VI.

Sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu, That kings and priests are plotting in: Here doomed to starve on water gru— —el,[273] never shall I see the U— —niversity of Gottingen— —niversity of Gottingen.

[_During the last stanza_ ROGERO _dashes his head repeatedly against the walls of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible contusion; he then throws himself on the floor in an agony. The curtain drops; the music still continuing to play till it is wholly fallen._

[The character of ROGERO is a quiz upon SIR ROBERT ADAIR, who received his education at Göttingen, and fell in love with his tutor’s daughter. His relative, LORD ALBEMARLE, says in his _Reminiscences_: “Throughout life my kinsman was an enthusiastic admirer of the fair sex, which he generally ‘loved, not wisely, but too well’”. He married, in 1805, Mdlle. Angélique Gabrielle, daughter of the Marquis d’Hazincourt and the Comtesse de Champagne.

ADAIR was the son of Mr. Robert Adair, sergeant-surgeon to K. George III., by his wife LADY CAROLINE KEPPEL, daughter of Wm. Anne, second Earl of Albemarle. He was educated at Westminster School and Göttingen University; called to the Bar, but never practised. He contested Camelford in 1796; and was M.P. for Appleby, 1799–1802, for Camelford, 1802–1812. He was sent by FOX as Minister Plenipotentiary to Vienna in 1806; and by his old adversary CANNING to Constantinople in 1808; and also to Berlin. He was Ambassador to Constantinople, 1809–11, and to Belgium, 1831–5. He was a facile writer, and wrote several spirited pamphlets, including defences of his relatives, Francis, Duke of Bedford, and Admiral Keppel, Fox, and other Whigs. He contributed to the _Political Eclogues_ a poem called _Margaret Nicholson_, in which George III., Pitt, Jenkinson, &c., were ridiculed, and the _Song of Scrutina_ (on the “Westminster Scrutiny”), in the style of Ossian, in the _Probationary Odes for the Laureateship_. He was the author also of an account of his _Mission to the Court of Vienna_; and his _Negotiations for the Peace of the Dardanelles_: 3 vols., 8vo. For his services in the latter business he was made G.C.B. He was born 24th May, 1763, and died 3rd Oct., 1855.

There is a curious circumstance connected with the composition of this song, the first five stanzas of which were written by CANNING. Having been accidentally seen, previous to its publication, by PITT, who was cognisant of the proceedings of the “Anti-Jacobin” writers, he was so amused with it, that he took up a pen and composed the last stanza on the spot.—ED.]

[This drama was produced at the Haymarket Theatre, July 26, 1811, with alterations and additions, and some introductory matter, which contained smart hits at the Quadrupeds, which then desecrated the stage of Covent Garden Theatre. Liston performed _Rogero_; Munden, _Casimere_; Mrs. Glover, _Matilda_; Mrs. Gibbs, _Cecilia_. The following Prologue, written by George Colman the younger, in imitation of Pope’s prologue to _Cato_, was spoken by Elliston:—

To lull the soul by spurious strokes of art, To warp the genius, and mislead the heart; To make mankind revere wives gone astray,[274] Love pious sons who rob on the highway;[275] For this the foreign muses trod our stage Commanding _German schools_ to be the rage. Hail to such schools! Oh, fine _false feeling_, hail! Thou badst _non-natural nature_ to prevail; Through thee, _soft super-sentiment_ arose, Musk to the mind like civet to the nose; Till fainting taste (as invalids do wrong), Snuff’d the sick perfume, and grew weakly strong. Dear Johnny Bull! you boast much resolution, With, thanks to Heaven! a glorious Constitution: Your taste, recovered half from foreign quacks, Takes airings, now, on English horses’ backs; While every modern bard may raise his name, If not on _lasting praise_, on _stable fame_. Think that to Germans you have given no check, Think how each actor hors’d has risk’d his neck; You’ve shewn them favour: Oh, then, once more shew it To this night’s _Anglo-German, Horse-Play_ Poet!—ED.]

[Illustration]

No. XXXI.

June 11, 1798.

We have received, in the course of the last week, several long, and to say the truth, dull letters, from unknown hands, reflecting in very severe terms on MR. HIGGINS, for having, as it is affirmed, attempted to pass upon the world, as a faithful sample of the productions of the German theatre, a performance no way resembling any of those pieces which have so late excited, and which bid fair to engross, the admiration of the British public.

As we cannot but consider ourselves as the guardians of MR. HIGGINS’S literary reputation, in respect to every work of his which is conveyed to the world through the medium of our paper (though, what we think of the danger of his principles we have already sufficiently explained for ourselves, and have, we trust, succeeded in putting our readers upon their guard against them)—we hold ourselves bound not only to justify the fidelity of the imitation, but (contrary to our original intention) to give a further specimen of it in our present number, in order to bring the question more fairly to issue between our author and his calumniators.

In the first place we are to observe, that MR. HIGGINS professes to have taken his notion of German plays wholly from the translations which have appeared in our language. If _they_ are totally dissimilar from the originals, Mr. H. may undoubtedly have been led into error; but the fault is in the translators, not in him. That he does not differ widely from the models which he proposed to himself, we have it in our power to prove satisfactorily, and might have done so in our last number, by subjoining to each particular passage of his play the scene in some one or other of the German plays which he had in view when he wrote it. These parallel passages were faithfully pointed out to us by Mr. H. with that candour which marks his character; and if they were suppressed by us (as in truth they were), on our heads be the blame, whatever it may be. Little, indeed, did we think of the imputation which the omission would bring upon Mr. H., as in fact our principal reason for it was the apprehension that, from the extreme closeness of the imitation in most instances, he would lose in praise for invention more than he would gain in credit for fidelity.

