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believe that the style and management of the piece, however well intended, will procure it scarcely any other readers here than the Reviewers, who undergo the peine forte et dure of perusing almost every thing that issues from the press.

Art. 22. The School for Honour, or the Chance of War. A Comedy, in Five Acts. Translated from the German of Lessing. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Vernor and Hood. 1799.

This comedy is superior to most of those of Kotzebue and Ifland, but it has made its appearance in English before, under the title of "the Baroness of Bruchsal, or the Disbanded Officer," and has already been reviewed. The language of the present translation is good. Art. 23. The Lawyers, A Drama, in Five Acts, translated from the German of Augustus William Ifland. By C. Ludger. 8vo, 2s. 6d. West.

It is the honourable characteristic of Mr. Iffland, that his poetic abilities are uniformly exerted in behalf of virtue, and of those duties which our ancestors reckoned indispensable in morals, but which some of the German dramatists represent as prejudices, unworthy of enlightened minds. We therefore wish to speak respectfully of his performances, encumbered as they are with the minute ceremonials and vapid common-place of the German theatre. They exhibit discrimination of character, and delicacy of sentiment; and, while they are less extravagant than the plays of Kotzebue, they excite the feelings with equal or superior force.

In the present drama, an ambitious young man, who has been drawn into scenes of political iniquity by a veteran lawyer, is re claimed by the blunt honesty of his father, and the persuasions of his intended bride. We extract the following passage, as a speci, men of the dialogue ;

SOPHIA, Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH.

Sophia wipes her eyes.

P. Coun. (after a pause.) Why does my dear Sophia weep?
Soph. My father is pleased with you.

P. Coun. I see I am the cause of your grief,

Soph. Does your conscience tell you so?

P. Coun. Your tears do.

• Soph. (after a pause.) Well, then, answer my tears.

P. Coun. (shrugs up his shoulders.) The dead letter has decided in this business, as it does in many more, where our feelings would decide in a different manner, but dare not.

Soph. And dare not !-Further

P. Coun. Further it fills me with the deepest distress to see my Sophia thus distressed. I am not to blame. I would give any thing to alter the circumstance.

Soph. Any thing?do not be offended at this question. It conveys no doubt. It contains my firmest confidence in the heart of the man to whom I am going to tender mine,-to whom I have tendered it already. Yes, Clarenbach, I do not conceal it from you; I could not leave you without giving myself up to those tears.

P. Coun

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P. Coun. Sophia, my angel! the promised companion of my life, my guardian angel, the most precious gift of providence! How dare I presume to merit your partiality? No! I shall never be able to merit you. Such purity and goodness of mind! how can I convince you of the sincerity of my esteem?

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Soph. Clarenbach!

P. Coun. (takes her by the hand.) Sophia!

Soph. A wife has many duties to discharge. And I must tell you before hand, I shall never content myself merely to be your wife, unless I am able to influence you and your actions.

P. Coun. To bless those for whom I am to act.

Soph. But what will be my powers over you? I know the first generous impulse of your heart is always good; but then ambition,-let me speak truth to you, avarice, the offspring of ambition, leads you astray, and contaminates the source of your first feelings.

· P. Coun. (looks aside.) It is so! (after a pause.) Love will buoy me up.

Soph. I shall crave little for myself; but in a just cause I shall at all times insist upon having every thing entire. I shall not relent; the man of my heart must act in full; his actions and motives must appear as clear before the eye of the world as they do in the eye of heaven.-Now the question is, will you, on these conditions, give me your hand? Answer me?

P. Coun. (drops at her feet.) Sophia!

Soph. Rise! I expect no answer from love, but from your conviction. Try your own self. The answer, which you are to give me now, is more than that which you are to give at the foot of the altar; there we are to exchange vows, and all will be settled; but here, by ourselves,-no witnesses but ourselves,-here, where nothing influences us but the sentiment of future happiness or sorrow, which we create to ourselves, and our eternal responsibility, which, at every motion of the pulse, admonishes us with increased force :to speak truth,-here we are to unite our hearts for ever,-or separate. Once more then I repeat, on different conditions I will not accept your hand; am I your choice on these conditions!

