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for one of the ladies? Had she not learned her part?—Indeed it was so whispered. Some of the songs were beautiful, and they were all beautifully sung; but the selection might, we think, have been more judiciously made. Dowton, as Falstaff, is a buck of the first order; indeed, where Shakspeare was allowed a chance, we were highly amused-but the atupon

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tempt to put John the gentleman" failed, as it invariably does.

George Colman, the younger, has been appointed the Reader of Plays in the Licencer's Office; and his "first step has been on Henry's head." Poor Mr. Shee, the portrait painter and poet, having concocted a Tragedy, and what is more, having succeeded with the Manager in procuring it to be accepted, has had his little bud nipped by George Colman the younger. The Poet has addressed the following letter to the public:

Mr. Editor The new tragedy of Alasco, which has been for some time in rehearsal at Covent-Garden theatre, has, I find, been withdrawn by the Manager of that esta

blishment, under the censure of the Lord Chamberlain's office. As the infliction of such a censure can be called for, or justified, only by some religious, moral, or political objection to its public appearance on the stage, and as the discredit of producing a work to which any of these objections can be honestly made, might, by conjecture, attach to some writer whose interests or feelings may suffer by the imputation, I think myself bound thus publicly to avow, that I am the author of the production in question, and solely responsible for whatever poetical or political delinquencies it may be found to contain.

In hitherto withholding my name, and submitting my work entirely to the disposal of Mr. Kemble, I was influenced only by literary diffidence; for I should consider myself as dishonoured indeed if I had ever written a line, which, in any circumstances, I should be either ashamed or afraid to

avow.

Those persons to whom I am known, will not readily believe me capable of composing a work, which could be justly charged as being in any respect inimical to the religious, moral, or political interests of my country.

The immediate publication of the play in question, will enable the public at large to decide, whether the unusual severity with which it has been visited, be the result of sound discretion, and laudable vigilance in the official guardians of dramatic purity, or a harsh, unnecessary, and injurious ex

ercise of authority, not more injurious to the interests and feelings of the author, than fatal in its principle to the character and independence of dramatic literature in this I remain, Sir,

country.

Your most obedient humble servant, MARTIN ARCHER SHEE. Cavendish-square, Feb. 18.

Alas! To be accepted by the Theatre, and then damned in little at the Lord Chamberlain's Office, is hard; "To be discarded thence!". Death in battle a man of spirit may bear, but death in this quiet stifling manner is not to be borne. First, "Shee wept in silence, and was Di. Do. Dum!"-but then, as if the lion came over him, he (qu. Shee?) rushed to his inkstand, drew an angry pen (remember he is a painter-militant, reader, and can draw a sword as ably as any man), and indited the above haughty and exculpatory epistle. The play will soon be printed, and then we shall see whether Shee has been wrong, or the younger Colman right; whether Shee's lines are white in refusing a licence, a liberty!as purity, or the conduct of George Broad Grins ought to be particular!

Since the insertion in the newspapers of the letter we have extracted, Mr. Shee has vented his anger a second time, incusting a curious little specimen of his Grace of Montrose's penmanship in the amber of his own clear style. Really we think Mr. Shee has been hardly dealt with; and, perhaps it would become a licenser to give some reason for putting his terrible veto upon a dramatic production, instead of silently crushing it in the egg. The serpent parts should be pointed out. This matter will cause as much bustle, in a short time, as the two parsons about their one shirt, of which Mr. Colman has given so correct an account. The following is letter the second:

Cavendish-square, Friday,
Feb. 20, 1824.

Sir,-As I understand an impression has been excited in the minds of some persons, that the new tragedy of Alasco has been interdicted on religious as well as political grounds, and as it is of some importance to me that those who interest themselves in its fate should not, for a moment, be left to suppose that the most vigilant malevolence could discover in any work of mine, even a pretext for such an imputation, I am obliged, reluctantly, to trespass

again on your attention, with a request that you will have the goodness to insert in your paper the following letter from the Lord Chamberlain of his Majesty's Household. When I tell you, Sir, that I have received this letter in answer to an appeal, in which I assert, in the face of those authorities that have thought fit to inflict on my character and interest so severe an injury, that my work contains" not one sentiment moral, religious, or political, of which an honest subject of this empire can justly disapprove, or which any honourable man, of any party, should be ashamed to avow," you will know how to appreciate the admissions in his Grace's letter; to which, in my own justification, I beg to direct the public attention:

(Copy.)

