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Fulia, Og the Penitent Daughtes.

March, beart: for these intimacies appear to 111).

The artfud advocate of vice now added: thinking youth in the attracting forms of ' In this humble Itation, though you friendthip. Senlibility, at this tender age, should be a paragon of virtue, the world abandons itself to inexperience. The ne- will never believe it. They will think it cellity of directing the aff Aious to come impossible that an unfortunate young per. object is not the most trivial cause of its fon, who is handfume, can he to void of crrors and misfortunes. It attaches itself understanding a3 to prefer misery to aff:: to every object it mecis. But was it not ence and easi. Do not fancy that your enough for Madame 'de Sauval to be her. books, and in se prelended good people, self disgraced in the public opinion? To the pedagogues of mankind, ulter one what purpose could she wish to involve a word of Iruth. Their fine sentiments are young person in the fame infamy, who merely to display their talents, and to was yet ttruggling again the ascendency contradict established opinions with oftenvice? Were the hearts of the wicked but tation. The only partuit of sensible peo. exposed to view, we thould discover with ple is affluence and pleafure. I know all horror that they have a detestable plea. the fine reflections to the contrary. They sure in increaling the number of the guil- are doubtless admirable ! But in the zy:, Interest, moreover, is another prow. warmth of ny friend hip for you, I mult erful motive to arm corruption, grown point out 'the real, not the imagitary boary in guilt, against innocence and good. vouth ; and, in fact, it was not a mere How,' exclaims Julia ; ' fhall I be depravity of morals that induced madame wanting to iny faovily--to bonour "de Sauval to plot the fall of the unsuspect. Charmingly faid, my child,' replied maing Julia.

dame de Salval;' l have indulged myThe coquetry of this young creature, felf in such fine declamations delore you her ambition to shine in the circle, and to I have had my fainily, any honour, and captivate every eye, did not escape the pe-- my morals tón, oh'! quite like other netrating view of this abandoned woinan. folks! My dear Julia, at your age one is Julia heard her incesantly exclaim ; very romantic. Sentiment is the idol of • What a beautiful Mape! But what an inexperienced hearts, the gay chimera that odious gown! Why,'child, dress is our enraptures and deceives. - But we mult very life, and you mould display your returt to the safer leffons of experience. charms to advantage by the elegance of One is not always young, my sweet fricnu; your taste. Ah! were I but of your age, our years infentibly Real away, repentance I should know how to improve them, appears in the train of misfortune, and By what filly prejudices are people go our fully is irreparable. To have'neglectverned ! But when once we begin to think ed the brighteti moments of life, and to for ourselves, we shall pay little attention be abandoned to unavailing regret, what to the opinion of the world. It is pover. a sad situation this ! But perhaps you ty only that, is the object of contempt. bave not rightly underiiood me. In all Some marks of complaitance,' added this the occurrences of life there are fome deintriguing woman, for' a gentlenian who licate attentions to be obferveifa cermerits my esteem, and who intends to tain manner of keeping well with the espouse me, have now changed my fitua. world—the great art of faving appear. tion. From what moment I have begun ances. Embrace me, my dear friend. to live. I have a houfe, I have dress, I Remember, that our fecrecy is inviolable have jewelsmand jewels are the magic of You see what proofs of tenderness I give beauty.' Julia profoundly fighs. I will you. Were you my own child, I could not conceal it; 'resumed madame de Sau- not speak to you with more fraokness and val, whom this figh did not escape;' but affection. Leave every thing to me. in your fituation. I hould be decided. will make you the liappiest as well as the What do you expect from your aunt ? lovelieft of women. She has but little fortune, nor is the im.' These insidious conversations were no mortal. · Julia, beautiful as you are, and without effect. ' Julia started at first a with your birth, would you degrade your- the picture which madame de Sauval prefélf to the employment of a Lady's wo fented. This is natural to some persons

while yet unvanquished by the folicitati At this question Julia could not conceal ons of vice. Julia views the pi&ture again Tome emotion of indignation ; this fame and views it with less averfion, She se Julia, wio, before the left her parents, cretly laments her narrow circumstances, would have embraced the meaneat occu runs to her glass, contemplates he pation with joy, if the purity of her mo- charms, and returns to her perfidious ad als had required the sacrifice.




