first requisites of good poetry is, that it should come within the comprehension of persons of ordinary understanding. The writer himself ought to know what he is saying; and the reader know what he meant to say.

The following extracts, from a little obscure piece called "Rosa," written, as the preface purports, by a young printer, are in a much better taste, and indicate that the author hath both an ear and an understanding. The first is the description of an old coxcomb:

"Oh! master,

It makes me laugh to see Jeonardo,

This woman's man, this flask of sweet perfumes;
So brisk and pretty, crimp'd and curl'd so nice.
The rose doth blush upon his dimpled cheek,
To see the down that whitens on his chin.
His pouting lips are curl'd like honeysuckles,
In soft disdain upon the menial crowd;
His tresses steal adown his milky neck,
And fill his open doublet with their curls.
And here, a piece of steel, a very case-knife,
Studded with precious stones, doth hug his thigh,
Slung in a pretty baldrick o'er his shoulder;
And then he steps so fairy-like, so light,
A worm would hardly turn upon his tread-
All grace and wantonness-effeminate-
Tears trembling in his lotus eyes, like dews
Upon a wither'd hyacinth.”

The following allusion to the meeting of two lovers, is, we think, quite happy :—

"Now joys shall revel in our hearts again;

And Love, who long with widow'd weeds and tears
Hath clothed his limbs, and wept himself to sleep,
Shall rise in light, and from his fluttering wings

Shake off the shower of tears that weighed them down."

And this

"The fair one sleeps

Sweet dreams of hope fall on her, like soft rays,
And gentle showers upon the red-lipp'd tulip,

And turn her soul into a Paradise

Of fancied bliss-the only bliss we know

Beneath yon star-lit canopy."

The following extract, too, will be recognized as poetry:

"But thou art fairer in thy simple dress

Than all the gems of the East could make thee.
Come in thy night-dress, like a virgin nun,

And then thou may'st command, as one from Heaven.

But jewels will look so gross, like specks

Upon the new-fall'n snow."

These passages are, however, like garden-flowers, by some rare accident, sprinkled among rocks and barrenness, so that we cannot help wondering how they came to be there, and perhaps adVOL. I.-NO. 2.

46

miring them the more for the singularity of their situation. It is a commonplace tale of robbers; with a meagre plot, and clumsy catastrophe.

The history of the American stage, goes back scarce half a century. We are not certain, but we believe, that there was no regular theatre within the limits of the United States, previously to the Revolution. In New-England, the religious habits and opinions of the people, were opposed to almost every species of public amusement. In New-York, the prevalence of the Dutch language, and Dutch manners, opposed great obstacles to the progress of English literature: in Philadelphia, the staid and sober character of the Quakers, neither relished nor tolerated scenic representations; and to the South, there were few, if any cities sufficiently populous to support a theatre. While the city of NewYork was in possession of the British, during the war of the Revolution, it was customary for the officers to act plays, incognito, in a building in John street; and this probably introduced a taste for such amusements among the citizens. We are acquainted with an aged gentleman, who often volunteered a character at these representations. The first regular theatre was, we believe, in New-York. The first play written and published in the United States, is said to have been by Thomas Godfrey of Philadelphia. It is called "The Prince of Parthia." It is quite possible there may be extant, American plays anterior to this; and if so, this article may be the means of drawing them to light. The time will come, when they will be interesting.

The earliest dramatic writer of New-York, and we think the best, was William Dunlap, since better known as a painter than a dramatist. This gentleman is the author and translator of a number of plays, many of the former written on the spur of the occasion, to celebrate public anniversaries, and of course, hardly amenable to criticism. We regret that we have not been able to procure copies of the whole, which are said to amount to upwards of forty in number. Among those we possess, is a comedy called "The Father of an Only Child," which the author, in his preface, states was written as early as 1788, and to have been "at the time of its publication, the first and only American play that had come from the American press." He is, however, mistaken, as that of Mr. Godfrey was printed in Philadelphia in 1765. Setting this question aside, the play of Mr. Dunlap was, we believe, without doubt, the first American play represented on the stage; and if it possessed no other claim, would be entitled to particular notice on that account. It is, however, in our opinion, one of the best in all our collection. The plot is sufficiently dramatic, to carry an interest throughout; the characters are well drawn, and well employed; and the dialogue possesses, what is indispensable to genuine comedy, a brief terseness, and unstudied ease, which

