profpects which religion unfolds to his view, fentiments of confcious dignity infinuate themfelves into his mind, fo as to purify his tafte, and exalt his defires above the grofs and fleeting pleasures of this terrestrial state.' We have allotted fomewhat the larger compafs to this ar ticle, as the fubject of it, at least in the copious and fcientifical manner in which it is here treated, is new in this country. We are perfuaded that a latent comparifon between Mahometanifm and Chriftianity, has done much, very much indeed, in fubferving the cause of deifm. It is this parallel which conftitutes the very pith and marrow of the fo much vaunted tragedy of Voltaire. It is this parallel, commenced from a different point, which received a vogue from the labours of Mr. Sale, that has not yet fubfided. Laftly, it is probably through the fides of Mahomet, that Mr. Gibbon is to give its death's wound to the "reigning fuperftition," in the work, in feveral respects valuable no doubt, which he has now in hand. It is not amifs, that the public should receive from the learned and mafterly pen of Mr. White, an antidote, fully adequate to all the poison, that fubtlety can brew, and elegant fophiftry recommend. The effence of tafte is difcrimination; and, as Rofalind fays, in As You Like It, "I am nothing, if not critical." The ftile of our author, in its defects, refembles that of the hiftorian laft named. It has been obferved of Mr. Gibbon, with fome severity indeed, that "his language is full of art, "but perfectly exempt from fire. Learning, penetration, "accuracy, polish; any thing is rather the characteristic ftyle "of the hiftorian, than the flow of eloquence, and the flame "of genius." The ftyle of Mr. White is certainly elevated and poetical; it is not fimple, eafy and unpremeditated. It does not however refemble that of Mr. Gibbon, in the politenefs of turn and fubtlety of thinking that form his chief peculiarities. It holds one uniform tenor of dignity, without ftooping to wit, and without ftepping afide for the language of the paffions. But if it be not qualified by its graces to allure the idle, it is at least calculated by the accuracy of its conftruction to yield an almost uninterrupted fatisfaction to the man of letters. Mr. White's compofition does honour to the strength and vigour of his understanding; and the penetration and manly fenfe he every where difplays, are fuch, as not to need affiftance from the artificial flights of the orator, and the petty attentions of an Ifocrates. M. ART. ART. II The Carmelite: a Tragedy. Performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. 8vo. 1s. 6d. Dilly. 1784. THE HE ftory of this performance bears a ftriking resem→ blance to the very fuccefsful tragedy of Douglas. The heroine of each is a widowed mother; in both there is a concealed fon; and in both the jealoufy of a husband is excited by the apparent intereft taken by the heroine in the fate of a ftripling, while the ground of that intereft is concealed. But if the refemblances are leading, it must also be confeffed that the differences are of fome magnitude. In Douglas the female character, conceiving herself to be at once childless, and a widow, difcovers a fon in the courfe of the `play; and this difcovery is perhaps the principal event of the drama. In the Carmelite fhe is reprefented, as from his early infancy, voluntarily concealing her fon; and the hufband fhe mourns is at length reftored to her. In Douglas the catastrophe is miferable; in the Carmelite fortunate. In the latter the fuppofed murderer of the hufband is a principal perfonage, a character totally unknown to the former. It may in fome fenfe be affirmed that this laft variation does not infringe upon the unity of the action. But if it do not that, it however intrenches upon the general principle, for the fake of which the fubordinate one was invented, the unity of pathos. The remorfes of a wounded confcience are, of all the fentiments that can be devised, the most uncongenial to the tender paffions, maternal tenderness, and conjugal fidelity. To pursue the parallel between the two dramas any farther, would, in our opinion, only redound to the difadvantage of that before us. It fhall therefore be dropped. The tragedy of the Carmelite feems much better calculated for theatrical representation than the diffection of the clofet. Stage effect appears every where to be ftudied with much care and confiderable fuccefs. There are fituations, of which it is impoffible, that in the hands of a fkilful performer, they fhould not command the loudest burits of applaufe. The intereft is regularly accumulated; and the denouement is rapid, well prepared and natural. And yet, we know not how it is, with all these advantages, the Carmelite has not been a popular drama. The wifeacres of the pit, who can always tell you by the name of the author, whether a play is worth hearing, know that the piece is Cumberland's, and look on with fage indifference and " Parnaffian fneer." The remorfes of Hildebrand, which feem more immediately the property of the author, than any other branch of the drama, are, after all, feeble and uncharacteristic. There is none of the ardent and artlefs language of nature: there there are none of those prominent lines, that fix an indelible impreffion on the memory. The madness of lady St. Valori, is not happy. It is neither the frenzy of Lear nor of Clementina: it is neither a delirium, which cafts every object in the mould of a few unalterable fentiments; nor the unprotected and pity-demanding diftrefs, ftill more pathetic than the former, and which the pen of Richardson only could defcribe. It confifts more in the enumeration of symptoms, than the expreffion of ideas. The heroine tells us in fo many words, that fhe is mad, oftener than the convinces us fhe is fo by difplaying the attributes of madness. Hildebrand, and lady St. Valori, however, with all their defects, have more in them than the husband and the fon. The language of the Carmelite may, we are afraid, fo far as prefcription goes, put in its claim to the epithet of theatrical; it has no pretenfions to be the language of real life. Its defects cannot be better exemplified than from the first page of the performance. 