iv

We must say, however, that George Barnwell is not his most successful piece of writing, considered in any point of view. The composition is meagre, and the developement of the plot unartificial. By making Barnwell die good and repentant, he has made him a better moral, but a worse dramatic, character. He has here forsaken the old ballad from which he derived the story. In that George escapes, betrays Millwood-gets" to sea straightway," and the end of his life shows that he continued to plunge deeper into guilt, for—

"For murder in Polonia

Was Barnwell hang'd in chains."

It would have served Lillo's purpose better had he adhered to his text, and represented the total depravation of an originally virtuous mind, by indulgence in vice at first comparatively trivial. As it stands now, it is only in the style of the Newgate Calendar, or a newspaper report of the "becoming conduct" of a contrite offender at the gallows.

It is played annually for the edification of the cityapprentices. A play of gross ribaldry, "The London Cuckolds," had formerly received this honour when it was the fashion for the players to laugh at the citizens. The substitution was made by Garrick, and it is no doubt so far an improvement. Yet who can refrain from smiling at the means adopted to attain the end proposed? Weak must be the head of that apprentice who would be deterred from crime by such a play as this; and equally weak the head of him who, in the present state of metropolitan morals, could imagine that any practical lesson could be deduced from it. A different race of apprentices exists in the days of George IV. from that of the days of queen Elizabethand we must add also, a very different race of Millwoods. The stage is, besides, ill employed, in preaching the lessons of Bow-street or the Tread-mill.

Nor, perhaps, if we look at it in a higher point of view, can we claim for it the praise of moral example which has sometimes been set up in its favour. The

V

young mind is by such lessons taught the way to sin. The revelry and happy life of Barnwell, before detection, will make a deeper impression than his agony afterwards. It will be thought that these agreeable results may be obtained, and greater care taken to avoid discovery. Then, too, the horror and shame of a public execution are kept out of sight by the condolence of friends, the sympathy of his master, and the pure and soul-stirring love of Maria for the murderer. Government, after long patronizing the publication of the Newgate Calendar, found at last that they were really publishing a manual for the instruction of culprits, and discontinued it. If the play of George Barnwell have any effect, it must be of the same kind, and its representation should share the same fate.

Few actresses like to perform Millwood: Mrs. Siddons, however, redeemed the part. It is said that she took it accidentally, on a very short notice, to supply the place of a lady who had for some reason declined performing it. She at first objected to the proposal as ridiculous, but on hearing her brother, John Kemble, read the principal passages, she felt that she could make the part effective, and accordingly consented. Charles Kemble is the best Barnwell we have.

THOROWGOOD.-First dress.-Brown coat, waistcoat, and breeches.-Second dress.-Suit of black. UNCLE.-Morone coloured coat, waistcoat, breeches, and camlet great coat.

GEORGE BARNWELL.-Blue coat, white waistcoat, and black breeches.

TRUEMAN.-Black coat, waistcoat, and breeches.
BLUNT.-Blue coat, white waistcoat, and black

breeches.

JAILOR.-Brown coat, red waistcoat, and black

breeches.

MILLWOOD.-Pink satin dress, handsomely trim

med.

MARIA.-First dress.-White leno, trimmed with white satin ribbon.-Second dress.-Black crape. LUCY.-Smart coloured gown.

Cast of the characters at the Theatre-Royal, CorENT-
GARDEN, 1825.

SPOKEN BY MR. CIBBER, JUN.

The tragic Muse, sublime, delights to show
Princes distress'd, and scenes of royal woe;
In awful pomp, majestic, to relate

The fall of nations, or some hero's fate :
That scepter'd chiefs may by example know
The strange vicissitude of things below:
What dangers on security attend;
How pride and cruelty in ruin end:
Hence Providence supreme to know; and own
Humanity adds glory to a throne.

In every former age, and foreign tongue,
With native grandeur thus the goddess sung.
Upon our stage, indeed, with wish'd success,
You've sometimes seen her in a humbler dress;
Great only in distress. When she complains
In Southern's, Rowe's, or Otway's moving strains,
The brilliant drops that fall from each bright eye,
The absent pomp, with brighter gems supply.
Forgive us, then, if we attempt to show,
In artless strains, a tale of private woe.

A London 'prentice ruin'd is our theme,

Drawn from the famed old song, that bears his name.
We hope your taste is not so high, to scorn
A moral tale, esteem'd ere you were born;
Which, for a century of rolling years,

Has fill'd a thousand-thousand eyes with tears
If thoughtless youth to warn, and shame the age
From vice destructive, well becomes the stage;
If this example innocence secure,

Prevent our guilt, or by reflection cure ;

If Millwood's dreadful guilt, and sad despair,
Commend the virtue of the good and fair,
Though art be wanting, and our numbers fail,
Indulge th' attempt, in justice to the tale.

WRITTEN BY COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ. AND SPOKEN BY MRS. CIBBER.

Since fate has robb'd me of the hapless youth,
For whom my heart had hoarded up its truth;
By all the laws of love and honour, now,
I'm free again to choose,—and one of you.

But soft, with caution first I'll round me peep,
Maids, in my case, should look before they leap:
Here's choice enough, of various sorts, and hue,
The cit, the wit, the rake cock'd up in cue,
The fair spruce mercerand the tawny Jew.

Suppose I search the sober gallery.—No, There's none but 'prentices, and cuckolds all a row, And these, I doubt, are those that make them so. [Pointing to the boxes

'Tis very well, enjoy the jest :—but you,'

Fine powder'd sparks ;-nay, I am told 'tis true,
Your happy spouses can make cuckolds too.

"Twixt you and them, the diff'rence this perhaps,-
The cit's ashamed whene'er his duck he traps;
But you, when madam's tripping, let her fall,
Cock up your hats, and take no shame at all.

What, if some favour'd poet I could meet,
Whose love would lay his laurels at my feet?
No,-painted passion real love abhors:-
His flame would prove the suit of creditors.

Not to detain you then with longer pause,
In short, my heart to this conclusion draws,
I yield it to the hand that's loudest in applause.