Grosvenor-square, Feb. 19. Sir,-Thinking Mr. Colman a very sufficient judge of his duty, and as I agree in his conclusion (from the account he has given me of the tragedy called Alasco), I do conclude, that at this time, without considerable omissions, the tragedy should not be acted; and whilst I am persuaded that your intentions are upright, I conceive that it is precisely for this reason (though it may not strike authors) that it has been the wisdom of the Legislature to have an examiner appointed, and power given to the Chamberlain of the Household to judge whether certain plays should be acted at all, or not acted at particular times.

I do not mean to enter into an argument with you, Sir, on the subject, but think that your letter, conceived in polite terms to me, calls upon me to return an answer, showing that your tragedy has been well

considered.

I remain, Sir, with esteem,

Your obedient servant, MONTROSE. To Martin Archer Shee, Esq. &c. &c.

From the above official letter, Sir, you will observe, that the Lord Chamberlain acknowledges the uprightness of my intentions. You will perceive also that his Grace neither asserts nor insinuates that my work contains one sentiment or expression, in itself morally, religiously, or politically objectionable, but expressly alleges the present time as the cause of its exclusion from the stage. But, Sir, the letter of the Lord Chamberlain excites reflections far more important than any which concern the interests of so humble an in'dividual as I am. We find from that letter, that the fiat of the newly-appointed examiner is irrevocable-that he rules lord paramount of the British drama, and that, in a question of appeal against the manner in which he exercises the duties of his of fice, the Lord Chamberlain thinks himself justified in taking the report of the officer

accused as the foundation of the judgment which he is called upon to pronounce.

publication of my play with all the expedi-
It now only remains for me, Sir, by the
tion of which its passage through the press
admits, to show what the particular senti-
ments are which the new dramatic censor
thinks unfit to be addressed to the ears of
Englishmen in a public theatre,-to offer
my humble production to the future can-
didate for tragic fame, as an example of
the delicacy and consideration which he
may expect from the judicious zeal of this
vigilant guardian of the morality and deco-
rum of the stage. I remain, Sir,

Your most obedient humble servant,
MARTIN ARCHER SHEE.

COUNTRY CRITICISM.

We have been tempted, as we have been this month indulging in theatrical curiosities, to make extracts from some very learned opinions which have lately fallen from the Judicial Bench in the West Countrée. Mr. Young appears to have been declaiming before the good people of Exeter to some purpose, if we may judge by the effect of his acting upon the great prose writers of that city. If this be the usual style in which the dramatic critics in Mr. Woolmer's Paper write, we should advise him to keep them in strait waistcoats during the time the Theatre is closed. Mr. Young, we believe, doth not disrelish commendatory prose; but, if he has swallowed the following, he is a bolder man than we took him for.

The Drama.-Exeter Theatre. The theme of our remarks this week, must be the performances of Mr. Young, assuredly one of the first tragedians of the age, a man, "take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again." There is a chasteness and vigour of intellect, a gracefulness in this great actor, in which he blazes forth a (theatrical) star, "veluti Georgium sidus inter ignes minores." "His voice is most musical in passages of continous melancholy-most potent in energetic declamation; it flows along in a full, deep, rapid, stream, or winds plaintively on through all the thought. In a part of mournful beauty he course of philosophic is perfectly delicious-the very personification of a melodious sigh; again in a proud, soldierly character, where there is one firm purpose, entirely his own; and, in a piece where he plays in a fiery spirit the declamation abounds in images of pomp and luxury, he displays a rich Oriental manner, which no one can rival.

