University of Virginia Library

Plays, novels, and farces, tend more to hand down to succeeding generations a just picture of the times and manners in which they were composed than any branch of literature; since none but the authors of such pieces will deem it requisite to describe, with minuteness, the customs of their contemporaries, as a narration of that kind would be insipid, and of no utility whatsoever. On the contrary, should the dramatic writer err in the delineation of his portraits, the production would be scouted, and his piece tend only to burden the shelves of the publisher. It is to Terence, Plautus, Aristophanes, Apuleius, Thucydides, Livy, and Cæsar, that we are indebted for our insight into the manners, fashions, and customs of the Greeks and Romans; while it is pitiable to remark the extreme distress to which our ablest antiquarians are reduced, when desirous of making the present generation acquainted with the minutiæof those of our ancestors who lived before the stage or the press existed to elucidate posterior writers. Nay, if we even refer to an epoch subsequent to the invention of the art of printing, how much are the most prominent features of the time enveloped in darkness. Instance the short reign of Richard III., many of whose actions, as handed down to posterity, even by the ancient chronicles, have since been proved altogether nugatory, particularly in the person of Jane Shore, whom he is stated to have condemned to death by starvation; whereas Sir Thomas More, a writer of the greatest probity living in the reign of Henry VIII., not only acquaints us with the then existence of Mrs. Shore, but that he saw and had a long conversation with her, being a lapse of many years subsequent to the death of King Richard. But if we refer back a century or two anterior to this monarch's reign, how very little do monastic charters, or the gaudy ornaments of a missal, which are the best guides to the curious, afford an insight into the humours of the age, when compared to what posterity will glean from the dramatic effusions of a Foote, Murphy, Coleman, Macklin, Sheridan, and Cumberland, or the didactic narratives of a Fielding, Smollet, Goldsmith, together with the labours of many writers of the present period, who, if not endowed with such transcendant talents, are nevertheless close imitators of the existing state of society in their native country.

One note will be sufficient to condense the names of Macklin, Murphy, Cumberland, and Sheridan, whose respective dramatic talents have so uniformly been sanctioned by public applause, that it is but to mention each writer, and the meed of praise must consequently follow. Macklin, though not a voluminous contributor to scenic representations, has condensed multum in parvo, by showing a complete knowledge of the practices of the stage, and an acute perception of human life: his characters are drawn with the hand of a master, who felt no diffidence in the accomplishment of the task which he had proposed to himself to execute. Murphy, treading in the old school of the drama, has left to posterity the lasting memorials of what may be produced by a combination of genius and classical acquirements; his tragic powers are of the first class, and must continue to interest, while Melpomene finds a sanctuary in a British theatre. The versatile talents of Cumberland, and the rapidity of his pen, sometimes prompted him to write without sufficient consideration, and a few of his theatrical labours were in consequence condemned by the audience; but while his West Indian, Wheel of Fortune, and his Jew, are performed, their trifling demerits will always be forgotten, and such pieces receive the sanction of a gratified public. To praise the acknowledged sterling pieces of Sheridan, would only be an echo of the above lines; his claims to theatrical excellence are indelibly stamped upon the minds of the amateurs of the drama, and it is only to be regretted that an individual, thus gifted, should have proved so sparing of the great talents which nature has bestowed upon him.

The stage veteran Waldron, a downright enthusiast in his profession, very respectably exerted his talents in the dramatic line; while the late General Burgoyne, uniting all the acquirements of a polished gentleman, an intimate acquaintance with high life, and the most finished style of composition, has enriched the stage with specimens of genteel comedy, which fully entitled him to that universal praise he enjoyed while living, and the fame which has followed him in death. Of the late Mr. Dibdin, whether considered as a writer or musical composer for the stage, it is impossible to say too much; his genius in either walk was prolific in the extreme; and when I state that no man, perhaps, ever yet produced so much for the gratification of all classes of society, I shall not only keep within the pale of veracity, but offer a just panegyric to one of the most powerful supporters of operatic exhibitions that has appeared since the first establishment of a British place of scenic entertainment. To the voluminous labours of the elder Colman the theatric boards are highly indebted; but it is to his son, the present dramatist, that every praise is due: his wit is intuitive, and it is impossible to find, in private society, any companion so aptly formed by nature for social enjoyments; indeed, in speaking of this gentleman, we may justly apply the words of Shakspeare, where he says,

