is not in so common circulation as his 'Fables,' a transcript of our Author's Preface may not be unacceptable.

THE PROEME To the courteous Reader. 'Great marvel hath it been, (and that not unworthily) to diverse worthy wits, that in this our island of Britain, in all rare sciences so greatly abounding, more especially in all kinds of poesy highly flourishing, no poet (though otherways of notable cunning in roundelays) bath hit on the right simple Eclogue, after the true ancient guise of Theocritus, before this mine attempt.

Other poet travailing in this plain highway of pastoral know I none. Yet, certes, such it behoveth a pastoral to be, as nature in the country affordeth; and the manners also meetly copied from the rustical folk therein. In this also my love to my native country Britain much pricketh me forward, to de scribe aright the manners of our own honest and laborious ploughmen, in no wise, sure, more unworthy a British poet's imitation, than those of Sicily or Arcady; albeit, not ignorant I am what a rout and rabblement of critical gallimawfry hath been made of late days by certain young men of insipid delicacy, concerning I wist not what Golden Age, and other outrageous conceits, to which they would confine pastoral; whereof, I avow, I account nought at all, knowing no age so justly to be instiled Golden, as this of our sovereign lady Queen Anne.

This idle trumpery (only fit for schools and school-boys) unto that ancient Doric shepherd Theocritus, or his mates, was never known.

Verily, as little pleasance receiveth a true home-bred taste from all the fine finical newfangled fooleries of this gay Gothic gar niture, wherewith they so nicely bedeck their court clowns, or clown courtiers, (for which to call them rightly, I wot not) as would a prudent citizen journeying to his country farms, should he find them occupied by people of this motly make, instead of plain, don-right, bearty, cleanly folk, such as be now tenants to the burgesses of this realm.

Furthermore, it is my purpose, gentle Reader, to set before thee, as it were, a picture, or rather, lively landscape of thy own country, just as thou mightest see it, didst thou take a walk into the fields at the proper season; even as Maister Milton hath elegantly set forth the same.

As one who long in populous city pent,

Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms
Adjoin'd, from each thing met conceives de-
light;

The smell of grain, or tedded grass or kine,
Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound.

'Thou wilt not find my shepherdesses idly piping on oaten reeds; but milking the kine, tying up the sheaves, or if the bogs are astray, driving them to their styes. My shepherd gathered none other nosegays but what are the growth of our own fields; he sleepeth not under myrtle shades, but under a hedge; nor doth he vigilantly defend his flocks from wolves, because there are none, as Maister Spenser well observeth,

Well is known that since the Saxon King
Never was wolf seen, many or some,
Nor in all Kent nor in Christendom.

'For as much as I bave mentioned Maister Spenser, sootbly I must acknowledge him a bard of sweetest memorial. Yet hath his shepherd's boy at sometimes raised his rustic reed to rhymes more rumbling than rural. Diverse grave points also hath he handled of churchly matter, and doubts in religion daily arising, to great clerks only appertaining. What liketh me best are his names, indeed right simple and meet for the country, such as Lobbin, Cuddy, Hobbinol, Diggon, and others, some of which I have made bold to borrow Moreover, as he called his Eclogues, The Shepherd's Calendar, and divided the same into twelve months, I have chosen (peradventure not over rashly) to name mine by the days of the week, omitting Sunday or the Sabbath, ours being supposed to be Christian Shepherds, and to be then at churchworship. Yet further of many of Maister Spenser's Eclogues it may be observed, though months they be called, of the said months therein nothing is specified, wherein I have also esteemed him worthy my imitation.

That principally, courteous Reader, whereof I would have thee to be advertised, (seeing I depart from the vulgar usage) is touching the language of my shepherds; which is, soothly to say, such as is neither spoken by the country maiden or the courtly dame; nay, not only such as in the present times is not uttered, but was never uttered in times past, and, if I judge aright, will never be ut tered in times future; it having too much of the country to be fit for the court; too much of the court to be fit for the country; too much of the language of old times to be fit for the present; too much of the present to have been fit for the old; and too much of both to be fit for any time to come. Granted also it is, that in this my language I seem unto myself as a London mason, who calculateth his work for a term of years, when he buildeth with old materials upon a groundrent that is not his own, which soon turneth to rubbish and ruins. For this point no reason can I allege, only deep learned ensamples having led me thereunto.

