of politics. Commerce too, as it advanced, by no means tended to enlarge their ideas on any subject; and it is curious to observe, how our comedies of late, sentimental as well as farcical, have run upon the manners and moral feelings of shopkeepers. With the gentlemen of small independent fortunes, vanished a great deal of taste as well as of public spirit: the race of young critics, who shine so pertly in our periodical classics under the general appellation of Templars, but who certainly helped to repress much nonsense on the stage, became lost among the general expectants of the political world; and in proportion as the welleducated part of the middle classes rose; in appearance at least, to a level with the upper, they affected, like them, only to enjoy and not to interfere with public amusements. The general corruption therefore, which brought together all those who had a voice or an interest in the press, rendered criticism a mere matter of courtesy: an exchange of cards took place between all the mana. gers, actors, dramatists, and journalists; and independence of opinion seems to have been a feeling never remembered but in oċcasional pamphlets and pasquinades, written with evident pur poses of party animosity, or what is worse, of extortion. From these and one or two other different causes, a singular era has latterly taken place in theatrical history, the gradual migration of the critics from pit to boxes. In the boxes it is not reckoned very decorous to express any vehement opinion of what is going forward on the stage; hissing in particular is generally exploded; and thus the critics sit still with their faculties politely enchained, some not willing to hiss if allowed, others caring neither to hiss nor clap, and a solitary one perhaps, from a notion of justice which he now thinks mistaken, expressing no opinion that might influence a fate which he is to criticise. These gentlemen are now becoming less reserved, and perhaps there is no measure that would tend more to the revival of the Drama than their general migra tion back again into their former seats. The stnge thus left to itself was soon occupied with all sorts of weeds. It might have been expected that some theatrical mana ger, seeing the state of things and anxious for the interest as well as reputation of his concern, would become public spirited enough to begin the necessary reform. But unluckily, the persons, into whose hands the theatre is most likely to fall, are of all others the least fitted to conduct it. They are generally, it is true, men of taste, but they are also men of pleasure, and get into so many petty involvements, that their taste has hardly power to exercise itself if it would. From Sir William Davenant to Sir Richard Steele, and from Steele to Sheridan and Colman, it has been found that the managers from whom most was to be expected, have done least for the advancement of the Drama. The best managers have been been such as were actors themselves, for with more obligations to industry, they were more alive to their real interest. This however, uniting with the deterioration of dramatic writing, mate, rially helped to raise the actors in general above the dramatists; and the consequence has been, that the latter are sunk into mere retainers of the theatre, doing and undoing just what they are bidḍen, and writing, not for the world at large, but for the peculiar talent of this and that performer. This is one cause of the monotonous round of characters so observable in the present drama. By seeing the actor's names in the morning playbills, you generally know what personages you have to expect; and a dramatist is sure to muster all the good actors he can, before he completes his work and announces it for representation. Such are the rules, and such the views of human nature, upon which the Reynoldses and the Dibdins advance their claims to appro bation! What is contemptible in this respect on the side of the authors, becomes lamentable on that of the performers, who, the more they exert themselves in the behalf of nonsense, injure their own regard for nature and consequently their reputation. The present stage can boast a race of actors, some of whom have not been excelled by any of their predecessors, perhaps in one or two re. spects not equalled. They are deficient in tragedy, and in the feminine part of genteel comedy; but Mrs. Siddons alone is a host in the former; and I know not where are the names in comedy that possess us with images of such perfect nature as those of Mrs. Jordan and Mr. Dowton,-the one for a broad and ardent simplicity, alive to every fugitive impression;-the other for his masterly conception of strong passion in all it's varieties, parti. cularly of an anger replete with humourous circumstance, and subsiding into benevolence. This actor has lately been performing the Hypocrite, in the comedy of that name, with a truth and a breathing calmness, that present a most refreshing contrast to the necessary grimace of the modern drama. Yet even he finds it difficult to withhold the charitable quantum of face-makng when called upon by the poverty of our comic writers.A joke which would not pass at a dinner-table, must be tossed up in all sorts of grins and gesticulations before it is properly relished at the thea tre: the actors accordingly exert their powers of cookery, but they lose their better taste in so doing; and it is acknowledged, that in proportion as our comedy has become farce, some of our best comic actors have become buffoons. Luckily, the first honest spirit of criticism that rose to express the sense of rational people on this subject, had a consider. able effect upon the public. The periodical writers gradually changed from panegyric to defence, from defence to excuses, from excuses excuses to a kind of patronizing pity, and at length, with the exception of one or two whose praise is at all times as good as a lampoon, they scarcely affect to hide their contempt. Even the dra. matists, finding themselves become bye-words for want of genius, seem at last inclined to feel a little of the general shame, and to take their respective roads to obscurity. Never has the history, of the drama presented so fine an opening for rising talent; and it is difficult to imagine, difficult at least for persons of any lite. rary ardour, how the numerous young men of wit and education in the capitals of the united kingdom can refrain from attempt. ing to rescue the British Drama out of the hands of a grinning ignorance an attempt so laudable in every respect, so due to the national honour, and so conducive, if it succeed, to the im provement of the rising generation. ART. XXIII.