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beg'et a te'mperance/ that may give it smoothness. offen'ds me to the co^re, to hear a robu'stious/ peri`wig-pated fe'llow/ tear a passion to ta'tter, to very ra^gs, to split the ea'rs of the groundlings, w'ho, (for the most part) are capable of nothing, but inexplicable dumb sho'ws and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped/ for o'erdoing Ter'gament; it outherods He^rod,― Pray yˇou, avo`id-it.

Be not too tam'e, nei'ther; but, let your discretion be your tu'tor. Suit the a'ction to the wo'rd, the wo'rd to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erste'p-not-the-modesty of nature: for, anything so overdone/ is from the purpose of pla'ying; whose e'nd/ both at the fir'st and no'w, w'as and i's, to hold (as 'tw'ere) the mirror up to na'ture; to show Virtue, her own feature, Sco'rn her own i'mage, and the very a'ge and bo^dy of the time/ his fo'rm and pressure. No'w/this o'verdone, though it make the unski`lful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grie ve, the censure of one of whi'ch/ mu`st/ in your allowance/ o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh! there be players, that I have seen pla'y, and heard others pr'aise, and that highly, (not to speak it profa'nely,) th ́at/ neither having the accent of Christian, nor the ga^it of Ch'ristian, pa'gan, nor maˇn, have so stru'tted and B'ELLOWED, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had m ́adethem, (and not made them well,) they imitated humanity so abom'inably.*


How many thousands of my poo'rest-subjects/
A're/ at this-hour/ asleep! O gentle Sl ́eep,
(Nature's soft nu'rse,) how have I frighted thee,
That thou no mo're/ wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my s'enses/ in forge't

* Though the critical discrimination, and profound knowledge of the subject, must be apparent to all, in these justly-admired "Instructions," (the application of which is by no means confined to "the stage,") they are peculiarly so to the rhetorical student; and why they are not uniformly and universally adopted may well excite the wonder and pity of the skilful Elocutionist, since their propriety is conspicuously manifest to every person of cultivated taste: nevertheless, such, in some instances, is

Why ra'ther, (Sle'ep,) liest thou in smok'y-cribs,
(Upon uneasy pa'llets/ stretc'hing-thee,)

And, hush`ed/ with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfumed cha'mbers of the great,
Under the can'opies of costly st'ate,

And lull'ed/ with so'unds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull'-god, why liest thou with the vi'le
In loathsome-beds, and leavest the kingly-couch,
A watch'-case/ to a common la'rum-bell?
Wilt'-thou (upon the high and giddy m'ast)
Seal up the ship-boy's ey'es, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the ru'de/ imperious surge;
And, in the visita'tion of the wi'nds,

Who take the ruffian bi'llows by the t'op,

Curling their monstrous he'ads, and hanging-them
With deafening cla'mours/ in the slippery shrouds,
Tha't, with the hu'rly, de'ath itself awa'kes:
Cans't thou (O partial Sle'ep) give thy repo ́se/
To the wet sea-bo`y/ in an hour so ru'de;
And, in the calmest and the s'tillest night,
(With all appliances and means to boot,)
Den'y it to a king? Then, ha'ppy/ low'ly clown;
Unea'sy lies the he'ad/ that we'ars a crown.


SHAK'SPEARE-is/in tru'th/ an au'thor/ whose mimic creation/ agre'es/ in general/ so perfectly with tha't of n'ature, that it is not only won'derful in the great, but opens another scene of amazement/ to the discoveries of the microscope. We have been charged indeed by a foreign w'riter (Voltaire) with an overmu`ch-admiring of this Barb'arian: Whether we have

the force of early misdirected judgment, and, in others, of an unaccountable fondness for what is "overdone" and outré, that an extraordinary adherence still prevails in some quarters to the "robustious perriwigpated" school of Elocution, in preference to the simple, chaste, natural manner, which WALKER'S SYSTEM, when properly understood, is so well qualified to impart

admired with kno'wledge, or have blindly followed those feelings of affection/ which we could not resi'st, I cannot te'll; but certain it i's, th'at/ to the labours of his e'ditors he has not been overm'uch o'bliged. They a're, how'ever, (for the most part) of the first-rank in li'terary-fame; but some of them had possessions of their own in Parn'assus, of an extent too great and important/ to allow of a very di`ligent-attention to the interests of others; and among those critics (more profe'ssionally s'o,) the a'blest and the be'st h'as/ unfortunately/looked more to the praise of ingenious, than of just-conjecture.

Yet/ whatever may be the neglect of som'e, or the ce^nsure of others, there are tho'se/ who firmly believe, that this wild. this uncultivated-Barbarian, has not yet obtained one half of his fa'me; and who tru'st/ that some new Stagyrite will ari'se, wh'o, instead of pecking at the surface of things, will enter into the inward so'ul of his compositions, and ex'pel (by the force of congenial feelings) those foreign impurities/ which have stained and disgraced-his-page. And as to those spots/ which will still rem'ain, they may perhaps become in'visible to th'ose/ who shall seek them through the medium of his be'auties, instead of looking for those beauties (as is too frequently d'one) through the smoke of some real/ or impu'tedobscurity. When the hand of time shall have swept off his present e'ditors and commenta'tors, and when the very na^me of Voltaire (and even the memory of the language in which he has written) shall be no m'ore, the Apalachian mountains, the banks of the Ohio, and the plains of Sci'ota shall resound with the a'ccents of this Barbarian. In his native tongue/ he shall roll the genuine-passions of n'ature; no`r/ shall the griefs of Le'ar be alleviated, or the cha'rms and w'it of Rosalind/ be abated by time.* There is/ indeed/ nothing pe'rishable-abouthim/ except that very lea'rning/ which he is sai'd so much to wa'nt! He ha'd-not (it is true) enough for the demands of the age/ in which he lived, but/ he had perhaps too much for the reac'h of his ge'nius, and the interest of his fa'me! Milton and he will carry the decayed remnants and fripperies of ancient mythology/ into more distant a'ges/ than they a're/ by their own force entitled to exte'nd; and the metamorphoses

* Johnson has a similar idea. "The stream of time," says he, "which perpetually washing the dissoluble-fabrics of other poets, passes, without injury, by the adamant of Shakspeare.”

of O'vid (upheld by th'em) lay in a new cla'im/ to unmerited immortality.