'But here again much comfort ariseth in me, from the hopes, in that I conceive, when these words in the course of transitory things

Gentle Reader, turn over the leaf, and entertain thyself with the prospect of thine own country, limued by the painful hand of Thy loving countryman, JOHN GAY.'

With this premonition the reader will be prepared to take up the bucolic.

'LOBBIN CLOUT, CUDDY, CLODDipole.

'Lobbin Clout.

E.

THY younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake,
No thrustles shrill the bramble-bush forsake,
No chirping lark the welken sheen invokes,
No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes ;
O'er yonder hill does scant the dawn appear,
Then why does Cuddy leave his cot so rear?

Cud. My brown Buxoma is the featest maid
That e'er at wake delightsome gambol play'd;
Clean as young lambkins or the goose's down,
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain,
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain,
But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray,
And my cur Tray play deftest feats around;
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.

'Lob. Cl. Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is

near,

Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.
With her no sultry summer's heat I know;
In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow.
Come Blouzelinda! ease thy swain's desire,
My summer's shadow, and my winter's fire!

Cud. As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay,
Ev'n noon-tide labour seem'd an holiday;
And holidays, if haply she was gone,
Like worky-days I wish'd would soon be done.
Efstoons, Ó sweet-heart kind, my love repay,
And all the year shall then be holiday.

Lob. Cl. As Blouzelinda in a gamesome mood,

'Cud. "Ah! Lobbin Clout, I ween my plight is Behind a hay-cock loudly laughing stood,

guest,

For he that loves, a stranger is to rest;
If swains belie not thou hast prov'd the smart,
And Blouzelinda's mistress of thy heart.
This rising rear betokeneth well thy mind;
Those arms are folded for thy Blouzelind:
And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree,
Thee Blouzelinda smites, Buxoma me.

Lob. Cl. Ah Blouzelind, I love thee more by
half,

Than does their fawns,or cows their new fall'n calf:
Wo worth the tongue, may blisters sore it gall,
That names Buxoma, Blouzelind withal.

Cud. Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee ad-
vise,

Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise.
Lo, yonder Cloddipole, the blithsome swain,
The wisest lout of all the neighbouring plain!
From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies,
To know when hail will fall or winds arise;
He first that useful secret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gathering rain:
When swallows fleet soar high and sport in air,
He told us that the welkin would be clear.
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praise his sweetheart, in alternate verse:
I'll wager this same oaken staff with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize to me.
Lob. Cl. See this tobacco pouch that lin'd
with hair,

Made of the skin of sleetest fallow-deer:
This pouch that's ty'd with tape of reddest hue,
I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due.
'Cud. Begin thy carols, then, thou vaunting
slouch,

Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch.

Lob. Cl. My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass.
Fair is the king-cup that in meadow blows,
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows;
Fair is the gillitiower, of gardens sweet,
Fair is the mary-gold, for pottage meet;
But Blouzelind's than gilliflower more fair,
Than daisy, mary-gold, ur king-cup rare.

I slily ran, and snatch'd a hasty kiss,
She wip'd her lips, nor took it much amiss.
Believe me, Cuddy, while I'm bold to say,
Her breath was sweeter than the ripen'd hay.

'Cud. As my Buxoma, in a morning fair,
With gentle finger strok'd her milky care,
I quaintly stole a kiss; at first, 'tis true,
She frown'd, yet after granted one or two.
Lobbin, I swear, believe who will my vows,
Her breath by far excell'd the breathing cow's.
Lob. Cl. Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen
butter's dear,*

Of Irish swains potato is the cheer;
Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind,
Sweet turnips are the food of Blouzelind:
While she loves turnips, butter I'll despise,
Nor leeks, nor oatmeal, nor potato prize.

