The Duke, however, stands firmly enough,
and so does the Queen, and their likenesses
are very good, always allowing for the
possibility that her Majesty had a severe attack
of yellow jaundice when she witnessed
the ovation. By no means jealous of the well-
merited honours of his brother—the achievement
of the aforesaid wreath—the Marquis
of Wellesley, in the clothes and orders worn
by him at the Court of George the Fourth,
placidly surveys the illustrious group. It is
something to know that the Marquis served
the high office of Governor General of India,
and by his great mind added millions of
subjects to the British empire. James the First
of England, as I expected, turns out to be a
very pitiful specimen of royalty. The best
thing about him is the costume of the period;
the worst, his countenance, from an original
picture. The historian dismisses him with
the remark that he reigned with but little
reputation. Another king stands near, whom
the chroniclers have mauled a good deal:
this is Richard the Third, familiarly called
Crookback. He wears what is justly
described as a magnificent suit of armour, and
wears it well, as one used to knightly harness;
so well indeed, that I feel half inclined to
question the historian's statement when he
says that Richard was killed by Richmond.
I know this is always the case at Drury
Lane Theatre, where it generally takes a good
deal of time to kill him, and where I have
particularly observed of late that he died
extremely hard, and in a state of perspiration
terrible to behold; but I was not aware
that the historical Richmond went at his
rival with the regular one, two, three, over,
under, &c., at Bosworth Field.

It is not alone the private life of Shakspeare
of which we are ignorant; there is much
uncertainty respecting his true lineaments.
The Chandos picture, that painted by Martin
Droerhout, the mahogany-and-walnut-juice
effigy lately published, the Stratford bust, and
fifty other portraits, differ from each other as
much as those of Claudius and the elder
Hamlet; and there appears to me no reason
why the Pantheon likeness should not be as
authentic as any other. If it be so, Shakspeare
stood at the very head and front of the
beard movement, with a garnish round his
jaws of well-carded, black wool, which the
most hirsute Turk might envy. There is
not much speculation in his eyes, but on the
other hand, his cheeks are as red as the red
red rose, and he looks very like a squire (of
the period) of high degree when dressed in
his Sunday clothes. There have been many
tributes to the poet's genius, but none have
been more gracefully turned than the
compliment paid by our historian, who remarks
that his works will live as long as taste
irradiates the country which had the honour
of giving him birth.

The high position in which Father Mathew
now stands, must not be taken, literally, to
signify the pedestal Number Eighty-five, on
which he is raised in the Pantheon. To be
elevated, is not at all suggestive of the Apostle
of Temperance, neither does it seem
appropriate to say that he appears in excellent
spirits; but elevation and good-humour are
both expressed in his effigy. Besides an
accurate knowledge of the person of Mr. Pitt, in
the costume of a Master of Arts, this précis of
his political career is recorded in our catalogue:
After the usual course of study he embraced
the profession of the law, and appeared once
or twice on the Western Circuit as junior
counsel in some causes. In eighteen hundred
and four he again emerged from private life,
and filled the office of prime minister till his
death. What encouragement, here, for Mr.
Briefless or Mr. Dunup!

A few other celebrated characters are hit off
with the same terse felicity of expression. Of
Voltaire we learn that he was a voluminous
author, and may be considered as one of
the chief of those writers whose works
prepared the public mind for the Revolution.
Pope Pius the Ninth received an education
suitable to his high rank, and entered the
Garde Nobile, but soon after left it for the
Church, of which he became one of its
brightest ornaments. He was raised to his
present dignity to the great joy of the
Romans; but, alas for the instability of even
a pope's popularity, the fury of the
revolutionary mania compelled him, two years
afterwards, to quit his capital! We infer
from this passage, and one or two others,
that our historian is an enemy to revolutions:
indeed, it is only natural that wax should
avoid collisions.

The Merry Monarch, who figures in a suit
of chevalier armour, possessed an agreeable
person, an elegant address, engaging manners,
and a cheerful disposition; but it was found
that his natural advantages had not fitted
him for a throne, as his indolence and love of
pleasure made him averse to business. His
favours were frequently bestowed on the
undeserving. Rather frequently, we opine! His
brother James is dismissed in briefer fashion:
public opinion is divided respecting his
character. Our historian is fond of indulging
in the comprehensive style. Thus, he says
of Mr. Joseph Hume: To great natural
ability he unites perseverance in an
uncommon degree, which has placed him, for
several successive Parliaments, in a
distinguished station. And of John Philip
Kemble: Whether we view him as an actor
or an author, we shall find that he possessed
wonderful talent. Of Dr. Wiseman our
historian says: He has held the highest
honours in the Catholic Church, and has lately
had the dignity of Cardinal conferred on
him. But then, at an early age he showed
those astonishing talents for which he is
distinguished.

The reign of Charles the First is very
neatly written: Relying on his resources,