Independent of his numerous scenic labours, Mr. G. Colman has no less endeared himself to the literary world, by humorous tales, handled in a metrical manner completely his own; in short, he seems to possess an inexhaustible fund of mirthmoving wit, which is ever found to diversify his dramatic productions, and thus ensure the favour of a British public.

It is a generally received opinion, that two heads are better than one; but in the present instance the adage is not proved infallible, as very little connected with true theatrical talent is discernible in the several productions of this dramatic combination.

From the pen of Mrs. Inchbald several pieces have appeared, among which we may rank the Midnight Hour, as having justly acquired a greater share of celebrity: her style, as a dramatist, is far above the common standard of writing, and in other branches of literature she has no less been honoured with the approval of the public. Mr. Tobin, who unfortunately did not live to enjoy the gratification of hearing his merits publicly extolled, has only illumined the theatrical hemisphere with his productions for the last few years; the energy of his language has been universally allowed, and the arrangement of his ideas, in the manner of Shakspeare, confer the highest honour upon the figurative powers of his fancy. It is only to be regretted, that the management of a theatre should be so faulty as to suffer performances of this meritorious description to remain neglected from year to year, while paltry compositions, aided by some trifling interest, have, in the interval, been obtruded upon the public, in contempt of an enlightened audience, and to the flagrant disgrace of the managers of an institution who could tolerate such a violation of every principle of justice and decorum.

If Mr. Holcroft's dramatic essays are not of the first class, they at all events afforded amusement to the public; indeed, from the general tenour of this gentleman's writings, one could not have expected that he would delineate such characters as Goldfinch, in the Road to Ruin: his thoughts were of the sombre cast, and tinctured with all those new-fangled philosophical tenets, which, instead of instilling cheerfulness over the mind, cast the gloom of despondency and dissatisfaction. From the nature of the drama it was impossible that the Mysterious Mother of the Earl of Orford could ever be represented to a British audience: the whole mechanism of the piece hinges upon an incestuous intercourse between the mother and her son, every scene partakes of the gloom of the cloister, no under-plot enlivens the monotony of the subject, and the language, though pompous at intervals, does not elicit any sparks of mental refinement.

Aided by the powerful talents of the late justly celebrated Storace, Messrs. Cobbe and Hoare have figured ably in the operatic department; not that I mean to say much in commendation of the pieces these gentlemen have produced, when considered in a literary point of view, for where performances are made the vehicles of harmony, it is of little consequence what trash be now foisted on the public; some years back the case widely differed, but tempora mutantur, &c.

This clerical baronet has vainly endeavoured to gain a footing upon the theatrical boards, his dramatic efforts being of the most mediocre cast, not to say in some respects indecorous: after such vain attempts, it would therefore be advisable that he should continue to issue forth his puny attempts at Shaksperian imitation; indeed, his own morning print is the best vehicle for giving publicity to the lucubrations of himself and his worthy compeer Anthony Pasquin. As to Major Topham, of greyhound and sporting celebrity, I would most seriously advise him to stick to the breed of dogs rather than attempt in future to amuse an English audience; for, after the justly merited fate of Small Talk, or the Westminster Boy, what can be expected to emanate from such a Muse but the most consummate nonsense?