'Cud. In good roast-beef my landlord sticks
his knife,

The capon fat delights his dainty wife;
Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma's fare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, fare for me.
'Lob. Cl. As once I play'd at blindman's-buff,

it hapt

About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt:
I miss'd the swains, and seiz'd on Blouzelind.
True speaks that ancient proverb, "Love is
blind."

Cud. As at Hot-cockles once I laid me down,
And felt the weighty hand of many a clown,
Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I
Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye.

Lob. Cl. On two near elms the slacken'd
cord I hung;

Now high, now low, my Blouzelinda swung.
With the rude wind her rumpled garments rose,
And show'd her taper leg and scarlet hose.

Cud. Across the fallen oak the plank I laid,
And myself pois'd against the tottering maid:

* Populus Aleida gratissima, vitis Iaccho, &c.

Virg

High leapt the plank; adown Buxoma fell:
I spied-but faithful sweethearts never tell.
Lob. Ol. This riddle, Cuddy, if thou canst,
explain,

This wily riddle puzzles every swain;

What flower is that which bears the Virgin's
Dame,*

I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight;
What flower is that which royal honour craves,
Adjoin the Virgin, and 'tis strown on graves?

Clod. Forbear, contending louts, give o'er
your strains;

The richest metal joined with the same?
Cud. Answer, thou carl, and judge this rid- Your herds for want of water stand adry,

dle right,

* Marygold.

An oaken staff each merits for his pains.
But see the sunbeams bright to labour warn,
And gild the thatch of Goodman Hodge's barn.
They're weary of your songs-and so am I.
* Rosemary.

ART. 10. THESPIAN REGISTER.

Saturday Evening, May 24. better grace inquire about him; and where she Romeo and Juliet.-'Tis all a Farce. finely shows, as she gazes after him, how love's To enter into a detailed criticism of this ad- authentic arrow had penetrated her heart to the mirable tragedy, at this time, would be su- very dove-feather that plumed it. For another, perfluous. Suffice it to say, that it contains some we would notice the latter part of the garden of Shakespeare's finest fancy, and that, no scene, where she calls Romeo back, after having where, is the passion of love, in all its purity, bid him good-night the first time, and forgets why. fondness, fidelity, and strength, drawn more true The modesty and timidity, also,-the "rosy puto nature, or rendered more interesting. With dency," which Mrs. B. exhibited, when Romeo Mrs. Barnes's personation of Juliet we were led her, "nothing loth," from Friar Lawrence's much gratified. Her conception of the charac- cell to be married, was correctly judged and hapter we thought correct and vivid, and her execu- pily expressed, and showed that she does not tion generally did justice to her judgment. She exhibited not merely the passion of love, well distinguished from other kind affections, nearly allied to it, but love such as Juliet Capulet felt, and that too at the age of eighteen, when it was capable of absorbing all other feelings; before experience in life, or acquaintance with the world, had dimmed its brightness, or dashed its charming enthusiasm with the chilling spirit of selfisk calcalation. Mrs. B. also had reflected upon the object, which excited the love she was to portray. This love was not excited by great talents, splendid achievements, or grandeur of character; but by a young man of surpassing beauty, her equal in birth and fortune, and nearly her equal in age; of gallant spirit, generous disposition, polished manners, and many accomplishments. Mrs. B. penetrated further: she represented Juliet, and justly, as loving her parents, but no more than she need love parents of their character, who possessed no qualities to heighten filial piety into any thing beyond the cheerful discharge of the ordinary duties of a daughter; and though she felt the true touch of consanguinity for her kinsmen, yet there was nothing so great or amiable in either of them as to form any counterpoise in her heart to the love she bore to Romeo, which, at the same time that it was all ardour and constancy, received an additional interest from the enmity between their families. Nor did Mrs. B. forget other charms of Juliet's character; her frank simplicity, in her first confessions to Romeo, and the sweetness of her temper, manifested in her treatment of her nurse, and proved to be uniform and genuine by the fondness of the nurse.

