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affection for the name of Shakespeare, Mr Siddons at once gratified his own taste, and paid the most acceptable compliment to that of the public, by bringing forward, in the most tasteful and appropriate style, the plays of our national bard. Accordingly, upon the Winter's Tale, and, shortly after, upon the Tempest, were bestowed all the advantages which scenery, dress, and decoration could impart. Every thing was executed with full attention to characteristic propriety, and with a correctness, beauty, and magnificence, which could not be exceeded in any theatre of equal capacity. Nor was the acting unworthy of the ornamental department. The peculiar abilities of each performer were generally well considered and judiciously applied; a minute attention was every where paid to the necessary business of the scene; and a most laudable accuracy of study exhibited throughout all the characters. In the Winter's Tale, Leontes was played by Mr Siddons, Camillo by Mr Archer, Antigonus by Mr Terry, Florizel by Mr Putnam, and Autolycus by Mr Berry. Mrs Young was the representative of Hermione, Mrs Siddons of Paulina, and Mrs Vining of Perdita. From the general praise which is justly due to the correct and impressive exertions of all, it is unnecessary to select any one as the mark of particular commendation, with the exception, perhaps, of Mrs H. Siddons, who, for the first time, undertook the character of Paulina. delicacy of her figure and habitual prettiness of manners did not exactly assimilate with our notions of the dauntless virago, who scolds the king

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and bullies the courtiers; yet, by the force of vigorous conception and true discrimination, aided by very strong feeling, she gave an energy and pathos to this rash and fiery but nerous and amiable champion of domestic virtue, that equally surprised and delighted us.

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The hall of trial and the bower of Perdita were from the pencil of Mr Nasmyth, and did credit to his talents and his taste, with the exception of an absurd endeavour to carry on the appearance of a crowd by means of painted groups of figures in the galleries of the trial scene. The illusory effect, if any, can be but for the duration of an instant; and the deception, once observed, is an object of perpetual dissatisfaction.

In the Tempest, the scenery (throughout entirely new) was the work of Mr Williams,* an artist hitherto unknown to fame, but giving good promise of deserving it. The landscapes were wild and picturesque, the bold fantastic forms of uncultivated nature were well imagined, and the character of mysterious solitude well expressed. Mr Williams's deficiency seems chiefly to be in his execution. There is a coarse and hasty daubing (too coarse even for scenepainting) frequently observable in his work, that looks more like the perplexed and clumsy scrambling of ignorance to conceal its deficiencies, than the indolence of a scientific and dexterous artist, willing to spare his labour. He is evidently wanting, too, in the principles of his art, as well as in the finer dexterities of execution; and perspective and architecture should be the objects of his serious study. The Tempest was thus

* Not Mr Hugh William Williams, an eminent water-colour artist of this city, but Mr J. F. Williams, whose talents are devoted chiefly, if not exclusively, to the decorations of the theatre.

east:-Prospero, Mr Terry; Hippolyto, Mrs Young; Ferdinand, Mr Putnam; Trinculo, Mr Mason; Stephano, Mr Kelly; Caliban, Mr Berry; Miranda, Mrs Vining; Dorinda, Mrs H. Siddons; and Ariel, Mrs Penson.

It should perhaps be noticed, that, notwithstanding all this anxious attention and costly preparation which Mr Siddons thus lavished upon the productions of Shakespeare, these two plays met with a reception and encouragement rather cold and doubt. ful when compared to that which was given to the Foundling of the Forest, and other pieces of a similar or inferior worth. The first sensation of our minds on such an occasion, fond of and familiar as they are with the unparalleled excellence of Shakespeare's compositions, is astonishment, mixed with an inclination to censure the taste of the age which Dan reject such rare and powerful writings for the efforts of Dimond or Reynolds. Mr Siddons has done his duty; he has made trial of our taste, and he is henceforth justified in yielding to its current ;

“The drama's laws the drama's patrons give."

and the public must not blame a manager who only obeys the necessity which themselves impose, when he produces the ephemeral and high-seasoned exhibitions which excite curiosity by their novelty, and attract the greatest numbers of spectators by the glitter of decoration, by pomp, and noise, and nonsense.

