THE SEVEN SISTERS, SEVEN daughters had Lord Archibald, Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully; Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, Right onward to the Scottish strand Beside a grotto of their own, Of your fair household, father Knight, Away the seven fair Campbells fly, With menace proud, and insult loud, Cried they, "Your father loves to roam; The empty house when he comes home; Some close behind, some side by side, A lake was near; the shore was steep; Sing, mournfully, oh ! mournfully, The stream that flows out of the lake, ADVICE. YE wives and ye husbands who both wish to see Your conjugal scenes from all skirmishes free; In this doth the secret of harmony lie, Ne'er begin a duet e'en a half note too high, Ye ladies, tho' vex'd your mild spirits may be, Yet kindly beware of a keen rapartee; For peace's soft bosom those arrows must hit, Which doubly are pointed with anger and wit. Ye husbands, of argument chiefly beware, The bane of good humour which frightens the fair; Where reason's soft tones soon in passion are drown'd, While happiness trembles, and flies from the sound. O both have a care of all hasty replies, On hearing whose discord the bachelor cries, While snugly he smiles on himself and his cat, "The sharp notes of marriage are worse than the flat." In unison sweet let your voices agree, While both are maintain'd in the natural key; Thus love shall beat time with a conjugal kiss, And your skirmish be only the skirmish of bliss. H. THE FIRST IDEA OF BEAUTY. THE babe, emerging from its liquid bed, Now lifts in gelid air its nodding head; The light's first dawn, with trembling eyelids hails, With lungs unt ught arrests the balmy gales; Tries its new tongue in tones unknown, and hears The strange vibration with unpractis'd ears; Seeks with spread hands the bosom's velvet orbs, With closing lips the milky fount absorbs; And, as compress'd, the dulcet streams distil, Drinks warmth and fragrance from the living rill; Eyes with mute rapture every waving line, Prints with its coral lips the Paphian shrine, And learns, ere long, the perfect form confest, Ideal beauty, from it mother's breast. THE NEWS. FROM METASTASIO. On! sacred to the God of Light, For on thy trunk my darling's name shall bloom. Shall quit her cool translucent waves; E'en nymphs from mountain nooks, and pend ent caves, And rural godheads, shall combine, The woody natives of the plain, And oaks, in Alpine's wildness, bend to thee. No leafy wreath but thine, For thee may April long remain, And deck with clouds the sky; No luckless bird of sable wing, On thy green leaves shall rest; EPITAPH BY THE LATE DR. BEATTIE. ESCAP'D the gloom of mortal life, a soul Here leaves its mould'ring tenement of clay, Safe where no cares their whelming billows roll, No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray. Like thee I once have stemm'd the sea of life, Like thee have languish'd after empty joys, Like thee have labour'd in the stormy strife, Been griev'd for trifles, and amus'd with toys. Yet for awhile 'gainst Passion's threatful blast, Let steady Reason urge the struggling oar; Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore, Forget my frailties, thou art also frail; Forgive my lapses, for thyself may'st fall; Nor read unmoved my artless tender tale, I was a friend, a man, to thee, to all. THE ADMINISTRATION OF 1806. A Song, to the Tune of the “Tight little Island.” A SHORT time ago, as we all of us know, Pitt was plac'd at the head of the nation; But when he first went, the folks were content With a terrible Administration. Oh what an Administration, There never was such in the nation; Got in Whig blocks of wood, The broad-bottom'd Lord, never hinted a word And the charming Lord P-tty, who trips with Got up to the top of the nation. What a head to an Administration! It in P tty's head pops, as himself's fond of hops, He'd tax all the beer in the nation; But his tax soon fell dead, on the bier it was laid, His pig-iron a bore to the nation : But took no steps at all To figure in Administration. Billy W-ndh-m turned coat, with the wind he changed note, Nor bluster'd in sermonication; Nay, they're all chang'd good lack, so that Grey turned to black, How wick-ed an Administration. Yet this was the Administration, And Abb-tt look'd pleased, With this terrible Administration. There was Sammy the brewer, he thought, to be sure, A title he'd get for his wrath, Sir; He fermented away, with his charges so gay, But his hog's-head gåve nothing but froth, Sir. What an error in Sam's calculations! What a waste of his dregs and orations! Like his porter, all but, No more he need strut, Nor brew for the Administration, Then rubicund Sh-rry, so funny and merry, Took Somerset-house recreation; With his balls and his routs, how he laugh'd at the outs, When he'd got in the Administration. No Trotter was he in the nation, Of its manager 'reft, While he manag'd the Administration. Cr-f-rd, Wh-l-ke, and M-rr-y, went out in a hurry, To get wealth and fame for the nation; But some how or other, didn't do one or t'other, But failed, like their Administration. Hard batties they fought in their stations, They beat a retreat, Turn'd out, like their Administration. There was Er-sk-ne, got wot, by chance he had got If you don't like the sketch, Send it on to Jack Ketch And he'll hang up this Administration. PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS FOR NOVEMBER. be carried into representations