MR. RICARDO.

(From a piece in the London Magazine.)

THOSE, who stood neutral to all parties, remarked that Mr. Ricardo's voice-though heard too seldom for the wishes of the enlightened part of the nation-was never raised with emphasis upon any question lying out of the province in which he reigned as the paramount authority, except upon such as seemed to affect some great interest of liberty or religious toleration. And, wherever a discussion arose which transcended the level of temporary and local politics (as that for example upon corporal punishments), the weight of authority-which mere blank ability had obtained for him in the House of Commons- -was sure to be thrown into that view of the case which upheld the dignity of human nature.

FROM THE LONDON MAGAZINE.

George Colman, the younger, has been appointed the vender of Plays in the Licenser's office, and his first step has been to interdict the performance of a tragedy, by Martin Archer Shee-author of the Rhymes on Art. Mr. Shee has published the following letters on the subject.

Mr. Editor-The new tragedy of Alasco, which has been for some time in rehearsal, at Covent-Garden theatre, has, I find, been withdrawn by the Manager of that establishment, under the censure of the Lord Chamberlain's office. As the infliction of such a censure can be called for, or justified, only by some religious, moral, or political objection to its public appearance on the stage, and as the discredit of producing a work to which any of these objections can be honestly made, might, by conjecture, attach to some writer whose interests or feelings may suffer by the imputation, I think myself bound thus publicly to avow, that I am the author of the production in question, and solely responsible for whatever poetitical or political delinquencies it may be found to contain.

In hitherto withholding my name, and submitting my work entirely to the disposal of Mr. Kemble, I was influenced only by literary diffidence; for I should consider myself as dishonoured indeed if I had ever written a line, which, in any circumstances, I should be either ashamed or afraid to avow.

Those persons to whom I am known, will not readily believe me capable of composing a work, which could be justly charged as being in any respect inimical to the religious, moral, or political interests of my country.

The immediate publication of the play in question, will enable the public at large to decide, whether the unusual severity with which it has been visited, be the result of sound discretion, and laudable vigilance in the official guardians of dramatic purity, or

a harsh, unnecessary, and injurious exercise of authority, not more injurious to the interests and feelings of the author, than fatal in its principle to the character and independence of dramatic literature in this country.

I remain, Sir,

Cavendish-square, Feb. 18.

Your most obdient humble servant,
MARTIN ARCHER SHEE.

Cavendish-square, Friday, Feb. 20, 1824.

Sir,-As I understand an impression has been excited in the minds of some persons, that the new tragedy of Alasco has been interdicted on religious as well as political grounds, and as it is of some importance to me that those who interest themselves in its fate should not, for a moment, be left to suppose that the most vigilant malevolence could discover in any work of mine, even a pretext for such an imputation, I am obliged, reluctantly, to trespass again on your attention, with a request that you will have the goodness to insert in your paper the following letter from the Lord Chamberlain of his Majesty's Household. When I tell you, Sir, that I have received this letter in answer to an appeal, in which I assert, in the face of those authorities that have thought fit to inflict on my character and interest so severe an injury, that my work contains "not one sentiment, moral, religious, or political, of which an honest subject of this empire can justly disapprove, of which any honourable man, of any party, should be ashamed to avow,' you will know how to appreciate the admission in his Grace's letter; to which, in my own justification, I beg to direct the public attention:

(Copy.)

Grosvenor-square, Feb. 19. Sir,-Thinking Mr. Colman a very sufficient judge of his duty, and as I agree in his conclusion (from the account he has given me of the tragedy called Alasco), I do conclude, that at this time, without considerable omissions, the tragedy should not be acted; and whilst I am persuaded that your intentions are upright, I conceive that it is precisely for this reason (though it may not strike authors) that it has been the wisdom of the Legislature to have an examiner appointed, and power given to the Chamberlain of the Household to judge whether certain plays should be acted at all, or not acted at particular times.

I do not mean to enter into an argument with you, Sir, on the subject, but think that your letter, conceived in polite terms to me, calls upon me to return an answer, showing that your tragedy has been well considered.

I remain, Sir, with esteem,
Your obedient servant,
MONTROSE.

To Martin Archer Shee, Esq. &c. &c.

From the above official letter, Sir, you will observe, that the Lord Chamberlain acknowledges the uprightness of my intentions. You will perceive also that his Grace neither asserts nor insinuates that my work contains one sentiment or expression, in itself morally, religiously, or politically objectionable, but expressly alleges the present time as the cause of its exclusion from the stage. But, Sir, the letter of the Lord Chamberlain excites reflections far more important than any which concern the interests of so humble an individual as I am. We find from that letter, that the fiat of the newly-appointed examiner is irrevocable-that he rules lord paramount of the British drama, and that, in a question of appeal against the manner in which he exercises the duties of his office, the Lord Chamberlain thinks himself justified in taking the report of the officer accused as the foundation of the judgment which he is called upon to pronounce.

It now only remains for me, Sir, by the publication of my play with all the expedition of which its passage through the press admits, to show what the particular sentiments are which the new dramatic censor thinks unfit to be addressed to the ears of Englishmen in a public theatre,-to offer my humble production to the future candidate for tragic fame, as an example of the delicacy and consideration which he may expect from the judicious zeal of this vigilant guardian of the morality and decorum of the stage. I remain, Sir, your most obedient humble servant,

MARTIN ARCHER SHEE.

FROM THE NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

THE LATE MR. HORNE TOOKE.

