As Beaumont and Fletcher, sworn playwrights of

yore,

Increas'd of theatrical labours the store,

man, we may justly apply the words of Shakspeare, where he says,

A merrier man,

Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ;
Which his fair tongue-(conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravish'd,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

Independent of his numerous scenic labours, Mr. G. Colman has no less endeared himself to the literary world, by humorous tales, handled in a metrical manner completely his own; in short, he seems to possess an inexhaustible fund of mirthmoving wit, which is ever found to diversify his dramatic productions, and thus ensure the favour of a British public.

So Reynolds and Morton, in fetters dramatic,
Sometimes warble poorly, at others chromatic; (†)
No fix'd mode of writing enchains their career,
Two vapours that light the theatrical sphere.
An Inchbald respectably blazons my theme,
While Tobin with vigour dispenses his beam;
Reviving a style by our forefathers known, (u)
Which moderns can never make too much their own.

(t) It is a generally received opinion, that two heads are better than one; but in the present instance the adage is not proved infallible, as very little connected with true theatrical talent is discernible in the several productions of this dramatic combination.

(u) From the pen of Mrs. Inchbald several pieces have appeared, among which we may rank the Midnight Hour, as having justly acquired a greater share of celebrity: her style, as a dramatist, is far above the common standard of writing, and in other branches of literature she has no less been honoured with the approval of the public. Mr. Tobin, who unfortunately did not live to enjoy the gratification of hearing his merits publicly extolled, has only illumined the theatrical hemisphere with his productions' for the last few years; the energy of his language has been universally allowed, and the arrangement of his ideas,

To German philosophy's system allied,
And politics veering from common sense wide,
Comes Holcroft, to trace out of Ruin the Road,
While his Man of Ten Thousand paints Virtue's abode.
A Walpole for lore of vertû far renown'd,

Shall next with his brethren dramatic be bound;

Whose brain deeply tinctured with furor monastic,
Possess'd not of genius the fancy elastic,

So trac'd of a Matron Mysterious the tale,
Whose numbers quite turgid, foul incest unveil. (v)

in the manner of Shakspeare, confer the highest honour upon the figurative powers of his fancy. It is only to be regretted, that the management of a theatre should be so faulty as to suffer performances of this meritorious description to remain neglected from year to year, while paltry compositions, aided by some trifling interest, have, in the interval, been obtruded upon the public, in contempt of an enlightened audience, and to the flagrant disgrace of the managers of an institution who could tolerate such a violation of every principle of justice and de

corum..

(v) If Mr. Holcroft's dramatic essays are not of the first class, they at all events afforded amusement to the public; indeed,

Of themes operatic the page to explore,

Fam'd harmony's vehicles stand Cobb and Hoare.
For while a Storace usurps sov'reign power,

The Pirates must prosper and Sprites Haunt the
Tower. (w)

from the general tenour of this gentleman's writings, one could not have expected that he would delineate such characters as Goldfinch, in the Road to Ruin: his thoughts were of the sombre cast, and tinctured with all those new-fangled philosophical tenets, which, instead of instilling cheerfulness over the mind, cast the gloom of despondency and dissatisfaction. From the nature of the drama it was impossible that the Mysterious Mother of the Earl of Orford could ever be represented to a British audience: the whole mechanism of the piece hinges upon an incestuous intercourse between the mother and her son, every scene partakes of the gloom of the cloister, no under-plot enlivens the monotony of the subject, and the language, though, pompous at intervals, does not elicit any sparks of mental refine

ment.

(w) Aided by the powerful talents of the late justly celebrated Storace, Messrs. Cobbe and Hoare have figured ably in the ope

Bedeck'd with the trappings of parsonic state,
True Herald of trash, struts the Baronet Bate,

Who living will ne'er be awaken'd to shame

Since Ruse ever ranks with the Cloth as Fair Game. From wolds and his greyhounds a Topham next

courses,

And starts for the plate with our Thespian forces; The palfrey he rode on prov'd faulty indeed,

For broke was his neck by the Westminster breed. (x)

ratic department; not that I mean to say much in commendation of the pieces these gentlemen have produced, when considered in a literary point of view, for where performances are made the vehicles of harmony, it is of little consequence what trash be now foisted on the public; some years back the case widely differed, but tempora mutantur, &c.

(x) This clerical baronet has vainly endeavoured to gain a footing upon the theatrical boards, his dramatic efforts being of the most mediocre cast, not to say in some respects indecorous : after such vain attempts, it would therefore be advisable that he