yield.
Partly by your misdeeds, partly by change
Of human opinion, ye have lost all hold
Upon men's minds: the old reverence and awe,
Which waited on your name and state, are gone.
Hear, oh, ye English kings! consider, be wise;
Abate your wrath against the land of France.
Out of her bosom hath sprung up a tree
Shall spread its branches to the ends of earth,
Under whose shade all nations of the world

Shall surely be gathered together in good time.
The hidden roots, even now, strike wide and deep:
Italy feels the piercing of those fibres;

And, in the tremors of her first emotion,

The Christian Pagod's throne shakes underneath him.
Priest-ridden Spain grows ripe for blood, more blood.
In Portugal the fratricidal knife

Bodes either victor short-lived tyranny.

Russia, best despot, with his myriad serfs,
Still sowing the feudal soil with groans and tears,
Spite of his sword, and his rebellions crush'd,
Reposes upon earthquakes.

Germany,

With spasm of held-in breath, heaves to and fro
The bosom burden of her thrice ten thrones.
Hear, oh, ye kings! consider and be wise.
Britain, the mighty realm ye whilom ruled,
Is bedded on a fiery lava-flood

That threatens to overburst the incumbent earth,
Mingling her high and low in one destruction.
Behold the charnels of her kings are full;

The worms that have devoured them, cry " Enough!"
Yea, where I stand, the very stones deny

More space to honour her illustrious dead,

Saying, "But one more King, and we are fill'd."
Hear, oh, ye kings! consider and be wise,
And humble your proud hearts unto the dust.
Ye did exalt yourselves on earth too much;
Now, therefore, be ye prostrate in humility;
So ye may better meet the coming morn,

And your Great Judge, with spirits abased and lowly."

The pageant dissolves with some rather undignified attempts at expostulation aimed by George III. at Mr. Pitt, not without reason, it must be allowed, on the part of the poor deluded ghost. Pitt shakes his head mournfully, and hides his face in his toga.

Thus we close our extracts from this singular and powerful drama. To those who construe it aright, it requires no commentary. To such as cannot understand its purpose of uttering truths too mighty and solemn to be subjected to the laws and language of satire, it is needless to say anything more about it.

That the article might not extend to undue length, we have been under the necessity of generally omitting the Chorus; though on the Chorus the main claims of the composition rests as a poem. The dramatic part shews, as the reader need not be told, force, truth, and point; but it is in the Chorus that the author has given rein to his imagination and taken a Dante-like plunge into,

"The deep and lordly dome,

Million fathom under ground,

Where the old world's imperial ones,

Keep their adamantine thrones."

The opening Chorus of Statues is peculiarly animated. From that which ushers in George IV.'s history of his own reign, we extract a short passage. The first six lines are necessary to explain it :

"Yea, even herein, change, which must be,

A wary Prince will well foresee,

How proudly doth he champ the bit,

How joys to feel his burthen sit

Secure on that exalted throne!

With what a lively trembling over all
His lofty limbs and frame majestical,
He feels the flattering palm
That makes him calm,

And droppeth his high-pricked ear

Unto the angry tone,

And all in him seems love which is not fear!

So doth the nobler nature

Guide the inferior creature ;

So God the hearts of kings doth sway,
So monarchs should rule men.

Newly parted stranger, say,

How hast thou sped in thy reign?
Hast thou the old awe-striking name
Left, as unto thee it came,

A mystery of might and love,

Like the Majesty above,

A wond'rous and unsearchable things
Which still the virtuous bosom doth revere,
And men who love not, look upon with fear
And trembling? Answer, King."

1

EXHIBITION OF THE SOCIETY OF PAINTERS
IN WATER COLOURS.

THIS is unquestionably one of the most delightful exhibitions in the metropolis. As a depository of all that is excellent in that branch of art which they have made so peculiarly their own, it abounds with the most pleasing collection of paintings that can fascinate the eye, and administer to the cravings of pure and polished taste, while, as an elegant lounge, it has not the shadow of a rival, for we are sure of rubbing shoulders with the best society in the kingdom.