The meeting between Matilda and Cecilia, for example, in the first act of _The Rovers_, and their sudden intimacy, has been censured as unnatural. Be it so. It is taken, _almost word for word_, from _Stella_, a German (or professedly a German) piece now much in vogue; from which also the catastrophe of MR. HIGGINS’S play is in part borrowed, so far as relates to the agreement to which the ladies come, as the reader will see by and bye, to share Casimere between them.

The dinner-scene is copied partly from the published translation of _The Stranger_, and partly from the first scene of _Stella_. The song of Rogero, with which the first act concludes, is admitted on all hands to be in the very first taste; and if no German original is to be found for it, so much the worse for the credit of German literature.

An objection has been made by one anonymous letter-writer to the names of Puddingfield and Beefington, as little likely to have been assigned to English characters by any author of taste or discernment. In answer to this objection we have, in the first place, to admit, that a small, and we hope not an unwarrantable, alteration has been made by us since the MS. has been in our hands. These names stood originally Puddincrantz and Beefinstern, which sounded to our ears as being liable, especially the latter, to a ridiculous inflection—a difficulty that could only be removed by furnishing them with English terminations. With regard to the more substantial syllables of the names, our author proceeded, in all probability, on the authority of Goldoni, who, though not a German, is an Italian writer of considerable reputation; and who, having heard that the English were distinguished for their love of liberty and beef, has judiciously compounded the two words _Runnymede_ and _Beef_, and thereby produced an English nobleman, whom he styles _Lord Runnybeef_.

To dwell no longer on particular passages, the best way perhaps of explaining the whole scope and view of Mr. H.’s imitation will be to transcribe the short sketch of the plot which that gentleman transmitted to us, together with his drama, and which it is perhaps the more necessary to give at length, as, the limits of our paper not allowing of the publication of the whole piece, some general knowledge of its main design may be acceptable to our readers, in order to enable them to judge of the several extracts which we lay before them.

PLOT.

Rogero, son of the late minister of the Count of Saxe Weimar, having while he was at college, fallen desperately in love with Matilda Pottingen, daughter of his tutor, Doctor Engelbertus Pottingen, Professor of Civil Law; and Matilda evidently returning his passion, the Doctor, to prevent ill consequences, sends his daughter on a visit to her aunt in Wetteravia, where she becomes acquainted with Casimere, a Polish Officer, who happens to be quartered near her aunt’s, and has several children by him.

Roderic, Count of Saxe Weimar, a prince of a tyrannical and licentious disposition, has for his Prime Minister and favourite Gaspar, a crafty villain, who had risen to his post by first ruining, and then putting to death, Rogero’s father. Gaspar, apprehensive of the power and popularity which the young Rogero may enjoy at his return to Court, seizes the occasion of his intrigue with Matilda (of which he is apprized officially by Doctor Pottingen) to procure from his master an order for the recall of Rogero from college, and for committing him to the care of the Prior of the Abbey of Quedlinburgh, a priest, rapacious, savage, and sensual, and devoted to Gaspar’s interests—sending at the same time private orders to the Prior to confine him in a dungeon.

Here Rogero languishes many years. His daily sustenance is administered to him through a grated opening at the top of a cavern, by the landlady of the Golden Eagle at Weimar, with whom Gaspar contracts, in the prince’s name, for his support; intending, and more than once endeavouring, to corrupt the waiter to mingle poison with the food, in order that he may get rid of Rogero for ever.

In the meantime, Casimere, having been called away from the neighbourhood of Matilda’s residence to other quarters, becomes enamoured of and marries Cecilia, by whom he has a family; and whom he likewise deserts after a few years’ cohabitation, on pretence of business which calls him to Kamtschatka.

Doctor Pottingen, now grown old and infirm, and feeling the want of his daughter’s society, sends young Pottingen in search of her, with strict injunctions not to return without her; and to bring with her either her present lover Casimere, or, should that not be possible, Rogero himself, if he can find him; the Doctor having set his heart upon seeing his children comfortably settled before his death. Matilda, about the same period, quits her aunt’s in search of Casimere; and Cecilia, having been advertised (by an anonymous letter) of the falsehood of his Kamtschatka journey, sets out in the post-waggon on a similar pursuit.

It is at this point of time the Play opens—with the accidental meeting of Cecilia and Matilda at the Inn at Weimar. Casimere arrives there soon after, and falls in first with Matilda, and then with Cecilia. Successive _éclaircissements_ take place, and an arrangement is finally made, by which the two ladies are to live jointly with Casimere.

Young Pottingen, wearied with a few weeks’ search, during which he has not been able to find either of the objects of it, resolves to stop at Weimar, and wait events there. It so happens that he takes up his lodgings in the same house with Puddingfield and Beefington, two English noblemen, whom the tyranny of King John has obliged to fly from their country; and who, after wandering about the continent for some time, have fixed their residence at Weimar.

The news of the signature of Magna Charta arriving, determines Puddingfield and Beefington to return to England. Young Pottingen opens his case to them, and entreats them to stay to assist him in the object of his search.—This they refuse; but coming to the Inn where they are to set off for Hamburgh, they meet Casimere, from whom they had both received many civilities in Poland.

Casimere, by this time tired of his “DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT,” and having learnt from the waiter that Rogero is confined in the vaults of the neighbouring abbey _for love_, resolves to attempt his rescue, and to make over Matilda to him as the price of his deliverance. He communicates his scheme to Puddingfield and Beefington, who agree to assist him; as also does young Pottingen. The Waiter of the Inn, proving to be a _Knight Templar_ in disguise, is appointed leader of the expedition. A band of Troubadours, who happen to be returning from the Crusades, and a company of Austrian and Prussian Grenadiers returning from the Seven Years’ War, are engaged as troops.

