them. This we will venture to say is the first instance of a Greek book printed in Germany, and reprinted here before it was known in England, and ordered from America to supply the demand of the British publick.

We cannot conclude this review without earnestly recommending to every theological student to explore for himself the text of the New Testament, as settled in this edition. As it has been patronized by the government of the university, we hope the day is not far distant when critical lectures on the New Testament shall be regularly delivered in that institution, at least to the upper classes, and when care shall be taken to carry the scholars regularly through the whole New Testament, at least once in their academical course.

ARTICLE 19.

Letter to the Hon. Samuel L. Mitchell, M. D. representative in Congress from the city of New-York; Professor of Natural History, &c. on the danger of putting money into the United States and Manhattan Banks, with sundry novel speculations, c. By Abimelech Coody, Esq. ladies' shoemaker. NewYork, published at the Literary Exchange, 1811. 12mo. p. 19.

SETTING aside the policy or impolicy of renewing the char ter of the United States bank, we have been highly amused with this little pamphlet. Its design is somewhat new, and its execution uncommonly ingenious. It calls on us to laugh at the effects produced on a weak and timid mind by a sudden influx of wealth, which from real and imaginary embarrassments, its owner could not manage. Mr. Abimelech Coody is a man in whom discretion and imbecility are so carefully poised, that an accession of property distracts, without corrupting him. He has so much firmness, that he does not fall into pride and ostentation, the vices which most easily beset those in his condition; but, at the same time, he has so little decision of character, that he never determines on any thing in opposition to the advice of a single person, whose opinion he thinks worth asking. He has humility enough to distrust himself, but, is so, credulous, that he believes every body, and of course, confides implicitly in nobody. This man, with all his virtues and weaknesses, after labouring in honest poverty

forty years, purchased a lottery ticket, which drew ten thousand dollars. He instantly resorted to his friends, in order to determine how to dispose of his money to the best advantage. One advised him to vest it in Manhattan stock; but from this he was dissuaded by another, who assured him it would be safe no where but in the United States' bank. He had not time to accept the last advice, before the situation of this institution was found to be extremely precarious, and honest Abimelech, after successively determining to engage in manufactures, to purchase insurance-stock and to shave notes, in all which he met only loss and discomfiture, at last sits down in utter despair and writes this pathetick letter to his member in Congress, begging counsel and direction.

The style is happily accommodated to the education and rank of its supposed author, and yet all offensive vulgarity is carefully avoided. From the adroitness with which this part of the work is executed, it has a very easy and natural appearance, and is, in fact, quite probable in every thing except a couple of Latin quotations, which our shoemaker never would have remembered.

For extracts we shall select two passages, which are among the best. The first is an account of the feelings and conduct of the family, when Mr. Ichabod Peabody announced the news, that their ticket had drawn the highest prize.

"Now, you may think, sir, that this news made me quite toxicated, which you see, sir, was no such thing, for it was just what I dreamed three times running, so I was only a little flustrated, and let my lap-stone, which I had in my lap, fall on to Ichabod Peabody's toe, which was what made him hollow, so that my wife came to see what was the matter out of the little back room. When I told her I had drawn the ten thousand dollar prize in the lottery, she said I wanted to poke fun into her, which you see was no such thing. Then Mr. Ichabod Peabody, who she knew was master of the arts out of New-Haven College, where I went to look for Hamsted about that subpeeny, and clark of our church, and would not tell a fib for the world, said it was all a solemn truth; and my wife said 'God be praised, her dream had come true.' So we all went into the back room and took a glass of gin, and we drank to the health of all the little Coodies. And then I went to get my money, and my wife put on her new red callicoe gown, and run out to tell the neighbors about our good luck in the lottery.

"And only think sir, when I come to get my money, they ducted off fifteen hundred dollars, right smack, which they said I had to pay to build the College with, which is such a thing as I did not dream on, nor my wife nuther.

"Now, sir, I have just come to my story; so to cut the matter short, my friends all come to see me, and there was some I never saw before, and they all wished me joy-and when they had done, I began to think what I should do with my money-because, says I to my wife, as they have made me pay fifteen hundred dollars for the college, I am afraid they will make me pay some more for the New City-Hall, or some other big building, that is not yet done, and, perhaps, never will be.

My wife wanted to buy Judge Ogilvie's house, in Broadway, by the Park, where Jackson lived, what was turned away from Congress for trying to spit in good old Governor Clinton's face, which is what my wife thinks a great breech of decorum. Well, says I, Debby, what will we do then?'-' Why, says she, keep a horse and gig, and drive a tandum -and give assemblies, and ice-creams, like Mrs. Vandoosir is going to do.' 'Well says I, Debby, after that rate the money wont last us more than five years at most and then what will become of all the little Coodies?-when the money is gone after gigs and tandums what will become of all the little Coodies then? So my wife gave up Judge Ogilvie's house, and we agreed that style would not do for the Coodies, which Mr. Ichabod Peabody said was more sensible than Mrs. Vandoosir, 'because, says he, pride was not made for man in this here world what's here below." Page 10.

The other relates the situation of the unfortunate Abimelech after he was informed of the approaching dissolution of the United States' Bank.

"So as I was going along I met Ichabod Peabody just coming out of school, and I believe I looked very bad, for no sooner does he see me, than he calls out, Mr. Abimelech Coody, says he, what makes you look so down in the mouth-is any thing the matter with the little Coodies?'

