beth as Mrs Siddons exhibited? Of the remainder of the play, of her behaviour at fupper, of the fleeping fcene, of all her other excellencies, we fay nothing. Criticism cannot add to her merit, as neither can it diminish; and general praises are always feeble.

Califta, the beautiful but erring Califta, afforded the next difplay of Mrs Siddons's powers. Of this lady's claim to the title of penitent, much doubt has been entertained; but whatever may be faid of the Califta of the play, the Califta of Mrs Siddons is, as we think, fully intitled to the appellation. The ftruggles of a mind ftill alive, even though fallen, to every fentiment of virtue; the ftruggles of fuch a mind, with the deepelt feelings of grief and remorfe; the native haughtiness of a character confcious of its own dignity, and difdaining that pity which is really infult; the despair which enfues upon a discovery of guilt to those whose approbation we covet, and whofe anger we dread; the anguish of foul which clofes the fcene, and leaves no other remedy but death; were, each in their turn, and through all their variations, depicted in the moft forcible manner by this great actress. It has been often objected to this tragedy, that Calista's lover, Lothario, is. poffeffed of no accomplishment capable of attracting the notice of a woman of fenfibility or difcernment. Perhaps this may be questioned, and queftioned, too, upon good grounds: and, befides, thofe who thus object, ought to confider, that Lotha rio's faults, though they are expofed to the audience, are not also exposed to Calista. But granting even the full force of this objection, is Califta the only accomplished woman who, has fallen a facrifice to a Lothario? Or is there no difference betwixt the eye, of a critic and the eye of love? We do not urge these things; but they deferve to be noticed. At any rate,

they have nothing to do with the excellencies of Mrs Siddons.

This play, like the other plays of Rowe, is burdened with a frequent repetition of rhimes at the end of the acts. These needlefs tags, fo distressful to a performer, feemed to be converted by Mrs Siddons into embellishments. Her manner of speaking them, was above all praife; and as we cannot enhance her merit, we shall be silent.

The character of Ifabella feems of all the characters of Mrs Siddons to have excited the greatest attention and applaufe. We are happy to join with the numerous admirers of that character in our praises of the actress, for her performance of it was wonderfully great; but we cannot be fo lavish as fome are of our commendation of the tragedy itfelf. To Southerne the English ftage is indeed much indebted. Both this play and his Oroonoko are undoubted monuments of genius. But the Fatal Marriage cannot, in our opinion, what fome have thought, bear a competition, either in the conduct of the fable or the language, with the first-rate tragedies on our ftage. Why, for inftance, is Baldwin fo relentlefs? He declares himself, that had his fon

"Married a beggar's bastard; taken her "Out of her rags, and made her of his "blood;

"The mischief might have ceafed, and "ended there:

"But bringing you into a family,
"Entails a curfe upon the name and house
"That takes you in."

Why fo? we afk again. Is it poffible
that the accomplished Ifabel a should
difgrace the houfe of Count Baldwin
more than "a beggar's baftard taken
out of her rags.'
With what face,
too, can Baldwin exclaim, towards
the end of the play,

"O Carlos! Carlos! hadft thou been a "brother!"

Although Carlos had been a brother, what could this brother have done? He would not have intercepted Bi

ron's

ron's letters, and Baldwin would have known that his fon was alive. But would this knowledge have prevented the curfe from being entailed, or raised Ifabella, in the eyes of Baldwin, above a beggar's baftard? If it would not, the confequence is, that the old man is relentless at the beginning, because it was neceflary for the author he fhould be fo; and melts into compaffion at the end for the very fame reafon. As for Carlos, he is a fad mifcreant indeed. But any chifel can rough-hew a villain. A man, it is true, may be a rascal from an innate depravity of heart: but when we fee a rafcal upon the ftage, we require an accurate delineation of character, and a diftinct perception of motives; otherwife a villain may be as eafily furnifhed as a bowl, or a dagger, or a ring, or any thing elfe that belongs to the property-man. Villains in this world fprout up like mushrooms; but this growth will not do for the stage. We must have a caufe, a clear, a marked, a diftinct caufe, for every part of their conduct. Now, has Car los fuch a caufe for marrying Ifabella to Villeroy? Hear himself.

"I knew my brother loved his wife fo "well,

"That if he ever fhould come home again, "He could not long outlive the lofs of

"her."

No matter whether it was long or fhort ;-the treachery of Carlos muft have been equally detected in either cafe. And accordingly we find that he himself thought this but a bungling expedient; and, to make all fure," had recourse to a remedy more efficacious. Southerne has therefore failed in drawing his villain; for a bungling villain is a nose of wax, and may be twisted whatever way the author pleafes. As for Villeroy, he is a very harmless gentleman, deep in love. There is, however, one inftance in which his love feems to tranfport him too far. Biron, in the arms of death, afksa laft parting kifs"

from the wife of his bofom. Villeroy draws; and, with a brutality unbe coming a favage, exclaims,

"A kifs! Confufion! it must be your "laft."

