The sound beating of Justice Overdo, Waspe's elevation of Cokes on pick-back, and the final confutation of Zeal-of-the-land Busy, complete the humours of, and give the last finish-ing-touches to this authentic and curious picture of ancient Bartholomew Fair. Bravo, Ben Jonson! Not the surly, envious, malignant Ben, but the rare, _chère_ Bartlemy Fair Ben! the prince of poets! the king of good fellows! the learned oracle of the Mermaid and the Devil; * the chosen companion of the gallant Raleigh; the poetical father of many worthy adopted sons; and, to sum up emphatically thy various excellencies, the friend, “fellow” and elegiast of Shakspere! * In the Apollo Room in the Devil Tavern (on the site of which stands the Banking-house of Messrs. Child,) Ben Jonson occupied the President's chair, surrounded by the “Erudit i, urbani, hilares, honesti” of that glorious age. Take his picture as drawn by Shakerley Marmion, a contemporary dramatist of some note, and (as Anthony Wood styles him) a “goodly proper gentleman.” “The boon Delphic god Drinks sack, and keeps his Bacchanalia, And has his incense, and his altars smoking, And speaks in sparkling prophesies” His Leges Conviviales were engraved in black marble over the chimney; and over the door were inscribed the following verses by the same master-hand. “Welcome all who lead or follow To the oracle of Apollo: Here he speaks out of his pottle, Or the tripos, his tower bottle; All his answers are divine, Truth itself doth flow in wine. Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, Cries old Sim, the king of shinkers; He the half of life abuses, That sits watering with the Muses. Those dull girls no good ean mean us; Wine--it is the milk of Venus, And the poet's horse accounted: Ply it, and you all are mounted. 'Tis the true Phobian liquor, Cheers the brains, makes wit the quieker; Pays all debts, cures all diseases, And at once three senses pleases. Welcome all who lead or follow To the oracle of Apollo!” Such an association of intellectual minds, where worldly distinctions are unknown, where rank lays down its state, and genius forgets the inequalities of fortune, is the highest degree of felicity that human nature can arrive at. Yes, thou didst behold him face to face! Great and glorious privilege! Thou his detractor! What a beauteous garland hast thou thrown upon his tomb! O for the solemn spirit of thy majestic monody, (“Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother”) the imagination of thy green “Underwoods,” to sing of thee, as thou hast sung of him!