Pharaphrase on part of the 3d Chapter of Esdras. O wine! above all earthly things, O wine is strong! and glads the heart, The heart enrich'd more keenly burns; O wine is strong! and gifts the tongue O wine is strong! and turns the love VARIETIES. An old woman, who had been sacrificing with a neighbour very liberally to Bacchus, in returning to her home, a little below Greenock, fell fast asleep within the watermark. Feeling the water, some hours afterwards, on the flowing of the tide, frequently washing over her mouth, and conceiving from the taste, that her neighbour, with whom she supposed she was still in company, was adulterating her drink, she exclaimed, with some acrimony and indignation, No! no! curse me if I do; I shall not taste another drop, if you change the liquor upon me.. ANSWER TO CONUNDRUMS, Q. Why is a washer-woman like a church bell?-4. Because she wrings. Q. Why are man and wife like two large rivers in Scotland.-A. Because they have been connected. So is the Forth with the Clyde. Q. Why is lemon juice like a good saying.-4. Because it has been expressed. EPITAPH ON NEIL GOW. Gow and time are even now; NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS. Extract from my Journal, and the Sailor's Journal, are under consideration Amicus Virtutis will appear soon. The Demon of the Storm cannot find a resting place; Poverty, by the same author, will, Viator is received. We do not like to meddle with J. A. C's letter. Letter to Miss Nancy Crabb in our next. We are of opinion that our correction, in Miss Crabb's letter, was requisite to make sense. the lady to compare the original with our page, and she will find us right. We advise Atlas, we are afraid, wants strength to bear his burthen. We never see the name, but we think of him who bore the heavens on his shoulders. We believe he will find his own head as much as he can move under. We thank our correspondent for the sum he sent us to defray future postages. We do uot wish to pocket any of it. We would like to know to whom we are indebited, for fear of imposition. We will treat our readers to Pies and Porter next week. Nemo's letters we never received. If his baits are good we will not readily disgorge them. We will be glad to hear from him in prose or verse.. The fate of Glasgow will be decided next week. We must change the title of W. H's. piece, else we cannot insert it, Printed, published and sold, every Wednesday, by GEORGE PURVIS & Co. Successors to W. Tait, a speaker, for the purpose of reciting or acting a story. When the drama assumed its regular form, these songs were still retained, and made an instrument of introducing some of the finest passages in the ancient plays. The Chorus is the last, and most remarkable peculiarity of the ancient The form of the theatre itself detheatres. This was a body of men or serves some attention. In Rome women, supposed to be spectators of there were two kinds, the simple what was transacting; and who inter- theatre, and the amphitheatre: the mixed, from time to time, with the one of a semi-circular, the other of speeches of the actors, their own re- an oval shape, both were uncovered marks (which were chaunted in verse) at top; though the rays of the sun on the conduct of the characters. were generally excluded from the auHorace tells us, that it was the duty diences by a covering of canvas. of the Chorus, to forward, in some There were three rows of boxes for measure, the plot, to be favourable to the different orders of the people; the good, restrain the unruly, praise (though the number was less in temperance, and pray to the gods, Greece, on account of the constituthat fortune should desert the proud, tion being more democratic, and not and return to the humble, &c.* In admitting of such a numerous division comedy, the remarks of the Chorus, of the citizens ;) and their general size upon particular characters, arose to may be conjectured, when it is stated, such a pitch of severity, that it was, that some of them were capable of at last, thought necessary to abolish containing eighty thousand spectators. it as offensive. It is said, that the The scene, that necessary decoration cause of its introduction was, that of a theatre, was at one end of the during the festival of Bacchus, the building, extending from side to side, songs which were sung in his honour and was, I believe, almost, if not altowere broken into distinct parts, be-gether immoveable. tween each of which was introduced From this general and imperfect Art. Poet. 189. E account of the ancient dramatic re- on the spot where the scenes were presentation, we some ideas may be able to form transacting, whether in a house, or in the difference which the open air-that these would hear subsists between it and our own. the plot-stratagems laid-and crimes The immense size of the theatres resolved upon yet take no part in the stateliness which the Cothurnus what was passing before them, farther added to the actors, and the beautiful than to break out, at times, into moral music and poetry, which sometimes reflexions-is a conception, which burst from the band of the Chorus, does not appear to add much to the must have added to the native dignity reality of the scene. Besides, if their of the drama, an air of grandeur to office was merely to express and apply which we cannot aspire. In this, the advices