fered to continue such as that another must necessarily arise out of it, and over it? Society, my dear sir, in its present state, is a hydra. Cut off one head, another presently sprouts out, and your labor is to begin again. At best, you can only hope to find it a polypus, where, by cutting off the head, you are sometimes fortunate enough to find a tail (which answers all the same purposes) spring up in its place. This, we know, has been the case in France, the only country in which the great experiment of regeneration has been tried with anything like a fair chance of success.

"Destroy the frame of society, decompose its parts,—and set the elements fighting one against another, insulated and individual, every man for himself (stripped of prejudice, of bigotry, and of feeling for others) against the remainder of his species, and there is then some hope of a totally new order of things, of a radical reform in the present corrupt system of the world.

"The German theatre appears to proceed on this judicious plan. And I have endeavored to contribute my mite towards extending its effect and its popularity. There is one obvious advantage attending this mode of teaching, - that it can proportion the infractions of law, religion, and morality, which it recommends, to the capacity of a reader or spectator. If you tell a student, or an apprentice, or a merchant's clerk, of the virtue of a Brutus, of the splendor of a Lafayette, you may excite his desire to be equally conspicuous; but how is he to set about it? Where is he to find the tyrant to murder? How is he to provide the monarch to be imprisoned, and the national guards to be reviewed on a white horse? But paint the beauties of forgery to him in glowing colors, — show him that the presumption of virtue is in favor of rapine, and occasional murder on the highway, -and he presently understands you. The highway is at hand -the till or the counter is within reach. These haberdashers' heroics 'come home to the business and the bosoms of men.' And you may readily make ten footpads, where you would not have materials nor opportunity for a single tyrannicide.

"The subject of the piece which I herewith transmit to you, is taken from common or middling life; and its merit is that of teaching the most lofty truths in the most humble style, and deducing them from the most ordinary occurrences. Its moral is

obvious and easy, and is one frequently inculcated by the German dramas which I have had the good fortune to see; being no other than 'the reciprocal duties of one or more husbands to one or more wives,' and 'to the children who may happen to arise out of this complicated and endearing connection.' The plot, indeed, is formed by the combination of the plots of two of the most popular of these plays (in the same way as Terence was wont to combine two stories of Menander's). The characters are such as the admirers of these plays will recognize for their familiar acquaintances. There are the usual ingredients of imprisonments, post-houses and horns, and appeals to angels and devils. I have omitted only the swearing, to which English ears are not yet sufficiently accustomed."

PLOT

Rogero, son of the late minister of the Count of Saxe-Weimar, having, while he was at college, fallen desperately in love with Matilda Pottingen, daughter of his tutor, Doctor Engelbertus Pottingen, Professor of Civil Law, and Matilda evidently returning his passion, the Doctor, to prevent ill consequences, sends his daughter on a visit to her aunt in Wetteravia, where she becomes acquainted with Casimere, a Polish officer, who happens to be quartered near her aunt's, and has several children by him.

Roderic, Count of Saxe-Weimar, a prince of a tyrannical and licentious disposition, has for his Prime Minister and favorite, Gaspar, a crafty villain, who has risen to his post by first ruining and then putting to death Rogero's father. Gaspar, apprehensive of the power and popularity which the young Rogero may enjoy at his return to court, seizes the occasion of his intrigue with Matilda (of which he is apprised officially by Doctor Pottingen) to procure from his master an order for the recall of Rogero from college, and for committing him to the care of the Prior of the Abbey of Quedlinburgh, a priest rapacious, savage, and sensual, and devoted to Gaspar's interests, - sending at the same time private orders to the Prior to confine him in a dungeon.

Here Rogero languishes many years. His daily sustenance is administered to him through a grated opening at the top of the cavern, by the landlady of the Golden Eagle at Weimar, with whom Gaspar contracts, in the Prince's name, for his supper, - intending, and more than once endeavoring, to corrupt the waiter to mingle poison with the food, in order that he may get rid of Rogero forever.

In the mean time Casimere, having been called away from the neighborhood of Matilda's residence to other quarters, becomes enamored of, and marries Cecilia, by whom he has a family, and whom he likewise deserts after a few years, on pretence of business which calls him to Kamschatka.