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P. Coun. Yes, yes, yes! Do not you read in my eyes that I understand you, that I look up to you as the source of future bliss ; that I repent the past; that with candour and faith, from the bottom of my heart, in this delightful solemn moment, I crave your hand, and feel myself quite happy.

Soph. Well my friend, my dear, my beloved friend! I give credit to all you say, and feel unspeakably happy; even your failings lie on the road to rare perfections, and I vow to heaven that I hope those failings will soon vanish.

P. Coun. You open to me the prospect of paradisic futurity. I shall be active in the promoting the benefit of my country, and rise superior to dirty, narrow, selfish views! recompensed by your approbation, your joys, and sometimes by your tears. Your gentle hand shall reach me the petitions of the wretched, the widow, and the orphan, and my abilities shall be called forth in their behalf.

Sophia!

Sophia! our wedding day shall long be remembered by the cottagers; every face shall beam with smiles.'

From many peculiarities in the language of the piece, as it now appears, we should suspect the translator to be a foreigner, not com pletely master of our language. Indeed, it would not be amiss if some of our countrymen, who engage in the translating-manufacture of German plays, were to pay a little more attention to English Grammar.

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Art. 24. The Foresters, A Picture of Rural
Five Acts. By William Augustus Iffland.
German. By Bell Plumptre. 8vo.

1799.

28.

Manners, a Play, in
Translated from the
Vernor and Hood.

The tendency of this play is unexceptionable; and we should be extremely glad if we could say that the plot were as happily contrived, and the dialogue as well executed, as the moral deserves. This we cannot add: for tedious scenes of breakfast and dinner, heavy exchange of compliments, and a monotonous mediocrity of character and sentiment, are prevalent throughout the composition. The distress is sufficiently deep; for the hero incurs the danger of being hanged: yet, even in the most afflicting scenes, the author does not rise above the general languid and drowsy tone of the piece. In the height of domestic affliction, how does the wife console her husband?

Mad. War. How are you?-I wish you would take a cooling powder *.

Schul. Indeed it would be proper.

Mad. War. Do take one, dear husband!

War. [Putting her back gently.] Oh! leave me alone.
Mad. War. They are always of so much service to you!"
These cooling powders will certainly cool the admiration of the
English reader, very effectually.

Art. 25. The Captive of Spilburg, in Two Acts, as performed at
the Theatre Royal, Drury-Lane, altered from the favourite French
Drama called Le Souterrain, with a Preface by the Translator.
8vo. Is. 6d. Stace.

The character of this performance is so fairly stated by the translator, in his preface, that we shall allow him to criticise it himself:

The translator of the present Drama is as fully aware as the most splenetic critic can be, that productions of this kind are of no great importance to the retired reader. They are however the food of the Stage; and a really comprehensive and candid mind will not estimate their merits merely by the scale of Literature, but will recollect that the Theatre demands action, that the best written plays may be the most unfit for representation, and that without this consideration the most accurate judge of books will be a very inadequate censor of dramatic writings.'

We shall add a short extract from the piece :

A common_domestic medicine in Germany, taken on sudden emergencies to cool the blood.'

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• Mou. Pray Sir, what may this place be?

Kou. It was formerly an old convent, but long since deserted. There is nothing here now but long galleries, huge halls, dreadful subterraneous vaults, and

* Mou. Oh lord! what?

Kou. You don't mind a ghost or two, do you?

Mou. Ghosts?

Kou. Aye, we have them here by dozens; I believe I saw one or two here the other night myself.

Mou. (his teeth chattering with fear.) Pray how long have you lived here?

Kou. To reckon by the almanack, one year-to reckon by my feelings---ten.

Mou. You are probably the

Kou. Gardener I was hired to be, but there being no longer any garden, I was placed within doors to direct the ceremonies of the house; but when no ceremony was observed here, I was made Steward to take care of the household furniture; but there being little or po furniture, I was made Clerk to inspect the accounts; but as there were no accounts to be kept, they made me Bailiff to collect the rents; but as there were no rents to collect

Mou. What did you do then?

