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around them; they rush forward into wedlock, as the night-walker to the lowest edge of the sloping roof, when suddenly some one calls, they start, they wake, and down they fall.

Smith. A very ingenious simile; but the position on which it is founded, is not fact,

Jenny. And there lie the poor souls, stretched in the mire of ennui, exchanging looks of discontent with each other. If, indeed, they be at bottom, people of sense and worth; powerful habit, after a while, will come to their assistance; till at length, they will learn to endure each other's foibles with patience; and each will jog on contentedly along the paved foot path, to which his steps must be confined; thankful if no thorns spring up to obstruct and wound him as he proceeds.

Smith. But if esteem be the mother of love?

Jenny. She is, at best, no more than a step-mother.

Smith. Those who can reason upon love, have indeed never loved.


Jenny. And are to be envied.

• Smith. To be pitied.

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Jenny. An unknown happiness can have no charmis.

Smith. A false axiom. Do you suppose that miners, condemned to grovel at an immense depth under ground, never long to behold the sun.

Jenny. You have high ideas of love.

Smith. And still higher of wedlock. (He pushes the chair on which he leans, somewhat nearer to Jenny, but without altering his position) Love ties two beings together;-wedlock makes them only one. Love drinks down large draughts from the cup of joy-wedlock sips, up the sweets, a drop at a time; nor finishes them till arrived at the very brink of the grave. Love is a caterpillar, devouring dainties;-wedlock, the same caterpillar, transformed into a butterfly, when it feeds only upon the purer nourishment of the fragrance exhaled by flowers. Years roll on; but a good wife never becomes old;winter succeeds to summer; but wedded happiness never chills. The kiss of a chaste wife, is the stamp with which nature seals her choicest blessings;-storms roar above; lightning flashes around; but where domestic love dwells, every trouble, every sorrow, is but half felt→ every joy, every pleasure, is doubled.


Jenny. You grow animated.

Smith. (Sitting down and drawing the chair nearer to her) Woe to that man who could remain cold and insensible, while descanting on female beauty and virtue!-who would drink out of the same cup with him?-Woe to the man who pays no more respect to a good wife, than to his night-gown; but, because she administers daily, nay hourly, to his comfort, receives her attentions without one grateful feeling; and only learns to prize domestic happiness, when lost for ever!Let thy crowns, O Chance! be scattered about like flakes of snow; I would not catch at one; I only ask thee to bestow upon me, the simple garland of love! (He draws his chair still nearer) Should I at length find what I have, so many years, sought,-find my hojes, my wishes, realized then farewell, ye petty tyrants of the




mind, ambition, thirst of fame, ardour to obtain the palm of wit!-
my heart shall have no room for any guest but love. The sweet calm
of domestic peace, firm union of souls, a taste for the joys of nature,
love for the unempoisoned air of the country, for rural pastimes, for
the pleasures of retirement, where we may live remote from envy and

Jenny. (Working very eagerly, and perpetually breaking her thread)
Our finest dreams are seldom realized.

• Smith. (Drawing his chair, by degrees, quite close to her) That I love, is no dream;-but that I flatter myself with my love being returned, in equal portion, may perhaps be the mere effect of a presumptuous vision. For the first time in my life, I feel my happiness dependant upon the favour of others; and, for the first time in my life, I tremble. Words are but poor interpreters of our thoughts; let this tremor vouch the truth of my feelings!


Jenny. Smith, whence these emotions?

Smith (Taking her hand, eagerly) When a man feels to his inmost soul, feels so that he can scarcely speak ;-when his voice faulters-through the tears-that would force a passage-to his eyes -Oh, can his sincerity be doubted !

"Jenny. Smith!-for heaven's sake!—

Smith. This moment decides the happiness or misery of my future life!-an honest man solicits your hand-an ardent lover solicits your heart.

Jeany. The agitation I witness, speaks in a language that cannot be inistaken-but


Smith. My birth indeed is humble.

Jenny. That was not what I was going to observe.

Smith. My possessions are small, but sufficient to satisfy mode-' rate wishes.