The attack on the Abbey is made with success. The Count of Weimar and Gaspar, who are feasting with the Prior, are seized and beheaded in the refectory. The Prior is thrown into the dungeon from which Rogero is rescued. Matilda and Cecilia rush in. The former recognises Rogero, and agrees to live with him. The children are produced on all sides—and young Pottingen is commissioned to write to his father, the Doctor, to detail the joyful events which have taken place, and to invite him to Weimar to partake of the general felicity.

THE ROVERS; OR, THE DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT.

## ACT II.

_Scene, a Room in an ordinary Lodging-house at Weimar_—PUDDINGFIELD _and_ BEEFINGTON _discovered sitting at a small deal table, and playing at All-fours—Young_ POTTINGEN, _at another table in the corner of the room, with a pipe in his mouth, and a Saxon mug of a singular shape beside him, which he repeatedly applies to his lips, turning back his head, and casting his eyes towards the firmament—at the last trial he holds the mug for some moments in a directly inverted position; then replaces it on the table with an air of dejection, and gradually sinks into a profound slumber—the pipe falls from his hand, and is broken._

BEEF. I beg.

PUDD. [_Deals three cards to_ BEEFINGTON.] Are you satisfied?

BEEF. Enough; what have you?

PUDD. High, low, and the game.

BEEF. D——n! ’Tis my deal. [_Deals; turns up a knave._] One for his heels!

[_Triumphantly._

PUDD. Is king highest?

BEEF. No. [_Sternly_] The game is mine. The knave gives it me.

PUDD. Are knaves so prosperous?

BEEF. Aye, marry are they in this world. They have the game in their hands. Your kings are but _noddies_[276] to them.

PUDD. Ha! ha! ha! Still the same proud spirit, Beefington, which procured thee thine exile from England.

BEEF. England! my native land! when shall I revisit thee?

[_During this time_ PUDDINGFIELD _deals, and begins to arrange his hand._

BEEF. [_Continues._] Phoo, hang All-fours; what are they to a mind ill at ease? Can they cure the heartache? Can they soothe banishment? Can they lighten ignominy? Can All-fours do this? O, my Puddingfield! thy limber and lightsome spirit bounds up against affliction with the elasticity of a well-bent bow; but mine—O! mine—

[_Falls into an agony, and sinks back in his chair. Young_ POTTINGEN, _awakened by the noise, rises, and advances with a grave demeanour towards_ BEEFINGTON _and_ PUDDINGFIELD. _The former begins to recover._

Y. POT. What is the matter, comrades,[277] you seem agitated. Have you lost or won?

BEEF. Lost! I have lost my country.

Y. POT. And I my sister. I came hither in search of her.

BEEF. O, England!

Y. POT. O, Matilda!

BEEF. Exiled by the tyranny of an usurper, I seek the means of revenge, and of restoration to my country.

Y. POT. Oppressed by the tyranny of an Abbot, persecuted by the jealousy of a Count, the betrothed husband of my sister languishes in a loathsome captivity; her lover is fled no one knows whither, and I, her brother, am torn from my parental roof, and from my studies in chirurgery, to seek him and her, I know not where—to rescue Rogero, I know not how. Comrades, your counsel. My search fruitless—my money gone—my baggage stolen! what am I to do? In yonder Abbey—in these dark, dank vaults, there, my friends, there lies Rogero—there Matilda’s heart.

## SCENE II.

_Enter_ WAITER.

WAITER. Sir, here is a person who desires to speak with you.

BEEF. [_Goes to the door and returns with a letter, which he opens. On perusing it his countenance becomes illuminated, and expands prodigiously._] Ah, my friend, what joy!

[_Turning to_ PUDDINGFIELD.

PUDD. What? tell me—let your Puddingfield partake it.

BEEF. See here.

[_Produces a printed paper._

PUDD. What?

[_With impatience._

BEEF. [_In a significant tone._] A newspaper!

PUDD. Ah, what sayst thou?—A newspaper!

BEEF. Yes, Puddingfield, and see here [_shows it partially_], from England.

PUDD. [_With extreme earnestness._] Its name?

BEEF. The _Daily Advertiser_.

PUDD. Oh, ecstasy!

BEEF. [_With a dignified severity._] Puddingfield, calm yourself—repress those transports—remember that you are a man.

PUDD. [_After a pause, with suppressed emotion._] Well, I will be—I am calm—yet tell me, Beefington, does it contain any news?

BEEF. Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield—the Barons are victorious—King John has been defeated—Magna Charta, that venerable immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three weeks, the third of July, Old Style.

PUDD. I can scarce believe my ears—but let me satisfy my eyes—show me the paragraph.

BEEF. Here it is, just above the advertisements.

PUDD. [_Reads._] “The great demand for Packwood’s Razor Straps”—

BEEF. Pshaw!—what, ever blundering!—you drive me from my patience. See here, at the head of the column.

PUDD. [_Reads._]

“A hireling print, devoted to the court, Has dared to question our veracity Respecting the events of yesterday; But by to-day’s accounts, our information Appears to have been perfectly correct. The Charter of our Liberties received The royal signature at five o’clock, When messengers were instantly dispatched To Cardinal Pandulfo; and their majesties, After partaking of a cold collation, Returned to Windsor.”—I am satisfied.

BEEF. Yet here again—there are some further particulars [_turns to another part of the paper_]. “Extract of a letter from Egham—My dear friend, we are all here in high spirits—the interesting event which took place this morning at Runnymede, in the neighbourhood of this town”—

PUDD. Ah, Runnymede! enough—no more—my doubts are vanished—then are we free indeed!

BEEF. I have, besides, a letter in my pocket from our friend, the immortal Bacon, who has been appointed Chancellor. Our outlawry is reversed!—What says my friend—shall we return by the next packet?