If we were to specify the passages in Mr. B's Juliet, with which we felt most unhesitatingly satisfied, we should fix on that, for one, in which she inquires the name of the Montagues, as they leave the masquerade, beginning with the names of Romeo's companions, that she may with the VOL. 4, NO. JIh

stand in need of directions in brackets to teach her how to act. We had the pleasure to hear, in her Juliet, also, more of Mrs. B's natural voice than we ever heard before, and we most earnestly entreat her to let us always hear it. We cannot well imagine how a lady of Mrs. B's accuracy of taste, could ever make a wrong choice between two voices so very different as are her natural and artificial voices; and that she should a second time quit the former for the latter, surprises us as much as did his mother's marriage with his uncle surprise Hainlet. She must, we presume, have acquired this disagreeable voice, with which she so often afflicts us, under an impression that in her natural tones she could not be sufficiently energetic and audible. But this impression is a mistake. To be well heard, the quantity of sound is much less important than distinctness of articulation, in which Mrs. B. excels; and from her wish to be energetic, we are persuaded that she over-acts when she is not aware of it. We say so much of Mrs. B's voice, because we earnestly wish her to manage it better. We can assure her that it is universally offensive, and very often spoils the effect of all her other accomplishments.

Mr. Simpson's Romeo was generally respecta ble, and in some parts touching and forcible. His conception was accurate, and his execution, in the latter part of the story, after the death of Tybalt, and after the sorrows of separation and banishment came upon him, was more just and impressive than in the former wooing scenes. Mercutio's friendship for Romeo, his wit, and gaiety, and irascibility, and esprit du corps, were quite successfully represented by Mr. Robertson. He failed most, we think, in his account of Queen Mab, in which his manner was hardly free and spirited enough for the fine, rapid fancy, and sarcastic gaiety of the passage. Mrs. Baldwin's Nurse was very good, but we think that shể, as 2 D

Monday Evening, May 26.
Marmion, or the Battle of Flodden Field.-
Prisoner at Large.
Whorer has read Scott's Marmion will not be
much sau fed with this unskilful and feeble dra-
anatization of that highly wrought poetic tale.
Mr. Simpson is not a good Marmion; he has not
majesty enough for a hero, and, what is rather
singular, he is less erect and tall in his energe-
tic, heroic characters, than in his fine, gay gen-
tleman. In the dying scene, however, he gave
to the remorseful agonizing struggles of Marmion
excellent effect. Mr. Carpender, in King James,
was better than usual. Mr. Anderson's Earl
Surrey was poor enough. Mr. Pritchard gave ef-
fect to the mysterious character of the Palmer, and
resumed his knighthood with dignity and grace.
Mr. Robertson did sufficient justice to Douglas,
which, however, is a much tamer character in
the drama, than he appears from the bold deline-
ation of Scott. Miss Delinger's Lady Heron was
nothing. It would require more than the illusion
of the stage, to satisfy us of the verisimilitude of
making Lord Marmion condescend to appear in
her train. The performance of the character
generally was about as good as her performance
on the harp. Mrs. Darley, in Clara, was inter-
esting; and Mrs. Groshon's Constance was hap-
pily soon over.

In the Prisoner at Large, Hilson's Muns was
comic and just, and Barnes's old Dowdle, was all
the part required. Mr. Pritchard in Jack Con-
ner was chaste and interesting; Carpender was
rather less tame than usual in Lord Esmond, and
Mr. Darley, shrugged, and spoke broken English
pretty well in Count Fripon. The whole enter-
tainment this evening was better calculated for
Whitsun-Monday, than to please an audience of
intelligence and taste. L.

Wednesday Evening, May 23.
Wives as they Were.-Matrimony.-Broken

Sword.
This comedy is from the pen of Mrs. Inchbald,
and borrows from her name a credit which it does
not repay. The characters are not only out of
nature, but out of keeping. Bronzely is the most
amusing personage in the piece, and was faith-
fully represented by Mr. Simpson. Mr. Barnes's
Lord Priory was in his best style, and the part
was entirely in his line. Mr. Pritchard's Sir
George Evelyn was easy and gentleman-like.
Mrs. Groshon, in Lady Priory, did better than
usual The salutary restraints of conjugal dis-
cipline checked the exuberance of her airs and
graces, whilst the supposed simplicity of her cha-
racter took away all pretext for mouthing. Mrs.
Barnes in Miss Dorillon, was by no means
interesting; her gaiety was forced, her negligence