beyond probability, but it must still be governed, in its fairy land, by the same laws which restrained it in common nature. The romantic plot is the foundation of some of the most beautiful plays of Shakespeare; but if his wildness bursts beyond nature, it never exceeds reason. The romantic plot, however, is very different from that chosen by Mr. H. Siddons, which in almost every circumstance, has been selected, and with little taste, from that circulating farrago which breaks forth from the novel shops in periodical abundance. Fathers, who recover lost children; ladies who give away their fortunes without any probable reason; servants who lend their masters their wages; and masters who, ruined by prodigality, reform at the bare inention of a few common. place maxims of economy; these are but the ordinary tools, and have long been the staple of the novel trade. The purpose of comedy is to gather life fresh from the stalk; and, by the aid of agreeable fic tion, to bring into action the beings of our common nature, and teach, by example, or some inference direct or indirect, an useful moral or lesson of life. The novel plot always fails in this. It has no justness, no accuracy, no fidelity to nature. With regard to character, which constitutes the main excellence of comedy, to which fable should always be subordinate, this play is miserably deficient. Fable to the dramatist is the canvass on which he paints; but it is not the picture. It is the field in which his characters || thor of this piece; for as the tenderness due to a living writer compels us to estimate his merit by the standard of his cotemporaries, and not by comparison with other models, we are safe in asserting that Mr. H. Siddons's piece is fully equal to any that has lately been presented to the TL; the great object which puts them in mo- If in fable and character this play be defective, it is no less wanting in the grace, ease, and sobriety of appropriate dialogue. COVENT-GARDEN. After the tragedy of Isabella, on Thursday night, October 29th, a new piece was brought out, entitled Too Friendly by Half. The principal characters are Sir Mathew Meddle...... Mr. MUNDEN. .... Lady Wrangle Mr. BLANCHARD. This farce runs on a string of equivoques.— The part of Sir Mathew Meddle is not ill ima gined; that of a man always giving his advice, and regulating every body's conduct by his own. The character of Lady Wrangle is copied from Widow Blackacre, in The Plain Dealer. But the defect of this piece is, that it wants humour.The dialogue is terce, and somewhat elegant, but it is without point and jest. Nothing is so abominable as gravity in a farce; punning and buf In the language of the stage there are two requisites: It should be a just imitation of that species of dialogue which belongs to the particular mode of character in which the speaker is found: and secondly, it should be selected from this mode of life, with that necessary abridgment and colouring which the effect of the stage demands. If a character, who belongs to one class, speaks in the language of another, we have an example of the first defect; if the redundant flip-foonery are at all times preferable to melancholy pancy, the grossness, and unmeaning laxity of general conversation be copied, we have an example of the second. Such is the rule with respect to the diction of the stage. In this the present piece is equally deficient. The dialogue is either flippant and means nothing, as in the character of Query, or is overcharged and beyond the occasion, as in the parts of Hardacre and Blandford. To improve the dialogue, recourse is had to the pitiful expedient of patriotic and moral claptraps. All this is wrong, because out of nature no man talks so in common life-a little leaky patriotism, and unseasonable morals, may occastonally break out in a maiden speech in parliament, or in an election handbill; but such language in common life would be affected, and should not therefore be copied on the stage. If the fable, character, and dialogue of this piece, therefore, be tried by the Norma dramatica, it will be impossible to withhold our censure from its wide deviation.-But if, in compliance, perhaps, with the popular taste, we establish a rule more suited to the greater part of our modern dramas, and examine it upon this principle, it will not perhaps be unjust to admit that this comedy is equal to any which have been lately produced. In the present state of the stage, therefore, it is some credit to have been the au mirth. Comedy ought to represent nature as she really is; farce may be allowed to distort and overcharge, for the sake of humour. Dennis and Dacier were of opinion that comedy allows nothing grave, unless for the purpose of ridicule. This is but true in part.