PUDD. Instantly, instantly!

BOTH. Liberty! Adelaide! revenge!

[_Exeunt—Young_ POTTINGEN _following and waving his hat, but obviously without much consciousness of the meaning of what has passed._

_Scene changes to the outside of the Abbey.—A Summer’s Evening; Moonlight._

_Companies of Austrian and Prussian Grenadiers march across the stage confusedly, as if returning from the Seven Years War.—Shouts and martial music._

_The Abbey Gates are opened; the Monks are seen passing in procession, with the_ PRIOR _at their head; the choir is heard chanting vespers.—After which a pause; then a bell is heard, as if ringing for supper; soon after, a noise of singing and jollity._

_Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the_ PORTER, _a_ TROUBADOUR, _with a bundle under his cloak, and a Lady under his arm_; TROUBADOUR _seems much in liquor, but caresses the_ FEMALE MINSTREL.

FEM. MIN. Trust me, Gieronimo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou got under thy cloak?

TROU. Pshaw! women will be inquiring. Melancholy! not I. I will sing thee a song, and the subject of it shall be the question—“What have I got under my cloak?” It is a riddle, Margaret—I learnt it of an almanac-maker at Gotha—if thou guessest it after the first stanza, thou shalt have never a drop for thy pains. Hear me—and, d’ye mark! twirl thy thingumbob while I sing.

FEM. MIN. ’Tis a pretty tune, and hums dolefully.

[_Plays on her balalaika._

TROU.

I bear a secret comfort _here_,[278]

[_Putting his hand on the bundle._

A joy I’ll ne’er impart; It is not wine, it is not beer, But it consoles my heart.

FEM. MIN. [_Interrupting him._] I’ll be hang’d if you don’t mean the bottle of cherry-brandy that you stole out of the vaults in the abbey cellar.

TROU. I mean!—Peace, wench; thou disturbest the current of my feelings—

[FEM. MIN. _attempts to lay hold on the bottle_; TROUBADOUR _pushes her aside, and continues singing without interruption_.

This cherry-bounce, this loved noyau, My drink for ever be; But, sweet my love, thy wish forego; I’ll give no drop to thee!

[_Both together._]

TROU. { This } cherry-bounce { this } loved noyau, F. M. { That } „ { that } „

TROU. { My } drink for ever be; F. M. { Thy } „

TROU. } But, sweet my love, { thy wish forgo! F. M. } „ { one drop bestow,

TROU. { I } keep it all for { me! F. M. { Nor } „ { thee!

[_Exeunt struggling for the bottle, but without anger or animosity, the_ FEM. MIN. _appearing by degrees to obtain a superiority in the contest._

END OF ACT II.

ACT THE THIRD—contains the éclaircissements and final arrangement between CASIMERE, MATILDA, and CECILIA; which so nearly resemble the concluding act of _Stella_, that we forbear to lay it before our readers.

## ACT IV.

_Scene, the Inn door; Diligence drawn up._—CASIMERE _appears superintending the package of his portmanteaus, and giving directions to the_ PORTERS.

_Enter_ BEEFINGTON _and_ PUDDINGFIELD.

PUDD. Well, Coachey, have you got two inside places?

COACH. Yes, your Honour.

PUDD. [_seems to be struck with_ CASIMERE’S _appearance. He surveys him earnestly without paying any attention to the_ COACHMAN, _then doubtingly pronounces_] Casimere!

CAS. [_turning round rapidly, recognizes_ PUDDINGFIELD, _and embraces him._] My Puddingfield!

PUDD. My Casimere!

CAS. What, Beefington too! [_discovering him_]—then is my joy complete.

BEEF. Our fellow-traveller, as it seems!

CAS. Yes, Beefington—but wherefore to Hamburgh?

BEEF. Oh, Casimere[279]—to fly—to fly—to return—England—our country—Magna Charta—it is liberated—a new æra—House of Commons—Crown and Anchor—Opposition—

CAS. What a contrast! you are flying to liberty and your home—I, driven from my home by tyranny, and exposed to domestic slavery in a foreign country.

BEEF. How domestic slavery?

CAS. Too true—two wives—[_slowly, and with a dejected air—then after a pause_]—you knew my Cecilia?

PUDD. Yes, five years ago.

CAS. Soon after that period I went upon a visit to a lady in Wetteravia—my Matilda was under her protection. Alighting at a peasant’s cabin, I saw her on a charitable visit, spreading bread-and-butter for the children, in a light-blue riding-habit. The simplicity of her appearance—the fineness of the weather—all conspired to interest me—my heart moved to hers—as if by magnetic sympathy. We wept, embraced, and went home together: she became the mother of my Pantalowsky. But five years of enjoyment have not stifled the reproaches of my conscience—her Rogero is languishing in captivity—if I could restore her to _him_!

BEEF. Let us rescue him.

CAS. Will without power[280] is like children playing at soldiers.

BEEF. Courage without power[281] is like a consumptive running footman.

CAS. Courage without power is a contradiction.[282] Ten brave men might set all Quedlinburgh at defiance.

BEEF. Ten brave men—but where are they to be found?

CAS. I will tell you—marked you the waiter?

BEEF. The waiter?

[_doubtingly._

CAS. [_in a confidential tone_]. No waiter, but a _Knight Templar_. Returning from the Crusade, he found his Order dissolved, and his person proscribed. He dissembled his rank, and embraced the profession of a waiter. I have made sure of him already. There are, besides, an Austrian, and a Prussian grenadier. I have made them abjure their national enmity, and they have sworn to fight henceforth in the cause of freedom. These with young Pottingen, the waiter, and ourselves, make seven—the Troubadour, with his two attendant minstrels, will complete the ten.

