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sistent, that Cromwell, the confidential Secretary of Wolsey, should be, soon after the Cardinal's fall, found in personal attendance upon the Queen, the victim of his late master's craft and ambition. It is still more unaccountable, that, in the representation of this play, the character of Gardiner is uniformly buffooned by some low comedian. This tragedy presents a rare instance of the denouement being independent of the catastrophe: the latter is compleated in the fourth act, by the deaths of the Cardinal and the Queen; but the grand object of the play, the birth and christening of Elizabeth, remains for the fifth.

REMARKS

ON

THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.

THIS comedy, both in point of sructure and execution, appears to us by far the best of its class, on the English stage. It contains two distinct plots, equally fraught with interest, and judiciously connected both in moral and situation. The Journey to London is too complete in itself to be considered a counter-plot to the Provoked Husband; but is most assuredly entitled to rank as a second drama relieving and renewing the interest of the first.

The characters, which are in this play particularly numerous and various, are as notable throughout for natural and dramatic consistency, The most conspicuous, those of Lord and Lady Townly, are strikingly well drawn, and could have been pourtrayed as they are by no writer but one who possessed an intimate knowledge not only of human nature in general, but as it is found either softened, dignified, or distorted by the elegance as well as the intricacies of polished society: while, on the other hand, the Wrong bead family bespeak him equally intimate with the customs, manners, and prejudices of rusticated wealth. The children, Richard and Jenny, are, perhaps, the most interesting pictures from nature; because they bring very forcibly into review a question of high importance to the world, viz. whether a town or country education is best calculated to produce the good and useful member of society. The advocates of each system are in possession of powerful arguments, and, though it would not become us here to provoke the discussion, we have no dobut but

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this play has often called their sentiments into action, and perplexed them more with doubt than any laboured dissertation.

It is to be lamented, that, from the multiplicity of business condensed in these plots, a greater interest could not be attached to the characters of Manly and Lady Grace. For want of a little of that fire transfused over the more prominent characters, these two fall short of that full impression it is desirable they should make Manly appears throughout to be rather too much what is technically called the walking genleman, that is, more the tool of the writer than of his plot: and in contrasting Lady Grace with Lady Townly, the line seems rather too strongly drawn, by the morality of the former being swelled almost to an improbable extreme.

How many Count Bassets are there who. daily range unpunished (nay even generally caressed) through the rich parterre of innocence and beauty, disseminating poison, or wielding destruction as they pass! Indeed so pointedly is this character drawn, both with regard to sentiment and situation, that it cannot fail to have a seasonable effect on every mind not absorbed in proportionate guilt and that it might have affected such, it had been well, would the rules of comedy have allowed him a more serious exit.

The general impression which this play is calculated to have upon an audience is of the most salutary and extensive tendency. Its characters are all to be found in real life, from which they are so promiscuously culled as to afford useful lessons to people in all stations; and in so doing, the author has fully made an amende bonorable for the profligacy of his Provoked Wife. Though the part which Mr. Cibber executed, he tells us, is very trifling (Sir John Vanburgh dying before he had finished it), yet the world are much indebted to him for reclaiming Lady Townly, whom Sir John had determined to turn out of doors. By this judicious alteration one of the most striking interests has been effected. Sir John Vanburgb's intention must appear downright affectation to the admirers of Kotzebue, who in his Stranger' allows a similar reconciliation, under circumstances so different, that our ap probation of the one need not at all impeach the consistency of our disapproval of the other.

In point of style, wit, and sentiment, this play is eminently success"ful; nor does its least merit consist in the great powers it is calculated to call forth upon the stage,

OSMAN:

OR,

THE RISE AND PROGRESS OF SEDITION.

AN EASTERN ROMANCE.

PART THE SECOND.

ΤΙΜ IME and medicinal aid, at length, expelled insanity from the dominion which she had usurped, and the sceptre of Reason again influenced the mind of Osman. He returned to his profession, the zealots of his party flocked around him, and devotional congratulations poured in from every quarter. But his warmth was abated; the soul of Osman thirsted for innovation, he longed for something new. The reception which his former friends experienced produced a chilling effect, for the dereliction of such a champion was no trivial loss. They tried all means to recover the renegade, but he resisted every intreaty, and they left him, with players in their mouths and execrations in their hearts.