The fate of Vortigern is well known to the public; it was the effusion of a youth of eighteen, and, if not possessed of some beauties when read in the closet, the wisest and most able critics must have been most egregiously deceived. After the above piece had been brought forth among the fabricated papers attributed to Shakspeare, a second play, entitled Henry II. was produced by young Ireland; and, after his confession of the forgery, was also written a play under the title of Mutius Scevola. With respect to the merits of this writer, whose works are very numerous, it would be unfair to have recourse to the reviewers; the stigma of having deceived the public uniformly follows his career, and, be his efforts what they may, the lash of severest criticism at all times pursues him. It is said, however, that many productions from his pen have appeared without any signature, which have been much commended: it is therefore to be regretted that this gentleman does not avow to the world all he has written, that they may be fully enabled to appreciate the extent of his literary acquirements. Having adverted above to the subject of the Shaksperian forgery, I cannot, as appertaining to the Belles Lettres, here omit the insertion of the following anecdote, which, for its singularity, surpasses even the attempts of Chatterton, Lauder, or Ireland.

Pere Hardouin, a Jesuit, strove, about the middle of the last century, to gain immortality by dispossessing the Latin poets, in particular, of their seats in Parnassus; the idea propagated by this father was, that, about 350 years ago, when learning was reviving in the north of Europe, a set of Literati, all protestants, united to form a body of fictitious poems, congenial to a few which were really extant; to these they prefixed the respectable names of Virgil, Ovid, &c. In short, the good Jesuit only allowed, as genuine, the Georgics of Virgil, the Epistles of Horace, and a few more fragments. Some regarded this treatise as the offspring of a frenzied brain, while others conjectured that Hardouin was encouraged by his brethren in this attack on the pillars of literature, in order that, should he succeed, and introduce again into the world the obscurity of former ages, the clergy might then resume that superiority which the learned will always be able to support among the ignorant. The cry was, however, so loud against this ridiculous system, that the author was abandoned, and even cried down by the votaries of his own order.

Lauder, a learned but petulant North Briton, assaulted the reputation of Milton, about the same period, with the same success; but his motive for the attack was, avowedly, envy at the preference given by Pope to that great Bard above “one Johnstone,” whose works Lauder was concerned in publishing.

Write when he will, and what he will, spectres must attend this gentleman's Muse; of whom having previously spoken, I shall content myself with offering my congratulations upon the run of his piece, without mentioning one syllable in commendation of his dramatic style, or the Clap-Trap system which he has uniformly adopted during the progress of his theatrical career. The two younger Dibdins, pursuing the track of the parent, have indefatigably laboured in their literary and musical avocations: they are far from being deficient on the score of talent, and their uniform industry entitles them to the highest commendation. Mr. Theodore Hooke, full of eccentricity, and who exists but to partake of the gratifications of life, is now absent from England: that he possesses talents cannot be denied; but, like many men of ability, his natural unstableness debars him from adopting any fixed mode of action: one hint, however, it is necessary that I should give this gentleman, whose effrontery in having produced Tekeli as his own (which is a translation verbatim from the French), may be esteemed one of the most flagrant proceedings that ever characterized the conduct of a dramatic writer: a plagiary, when delicately concealed, we can willingly pardon; but to father the whole production of another, and stand forth to the world with such a barefaced untruth, is a mode of action which could not even have been expected from the thoughtless dramatist of whom I have spoken.

Horace.

It is melancholy to observe how some persons wilfully endeavour to force themselves into publicity, without possessing an attribute that can entitle them to merit that praise which they are so assiduously bent upon obtaining. Miss Hannah Brand, the very able mistress of a lady's seminary, not only conceived herself capable of writing for the stage, but actually came forward as the performer of the heroine in her own piece, which was a tragedy entitled Uniades. On the night of representation the writer of this note was present, and never were the wearers of the buskin greeted with such incessant peals of laughter: the tragedy was rendered into broad farce, which the solemn demeanour of our heroine, who did not expect the transmogrification, tended to increase throughout each successive act. Let the reader, however, judge for himself as to matters as they stood after perusal of the following fact. The late Mr. R. Palmer, who performed the part of the tyrant ravisher, instead of ordering old Packer in the following words, “Rise up Oriades,”literally exclaimed, to the prostrate actor, “Rise up old Ragged A—e.”

