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men ; but they are perfe&tly aftonished that an opinion, which they think su contrary to common sense, should subfift among the rational, that is to say, the male part of Christians. It is impotible," added Mr. Montagu, to drive it out of the head of a Muffulman, that women are creatures of a subordinate species, created merely to comfort and amuse men during their journey through this vain world, but by no means worthy of accompanying believers to paradise, where fe. males, of a nature far superior to women, wait with impatience to receive all pious Muffulmen into their arms."

• It is needless to relate to you any more of our conversation. A lady, to whom I was giving an account of it the day on which it happened, could with difficulty allow me to proceed thus far in my narrative; but, interrupting me with impatience, she said, she was furprised I could repeat all the nonsenfical, detestable, impious maxims of those odious Mahometans ; and the thought Mr. Montagú fhould be sent back to Egypt, with his long beard, and not be allowed to propagate opinions, the bare mention of which, however seasonable they might appear to Turks, ougbe not to be tolerated in any Christian land.

From our Author's remarks on the Venetian Drama, the fol. lowing particulars may be extracted, for the English Reader's amusement :

• I had got, I don't know how, the most contemptuous opinion of the Italian drama. I had been told, there was not a tolerable actor at present in Italy, and I had been long taught to consider their comedy as the most despicable stuff in the world, which could poc amuse, or even draw a smile from any person of tale, being quite deftitute of true humour, full of ribaldry, and only proper for the meanet of the vulgar. Impressed with these sentiments, and eager to give his Grace a full demonstration of their juft

nefs, I accompanied the D- of H to the stage-box of one of the playhouses the very day of our arrival ac Venice.

* The piece was a comedy, and the most entertaining character in it was that of a man who stuttered. In this defect, and in the fingular grimaces with which the actor accompanied it, confifted a great part of the amusement,

• Disgusted at such a pitiful fubftitution for wit and humour, I expressed a contempt for an audience which could be entertained by such buffoonery, and who could take pleasure in the exhibition of a gatural infirmity.

• While we inwardly indulged fentiments of self-approbation, on account of the refinement and fuperiority of our own talte, and fupported the dignity of those sentiments by a disdainful gravity of countenance, the Stutterer was giving a piece of information to Harlequin which greatly interested him, and to which he listened with every mark of eagerness. This unfortunate speaker had just arrived at the most important part of his narrative, which was, to acquaine the impatient liftener where his mistress was concealed, when he unluckily Itumbled on a word of fix or seven Tyllables, which completely ob. ftructed the progress of his narration. He attempted it again and again, but always without success. You may have observed that, though many other words would explain his meaning equally

you may as soon make a faint change his religion, as prevail on a ftutterer to accept of another word in place of that at which he has ftumbled. He adheres to his first word to the last, and will sooner expire with it in his throat, than give it up for any other you may offer. Harlequin, on the present occafion, presented his friend with a dozen ; but he rejected them all with disdain, and persisted in his unsuccessful attempts on that which had first come in his way. At lengih, making a desperate effort, when all the spectators were gaping in expecta: tion of his fafe delivery, the cruel word came up with its broad side foremost, and stuck directly across the unhappy man's wind-pipe. He gaped, and panted, and croaked; his face flushed, and his eyes seemed ready to itart from his head. Harlequin un buttoned the State terer's waistcoat, and the neck of his shirt; he fanned his face wich his cap, and held a bottle of hartshorn to his nose. At length, fearing bis patient would expire, before he could give the desired intelligence, in a fit of despair he pitched his head full in the dying man's ftomach, and the word bolted out of his mouth to the most dillant part of the house.

• This was performed in a manner so perfe&tly droll, and the hu. morous absurdity of the expedient came so unexpectedly upon me, that I immediately burst into a most excessive fit of laughter, in which I was accompanied by the D-, and by your young friend Jack, who was along with us; and our laughter continued in such loud, violent, and repeated fits, that the attention of the audience beng turned from the stage to our box, occasioned a renewal of the mirth all over the playhouse with greater vociferation than at first. • 'When we returned to the inn, the D- of H

asked me, If I were as much convinced as ever, that a man must be perfectly devoid of taste, who could condescend to laugh at an Italian comedy?'

