DRAMATIC..

A&T. XIII. Ina, a Tragedy, by Mrs. Wilmot. 8vo. 80 pp. 38. Murray. 1815.

Although an appeal will ever be open to a dramatic writer from the voice of the public to the judgment of the closet, yet it will rarely happen that the sentence of condemnation pronounced by the crowd below will be reversed at the bar of cool and dispassionate criticism above. Beauties indeed, and those of no ordinary nature, which have passed unnoticed and unheard anidst the yells of a dramatic execution, have often been rescued by a judicious critic from a mass of absurdity too great even for the depravity of modern taste to tolerate; while in a piece, the representation of which has been sanctioned by the unanimous voice of public approbation, scarcely a spark of genius can be found by the reader to redeem it from utter contempt.

The tragedy before us has had a fair trial, the issue of which is sufficiently notorious. With the plot our readers are too well acquainted, from the newspaper details, to require a second account at our hands. The leading deficiency throughout is the general absence of that interest in the fates and fortunes of the characters, which can alone command the attention of a reader, or the favour of an audience. There is little in any of the personages, INA alone excepted, to raise compassion, or to excite detestation, nor is there conduct enough in the management of the plot, or fertility in the invention of incidents, to recommend even that little.

The language is generally good, the sentiments often warm and animated, and the transitions marked with that elegance and beauty, which would naturally flow from so cultivated a mind as Mrs. Wilmot is universally acknowledged to possess. As an example of this, when Egbert is pressed to cast Ina from him, as their marriage was not sanctioned by the consent of the sovereign, and the laws of the kingdom, he replies:

"Egb. Can human laws o'ermaster the divine?
Tear from a mother's breast her infant joy,
And bid a father's heart not own his child?
Can a king's breath annul the thing that is?
"Ina. Be calm, my Egbert! oh! it is not thus
By eager words of fruitless controversy
We can avert the ill, or find the means
To reconcile our duty and our love.

I will retire, and leave thee with our friend:

Yes, my lov'd lord! true friendship has more skill

5

To

To work our good than our self-blinded judgment.
It knows not passion-for it takes the soul
Out of the earthy mould where passion lurks,
To watch,-a guardian spirit,-o'er the weal
Of its true object: as the sun it shines
For others' good!-still giving, without thought
Of like return! so high! so pure! so bounteous!
Oh! I do think kind angels lend to friendship
Some' touch of their divinity, to raise

Th' aspiring thought to heavenly harmony!" P. 10.

The following passage is finely conceived, and expressed in language the most energetic.

"Egb. King! there are ties of nature stronger far
Than even those convention has stampt sacred
'Twixt man and man, by social compact bound.
The rudest savage, howling amid deserts,
That tears his vanquish'd foe, devours his flesh,
And quaffs his smoking blood, does yet defend
His mate, the mother of his babes, with wild
And desperate love; and meekest things that creep,
Or wing the air, in nature's dearest cause
Will brave destruction from the spoiler's rage.

I am a husband, king! I am a father!" P. 18.

There is something both spirited and original in the speech of Ina, who, when summoned before her judges, and accused by Baldred, appears to sink, and is therefore charged with softness and timidity.

"Ina. Mock not, my lord, what nature's various hand Stampt on the weaker sex to set off yours.

The finer texture of our nerves will thrill

At horrid sounds: the changeful cheek will blanch,
Though not with fear; or glow with crimson hue,
Though not a thought less pure have stained the mind:
And, though I tremble, lords, nor can support me-
Nor can distinctly mark this awful presence
(For in amazement swims my troubled vision);
Yet does this frame, so fragile, bear a soul
More constant than ye think, where youthful pride
Both knows to make the choice which virtue prompts,
And by that choice abide. 'Tis death, my lords;
Dishonour,-never!" P. 50.

The scene between Ina and her father-in-law Cenulph, whom she approaches in his closet at midnight, is worked up with much power of pathos. She presents herself to him with the child of

his

son, to implore his forgiveness.

66 Cen.

"Cen. (with terror.)

Protect me, heaven!

Ha! is it past? Avaunt! terrific vision!
Com'st thou to charge me with thy blood?
"Ina. No, king!

I come to bow me at thy honour'd foot,
And plead for thee, that thou wilt spare thyself.
Oh! spare thy age, nor rob it of its staff,.
The blameless conscience! Of its graceful honours,
Posterity! and children's children's blessings!

"Cen. Thou! thou dost bar me from the joys thou nam❜st. They will be mine when thou art in the grave.

How did'st thou gain admittance at this hour?
Who aided thee in this!-his life shall pay-

"Ina. 'Twas He, to whom thou did'st pour forth the prayer.

He gave to innocence unwonted courage,

And lent my suit the winning grace it needed.

He, whose voice heaves the sea, and stills the storm--
Bade every cruel passion to subside;

And, as I pass'd, fashion'd each heart to pity.

The gentle hand, unconscious of its act,

Put back the pond'rous bolt!-With noiseless sweep

The portal open'd, to admit a mother

Bearing her orphan'd little one, to place him

Beneath a grandsire's care.

Protect this child!

The heir of Wessex' throne!

"Cen. I will not look on't.

[presenting the child.

Away, and take it hence!-It dies with thee.