Jenny. I do not intend to sell my heart.

Smith. Be it then the reward of honourable love!


Allow me time for consideration, dear Smith!
Smith. I thank you sincerely! (Kisses her hand with transport)
What can be more grateful to an honest heart, than the assurance that
it shall be proved?'

If the reader wishes to see more dialogue of this kind, he will meet with many scenes in the play which are not inferior in



Art. 32. The Unsex'd Females; a Poem, addressed to the Author of
the Pursuits of Literature. Small 8vo. 2s. 6d. Boards. Cadell jun.
and Davies.

There are laughing and there are crying philosophers: but the
satirist blends the properties of bath, without belonging altogether to
the class of either. He employs
He employs no dull and blunted weapon in at-
tacking vice; and he dissects folly with the sharpest edge of wit.
Before him, therefore, those often tremble who are unmoved by grave
and formal admonition. In an age of pride, luxury, affectation, and
vicious taste, there is no want of employment for the satiric muse:-
nor have the ladies been desirous of escaping its lash. Of old, they


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By the Rev. R. Polwhiele, Viear of Manacean


have overstepped that modest and delicate line of conduct which na ture prescribes to them:

"MEVIA Tuscum

Figat aprum, et nudâ teneat venabula mamma." Juv. SAT. 1. Here Juvenal gives us a true Unsex'd Female of his day but we do not read that this Mævia, or any of the manified Roman ladies, undertook to maintain that the rights of women were exactly those of men, and claimed the privilege of presiding in senates, and of commanding armies. They went far enough: but our modern ladies have surpassed them. They have discovered their equality; and, if our young men be not on the alert, they may get the upper hand, and assert the superiority of the female sex. Such old fellows as we are need not disturb our brains much about it: but we may be allowed to say that it was not so in our dancing days; and we cannot see what advantage is likely to accrue from indulging the ladies in these culottic imaginations. Would it not be as well for them, and for the world, if they would rest contented with being women, aud submit to be considered as the weaker, that is to say, the more delicate vessel? Perhaps, however, a verse-man may have a better chance with them than we dull prose-men; and we therefore refer them to the ingenious poem before us; in which the advocates for Unsex'd Females are rather sharply attacked. The author bids the reader

Survey with him, what ne'er our fathers saw,
A female band despising NATURE's law,
As "proud defiance" flashes from their arms,
And vengeance smothers all their softer charms.'

Miss Wollstonecraft's Rights of Woman, with her Posthumous Works, and the Memoirs of her by her Husband, afford abundant matter for keen animadversion; and Dr. Darwin's Loves of the Plants, so descriptive of botanic fornication and adultery, do not. escape the playful sallies of sarcastic wit. Many notes are subjoined, after the manner of the Author of the Pursuits of Literature; who is complimented at the beginning of the poem, as are several ladies at the end. The list of Female Worthies concludes with Mrs. H. More: but the compliment to her, though meant to be sublime, is obscure.

Art. 33. A Critique on the Tragedy of Pizarro, as represented at Drury-Lane Theatre with such uncommon Applause. To which is added, a new Prologue, that has not yet been spoken. 8vo. 1s.


This author seems very much dissatisfied with the popularity of Mr. Sheridan's tragedy; and he is certainly an industrious collector of errors, for he has criticised even the performance of the thunder-storm. What deductions of pathos and sublimity ought to be made on accountof the inaccuracies of the thunder-grinders behind the scenes, we shall leave our readers to determine: for our own part, we do not

Which was done, we well remember, in a notable pamphlet about half a century ago.




feel our opinion of the play much altered, by the animadversions of this critic. We observe, indeed, that his principal objections fall on the original drama, not on Mr. Sheridan's alterations, excepting the catastrophe, which we have already noticed as liable to censure.

A principal design of this pamphlet is to discover parallelisms between the mock-tragedy in the Critic, and the play of Pizarro. One of these we shall extract; the only instance, we think, in which the critic has succeeded.


We hope our readers, in comparing the two following passages, will think the coincidence entirely accidental.