To Mesdames West and Chambers much praise is due for their endeavours to increase the theatrical budget: their style is correct, and language pure; nor do we find any of those hyperbolical flights for which female writers, and particularly for the stage, are frequently censured with becoming justice.

Having witnessed the first night's representation of The Castle of Wolmer, I have only to acquaint its author that he had better—“Sleep in Peace.” Kenny possesses some requisites for broad farce, but he is not sufficiently skilful in the concealment of his plagiaries. This gentleman is, I believe, an heirloom to Covent Garden theatre, receiving an annual stipend for his dramatic efforts; I would therefore advise the managers not to grapple at too much, but permit him to write less and think more. Hulston and Smith rank nearly upon a par: we know their names as caterers for the theatre, and little more is necessary; their productions certainly will not outlive their memories. Mr. Allingham has not proved himself an indolent purveyor for the dramatic corps; in some instances we have witnessed flashes from the fancy of this gentleman, but, like most of the moderns, he appreciates the acquirement of fame by the quantum which a writer can produce. Add to these the name of Mr. Lawler, who brought forward a piece called Sharp and Flat, the conclusive word of which title is, in every respect, applicable to the nature of the dramatic effort in question.

Mr. George Brewer has more than once attempted scenic compositions, and in his efforts to produce humour, he soars above mediocrity; but the literary fame of this personage is better appreciated by consulting his labours as an essayist in the style of Goldsmith, in which department he has a very happy flow of delivery. The younger Kemble is only known in the light of a translator; he is well acquainted with the arcana of stage-trick, and in pursuing this humble line may benefit himself and his employers, without setting his fame on the hazard of the die. As for Mr. John Philip, the tragedian of the same name, he once entered the flowery pastures of poesy, and produced a volume of miscellaneous metrical scraps, of which it will be sufficient to state, that the author is himself so truly ashamed, that he has, at a vast expense, repurchased and destroyed nearly all the copies that were ushered forth to the public. The performances of Mr. Skeffington, like his person, are of the tinsel order; he plunders scraps from all the old French and Italian compositions, and of this amalgama, or patch-work, furbishes up a something of the butterfly breed, which lives for a day and then is heard no more. Farley, without attempting what he would be unable to achieve, is satisfied with the honest endeavour of benefiting himself and his employers, by producing a species of spectacle, which, if, from its nature, placed without the pale of criticism, is nevertheless eagerly sought for by the public; and, therefore, whatsoever may be the writer's opinion, as to what is strictly due to the legitimate stage, this gentleman, obedient only to the taste of the times, acts accordingly; and in his vocation, it is but justice to add, no individual has ever yet surpassed him.

The personage above mentioned was butler in a gentleman's family, and having lost his wits like many other writers, who notwithstanding conceive themselves in possession of every sane faculty, took it into his head that he could compose a tragedy; which was executed accordingly; when, in order to benefit the poor fellow in a pecuniary point of view, subscriptions were collected by his late employer, from persons of fashion, in order to have the piece elegantly printed in quarto, with decorative engravings. One of these volumes the writer hereof has partly perused; and if it were possible to conceive what a thousand personages writing a thousand lines promiscuously would produce, then may the subject matter of Oronzo's Feast be truly defined. Having now come to a close with the dramatic literary corps, I must request the pardon of many personages, whose names are not inscribed in the poem of Sir Noodle, or my own elaborate annotations; such individuals, for instance, as Boaden, the author of Fontainville Forest, who, some years back, intended “To tip Billy Shakspeare the go by;” but, unfortunately for the public, has not yet been as good as his word. Apropos, one more individual shall blazon my page, viz. the late Miles Peter Andrews, from whose pen, it must be confessed, many well written prologues and epilogues have appeared, which, I believe, without a single exception, received the most flattering applause that could possibly accompany such species of compositions.