66 Fitz-Allan and Raymond meeting. Raymond. Well met, Fitz-Allan; what's the time of day "Fitz-Allan, Broad morning by the hour. "Raymond. Sleeps the fun yet? Or has the ftormy fouth, that howls fo loud, Out of time's natural courfe? "Fitz-Allan. Methinks the winds, Which peal'd like thunder thro' Glendarlock's towers, Unmask the weeping day." Lady St. Valori, feeling an access of delirium, discharges her feelings in these phrafes-Her husband was supposed to have been affaffinated in the Pyrenees "Matilda. Stop there! I charge thee, stop! Tell me no more: Oh, follow him no further, For fee, th' accurfed Pyrenæans rife, Streaming with blood; there hellifh murder howls; There madness rages, and with haggard eyes Glares in the craggy pafs!-She'll spring upon me The heroine having discovered to her fon his high defcent, thus proceeds: "Matilda. Thou hast been Thy mother's guardian angel; furious once, Sported Sported with infant playfulness; my blood Drove back upon my heart; fufpended, pois'd, High hung in air, with outftretch'd arms I stood, Pondering the dreadful deed; thy fate prevail'd, Nature flew up, and pufh'd me from the brinkI fhrunk, recoil'd, and started into reason." Let us confider this paffage for a moment. We are first prefented with the lady upon "Glendarlock's roof," her ladyfhip's country feat in the ifle of Wight. She looks over "the giddy edge of the projecting battlement," and "cafts ' her eye below, meafuring the fearful leap." She fees her child---Good: his nurfe was taking the air with him upon the beach No; fhe fees him, Sporting upon the pavement."---Oh, I comprehend. Lady St. Valori was not about to put an end to her existence by leaping into the sea. She intended to leap from the top of a tower into a paved court below, which would do her bufinefs full as effectually. ---Neither is this conjecture right, for the child is Sporting "Upon the pavement underneath her feet."---Mon Dieu! What need of all this preparation for fuch a tom-fool of a bufinefs? Her leap fhould feem as harmless, as that of Glofter in the play; and her "fearful" profpect as fictitious, as that of his guide. But we will not be barbarous enough to defert her in fo paradoxical a fituation. Half a line further we find her " fufpended, poifed, high hung in air." Here the is upon a rope. The next words are, with outstretched Here fhe is upon her feet; or (God knows) perhaps in the pofture of a fchool-boy ftanding upon his head. We believe moft of our readers will, by this time, agree with the judgment paffed upon the whole by her fon, and from fo fenfible a remark be apt to augur well of his future abilities. arms I ftood.' "Oh terrible to thought! Oh pictur'd horror! It pierces to my brain. There's madness in it." The following are tolerable fpecimens either of Ovidian prettiness, or of that form of fpeech commonly called the mixed metaphor: "Now to the castle! but both ears and eyes: Hear without noting; fee, but not obferve." "How time's revolving wheel wears down the edge Of Sharp affliction ! "What can counfel give? Can words revoke, can wisdom reconcile The indiffoluble web which fate has wove?" The cordial, patience, from the bitter root "If I dare atk a little earth to cover me, That That were too much-My tears will fink a grave." But we have no pleasure in remarking the defects of a veteran in the dramatic line, and one who in fome inftances has deferved well of the literary republic. We will therefore proceed to introduce to our readers fome paffages which, if we are not greatly mistaken, bear upon them the ftamp of genuine merit. There is the foul of poetry in the rejoinder of Lady St. Valori to the interceffions of Fildebrand. Mercy! and dare thy tongue pronounce the name ?- From its descent; with outspread wings it fate, Covering his breaft; you drew your cursed steel, And thro' the pleading angel pierc'd his heart." The scene of altercation between St. Valori (the Carmelite) and his unknown fon, immediately after the death of Hildebrand, is fpirited and dramatical : "Montgomeri. You now alone furvive the morning's wreck ; You by peculiar providence are fav'd From a devoted veffel, which the fins Of its dire owner sunk; still I must wonder How God's own fervant with a demon leagu'd, And piety with murder cou'd embark. Saint Valori. You think he was a murderer; have a care How you incline too rafhly to fuch tales. Let not your vaffals triumph and rejoice Too much o'th' fudden; let your castle keep Some remnant of its old propriety : And you the champion, hang not up your lance But keep it fharpen'd for a fresh encounter; Montgomeri. Reverend ftranger, From threats, which cover fome my fterious meaning, B I do |