beral sentiments, yet a supporter of false-an ignis fatuus, that deceives the unwary—a lurid light, that frequents hollow places. He has been on so many sects and sides, that he has not a rag left to cover his nakedness, and he stands now in his native deformity, an example of inconsistency and false ambition, no good to himself nor to his fellow creatures.

Theatricals.

DRURY LANE THEATRE.

This national place of amusement opened on Wednesday the 16th ult., with a poetical address, from the pen of G. Colman, spoken by Mr. Terry. The play was "The School for Scandal," which, as it was first produced at that house, was never better performed. Mr. Terry was SIR PETER TEAZLE, in the absence of Mr. Munden.. Mr. Dowton appeared, after an absence of two years, in the character of SIR OLIVER SURFACE, and was loudly and deservedly applauded. Since it opened, nothing new has been brought forward, and the performances have consisted of good sterling comedy and tragedy. Mr. Young, in HAMLET, and ROLLA, has met with great applause. We were promised that this season should be a beginning, de novo, free from the errors of the preceding. But, although Mr. Elliston has had the address to draw Mr. Young, Miss Stephens, and Mr. Liston, from their old house, Covent Garden, yet the public cannot have the gratification of seeing two of these stars shine at once in the same firmament. Thus Kean is not to be seen till Young's engagement has elapsed, and these imitators of majesty assume as much importance as their brother monarchs at Verona. These are evils we rather wish to see remedied than ever expect. The inside of the house is most splendid: the pannels of the boxes being painted with scenes from Shakespeare; and the new curtain is most magnificent. Mr. Munden, as OLD DORNTON, in the "Road to Ruin,” is a fine treat; and when we miss him, we shall not soon behold his like again. Great credit is due to Mr. Elliston for the exertions he has made for the amusement of the public.

ADDRESS,

WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF OPENING DRURY LANE THEATRE,

SPOKEN BY MR. TERRY.

Since Theatres so oft in this our time

Are launch'd upon the town with solemn rhyme,
Thoughts ready-made, to fit the theme are found,
Like last years' tunes on barrel-organs ground;
And poets furnish, in the bathos style,
Old tropes and figures for the new-built pile.
The sock and buskin named-the Muses follow;
The Opera, always prefac'd with Apollo !
But, Architecture's claims when we enforce,
Vitruvius and Palladio come, of course;

Till, after a long dance through Greece and Rome,

To Dryden, Otway, Congreve, getting home,

We end with Shakespeare's ghost, still hov'ring on our dome.

Alas! how vainly will our modern fry

Strive with the old Leviathans to vie !

How foolishly comparison provoke

With lines that Johnson writ, and Garrick spoke.
Abandon we a strain, without more fuss,
Which when attempted, has abandon'd us;
And let us guiltless be, however dull,
Of murdering the "sublime and beautiful.'
Thus, then, our Manager, who scouts the fears
Of pulling an old house about his ears,
Has spared, of our late Edifice's pride,
The outward walls, and little else beside:
Anxious has been THAT labour to complete
Which makes magnificence and comfort meet;
Anxious that multitudes might sit at ease,
And scantier numbers in no desert freeze.
That ample space may mark the liberal plan,
But never strain the eyes or ears of man.-
Look round, and judge;-his efforts all are waste,
Unless you stamp them as a work of taste;

Nor blame him for transporting from his floors
Those old offenders here-the two stage doors-
Doors that have oft with burnish'd pannels stood,
And golden knockers, glittering in a wood,

Which on their posts, through every change, remained
Fast as Bray's Vicar, whosoever reign'd;

That served for palace, cottage, street, or hall-
Used for each place—and out of place in all;
Station'd like watchmen, who in lamp-light sit,
For all their business of the night unfit.

So much for visual sense:-what follows next
Is chiefly on the histrionic text:

And our adventurer has toil'd to store

His list of favourites with some favourites more;
Sought planets ROVING from their former sphere,
And fix'd, as stars, the brilliant wanderers here;
To Drury's luminaries ADDED light,

And made his sky with constellations bright.
Rich the repast-and may, we trust, insure
The custom of the scenic epicure.

E'en I-although among the last and least-
May pass, perhaps, as garnish to the feast.
As for our living Dramatists-if now

The GENUINE bays disdain to deck their brow,

Still they can please, and, as they're dull or clever,

You patronize, or damn, the same as ever;

For each degree of talent, after all,

Must here by your decision rise or fall.