What madness of knight-errantry can warrant this; and to a man too whom he himself had seen but a moment be fore pierced to the heart by affaffins ? It might alfo be afked, why Villeroy leaves his wife immediately after his marriage. His brother falls fick, it is true; and there is no more improbability in his falling fick than in any other man's doing fo. Villeroy himfelf might have caught a fever. There is no improbability in all this. But, then, does this fickness of his brother arife from the texture of the fable? or is it neceffary for the author to get rid of him for fome time? If he must be provided for, he may as well visit the archbishop of Malines as go any where else? But why go at all? It was neceflary for Southerne. Farther we are not permitted to inquire.

We have spoken with freedom of the defects of this play becaufe we think it has been over-rated: We fhall speak with pleasure of its excellencies. The character of Ifabella is moft admirably drawn; her fituation ftriking to the highest degree; and, whether in her first forlorn condition, or in her fubfequent defpair, the pencil which delineates her is dipped in the trueft colours of nature. The additional heightening beftowed upon it by Mrs Siddons renders it one of the most interesting and deeply affecting characters that ever was exhibited on any stage.

Lady Randolph and Belvidera were both of them performed in fuch a flyle of excellence, that no criticism can reach them. The mad fcene in the laft character is fo aftonishingly grand; the difcovery in the former is fo wonderfully managed both by the poet and the actrefs, that criticifm is loft in admiration. Mrs Siddons has been blamed for hugging the old fhepherd

too

too much. It fuits not her dignity, it is faid. What is meant by her dig nity, we know not;-but it furely fuits the feelings of a mother.

The Lady of St Valori, in the Car melite, was equal in performance to any other part of Mrs Siddons, tho' the play was not equal to other plays. If the tragedy itself has not pleafed, Mrs Siddons ftands acquitted to the author. Her laudable exertion in repeating the piece, and the powers fhe difplayed in the performance, do equal honour to her abilities and her

heart.

In a criticifm upon Mrs Siddons, Mr Woods must bear a very principal

23

fhare. This actor, who has been long and defervedly the pride of the Edinburgh ftage,has added to the reputation he formerly poffeffed, by his performances with Mrs Siddons. It is impoffible to go through the different characters he has performed with her; in all of which his judgment and spirit were confpicuous. But there is one character, and the only first-rate character he has been allowed to perform this feafon, for what reason the pub. lic may be difpofed fome time or other to inquire, in which he fhone forth with a peculiar degree of excellence; The Faffier of Mr Woods may challenge all Britain to produce a rival

He, with bold Caffius leagu'd in lawless faction,

Cut off his friend by reciffory action.

To

us

alas! all actions are denied;

No, Execution's on the other fide.
Cæfar's rent robe, by Anthony difplay'd,
Show'd what a gafh the envious Cafca made.
Our robes produce no pleadings on the laws;
No Brutus afks a hearing of his caufe.
Where now fhall lawyers roar for daily
bread?

Petition's dumb, and Avifandum's dead:
No Humbly fbereth; In respect whereof;
Upon the whole, refer to Charger's oath.
Thefe courtly phrafes now no more prevail,
Nor manly truth, nor fly inverted tale.
Een veteran W-
-t is in our doom in-

volv'd;

No head-court near, no parliament diffolv'd.

More fad examples might we crowd upon

ye;

As Bl's bufinefs taken præceptione;
And he, who ne'er left client in pendente,'
Prov'd Scottish practice flow'd a non habente
His flattering profpects we can place no hope
in,

Whofe doors are fhut, and no fucceffion open. Thus whin'd the ftarv'ling pleaders of the bar,

The jarring malcontents of wordy war; Till one from corner of the Bench came down

With a loud laugh, that mark'd his double gown

"Cheer up," he faid; "if you were half "exact, "You'd fee my judgments fuperfede extract. "And grave J R in his book has

"fhown "Reclaiming-days ne'er in vacation run: "Admit the fact conclufive quoad bine, "That judges, lawyers, agents, all get "drunk."

O DES

On the Exhibition of the Royal Academy ; PETER PINDAR, Efq.

Correct in narrative, correct in date:

Careful compilers of each quifquis cafe,
Of pactum nudum, or a written leafe:
The nice decifions of our civil courts
Live only now
in Faculty-reports.

year!

འ Declare what works of fterling worth appear! REYNOLDS, his heads divine, as usual, gives Where Guido's, Rubens', Titian's genius

lives!

Works!

