• Wal. Immediately. He quite revived, and began to form new plans to improve the condition of his peasants. The devil knows, how it happened that I put his snuff-box on the window-it must always stand upon the little table by the clock-he hunted for it a : few minutes, called me a good-for-nothing fellow, and turned me out of the room.

Toby. A word in passion is like a cold flash of lightning.'

A cold flash of lightning is a very bright idea; for which, we believe, we must thank the translator.

Mr. Kotzebue has even borrowed the whistling of Lillabullero for his Captain Toby. This might have been spared.

We extract the following part of a scene, to shew the high polish and elegance of our bard:

Her. Come hither, Theresa! I here introduce Colonel Hammer. to you, and hope you will find him to your liking.

The. (Curtsies with dignity.) The friend of the father has a claim to the esteem of the daughter.

Col. (Drawing himself up.) Graceful young lady, I aspire to the honour of becoming your champion.

• The. As soon as my father shall give a tournament, I shall habit the valiant knight in my colours.

Col. I throw my gauntlet to the ground, and maintain, in the face of the whole world, That Theresa Edelshield is the most beauti ful and the most chaste virgin in the whole country.

The. I'll think of a prize to reward my champion as I ought.

• Her. He has already been thinking of that himself.

• Col. Whereas, however, those glorious times are no more, when, in honour of the fair, horses were tumbled and lances broken, it will be necessary, by other proofs of affection, to gain the sweet reward of love. May I be permitted, therefore-(Approaches with many graceful bows, very politely takes the book out of her hand, and composedly throws it out of the window.)

The. (Amazed.) Colonel! what are you about?

Col. I combat the most daring of your foes.

Her. Brother! are you mad?

Col. By no means.

The. Quite a new book

Col. New mischief.

The. Unread yet

Col. So much the better.

The. (To her father.) Schiller's Xenia, which I had this very morning received from town

Col. They lie in the ditch.

The. (Looking out of the window.) Upon my word, papa,

Schiller's Xenia lies in the very midst of the mire.

Col. They are in their proper place.

The. (Piqued.) I don't know, Sir, what all this means

Col. A well-meaning criterion

The. The respect I bear my father retains me

C

Her. (Laughing.) Be composed, child; his intention is good. He is of opinion, that reading will do women no good; and as he has chosen you for his consort

-

The. (Quite struck with amazement.) Me?

• Col. Yes, you, fair lady.

ing

The. Pardon me, Colonel; but a lover, who sets out by throw
my books out of the window-

Col. Is a brave nobleman of the old metal.'

If the book thrown out of the window had been one out of ap hundred foolish productions that we could name, we should not have severely blamed the testiness of the veteran. We cannot help observing that the minute details of coffee-drinking, smoking, and sweeping the floors, in this play, are sufficiently powerful to convert a good-natured reader into the leading character of the piece, and to render him very peevish with the muse of the writer, who might be not unaptly typified by the aforenamed Miss Ulrica. Fer...

Art. 33.
The Corsicans; A Drama, in Four Acts, Translated
from the German of Augustus Kotzebue. 8vo. 28. Bell.
Oxford-Street.

There are some good situations in this comedy, as dramatic manufacturers term them; and there is, throughout, more liveliness, with less babbling dialogue, than in most of this author's plays. As to the plot, we have a father (a Corsican exile) who lives incognito, as steward in the same house with his own daughter, without suspecting her to be related to him; and other wonderful mysteries of the same nature. We have also marginal directions: witness the following scene, which we extract as a specimen of the art of writing a part of dumb-shew:

FELIX, NATALIA.

[Whilst Felix is engaged in the following Soliloquy, Natalia ap-
proaches, as if involuntarily; then retires, and comes back.]

Fel. She came to see me-Fortunate Camillo ! Dar'st thou flatter thyself with the glorious idea that something more than pity warms the bosom of that angel?-She came to see me! - From yonder hill she gazed at me-thought of me-was occupied with me during the cool evening-hour;-and I this very day walked past that hill, as if it had been nothing else than a common heap of earth planted with trees!-Oh! I did not know that she had hallowed the spot by her presence!-I did not know that it was to become my favourite abode, the altar of my devotion; from which, during the sweet gloom of twilight, the most ardent vows for Natalia's happiness shall rise to the evening star!-Natalia! Natalia!-let's forth to the lovely hill!-[He turns quickly round, and sees Natalia standing before him. He shrinks back, trembles, and casts his eyes downwards.

