randa, and Ophelia. Such too, is the Amelia of Fielding, the Rebecca of Sir Walter Scott. Each is the perfection of female excellence, each attracts love and reverence, each excites interest; in all there is an union of charms, but no one charm predominates; none shines with surpassing glory.

Whether ladies, even with the greatest disposition for literary acquirements, should study the learned languages, may be thought a question. The contrary, was once suggested by the Reminiscent to a lady of great mental ardour: she observed that, the inferiority of the female capacity for acquiring the dead languages should not be taken for granted:" I'll engage,' she said, "that if we were sent to Eton or Harrow, we should become as good classical scholars as boys." 66 True,"-it was replied, "but you are not sent to Eton or Harrow: this makes the difference?" The fact is, that the structure of the Greek and Latin differs so much from that of modern languages; their grammars are so complex and obscure, their prosody so abstruse, and, for several years, the acquisition of it is, in a great measure, so much a mere act of memory, and without a perfect knowledge of it, the real beauty of the diction is so little felt, that any thing like a competent knowledge of them can scarcely be obtained, except at a public school, where the boys acquire it much more by hearing their school-fellows repeat over and over again their daily tasks, than by learning their own. Of this advantage young ladies are necessarily deprived.

It is observable, that, at a certain time of life, even gentlemen who are most ardent in literary pursuits,

relax in their zeal for the prosecution of them, if their studies be not directed to a particular object; and that, from the want of such an object, they generally fall into a course of desultory, listless reading, which leads to nothing. This was remarked by Mr. Burke to the Reminiscent; and he acknowledged that, in one period of his life, he himself, with all his literary enthusiasm, experienced something of this paralysis. To prevent it, would it not be advisable for ladies of cultivated minds, when they begin to feel its approach, to employ their minds on some literary or historical enquiry, which will fix their attention, and, while it confines, will animate their daily application?

The late lady Crewe desired the Reminiscent to furnish her with a course of study of modern history. He inserts his answer in the appendix.* In framing it, he took care to mention, with one exception only,no work, which is not in Hookham's well-stocked catalogue.

6

Another, and perhaps a better course, for female reading would be, to peruse Anquetil's Abridgement of Ancient and Modern History,' attending particularly to its geography, and minuting down its chronology— Or, if modern history only be the object, to peruse, but with particular attention, and with a proper map, always to view, the "Tableau des Revolutions de l'Europe, par M. Koch," now in 4 Vols. 8vo.

Here the Reminiscent presumes to mention an obser

*Note III.

vation made to him by a learned and intelligent friend, on the subject of pursuing the study of the learned languages too far. For some time after the Reminiscent quitted college, he continued smitten with the love of Greek and Roman lore. His friend remarked to him that it was a vain pursuit: "you and I" he said, " are willing to think that we understand the French language as well as we do our own: most gentlemen, who have received a liberal education, do the same. Yet, how little do any of us feel the beauties of French poetry? How little are we sensible of that indescribable charm of the verses of Racine, of which every Frenchman talks to us with so much rapture? Now, if this be the case, in respect to a language which we hear spoken every day, and the writers in which are countless, how much more must it be the case in respect to a dead language, when the writers, whom we possess, are so few? The utmost knowledge, which, by the most persevering application we can obtain of the literary merit of their compositions, so far, at least, as respects the beauties of their style, must be very limited." In this observation, there seems to be good sense: one, of an import somewhat similar, and leading to a similar conclusion, was made to the Reminiscent by Mr. Porson. "The number of ancient writers," said that gentleman," which has reached us, is so small, that we cannot be judges of the expressions, or even of the words appropriated to any particular style. Many, suited to the general style of Livy, would not be suited to that of Tacitus of this, we necessarily are, in a great measure, insensible; and use them indiscriminately. This must be wrong; when, therefore, we

write in the Latin language, our style should be most unambitious; we should carefully avoid all fine words and expressions, we should use the most obvious and most simple diction; beyond this, we should not aspire; if we cannot present a resemblance, let us not exhibit a caricature.”

It was a remark of Boileau, that if the French had become a dead language, and few only of its approved writers had survived it, a poet, who wished to describe a person gathering sand on the bank of a river, might mention him.

"Sur la rive du fleuve amassant de l'arène,” and justify the line, by producing from approved authors, every word it contained. "But now," said Boileau, "the most ordinary writer knows that the expressions rive du fleuve and amassant de l'arène, are insupportably bad; and would write Sur le bord de la rivière and amassant du sable."

A LETTER

TO THE DRAMATISTS OF THE DAY.

We quote only the latter part of the first of these letters, which appeared in the London Magazine for July, 1823, as it contains the essence of the writer's reasonings. We perfectly agree with him in his observations on this subject, but he does not appear to have perceived the true source of tragic pleasure. Action, it is true, co-operates in producing the effect; but why does it

so co-operate; or must the action so co-operating, possess a certain character? If so, what is the character that gives interest to action? These are questions which the writer, not only seems unable to resolve, but which he would appear never to have asked himself. Could he reply to them satisfactorily, he would have little difficulty in discovering many other particular means of producing tragic interest, besides that of mere action, and he would also find, that action possesses no interest, unless it possess, at the same time, a certain character.-ED.

THE dramatists of this day would appear to a less profound observer than I am, (who can spy out the cause in our present ultra-refinement of mind,) to have, entered into a conspiracy for the exclusion of every thing which might possibly assist their genius in the end they, as tragedists, should aim at. Action is the essence of drama; nay, its definition: business, bustle, hurly, and combustion-dire, are indispensable to effective drama; at least, if pathos run not very copiously through the piece, in which case, action may be partly compounded for by tears, though, perhaps, not without some hazard. But that essence, and these indispensables, you, gentlemen, seem, with one consent, sedulously to avoid meddling with, to shun as you would fire and brimstone. You seem to think, that the whole virtue of tragedy lies in its poeticity; and the softer, the sweeter, and the more soul-soothing, the more hushing the poetry is, the better you think it, though the audience go to sleep under your noses. At any rate, if you don't think thus, you write as if you did. One great instrument of keeping an audience on the fret of attention, is a good plot; an