BEEF. Now then for the execution.

[_With enthusiasm._

PUDD. Yes, my boys—for the execution.

[_Clapping them on the back._

WAITER. But hist! we are observed.

TROU. Let us by a song conceal our purposes.

RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.[283]

CAS. Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow From night’s cold lungs our purpose know!

PUDD. Let Silence, mother of the dumb,

BEEF. Press on each lip her palsied thumb!

WAIT. Let Privacy, allied to sin, That loves to haunt the tranquil inn—

GREN. } And Conscience start, when she shall view THOU. } The mighty deed we mean to do!

GENERAL CHORUS—_Con spirito._

Then friendship swear, ye faithful bands, Swear to save a shackled hero! See where yon abbey frowning stands! Rescue, rescue, brave Rogero!

CAS. Thrall’d in a monkish tyrant’s fetters Shall great Rogero hopeless lie?

Y. POT. In my pocket I have letters, Saying, “Help me, or I die!”

_Allegro Allegretto._

CAS. BEEF. PUDD. GREN. TROU. } Let us fly, let us fly, WAITER, AND POT. _with enthusiasm_. } Let us help, ere he die!

[_Exeunt omnes, waving their hats._

_Scene, the Abbey Gate, with Ditches, Drawbridges, and Spikes; Time, about an hour before Sunrise.—The conspirators appear as if in ambuscade, whispering and consulting together, in expectation of the signal for attack.—The_ WAITER _is habited as a Knight Templar, in the dress of his Order, with the Cross on his breast, and the scallop on his shoulder._—PUDDINGFIELD _and_ BEEFINGTON _armed with blunderbusses and pocket-pistols; the_ GRENADIERS _in their proper uniforms.—The_ TROUBADOUR _with his attendant minstrels bring up the rear; martial music: the conspirators come forward, and present themselves before the Gate of the Abbey.—Alarum; firing of pistols; the Convent appear in Arms upon the Walls; the Drawbridge is let down; a body of choristers and lay-brothers attempt a sally, but are beaten back, and the Verger killed.—The besieged attempt to raise the Drawbridge_; PUDDINGFIELD _and_ BEEFINGTON _press forward with alacrity, throw themselves upon the Drawbridge, and by the exertion of their weight preserve it in a state of depression; the other besiegers join them, and attempt to force the entrance, but without effect._—PUDDINGFIELD _makes the signal for the battering-ram.—Enter_ QUINTUS CURTIUS _and_ MARCUS CURIUS DENTATUS _in their military habits, preceded by the Roman Eagle; the rest of their Legion are employed in bringing forward a battering-ram, which plays for a few minutes to slow time, till the entrance is forced.—After a short resistance, the besiegers rush in with shouts of Victory._

_Scene changes to the interior of the Abbey.—The inhabitants of the Convent are seen flying in all directions._

_The_ COUNT OF WEIMAR _and the_ PRIOR, _who had been found feasting in the Refectory, are brought in manacled. The_ COUNT _appears transported with rage, and gnaws his chains.—The_ PRIOR _remains insensible, as if stupefied with grief._—BEEFINGTON _takes the keys of the Dungeon, which are hanging at the_ PRIOR’S _girdle, and makes a sign for them both to be led away into confinement.—Exeunt_ PRIOR _and_ COUNT, _properly guarded.—The rest of the conspirators disperse in search of the Dungeon where_ ROGERO _is confined._

END OF ACT THE FOURTH.

[Illustration]

No. XXXII.

June 18, 1798.

We are indebted for the following imitation of CATULLUS to a literary correspondent. Whether it will remove the doubts we formerly expressed, of CITIZEN MUSKEIN’S acquaintance with the classics, from the minds of our readers, we cannot pretend to say. It is given to us as a faithful translation from the French—as such, we present it to our readers; premising only, that though the _Citizen Imitator_ seems to have _Sans-culottized_ the original in two or three places, yet he everywhere expresses himself with a _naïveté_ and truth in his verse that we seek for in vain in many of his countrymen who have recorded their victories and defeats in very vulgar prose.

AN AFFECTIONATE EFFUSION OF CITIZEN MUSKEIN TO HAVRE-DE-GRACE.

Fairest of cities,[284] which the Seine Surveys ’twixt Paris and the main, Sweet HAVRE! sweetest HAVRE, hail! How gladly with my tatter’d sail,[285] Yet trembling from this wild adventure, Do I thy friendly harbour enter!

Well—now I’ve leisure, let me see What boats are left me; one, two, three— Bravo! the better half remain; And all my heroes are not slain. And if my senses don’t deceive, I too am safe,[286]—yes, I believe, Without a wound I reach thy shore (For I have felt myself all o’er); I’ve all my limbs, and, be it spoken With honest triumph, no bone broken.

How pleasing is the sweet transition[287] From this vile Gun-boat Expedition; From winds and waves, and wounds and scars, From British soldiers, British tars, To his own house, where, free from danger, MUSKEIN may live at rack and manger; May stretch his limbs in his own cot,[288] Thankful he has not gone to pot; Nor for the bubble Glory strive, But bless himself that he’s alive!

HAVRE,[289] sweet Havre! hail again, O! bid thy sons (a frolic train,[290] Who under CHÉNIER welcomed in, With dance and song, the _Guillotine_). In long procession seek the strand; For MUSKEIN now prepares to land, ’Scaped, Heav’n knows how, from that cursed crew That haunt the rocks of SAINT MARCOU.

[TO THE PENINSULA OF SIRMIO. UPON THE RETURN OF THE POET TO HIS COUNTRY HOUSE THERE.

_Translated_ from CATULLUS.

