work when we go about to seduce the voice of approbation.

Phocion called bragging Laosthenes the cypress tree, which makes a fair shew, but seldom bears any fruit. He that does good for applause only, fails of the right end, since to be truly virtuous is to be so for vir tue's sake. To act well is as much applause as a good man labours for. When a soldier boasted too much of a scar in his forehead, he was asked by Augustus if he did not get it when he looked back in flight. To neglect fame is far more noble than to beg it. We do but undervalue goodness, when, slighting her inward approbation, we seek the uncertain warrant of men.

ON CURIOSITY IN KNOWLEDGE.

THE delight of some men seems to be to puzzle the soul, and to dazzle the mind's dim sight. In matters whereof we may be certain, it is well worth the labour to be instructed; but in religion itself, where reason is at a loss, I will be content to retire with admiration. Much may be gained by studious enquiry, while that which remains is as a sea, which is too deep for the confined powers of the human mind to fathom. One will tell us of our Saviour's disputations among the doctors, and another what became of the body of Moses : the schools have made more questions than they have decid

ed, leading us by nearer approaches to a sun that blinds us. The husbandman who looks not beyond the plough and the scythe, is in much more quiet than the divided mind of the sceptick. Why should we rack our brains for unprofitable discoveries? Since, though we cannot know how much is hid, we may profit by what is discovered.

DRAMATICK CRITICISM.

HOME'S DOUGLAS.

[From the Theatrical Censor.]

THE favourite tragedy of "Douglas," in spite of its numerous beauties, must always, like many other dramas, owe the greater part of its reputation to stage effect. Even in the theatre, it is far from affording that unmixed pleasure, which springs from the conception of a tale, noble, lovely, or comick, in all its parts, and from the awakening in the mind of no other ideas than those of truth and virtue. That Lady Randolph should, in early life, have lost both her hus band and her child; that her succeeding years should have been passed in grief; that this child should be at length restored, and restored a noble youth, filled with martial fire, and worthy of his father and of her; that this cup of joy should be again dashed from her lips; that this

hapless son of a most hapless sire,

"the beautiful, the brave," should almost instantly perish; and that her exhausted. spirit should sink under this last wound; all these are circumstances highly interesting, and the combination of which is truly tragick it fills us with the sublime sentiment of pity for suffering virtue.-Add to this, Douglas contains much harmony of versification, much richness of language, and much grandeur of thought. But, when we are obliged to follow the mean and intri cate story of Lady Randolph's second marriage, and the pretended mourning for her brother, (an artifice acted for so long a period) we are shocked at that continued insincerity of which a noble mind is utterly incapable. A poet, indeed, may learn in the barbarian school of the world, to patch together incongruities like these, but he will never see them, where alone he ought to copy, in la belle nature. The hero of a poem may be imperfect; but not in those points. which constitute the very essence of a hero. He may commit great crimes through the violence of passion; but never the smallest through deliberate deceit. He must, in the language of Elvira, "if not always justly, at least act always greatly."

It is well known, that Mr. Home was dismissed from the ministry of the church of Scotland on account of this production. The event has usually been attributed to the nar

row principles of the presbytery, in whose eyes the pen of a clergyman was polluted by writing for the stage. It might be so: but, upon the whole, we are not entirely surprised that a body, having the authority, should exercise this severity toward the author of Douglas. There are many passages which do not evince the greatest correctness of thinking. We shall not insist on those helps to superstition which might be pointed out, but which the world does not appear to call immoral, nor those mistaken ideas of Providence which afflict so many of mankind. We shall content ourselves with holding up one instance, in which our judge ment will have a better chance of general support. The seducer, Glenalvon, hypocritically defends himself in these words:

Permit me yet to say, that the fond man
Whom love transports beyond strict virtue's bounds,
If he is brought by love to misery,

In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn,

Unpitied cannot be. Pity's the alms

Which on such beggars freely is bestowed:

For mortals know that love is still their lord,
And o'er their vain resolves advances still.

Surely this sophistry should have received a different reply from Lady Randolph than that which is "set down for her :"

Reserve those accents for another ear;

To love's apology I listen not.

Glenalvon, like a true sophist, confounds love with seduction; Lady Randolph, with the clear-headedness of virtue, should, in one word, have separated them.

But Lady Randolph is disgraced on other occasions. Does she not satirize the sex, when she says to her child, and on such an occasion,

Arisc, my son! in me thou dost behold

The poor remains of beauty once admired? 1

This is the language of a poet and not that of a mother.

a

We shall examine no further the imperfections of this play, but turn to a rapid view of some of those many beauties which justify its fame. Two scenes lone have any considerable pretensions to dramatick merit; the discovery and the death of Douglas. In the former, the poet has some fine touches, and the actor a field for the display of considerable powers.When Norval relates that he saved the infant from the river, Lady Randolph is so convinced that that infant was her son, that she makes no enquiry about its case, but only—

Was he alive?

She is assured he was. Her imagination still dictates. She has no doubt of his death:

Inhuman that thou art,

How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests spared?

Norval delivers, at some length, a remark of a merely general nature :

The needy man, &c.

Passages of this kind often deserve no better name than that of splendid errours of dramatick genius. The present is very natur