and cautions, which natherefore, the ancients probably sur-turally arose from the conduct and sipassed us; yet, we think, we can dis-tuation of the characters, might this cover, attending them, some disad-not have been left to the minds of the vantages which do not attach to the spectators?" confident, that if nature modern stage. tion; were poetically and truly represented, they would have been overwhelmed with the feelings and sentiments intended to be produced. " 1. The Persona, or mask, and the Cothurnus, or boot, with which the actors appeared, must have had the effect of taking away all the pleasure 3. The strict unity of action, both which might be derived from the vivid in time and place, which was faithfully and true representation of the feelings preserved by the ancients, seems to on the countenance; and from the be another disadvantage. This they natural and easy gestures of the body. were obliged to do, by the presence True, indeed, the great comparative of the Chorus-the difficulty of madistance, at which the actor stood naging their scenery, and perhaps, by from the body of his audience, might their taste. It has become a question, have prevented them from distinguish-in latter times, whether our own, or ing the play of his features, even had the Grecian mode, is more according he been unmasked: yet this only te nature? The truth seems to be, gives additional force to our objec- that neither of them have this advanand we must conclude, that the tage. If it is unnatural, that the Romans were deprived of a pleasure, scene should be laid, now in this the extent of which those only can country, and again in that, it surely is appreciate, who have witnessed-how, also unnatural, that a great many by the glance of a Kean, the senti- events should not only be crowded ments, even of a Shakespeare, are into a small space of time, (which is heightened and enforced. the case with both modes,) but that b & 2. Though we readily admit the all these should happen upon one semany benefits which literature has lect spot. Who can believe, that one derived from the beautiful effusions, set of actors will regularly succeed to which the dramatist delighted to put another-that each will luckily happen into the mouths of the Chorus; yet to stop and discourse in the same we are constrained to acknowledge, place-hatch their plots and accomthat we consider its introduction on plish their designs, and do all this in the stage, as both unnatural and un- the presence of the Chorus? An necessary. To suppose, that a band example of a play in our own lanof spectators would always be placed guage, modelled upon the ancient drama, may make our meaning intelligible to English readers. Addison, "} " To the Editor of the Melange. 14 THE BRIDAL OF DEATH. SA TRUE STORY. T affection. Indeed, she may be said to have been the only human being he cared any thing about; for he had a sullen, morose temper, which repelled intimacy, and drove almost every acquaintance from his house. But the sable locks, lovely com plexion, and elegant eyes of Elizabeth, overcame the obstacles which his sullen disposition offered to visitors. As she entered on her fifteenth year, his house began to be more frequented, his visitors those who more complaisant; and even in his Cato, makes counsels be held -stratagems be resolved on-skirmishes and murders take place-his hero make a long and learned oration Elizabeth MRA was one of the and finally, the catastrophe be deprettiest girls in the middle ward of La veloped, in the great hall of Cato's narkshire, and possessed a sweetness of house a succession of events, in temper which made her universally loved. such a place, as impossible to be Her father was a gentleman of some procredited, as the wildest and most im-perty-she was the only relict of his family, and consequently drew to herself all, his probable fiction. In fact, there does not appear to be any great necessity for the preservation of the unities. It is impossible that the most credulous audience can have more than a momentary feeling of belief, in the reality of the scenes before them. It is not as if we ourselves were engaged, we come merely as spectators and what is necessary to interest ? an acquaintance with the characters, and a were little likely to stoop to his caprice, connexion in the plot. I venture became wonderfully accommodating.— to affirm, that our minds are not di- In short, the house of Mr. Masrected to the probability, or improba-sumed quite a different air-there was bility of being now in this place, and the next half hour in another: we give our whole attention to the circumstances and the acting; and if these be interesting and according to nature, we must be affected, as far as fiction can affect us.. a something like sociality in it. seem The laird himself relishing the flattery of the young men, smoothed over his ruggedness, and every one who knew him began to admit, that he was a better man than he seemed to be, if he was only humoured a little. I remember of seeing Elizabeth, at this time; she was certainly a lovely girl-none of your quiet prime sentimental damsels, but . In general, if the ancient drama brisk, rompish, hearty creature, full of possessed more dignity and state, and mirth and animal spirits. A smile perhaps, more probability in the plot ed to repose naturally upon