inconvenience; and have, in my plan, made an arrangement for admitting those persons, at any period of the performance, to a well-aired comfortable room, where, after having paid their money, they may be at liberty to wait the uncertain time of what is called "half-price ;" an accommodation which is estimated (by persons well acquainted with these matters), to be capable of attracting an additional £20 per night, which, for two hundred nights, is £4000 per annum. "DECORUM.-Among the principal objects which call for reform, in the Theatres in London, no one appears to be much more important, than that of protecting the more rational and respectable class of spectators from those nuisances to which they have hitherto been exposed, by being obliged to pass through lobbies, rooms, and avenues, crowded with the most disreputable members of the community, and subject to scenes of the most disgusting indecency. "An avowed exclusion of any particular class of people, from either part of the house (excepting the private Boxes) would be utterly impracticable; and therefore the best plan is to form an arrangement, which shall virtually amount to an exclusion of those whom it is desirable to exclude, without any declared intention of so doing. "As an indispensible provision towards the accomplishment of this desirable object, I have, in my plan, entirely abolished those Boxes which have hitherto been placed immediately at the back of the Dress Circle; (and which are vulgarly called the Basket Boxes.) It is very well known to every one,who has been in the habit of frequenting the Theatres, that the women of the town never hire, or attempt to appear in what are called the Dress Boxes; and that the ladies who do occupy those boxes, would be enabled to go to the play with great comfort and security, if it were not for the nuisances to which they are liable in passing to and from their Boxes. "The Basket, therefore, being abolished, and no lobbies, coffee-rooms, or other appendage of that description, being placed contiguous to the Dress Circle, nor within a considerable distance from it, the women of the town and all the most disorderly spectators, will find that part of the house so ill adapted to their convenience, that they will totally desert it, and naturally resort to whatever part of the house shall furnish the accommodation which they require. "The same considerations, which I have stated, as a reason for refraining from an avowed exclusion of any particular class of the community, must, of course operate against appropriating to the exclusive use of this circle of Boxes a separate entrance and staircase. According to my plan, those persons going to the Dress Boxes will enter at the same doors, and ascend the same staircases (to a certain height), as those going to any of the Boxes above; but having passed the first flight of the staircases, they will enter the corridor immediately at the back of the Dress Boxes, and will then be quite separated from the rest of the house, and not at all liable to any molestation; there being no lobby, coffee-room, or lounging-place of any description, to lead to this part of the house any of those persons who would be a nuisance to it. According to the above principles, I have not only provided a ready access to the Dress Boxes, and refrained from placing near them any lobby, or room, which might serve as a receptacle for persons who could not have seats in those Boxes; but I have, upon the next oor, provided a spacious and handsome suite of rooms, which will unquestionably attract all those whom it is desirable to remove from below stairs. "There is one other circumstance, which I must mention, as materially appertaining to good order and decorum within the Theatre; namely, the equal depth of the Boxes throughout the house. I have (as before stated), made the wall at the back of the Boxes, in my plan, concentric with the breastwork or front of the boxes; and consequently, the distance from one to the other must be equal in all parts of the Theatre; the result of which is, that there will be no gloomy recess in any part of the Boxes, to favour the riotous or improper proceedings of disorderly persons; every one will be brought in full view of the house, and within the light of the chandeliers; and, that being the case, many will be held in awe of observation, who might otherwise have disturbed the house by noisy and licentious conduct. "It is notorious that the Basket Boxes, and the dark back seats above stairs, are almost the only places where riot or quarrel take place. "I have now discussed the several parts of my design, under the four distinct heads which I, at first proposed; and in defining the principlesstating the facts-describing the comparisons→→→ and asserting the advantages, connected with that design, it has been my endeavour to avoid all partiality or prejudice; and to represent with clearness, precision, and truth, every circumstance, to which I have had occassion to advert, in the course of the discussion. If those principles have been justly defined; if those facts have been correctly stated; if those comparisons have been truly described; and if those advantages have not been exaggerated, four manifest conclusions obviously follow: "First. That the size or capacity of the Theatre, as governed by the width of the proscenium or stage-opening, and by the pecuniary return to he made to those persons, whose property may be embarked in the concern, is the largest, and therefore the best, which can be adopted. "Secondly.