Sirmio, of all the shores the gem, The isles where circling Neptune strays; Whether the vast and boisterous main Or lake’s more limpid waves they stem, How gladly on thy waves I gaze! How blest to visit thee again!

I scarce believe, while rapt I stand, That I have left the Thynian fields And all Bithynia far behind, And safely view my favourite land. Oh bliss, when care dispersing yields To full repose the placid mind!

Then when the mind its load lays down; When we regain, all hazards past, And with long ceaseless travel tired, Our household god again our own; And press in tranquil sleep at last The well-known bed so oft desired—

This can alone atonement make For every toil. Hail, Sirmio sweet! Be gay, thy lord hath ceased to roam! Ye laughing waves of Lydia’s lake, Smile all around! thy master greet With all thy smiles, my pleasant home!—ED.]

No. XXXIII.[291]

June 25, 1798.

After the splendid account of BUONAPARTE’S successes in the East, which our readers will find in another part of this paper,[292] and which they will peruse with equal wonder and apprehension, it is some consolation to us to have to state, not only from authority, but in verse, that our government has not been behindhand with that of France; but that aware of the wise and enterprising spirit of the enemy, and of the danger which might arise to our distant possessions from the export of learning and learned men being entirely in their hands, ministers have long ago determined on an expedition of a similar nature, and have actually embarked at Portsmouth on board one of the East India Company’s ships taken up for that purpose (the ship _Capricorn_, Mr. Thomas Truman, Commander), several tons of _savans_, the growth of this country. The whole was conducted with the utmost secrecy and dispatch, and it was not till we were favoured with the following copy of a letter (obligingly communicated to us by the Tunisian gentleman to whom it is addressed) that we had any suspicion of the extent and nature of the design, or indeed of any such design being in contemplation.

The several great names which are combined to render this Expedition the most surprising and splendid ever undertaken, could not indeed have been spared from the country to which they are an ornament for any other purpose than one the most obviously connected with the interests of the empire, and the most widely beneficial to mankind.

The secrecy with which they have been withdrawn from the British public, without being so much as missed or enquired after, reflects the highest honour on the planners of the enterprise. Even the celebrity of DOCTOR PARR has not led to any discovery or investigation: the silent admirers of that great man have never once thought of asking what was become of him; till it is now all at once come to light, that he has been for weeks past on shipboard, the brightest star in the bright constellation of talents which stud the quarter-deck of the _Capricorn_, Mr. T. Truman (as before mentioned), Commander.

The resignation of the late worthy President of a certain Agricultural Board[293] might indeed have taught mankind to look for some extraordinary event in the world of science and adventure; and those who had the good fortune to see the deportation from his house, of the several wonderful anomalies which had for years formed its most distinguished inmates,—the stuffed ram, the dried boar, the cow with three horns, and other fanciful productions of a like nature, could not but speculate with some degree of seriousness on the purpose of their removal, and on the place of their destination.

It now appears that there was in truth no light object in view. They were destined, with the rest of the _savans_, on whom this country prides itself (and long may it have reason to indulge the honest exultation), to undertake a voyage of no less grandeur than peril; to counteract the designs of the Directory, and to frustrate or forestal the conquests of Buonaparte.

The young gentleman who writes the following letter to his friend in London is, as may be seen, interpreter to the Expedition. We have understood, further, that he is connected with the young man who writes for the _Morning Chronicle_, and conducts the _Critical, Argumentative_, and _Geographical_ departments. Some say it is the young man himself, who has assumed a feigned name, and, under the disguise of a Turkish dress and circumcision, is gone, at the express instigation of his employers, to improve himself in geographical knowledge. We have our doubts upon this subject, as we think we recognise the style of this deplorable young man in an article of last week’s _Morning Chronicle_, which we have had occasion to answer in a preceding column of our present paper. Be that as it may, the information contained in the following letter may be depended upon.

We cannot take leave of the subject without remarking what a fine contrast and companion the vessel and cargo described in the following poem affords [_sic_] to the “NAVIS STULTIFERA,” the “SHIPPE OF FOOLES” of the celebrated BARCLAY; and we cannot forbear hoping that the _Argenis_ of an author of the same name may furnish a hint for an account of this stupendous Expedition in a learned language, from the only pen which in modern days is capable of writing Latin with a purity and elegance worthy of so exalted a theme, and that the author of a classical _preface_[294] may become the writer of a no less celebrated voyage.

TRANSLATION OF A LETTER, (IN ORIENTAL CHARACTERS) FROM BAWBA-DARA-ADUL-PHOOLA,[295] DRAGOMAN TO THE EXPEDITION, TO NEEK-AWL-ARETCHID-KOOEZ, SECRETARY TO THE TUNISIAN EMBASSY.

DEAR NEEK-AWL,

You’ll rejoice, that at length I am able, To date these few lines from the captain’s own table. Mr. Truman himself, of his proper suggestion, Has in favour of science decided the question; So we walk the main-deck, and are mess’d with the captain, I leave you to judge of the joys we are wrapt in.

At Spithead they embark’d us, how precious a cargo! And we sail’d before day to escape the embargo. There was SHUCKBOROUGH,[296] the wonderful mathematician; And DARWIN, the poet, the sage, and physician; There was BEDDOES, and BRUIN, and GODWIN, whose trust is, He may part with his work on _Political Justice_ To some Iman or Bonze, or Judaical Rabbin; So with huge quarto volumes he piles up the cabin. There was great DR. PARR whom we style _Bellendenus_, The Doctor and I have a hammock between us. ’Tis a little unpleasant thus crowding together, On account of the motion and heat of the weather; _Two_ souls in one berth they oblige us to cram, And Sir John[297] _will_ insist on a place for his ram. Though the Doctor, I find, is determined to think ’Tis the animal’s hide that occasions the stink; In spite of th’ experienced opinion of Truman, Who contends that the scent is exclusively human. But BEDDOES and DARWIN engage to repair This slight inconvenience with _oxygen_ air.