MR. HORNE TOOKE was one of those who may be considered as connecting links between a former period and the existing generation. His education and accomplishments, nay his political opinions, were of the last age; his mind and the tone of his feelings were modern. There was a hard, dry materialism in the very texture of his understanding, varnished over by the external refinements of the old school. Mr. Tooke had great scope of attainment and great versatility of pursuit; but the same shrewdness, quickness, cool self-possession, the same literalness of perception and absence of passion and enthusiasm, characterized nearly all he did, said, or wrote. He was almost without a rival in private conversation, an expert public speaker, a keen politician, a first-rate grammarian, and the finest gentleman (to say the least) of his own party. He had no imagination or he would not have scorned it!-no delicacy of taste, no rooted prejudices or strong attachments: his intellect was like a bow of polished steel, from which he shot sharp-pointed, poisoned arrows at his friends in private, at his enemies in public. His mind, so to speak, had no religion in it, and but very little of

the moral qualities of genius; but he was a man of the world, a scholar bred, and a most acute and powerful logician. He was also a wit, and a formidable one; yet it may be questioned whether his wit was any thing more than an excess of his logical faculty: it did not consist in the play of fancy, but in close and cutting combinations of the understanding. "The law is open to every one: -so," said Mr. Tooke, "is the London Tavern!" It is the previous deduction formed in the mind, and the splenetic contempt felt for a practical sophism, that beats about the bush for, and at last finds the apt illustration; not the casual, glancing coincidence of two objects, that points out an absurdity to the understanding. So, on another occasion, when Sir Alan Gardiner, who was a candidate for Westminster, had objected to Mr. Fox, that "he was always against the minister, whether right or wrong," and Mr. Fox in his reply had overlooked this slip of the tongue, Mr. Tooke immediately seized on it, and said "he thought it at least an equal objection to Sir Alan, that he was always with the minister, whether right or wrong." "This retort had all the effect, and produced the same surprise as the most brilliant display of wit or fancy: yet it was only the detecting a flaw in an argument, like a flaw in an indictment, by a kind of legal pertinacity; or, rather, by a rigid and constant habit of attending to the exact import of every word and clause in a sentence. Mr. Tooke had the mind of a lawyer; but it was applied to a vast variety of topics and general trains of speculation.

Mr. Horne Tooke was, in private company and among his friends, the finished gentleman of the last age. His manners were as fascinating as his conversation was spirited and delightful. He put one in mind of the burden of the song of "the King's old courtier, and an old courtier of the King's." He was, however, of the opposite party. It was curious to hear our modern sciolist advancing opinions of the most radical kind without any mixture of radical heat or violence, in a tone of fashionable nonchalance, with elegance of gesture and attitude, and with the most perfect goodhumour. In the spirit of opposition or in the pride of logical superiority, he too often shocked the prejudices or wounded the self-love of those about him, while he himself displayed the same unmoved indifference or equanimity. He said the most provoking things with a laughing gaiety, and a polite attention, that there was no withstanding. He threw others off their guard by thwarting their favourite theories, and then availed himself of the temperance of his own pulse to chafe them into madness. He had not one particle of deference for the opinions of others, nor of sympathy with their feelings; nor had he any obstinate convictions of his own to defend

"Lord of himself, uncumber'd with a creed!"

He took up any topic by chance, and played with it at will, like a juggler with his cups and balls. He generally ranged himself on the losing side; and had rather an ill-natured delight in contra

diction, and in perplexing the understandings of others, without leaving them any clue to guide them out of the labyrinth into which he had led them. He understood, in its perfection, the great art of throwing the onus probandi, on his adversary; and so could maintain almost any opinion, however absurd or fantastical, with fearless impunity. I have heard a sensible and well-informed man say, that he never was in company with Mr. Tooke without being delighted and surprised, or without feeling the conversation of every other person to be flat in the comparison: but that he did not recollect having ever heard him make a remark that struck him as a sound and true one, or that he himself appeared to think so. He used to plague Fuseli by asking him after the origin of the Teutonic dialects; and Dr. Parr by wishing to know the meaning of the common copulative, Is. Once at G- -'s he defended Pitt from a charge of verbiage, and endeavoured to prove him superior to Fox. Some one imitated Pitt's manner, to show that it was monotonous; and he imitated him also, to show that it was not. He maintained (what would he not maintain?) that young Betty's acting was finer than John Kemble's, and recited a passage from Douglas in the manner of each, to justify the preference he gave to the former. The mentioning this will please the living,-it cannot hurt the dead-He argued on the same occasion, and in the same breath, that Addison's style was without modulation, and that it was physically impossible for any one to write well, who was habitually silent in company. He sat like a king at his own table, and gave law to his guests-and to the world! No man knew better how to manage his immediate circle, to foil or bring them out. A professed orator beginning to address some observations to Mr. Tooke with a voluminous apology for his youth and inexperience, he said, "Speak up, young man!"—and, by taking him at his word, cut short the flower of orations. Porson was the only person of whom he stood in some degree of awe, on account of his prodigious memory and knowledge of his favourite subject, Languages. Sheridan, it has been remarked, said more good things, but had not an equal flow of pleasantry. As an instance of Mr. Horne Tooke's extreme coolness and command of nerve, it has been mentioned that once at a public dinner, when he had got on the table to return thanks for his health being drunk with a glass of wine in his hand, and when there was a great clamour and opposition for some time, after it had subsided, he pointed to the glass to show that it was still full. Mr. Holcroft, the author of "The Road to Ruin," was one of the most violent and fiery-spirited of all that motley crew of persons who attended the Sunday meetings at Wimbledon. One day he was so enraged by some paradox or raillery of his host, that he indignantly rose from his chair, and said, "Mr. Tooke, you are a scoundrel!" The other, without manifesting the least emotion, replied, " Mr. Holcroft, when was it that I am to dine with you? Shall it be next Thursday?"—"If you please, Mr. Tooke!" answered the angry philosopher, and sat