THE DRAMA.

We come not to offend, but with good will.

BOSTON.

Shakespeare.

THE Boston theatre closed on the 21st of April, after a prosperous season of seven months. We have room only for a short history of the performances since our last.

George Barnwell,

Was chosen by Mr. Fox for his benefit. It was the first tragedy attempted after the departure of Mr. Cooper; and though the representation of it on our stage has not often been lucrative to the manager, it was this evening honoured with a crowded audience. In Mr. Fox's young Barnwell there were many passages well spoken. There is, how ever, still room for improvement. Mrs. Shaw's Millwood was superiour to most of her attempts in tragedy.

A Cure for the Heart-Ach,

One of Morton's best productions, was se lected for the benefit of Mr. Twaits, who in Young Rapid, gave ample proof of the uncommon versatility of his talents.

Come Tragedy, Comedy, Farce, or what will,
He still gives a manifest proof of his skill;

And still claims applause, though like Proteus he changes
For equal to all, through the drama he ranges;
Fame seizes the clarion, subdued by her wonder,
As the tones from its womb rend the ceiling asunder,
And frights the wild air with her sonorous clatter,
Till Reaton peeps forward to ask-what's the matter?

The Child of Nature.

The appearance of Mrs. Darley in A. manthis was highly gratifying to the admirers of" simple nature." Mr. Usher's Al

berto left a much deeper and more agreeable impression on the mind, than some of his attempts at higher characters. It was really a fine performance, chaste and pathetick.

Richard the Third.

We did not see the representation of this play, but rumour has spoken favourably of Mr. Twaits's Richard. A writer in the "Boston Magazine," after pointing out the beauties and defects of Mr. T's performance, observes, that "had Mr. Cooper performed and Mr. Twaits conceived the part, the talents of the former gentleman, would be appreciated more than they are even now; at least his Richard the Third, in such a case, would be considered decidedly superiour to any of his previous efforts in that character." King Lear.

It was not without regret that we saw Mr. Usher-the man who has so often delighted us in the middle walks of the drama-ap pear as the representative of Lear. It was evident to all, that the talent of the compa ny was inadequate to the representation of this tragedy" the most stupendous fabrick of human genius"-and had not vanity stifled the remonstrances of judgment, it might F...VOL. 2.

still have slumbered on the peaceful shelf of the prompter. Mr. Usher would have been respectable in Gloster,-he would have pleased us in Edmund, but he did not become the robes of royalty. Well might he exclaim, in the language of the maniack king,

Surely this is not Lear.

The rough honesty of Kent was well portrayed by Twaits; and the trifling insignifi cance of the water-fly, Oswald, was admirably suited by Bernard.

More Ways than One,

For the benefit of Mrs. Powell, and the last night of performance. This comedy is from the pen of Mrs. Cowley, and we believe is good; but the representation of it this evening, generally speaking, was dull and ima perfect.

The following Epilogue is the production of a gentleman whom we shall be proud to number amongst our regular correspondents. We cannot, however, refrain from observing, that, in our opinion, some of the characters are rather too severely handled, while others are, perhaps, besmeared with a little too much praise... Edit.]

EPILOGUE

TO THE THEATRICAL SEASON:

OR, A REVIEW OF THE THESPIAN Corps.

Tu, quid ego et populus mecum desideret, audi.

Hor. Ar. Pott.

THE season's clos'd, the benefits are o'er,
And heroes, heroines, strut the stage no more:
Kings, clowns, lords, lovers, virgins, matrons,

queens,

No more adorn, no more disgrace the scenes.

Swords, foils, hats, helmets, sceptre, crown, and

globe,

Are stuff'd, promiscuous, in the old wardrobe, Where tragick buskins, comick socks are pack'd, Or sent to KENNY to be soal'd or tapp'd.

Theatrick lords, whose pride no power could stem,

Are dwindled down to very common men;
And royal dames, who erst the pit could charm,
Now wash old laces, or old stockings darn.
Great Ataliba, CHILD OF THE BRIGHT SUN,
Is now poor simple Mr. DICKENSON;
Proud Alexander, who the world o'erran,
Ís T. A. COOPER, a mere gentleman :
USHER no more harangues Rome's rascal many,
And gracious Duncan is-ungracious KENNY.
The rival queens, who, nobly daring, tried
To conquer him who conquer'd all beside,
Now cease to rage; hush'd is the tragick strife,
Lost in the matron and the duteous wife.
But the stage virtues still in some are seen;
What charm'd the publick charms the private

scene.

A Belvidera still in POWELL see;

Enchanting Hester, DARLEY, lives in thee :-
The tripping DARBY still the air may saw ;
Great Sysigambis is great Mrs. Shaw.

The season's clos'd, the benefits are done,
And all the players' occupations gone :
Gone are the comick grin, the tragick rage;
E'en native HASSAN's fled the lonely stage:
The curtain's dropp'd-and now, to be in
All that remains is this sweet epilogue.

Vogue

Come then, my Muse, the Thespian corps review ;

Come, give to merit praises justly due;
Come, let no worth escape thy peering eyes,
Though hid amidst a thousand faults it lies;

For who's so mean, in nothing to excel,
When even MILBOURNE shines in Bagatelle !
Come then, my Muse, thou meek-eyed, dove-
tongued maid,

Come, call thy sister Candour to thy aid,
And, as I bid the rouge-cheek'd corps pass by,
Come, note their merits with thy critick eye;
Each fault correct, with thy sweet smiling frown,
And grace the worthiest with thy laurel crown.

See, at my call the motley train advance, Some walk, some limp, some fidget and some dance,

Some fence, some sing, some laugh, some deeply sigh,

Some grin, some chatter, and some bleed and die. All show their powers in all their various ways, To gain thy favour and secure thy bays.

Pray who is she that's foremost in the race,
With clear starch'd elbows stiffen'd into grace,
Whose comely form between her arms appears
Like a young rose-tree, propp'd by espaliers?
Is this Malvina, Oscar's graceful fair ?
Sure Ossian's heroes had a taste most rare !
But lo! what majesty of flesh appears!
What rippling gutturals grate our ravish'd ears!
The solid loves on thy plump person wait,
Great ton of beauty, graceful by gross weight.
O had old Falstaff had of thee a view,

He'd quit mine Hostess and Doll Tearsheet too.
Squab dove of love! thine is the comick mien
To strike broad humour from the saddest scene.
See thy own Agatha-Oh, hear her groan,
"Consumptive sufferer, worn to skin and bone;"
While moping melancholy grins with glee,
To hear her hectick groans and look on thee.
Now speak, my Muse, resolve me, if you cap,
Is this an actor-or a clock work man?