NOTES,

&c. &c

(a) THIS is no idle parade of flattery, "conjured up to serve occasion of poetic pomp." A great Critic of antiquity advises a writer, when about to deliver any noble or elevated sentiment, to pause, and ask himself, how would Homer or Demosthenes have expressed such a thought? There can be no doubt of the excellence of this canon, and it is particularly exemplified in the instance of the great Critic himself, who "is himself the great sublime he draws." The Rhapsodist confesses that he has, almost constantly, with what sort of success the reader will determine, applied the precept to the example of ARISTUS.

(b) This we think not an inappropriate epithet for the mimicks of

the great Poet, who "imitate him and Nature so abominably.”

L

(c) "The pit" is used here, not in reference to rank or local situation, but as comprising all those, who hear with their own ears, see with their own eyes, and judge from their own understanding. In like manner, the boxes and galleries comprehend the great and little vulgar, who do not seem possessed of these faculties. It is manifest, from the whole text, that the theatre is referred to, figuratively, for the whole literary world, composed of writers and critics, good, bad, and indifferent; for the Rhapsodist soon takes his leave of the drama.

(d) There does not seem to be any thing hyperbolical in this assertion. Poetry is composed, not merely to be read, but for recitation. We remember a curious instance, which will illustrate the truth of this position. We know a lady of excellent taste and judgment, and with an exquisite ear for music, but who candidly confessed that she took no pleasure in poetry. A friend of her's, in the habit of tracing effects to causes, found it extremely difficult to reconcile this acknowledged insensibility to the charms of verse, with such a predisposition of the mind and organ of hearing, especially as he remarked that she had a quick and strong perception of the beauties of theatrical declamation. He at length observed, that, in reading, she employed the eye only, and he asked her whether she did the same in the perusal of verse. swer in the affirmative removed at once every difficulty. If verse be not essential to poetry, it is the very first of her handmaids, and lends her all the ease, grace, and dignity, that dress can bestow. Whatever

Her an

an ingenious critic may have said, there is no such thing as verse to the eye; we might, with equal propriety, talk of music to the eye; each may be noted on paper; each may be perused with the eye; but nothing short of an appeal to the ear can make us fully sensible of the charms of either. This reasoning was practically confirmed in the instance we refer to, as the lady in question became fully sensible of the beauties of versification, when read to her with proper attention to metre, cadence, pause, and intonation.

The same mode of reasoning will convince us of the absolute necessity of representation to give full effect to dramatic composition. As poetry is composed for recitation, dramatic poetry is composed for scenic representation. We may remark, in reference to this subject, that the enthusiastic admiration of Shakespear was not apparent until the days of Garrick; he made the Nation fully sensible of the innate worth of their immortal Poet. It was not until then, that they sat in breathless silence,

fearful to lose

Some note of Shakespear's music from his lips,
Or some of Shakespear's beauties, that transpired,
At every flash, from his far-beaming eye.

We cannot conclude this note, without adverting to an opinion, which would be beneath notice, if it were not carried into practical effect by a Nation, to whose modes of every kind Europe has paid too

was à

much deference. The opinion we advert to is, that verse should be read as much as possible like prose; if this be true, it would seem to follow that it should have been written, likewise, as much as possible like prose; and as it was quite possible to make it completely prose, all the trouble that poets give themselves in "building the lofty rhyme" pure perte. But of all the Nations upon the earth, the French were the last that we should have expected to adopt this opinion, because their versification can least spare any of its adventitious 'ornaments. Divest it of rhyme, and it becomes not only mere prose, but, in most instances, very indifferent prose. Their language has scarcely any poetic idiom, and their verse is distinguished from their prose only by inversion of phrase, measure, and rhyme. The first of these is tolerated, merely out of favour to the two last, and without them must be intolerable. Yet now, it seems, an indispensable requisite in a French actor is, that he should pronounce the versification of CORNEILLE, RACINE, and MOLIERE in a sort of prose guindée, which must offend the taste, and shock the ear of any man, who is possessed of either.

(e) Such as, I've an idea-keep moving says I to my spouse, and says my spouse to I, and others innumerable of this description. These form the basis of modern comedy, which, by the assistance, illapplied, of some popular actor, is performed two or three nights in London, with unbounded applause;" is then sent to Dublin and

Edinburgh; and having fretted its busy hour upon the stage, with all the provincial companies, takes its place quietly upon the shelf and is never more heard, or thought of. This is so true, that we are thoroughly convinced that a candidate for dramatic fame might safely venture to bring forward one of those scenic mummies, as an original composition of his own; and, merely changing its name, renew its ephemeral existence, by having it played for a few nights more with "unbounded applause." We recommend this idea out of charity, both to the living and the dead; indeed it is the only chance that the latter have of a resurrection. We cannot help thinking that the tone, style, and general character of our modern drama, most especially of our comedy, have had a decisive effect in producing that depravity of taste, which is so conspicuous in other walks of literature. To make such -plays, since we must call them so, the subject of criticism, would be like "breaking a butterfly upon the wheel." They do not reach that degree of mediocrity, which would justify taking notice of them, save in the aggregate, and in general terms. They, for the most part, depend, for their humour, upon reference to some fashionable or popular cant, and for their manners, upon the mannerism of the individual performers of the day. Thus, our posterity, if they consult merely the scenic picture of the present day, will have no idea of what Englishmen actually were in the nineteenth century; but they will have a tolerably clear conception of Jack Bannister, Joe Munden, &c. The author consults not the state of society, but of "the green-room;" he exhibits not "the form and pressure of the age," but of "the company." One of our histrionic dignitaries will scarcely undertake a new charac