His

mode of treading the stage, is firm, intelligent, and decisive; his action noble." -Mr. Young commenced his engagement with the character of Hamlet. His scene with the Queen Mother was a piece of brilliant invective; when the Ghost tells him "Speak to her, Hamlet," the subdued tones of his voice as, with his eye fixed on the spectre, and horror depicted on his countenance, he addressed her, "how is it with you, lady," was a moving sight. The soliloquy where Hamlet reprobates his own tardiness of action, was a fine specimen of passionate self-rebuke, and the speech on man, a piece of eloquence worthy the poet's thought. We could select a thousand beauties, but it would amplify our subject too much, as we should have to record so many more on each night. The persons who represented the other characters in this tragedy, were the same as performed with

Mr. Macready, a few weeks since; Jones was King!! and the Mother Queen-the youthful and interesting Miss Huddart.Of Age-to-morrow followed-one of the most lively and effective farces we know; an indisputable proof of which is that it has amused for years, and will continue to do so for seasons.

and this evening takes for his benefit the Last evening Mr. YOUNG played Lear; character of Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant, in The Man of the World, which will conclude his engagement; the box circle, as well as the upper, is taken for this great performer's benefit; in what circle is not box, the social, or the court? Mr. YOUNG sought after-whether the

There's a compliment for you! Enough to knock down a bullock!

THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED, A DRAMA;

BY LORD BYRON.

A TASTE has lately sprung up in these countries, from the due cultivation of which we may hope to derive great advantages, moral as well as literary; we mean-a taste for the monstrous. An importation, which took place some years ago, of the larger race of Hanoverian" small deer," has been frequently the theme of lamentation and seditious outcry with some of our gravest politicians, whose very seats at the council-board these nefarious quadrupeds have undermined; yet there are animals of another sort, much more enormous in size and far more terrific in aspect, proceeding also from the same fruitful fatherland of every thing hideous and unsightly, Germany to wit,-whose migration into Great Britain has rather been encouraged than deprecated. The son of a British peer has lately turned monster-monger, having translated one of those strange animals from the wilds of Saxe Weimar to Albemarle-street; it was bred up at the table of the poet Goethe with his

other children (more Alemannorum), has become very tame and docile under its present master, wears a collar inscribed with the letters F, A, U, S, T, and goes willingly to any stranger who has the least curiosity to examine it. Another of these monsters was introduced to the notice of the public, a short time since, under the auspices of an Irish Clergyman; it answered (we think) to the name of MELMOTH, stood for sale some months at the house of an eminent bookseller in this city, and was finally knocked on the head after having bitten two or three persons who were foolish enough to handle it. A third of the same brood was exhibited last season at the Lyceum in the Strand, where it performed several outlandish tricks to the great amusement of the spectators. The aforesaid Irish Clergyman had shown up an elder-brother of the monster above, at Drury Lane theatre, some time before; this fellow, whom his keeper used to call BERTRAM, drew great crowds to see

The Deformed Transformed, a Drama, by the Right Hon. Lord Byron. London 1824.

his performances, but a report coming to the Bishop of's ears, that he had mauled and otherwise maltreated (without any occasion) a beautiful young lady, the wife of one Count St. Aldobrand, his lordship refused to prefer his master to a living, judiciously observing that a keeper of wild beasts had no pretensions to be a rector over men. A certain illus trious Scottish Novelist is also suspected of concealing several monsters (though of another family) in his library; and it is even said that there is a design on foot among some of the fair sex, blues, authoresses, &c. in the present scarcity of lapdogs, to take a number of these pretty little German shock-monsters, as companions, in their stead. Upon the whole, we have observed that ever since the first print of Schiller's MOOR (a monster of great note and celebrity) appeared in our shop-windows, the imaginations of the English people have run mightily upon this sort of animal.

It is easy to perceive that this taste for the monstrous will be of infinite use in morality as well as in literature: 1°. In morality; because having once accustomed our minds to the beauty of the horrid, the unnatural, the grotesque-great, and our ears to the euphony of the blasphemous, the extravagant, the outrageous,--having familiarised ourselves to the company and conversation of felons, highwaymen, pirates, debauchees, witches, ghosts, dead-men, demons, devils, and to all their diabolical hyperbolical practices, we shall shortly grow so cunning in iniquity, that Satan himself, though he came in person as he did to Monk Lewis and Monk Ambrosio, will not be able to cajole us out of our sweet souls, or even of our little "pickers and stealers" to keep up the fire of purgatory; he will entrap none hereafter, but those who are not awake to his arts and chicanery, viz.-fools and little children (God pity them!): 2o. In literature; because, having once imbibed a taste for what is out of nature, the sphere of intellectual exertion will be thereby enlarged; and, having overstepped the narrow limits of truth and reality, we may expatiate at will in the boundless realms of extravagance and mental liber

tinism, for it is much easier to write contrary to all rules of propriety, than according to one.