Something, however, may be said in defence of the public. There is a great degree of error in our censure of it, which arises from confounding the intellect of the closet with the mental perceptions exercised in a

theatre. A drama may (and many of Shakespeare's do) contain profound knowledge of nature, great truth of character, unbounded luxuriance of imagination, the highest originality of poetic invention and harmony of composition, and yet not possess that inferior, perhaps, but necessary quality which is requisite to make them, in representation, the idols of popular admiration. It may be easily conceived, we think, that a play combining all the above excelÎencies, may be so addressed to certain remote and considerative faculties of the mind, abstruse and reflective perceptions of the intellect, as to require the familiarity of private meditation before they produce that effect, which, to ensure them success in public, they must create instantaneously; that is, before they are capable of exciting emotion, of commanding our sympathies, and of becoming the inmates of our hearts. A composition may also call for some factitious character of taste, some superinduced state of the feelings, founded on peculiar modes of education, or particular and favourite pursuits of study, before its worth can be perceived and relished; and thus contract the circle of its popular influence, and elude those more universal and superficial feelings, those more natural and immediate operations of the mind, on which theatrical success is strongly founded; and which, if well addressed, will ensure popularity to a very moderate production; when, if neglected, the finest poetry will be in danger of public disregard. Again-characters, their situations, their sentiments and feelings, though drawn with the best powers of geni us, may, by the romance of poetical imagination, be removed from the touch of human sympathy, and car

ried out of the boundaries of human interest; or, if they still should be of this world, they may be of features so delicate in themselves, or so exquisitely refined in their portraiture, or so careless in their arrangement, or inconsistent in their combination, as to become, in spite of poetry, tedious, and ineffective. Of the first class, we consider "The Tempest" to be an example, and of the second, "The Winter's Tale." It was well said of the former, by a critic of the day, when it was first represented here this season, "that though exquisitely poetical, and abounding in the finest and loveliest images, it is not an interesting play in action; for Prospero is a grand and elevated personage, removed from the intercourse of humanity, and sublimely familiar with the visionary existencies of another world, delivering the most wonderous sentiments that ever were conceived in the loftiest language that ever was uttered; but he is so high above all his co-agents as to speak almost in soliloquies; and while his fellow-mortals are the mere creatures of his will, the supernatural agents are unfortunately brought so constantly before the spectators, as entirely to lose that shadow and mystery necessary to the interest and credibility of such airy beings."

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which all the subsequent interest of the piece depends, and by the loves of Florizel and Perdita (though exquisitely beautiful and true) being too fine in nature, and too softly poetical in execution, to be allied to general feeling, or tangible by common sympathies; to this may be added the numerous variety of characters, quite unnecessary and unrelated to the progress of the play, which confuse the mind, and impertinently distract its attention still further from the main business and the principal persons:

These are a few of the causes which may serve to account for the ill success of these two plays; and, if we are right in our theory, it will help to explain, to what those plays of Shakespeare, which still keep the stage, owe their undiminished attrac-. tion. Macbeth, Lear, Othello, &c. &c., to equal excellence of every high.. er denomination, add those qualities which go directly to the excitement of popular approbation. They seize the perceptions of the heart and mind, without the necessity of any reflex operations; and they possess the rarer merits of holding them still faster after such operations have confirmed our first sensations of delight.

To Mr Siddons, however, it is our wish to pay every acknowledgement for his laudable and liberal efforts to extend and improve our state of dramatic entertainment.

On Monday, January 29th, 1810, was produced the Family Legend, the avowed production of Miss Joanna Baillic. Since the appearance of Douglas, the enthusiasm of the Scottish audience had not been awakened by a story of their native land from the pen of a native poet, and they came prepared to receive and support, with generous and kindred cordiality,

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Helen, daughter of Argyll, has been given by her father to Duart, the chief of Clangillian, in order to cement a peace which had lately taken place between these two powerful clans, who had hitherto long nourished against each other a deadly feud. The lurking feelings of hostility, however, still rankled in the breasts of many of the leaders of Clangillian, upon whose stern and ferocious souls the mild virtues and gentle mediations of the fair bride could work no change. Her husband, unfortunately "of a soft, unsteady, yielding temper," is little able to exert his authority as chieftain, to influence the determinations of his fierce and rugged vassals. Benlora, a powerful leader, and " a savage, gloomy man," had been taken in as bush, and, "the peace ful treaty of the clans unheeded," kept in durance vile by a Campbell for two long years. On his release, he finds the marriage of his own chief with the detested Helen of Argyll had bound his hands, and removed from him all hope of honourable vengeance for his wrongs. Vengeance, however, he is resolved to have, per fas aut nefas, and, along with Lochtarish and Glenfadden, two subordinate villains, he contrives to work upon the inferior and irresolute Duart, till he complies with their revengeful and savage purpose of exposing Helen to destruction. While these machinations are yet unaccomplished, John of Lorne the brother, and De Grey, the former lover of Helen (whose hopes had been sacrificed by the cruel policy of the present match,) arrive, in disguise, at the castle of Clan