Shak'speare is a name so i'nteresting, that it is excusable to stop a mo'ment, n'ay/ it would be inde'cent/ to pass him without the tribute of some admira'tion. H'e differs ess^entially from all other w'riters: Hi'm we may profess rather to fe`el/ than to understand;* and it is safer to say, (on many OCc'asions,) that we are posses'sed-by-him, than that we pos'sesshim. And no wo`nder :-He scatters the seeds of things, the principles of character and a'ction, with so cun'ning a han'd, yet/ with so car`eless an a'ir, a'nd/, ma`ster of our fe ́elings, subm'its-himself/ so lit'tle to our judgment, that every thing seems supe'rior. We discern not his course, we see no connection of ca'use and effect, we are rapt in ignorant admir'ation, and claim no kin'dred with his abilities. All the i'ncidents, all the parts, look like cha'nce, while we fe ́el and are sen'sible that the whole is design. His characters/ not only ac't and spe'ak/ in strict conformity to n'ature, but/ in strict relation to us; just so much is sho`wn as is requisite, --just so much is impressed; he commands every passage to our hea'ds, and to our hearts, and moulds-us as he pleases; and that/ with so much ea'se, that he never betrays his own exe'rtions. We see these characters act from the mingled m'otives of passion, re'ason, in'terest, ha'bit, and complexion, (in all their prop'ortions) when they are supposed to know it not themselves; and we are made to acknowledge/ that their actions and sentiments a're, fro'm those m'otives, the necessary result. He at once blen'ds and distinguishes every-thing; -every-thing/ is complicated, every-thing/ is plain. I restrain

* While we see in this, and similar sentences, the negative character of the disjunctive "than," the verb "feel," in the example before us, may be considered as the positive member, requiring the falling inflection; and "understand," the negative, which necessarily requires the rising inflection of the voice. Vide p. 5, "Introductory Outline."

† Mr. Pope pays the immortal bard a compliment not entirely dissimilar to this:-" "Homer himself," he says, "did not make his draughts so immediately from nature as Shakspeare did; and it is not so proper to say that he (Shakspeare) spoke from nature, as it is to say that she spoke through him."

When this preposition is without accentual force, as in the present instance, how inelegantly and slovenly it is generally pronounced! Scarcely do we ever hear it otherwise sounded (even in our pulpits!) than as if spelt something like tă ;-its proper and legitimate pronunciation, it is almost superfluous to add, is, even without any accent, exactly the same as the adverb "too."

the further expressions of my admira'tion, lest they should not seem applicable to m'an; but/ it is really asto`nishing that a mere human being (a part of humanity o'nly) should so perfectly comprehend the whole; and that he / should possess such e'xquisite-art, tha't, whilst every woman and every child/ shall feel the whole effect, his learned e'ditors and commentators/ should yet so very frequently mist'ake/ or seem ignorant of the cause. A sceptre or a straw is/ in his' hands/ of e`qual e'fficacy; he needs no sele'ction; he converts every thing into e'xcellence; no`thing is too great, n'othing is too ba'se. Is a character efficient/, like R'ichard ?—it is every thing we can wi`sh. Is it o'therwise, like Ha'mlet? it is productive of e'qual admiration: Action/ produces on'e-mode of e'xcellence, and in action/ another: The chronicle, the n'ovel, or the ba'llad; the king, or the beg'gar; the h'ero, the ma`dman, the so`t, or the fo'ol; it is all one; nothing is worse, n'othing is better: The same genius perv'ades, and is e'qually a'dmirable/ in all. Or', is a character to be shown in progressivechange, and the events of years/ comprised within the h'our; -with what a magic hand/ does he prepare and sc ́atter his spe'lls! The understan'ding mu'st (in the first place) be subdu'ed; and l'o! how the rooted prejudices of the child/ spring up to confound the man! The weird sisters ris ́e, and o'rder is extinguished. The laws of nature gi've-way, and leave nothing in our minds/ but wi'ldness and ho`rror. No pause is allowed us for refle'ction: Horrid sen'timent, furious gu'ilt and compunction; air-drawn da'ggers, mur'ders, gho`sts, and enchantment, shak'e and posse'ss us who'lly. In the mean ti'me/ the process is completed. Macbeth changes under our eye; the milk of human kindness is converted to ga'll; he has supped full of horrors, and his May-of-life/ is fallen into the sea'r, the yellow-leaf; whilst w'e (the fools of amazement) are insensible to the shifting of plac`e/ and the lap`se of ti'me, and/ till the curtain dro'ps, never once wake to the truth of th'ings, or recognize the la'ws of ex'istence. On such an occ'asion, a fell'ow/ like R'ymer, waking from his tr'ance, shall lift up his constable's staff, and charge this great Magician, this daring practiser of arts inhibited, (in the name of A'ristotle) to surrender; whilst Aristotle himself (disowning his wretched o'fficer) would fall prostrate at his fee't, and acknowledge his supremacy. "O supreme of dramatic e'xcellence! (might he sa'y) not to me' be imputed the insolence of fo'ols. The

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