Lord Byron is a man peculiarly gifted to succeed in the monstrous; his insatiable thirst of freshness and extraordinariness, his ravenous appetite for all that is outrè, eccentric, præter-human, and unique, his liberal principles moreover, whose essence consists in setting at nought all laws but the law of lawlessness, all rules but the rule of irregularity, all canons whatever, theological, moral, political, or poetical, by which we, poorspirited common-place creatures, are content to regulate our lives, conduct, and writings, these qualifications admirably fit out his lordship for an adept in the serious monstrous, the strange sublime. Besides, his long residence in a foreign land, at the wrong side of the Alps for every thing pure or chastely noble, where our English sense and sobriety are altogether tramontane, ridiculous, and unintelligible, together with his lately-imbibed idolatry for German genius,-are highly favourable to the improvement of a taste for the falsetto fine and burlesque terrific. But if there were any doubt of his lordship's abilities in this line, the Deformed Transformed would dispel it in their favour; we will attempt a brief outline of this fresh monstrosity.

The reader has no doubt often read or heard of the Devil and Dr. Faustus; this is but a new birth of the same unrighteous couple, who are christened, however, by the noble hierophant who presides over the infernal ceremony,-Julius Cæsar and Count Arnold.

The drama opens with a scene between the latter, who is to all appearance a well-disposed young man, of a very deformed person, and his mother; this good lady, with somewhat less maternal piety about her than adorns the motherape in the fable,-turns her dutiful incubus of a son, head and shoulders out of doors, to gather wood, and leave a clear house for his fair-faced brothers and their mamma. Arnold, upon this, proceeds incontinent to kill himself, by falling, after the manner of Brutus, on his wood-knife: he is however piously dissuaded from this guilty act, by-Whom does the reader think? A monk, perhaps, or a me

thodist-preacher; no, but by the Devil himself in the shape of a tall black man, who rises, like an African water-god, out of a fountain. To this stranger, after the exchange of a few sinister compliments, Arnold, without more ado, sells his soul, for the privilege of wearing the beautiful form of Achilles. In the midst of all this childishness and absurdity, we still however recognize the master-mind of our noble but vagabond poet; his bold and beautiful spirit flashes at intervals through the surrounding horrors, into which he has chosen to plunge after Goethe, his magnus Apollo, the sun of darkness, as he might in his own magnificent jargon be styled. Whilst the Stranger mingles some of Arnold's blood with the wåter of the fountain, he repeats this incantation:

Stranger. Shadows of beauty!
Shadows of power!
Rise to your duty-

This is the hour!
Walk lovely and pliant

From the depth of this fountain,
As the cloud-shapen giant

Bestrides the Hartz mountain.
Come as ye were,

That our eyes may behold
The model in air

Of the form I will mould,
Bright as the Iris

When ether is spanned ;-
Such his desire is,

(Pointing to ARNOLD.

Such my command! Demons heroic

Demons who wore

The form of the Stoic

Or Sophist of yore

Or the shape of each Victor,
From Macedon's boy

To each high Roman's picture,
Who breathed to destroy-
Shadows of beauty!
Shadows of power!
Up to your duty-

This is the hour!

(Various phantoms arise from the waters, and pass in succession before the Stranger and ARNOLD. (P. 17.)

Amongst these phantoms are Julius Cæsar, Alcibiades, Socrates, Mark Anthony, Demetrius Poliorcetes, and lastly Achilles

The god-like son of the sea-goddess, The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks As beautiful and clear as the amber waves Of rich Pactolus rolled o'er sands of gold,

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Trembled in his who slew her brother. So He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as Greece looked her last upon her best, the instant (P. 23.)

Ere Paris' arrow flew.

With all our anger against this perversely-spirited man, how the heart melts in kindness and pity towards him, when we find him still so alive to every thing that is beautiful, sweet, and pathetic! We have often seen the group, to which he alludes in the above passage, displayed with the highest powers of the pencil on canvass; but in the one word "trembled he adds a feature to the picture worth all the rest, and awakens a feeling in our bosoms which no pencil but that of a poet could excite,-of a poet great and glorious as himself.

The following extracts may continue the thread of our epitome :—

Stranger. I too love a change.
Arnold.

Dusky, but not uncomely.
Stranger.

Your aspect is

If I chose

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