'No, I thank you, sir, says I-but I tell you what, Mr. Peabody, this here Branch-Bank wont do for me, because they say it is all going to be blown up some time next week.'

"Well,' says he, Mr. Coody, I am sorry to say it's pretty true; but, says he, never mind that-Nil desperandum omnes, Mr. Coody, tentanda est. There are ways enough beside the banks to make an honest penny by. There now, says he, do you see that gentleman that is riding in the carriage-do you know how he made his money?

Why no, says I, I dont; for I ant acquainted with the gentleman; but I suppose he's a lawyer, or a notary-public, or else a congress-man, for Mr. Baron Gaudenier says that's the best trade going.'

'No, says he, he's a rope-walk maker. Buy a rope-walk, Mr. Coody -manufactories are the thing. By the bye, there's a most capital ropewalk for sale, just back of my house. You can buy it all, lot and all, for seven thousand dollars, and the lot alone is worth the money-so you may, as it were, get the building clear-for nothing. Buy that, Mr. Coody, and who knows but that in a year or two we shall see you riding in your carriage too.'

"Well! you see we had a good deal of talk about it, and after thinking the matter over, pretty seriously, I determined that evening to go the very next day, and buy this very rope-walk, for Ichabod Peabody said it was a very good one, because he dined in it, one 4th of July, with the Washington Society. So I went home and went to bed, quite happy to think I was going to engage in manufactories, and that I had found out such a good place to west my funs in.

"Next morning, after breakfast, as I was going up to take a look at my rope-walk, and thinking what a happy man I was going to be, I met Major Crawbuck again. And so,' says he, 'we had a bloody fire up here last night.' 'Where?' says I, 'I did not hear on it.'' Why, the rope-walk up here, says he-the damn'd British set it a fire, and burnt it all up last night, to hinder us from making our own cables-blood and thunder!' 'Why you don't say so!' says I-'You baynt in earnest are you? Do you doubt my word sir,' said the Major—“Why, sir, Colonel Macomb, the Governor's aid, says he saw Mr. Barclay, the British agent here, going up Chatham-street with a dark-lantern, so dark you could not see it, about nine o'clock last night, and the fire broke out soon after; besides, sir, Mr. Cobbet, who lives in London, and knows all about the British secrets, says that Barclay stays in New-York just for nothing else -blast his eyes.'

"And then he told me a story about how the British had laid a plan to burn down all the manufactories in America, and how they were found out in burning up Patterson-falls to destroy the cotton.

"And so then I was at a loss what to do with my money, and I begged and prayed cousin Crawbuck to tell me what in the world I could do to be safe and make the most of it. For I told him, from all they said, it did appear to me, that no place was good, for go where I would there -was the French and the British."

The Clergyman's Daughter; a tragedy, in five acts. By William Charles White; as performed at the Boston Theatre. Boston, printed by Joshua Belcher, 1810.

The Poor Lodger; a comedy, in five acts. By William Charles

White, author of "The Clergyman's Daughter;" as performed at the Boston Theatre. Boston, printed by Joshua Belcher, 1811.

THE causes, which conspire to repress the exertions of literary enterprize in our men of letters, can chiefly be discovered in the nature and constitution of civil society in America; the comparative disadvantages, under which the flourishing state of patronage in Great Britain, places the American author, and the difficulties of attaining in this country at a flight, the height of celebrity, which in that, has been gained by an age of success, and many ages of laborious ambition. A varie

ty of considerations could be advanced to illustrate these particular causes, which we consider to be as evident in their nature, as they are universal in their extent. The drama, alone, seems to constitute an exception from this hypothesis, which is true as it respects all works of science, history, and other portions of the belles lettres which issue from the press. The very nature of theatrical exhibition exempts dramatical productions from the impediments which counteract success in other departments of literature. Here, an author does not depend upon the caprice of a bookseller, or the cold fastidiousness of criticks for his emolument; but upon his ability to gratify the insatiable apetite for publick amusement, which in this, as in all young countries, has so universal a prevalence. Besides, the disposition of the publick to encourage native excellence, where it can be found without the labour of research, bestows on a dramatick author's third night a charm, which it would be vain for him to seek in publication. The writer of a successful play possesses this additional advantage, that he can obtain his benefits from every theatre in America, so long as he preserves his production in the original manuscript, and by such caution he could undoubtedly derive abundant remuneration for all the labour and care which might have been expended in the composition. It is a remark, which experience has hitherto justified and confirmed, that the greatest dramatical abilities have been displayed in the early ages of most civilized countries, whilst other literary efforts have laboured under comparative disadvantages; which affords great encouragement to those authors who have chosen the drama as a path to eminence. Thus Shakespeare, Fletcher, Messinger, and even Otway, Southern, Dryden, and Congreve, flourished in full luxuriance, when the Historian, the Moralist, the Chymist, and the Astronomer were placed in a state of relative insignificance.

The dramatical productions of America, however, are not justly to be praised for their excellence, nor celebrated for their variety. A few indifferent tragedies and comedies in each of our large cities, after having "fretted their hour upon the stage," have sunk from deserved and general neglect, into undisturbed oblivion. Foscari, The Venetian Exile, The Trust, and the German translations of Mr. Dunlap, have gone unregretted into a common grave with Daranzel, The African, The Pilgrims, and The Happy Tea-Party. There are a few