-That the form or shape of the Theatre, as connected with the primary objects of distinct sound and vision, is, independently of its advantages in point of beauty, incomparably superior to any other form. "Thirdly. That the facility of ingress and egress, as materially affecting the convenience of those going to every part of the house respectively: as well as their lives, in cases of sudden accident or alarm, is secured to a much greater degree, than has usually been the case in the Theatres of this metropolis. "Fourthly. That decorum among the several classes of visitants to the Theatre, as essential to the accommodation of the more respectable part of those vistants, and consequently, of great importance to the interest of the Theatre, is provided for, to an extent which cannot fail to raise the reputation of the Theatre, and essentially to benefit the interests of the public, as well as of those immediately concerned in the profits of the Theatre." Such are the principles upon which the new Theatre is to be constructed.—They are at once full of novelty and science.— They comprehend the amusement (together with that which has been always thought an impossible combination), the purity and decorum of public places.-They do great honour to the architectural genius and the moral taste of Mr. Wyatt. ZARA; OR THE ADVENTURES OF AN ENGLISH WIFE. THE faint glimmering of the moon on the surface of the waters is not more uncertain than the condition of human life. Let the sons and daughters of affliction receive com fort from hope; let not the happy boast too much of their prosperity, nor the miserable sink into despondency and despair. Virtue has always a resource in Providence, which improves the blessings and mitigates the cvils of life. We are abcut to relate a tale which occurred in the beginning of the seventeenth century, when the pirates of Tunis were the most dangerous and rapacious of maritime states. After two years' constant attendance, Ernestus obtained his mistress in marriage. The parents of this beautiful lady had for a long time opposed the happiness of Ernestus, who was a man of but small fortune; but being at last appointed Colonel of a regiment, and then in the road to preferment, as he was na turally a brave and intrepid man, they con sented to bestow on him their daughter. Marriage, so far from diminishing the tenderness of the Colonel, increased his affection, and the possession of Elvira appeared to him as the most inestimable treasure. In the midst of this scene of delight, he was ordered with his regiment to Minorca, where he was to remain in garrison for some time. The idea of being separated from his E vira overwhelmed him with grief; and though he fear ed to expose her to the dangers of the sea he resolved at last to take her with him. Elvira, who could not support the thought of being separated from her husband, rejoiced in the resolution he had taken. They embarked at Portsmouth, and a favourable wind seemed to promise them a safe and speedy passage; but fortune had devoted them to disasters which they did not foresee. The vessel was on a sudden attacked by a Tunisian pirate. The dispute, in which the Colonel fought like a lover and an Englishman, was long and obstinate, but being at last overpowered by numbers, the pirates made themselves masters of the vessel. How shall we paint the despair of Elvira and the distress of the Colonel? He was wounded in the arm, and his lovely wife was by his side when the corsairs boarded the vessel. The Tunisian Captain was struck with the noble air of the Colonel and the beauty of Elvira. The natural savageness and barbarity vanished in a moment from the breast of the Captain, who on the sight of his illustrious captives ordered the greatest care to be taken of the Colonel, and the utmost respect paid to Elvira, The pirates, contented with what they had taken, instantly made for Tunis; where they no sooner arrived than they began to think of making a division of their prize. As the Colonel and his lady had not been separated during the voyage, they were in hopes they could only utter sighs. After she had recovered the use of her voice and senses, she threw her arms round the neck of the Colonel. should be continued together on their arrival at Tunis, and be both sold to the same master. No sooner were the prisoners disembarked than they were presented to the Dey, accord-“Our fate is fixed, my beloved husband,” said ing to the custom of the country, that the sovereign may have the first choice of every thing brought into that port. The beauty of Elvira proved her own and her husband's misfortune; for the prince, charmed with the majestic air of this English lady, resolved to place her as an attendant on his only daughter, Zara, whom he loved most tenderly. He ordered Elvira to be conducted into his Seraglio, and permitted the corsairs to dispose of the rest of their slaves as they thought proper. As soon as the Dey was retired, and the fatal news was told Elvira, that she was to be parted from her husband, she fell into the profoundest grief; a thick cloud covered her eyes, ber voice failed her, and she could only pronounce these words as she fell in a swoon into the arms of her husband.