Beaumont or Massinger, and whose morality, and even piety, have never been questioned. It may perhaps fairly admit of doubt, whether, as we have advanced in refinement, we have made a proportionate improvement in virtue; whether the fact be that there is now less vice than in former days, or that it is only more carefully concealed. At any rate it is most unjust to try men by a standard of propriety which in their day did not exist, and to condemn them for inattention to forms of decorum, of which they never heard. But the injustice of the charge, and the ignorance of those who bring it, are apparent, from the manner in which it is supported. These writers are accused of immorality, but they are convicted of coarseness of language. Now, these are two very different things; a book may be extremely coarse, the moral tendency of which is good; and, on the contrary, a work may be so correct in point of language, as to satisfy the most scrupulous delicacy, while it undermines the foundations of moral obligation, and invests vice with the garb of virtue. Of the former kind are the works of the elder writers of England; of the latter, too many of the productions of France and Germany. It is strange that this shrinking delicacy seems not to regard actions, but only words; that those who shudder at the coarseness of Othello, can heave the sigh of sentimental sympathy with Mrs. Haller; and it is somewhat remarkable, that the same age which has given us a "Family Shakspeare," has introduced the tales of Marmontel as a school-book for the edification of youth.

Our early dramatists never sought to confound the distinction of right and wrong, and to persuade us that they differ but in name. They never inculcated that our notions of virtue and vice are altogeter conventional, and have no foundation in reason or nature. They never endeavoured to excite a sickly sensibility in favour of guilt, nor to render vice? agreeable, by casting over its odious features a veil of flimsy sentiment. No one will arise from the perusal of these works a worse man than he sate down to them, and it must be his own fault if he be not improved by his study. An eloquent modern writer has pointed out the moral excellence of these authors, in language which we cannot refrain from quoting. "One conspicuous feature in the productions of Jonson, of Fletcher, and many of the most eminent poets of this age, is the fervent strain in which they deliver themselves concerning purity, moral elevation, and virtue. Fletcher occasionally is wanton, and Jonson is coarse; this was the vice of their age. But they were men of sound and erect thinking, they were entirely strangers to that heart-withering scepticism which I have so often heard reverend grey-beards enforce in a later

age: they believed that the Good upon record, were good, and the morally Great, were great; and, when they had occasion to express the sentiments of virtuous enthusiasm, they did not fear the imputation of having encroached upon the office of the pulpit; they knew that a well prepared mind, pouring forth from lips of fire strains worthy of an angelic nature, would never be mistaken for a proser or a hypocrite. It would extend my essay too far to give examples of this; they will readily present themselves to every one who will look for them.”**

In the age succeeding that in which flourished these great masters of the dramatic art, the stage seems to have been debased in the extreme. The writers of the time of Charles the Second appear to have been actuated by an unconquerable hatred to every thing that is venerable, pure, and holy. The sacred doctrines of religion, and the fundamental obligations of morality, were alike the objects of their senseless and pointless ridicule. It is, indeed, calculated to excite a most humiliating idea of human nature, when we find one set of men so utterly and gratuitously wicked, as to write such plays as were then the favourite amusements; and another set so deeply sunk into the degradation of vice, as to take pleasure in reading or seeing them represented. Fortunately the profligacy of many of these compositions was equalled by their dullness, and both together have deservedly consigned a large portion of them to oblivion.

Advancing a little nearer to our own times, we find two or three writers of comedy who did not exceed their immediate predecessors in licentiousness, and who far surpassed them in talent. Congreve has generally been regarded as a perfect model of a comic writer, and if wit were to be considered as the only requisite, his claim would be a valid one; his pretensions, however, appear to have been greatly overrated. Of wit he certainly possessed a superabundance, his plays are overcharged with it; his dramatic personages have all wit at will, and his dialogue is an unceasing combat of repartee. But, in every thing besides, his comedies are utterly defective; his plots are the most absurb and improbable that can be conceived; his characters have not the remotest affinity to truth or nature; and, in a moral point of view, his plays are detestable.

Vanburgh's comedies seem to be every way but morally perfect; his plots are generally conducted with a sufficient regard to probability; his characters, though not very elegant or prepossessing specimens of human nature, are marked with the vivid impress of reality; and, however eccentric, or however

Mr. Godwin's Appendix to the Lives of E. and J. Phillips.

depraved, we recognize them as partaking of the same nature with ourselves. In characteristic humour he excels all his cotemporaries, and his dialogue is unrivalled for ease, nature, and propriety. But the poison of immorality pervades every scene, and leaves us to complain with Pope, that

Van. wants grace, who never wanted wit."

Farquhar in wit is inferior to Congreve, and, in every other requisite for the drama, is very far inferior to Vanburgh. His comedies, however, are capable of affording considerable amusement, and display no ordinary share of talent; but they are disgraced by the licentiousness which they share in common with those of the two last mentioned authors, and which must banish all three from a well regulated stage.

Cibber is a writer of the same period, who, in some way or other, attained a high degree of reputation. In one respect he is unquestionably entitled to praise: he was the first dramatist of his time who ventured to treat virtue with respect, and to him, in a great degree, is the reformation of the stage to be attributed; but impartial criticism cannot regard him as a great comic writer. He seems to have thought that a succession of dialogues, composed of the chit-chat of fashionable life, constituted a good comedy. To each of his plays may be applied Dr. Johnson's observation on a more recent dramatic production, "Sir, a man may read it and not know that he has been reading any thing." Cibber was, moreover, the very prince of plagiarists: like Farquhar and Otway, he plundered the elder dramatic writers without mercy, and without acknowledgment; he not only stole from them his plots and characters, but he transcribed whole scenes, carefully omitting, however, all the wit and sentiment, and reducing their melodious verse into very hobbling prose.