Natalia casts a timid side glance at him, while her face appears covered with the graceful blushes of virgin innocence.

Felix slowly ventures to raise his eyes towards her,

Natalia looks at him with inexpressible tenderness.

Felix throws himself at her feet; drops the rose, lays bold of her hand, which he covers with ardent kisses, then rises and runs off precipitately.

Natalia stands as if fixed to the ground. After some pause she stoops to pick up the rose; places it on her bosom with a sigh, and slowly withdraws.

And

And so the curtain drops pathetically, in cadence with the sobs of
the audience!

Art. 34. La-Peyrouse a Drama, in Two Acts. By Augustus
Von Kotzebue. Translated from the German by Anne Plumptre.
8vo. Is. Phillips.

Fer...r.

The name of La Pérouse excites the most tender regret. Whoever
reads the account of his voyage must feel respect for and almost
attachment to his character, from the traits of worth and humanity
which it discloses; and the dreadful uncertainty respecting his fate
must long be felt with anguish, by persons of sensibility. Kotzebue
has chosen the story of his supposed shipwreck and deliverance, for
the subject of this piece: but we cannot deem him happy in his
manner of treating it. The scene is laid upon an uninhabited island
in the South Sea;' which is however inhabited by La Pérouse,
Malvina, a savage, whom he has taken to wife, and Charles, their
son and heir. This reminds us of a burlesque song, in one stanza
of which the captain of a vessel is thrown ashore on a desert island, and
in the nex the marries the daughter of the governor of the desert island.] ✔
A ship appears off the coast, and discovers La Pérouse: but un-
luckily it brings him another wife, whom he had married in
France, and her son, who join the family on the uninhabited island.—
What is to be done? The Pérouse of Kotzebue attempts to stab
himself, in the presence of the ladies, who naturally prevent him.
The savage then proposes a scheme à la Kotzebue, that the ladies
should both live with him, and make what the Italians call un trian-
golo equilatero, an equilateral triangle: but, as this is not immediately
relished, Madame La Pérouse attempts to poison herself. This
happy expedient failing, the reader must be extremely uneasy, till
he is relieved by the arrival of M. Clairville; who brings the news of
the French Revolution to the uninhabited island. Pérouse is per-
suaded that he ought to stay where he is, and the ladies agree to live
with him as sisters; and thus the curtain falls, as we are told in the
interpreting Italics, no doubt to the great pleasure of the spectators.

We own that we cannot approve this treatment of a character like
that of La Pérouse, consecrated by benevolence, true philosophy,
and misfortune, to lasting fame. Let M. Von Kotzebue attribute
his own ideas to imaginary personages; but let him not profane the
memory of such a man as Pérouse; a man whose observations on the
various states, in which he had studied society, contain the clearest
refutation of Rousseau's wild opinions, and furnish the true and sim-
ple history of civilization.

Art. 35. La Perouse: a Drama, in Two Acts, from the German of
Kotzebue. By Benjamin Thomson, Translator of The Stranger,
as performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury-Lane. 8vo. Is. Vernor.
Another translation, from the same very exceptionable original.-
A Register-office seems wanting for Kotzebue's numerous (we had al-
most said innumerable) productions; by means of which our rival trans-
lators by profession, male and female, might escape the danger of
running foul of each other, as several have unfortunately done;-or,
perhaps, an Insurance-office might prove a more desirable scheme.

Q4

#

Do

Aft.

Ᏻ .

Art. 36. The Art of making Tea: a Poem, in Two Cantos. 12mo. 6d. Conder.

