general reader and the scholar. The latter is deeply interested in the curious and classical account which the Observer contains of the early Greek drama. In this department, Cumberland has acknowledged his debts to the celebrated Bentley, his grandfather, and to his less known, but scarce less ingenious relation, Richard Bentley, son of the celebrated scholar, and author of the comedy or farce termed The Wishes. The aid of the former was derived from the notes which Cumberland possessed, but that of Richard Bentley was more direct.

This learned and ingenious, but rather eccentric person, was the friend of Horace Walpole, who, as his nephew Cumberland complains with some justice, exercised the rights of patronage rather unmercifully. He had been unsuccessful as a dramatic author. His comic piece entitled The Wishes, was written with a view of ridiculing the ancient drama of Greece, particularly in their pedantic adherence to the unities. This was a purpose which could scarcely be understood by a vulgar audience, for much of it turned on the absurd structure of the stage of Athens, and the peculiar stoieism with which the Chorus, supposed to be spectators of the scene, deduce moral lessons of the justice of the gods from the atrocities which the action exhibits, but without stirring a finger to interfere or to prevent them. In ridicule of this absurdity, the Chorus in The Wishes are informed that a madman has just broken his way into the cellars, with a torch in his hand, to set fire to a magazine of gunpowder; on which, instead of

using any means of prevention or escape, they began, in strophe and antistrophe, to lament their own condition, and exclaim against the thrice-unhappy madman or rather the thrice-unhappy friends of the madman, who had not taken measures of securing him—or rather upon the six-times unhappy fate of themselves, thus exposed to the madman's fury. All this is a good jest to those who remember the stoicism with which the Choruses of Eschylus and Euripides view and comment upon the horrors which they witness on the stage, but it might have been esteemed caviare to the British audience in general; yet the entertainment was well received until the extravagant incident of hanging Harlequin on the stage. The author was so sensible of the absurdity of this exhibition, that he whispered to his nephew, Cumberland, during the representation,-" If they do not damn this, they deserve to be d-d themselves;" and, as he spoke, the condemnation of the piece was complete. It is much to be wished that this singular performance were given to the public in print.—The notice of Richard Bentley has led us something from our purpose, which only called on us to remark, that he furnished Cumberland with those splendid translations from the Greek dramatists which adorn The Observer. The author, however, claims for himself the praise due to a version of the Clouds of Aristophanes, afterwards incorporated with this periodical work.

The modern characters introduced by Cumberland in his Observer, were his own; and that of the benevolent Israelite, Abraham Abrahams, was,

he informs us, written upon principle, in behalf of a persecuted race. He followed up this generous intention in a popular comedy, entitled "The Jew." The dramatic character of Sheva, combining the extremes of habitual parsimony and native philanthropy, was written in the same spirit of benevolence as that of Abrahams, and was excellently performed by Jack Bannister. The public prints gave the Jews credit for acknowledging their gratitude in a very substantial form. The author, in his Memoirs, does not disguise his wish, that they had flattered him with some token of the debt which he conceives them to have owed. We think, however, that a prior token of regard should have been bestowed on the author of Joshua, in the tale of Count Fathom; and, moreover, we cannot be surprised that the people in question felt a portrait in which they were rendered ludicrous as well as interesting, to be something between an affront and a compliment. Few of the better class of the Jewish persuasion would, we believe, be disposed to admit either Abrahams or Sheva as fitting representatives of their tribe.

In his retreat at Tunbridge, labouring in the bosom of his family, and making their common sitting-room his place of study, Cumberland continued to compose a number of dramatic pieces, of which he himself seems almost to have forgotten the names, and of which a modern reader can trace very few. We have subjoined, however, a list of them, with his other works, taken from the Index of his Memoirs. Several were successful; several unfortunate; many never performed at all; but

the spirit of the author continued unwearied and undismayed. The Arab, The Walloons, and many other plays, are forgotten; but the character of Penruddock, in the Wheel of Fortune, well conceived in itself, and admirably supported by Kemble,1 and since by Charles Young, continues to command attention and applause. The Carmelite, a tragedy, on the regular tragic plan, attracted much attention, as the inimitable Siddons played the part of the Lady of St Valois, and Kemble that of Montgomeri. The plot, however, had that fault which, after all, clings to many of Cumberland's pieces—— there was a want of originality. The spectator, or reader, was by the story irresistibly reminded of Douglas, and there was more taste than genius in the dialogue. The language was better than the sentiments; but the grace of the one could not al

1 ["Mr Kemble took great pains," says Mr Boaden, “ with the character of Penruddock in the Wheel of Fortune. It came at length upon the stage, on the 28th of February, (1795,) one of the most perfect impersonations that had ever excited human sympathy. He had fashioned every sentence of the part to his own organs, so that it seemed a decided reality; and his personal manner was so little disturbed, that the spectator, by an easy delusion, almost fancied that Mr Kemble was relating some striking misfortunes that had happened, in early life, to himself. I most seriously affirm, that, for identity, Penruddock would hardly admit of competition. Here, from the great intimacy between us, he advised with me as to the plain and almost quaker attire he wore; and I saw in his walk, and occasionally in his countenance, the image of that noble wreck of treachery and love, which was shortly to command the tears of a whole people. He had a habit, by intense meditation, of working himself into a character which he considered important, and calculated to diversify the usual range of his performances. Penruddock merited his pains.”— Memoirs of Kemble, vol. ii., p. 140.]

ways disguise that the other wanted novelty. The Brothers, The West Indian, and The Wheel of Fortune, stand high in the list of acting plays, and we are assured, by a very competent judge, that First Love, which we have not ourselves lately seen, is an excellent comedy, and maintains possession of the stage. The drama must have been Cumberland's favourite style of composition, for he went on, shooting shaft after shaft at the mark which he did not always hit, and often effacing by failures the memory of triumphant successes. His plays at last amounted to upwards of fifty, and intercession and flattery were sometimes necessary to force their way to the stage. On these occasions the Greenroom traditions avow that the veteran bard did not hesitate to bestow the most copious praises on the company who were to bring forward a new piece, at the expense of their rivals of the other house, who had his tribute of commendation in their turn, when their acceptance of a play put them in his good graces. It was also said, that when many of the dramatic authors united in a complaint to the Lord Chancellor against the late Mr Sheridan, then manager of Drury-Lane, he prevented Cumberland from joining the confederacy, by offering to bring out any manuscript play which he should select for performance. But selection was not an easy task to an author, to whom all the offspring of his genius were equally dear. After much nervous hesitation, he trusted the chance to fortune; and out of a dozen of manuscript plays which lay by him, is said to have reached the manager the first which came to hand, without reading the title.