Falstaff. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve, the minute draws on; now the hot-blooded gods assist me ! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy horns. Oh powerful love! that in some respects makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a beast; you were also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda: Oh omnipotent love! how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in the torm of a beast. O Jove! a beastly fault: and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think on't, Jove, a foul fault. When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do? Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 5. Sc. 3.

Before Mr. Walpole is dismissed, we shall take the liberty to observe, that the faults in his accentuation are more than with all our charity we can attribute to the printer. We know that some are of opinion, that the Greek accents might as well be entirely omitted: this is a point which we shall not discuss at present; but we believe every body will so far agree with us, that if accents be used at all, they ought to be placed according to rule. Upon the whole it may justly be said, and we owe it to Mr. Walpole to say, that his Greek productions shew extensive reading, correct taste, and great command of language; and, in conjunction with his English poems, prove him to be an elegant and accomplished scholar. Still at some future period, when the coolness of a reader shall have superseded the partiality of an author to his own works, he will perhaps thank us

for our animadversions.

We now take our leave of him, not without gratitude for the pleasure we have received from his effusions: nor without repeating our former hope that he will soon and often give his labours to the world; and that when he does, they will be free from those faults which are to be imputed only to youth, and which in our former number were not spared.

A FEW observations on the fragment of Menander which Mr. Walpole has quoted in his appendix p. 155., may not be unacceptable to the classical reader. We are of opinion that these lines were written by Euripides, rather than Menander. They are quoted in Stobæus, where the references in the margin are constantly mistaken; and we know that Menander's name is often given to passages which are ascertained to belong to others. Bentley, speaking of this passage, says that it is aliquantùm supra soccum adsurgens.' It also bears internal evidence of coming from the pen of Euripides; as by the epithet szó, a word which that poet introduces wherever and whenever he can.-The word ivov used in this fragment may sug gest another argument. It properly signifies 'ravenous,' 'greedy,' from ; and metaphorically curious,' in which sense Euripides employs it when Hippolytus hears of Phædra's suicide:

Ἡ γάρ ποθοῦσα πάντα καρδία κλύειν,

Κάν τοῖς κακοῖσι λίχνος οὖς άλσκεται

Hesychius: Λίχνος, ὀψοφάγος, λαίμαργος, λιμβός, παλι πράγμων.

Pierson, on Maris Atticista, boldly asserts that from 'Ois de óxas to the end is tragedy, while he leaves Menander in quiet possession of the former part.

Our readers will, as they see cause, adhere to the old opinion, or embrace either of the others. We shall only add, that if our hypothesis has the good fortune to be adopted, the second and third verses will stand with the slightest alteration, being thus distinguished: Kai yuvaïna dei Ἐκπυνθάνεσθαι ταρσένων, ἡμᾶς σέθεν Et feminam exquirere decet ea quæ ad mares pertinent, me scilicet a te.' It must be a singular chance, that the transcriber should, by a mere lapsus calami, hit upon the tragic genitive rév. σέθεν.

ART. II.-Miscellaneous Plays, by Joanna Baillie. 8vo. gs. Boards. Longman. 1804.

THE volume before us, as we learn from the preface, was composed by way of digression from miss Baillie's main design of publishing a series of plays' in which each of the passions was to be the subject of a pair of dramas: and may be regarded as a specimen of what the public is to expect in the unconnected independent plays' in the composition of which the lady tells us she purposes occasionally to indulge herself, with the view of varying her employment, and exercising her powers; but which are not to be considered as furnishing any presumption that her original project is abandoned. So far from it, she hopes that the work will go on better for being occasionally broken in upon by pieces of a different kind.' Preface, page iv.

Of the scheme of the 'series of plays,' it is not necessary at present to undertake the examination: we cannot, however, persuade ourselves that we ought to congratulate the public on mişs Baillie's resolution to continue it; nor can we forbear regretting, that she still entertains a conviction that plays upon that plan are capable of being made more interesting on the stage, than any other species of drama.' (Preface, p. iv. v.) A valuable moral may in general be extracted from every interesting series of events, calculated for dramatic exhibition: and if the poet can provide himself with a chain of incidents at once striking and probable, he must blame his own powers if he fails in the grand purpose of correcting the passions and enlightening the understanding. But to construct the fable

for the moral, and to make it subservient to the illustration of a single passion, appears to be an inversion of the natural order, which is more likely to embarrass the writer than to please the reader or the auditor; a contrivance which may be applicable to the invention of short and simple tales for the entertainment and instruction of children, but which must be not only useless but inconvenient in poems of any length and elevation. It seems very nearly allied to Bossu's pedantic receipt for the composition of an epic poem.

The writer of the plays contained in this volume most anxiously requests that the reader will pause some days at least between each of them, that they may not be exposed to the disadvantage she apprehends from perusals closely following each other, but may be permitted to make a full and undivided impression on the mind.' If we have omitted to comply with this request, it is because we did not, as we proceeded, find great reason to believe that her performances would be likely to suffer much injustice from the mode of perusal she so earnestly deprecates. We do not hesitate to confess that no one of these plays engaged us in 'exercise of the mind so close and vigorous, that we retired from it exhausted ;* nor, after having finished, one did we find ourselves so bewildered, spiritless, and weak,' as to be under the necessity of deferring the examination of the next.

Let us now hear what miss Baillie proposed to herself in the tragedy of Rayner, the first in this volume.