Our Author's history of the Travels and Adventures of the Holy Chapel of Loretto, may be given as an instance of that grave and sober strain of irony, in which the writer is most happy who preserves the gravest countenance; and in which Dr. Moore is very successful :

· The Holy Chapel of Loretto, all the world knows, was originally a small house in Nazareth, inhabited by the Virgin Mary, in which she was faluted by the Angel, and where she bred our Saviour. After their deaths, it was held in great veneration by all believers in Jesus, and at length confecrated into a chapel, and dedicated to the Virgin ; upon which occasion St. Luke made that identical image, which is ftill preserved here, and dignified with the name of our Lady of Loretto. This sanctified edifice was allowed to sojourn in Galilee as long as that district was inhabited by Christians; but when infidels got poflession of the country, a band of angels, to save it from pollo. rion, took it in their arms, and conveyed it from Nazareth to a castle in Dalmatia. This fact might have been called in queftion by incredulous people, had it been performed in a secret manner; but, that it might be manifest to the most hort-lighted spectator, and evident to all who were not perfectly deaf as well as blind, a blaze of celestial Light, and a concert of divine mufic, accompanied it during the whole journey; besides, when the angels, to reft themselves, set it down in

a little

a little 'wood near the road, all the trees of the forest bowed their heads to the ground, and continued in that respectful posture as long as the Sacred Chapel remained among them. But, not having been entertained with suitable respect at the castle above mentioned, the fame indefatigable angels carried it over the sea, and placed it in a field belonging to a noble lady, called Lauretta, from whom the Chapel takes its name. This field happened unfortunately to be frequented at that time by highwaymen and murderers : a circumstance with which the angels undoubtedly were not acquainted when they placed it there. After they were better informed, they removed it to the top of a hill belonging to two brothers, where they imagined it would be perfe&tly secure from the dangers of robbery or affaflination; but the two brothers, the proprietors of the ground, being equally enamoured of their new visitor,' became jealous of each other, quar. relled, fought, and fell by mutual wounds. After this fatal catastrophe, the angels in waiting finally moved the Holy Chapel to the eminence where it now ftands, and has stood these four hundred years, having lost all relish for travelling.

10 filence the captious objections of cavillers, and give full fatisfaction to the candid inquirer, a deputation of respectable perforis was sent from Loretto to the city of Nazareth, who, previous to their fetting out, took the dimensions of the Holy House with the moft fcrupulous exactness. On their arrival at Nazareth, they found the citizens scarcely recovered from their astonishment; for it may be easily supposed, that the sudden disappearance of a house from the middle of a towo, would naturally occasion a considerable degree of surprise, even in the most philosophic minds. The landlords had been alarmed in a particular manner, and had made enquiries, and offered rewards all over Galilee, without having been able to get any satisfactory account of the fugitive. They felt their interest much affected by this incident; for, as houses had never before been confidered as moveables, their value fell immediately. This indeed mighe be partly owing to certain evil-minded persons, who, taking advantage of the public alarm, for selfish purposes, circulated a report, that feveral other houses were on the wing, and would most probably difappear in a few days. This affair being so much the object of attention at Nazareth, and the builders of that city declaring, they would as foon build upon quick-fand as on the vacant space which the Chapel had left at its departure, the deputies from Loretto had no difficulty in discovering the foundation of that edifice, which they carefully compared with the dimensions they had brought from Loretro, and found that they tallied exactly. Of this they made oară ac their return; and in the mind of every rational person, it remains no longer a question, whether this is the real house which the Virgin Mary inhabited, or not. Many of those particulars are narrated, with other circumstances, in books which are sold here; but I have beer informed of one circumstance, which has not hitherto been published in any book, and which, I dare swear, you will think ought to be made known for the benefit of future travellers. This morning, immediately before we left the inn, to visit the Holy Chapel, an Italian fervant, whom the D- of H engaged at Venice, took me afide, and told me, in a very serious manner, that trangers were apo


fecretly to break off little pieces of the stone belonging to the Santa Casa, in the hopes that such precious relics might bring them good fortune; but he earneitly en treated me not to do any such thing: for he knew a man at Venice, who had broken off a finall corner of one of the ftones, and slipt ic into his breeches pocket anperceived; but, fo far from bringing him good fortune, it had burnt its way out, like aqua fotis, before he left the Chapel, and scorched his thighs in such a miserable manner, that he was not able to fit on horseback for a month. I thanked Giovanni for his obliging bint, and assured him I should not attempt any theft of that nature.'

Dr. M. gives us many more particulars relative to this celebrated chapel, and to the innumerable pilgrimages lo devoutly performed by good Catholics, to this favourite residence of the holy Virgin; but for these we must refer to the book.