Though the cost of this poem be sixpence, yet the sum of genius displayed in it amounts only to what Dr. Corbet calls "a farthingmuse" we hope that the Poet's Tea is made stronger than his verses. King's Art of Cookery, to which the author refers, was an ironical poem, somewhat like Horace's Dialogue with Catius: but whether the present verses be meant in jest or in earnest, the writer has hardly furnished us with the means of deciding. If they be in jest, there is too little merriment; if they be in earnest, they are too carelessly written. It seems that tea, which, in the opinion of many, is no better than water bewitched, is not a more powerful inspirer than the simple element. The reader shall decide whether the following lines ought to have been admitted in a piece of elegant humour:

we shall ex

Let not the general error lead you wrong, Milkmaids and shepherds only shine in song. These postulatums granted-you'll allow 'Twere better, if you can, to keep a cow.' Postulatums! And the piece is dated from Cambridge! However, as we are always "candid where we can,' hibit some lines of a better cast; which will shew that our poet has been rather careless than incompetent, in the other parts of his performance. There is something of the vis poetica in this passage: To softer scenes my quiet muse repairs, Where gentle lovers sit in elbow chairs. Now, while the heated urn emits the steam, Before the tardy footman brings the cream, With joyous heart the simple LAURA Views From her lost CRUSCA, Songs, and billet doux. O'er all the work she runs her wondering eyes, And here she languishes, and there she dies. And as she reads, while fold succeeds to fold, She sighs, unmindful that the tea gets cold. Sonnets and songs her morning hours beguile; How sweet the thought, how delicate the style! She sighs, she writes to sooth her CRUSCA's grief; And Johnson's dictionary gives relief. There for long words she searches every page; And love and sonnets all her mind engage. Ah silly maid much better would it be, Could you forget to love, and drink your tea. Why should you strive to write with so much art What BIRCH will place beneath an apple tart? He, barbarous man, will tear the amorous page; No type restrains him, and no rhymes assuage.' We shall therefore conclude by giving the gentle bard a little advice, in his own style :

Pour not too soon your tea nor verses off;
The wise will censure else, the rude will scoff.

The

The vapid stream our thirsty lip deceives,
And floats encumber'd with th' unopen'd leaves;
So mocks that verse the critic's curious eye,
Where the crude thoughts in wild disorder lie.
Keep, then, directed by salubrious fears,

Your tea nine minutes, and your piece nine years.'

Art. 37. Macbeth: a Tragedy. Written by William Shakspeare. With Notes and Emendations, by Harry Rowe, Trumpet-Major to the High-Sheriffs of Yorkshire; and Master of a Puppet-show. 2d Edition. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Vernor and Hood.

When we took up the present performance, we were somewhat surprized on seeing Punch aspire to the honours of criticism, and claiming a seat on the literary bench: but we considered that our venerable critic, having for so long a period preceded the judges in their entry to the antient castle of York, might be expected to have picked up some knowlege of decisions. We recollected, also, that a puppet-show is the perfect type of the Greek and Roman drama, the parts being gesticulated by one performer, and declaimed by another; and in this instance, the resemblance is completed by Mr. Rowe's union of the Tibicen with the other characters of author and manager. On making these reflections, though we did not perhaps "spy a brother," yet we proceeded, with much complacency of mind, to examine the contents of the pamphlet.

The corrections proposed by Mr. Harry Rowe are somewhat in the style of Dr. Bentley: he has not spared the text, to substitute his own conjectures. In the very first scene, he proposes, instead of

"When the hurly burly's done,"

to read, When the hurly-burly's OVER; which destroys the rhyme; and which is consequently an alteration of Shakspeare's ascertained language, not a restoration of a corrupted passage. We turned immediately to Macbeth's soliloquy, where this participle occurs so frequently;

"If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well

It were done quickly:"

but our critic has not un-done this passage. If either he, or Mr. Punch, will try the effect of reading over in this sentence, it will appear that Shakspeare had used the common word in the former in

stance.

We shall insert a long note, on a line which this critic wishes to write anew, without any sufficient plea, in our opinion:

His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood;'
Johnson. Steevens. Malone.

All the commentators, as far as I know, have retained this line; but the other day, my wooden Macbeth declared, in the green-room, that it was nonsense. Being old enough to know the folly of disputing with a blockhead, I only desired him to favour me with a better. He accordingly repeated,

His snow-white skin streak'd with his crimson blood.'

Fer...r.

This