Kou. Then I came down to be Door-porter; but as no one ever comes to the door

Cen. What is your present employment?

Kou. Making love. I find that makes the time pass rather quicker.

Can. and Mou. Love in this place?

• Kou. Just the place for it, and, to say the truth, it is my way in all places.'

This short play is supported in a lively pleasant manner, and is by no means void of amusement, even in the closet; as our readers may judge from this specimen.

Fer... Art. 26. Rolla: or the Peruvian Hero. A Tragedy, in Five Acts. Translated from the German of Kotzebuc. By M. G. Lewis, Esq. M. P. Author of the Monk, Castle Spectre, &c. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Robinsons, &c. 1799.

Having already delivered our opinion of this play, we have only to remark that Mr. Lewis's translation appears much superior to any other that we have seen, in point of style. It cannot be ascribed to the merit of the original, that we have read this with more pleasure than the former versions.

D.o Art. 27. The Widow and the Riding Horse. A Dramatic Trifle ; in One Act. By Augustus Von Kotzebue. Translated from the German by Anne Plumptre. Svo. 18. Phillips. 1799. Miss Plumptre apologizes for the use of the term riding-horse, which certainly neither is nor merits to be English. It is a pity that she had not used a more general term, as the horse in question turns out to be something of an ass; the hero of the piece saving his estate from the operation of a whimsical will, by proving that his monture

was

was a mule. The plot is not worth detailing; and though it is
Miss P.'s boast to bestow all the tediousness of her author on the
public, we own that we feel like the, fastidious lover in Martial, and
that we could do very well without any part, or even the whole, of
this morgeau.

Art. 28. The Horse and the Widow, a Farce, as performed with
Universal Applause at the Theatre-Royal, Covent Garden. AI-
tered from the German of F. Von Kotzebue, and adapted to the
Is. Barker. 1799.
English Stage, by Thomas Dibdin. 8vo.

Mr. Dibdin has spoken with great modesty, in his advertisement prefixed to this farce, concerning the alterations which he has judged necessary to adapt this piece to a London-theatre. As we think that he is perfectly right in so doing, we shall dismiss this cause without judgment.

1799.

By

Art. 29. Poverty and Nobleness of Mind: a Play. In Three Acts.
Translated from the German of Augustus Von Kotzebue.
Maria Geisweiler. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Geisweiler, &c.
We meet with the usual grounds of dissatisfaction in this play of
Mr. Kotzebue; and the lady, who has translated it, has not been so
fortunate as to transfuse into it all those elegancies, which are in-
dispensably necessary to the composition of good dialogue in genteel
comedy. Let the reader judge from this extract, taken at random:
VAN DER HUSEN and JOSEPHINE.

• Husen. Good morning to you, my pretty girl.
Yose. Sir, it is already twelve o'clock.

Husen. The morning lasts as long as one is young and pretty;

and truly, with you, the sun seems scarce risen!

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Jose. Very gallant. May I ask

• Husen. Who I am? -I am a poor devil.

Jose. But, the poor devils have usually names too?

Husen. It wou'd be just as well, if they had none; the rich wou'd

then have the less to forget.

Peter Flock, at your service.

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Jose. And your character?

In the mean time, I am call'd

Husen. I am an honest poor devil.

Jose. That I will readily believe, but-(aside) the wretch deprives me of all patience. (loud) Your title, I mean to say.

Husen. For the men, I am Mr. Flock; for the ladies, merely their most obedient servant, Flock. Those who wish to please me, call me, dear Flock.

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Jose. Also Mr. Flock

Husen. You do not wish to please me then, it seems.

Jose. My God! who can please every body?

Husen. Hum! that must be pretty easy to you.

Jose. (aside) A droll Being.

Husen. You have asked after my name.

If we lived in the times

of nymphs, naiads, sylphs, &c. I wou'd guess at yours. But as I

am a good christian, I beg of you

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• Jose

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