few of the productions of the present era afford. It was brought out before our time, and has not been performed, we believe, in thirty years. We have, consequently, had no opportunity of witnessing the dramatic effect; but the following scene will enable our readers to form some estimate of its merits. The character of Tattle is claimed by the author as original, and we believe with justice, since, as he observes in his preface, "the numerous tribe of kindred characters which my contemporaries of Great Britain have produced, had not, at the period of its birth, an existence. The younger Colman had written none of his comedies; and Reynolds and Morton were unknown.

"MRS. RACKET, RUSPORT, and TATTLE.

Re-enter RACKET.

Racket. So the Doctor is at it still?

Tattle. I'm glad you've come to hear it, Racket. The bone of the right thigh [Racket turns away.] The bone of the right thigh, ma'am [Mrs R. turns away.] The bone of the right thigh, Captain-

Rusport. Aye, you must have gained great credit by that cure, Doctor.

Tattle. Sir! what? O you mean the dancing-master! I assure you, sir, I am sought for. I have a pretty practice, considering the partiality the people of this country have to old women's prescriptions; hoarhound, cabbage-leaves, Robinrun-away, dandy-grey-russet, and the like. A young man of ever so liberal and scientific an education, can scarcely make himself known.

Mrs. Racket. But you have certainly made yourself known, Doctor.

Tattle. Why yes ma'am. I found there were but two methods of establishing a reputation among physicians; so for fear of going wrong, I took both. Racket. And what are they, Doctor?

Tattle. Writing for the newspapers; and challenging, or caning all the rest of the Faculty.

Racket. These certainly are infallible modes of attaining notoriety.

Mrs. Racket. And notoriety, let me tell you, is often the passport to wealth. Tattle. Very true, maʼam-did I ever tell you—

Racket. Yes-and a man very often becomes notorious, by acts which bring him to the pillory, or the gallows.

Tattle. Very true, sir-you've heard me perhaps—

Mrs. Racket. In the latter instance, I grant you the stock of notoriety acquired can be of little service, as the claimant dies before he has an opportunity of trading on his capital.

Tattle. Very good maʼam-very good. Did I ever-[she retires with Rusport.] Racket, did I ever tell you of the child

Racket. That swallowed a pap-spoon? Yes-yes-often

Tattle. Swallowed a pap-spoon! I never heard of such a thing-and yet-no I mean the case of the child that broke its

Racket. Yes-yes-you told me of that too.

Tattle. There's an East India nabob lately arrived, who has a cursed cachectic habit.

Racket. Aye-aye-so he has. But Doctor, how goes on your matrimonial negotiation with Miss Gingham? Almost married, I suppose-hah!

Tattle My landlady's a clever woman.

Racket. You don't think of marrying her!

Tattle. Ha! ha! No-good-good. But poor old soul, she's very much affected with

Racket. Aye, aye-but Miss Gingham

Tattle. Pshaw! what's Miss Gingham to a fine case of bilious fever? I prescribed three grains

Racket. But Miss Gingham

Tattle. Why-I'm off with her. There is a fracture in the concatenation. She required too much courtship, from a man whose attentions are exclusively taken up with his patients. I asked her, if she'd have me, after three visits, which are quite enough to enable an expert physician to ascertain the nature of a disease. Mrs. Racket [advancing.] Well Doctor, and what did she say?

Tattle. Nothing.

Rusport. Nothing! ha! ha! ha!

Tattle. She laughed.

Racket. No did she?"

Tattle. Yes-burst into an immoderate cachinnation

Racket. Well-and what did you say?