COVENT GARDEN THEATRE

Has pursued a steady course; and though deprived, by what some consider unfair means, of its principal ornaments, has had good audiences. Miss Paton has been a great attraction, and the critics pronounce her very little inferior to Miss Stephens. Several new pieces have been produced here, as well as performers. A Miss Chester appeared in VIOLANTE; and a young gentleman, of the name of Mason, in the character of young NORVAL. The

former, it is understood, has succeeded; the latter possesses little of the fire of genius, but a good knowledge of the technical business of the stage, and his acting is evidently the result of sheer industry. He will therefore become very useful as a second-rate performer. Of the pieces, "Ali Pacha" is the first, a rich Asiatic melo-drame, where the dresses and scenery are uncommonly splendid, and worthy of each other. It represents the tyrant, Ali, killing and murdering wherever he goes; and instead of embodying the principal actions of his life, shows us nothing but murder and blood throughout, even to disgust. It will have a run, by the splendour with which it is got up. The other piece is an Interlude, and was received with laughter and applause.

COBOURG THEATRE.

The season at this house has closed, such as it is Mr. Glossop, the manager and proprieter, reminds us of the astrologer in Rasselas, who could alter the seasons as he liked, and bring wind,` rain, &c. on the world, wherever and whenever he pleased. Something of this power is in the grasp of Mr. Glossop. He can controul the seasons with a mighty hand, he can shift Midsuminer," to Christmas, and Christmas he can ordain to be kept under the refreshing shade of some mighty tree. In a few words, Mr. Glossop engages his performers for the season, and when he wants to get rid of them, declares the season to be at an end. This is hardly just to the player, whose employmeut is sufficiently precarious, without such treatment as this.

There is a stupid fellow of the name of Sloman at this house, who, if the manager were to dismiss, some of these seasons, we think he would suffer no loss. Continually thrusting himself forward, with his humpty dumpty shoulders, he cares not who he annoys, so he can but procure the shouts of the gods. We experienced this a few nights ago, at Mr. Bradley's benefit, when he ran across the stage in one of the scenes, merely to get a share of the applause. We have the satisfaction of knowing, that he received a severe beating for his impudence, by Mr. Bradley, Both parties, afterwards, made their appearance at Union Hall, and were bound over to keep the peace to each other. We hope this will be a caution to him, and show him, that he will not be permitted to play his tricks with impunity. We shall keep an eye upon him in future.

RAWSTORNE STREET.

OCT. 22.-IRON CHEST.-ALL AT COVENTRY.

SIR EDWARD MORTIMER, Mr. Mellows, bore a strong resemblance to a criminal at the Old Bailey, after receiving sentence of death, and howled like a mad dog. MILFORD, Mr. Concannon, was more like a tear-throat ballad-singer from the purlieus of St. Giles's, than the soft, gentle, tender-hearted secretary; and bel-lowed loud enough to deafen the noise of a roaring cataract. RAWBOLD, Mr. Durham, convinced the audience that he was not only raw, but bald also ; and, in appearance, apparently belonged to the gang of dustmen employed by the celebrated Mr. B, of Battle Bridge. ADAM WINTERTON, Mr. Burroughs, reminded us of an old weazle, waddling on its hind legs. SAMPSON RAWBOLD, Mr. Bayns, appeared to have taken more than common pains to copy the grimaces of the Tom-fools who infest Bartholomew and other fairs, and gave an excellent imitation of the laughing hyena. ORSON, Mr. Hookham, was like a broken-winded knife grinder, seeking employment. The remainder of the characters were wretched. These muffs, to vulgarise a little, concluded the evening with " All at Coventry." The less said of this piece the better!

Literature.

The Two Visions; or, Byron v. ¡Southey ; [containing the works by these authors, celebrated as the Visions of Judgment. We have been highly amused with the perusal of these two works, which have thus been reprinted in a convenient form, parallel to each other, that the reader might see and judge for himself, respecting their different merits. Southey's Vision of Judgment was published a few months after the death of King George the Third, and may be said to have fallen dead born from the press. It is a production worthy of a poet laureate, worthy of the subject, and dull, and disgusting as its own absurd hexameters. Once a Jacobin, always a Jacobin, and one would almost fancy, on perusing Southey's Vision, that he designed to ridicule that mythological machinery which has ever been the great power by which priests have troubled the world. But, however, we are thankful to Mr. Southey, for the new light that he has thrown upon the mysterious regions and personages, as