"Ina. Oh! say not so! Murder the rosy babe That smiles on thee? Thy age's stay and hope! Thou, who not yet in wantonness of power, Hast rioted in blood! Not yet hast mock'd At nature's ties!-and at thy first essay To crimson thy hard hand with this! thy own! Nay, tremble, tyrant! tremble in thy turn Before a frantic mother!-Thou a father! Oh, yes! thou art, and father of a son, Whose infancy was dear as is this babe's, Then save my child, and let my life suffice. [Clinging to him. "Cen. Away! nor hang on me. Prepare for death! "Ina. I am prepar'd to meet death as becomes me; Although 'tis hard to die, so young, so lov'd!

Thy Egbert, too, will find it hard to part.

"Cen. The short-liv'd pang will be forgotten soon.
"Ina. And was the pang so soon forgot by thee,
To lose thy virtuous queen, my gracious mistress,
Though 'twas by nature's hand matur'd for heav'n
By a long life of happiness and love!

Not torn from thee, as must be Egbert's wife,
In spring of bliss, but gently summon'd hence.

"Cen. No more of this. Fair Edelfieda's charms, With whom he weds

"Ina. Oh! never, never, king!

He will not long survive. Thus Edelfleda

Will be appeas'd, and peace once more restor❜d.
Then will this child-Oh, look on him, King Cenulph!
Then will this child remind thee of thy son.
Fear not to look:-he but resembles Egbert.-
He bears no feature of his wretched mother.
His looks will waken none but grateful thoughts
Of all that once was thine in Egbert's worth,
Nor e'er remind thee of the deed of blood
That stain'd thy long reign's close.

"Cen I charge thee, hence!

Was't I who will'd thy death!
"Ina. It was myself!

And I am firm to die with honour, rather
Than live with fame attainted.

My father, died with honour.

Sigiswold,

Cen. (starting at the name.) Sigiswold!
"Ina. I am his daughter! and like him I die
For thee, and for thy people.-If his blood,
His faithful blood, that at thy feet flow'd forth,
While thronging subjects hail'd thy rescu'd life
Have any claim upon a royal heart,
(But, haply, nurs'd in soft prosperity,
A king is not a man that he should pity!)
Oh! in my father's name to thee-my father!
My Egbert's father, therefore mine, I sue.

Cen. Away, thou syren! I have sworn thy death. "Ina. And I will die content-indeed I will,

If thou wilt hear thy victim's dying prayer.
Grant, grant, that I once more behold my husband!
Oh! let thy Egbert once more see his child!

And bless him, once, once more! Oh let me see him,
And parting, speak as holy wedded love,

So rudely sever'd in its youthful prime,

May prompt. This last, this sad, this little comfort,
Canst thou refuse to her whose father sav'd thee?
A mother! and a wife! whose throbbing breast
Thy hand so soon will still for ever?
"Cen. (groans.) Oh!

"Ina. Merciful God! thou dost wipe off a tear!

Spite of thyself thou hast a father's heart!

[Eagerly pressing the child towards him. Look on thy Egbert's child, and let me hear, Ere yet, at day-break, I lay down my life, A grandsire's blessing pour'd upon his head!

[CENULPH snatches the child to his bosom. INA contemplates them with rapture, then with trembling anxiety and hope. Father!

"Cen. (with terror.)

Protect me, heaven!

Ha! is it past? - Avaunt! terrific vision!
Com'st thou to charge me with thy blood?
"Ina. No, king!

I come to bow me at thy honour'd foot,
And plead for thee, that thou wilt sp
Oh! spare thy age, nor rob it of it
The blameless conscience! Of its
Posterity! and children's childre

"Cen. Thou! thou dost bar
They will be mine when thor
How did'st thou gain admit
Who aided thee in this!-

He

"Ina. 'Twas He, to
gave to innocence

And lent my suit th
He, whose voice

Bade every cru
And, as I pas
The gentle
Put back
The por
Bearir
Ben'

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on, are the most favourpowers, and they certainly jus

etter whole than is now before us. and tedious, and wants that spirit and

out experienced dramatic writers can attain. success of our authoress will not discourage

from any future attempt, as her powers are certainly beyond

rest, frame a

level. If she will select a story with more inte"plot with more art, and endow her dialogue with animation, not forgetting that moderate attention to stage which is so essential to a fortunate representation, we doubt not but that a second effort would be attended with all

more

thccess that either herself, or her friends, could desire.

NOVELS.

ART. XIV. Christabelle, the Maid of Rouen. A Novel, founded on Facts. By Mrs. Hanway, Author of " Ellinor," Andrew Stuart," and " Falconbridge Abbey." 12mo. 4 vols. pp. 1928. Longman. 1814.

66

There are, we believe, few readers who are quite aware of the severity of the labour which we reviewers undergo in their service; and fewer still who feel a proper degree of gratitude for the beneficial consequences which result to them from that labour. Yet, to a very large portion of their gratitude we think ourselves fairly entitled. What numerous drains do we not every month prevent from being made on their pockets, time, patience, and temper! Benevolently acting as their tasters, we run the risk of being poisoned ourselves, to save them from the risk of being so. Henceforth, then, we hope, that a more correct estimate will be formed of our merits, and that we shall be considered as public benefactors, and not merely as literary tomahawkers and butchers.