Our admiration of the productions of this purely English School, is always accompanied with regret at the destructible nature of the materials employed. With oil and canvass, genius is sure of something more than fleeting fame. With them a man has some chance of painting for eternity; but, in water-colour drawing, the days of an artist's glory must needs be numbered. Nothing has yet been contrived, by which watercolour pictures may resist the withering attacks of time, and a feeling of sadness comes over the mind whilst, as we contemplate their varied excellence, they seem to speak these melancholy words-We are all to perish in premature decay. Each pigment may be compounded according to the strictest rules of chemical science, and the paper may have been manufactured according to the soundest principles of human art-yet how slightly is the combination calculated to resist the spoliations of tear and wear, and air—that element of vitality and corruption! It might be supposed that all the energies of the Society were therefore directed to the accomplishment of some splendid device by which the ruinous encroachments of age might be repelled; that he who could invent some means by which their handiwork might be secured to after ages in perpetuity, would be received as a benefactor beyond all price, whom to name were to honour vehemently. Not a bit of it. The independent rogues seem to care no more for posterity, or for their own posthumous glory, than a porpoise cares for a side-pocket. It was but the other day that

a certain clever fellow sought brotherhood with them, and would have gained it, but for one circumstance. The ambitious varlet was prone to dabble in varnish, and just because he aspired to push his pictures some score years or two further forwards into immortality, the unlucky dog. was black-balled with merciless unanimity.

But as the members appear determined to be headstrong, we must even be content to let them have their own way, and let them "do what they like with their own." The least return we can make them for the delight which their wayward fancies distribute to the myriad, is to let them pursue their own eccentric courses unhindered, pay our admission fee, and wish them God-speed. If it be their ruthless will to build their glory upon elements so fragile, why even so then let it be: and when after generations shall marvel at what manner of men the Copley Fieldings, the Prouts, the Stephanoffs, the Austins of bygone days might have been-let them marvel!-why need the present sorrow for their loss?

The present is one of the most successful "Annuals" the Society has yet published. There are many very excellent pictures there, and very few bad ones; which is saying a good deal in these meretricious times. Copley Fielding shines out in his pre-eminence of course; he has got a "View from Fairlight Downs," that in execution and composition is glorious. Dewint, Austin, Prout, and Miss L. Sharpe, have among them many very clever pictures,-to the "Ghost Story" of the latter of whom we would invite attention, were it not demanded by its own excellence. The exhibition of this year is very attractive, and, judging from the announced "sales," not a little profitable to many of the exhibitors.

THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

Now in a certain long street called the Strand stands a certain large building called Somerset House, whence so called, and wherefore erected, history will declare. This building, being an exceedingly capacious building, is for the most part appropriated to sundry offices for the ma nagement of some multitudinous matters under Government, connected with taxation and other delightful pursuits; some portion is allotted to certain learned societies; and (all that immediately concerns us now) one entire moiety of the front portion is assigned to that august body, the ROYAL ACADEMY. Here it is that the members are wont to congregate to conduct its corporate affairs, to lecture to rising genius, to instruct unfledged academicians, to exhibit the works of their own handicraft, (and sell them if any body will buy,) and, occasionally, to indulge in the more fleshly recreation of eating, drinking, and making merry.

For forty and six weeks of the year, or thereabouts, are they employed in the culture and diffusion of all that is glorious in art, and worthy of being known in the mysteries of picture-painting; the remaining halfdozen, commencing with the first in May, being devoted to the philanthropic purpose of improving the national taste, and titilating the public eye. With a view to the efficient consummation of this object, preparatory notice is given, by advertisement, to all aspirants to fame, that their productions are to be forwarded by a given day, and submitted to the solemn decision of the council,-if approved, to be exhibited,—if not, rejected. That work accomplished, and judgment pronounced, the hanging committee (some three of the academicians appointed to select and direct what and whereabouts the various pictures are to be hung)