-Retrospect of Public Affairs. THE events of the last three months, though by no means void of interest, have in general been rather such as seem preparatory to important consequences, than highly important in themselves. Europe, indeed, has been long in a state that cannot be contemplated without an almost daily expectation of violent change; yet when and from what quarter such change is to arise, still baffles conjecture; and in the mean time, the predominancy of one nation, or rather of one man, in its system, proceeds with almost undeviating regularity. Holland, some time ago, excited the hopes of the sanguine, as likely to set the first limits to French domination; and it has since, without a struggle, resigned its separate existence, and is become a nameless part of the French empire. Wistful eyes were cast to the North for a new confederacy to resist the torrent of subjugation ;—and a French General has been admitted without a shadow of opposition to the inheritance of the Swedish Crown; while Russia and Denmark have looked with secming approbation at an act which places servitude in their very sight, and sets the dangerous example of the easy extinction of an ancient dynasty. Austria is proud of a close alliance with the present disposer of crowns and kingdoms, and of the prospect of a future participation in the Napoleon line. The Spanish Peninsula alone on the Continent presents an active resistance to the grasping projects of the mighty Despot; and it cannot be doubted that he feels equal surprise and indigna, tion tion at this unexpected check to his conquering arms. After all the blood that has been shed in the attempt to subdue a people whose energies were suppressed but not extinguished, the attain. ment of the object seems more remote than ever. In Spain itself, the war has become a series of petty actions diffused through almost every province, extremely harassing to the invaders, and serving as that school of bold enterprize and military habits which alone an armed nation wants to secure it's final independence. In the mean time, it has assembled, by its representatives, in its ancient Cortes, has set aside its feeble Regency, and has dared to assume the language and perform the acts of a sovereignty based upon the rights of the people. It has nominally recognised King Ferdinand, but has derived its own authority from the act of its creation; and it has been asserted in the Cortes, that when Ferdinand returns to Spain he will find a constitution framed for his acceptance. The spirit of liberty has even proceeded so far as to provide for the freedom of the press; and the Cortes has passed a decree permitting the publication of political writings without any previous license, under the same subsequent responsibility that they are subject to in England. The same freedom of religious discussion could not be granted under a Catholic establishment. From these tokens of advance in the Spanish nation to the sentiments of freemen, it is ardently to be wished that their noble exertions to throw off the yoke of tyranny and usurpation may be rewarded with final success. It was to Portugal, however, that the force of the French arms was particularly directed during the late autumnal campaign. Impatient at the view of an English army on the Continent, Napoleon seat one of his most distinguished Generals, Massena, at the head of a large body of troops, to " sweep them into the sea," according to his presumptuous phrase. Lord Wellington, commanding a force much inferior in troops on whose steadiness he could rely, prudently determined to post himself behind one fortress after another, impeding the progress of the enemy as much as he was able, and gradually retiring on their approach. The impediments he threw in the way of Massena's advance were, however, inconsiderable. Ciudad Rodrigo fell unsuccoured; and the expected resistance of Almeida being soon terminated by an accidental explosion, the northern part of Portugal was left open to the French troops, who rushed in like a torrent. Lord Wellington, who had hastily retreated beyond the Mondego, at length re-crossed the river to take possession of the strong heights of Busaco, which lay in the direct line of advance of the French towards Lisbon. Here he was attacked by Massena on September 27th, and a bloody conflict ensued, in which both parties claimed the victory. In the statements of the losses on each side, the proportions proportions have, as usual, been reversed; and each party has made the usual displays of triumph, by which the vulgar and the sanguine in all countries ever have been and will be deluded, when the Government finds an interest in keeping up a deception. The sequel, however, has sufficiently elucidated the nature and result of the action. The French, notwithstanding repeated and serious attempts, were foiled in their first object: but their skilful leader, by a circuitous track, obliged Wellington, through apprehension of being turned, to re-cross the Mondego, leaving Coimbra to be occupied by the enemy. In his account of the engagement great encomiums were given to the behaviour of the Portuguese troops, who composed the major part of his force; but although their number, added to that of the British, appears to have exceeded that of the French army, he was so little desirous of a second encounter, that he made a rapid retrograde motion to the last of his strong positions in the immediate vicinity of Lisbon, without opposing any further obstacle to the equally rapid advance of Massena. As the English public was evidently much disappointed with this result, pains have been taken by the Ministerialists tó represent this movement as a masterly stratagem in the British Commander, to draw his antagonist into a situation where he must either see his army perish for want of supplies, or fight or retreat at a great disadvantage. That Lord Wellington has acted with true judgment is highly probable; but it does not appear that he would have acted differently had the awe of a superior force, and not the hope of ruining his adversary, been the prin ciple of his conduct. Mean time the expectation of a great impending battle has been hitherto disappointed. Massena has found the allied army too strong and too formidably posted to venture on an attack, and Wellington adheres to his defensive system. The hopes of starving the French army grow fainter, and it is said that it has secured a safe retreat to Spain by the shortest way. Much of the best part of Portugal is made a desart by the march of the different armies; and England, in addition to the enormous expenses of its own and the Portuguese troops, will probably incur that of feeding a great proportion of the distressed population of Portugal. Whilst the Spanish nation is thus struggling for an independent existence, it has the additional arduous task of maintaining a sovereignty over its American colonies, in which the past misgovernment of the parent country, and progressive ideas of political rights, have widely spread the seeds of revolt. The province of the Caraccas and the city of Buenos Ayres have already declared their independency; and although the spirit has been resisted wherever the native Spaniards have retained the ascendency, yet it may be concluded that the Creoles in general secretly meditate |