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It was not without design that these se. peculiarities, must be allowed to be a ductive conversations were pursued. A much' more interesting and animated com529 of gallantry had feen Julia in the polition than the Count of Narbonne; and public walks, and was paflionately fmit. had the author of the Gothic Story chosen te with her. He had but little difficul. to have given his work a direct dramatic it to engage madame de Sauval in his in- form, he would most probably have exhikerek. Julia spent whole days with that bited a performance very different from the tretched inftrument of guilt. The fame tragedy before us. His magic might perchverfitions pafled, the fame allurements haps have appeared, in spectacle, at the tre displayeri, avd every day was Julia theatre; or, at least, he who hazarded a As vrtuous thin before.

ludicrous fimplicity, in the deportment of Accident brought the marquis de Ger- the domestics, would not like his theatrical zuil into the presence of Julia, at one of follower, have allotted to all his personages tie parties of madame de Sauval. One a sameness of language and character. Cermay early divine the character of the tain it is, that a coldness and obscurity percarquis, and that no event was ever more vades the present scenes, from a perpetual, concerted than this accident. He was but indininct reference to a work which, one of those contemptible beings, who entertaining as it is, hath not perhaps beca gride themselves in the ruin of the sex; read by the million, and is not, even by and he had already involved a variety of those who have read it, sufficiently rememfemales in calamity and disgrace. The besed, to enable them to maintain the time of Julia was yet wanting to his tri- thread of the action in the representation. amph. He is some moments alone with Fables may be borrowed ; but borrowed or ber. He employs all the arts of feduction, original, the drama fhould unfold itself, in. and from the youth of Julia he at length dependent of all foreign matter. The Count hears the tender confeflion, that he was of Narbonne, on the contrary, requires a not indifferent to her. But this adept in conftant commentary from the Casle of rice prefimes not too much upon his suc: Otranto. The very opening is perplexed cca ; fenfible that virtue must be weak- and obscure. The death of the son, and ced by imperceptible degrees.

the flight of Isabel, are so blended, that Jo the mean time, Julia could not ba. neither are interesting, or indeed intelligirif the recollection of her virtuous pa


Godfrey's challenge too is opened teats; and the would often ruminate on rather darkly. The appearance of the se delightful hours of infancy. She was herald might have given it action, and have benable that her innocence was not unim. spared a cold narration, together with the paired, and that she was yielding to the heavy personage of Fabian, who is made lenderness of a man the already loved. a dull and unmov'd hearer and retailer of The guilty Sauval sometimes found her the story, to infinuate the plot into the boxes. ta tears, with the pen in her hand, in In many other particulars the fable is tending to write to her parents. This unsuccessfully traced from the novel, which odious woman involved her again in the almost every where rises superior, much wils from which she would fain bave dif- superior, to the drama! and in no instance etgaged herself. She dwelt on the brillis more eminently than in the delineation and 2ncy of such a conquest as that of the conduct of the two female characters, 11eiquis de Germcuil, and reminded her abel and Matilda, which are sustained by Tratingally that at her age fortune and the honourable novelist with the most dea Pleasure were the only objects of attention. licate address, so managed as to render (To be continued.).

each of tbem respectively amiable, as well Csigue on the Count of Narbonne, a Tra. Gtuation of Theodore, who appears in the

as to add much force and interest to the gedig. Written by Robert Jephson, Esq; Tragedy a mere drawing after Dorilas, and THI THIS Tragedy is inscribed, with great Douglas.

propriety, to the Honourable Horacę On the whole, the fable of the Count of Walpole, not only as a difinguished pa- Narbonne is, in our opinion, maimed and fron and cultivator of literature, but' as defective. It is cold and obscure. All the the avowed author of the fingular story leading incidents, inftead of coming forth on which the drama itself is professedly in dramatic action, are lost in narration, kunded.-Raymond of Narbonne is, by and touch not the passions. Segnius irriptical transmigration, or, if you please, tant animum, demisa por Aures. transubftantiation, no other than Manfred One circumstance in the third act, a cirof Otranto, at least a reflection from him ; cumstance however long hackneyed on the and, like a reflection, fainter than the ori. stage, engages our attention; and the eapinal. The Castle of Otranto, with all its tatrophe agajn revives it, after the most


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Critique on the Count of Narbonne.