A period now occurs in the history of the stage which did not produce a single comedy deserving of notice; but the middle of the last century was distinguished by several of great excellence.

Murphy's evince very considerable dramatic powers, and, while genuine comedy was tolerated, were among the favourite amusements of the stage. Broad humour was not his forte, but his plays, notwithstanding, are lively and entertaining. He displays a most accurate and comprehensive knowledge of the operation of the passions in every day of life, and in the jeu de theatre he surpasses almost every other writer. The elder Colman wrote a great number of comedies; but two of them only retain possession of the boards. "The Jealous Wife" is a good, sound, solid, sensible, and rather heavy production. Mrs. Oakley's jealousy is too

violent for comedy, and Mr. Oakley's calmness too dull for any thing. "The Clandestine Marriage" (in which Colman was assisted by Garrick) is a play of far superior pretensions. Lord Ogleby, and the various members of the Sterling family, are admirable characters. The dialogue, if not brilliant, is neat, spirited, and appropriate; and, although nothing takes place in the last scene that might not as well have occurred in the first, the incidents which retard the declaration of the clandestine marriage arise naturally each from the preceding one, and the interest never for a moment flags. This play has an unquestionable title to a place in the first class of English comedies. The period we are now contemplating was distinguished by the production of the dramatic works of a man who attained excellence in every thing which he attempted, and the brilliancy of whose powers was equalled only by their variety. Sheridan's two comedies abound so much in every quality that contributes to constitute excellence in this species of writing, as to leave us nothing to regret, but that he did not write more. "The Rivals" is generally regarded as inferior to the subsequent production of its author; it probably is so, but it is not greatly inferior. In the vis comica, it perhaps excels even "the School for Scandal;" and the exquisite scenes between Falkland and Julia stand alone to attest the author's power of commanding tears, as well as smiles.

The powers of Goldsmith, as a dramatist, have seldom been estimated as highly as they deserve, notwithstanding the popularity which still attends the representation of " She Stoops to Conquer." The plot of this comedy is, indeed, somewhat farcical; but the characters are drawn with all that truth, force, and genuine English humour, which Goldsmith exhibited whenever he painted character. Tony Lumpkin alone, that glorious compound of ignorance, conceit, vulgarity, and mischief, would be sufficient to redeem any play from total condemnation. The comic personages which surround him are little inferior to himself; and "She Stoops to Conquer" is certainly one of the most amusing comedies in the English language. It seems difficult to account for the total neglect which, for some years, has attended the other admirable comedy of this author. "The Good-natured Man" seems in no respect inferior to the last-mentioned play, except in the want of a female character of importance. The rich comic humour which pervades it, and the valuable moral lessons which it inculcates, render it worthy of being rescued from the oblivion into which it has fallen. Honeywood, Croaker, and Lofty, are all admirable characters; and, supported by actors of talent, could not fail of rendering the play attractive.

We could wish to see it revived in some theatre, the dimensions of which would allow the audience a chance of seeing and hearing it; and, although our province is not to cast plays, but to criticize them, we cannot forbear suggesting that Mr. Terry possesses every requisite for an efficient repre sentative of Old Croaker.

:

Mr. Cumberland continued to write during so long a period, that it is difficult to know where to place him he always wrote like a gentleman and a scholar, but the characteristic of his productions is elegant feebleness. Most of his dramas contain some good sentimental writing, but they all exhibit a want of power. If Dr. Johnson's definition be admitted, that "comedy is such a view of human nature as excites mirth,' Cumberland was not a writer of comedy.

Mrs. Cowley's productions are light and elegant. The character of Letitia Hardy, though somewhat extravagant, displays a species of beauty which could only have been delineated by a female pen. The elegance of Mrs. Cowley's dramas may perhaps be the reason that they are no longer popular. Since the character of a gentleman went out of fashion, and was superseded by the lounger, the ruffian, the exquisite, and the various other species ejusdem generis, the Doricourts and Beauchamps are become unintelligible to a great portion of the audience, and are regarded with as much wonder as if they were the inhabitants of another planet.

"The Heiress," by General Burgoyne, independent of its dramatic merit, which is considerable, is remarkable as being the last legitimate comedy of the nineteenth century. From this time, barbarism seems to have overspread the stage: a series of dramas were introduced, which the ingenuity of Polonius himself would have been unable to refer to any known class; they belonged neither to "tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, or historical-pastoral. These performances were, for the most part, as contemptible in their execution, as they were extravagant in their charac ter. With the exception of one author, whom we shall shortly name, Mrs. Inchbald and Mr. Holcroft are the only writers, in a period of about twenty years, who can claim from the candid critic any thing but unqualified contempt. Each of these writers is now remembered only by a single play. "Every One has His Fault," by Mrs. Inchbald, although it possesses a large share of the prevalent vices, is yet greatly superior to the inane and frivolous productions by which it is surrounded; but the comic parts are not sufficiently comic, and the serious parts are more than sufficiently serious; the latter, too, consist principally in the delineation of mere physical suffering, and are therefore repugnant in themselves to