profoundly ignorant. To his first he said, I leave you allYour brother is an ass,-and in this world asses are the first to make their fortunes! P. 372. A king asked a priest how he managed to be so fat, fresh, and rosy? By living, he replied, without thought, without being in love, without quarrels, and without anxiety. P. 372. Domani si fa credito, ma oggi sì paga. Pay to-day and trust tomorrow. Ib. A lady, ninety years of age, lost a daughter, who was more than eighty (an early marriage). Alas! unhappy woman that I am, she exclaimed, I lost all my sons just as they began to call me mamma-this poor little angel alone remained, and the Lord has taken her to Paradise. P. 873. In the last Canto and notes, we have Doctor Filippo Pananti da Mugello, otherwise the Don Quixote of the Theatre's Travels in Wales, and comments on the "Velchi," the Welch, their Bards, &c. The road to "Penmaen" was very rough and dangerous when he was there, but it has since been thoroughly repaired by a great Welch lord, he believes, The Duke of Uxbridge! P. 375. We can travel no further with the learned Doctor. His notes, affording occasionally some sort of entertainment, the cream of which we have given, finish with a recurrence to the old woundthe Opera-house. At p. 399, he seems to confess, (and he does well,) that as to his poetry, nature deserted him, and rage and disappointment were her substitute; but he contends that he has not dealt in bitter satire, no ; Contre ce peuple furieux, Je jetterois mes souliers vieux, says he, and finally dismisses the operatic corps, with the benediction given by a French King to an Italian city remarkable for its turbulence: "Trovate il diavolo che vi prenda, io non più non vi voglio." Find a devil that will take you, for I'll have no more to do with you! It has been said, that the mountain in labour brought forth a mouse-here the mouse in labour has brought forth a mountaintwo volumes of nothings-una sterile abbondanza. THE BRITISH STAGE. Τα αμφι τῳ θεατρῳ, και τοις τοιέτοις χωρίοις. Marc. Antonin. lib. vi. § xlvi, Nil novum, nihil quod non semel spectâsse sufficiat. De Circensibus Plin. 1. x. ep. 6. COMEDIANS. (Concluded from P. 107.) I CONFESS, Sir, that it would be difficult with more effrontery to tell men to their face that they are scoundrels, or at best that they labour under a strong suspicion of being so-especially when you subjoin to this apostrophe-" Every where the temptation to do ill is augmented by the facility." It is beneath me to answer language so base and scurrilous. I cannot, I am ready to allow, defend that licentiousness which is but too common amongst theatrical people. All I wish to prove is, that it is possible to stop its course, and that it is not so general as you affirm. The licentiousness, which you ascribe to actresses, would not take place at Geneva, were they permitted to pass for modest women. In France, it does appear that the name of actress is synonymous with that of prostitute; and although it is certain that there are many whose conduct is irreproachable, so little is their virtue believed to be possible, that the supposition is always laughed at. Their reserve is considered as making the best of the market, their modesty hypocrisy, and their decorum intrigue. All the advantage they derive from their honesty, is the testimony of a good conscience. I know that the abandoned conduct of some authorizes, in a measure, the reproachful judgment which the public pass on all, but I am also not ignorant that this judgment is the principal and first cause of libertinism. It Y Y-VOL. VI.* is very well to say that we ought to do good for its own sake, but we know that self-love always likes to be of the party. I will not contradict what you assert to raise our esteem for that modesty, which nature has bestowed on the fair sex. I think with you on the subject, and consider it as the brightest ornament of all the charms of woman. I am persuaded that it is natural to all females to a certain degree, although it is certain that it is greatly improved by education. I doubt not that even savages, who are naked and not ashamed, because they are not corrupt enough to think it shameful, possess decency equivalent to all that to which our corruption subjects us. Whatever you say on that point is said in a manner worthy of a man, but I could have wished that you had not rendered modesty so rare and austere as you seem to hold it. I love to think that it may be found beneath the roof fretted with gold, as well as in the cottage thatched with straw. For instance, is it not extravagant to maintain-" That there are no good morals in women, beyond a retired and domestic life— That every woman who exhibits herself is dishonoured?" This is to deny purity of manners to all who do not live in solitude, and in the exercise of domestic occupations. What numbers are there, however, who, moving by duty, and in conformity to their character, in the great world, make themselves respected and admired for their virtue? If it be good to bring before men's observation those ties of duty, which oblige them, it is assuredly very dángerous to endeavour to render them contemptible in their own eyes. Modesty," you say, "is base and ignoble in great towns; that it is the only thing of which a well-bred woman would be ashamed, and that the honour of having made an honest man blush, belongs exclusively to women of the ton." I dont know what you understand by women of the ton: I cannot but believe that you mean women of the town, for it is their privilege alone to consider it an honour to make an honest man blush. Neither do I agree that modesty is the only thing of which a well-bred woman would be ashamed. Are these the fruits of the best education! Really, sir, it would seem as if you were possessed with the very demon of satire. I admire the goodness of your heart, when you are obliged to speak ill of your neighbour. You are ready to suppose that it is possible to find three modest women who are actresses. Though writing seriously you cite Boileau the satirist to confirm your judgment, and to sharpen the point of the epigram, you add that though you admit of the supposition, you never heard or saw any thing of the kind; which must have arisen from the little acquaintance you have in such society. A great number might be mentioned to you without exhausting all the modesty contained in the various companies in the kingdom, if naming some did not lead to an invidious exclusion of others. They would derive but little good from their attempts at exculpation, since you profess it to be your object to decry them. He, however, who is so hardy as to assert that women of quality have the manners of prostitutes or procuresses, may be suf fered to speak ill of actresses with impunity. P. S. Mr. Editor. P. A. Laval adds much on this subject, but I can translate no more. You have here the best of his arguments, which, if they shew nothing else, shew that he is very angry. I own I think that the player-folks might be better defended; but I must leave that honourable office to some one of your correspondents, who has more leisure than your friend, C. H. PLAUTUS AND TERENCE. PLAUTUS is frequently much superior to Terence, as a dramatist. For instance, the latter offends against all propriety, when in that charming scene (sc. i.) in his Adelphi, he introduces a servant talking like Cato, the philosopher, and fills his mouth full of moral apophthegms. TRAGEDY AND COMEDY, More tragedies are produced than comedies. Young men make their first overture to tragedy; not being able, for want of knowledge and experience, to woo her sister. Phœbus and the Muses are invoked to fit out the tragic hero, but the comic walks our streets, and the likeness is, as it were, judged of by himself. The style of comedy is less arduous than that of tragedy, as there is less art in running fast, and skipping up and down, than in a regular march or a graceful dance. Yet it is not so difficult to soar in heroic verse as to represent common life, which requires a steady and vigorous pencil. ORIGINAL POETRY. HORACE IN LONDON. ODE XXII. BOOK I. Integer vita, scelerisque purus. THE pauper poet, pure in zeal, The Fleet, King's-Bench, or Cold Bath Fields. For I, whom late, impransus, walking, The Muse beyond the Rules had led; Beheld a huge bum-bailiff stalking, Who star'd, but touch'd me not, and fled ! Place me beyond the Rules afar, Beneath the catchpole's flashing eye: Place me where spunging-houses round, H. |