In the first I have attempted, in the character of Rayner, to exhibit a young man of an easy, amiable temper, with delicacy of sentiment and a well principled mind, tempted, in the extremity of distress, to join with unworthy men in the proposed commission of a detestable deed; and afterwards, under one of the severest trials that human fortitude can be called upon to endure, bearing himself up, not with the proud and lofty firmness of a hero, but with the struggles of a man, who, conscious of the weakness of nature within him, feels diffident of himself to the last, and modestly aims at no more than what, being a soldier and the son of a brave father, he considers as respectable and becoming. One who aspires not to admiration but shrinks from contempt; and who being naturally brave in the field, and of a light buoyant disposition, bears up throughout with an animation and cheerfulness by no means inconsistent with a considerable degree of the dread of death, when called upon to encounter it with deliberation and certainty. To him I have opposed the character of a young man, in whom, though with some good affections, there is a foundation of natural depravity, greatly strengthened by the bad education he has received from an absurdly indulgent mother, brought by his crimes to an untimely end, and meeting it with a very different spirit.' P. ix.

*See Preface, page vii.

It will now be necessary to see how this purpose has been executed. The outline of the plot is nearly this. Rayner is a young man driven almost to despair by disappointment in his expectations of being heir to the vast possessions of his great. uncle; who, however, had bequeathed them all to Hubert, a treacherous parasite. Count Zaterloo, a profligate man of ruined fortune, is captain of a band of desperate adventurers, and desirous of enlisting Rayner in the same, honourable service. The piece commences with a scene representing the count and his corps of independent gentlemen over their wine, in a state of loud and careless merriment, of which English highwaymen have perhaps but little notion, but to which the banditti of the continent seem to have an unquestionable right. Rayner, by previous appointment, is soon introduced among them; and is at last prevailed upon by Zaterloo to join in the murder of Hubert, who is expected to set out on a long journey the very next evening. Accordingly they all repair to a forest; the night is very dark, and a tempest is in waiting to prepare the audience for deeds of horror and bloodshed. Rayner by some accident loses his way, is parted from his confederates, and shelters himself from the storm in the cave of the old man of the wood,' a recluse and penitent murderer, who is placed there for no other purpose but that of awakening remorse in the breast of Rayner. The deed, however, is committed in the mean time. Rayner, on the report of the fire-arms, rushes out, and is taken; the rest escape, but Zaterloo not without a mortal wound. Rayner is tried, condemned, and confined in prison till his execution. In the prison we are introduced to a very eminent character, to whom we owe much entertainment, and who is not meanly instrumental to the production of the catastrophe. This is no less than an African prince, by name Ohio; but who, by a series of calamities, is reduced to the situation of a pot-boy to the prisoners! His royal highness, however, exhibits but few marks of his exalted birth; except a very quarrelsome disposition, and a most tenacious exaction of the respect due to his rank. He even quarrels with old general Hardibrand who comes to visit the prison, for his insolent familiarity in presuming to address him by the title of friend ! This illustrious cupbearer is, however, somewhat infected by the nature of his profession, and does not disdain occasionally to disguise his princely nature by a free indulgence in the pleasures of tippling. He likewise so far forgets his native dignity as to regard a little larceny from the person, merely as an informal and summary transfer of property. But in the mystery of thieving he exhibits more boldness than skill: for he hopes to be able to take from Rayner the cloak in which he is wrapped up to snatch an hour's repose, previous to his cxecution! Ray

.ner, of course, is wakened by the effort; but wins for ever the gratitude of the royal felon, by generously offering him the cloak which he had intended to steal. Accordingly, on the morning of the execution, the sable Ganymede with inimitable address saws across the main prop of the scaffold; in consequence of which, Jack Ketch, who mounts first, falls down and breaks his head this gives time for the arrival of a messenger from Zaterloo, with a paper containing a confession made by the count in the agonies of death, that he was guilty of the murder of Hubert. This (we presume, conformably to the German law) saves Rayner; who is restored to his friend old Hardibrand, and to the arms of Elizabeth, the lady of his heart.

Our readers will probably see in this fable nothing particularly happy nor do we imagine their impressions will be at all improved by a reference to the play itself. To select all the passages which we think calculated to confirm this opinion, would greatly exceed our limits; nor do we wish to perform much at length that part of our task which condemns us to remark unskilfulness and absurdity of conduct, glaring improbability of incident, and dialogue in some parts despicably feeble, in others strangely and unnaturally abrupt. This play, like many of the German abortions which have been tolerated by modern taste, seems to unite all the heaviness of the most regular, with some of the extravagance of the most wild and incredible dramas. The character of Rayner excites but little interest, nor is Zaterloo very ably and prominently pourtrayed; we are not much struck by his guilt, or affected by his peni

tence..

Those who are weary of criticising by prescription, and are content to recollect that a play is intended to exhibit a picture of real life, will not be dissatisfied with miss Baillie for having proposed to diversify her scenes with passages of occasional levity and gaiety. Unhappily, however, what she has intended she has not performed: to the language of merriment she is an utter stranger; and her lower characters exhibit all the meanness and vulgarity, without any of the shrewd and whimsical humour, of the multitude. In one passage, however, she seems to have felt the same remorse which suggested to Mr. Puff in the Critic,' that it would be an intolerable piece of aristocracy for the great people to have all the figures of rhetoric to themselves, and that the lower classes had as good a right to the privilege of speaking fine language as the higher. Accordingly we find one of the crowd expressing himself thus on seeing Elizabeth: "Who comes this way, so fair, so gentle in her mien? thus tossed and tangled midst the pressing * Preface, page xi.

CRIT. REV. Vol. 4. March, 1805.

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