Henry Mossop; this unfortunate man, though ungraceful in deportment and undignified in action, aukward in his whole behaviour and hard in his expression, was yet in degree of stage excellence the third actor; a Garrick and a Barry only were his superiors; in parts of vehemence and rage he was almost unequalled; and in sentimental gravity, from the power of his voice and the justness of his elocution, he was a very commanding speaker. It is not to be wondered that Mossop wished to act the lover and the hero, but repeated unsuccessful trials could not convince him that he was utterly unfit for tenderness or joy, for gaiety and vivacity. Caled in the siege of Damascus, the wild, savage, and enthusiastic Arabian, he acted with that force, fury, and fire, which the character demanded; and yet so little did he know his own strength, or, rather, so apt was he to flatter his own vanity, that when complimented on his perform. ance of this part, he frequently exclaimed, "I wish you could have seen my Phocyas." His Richard the Third would have likewise stood in the first line of excellence, was it not for Garrick's superiority in the love scene with Lady Anne, as well as in all the quick animated passages of the play; but to be second to such an actor as Garrick, was to stand in no inconsiderable line of praise; and that Mossop did so, was evident from his performing the part alternately with this great original, for some seasons. To the fine sentiments of the Duke, in Measure for Measure, he gave their full force and dignity, and would have been faultless if he had not dragged out his words to an immeasurable length: and in the Ambitious Stepmother of Rowe, his Memnon was venerable and intrepid; particularly his scene with the Priest of the Sun in the first act, which he spoke with such an honest glow of animation, as totally to overpower the subtleties and frauds of superstition and priesteraft. These were his principal parts-he had many more both in tragedy and the graver species of comedy, in which he acquired great reputation. He was censured by the critics for too much of mechanism in his action and delivery; and he was in some degree open to this censure-the frequent resting of his left hand on his hip, with his right extended, was ludicrously compared to the handle and spout of a tea-pot, whilst others called him, "The distiller of Syllables."-After having been several years in the service of Mr. Garrick, Mossop in 1760 left it to go to Dublin, where Barry and Woodward, the then managers, hired him at a considerable salary, He had scarcely finished one successful campaign with these new masters, when he was unhappily smitten with a strong inclination to become the manager of a theatre; he accordingly refused the large offer of 1000l. a year to relinquish his scheme, and under the patronage of some ladies of quality, he formed a company at the theatre in Smock Alley. After struggling in vain for seven or eight years, with a variety of difficulties, and being reduced at last to a state of absolute bankruptcy, he left Irefand, and arrived in London not a little impaired in health. He here endeavoured to be again engaged at Drury-Lane, but Mr. Garrick had been so offended by the injudicious conduct of Mossop and his friends, among whom Fitzpatrick rendered himself most conspicuous, in endeavouring to persuade the public of their equality as actors, that that he met with a decided negative: He then applied to the managers of Covent-Garden, who returned for answer, that their arrangements were so made as to put it out of their power to employ him. This answer was supposed to be made in consequence of a very cele brated actress having refused to act in any play with this unhappy man. He died in a few days after of a broken heart, and in great poverty, Nov. 1773, in the 43d year of his age. Mr. Garrick proposed to bury him at his own expence, but Mr. Mossop's uncle prevented that offer from being carried into effect.' The editor, we are informed, is a very young man; we would advise him in future to abstain from any attacks on the literary characters of such men as Bishop Hurd and Judge Blackstone; and let him be assured that the abilities of Horace Walpole and Arthur Murphy will ever be regarded by the public, as totally undeserving of the contempt with which he has so unjustifiably treated them. ART. VIII. Travels of Four Years and a Half in the United States of HAD AD not this author informed us that he was a zealous and steady admirer of the British constitution, we should have concluded, from the little ceremony with which he addresses the President of the United States, that he had been a republican both in manners and in principles. We ought probably, however, to ascribe this style to that coldness of manner which belongs to the American character, which few who reside among them for any time altogether escape, and which perhaps does not wholly arise from their institutions. Mr. Davis makes a boast of avoiding some of the faults and puerilities with which his predecessors are chargeable; we wish that we' could compliment him on having replaced them with excellencies to which they cannot lay claim; or that we could, in favour of his work, negative his assertion with regard to their productions that they seldom relieve from the languor of indifference, or the satiety of disgust.' The succeeding extract contains the author's modest estimate of his attainments, and his account of the education to which he owes them: Though my mode of life has not been favourable to the cultivation of an elegant style, yet in what relates to the structure of my sentences, 1 shall not fear competition with those who have reposed from their youth under the shade of Academic bowers. He who can have recourse to the critical prefaces of Dryden, the voluble periods Cc 2 of S.R. of Addison, the nervous sentences of Johnson, and the felicitous anti theses of Goldsmith, may spare himself the trouble of seeking that purity and decoration of language in a College, which may be found in his closet *.' It is to be observed that the author makes no profession of his judgment in the choice of words, nor of his acquaintance with Grammar; indeed, he has prudently refrained from boasts on these heads, which would be so easily exposed. The very title of his volume, for example, is scarcely consistent with grammatical construction, and, short as it is, displays a clear instance of redundancy. If structure of sentences includes the use of words in their appropriate signification, the very paragraph which here states the pretension itself refutes it; if it be confined to the mere arrangement of words, so as to produce euphony, that is, we own, a matter extremely arbitrary; and we fear that neither our authority nor our reasons would have weight enough to convince Mr. Davis that the eulogy, which he so handsomely bestows on himself, proceeds less from a sound penetrating judgment, than from a failing of our nature which, if men who repose under academic bowers are less apt to indulge it, they are equally accustomed to feel with those who have been educated on board of ships; and engaged in distant voyages. With great deference to the opposite