Whither bound? (you will ask). ’Tis a question, my friend, On which I long doubted; my doubt’s at an end. To Arabia the Stony, Sabæa the gummy, To the land where each man that you meet is a mummy; To the mouths of the Nile, to the banks of Araxes, To the _Red_ and the _Yellow_, the _White_ and the _Black_ seas, With telescopes, globes, and a quadrant and sextant, And the works of all authors whose writings are extant; With surveys and plans, topographical maps, Theodolites, watches, spring-guns and steel-traps, Phials, crucibles, air-pumps, electric machinery, And pencils for painting the natives and scenery. In short, we are sent to oppose all we know To the knowledge and mischievous arts of the foe, Who, though placing in arms a well-grounded reliance, Go to war with a flying artillery of science.

The French _savans_, it seems, recommended this measure, With a view to replenish the national treasure. First, the true _Rights of Man_ they will preach in all places, But chief (when ’tis found) in the Egyptian Oasis: And this doctrine, ’tis hoped, in a very few weeks Will persuade the wild Arabs to murder their cheiks, And, to aid the _Great Nation’s_ beneficent plans, Plunder pyramids, catacombs, towns, caravans, Then enlist under Arcolé’s gallant commander, Who will conquer the world like his model ISKANDER. His army each day growing bolder and finer, With the Turcoman tribes he subdues Asia Minor, Beats Paul and his Scythians, his journey pursues Cross the Indus, with tribes of Armenians and Jews, And Bucharians, and Affghans, and Persians, and Tartars,— Chokes the wretched Mogul in his grandmother’s garters, And will hang him to dry in the Luxembourg hall, ’Midst the plunder of Carthage and spoils of Bengal.

Such, we hear, was the plan; but I trust, if we meet ’em, That _savant_ to _savant_, our cargo will beat ’em. Our plan of proceeding I’ll presently tell;— But soft—I am call’d—I must bid you farewell: To attend on our _savans_ my pen I resign, For, it seems, that they _duck_ them on _crossing_ the Line.

* * * * *

We deeply regret this interruption of our oriental poet, and the more so, as the prose letters which we have received from a less learned correspondent do not enable us to explain the tactics of our belligerent philosophers so distinctly as we could have wished. It appears, in general, that the learned Doctor who has the honour of sharing the hammock of the amiable oriental, trusted principally to his superior knowledge in the Greek language, by means of which he hoped to entangle his antagonists in inextricable confusion. DR. DARWIN proposed (as might be expected) his celebrated experiment of the Ice-island,[298] which, being towed on the coast of Africa, could not fail of spoiling the climate, and immediately terrifying and embarrassing the sailors of Buonaparte’s fleet, accustomed to the mild temperature and gentle gales of the Mediterranean, and therefore ill qualified to struggle with this new importation of tempests. DR. BEDDOES was satisfied with the project of communicating to Buonaparte a consumption, of the same nature with that which he formerly tried on himself, but superior in virulence, and therefore calculated to make the most rapid and fatal ravages in the hectic constitution of the Gallic hero. The rest of the plan is quite unintelligible, excepting a hint about Sir J. S.’s intention of proceeding with his ram to the celebrated Oasis, and of bringing away, for the convenience of the Bank, the treasures contained in the temple of Jupiter Ammon.

FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE EXTRAORDINARY.[299]

The Priority of Intelligence which has ever distinguished OUR PAPER will, We trust, receive additional lustre from the extraordinary News which We now lay before the Public. We received it by a Neutral Ship, which arrived in the River last night; and feel ourselves much indebted to the attention of our Correspondent, a Currant Merchant at _Zanté_, for its early communication. Without arrogating to ourselves that merit which is (perhaps) justly our due, We think ourselves justified in asserting that it is not only the earliest, but, if We are not much mistaken, the only account which will appear in the Prints of this Day respecting the Successes of BUONAPARTÉ.

COPY OF A LETTER FROM GENERAL BUONAPARTÉ TO THE COMMANDANT AT ZANTÉ.

“_Athens, 18 Prairial._

“CITIZEN GENERAL,

“Victory still attends us. I inclose you a Copy of a Letter which I have this day written to the Directory. Health and Fraternity.

“BUONAPARTÉ.”

“_Head-Quarters_, Salamis, _18 Prairial_.

“Citizens directors,

“The brave Soldiers, who conferred Liberty on _Rome_, have continued to deserve well of their Country. _Greece_ has joyfully received her Deliverers. The Tree of Liberty is planted on the _Piræus_. Thirty thousand Janizaries, the Slaves of Despotism, had taken possession of the Isthmus of _Corinth_. Two Demi-brigades opened us a passage. After ten days’ fighting, we have driven the _Turks_ from the _Morea_. The _Peloponnesus_ is now free. Every step in my power has been taken to revive the antient spirit of _Sparta_. The Inhabitants of that celebrated City, seeing _black broth_ of my Troops, and the scarcity of specie to which we have been long accustomed, will, I doubt not, soon acquire the frugal virtues of their Ancestors. As a proper measure of precaution, I have removed all PITT’S gold from the Country.

“Off this Island we encountered the Fleet of the SULTAN. The Mahometan Crescent soon fled before the three-coloured flag. Nine Sail of the Line are the fruits of this Victory. The CAPTAIN PACHA’S Ship, a second rate, struck to a National Corvette. My Aide-de-Camp will present you with the model of a _Trireme_, which was found among the Archives of _Athens_. Vessels of this description draw so little water, that our Naval Architects may perhaps think them more eligible than Rafts, for the conveyance of the _Army of England_. Liberty will be sufficiently avenged, if the ruins of a Grecian City furnish us with the means of transporting the Conquerors of _Rome_ to _Britain_.