March Janguishing fourth act that ever exhausted and transplanted from the hot and cold a writer, or fatigued his reader and audi- beds of iragedy ; and there is scarce a tor. The catastrophe, bowever, is much speech that does not call up to the memoinferior to the massacre at the altar, in ry a speech in some other play. Among Voltaire's Mahomet, to which it is extreme- a number of minute instances which might ly limilar. The absence of Isabella in the be adduced of the expreflion borrowed, plz: is much io bi regretted. Besides the not always very judiciouny, we will only lofs of many other pleasing incidents, her mention two passages where the idea, as union with Theodore, as it ftands in the well as the phrase, is palpably drawn from novel, mitigates, in some measure, the le. Shakespeare. The death of Raymond, devirity of the moral which is enforced with scribed at the end of the first ac, is a feraggravated horror in the Tragedy. vile copy of the deaths of Duke Humphry

The Charatiers are not happily discrimi- and Cardinal Beaufort, in the second part nated. They are copies from books, not of Henry the Sixth ; and the transport of originals from Nature. Their prototypes, Narbonne at the fight of Theodore, in or counter parts, may be found in other the beginning of the fifth act, is an imitadramas. The Count is designed and co. tion of Macbeth's disorder on the appearloured after Macbeth, but not with the ance of the ghost of Banquo at the bans.appy boldness of the Great Mafter. The quet. youthful Adelaide often exbibiis a faint The inequalities of the plays of king likeness of Juliet ; and creo Hortensia, Henry the Sixth, though they abound with venerable matron as the is, displays the fine paliages, having occafioned their befeatures of Imogen and Desdemona. Auf ing but itldom examined, we wish to reter tin is the most respefable figure of the the reader to the scenes above-mentioned, groupe.

buth which he will find in the third act The sentimexts, though many of them of the second part. In the mean time this are trite, are generally jult, and often very following fort paralleis will lerve to thew happily exprefled. The reader will un- Mr. Jephson's intimate acquaintance with doubtedly approve and admire the follow. them. ing passages, as well as some others which

Methinks I fee bim ! he will find in the Tragedy.

His aliy hue, bis grizzked brilling hair, • Great fpirits, conscious of their inborn His palms spread wide.' worth,

Count of N. P.16, Scorn by demand to force the praise they “ Of aliy semblance, meagre, pale, and merit ;

bloodles, They feel a ffune beyond their brightest deeds,

But jee! his face is black, and full of And leave the weak to note them, and to

blood; wonderi'

His hair uprear'd, his nostrils ftretch'd wide * Think, conscience is the deepest source

Rruggling, of anguit:

His hand abroad display'd!" A bosom, free like yours, has life's best The beautiful horror of the several de. funthine ;

scriptions in Shakefpeare tempted his imi. Tis the warm blaze in the poor herdsman's tator to blend them together, and betray. hut,

ed him into the impropriety of afcribing That, when the storm howls o'er his hum to the guilty death-bed some of the cirble thatch,

cumstances originally ascribed to the object Brightens his clay-built walls, and cheers innocently murdered. his foul.'