stiff-in fact, her whole manner artificial. She, however, occasionally, forgot her affectation, and when she was betrayed into herself, was very charming. This was the case whenever she was absorbed in the interest of the scene,-but the moment she was collected enough to attempt to show herself off, she relapsed into her vile tones and prettinesses again. We must candidly confess, that we never heard any thing so disagree. able as Mrs. Barnes's sentimental voice; it is a mawkish compound of cant and cockneyism.

Among the erroneous pronunciations of the evening, we notice the following,-Mr. Simpson accented indecorous on the antepenult, Mr. Jones and Mr. Pritchard clipped pecuniary into pecunary, and Mrs. Barnes called any, anny instead of enny. Mr. Robertson violated gramınar grossly, by coupling a plural nominative with a singular verb. We have noticed several slips of the same sort in this gentleman. E.

Friday Evening, May 30. Lovers' Vows.-Day after the Wedding.-The Apprentice.

On Mr. Robins' account we regretted to see the house so empty.-The Play, the Interlude, and the Farce, were all very well supported. The play has rather more German nature than human nature, although Mrs. Inchbald has done much to improve it; and has made it, undoubtedly, very interesting. Baron Wildenhaim's par rental tenderness, his native generosity, some. what confined by the prejudices of birth and edu cation,-his contempt of Count Cassel,-his respect for the honourable principles of Arnaud, and his exterior, though tranquil, approaching so near to an expression of melancholy, as to indicate a mind brooding over some calamity deemed remediless; his joyful surprise at the discovery of his son and heir, together with his remorse for the injuries he had done to Theodosia, were all well conceived by Mr. Pritchard, and if we except that he ought to have given more strength and warmth to the expression of them, well represented. Mr. Simpson was certainly very active and busy in Frederick, though he wanted variety both of voice and action, and was more boisterous than impassioned in his treatment of his father. Mr. Carpender was more just to Count Cassel than to any character we recollect to have seen him undertake. Mr. Barnes was very good in Christian, and read his poetry with much comic effect. Mrs. Darley's Amelia was as good as any thing we have seen on this stage. The absolute simplicity and undisguised feeling of Amelia, her charming purity and warmth of heart, united with much firmness and good sense, and a directness much more effectual than the most complex manoeuvring, were portrayed with great judg. ment and animation. Mrs. D. gave us a higher opinion of her powers, this evening, than we had ever entertained before. Her voice, also, pleased us more this evening than usual, for although she, on the whole, does not very greatly offend in this way, yet she too often speaks in a faisetto style, altogether unnatural, and Learable only in singing. Even then, speaking for ourselves, we had infinitely rather hear the human voice, together

with the language of the song. We see no use in words, if they are not to be heard in singing. The sentiment must also, in great part, evaporate, for it is utterly impossible that inere sound, without articulation, whatever pretending connoisseurs may say, should give the whole force of the sentiment or feeling. Dialogue, in which action gives meaning to the word, and the word propriety to action, might as well be wholly given up for Pantomime. Mrs. Groshon's Theodosia Friburg was sufficiently lugubrious; and Mrs. Baldwin's Cottager's wife was quite stirring, notable, and tidy.

Mr. Pritchard's singing has always one great excellence; we can hear what the song says, as well as how it is said.

Mr. Hilson's Diak, in the Apprentice, was full of life and variety, and did ample justice to the conception of the author. If all the talents on the New-York boards were as legitimately exercised as Mr. Hilson's, we should soon see a frst-rate company.

L.