“On landing at this Island, I participated in a Scene highly interesting to Humanity. A poor Fisherman, of the family of THEMISTOCLES, attended by his Wife, a descendant of the virtuous PHRYNE, fell at my feet. I received him with the Fraternal embrace, and promised him the protection of the Republic. He invited me to supper at his Hut, and in gratitude to his Deliverer presented me with a memorable _Oyster Shell_, inscribed with the Name of his illustrious Ancestor. As this curious piece of antiquity may be of service to some of the DIRECTORY, I have inclosed it in my Dispatches, together with a Marble Tablet, containing the proper form for pronouncing the Sentence of _Ostracism_ on _Royalist Athenians_.

“KLÉBER, whom I had ordered to _Constantinople_, informs me that the Capital of Turkey has proved an easy conquest. _Santa-Sophia_ has been converted into a Temple of Reason; the _Seraglio_ has been purified by _Theo-Philanthropists_, and the liberated Circassians are learning from our Sailors the lessons of Equality and Fraternity. A Detachment has been sent to Troy, for the purpose pf organizing the Department of _Mount Ida_. The Tomb of ACHILLES has been repaired, and the Bust of BRISEIS (which formed part of the Pedestal) restored to its original state, at the expense of the Female Citizen BUONAPARTÉ.

“The Division of the Fleet destined for Egypt has anchored in the Port of _Alexandria_. BERTHIER, who commands this Expedition, informs me that this Port will soon be restored to its ancient pre-eminence; and that its celebrated _Pharos_ will soon be fit to receive the _Reverbères_ which have been sent from the _Rue St. Honoré_.

“BARAGUAY D’HILLIERS, with the Left Wing of the _Army of Egypt_, has fixed his Head-quarters at _Jerusalem_. He is charged to restore the Jews to their ancient Rights. Citizens Jacob Jacobs, Simon Levi, and Benjamin Solomons, of Amsterdam, have been provisionally appointed Directors. The Palace of _Pontius Pilate_ is re-building for their residence. All the vestiges of Superstition in _Palestine_ have been carefully destroyed.

“I beg you will ratify a grant which I have made of the _Temple of the Sun_ at _Palmyra_ to a Society of _Illuminati_ from _Bavaria_. They may be of service in extending our future conquests.

“I have received very satisfactory accounts from DESAIX, who had been sent by BERTHIER with a Demi-brigade into the interior of _Africa_. That fine Country has been too long neglected by Europeans. In manners and civilization it much resembles France, and will soon emulate our virtues. Already does the Torrid Zone glow with the ardour of Freedom. Already has the Altar of Liberty been reared in the _Caffrarian_ and _Equinoctial Republics_. Their regenerated inhabitants have sworn eternal amity to us at a Civic Feast, to which a detachment of our Army was invited. This memorable day would have terminated with the utmost harmony, if the CAFFRARIAN COUNCIL of ANCIENTS had not devoured the greatest part of General Desaix’s État-Major for their supper. I hope our Ambassador will be instructed to require that Civic Feasts of this nature be omitted for the future. The Directory of the _Equinoctial Republic_ regret that the scarcity of British Cloth in Africa, and the great heat of the climate, prevent them from adopting our _costume_.

“We hope soon to liberate the _Hottentots_, and to drive the perfidious _English_ from the extremities of Africa and of Europe. _Asia_, too, will soon be free. The three-coloured flag floats on the summit of Caucasus; the _Tigrine Republic_ is established; the _Cis_ and _Trans-Euphratean Conventions_ are assembled; and soon shall _Arabia_, under the mild influence of _French Principles_, resume her ancient appellation, and be again denominated ‘the HAPPY’.

“In the course of the next Decade I shall sail to the Canal which is now cutting across the _Isthmus of Suez_. The Polytechnic School and Corps of Geographical Engineers are employed in devising means for conveying my heavy artillery across the great Desert. Soon shall _India_ hail us as her Deliverers, and those proud islanders, the _Tyrants of Calcutta_, fall before the _Heroes of Arcola_.

“The Members of the National Institute who accompanied the Squadron to Egypt, have made a large collection of Antiquities for the use of the Republic. Among the scattered remains of the Alexandrine Library, they have found a curious Treatise, in Arabic, respecting _Camels_, from which it appears that Human Beings, by proper treatment, may, like those useful animals, be trained to support thirst and hunger without complaining. Many reams of papyrus have been collected, as it is thought that during the present scarcity of linen and old rags in France, it may answer all the purposes of paper. CLEOPATRA’S celebrated Obelisk has been shipped on board the Admiral’s Ship _L’Orient_, cidevant _Sans Culottes_: Another man-of-war has been freighted with the _Sphinx_, which our Engineers removed from _Grand Cairo_, and which, I trust, will be thought a proper ornament for the Hall of Audience of the Directory.—The cage in which BAJAZET was confined, has been long preserved at _Bassora_; it will be transmitted to Paris as a proper model for a new _Cayenne Diligence_.—I beg leave to present to the Director MERLIN, a very curious book, bound in Morocco leather, from Algiers. It is finely illuminated with gold; and contains lists of the various fees usually received by Deys and their Ministers from Foreign Ambassadors. A broken Column will be sent from _Carthage_. It records the downfall of that Commercial City; and is sufficiently large for an Inscription (if the Directory should think proper to place it on the Banks of the _Thames_), to inform posterity that it marks the spot where _London once stood_.

“Health and Respect, “BUONAPARTÉ.”

[Illustration]

No. XXXIV.

July 2, 1798.

ODE TO A JACOBIN. FROM SUCKLING’S ODE TO A LOVER.