There has of late years sprung upamongst But the diflion, as in the rest of the au. us a clan of poets, who compofe English thor's pieces, has been the principal obe verse on the same principle as boys at ject of attention ; yet the diction, though school compose their Latin exercises, tak often highly commeadable, is unequal, ing half a line from one claffic, and half and frequently reminds us of Claudio's a line from another, feldom or ever intro. conversation, as described ty Benedick :- ducing half a line of their own original " A very fantastical banquitt; - so many invention or manufacture.-Gray, excelftrange dilhes !" Shakespeare affords the lent as he was, had a touch of this quacliiet regale ; unt there are many little en- lity. A friend of Gray has had perhaps tremets and fide-plates from Otway, more than a touch of it; but the imitators Rowe, Malon, Gray, and our more bume of Gray, and the friend of Gray, have imible modern dramatists. It is Harlequin's fated them, and those whom they bave Souff, a pioch from every man's box! Al imitated, till they have gone through every most every expresion is carefully culled leaf of the modern Gradus ad Parnofum,


The author of the Count of Narbonne, of justice, in his deadly proceftes; with taleats perhaps for original excellence, Nor drink i the fabre blood thus wantonly, bas cramped those talents by the Audy Where men are valued less than nobler ad pra&tice of dramatic mimicry, in which beats te nuft be allowed to be a proficient. Of what am I accused? ke this is poor ambition, and unworthy Count.

Of incolence; & real genius! Idly as we have been Of bold prefumptive love, that dares afeculed of political republicanism, we mult pire confeis ourselves to be a kind of republi. To mix the vileness of thy fordid lees zna in literature. We are avowed friends with the rich current of a baron's blood. w the independency of Parnafsus ! confi. Auftin. My heart is touch'd for himtent, that to cut and fritter out the itate Much injur'd youth, sto a number of petty principalities, will Suppress awhile this swelling indignation ; aby multiply indignificant fovereigns, while Plead for thy lift! it dimini lhes the real grandeur of the cm

Theod. I will not meanly plead; pire. Such literary despots are, each in Nor were my neck bowd to his bloody their turo, set up by their parasites and block, adherents, as a kind of King Log, fall. If love!s my crime, would I disown my ing with a mighty splash into the Heliconian

love. puddle, and itriking a terror into the mile Count. Then, by my soul, thou dieft, rable ercakers around them, till, on detec


And let me die e tion of their weakness, they become ob. With my last breath I'll bleis her. My jeds of insult and contempt!

fpirit, free We cannot give a more favourable spe. From earth's encumbering clogs, fhall foar cinea of the Tragedy of tbe Count of Nar

above thee. bore than the discovery of Auitin and · Anxious, as once in life, I'll hover round Theodore in the third aa. The circum

her, fance of Theodore's birth and fortune Teach her new courage to sustain this ase, perhaps, rather too abruptly mention

blow, ed on his part, as well as too haitily catch. And guard her, Tyrant! from thy cruelty, ed at by Austin ; but the fcene is, we

Count. Ha! give me way! itink, on the whole, the most fpirited and Auftin. Why this is madness, youth : eding in the play.

You but infiame the rage you thould ap

peale. SC E N E V.

Theod. He thinks me vile. 'Tis true To the Count and Austin, Theodore brought in.

indeed I feem (o: Come near, thou wretch! When callid But tho' these bumble weeds obscure my before me firit,

outside, With most unwonted patience I endur'd I have a soul disdains his contumely; Thy bold avowal of the wrong thou did'st A guiltless spirit, that provokes no wrong, me;

Nor from a monarch would endure it of $ wrong so great, that, but for foolish

fer'd ; pity,

Uninjur'd, lamb like; but a lion, rous'd. The head that instant should have made Know, too injurious lord, here stands beatonement;

fore thee, But now, convicted of a greater crime, The equal of thy birth. Mercy is quench'd ; therefore prepare to Count.

Away, bare clod! die!

Obey me, flaves!-What, all amaz'd with icegd. Indeed! and is this all ?--'tis lies? fomewhat sudden.

Austin. Yet, hear him, Narbonne : I was a caprive long 'mongst infidels,

that ingenuous face Whon falsely I deern'd favage, fince I find looks not a lie. Thou said'I thou wert Even Tunis' and Algiers, those nests of a captiveruthians,

Turn not away! we are not all like him. Sight teach civility to polisid France, Something, I know not what, mot friend. If life depends but on a tyrant's frown.

ly to thee, Count. Qut with thy holy trumpery, Nay, more than friendly, like a parent's priest; delay not;

care, Os, if he truits in Mahomet, and scorns And anxious, even to pain, 'bids me enthee,

quired Away with bim this inftant.