sentiments of the author, we apprehend, that not only the title, but every other page of this volume, will prove that an academic education is more favourable to literary attainments, than the wandering course by which this writer's mind. has been formed. If we are to understand Mr. Davis as intimating that he is a self-taught man, we allow his proficiency to be considerable, and such as does him great credit, though we think that he materially over-rates it. We should be glad to corroborate the sanguine hope of the author, that his volume will regale curiosity while man continues to be influenced by his senses, and affections; that it will be recurred to with equal interest on the banks of the Thames, and those of the Ohio.' We confess however, that we want the penetration necessary for discovering the grounds While contemporary writers were wandering in imagination with Ulysses and Eneas, and growing giddy with the violence of poetical tempests, I was performing a sailor's duty in a ship of nine hundred tons, and encountering the gales of the promontory of Africa. I have visited many places in the eastern section of the globe. I have been twice to India. I am familar with St. Helena, and Batavia, and Johanna, and Bombay, and Tillichery, and Goa, and Cochin, and Anjengo. I was four months at Canton; and I have toiled up the Table Mountain at the Cape of Good Hope.' of of this fond expectation; and we can only explain it on the principle applied to the author's high opinion of his skill in composition. We are so far from thinking with Mr. Davis. that the preceding American tours are all contemptible, that we regard many of them as possessing great merit, and as leaving far behind the production so highly estimated by him, -viz. his own. Its interesting parts are very thinly scattered: but two tales of superior interest occur near to the close of the work; we mean that which contains the adventures of Captain Smith, who was the founder of the first settlement on the Chesapeak; and an old negroe's account of his life, given in his own words. The long history of the captivity of Smith, and of the love of Pocahontas, is sufficient to give value to the volume; and in the story of Old Dick, the hard lot of a slave is feelingly described, the negroe character well delineated, and the tyranny of the whites ably exposed. At New York, the author had the good fortune to become acquainted with Mr. Burrt, of whom he gives the account here subjoined; To a genius of singular perspicacity, Mr. Burr joins the most bland and conciliating manners. With a versatility of powers, of which, perhaps, America furnishes uo other example, he is capable of yielding an undivided attention to a single object of pursuit. Hence we find him at the close of the Revolutionary War, in which he took a very honorable part, and in the fatigues of which he bore no common share, practising the law with unrivalled brilliancy and success. Indeed his distinguished abilities attracted so decided a leaning of the Judges in his favour, a deference for his opinions so strongly marked, as to excite in no small degree the jealousy of the bar. So strong was the impression made by the general respect for his opinions, that exclamations of despair were frequently heard to escape the lips of the Counsel whose fortune it was to be opposed by the eloquence of Mr. Burr. I am aware that this language wears the colour of pane. gyric; but the recollections which the facts must excite in the breasts of his candid rivals, will corroborate its accuracy. For a short period Mr. Burr acted as Attorney-General to the State; but his professional reputation, already at the acme of splendour, could derive no new lustre from the office. It however should be remembered, that in State prosecutions, a disposition to aggravate the enormities of the accused was never attributed to him. At length Mr. Burr was removed by the Legislature of the State to the Senate of the United States. The deliberations of that body being conducted in secret, the public possessed but slender means of knowing and appreciating the merits of individual members. But it is certain, from the lead he took in some of its most important trans *See page 343 of this Number of the Review. 4 Survivor in the late unfortunate duel with General Hamilton. actions, and from the deference shewn his opinions by his senatorial colleagues, that the character for ability which he had previously ac quired, must have been there well sustained. It was, indeed, universally acknowledged, that no other State was so respectably represented as the State of New-York, in the combined talents of Mr. Burr and Mr. King. His time of service expiring, Mr. Burr again returned to the exercise of his profession with a facility which would induce a belief that his legal pursuits had never been interrupted.' It is impossible to read what follows without being struck with the pernicious and debasing influence of slavery, over the minds of those in whose hands the odious domination is lodged: In Carolina, the legislative and executive powers of the house belong to the mistress, the master has little or nothing to do with the administration; he is a monument of uxoriousness and passive endurrance. The negroes are not without the discernment to perceive this; and when the husband resolves to flog them, they often throw themselves at the feet of the wife, and supplicate her mediation. But the ladies of Carolina, and particularly those of Charleston, have little tenderness for their slaves; on the contrary, they send both their men-slaves and women slaves, for the most venial trespass, to a hellish mansion, called the Sugar house: here a man employs inferior agents to scourge the poor negroes: a shilling for a dozen lashes is the charge the man, or woman, is stripped naked to the waist; a redoubtable whip at every lash flays the back of the culprit, who, agonized at every pore, rends the air with his cries. Mrs. D-informed me that a lady of Charleston, once observed to her, that she thought it abominably dear to pay a shilling for a dozen. lashes, and, that having many slaves, she would bargain with the man at the Sugar-house to flog them by the year!' It may be interesting to many readers to peruse the dialogue between Mr. Davis and a friend on the subject of American authors, which certainly will not raise very high our opinion of the state of literature in the United States: Mr. George had a supreme contempt for American genius and American literature In a sportive mood, he would ask me whether I did not think that it was some physical cause in the air, which denied existence to a poet on American ground. No snake, said he, exists in Ireland, and no poet can be found in merica. You are too severe, said I, in your strictures. This country, as a native author observes, can furnish her quota of poets. Name, will you, one? Is not Dwight, a candidate for the epic crown? Is he, Sir, not a poet ? I think not. He wants imagination, and he also wants judgment; Sir, he makes the shield of Joshua to mock the rising sun. Is not Barlow a poet? Is not his Vision of Columbus a fine poem? The opening is elevated; the rest is read without emotion. ! What |