gillian, with an intent to confirm or to dis pel certain doubts of her connubial happiness, which they entertained. De Grey keeps at a respectful distance, presence of his sister, finds “all is but Lorne, admitted by stealth to the not well." Helen, however, with praiseworthy constancy, determines to adhere to her conjugal duties, and, in answer to his affectionate and solicitous inquiries, asserts, that "Clangillian's wife has no grievances to tell the Lord of Lorne." Thus confirmed in their suspicions, but baffled in their hopes of relieving her by her own virtue, the brother and lover reluctantly leave the castle. At this period the machinations of the conspirators are completed; and the weak-minded Duart, harassed by their clamorous expostulations, alarmed by their threats, and terrified by supernatural prodigies, yields, after some faint struggles, to the furious demand of his clan, to have Helen resigned to their hands. He still makes some feeble intercession for her life, and receives from them the dark and equivocal promise that they" will not shed her blood." Helen is accordingly forced away by the unrelenting vassals, regardless of her cries and lamentations, and exposed upon a barren rock, which at high water is covered by the sea, and left to await the terrific and inevitable approach of death. In this situation she is accidentally discovered and rescued by De Grey and a party of fishermen, and is borne home to the castle of Argyll. Duart shortly afterwards follows, accompanied by Benlora and the other conspirators, to pay a visit of condolence to his father-in-law upon her pretended death, of which and of her burial he has previously sent a fabricated account. The old earl receives him with ceremonious observance; and Lorne, with characteristic vehemence of contempt. Persisting in his falsehood that Helen died in his arms, he and his vassals are introduced to a splendid feast, where Helen is suddenly brought before them. Confounded and conscience-struck, he has no defence or palliation, and, betaking himself to the last resort of detected guilt, is killed in single combat by

John of Lorne. The other conspirators are carried off to punishment, and the piece concludes with the triumph of the house of Argyll, and the prospect of a union between De Grey and Helen, to whose gratitude he had endeared himself, by preserving her own life and that of her infant son, which, likewise, was threatened by the feudal hatred of the Clangillian party.

Such is the outline of the plot of this tragedy. Simple in its construction and uninterrupted in its progress by the intervention of any episodical characters or counteracting incidents, the catastrophe is carly foreseen, or, more strictly speaking, is very early completed; for the preservation of Helen, which certainly forms the main interest of the piece, takes place at the end of the third act; and the fourth and fifth are employed in the visit of the husband to the castle of Argyle, and the detection and punishment of his guilt.This we conceive to be a fault; the mind, relieved from its principal anxiety, attends, notwithstanding a great deal of exquisite poetry, with languor to a sequel which is necessarily and confidently expected, and which, though requisite to be exhibited, is too insufficient and subordinate to occupy so great a proportion of the play. Many schemes might have been suggested to have prolonged the interest; and the rescue of the heroine, with the doom of her persecutors, might both have been contained in the last act.

On the nature and extent of Miss Baillie's poetical talent it is unnecessary for us to enlarge, after the ample notice which it has received in our last year's Review of Literature. The present production exhibits the same excellencies and the same defects which characterise her other tragedies; and, by ranking among

what she would term her miscellaneous plays, it is relieved from disadvantages to which those are inevitably liable, which proceed on a systematic determination to illustrate a single passion. In exhibiting the birth and pourtraying the progress of any individual passion, intended to absorb all the other component feelings of the human breast, and stamp the ruling character of the person, nature will frequently be sacrificed to theory, and the part become more like a metaphysical analysis than a dramatic specification of character; and the poetry will be rather an ingenious display of the poet's own knowledge of the human heart and mind, than the exemplification of it by the natural language of passion from the character itself: we shall rather be apt to feel as if we were receiving instruction from the author, than as being left to instruct ourselves by the observation and study of the dramatic personages. That Miss Baillie has been thus prevented from drawing character with the genuine power of dramatic reality, we are afraid may be deduced from the failure which attends her pieces when put into representation. Great attention is paid to, and great intel lectual delight received from, the language, the poetry, and sentiments, by those minds which are capable of attending; but little general sympathy is excited in the feelings of an audience, and that concentrated attention necessary to the success of a drama soon wearies and languishes. If, however, we may find it difficult to discover many examples of the language of immediate and characteristic passion in her plays, they certainly abound in the most felicitous and exquisite descriptions of it.

To her belongs the praise of

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