—“Let me die; death only can save me from the misfortunes which await me." The Colonel was still more wretched than his lady; the swoon into which she was fallen had suspended the course of her grief, but the use of his senses, which he preserved in so sorrowful a situation, served only to load him with new misery.-"Is it possible," said he, "that my cruel fortune has reserved me for this excess of misery; and that after having enjoyed such a short interval of love and happiness with my adored wife, I am thus cruelly to be severed from her, and with one blow to lose my honour and felicity. Would to Heaven that either I had never seen her, or that I had never enjoyed that happiness which I must now lose for ever!" she. "I shall love you for ever. It was I who was the cause of your misfortune. It was I who implored you to take me to Minorca. Alas, how unfortunate was I who imagined I could not live one year without seeing you, and must now be separated from you for ever!” "My beautiful Elvira," said the Colonel, we shall not be separated for ever. I will write to England, and our parents will procure our ransom, and then we shall return to our own country." 66 "Till then," said Elvira, "I will live, since it is your pleasure that I should do so. I will do more; I will hope. But what is to become of you?" "I know not," replied the Colonel," or into whose hands I shall fall; but fear nothing for me, since I have the advantage of being at large, and therefore may easily procure intelligence from England. Love is ingenious, Elvira, and though you should be locked up in the Seraglio, I may be enabled to effect the escape of both." Elvira would have answered, but those who were ordered to conduct her to the Dey pressed them to part. This order revived their grief. The little consolation she had received vanished in a moment, and she again threw her arms about the neck of the Colonel." No," said she, “let me die this moment rather than be separated from you.” The people whom the Dey had charged with the care of Elvira were so affected with her grief that they could not make use of force to snatch her from the arms of her husband. The Colonel perceived their tenderness and perplexity, and that they were more cautious of increasing the grief of Elvira than of obeying the orders of their master." Adieu, beau Elvira continued in her swoon; the Colonel pressed her in his arms and shed over her a torrent of tears." Beautiful Elvira," said he, "hear the voice of thy husband. Our ills are not without remedy; let us deserve the bless-tiful Elvira!" said he, ceasing to hold her in ing of Heaven, and it will again bring us together when we least expect it." The tears of the Colonel, which fell on the face of his amiable lady, recalled her to life. She opened her eyes and faintly turned them towards him; but, still unable to speak, she his arms; "nothing but resolution and constancy can put a period to our misfortunes; begin from this moment to dare fortune to do its worst, and rest assured that nothing but despair can prevent our re-union." After these words the Colonel retreated a little from Elvira, when the Dey's domestics led her trembling from his sight. After the departure of Elvira the Colonel stood immoveable, and entirely absorbed in despair. A division was made of the prisoners without his perceiving it, though he was present, and knew not that he was sold to a pilut of that country, who generally lived at Portofarino, a sea port about eight or ten miles from Tanis, till his new master came to inform him || that he must prepare for his departure the next day. The Colonel was grieved at the thoughts of quitting Tunis, as he should be obliged to leave behind him every thing he held dear in the world. But reflecting that he should not be able to get a sight of Elvira, even if he should continue there, and considering he was more likely to hear news from England in the place he was going to than at Tunis, he consoled himself under this new misfortune. When the Colonel arrived at Portofarino, he endeavoured to soften the rigours of his slavery by gaining the good-will of his master. He was not like those mean souls, who sink under adversity, and who neglect those means of conquering them, which prudence and solitude may offer them. He was a perfect master of the cultivation of flowers; and luckily for him, the corsair had a very beautiful garden. The Colonel took so much care of it, and succeeded so well in his endeavours, that he soon became the favourite of his master. This was a consolation to the Colonel, of which he had much need in his present situation. He wrote to England, but received no answer. He knew not how to account for the silence of his wife's friends; and it would have been to no purpose to write to his own, as they were not in a condition to reJieve him; he therefore prudently determined not to make them unhappy with a detail of his misfortunes. He was bewailing his sorrowful situation, when an additional calamity was added to those be already supported. Mortals are not to know when the measure of misfortune is Eut He soon learned by a ship which put in at that port, that his father-in-law had paid the great debt of nature; and that the son who succeeded him