-Farce, however, has an unlimited range, and where we expect a laugh it is hard to be disappointed. The author of this piece is unknown; it has not succeeded suff ciently to induce him to break cover. THE STAGE. MR. EDITOR, You must know that I have long thought to distinguish myself as a dramatic poet, and to that end, fancying myself brimful of matter, am incessantly scribling; and, indeed, flatter myself, had Shakespeare left room for originals, that I could treat some subjects-but no matter. What I here propose is a simple relation of facts, which occurred to me as follows: In the beginning of last year, my muse, after labouring soine months, brought forth the first fruits of her genius, a comic opera. Proud of my coup dessai, as papa of the first fruits of connubial affection, I contemplated with rapturous delight every grace and beauty with which (in The next persons to encounter were the actors, my ideas) it abounded; read, or caused it to be between whom, the following squabble ensued. read, at every opportunity among my friends and Celia, the heroine, thought proper to demand a acquaintance, and was complimented profusely song from the part of Delia; upon which, the by all parties; insomuch, that I began already || latter complained grievously, and urged that she to think myself a great man; anticipated every was enviously robbed of the best part of the advantage that might arise from its success on the character allotted to her; however, with some stage; sat for my portrait without delay, fully address, matters were at length amicably settled persuaded that I should shortly have the satisfac-between the ladies. tion to see an engraving of me facing the titlepage of The Monthly Mirror; but, alas!-However you shall know all. My opera fell by chance into the hands of an eminent literary gentleman, who read it, and was pleased, without hesitation, to say, that the story was good; that it was neatly and humourously told; characters chastely drawn, and judiciously varied; incidents naturally diverting, songs charining, and introduced with much taste; advised me to present it to the theatre; adding, that if I thought of so doing, he would give me an introductory letter to the Manager. This from him, who (by the way) is a severe critic, gave me every reason to hope that I was now in a fair way to attain the very summit of my wishes. I gladly accepted his offer; and accordingly waited upon the manager, who read the letter, and appointed me to call again, which I did the week following; when he informed me with great coolness, that he had read my piece, and, to my no small mortification, without a single encomium upon it, observed, that it wanted stage-effect; but, provided Crotchet, the composer, thought it worth music, it should have a trial. Crotchet, in his turn, vouchsafed to pronounce it pretty; and, though in its present state not fit for representation, thought it a production of much promise; but the songs, which were by no means suitable to the taste of the day, must be altered. Here, I observed, that the songs of an opera ought, in my opinion, to be expressive of some passionate sentiment, naturally arising from the character, situation, &c. and upon that principle I had written mine. “Why, aye," rejoined Crotchet," that formerly was the principle ad hered to; but we find now that any little episodical ditty, opposite to the situation in which it is introduced, goes off much better than any thing absolutely connected with the business of the piece."-Yielding with deference to the judgment and experience of a professional gen. tleman, I promised my best endeavours to make them what he would like; and accordingly invoked the muse a second time: who, though very reluctantly, at last, furnished ine with ballads for bravuras,-comic songs for quartettos, ditties for duettos, and for rondos, short coupl ts, garnished with fal, la, la,-ti, tum, ti, &c. &c.—all of which were approved. | The first of the gentlemen comedians (though as vile a croaker as ever sung Bobbing Joan in a country alehouse), was much disconcerted that he had no song; for, added he, I am always well received in a lively duet with the Signora ! How we apples swim! Sir, you shall have something all right so far. Another objected to his part, because, forsooth, there was no breaking of shins over banisters, no lady's toupee to frizzle, no cant phrase, nor any of those chaste eccentricities which the gods admire, and which constitute so considerable a part of the modern drama. What could I do here but appeal to the manager? who did not chuse to interfere, as Mr. Feignwell was, in his opinion, perfectly acquainted with John Bull, whose taste it was their particular interest to study; and desired therefore, that this gentleman be allowed to arrange the part he was to enact suitable to his own powers: whereupon, some of my best dialogue was to be omitted, and a Merry Andrew, Jew Pedlar, Sailor Jack, Tom Tinker, Tom the -; in short, any thing, as I at last understood, like grimace and buffoonery introduced. By this time, the poor child of my brain was so mangled and disfigured, that it was with great difficulty, my patron on seeing it again, could recognize a single feature; who therefore, advised me to take it to my own protection, which I consented to do, rather than "turn it forth," as I must have done, "ashamed of my own work, and set no mark upon it." Now, Sir, as the last consolation we can hope for in cases of this kind, is the commiseration of those who will indulge us with a hearing, I must beg you to excuse this trespass upon your pa tience; and if you can insert this in your Fashionable Magazine, as a word to my brother scribblers, it may prepare, them for a similar ordeal; and perhaps in some measure, account for the contemptibly degener te state, to which that once elegant and delightful species of amusement, called an Opera is reduced; which from a regular and forcefully harmonious composition of poetry and musie, aided by the graces of the dance, and embellished with the beauties of art, is become a confused jumble of heterogeneous matter, scarcely worth representation in a booth at Bartholomew Fair I am, Sir, &c. VAPID. |