Tattle. Curse me, Miss,' says I,—and I swore~'I will never come into your father's house again, unless called upon in the line of my profession.' Mrs. Racket. Very spirited, and at the same time very prudent," &c.

There is a good portion of this colloquial ease and sprightliness, which unquestionably constitute the very essence of good comedy, in the dialogue, and a sufficiency of incident, as well as interest, we should think, to make this piece successful on the stage, in the hands of competent actors. It is only where these are wanting, that a dramatic writer is under the necessity of resorting to unnatural incidents, and inflated language, to amuse or interest the audience. Wit, whim, and elegant badinage, require far more talent in a performer, than ranting, mouthing, starting, and slapping the stomach; and hence it has arisen, that vulgar writers have too often, of late, usurped the drama; vulgar actors the stage; and, as a natural consequence, vulgar audiences have abounded in the theatres. With these observations we now proeeed to notice two dramatic productions of Mr. J. N. Barker, "Marmion," and "Superstition," which are, in our opinion, deserving of far more attention than they have hitherto met with, from the American public. We wish there was room for a more particular analysis, especially of the tragedy of" Superstition," which, as founded on domestic tradition and history, possesses a special claim to our respect, independently of its other merits.

Marmion, as the title indicates, is dramatized from the well known poem of that name. Of course the author had little opportunity for originality in the construction of his plot. It has always, however, been customary for dramatic writers to borrow the groundwork of their plays, and long prescription justifies the practice. By having the incidents ready prepared to his hand, a writer is at full liberty to give the whole force of his nius to the thoughts, sentiment, and dialogue. From the author's preface, we learn, that Marmion was played with success, and we ourselves recollect to have witnessed its representation with great pleasure. It is a severe, but we fear, a just sarcasm upon the prejudices of the day, that the author should ascribe a considerable portion of its success, to the belief that it was a transatlantic production. The following extracts will afford the reader

a fair specimen of the author's blank verse, which, we think, is free from the besetting sin of bombast, harshness, or what is almost as bad, an uninterrupted strain of intolerable harmony. The author, in his preface, acknowledges he had an eye to the events of the late war, in the answer of King James to Marmion, in the discussion of the Scotch and English claims. It may be as well to apprize the reader, that the piece was written in 1812, during the continuance of the late war with England.

"James. Not so-not so

Simple as truth they were, clear as the sun.
But what did England during this our parley,
When, trusting in your faith, resentment slept,
And patience staid your tardy reparation
Of wrongs so long inflicted? It was then-
Even in the day of truce-I burn to tell it-
Murder and pillage, England's constant agents,
Roam'd through the land, and harbour'd in our bays!
Our peaceful border sack'd, our vessels plunder'd,
Our liegemen robb'd, enslaved and slaughter'd.
My lord, my lord, under such injuries
How shall a free and gallant nation act?
Still lay its sovereignty at England's feet-
Still basely ask a boon from England's bounty-
Still vainly hope redress from England's justice-
Still wait like slaves, and be like slaves denied?
No! by our martyr'd fathers' memories,

The land may sink-but like a glorious wreck,
Still keep its colours flying at the mast.”

A fine strain of irony runs through the following speech of Marmion, in reply to the king's threat "to greet him in his own castle at Tamworth."

"Too high the honour for my humble roof;
Too rough the road your majesty must take:
Our rivers too, are rapid, broad and deep;
Our northern men most rude and obstinate,
And churlish still in welcoming their foes.

I fear our fare would prove too harsh and homely;
And for repose (rest endless or rest none)-
The churls might offer to your royal limbs
The rocky couch, or river's slimy bed."

There is much sprightliness as well as truth in the soliloquy of Blunt, when, after a dialogue of apparent encouragement, Jannet locks the door on him:

"Egad, she's lock'd the door.

Strange girl, strange sex,

Who seem so often like the things they are not.
Few men would e'er offend a virtuous woman,

If she would let us know her. But so plated

Is oft the basest metal, while the best

Will counterfeit with such a brazen face,
We must bring all to the test.

Well, good night, Cupid-I'll to my straw,
And dream of feather beds."