Theori. My story's brief. My mother Hold, I charge you!

and myself, Torod. The qurban'd misbeliever makes (I then an infant) in my father's abfence, fome show Were on our frontiers seiz'd by Saracens.



my father!

Critique on the Count of Narbonne.

March, Count. A likely tale! a well devis'd A fon's obedience, or a father's fondness! imposture !

Auflin. Dear boy! what miracle preWho will believe thee?

feru'd thee thus, Auflin. O deceiving hope ! To give thee back to France ? A gleam shoots thro' me ; and my tarted Theod.

No miracle, foul,

But common chance. A warlike bark of Fearful and eager, shrinks from its own Spain with :

Bore down, and seiz'd our vesel, as we 1 Make, and scarce bave power enough to rovd beg thee,

Intent on spoil : (for many times, alas ! Go on, fiy all,

Was Icompellid tojoin their hated league, Tbeod. "To the fierce Bajaw, Hamet, And Itrike with infidels.) My country That scourge and terror of the Christian known, coalts,

The corteoas captain fent me to the more; Were we made flaves at Tunis.

Where vain were my fond hopes to find Auftin.

Ha! at Tunis ! Seiz'd with thy mother ? Lives Me, gen. 'Twas defolation all : a few poor swains tle youth!

Told me, the rumour ran he had renounc'd Theod. Ah no, dear faint ! fate ended A hated world, and here in Languedoc foon her woes,

Devoted his remains of life to heaven. In pity ended. On her dying couch, Auflin. They told thee truth; and She pray'd for bleflings on me.

heaven shall have my prayers, Auftin.

Be thou blefred! My soul pourd out in endless gratitude, O fail not, Nature, but support this con- For this unhop'd, immeasurable blefling; fia!

But thou thalt have my care, my love, my 'Tis not dclusion sure. It must be he.

life. But one thing more; -did she not tell thee Count. Thus far, fond man! I have too

Viltend to the tale ; Thy wretched father's name?

And think, it as it is, a gross contrivance, Theod, The Lord of Clarinsal. A trick, devis d to cheat my crcdulous Why do you look so earnestly upon me? reason, If yet he lives, and thou know'r Clarinsal, And thaw me to a woman's milkiness. Tell him my tale.

Austin. And art thou so unskill'd in naAuftin. Mysterious Providence !

ture's language, Count. (Afde.) What's this, the old Still to miltrust us ! Could our tongues deman trembles and turns pale.

ceive, Theod. He will not let his offspring's Credit, what ne'er was feign'd, the genuine timeless ghost

heart: Walk unappeas'd, but on this cruel head Believe these pangs, these tears of joy and Extract full vengeance for his llaughter'd anguilh ! fon.

Count. Or true, or false, to me it matAuftin. O giver of all good! eternal ters not. Lord !

I see thou halt an interest in his life, Am I fo bless'd at last to see my fon? And by that link I hold thee. Would'it Theod. Let me be deaf for ever, if my thou save him

(Thou know't already what my soul is Deceive me now! did he not say his son ? fet on, Auftin. I did, I did ; let this, and this Teach thy proud heart compliance with convince thee.

my will : I am that Clarinsal; I am thy father. If not-hut now no more.-Hear all, and Count. (Alide) Why works this foolish mark memuilture to my eyes?

Keep special guard, that none, but by my Down, Nature! What haft thou to do

order, with vengeance ?

Pass from the castle. By my hopes of Theod. On, Sir! thus bending, let me heaven, clasp your knees ;

His head goes off, who dares to disobey me. Now, in this precious moment, pay at Farewell --if he be dear to thee, remem


(Exit Count. The long, long debt of a lon son's af. The Prologue is intended to how the fection.

horrid sin and danger of criticism; and Count. (A fide.) Destruction seize them the first of the Epilogues, for there are both! Must I bebold

two, written by Edmund Malone, Esq; has Their transports, ne'er perhaps again to many touches of humour and plealantry. know




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