The foregoing extracts are made from the first of these two volumes : of the second we shall give an account in our next.


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ART. XVII. The Generous Impoftor : a Comedy. As it is formed at the Theatre-Royal, Drury-Lane. 8vo.

I s. 6 d. Robson, 1781. HE main fable of this comedy may be collected from the

following portion of the last Act : Sir Harry folus. Unavailing anguilh! Useless remorse! Reflec. sions that come too late! Why did you not rather prevent the ruin that o'erwhelms me? Here I fit abandoned by the world--and every way to be molt miserable. I feel that I have deserved it all. Where now are the officious friends that rioted in my bounty ? Flatterers who seemed to live but to serve me? You are now fed from this wretched bankrupt.-Them I could forgive. But you, my Harriet! You whom I still feel I love--That you should pursue me to deftruction-That you fould plan my ruin, and, when you had accomplished it, insult me !This is the dagger that strikes me to the heart.- What have I then to hope ? What should I wait for? Shall I be poinied at by every singer ? To beg, and be denied ? To feek, and be avoided !-Shut oui-Ha! there is but one remedy, and-this--this

(Snatching up his fword, Mrs. Courtly enters from the door, and

falling on her knees; siops bis hand.] Mrs. Courtly. Hold, unhappy man! what would you do? Sir Harry. Barbarous, inhuman woman! Mrs. Courtly. Oftay your fatal purpose! Look on me-listen to


Sir Harry. Cruel, and unfeeling to the last! Would you debar me of the only resource your rapacious hands have left me ?

Mrs. Courtly. By all you love-by your precious life, dearer to my foul than my own, I conjure you hear me,

All that my rapa. cious hands have taken from you is yours.

Sir Harry. What artifice is yer left for you to practise on my cre. dulity ?

* Mri, 5

* Mrs. Courtly. That which must reconcile you to me, or leave me for ever wretched and hopeless.-Could you but see that heart you accuse of unfeelingness

[Takes hold of bin. Sir Harry. Harg not on me thus-Be gone, or you shall see me perish in your presence, and shall glut yourself with my blood, as you have with my fortune.

Mrs. Courtly. O! but a moment's hearing.--If these ftreaming eyes, that witness the anguish of my heart-if all these terrors I feel for your safety, cannot convince you-believe at least this deed—I ruined only to save you. If I consented to accept your inheritance, it was only that you might owe your all to me. That all, I here refigo you. By that deed you are again poffeffed of your former fortune.-Live, live, my Glenville, and enjoy it.

Sir Harry. Can chis be possible!

Mrs. Courtly. This was the only way, I had, to save and reclaim you, All other expedients I had attempted in vain. Love at length suggested this artifice, and prompted me to anticipate that ruin, which, from the course of life you indulged in, would speedily have been effected by other hands. O, could I paint to you the painful struggles the prosecution of this scheme has cost me--the meannesses to which I have flooped the violence I have been compelled to offer to the pride and dignity, and-let me confess it-to the tenderness of my

heartSir Harry. And must I believe you? Had my Harriet such goodness, while I treated her with ingratitude ?

. Mrs. Courtly. This hour, I hope, will repay me for all the sacrifices I have made. From this moment you are master of all I poffefs. My fond melting heart throws off all retraint. It would gladly make fome atonement for the anxiety I have caused you, by thus pouring forth all its tenderness—by confefling that you are all its treasure, alt its joy, all its hope.-The rest remains with yourself.--Live happy, live contented, and, if that can add to that happiness and content, live with me.

Sir Harry. O, those transports are too much !--Adorable woman! my angel! my preserver! (falls at her feet] How have I deserved ? How can I express ?

Mrs. Courtly. Pray rise !--Thank heaven, I have found the secret to reftore you to yourself.-But fee, my father and your uncle.-They have been acquainted with my designs, and will rejoice at it.

Enter Sir J. Oldgrove and Holdfaft. Sir Harry (throwing himself at Holdfast's feet.] Can you forgive me, Sir? - Never again

* Holdfaf!. No protestations, Harry, no proteftations. I have had too much of them ; not to mittrust you, at least for a time. hopes must be from this lady's prudence. She has been too good to you.

Sir Jacob. Nay, the reconciliation must be perfect. I'll answer for your nephew.'

From the incidents arising from this desperate expedient of Mrs. Courtly, and the general tenor of the conduct of Sir Harry Glenville, we should rather, with Holdfaft, be inclined to Rev. Feb. 1781.



All my

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