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Earl of Leicester. To conquer, or be free?
All. To conquer, or be free.

Earl of Leicester. All?

• All. All.


Dangle. Nem. con. Egad!

Puff. O yes; when they do agree on the stage, their unanimity is wonderful.'


As this gentleman seems to have some spare time and wit on his hands, suppose he were to undertake a grand review of Kotzebue's plays, as a work likely to find sufficient employment for both? Art. 34. Bubble and Squeak, a Gallimaufry of British Beef with the Chopp'd Cabbage of Gallic Philosophy and radical Reform. By the Author of Topsy-Turvy, Salmagundy †, &c. 8vo. 2s. 6d. sewed. Wright, &c. 1799.


Art. 35. Crambe Repetita, a second Course of Bubble and Squeak, a Gallimaufry: with a Devil'd Biscuit or two, to help Digestion, and "close the Orifice of the Stomach." By the Author of Topsy-Turvy. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Wright, &c. 1799.

If there be truth in the doctrine of transmigration, there can be no doubt that the soul of Samuel Butler actually resides in, and animates, both the body and the goose-quill of the witty author of SALMAGUNDY, whose present performances bear evident affinity with the celebrated HUDIBRAS.-Like Butler's humorous poem, the work before us is a burlesque satire on fanaticism, whiggism, democracy, &c. to the comic though severe illustration of which, the French revolution, and the conduct of its abettors, have plenteously contributed. The first we readily consign to the utmost acrimony of the satirist but the second, with some portion of the third, we would not rashly and wholly abandon, because we are not quite sure that the British Constitution can well spare them; and because it is to the good old principles of freedom, so nobly asserted by our grandfathers; that we are indebted for the introduction of the illustrious House of Hanover to the government of this country:-in which

Monthly Rev. for July last.

The gentleman's name, we understand, is Huddesford.


may THAT HOUSE continue," Happy and Glorious," to the end of time !-As to the French, and their revolutionary politics and proceedings, let the Devil, and Suwarrow, and our ingenious author, do what they please with them.

Art. 36. The Battle of the Nile, a Dramatic Poem, on the Model of the Greek Tragedy. 8vo. 25. Faulder.

The subject of this poem will not admit of that variety of incident, which, according to our present taste, is essential to dramatic excellence: but the author has endeavoured to remedy this defect, by making it the vehicle of patriotic and moral sentiment. The language have consiis in general animated and nervous; and the choral songs derable poetic merit. The scene is laid in Paris: the persons in the drama are few; and their characters are rather distinguished by general qualities, than by striking and appropriate features. The Directors of France are haughty and vindictive; while the chorus, composed of antient men of Paris, exhibits characters mild, temperate, and humane; and, though firmly attached to their country, yet ready to bear testimony to the merit of an enemy.

The following chorus, as it contains a poetical description of our island, may not be wholly uninteresting to our readers;


• Forth rush'd the furious storm of yore,
Which northward from our Mainland tore
A Promontory vast and steep;
And plac'd it in th' unbounded deep:
While through the Chasm, yawning wide,
Pour'd in the all-subduing Tide.

The new born Isle below the Main
Was bound with adamantine Chain;
Sublime the hoary Cliffs were rear'd;

While interposed delicious scenes appear'd,

Green Woods, and airy Downs, and Streams, and Vales,

Shining with Summer Suns, and sooth'd with Western Gales.

High on a Cliff above the Flood,
The Genius of the Island stood:

A Sea green Vest was round him spread,
A Wreath of Sea-weed twin'd his head;
He shook his Trident o'er the Deep,
And sung his wild Song from the Steep.
Ye Strangers of a foreign Strand,
O come to my delightful Land:

Here ancient Oaks the high Hills crown;
Here white Flocks range o'er many a swelling Down;
Here Thames majestic flows through fruitful Plains;
And Devon's fairy Vales resound the Minstrel's Strains.


The Isle, though small, of unknown name;
Shall rise in distant times to fame;

And all the wide World's richest Stores
Reach on each entering Tide my. Shores.i



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