To the superficial sense of Osman, novelty was in possession of every charm. The beauties of Nature and of Art which had stood the test of ages, become the standards of taste and the models of imitation, were by him disregarded; while even Deformity herself, if arrayed in the robes of Novelty, was sure to arrest his attention and excite his admiration. Extremes verge upon extremes. The flight of fanaticisin to infidelity is rapid as the magnetic appulse; as the explosion of an autumnal meteor. The writings of the rival sect were now eagerly perused by Osman; for, though he had formerly opposed its tenets, he had never examined them. Knowledge is not always necessary to declamation: it is easy to dogmatise, though difficult to argue; and the mellifluous flow of language which Osman possessed would at any time command the attention of the vulgar. In the society of which he now became a member were progressive classes, into which individuals were admitted as they attained the qualifications requisite for that honour. Many plain simple men, indeed, of honest dispositions but shallow intellects, were never received into the higher classes, or initiated in the grand arcana of the society; yet they formed serviceable parts of an extended and comprehensive whole. Osman, however, was not one of these.

The publicly professed principles of this association were curious,

attractive, and pernicious. Its members slighted and ridiculed the revelations of Mahomet, and were alike enemies to the established worship and the absurd forms prescribed by their opponents, the dervises. They admitted the existence of a Deity, but his being and attributes were so vague and indefinite that they knew not how to address him; every man, therefore, was to pay his adoration according to his own ideas of divine excellence. Reason, the erring guide of Nature, was the sole ruler they acknowledged, and by her impulse alone did they pretend to regulate their conduct. Loyalty was not in the list of their virtues; for, though they pretended to support the established constitution, they were continually raising an outcry against the pretended corruptions of the state, and insinuating the necessity of a reform. Osman remained not long in the probationary class. His talents were too valuable to be suffered to remain dormant, and he was speedily received among the higher orders. Pretensions to every moral virtue were speciously held forth to public view, but among themselves their opinions were delivered with more freedom. Their sentiments on allegiance, obedience to the laws, marriage, concubinage, and education, were widely different from those of the rest of mankind. Promises, vows, and oaths, with them were of no avail. They deemed it prudent to make them, but self-convenience alone induced their performance. These doctrines were accordant to the mind of Osman, and his sophistical arts were not unfrequently displayed.

That re

The passion of love had not hitherto assailed his heart. sistless power now made its first attack in the lovely form of Arpasia. Arpasia was not rich: she was the child of Poverty, but beautiful as the morning, sweet and engaging as one of the celestial houries. Osman loved her, and, had he seen her before his second conversion, would have taken her to his bosom for life. This solitary act of virtue was now inadmissible, for the new light which he had received presented marriage as an institution tyrannical and oppressive, and unsanctioned by the laws of Nature. He, therefore, determined on the seduction of Arpasia, for the promiscuous and unlicensed commerce of the sexes was one of the moral virtues inculcated and practised by the society to which he belonged. The insinuating addresses of Osman were received with rapture by the unsuspecting Arpasia. Innocent herself, she thought that truth and honour dwelt on the persuasive tongue of her admirer. Alas! her mind had never been improved by education, had never been warned by experience, had never been strengthened by the precepts of religion, In her infant

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years, when vice and virtue were alike unknown, her parents were consigned to the cold bosom of the earth, and no fostering power exerted its benign influence in her favour. Osman first made her a proselyte to his principles, and the poor orphan Arpasia then fell an easy victim to his artifice. He exulted in his triumph, as a proof of his own persuasive power, and the attractive influence of his principles.

The institution of which Osman was now a popular member, had hitherto disseminated its poison by the assiduous dispersion of written papers among the people. As their numbers increased, their boldness increased also; and they now appointed public teachers. Osman received the highest honours of the society, and was ordained an orator of the first class. He now saw the ultimatum of their opinions, views, and wishes. In this class they no longer pretended, even in their indefinite manner, to the worship of a Deity, but blashemously denied his existence. The Divine Creator of the world was a nonentity; the active soul of man was mortal. No hopes of future paradise incited them to virtue: no dread of punishment deterred them from vice. In their public speeches and writings they, indeed, talked about morality; but it was only to screen their turpitude, and expedite the progress of their villainy. Reform was the topic of their declamations, but the subversion of order, and the reign of anarchy, were the basis of their intentions. At the commencement of his oratorical career, Osman's parents trembled for his safety, but he heeded not their timely admonitions. Flushed with success, heated with the plaudits of the vulgar, frequent symptoms of returning insanity presented themselves; but they were construed into an excess of ardour, and, instead of being censured, were applauded.

His professional pursuits were now totally neglected. Frequent supplies of money had been obtained from his parents to satisfy the demands of his creditors; but his property, at length, was seized, and appropriated to the discharge of his debts. The furor of political reformation, however, had set him above the dread of poverty or the feelings of want; and he beheld, with apathy, the annihilation of his fortune.

At this period the inhabitants of a neighbouring nation had dethroned and massacred their lawful Sovereign. Their principles were consonant to those of our enlightened society. Reformation was all they wanted; they breathed the purest prayers for liberty; universal philanthropy was the stimulus of their actions, and, in the spirit of

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