Doctor Pottingen, now grown old and infirm, and feeling the want of

his daughter's society, sends young Pottingen in search of her, with strict injunctions not to return without her, and to bring with her either her present lover Casimere, or — should that not be possible - Rogero himself, if he can find him; the Doctor having set his heart upon seeing his children comfortably settled before his death. Matilda, about the same period, quits her aunt's in search of Casimere; and Cecilia, having been advertised by an anonymous letter of the falsehood of his Kamschatkan journey, sets out in the post-wagon on a similar pursuit.

It is at this point of time the play opens, with the accidental meeting of Cecilia and Matilda at the inn at Weimar. Casimere arrives there soon after, and falls in first with Matilda, and then with Cecilia. Successive éclaircissements take place, and an arrangement is finally made by which the two ladies are to live jointly with Casimere.

Young Pottingen, wearied with a few weeks' search, during which he has not been able to find either of the objects of it, resolves to stop at Weimar and wait events there. It so happens that he takes up his lodging in the same house with Puddincrantz and Beefinstern, two English noblemen, whom the tyranny of King John has obliged to fly from their country, and who, after wandering about the continent for some time, have fixed their residence at Weimar.

The news of the signature of Magna Charta arriving, determines Puddincrantz and Beefinstern to return to England. Young Pottingen opens his case to them, and entreats them to stay to assist him in the object of his search. This they refuse; but, coming to the inn where they are to set off for Hamburg, they meet Casimere, from whom they had both received many civilities in Poland.

Casimere, by this time, tired of his "Double Arrangement," and having learnt from the waiter that Rogero is confined in the vaults of the neighboring Abbey for love, he resolves to attempt his rescue, and to make over Matilda to him as the price of his deliverance. He communicates his scheme to Puddingfield and Beefington, who agree to assist him; as also does young Pottingen. The waiter of the inn, proving to be a Knight Templar in disguise, is appointed leader of the expedition. A band of troubadours, who happen to be returning from the Crusades, and a company of Austrian and Prussian grenadiers returning from the Seven Years' War, are engaged as troops.

The attack on the Abbey is made with great success. The Count of Weimar and Gaspar, who are feasting with the Prior, are seized and beheaded in the refectory. The Prior is thrown into the dungeon from which Rogero is rescued. Matilda and Cecilia rush in. The former recognizes Rogero, and agrees to live with him. The children are produced on all sides, and young Pottingen is commissioned to write to his father, the Doctor, to detail the joyful events which have taken place, and to invite him to Weimar to partake of the general felicity.

APPENDIX

THE POEMS OF OSSIAN

TRANSLATED BY

JAMES MACPHERSON

1760, 1762

[The Ossianic "poems" are represented in an Appendix, as not being strictly a part of either the prose or the poetry of the eighteenth century. They were published by Macpherson as translations: first, Fragments of Ancient Poetry, collected in the Highlands, in 1760; then Fingal, an ancient epic poem in six books, together with several other poems composed by Ossian, the son of Fingal, in 1762; lastly Temora, another epic, in 1763. Their genuineness was early suspected (see the extracts above from Gray's Letters, page 328, and Boswell's Johnson, page 643), and the exact character of the writings has never been determined with precision. It is now generally agreed, however, that while Macpherson found his materials in Galic literature the arrangement and style of his "translations" were largely his own. The following extracts include the close of Carthon (including the famous "Hymn to the Sun"), the opening of Book 1 of Fingal, and the greater portion of The Death of Cuthullin.]

CARTHON

.. FINGAL was sad for Carthon; he commanded his bards to mark the day, when shadowy autumn returned; and often did they mark the day and sing the hero's praise. "Who comes so dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's shadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand! his eyes are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Carthon, king of swords! The people fall! See how he strides, like the sullen ghost of Morven! But there he lies, a goodly oak which sudden blasts overturned! When shalt thou rise, Balclutha's joy? When, Carthon, shalt thou arise? Who comes so dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's shadowy cloud?"

Such were the words of the bards, in the day of their mourning. Ossian often joined their voice, and added to their song. "My soul has been mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days of his youth. And thou, O Clessammor! where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot his wound? Flies he on clouds with thee? I feel the sun, O Malvina! Leave me to my rest. Perhaps they may come to my dreams; I think I hear a feeble voice. The beam of heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon; I feel it warm around! O thou that