was squandering away his own and his sister's fortune in horse racing and gaming. From this accident all hopes of gaining his freedom were for ever banished, and he saw himself devoted to perpetual slavery. Four months had now elapsed since he arrived at Portofarino, and these four months had appeared to him as so many ages of pain and torment. His master, who was not ignorant of the cause of his sorrow, endeavoured to soften it in the best manner he could, and treated him rather as a friend than a slave, employing him only in cultivating the flowers of his garden. However easy this employment may appear, it could not but be hard for such a man as the Colonel. It is easy to conceive, that an officer, educated and brought up among gentlemen of distinction, who had been accustomed to look with contempt on those in a situation of slavery, can bear that situation but indifferently himself. True philosophy only can support such a state with tranquillity; philosophy teaches us to consider all men as our equals; great souls are never humbled by adversity, nor rendered haughty by the glitter of a throne; the tenderness he had conceived for his beloved Elvira made bim insensible to every thing else. He was no otherwise sensible of his slavery than in being removed from the object of his heart, without the least hopes of ever seeing her again; it was neither honours, riches, nor his country that he regretted, but the loss of his Elvira. (To be continued.) LETTERS ON MYTHOLOGY. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF C. A. DEMOUSTIER. (Continued from Vol IV. Page 291.) LETTER XXIV. INTOXICATED with a new sentiment, Venus believed herself happy; but her hap. piness no longer depended upon herself, Apollo was become the arbiter and depositary of her bliss. Alas! how is that woman to be pitied who confides her happiness to a single object, never, never does she find a faithful guardian. Such was the fate of Venus. Slander, who now presided at the meetings of the Goddesses, reported in confidence that Phoebus descended every evening into the palace of Amphitrite, and left her only at the rising of Aurora. At this intelligence, Jealousy quitted her usual abode, the temple of Hymen, and hastened to fill the heart of Venus with gall and wormwood. The unhappy Goddess, with distracted looks, pale cheeks, and disordered tresses, flew to the top of Mount Ida. There her wandering eyes sought by turns the car of her lover and the dwelling of Amphitrite. Quickly she beheld the coursers of the Sun reach the end of their journey, and descend towards the liquid plain; the ocean sparkles, the horses increase in speed, the car plunges into the waves, its fires are extinguished, and Phoebus disappears! At this spectacle Cypris remained mute and motionless; her eyes fixed on the dark horizon, seemed apt to follow the car of her lover. "Ingrate!" she exclaimed, "after all that I-" she could not proceed; the words expired upon her lips amidst sobs and sighs. At length, with a trembling voice, she called her turtles, seized the reins, and hurried into the Island of Cyprus, to bury her shame and her remorse. In that lovely scene the remembrance of happier days melted her heart, and drew forth those tears which it was a relief to shed. It seemed to her that the trees and the fountains replied to her sighs, and the unfortunate solaced her sorrow by addressing to them her lamentations. While uttering her complaints she wandered through the woods and the vallies, her lips pale, her eyelids iuNo. XXVIII. Vol. V.-N.S. flamed, her eyes extinguished, her cheeks colourless yet burning. She was no longer Venus, and when her lover came to enlighten the wreck he had made, he no longer knew his victim. The days of Cypris were thus consumed by regret and tears; and ber nights were passed in comparing those she now endured with the delightful ones she enjoyed in the Isle of Rhodes. One morning she raised herself in wild agitation, and hastened, even before Aurora, among the woods that covered the mountains. She met there a young favourite of Diana: he had the graces of Diaua herself, and might well have been mistaken for her brother; he was not an immortal, but he had entered into that brilliant age in which life resembles immortality. As he pursued the monsters of the forest he perceived Venus, and stopped. Cypris, astonished, raised her eyesto him, and had no power to withdraw them. The hunter forgot his bow and his arrows; Venus found delight awaking amidst her tears. After a long silence the timid hunter thus addressed ber: "It is said that Venus sometimes visits these enchanting solitudes; in seeing you, I believe-but, without doubt, my eyes are deceived by your charms; if you were Venus would you shed tears?" "Alas!" she replied, "6 are you ignorant then that the Goddesses have hearts, and that the Gods are faithless? But you, amiable mortal! who are you? who are the authors of your days?" At these words the young man blushed, and his beautiful eyelashes veiled the confusion of his looks. "My birth is a secret, and my existence a crime. Cinyras, my father, reigned in this fortunate island: he had an only daughter, whom he tenderly loved. Myrrha returned his affection; but, alas! her heart wandered, and filial piety grew into love! To extinguish this incestuous flame, Myrrha sought to C |