Wear more the vifage of young rooks Cawing for victuals from their neft. WEST moft judiciously my counsel takes, Paints by the acre witness Parfon PETER $:

For garbs he very pretty blankets makes, Deferving praises in the fweetest metre. The flesh of Peter's audience is not good,Too much like ivory, and stone, and wood; Nor of the figures can I praife th' expreffion, With thee, a downright trifle of tranfgreffion. WEST, your Laft Supper is a hungry piece: Your Tyburn Saints will not your fame increase:

With looks fo thievish, with such skins of copper,

Were they for fale, as Heavn's my judge, To give five farthings for them I fhould grudge,

Nay, ev'n my old tobacco-stopper! Candour must own, that frequently thy paints

Have play'd the devil with the Saints : For me! I fancy them like doves and throftles!

But thou, if we believe thy art, Enough to make us pious Chriftians start, Haft very scurvy notions of Apostles. What of thy landscape fhall I fay, Holding the old white fow, and fucking

litter?

Curs'd be the moment, curs'd the day,

Thou gav'ft the Muse such reason to be bitter!

But, Mufe, be foft, and gently, gently fighMore damned ftuff was never feen by eye."

A

ODE II.

A Strange Story, and True.

told, and I believe the story,

That a fam'd Queen of northern brutes, gentlewoman of prodigious glory,

Whom every fort of epithet well fuits; Whofe husband dear just happening to pro

voke her,

Was fhov'd to heaven upon a red-hot poker! Sent to a fartin king, not king of France

Defiring by Sir Joshua's hand his phiz— What did the royal quiz? Why, damn'd genteelly, fat to Mr Dance! Then fent it to the courteous northern Queen

As fweet a bit of wood as e'er was feen! And, therefore, moft unlike the fceptred head

He might as well have fent a pig of lead. Down every throat the piece was cramm'd As done by Reynolds, and deferv'dly damn'd;

For as to Mafter Dance's art,

Reader, I blush!-am delicate this time!
It ne'er was worth a single — !
So let thy impudence supply the rhime.
Thank God! that kings cannot our tastes
controul,

And make each fubject's poor, fubmiffive foul

A picture by Mr Weft. In the Apotheofis, a picture by Weft. § A painter of moon-lights.

Ad

The cat and gridiron, or the old red lion!
At Plympton, perhaps, for fome grave
doctor Slop,

Painting the pots and bottles of the shop;
Or in the drama, to get meat to munch,

His brush divine had pictur'd fcenes for

punch! Whilft Weft was whelping 'midft his paints, Mofes and Aaron, and all forts of faints! Adams and Eves, and fnakes and apples, And devils, for beautifying certain chapels: But Reynolds is no favourite, that's the

I've heard that Ramfay t, when he died,

Left just nine rooms, well stuff'd with queens and kings;

From whence all nations might have been fupplied

That long'd for valuable things.

Viceroys, ambaffadors, and plenipos Bought them to join their rareefhows

In foreign parts.
And how the progrefs of the British arts.
Whether they purchas'd by the pound or
yard,

I cannot tell, because I never heard.
But this I know, his fhop was like a a fair,
And dealt moft largely in the royal ware.

See what it is to gain a monarch's fmile! And haft thou mifs'd it, Reynolds, all this while!

How ftupid! prithee, feek the courtier's school,

And learn to manufacture oil of fool. Flattery's the turnpike-road to Fortune's door

Truth is a narrow lane, all full of quags,

Leading to broken heads, abufe, and rags,

And work-houses,-fad refuge for the poor!

Sir Joshua's native fpot in Devonshire.

Flattery's a mountebank so spruce-gets riches;

Truth, a plain Simon Pure, a Quaker preacher,

A moral-mender, a difgufting teacher, That never got a fixpence by her fpeeches!

The

wench.

If Monfieur paints a man of fashion,
Making an obeifance well bred,
gentleman's a ram-cat in a paffion,
His back all crumpled o'er his head:
Or, if he paints a wretch upon the wheel,
And bone-breaking's no trifling thing,
God knows!

Amidft his pains the fellow's fo genteel!

He feels with fuch decorum all the
blows.

Or if a culprit's going to the devil,
Which fome folks alfo deem a serious evil,
So degagé you fee the man advance,

His arms, hands, fhoulders, turn'd out
toes,

Madona lifted eyes and tuck'd-up nose. Proclaim the pretty puppy in a dance. E'en an old woman yielding up her breath

By means of colic, ftone, or gravel, How fmirking fhe enjoys the pangs of death! With what a grace her foul prepares to travel!

A Frenchman's angel is an opera punk,-
His Virgin Marys-milliners half drunk;
Our bleft Redeemer, a rank petit maitre,
In every attitude and feature.

The humble Jofeph, fo genteely made,
Poor gentleman as if above his trade;
And only fit to compliment his wife-

So delicate! as if he scarcely knew
Oak from deal board-a gimlet from a

screw;

Late painter to his Majefty.