tlemen" condemned by Pope, who, nevertheless, did not care
about borrowing from him pretty much of his version of the "Animula,
blandula, vagula"--the Emperor Adrian's address to his soul. We remember
the commencement of the piece:--

"After a blustering tedious night,
The winds all hush'd, and the rude tempest o'er,
Rolling far off upon a briny wave,
Compassionate Philander spied
A floating carcass ride,
That seem'd to beg the kindness of a grave.
At near approach he thought he knew the man," &c.

His "Fairy Revels" make a light and elegant plate. A fairy group in a
frame of leaves. He is here both painter and poet.

"Hast thou not seen the summer breeze,
The eddying leaves, and downy feather,
Whirl round a while beneath the trees,
Then bear aloft to heaven together?
With just such motion, gliding light,
These fairies vanish'd from my sight."

Poor unfortunate Dadd! some years ago he exhibited a picture of this
subject, somewhat similarly treated, that was exquisitely ideal.

The "Ellen Orford," from Crabbe's _Borough_, is good in the effect; but
it has not the pathos that usually distinguishes Redgrave. "Rizpah
watching her Sons," is very fine. The night, the glaring torchlight, to
scare away the approaching wolves, and the paler, more distant light in
the sky, with the melancholy mourning Rizpah, are of the best
conception. "The Sick Child" has quite the effect of a Rembrandt plate;
yet it is very tender--a scene fit for the angelic visit, and pure and
devout of thought and purpose is that angel--we do not like the mother.
The best description is from Mr Redgrave's own pen.

"THE SICK CHILD.

"He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy
ways."--PSALM xci.

"In a chamber, faintly crying,
With its mother o'er it sighing,
Lay a baby pale and wan;
Ever turning--restless turning--
Much she dreaded fever burning,
Sickness slow or sickness hasting,
Cough, convulsion, ague wasting.
Bitter tears there fell upon
The pale face of her little son.

"The evening chimes had ceased their ringing,
And the even song was singing
In the old kirk grey with years;
Through the air sweet words came welling--
Words of peace, unto that dwelling;
Hymns they sang, how angels shielded
Those who ne'er to sin had yielded:--
And her pale face lost its fear