her counten ance, and two dark brown eyes, shining ours, on the other hand, displays beneath full-arched, and graceful eyemore vigour, more freedom, more na-brows, sparkled with life and intelligence. The Her hair, of the deepest black, hung graceture in the particular acts. genius of Shakespeare has enabled fully, in ringlets, over her temples; and her complexion possessed that beautiful, us to surpass those who are our masters in all the other polite arts, and warm, Italian hue, which glows in the pichas given a distinct character to our national school. tures of Titian. But, if her temper was brisk and airy, she inherited, at the same time, a depth of character, which, at first sight, no * The learned reader will observe, that the preceding account is confined exclusively to the Roman stage,, and that no mention has been made of the Mimus, or Panto mime, another kind of ancient plays. one could imagine her to possess. When in any situation which called it forth, she exhibited the workings of a refined feeling, and could throw off the manners of a fanciful girl, to assume those of an intelligent woman. I have seen her weep at a tale of distress. I have known her enter the huts of woe to relieve the needy. I have heard her name re-echoed aflectionately, fifty times, by the poor. In short, to use the words of our divine Shakespeare, She had a heart for pity, and a hand open as day for heaven-born charity.' This com athema if she saw. Immediately on this interruption, Wil liam's destiny led him to Jamaica, to look after his affairs, which had been unfortu nately impaired by some misfortunes on that island. But ere he departed, perhaps No wonder the laird's house began to for ever, he met with Elizabeth on the be frequented more than usual: no won- banks of the Aven. By the borders of der that the youngsters were contented to that lovely stream, in the evening of a coax him to laugh at his witless jokes, summer day, they met together., Grief and put up with his bad humour. But was depicted in each countenance. They of the suitors of Elizabeth, there was one looked on each other silently, for the ful on whom alone her affections fixed. Wil-ness of their hearts denied them utterance. liam L, indeed, was a noble fellow, not that he was merely handsome in his appearance, and elegant in his mannersbut he possessed a frankness-an ingenuousness, and, at the same time, a modesty, which brightened his other qualifications, and constituted him, in the strictest sense of the word, a gentleman. Elizabeth had scarcely attained her eighteenth year, when she fell deeply in love with this young man, and he was about four years older. But she knew W the laird's disposition-she knew that with him money was every thing, and personal merit nothing, and felt convinced that his everlasting displeasure would attend any union with L However, she could not root out the passion which had taken ground in her soul-nor quench the Promethean fire which burned within it-nor unclasp the stems of affection which clung around her heart. By a sacred sympathy, she felt that her own happiness centered in him. At the same time, she tried to disguise this from the laird, by an affected coldness to L, and by bestowing all her vivacity, wit and smiles, upon her more wealthy, and, consequently with the the laird, more favoured lovers, But love cannot be concealed. The sigh which stole from her bosom; the flush that suffused her cheek, the swimming softness of her eyes, as they glided almost unconsciously on her lover; the confusion, and eloquent silence which ensued, on a mutual glance-spoke volumes, By these tokens, the laird discovered that his daughter loved L At last the feelings of Elizabeth found vent in a flood of tears. She sobbed and fell into the arms of her lover. The winged hours flew by the moon was up-the voice of the songsters had ceased along the Aven, and the river poured its silver tide at their feet, with a melancholy murmur. At last the hour of separation came, Elizabeth,' said William, we part now, and we may never meet again. The broad Atlantic must soon roll between us, but can its waves wash out our mutual remembrances, or tear our soul asunder? A flood of tears, which glanced in the beams of the moon, was her only answer. No,' he continned, I can see that the vows which are graven on your heart, Eli zabeth, cannot be effaced that the words. you have uttered in affection, shall never be retracted-that your soul, pure a and constant, shall cling to mine. But ere we part wear this ring for my sake; when you look upon it, think that you are my i affianced bride-my guardian angel-my best beloved, O! Elizabeth, when you look upon it, think on me, and if ever the messenger of death arrests your joy, and says, William is no more,' wear it next your heart as the token of one who loved you better than life., No William,' said, she, returning him the ring, which he had put upon her finger, keep that pledge till another time. The day may yet come when you will be able to bestow it under happier auspices, when our countenances shall shine with smiles, instead of being dar. His sullen temper re-kened with tears, and when you may call me something else than your betrothed bride. Keep it,. William, till that happy day, when vived. He forbade him his house, and threatened Elizabeth with his perpetual an |