Monday Evening, June 2. Manuel.--Love Laughs at Locksmiths. This is a new Tragedy by the Rev. Mr. Maturin, the author of Bertram, and whatever other faults it may have, is exempt from the immoralities which deformed that piece. But, before we offer any remarks upon its merits, we will pre

sent the reader with an outline of its fable.

although as it is now performed, with more justice, if not with greater effect, De Zelos defeats the attempt of his son to commit suicide, and sheathes the fatal dagger in his own remorseless breast. The defects of this plot are obvious. The interest of it is made to grow out of an event of the highest tragic nature introduced in the first act; and to rise progressively from this pitch to a second catastrophe in the last act, is a painful and an unavailing effort. We know not how it might be with others, but we had become so familiar, in the course of the piece, with assassinations, mournings and funerals, duels, death and tombstones, that we came, at last, to look upon insanity and suicide as tame incidents. These melancholy circumstances followed each other in such gloomy succession, that our sympathies were entirely exhausted. It was a cardinal error to attach so much of our own concern, to the fate of one, who is never brought into the scene. The author knew, however, perfectly well, that it would have been violating all rule to have introduced Alonzo to us, to stab him before our faces in the very opening of his draina, but in our opinion, it matters little as to the propriety of the measure that it was perpetrated behind the cur tain. There is, besides, a want of probability in the story, and of consistency in the details of this play. The language is moreover too uniformly inflated, and as for characters, Manuel and De Zelos are alone drawn with any discrimination, and even they are very unfinished. But poetical genius is discoverable in many of the author's sentiments and situations. The great difficulty is, that his genius is not tempered by discretion.

Don Manuel, an aged Spanish noble, has an only son named Alonzo, who on his return home after a victorious engagement with the Moors, falls a victim to the ambitious designs of a relaThis Tragedy was cast to the whole strength tive named De Zelos. This man, the next heir to the dignities of Alonzo's house, hires a Moor of the company. Mr. Pritchard personated the to assassinate him. The unhappy father charges arduous character of Manuel with great ability. De Zelos with the deed; the evidence is consid. He conceived his author correctly, was perfect in ered inconclusive by the judges; and De Zelos his study, and delivered himself with effect. Our resolves to wipe away the stain from his charac- limits will not allow us to particularize, but we ter by wager of battle, which accepted on the cannot withhold our commendation from his ani. part of Don Manuel by an unknown knight. The mated recital of the exploits of his youth, and his latter falls; and lifting the vizard from his face, consequent exhaustion. We imagine he will imexhibits to the astonished Don Zelos the features prove in many passages in future representations. of the assassin but repugnant Moor. After some His emphasis was not always accurate, nor his farther vicissitudes the catastrophe is thus brought cadence full. Mr. Robertson in De Zelos, showabout:----Ximena, daughter of De Zelos, distract- ed very little discrimination, either in marking ed with the loss of Alonzo, to whom she was at- the different turns of expression by a difference tached, wanders to his tomb, where she discovers of inflection, or in enforcing his periods by laying the defeated assassin, in the agonies of death. He acknowledges his guilt, states that he is bound by an oath not to reveal the name of his employer, but gives the dagger he had received from him, on the blade of which his name is inscribed. The broken-hearted Ximena, before she dies, transfers this dagger to her brother Torrisinond, at the same time exacting a promise, that he should not draw it until it should be delivered to the Court. Torrismond, anxious to clear the character of his father, hastens with the dagger to the assembled judges, and is authorized to read the name. Driven to despair by the discovery which ensues, he plunges the weapon The afterpiece is a favourite Farce, and was into his own bosom; De Zeles is apprehended for the murder, and Manuel, overpowered by well played. Mr. Hilson's Risk was a more apfeelings of exultation on his detection, soon after- prehensive lad than most gallants are accommodated with. His dialect was diverting, and his wards expires. Such was the original sketch of this Tragedy, songs were admirably sung. Mr. Pritchard did

an appropriate stress on the more important words. The malice of De Zelos was the corro. sion of disappointment and despair, and was deeply tinctured with the infusion of its original ingredients;-in Mr. Robertson's personation, it appeared unmitigated and diabolical. Mr. Robertson uses his tragic declamation as Procrustes did his bed. He tortures the sentiment to his tone, rather than adapt his tone to the sentiment, His countenance is, however, more flexible than his voice, and he looked some scenes this evening with great force of expression. Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Darley were well dressed to their parts, and displayed some eloquence of feature.