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remedy to an evil, which, "mutato
nomine," exists and triumphs in a
province not very remote from your
most immediate jurisdiction.
I am, Sir,

Your servant to command,
EZEKIEL FITWELL *.

To the Editor of the Christian Observer.

Tur chief magistrate of the city having recently been represented, by all the newspapers, as one of the principal persons applying to the council and to parliament for a new theatre, I am reminded of the days of Queen Elizabeth, when the whole city petitioned, and not without sucress, against so great an evil. Your readers will find the relation to which I allude in Rawlidge his Monster lately found out, pp. 2, 3. "Many godly citizens, and other well-disposed gentlemen of London," observes this writer, " considering that play-houses were traps for young gentlemen and others, and perceiving the many inconveniences and great damage that would casue upon the long suffering of the same, not only to particular persons, but to the whole city, and that it would also be a great disparagement to the governors, and a dishonour to the government of this honourable city, if they should any longer contiane, acquainted some pious magi

Swift's "Tale of a Tub" has evidently fashed the ground-work of the above whimsical letter. In that humorous proexction, as is well known, the various modifications of Christianity are treated of as vaarticles of dress. In this, the ministers Migion are represented as the manufacNers of dress. As we sincerely deprecate ery thing which trenches on the sanctity the ministerial character, we feel somesuspicious both of the original tale and as lively imitation. We also think that le writer has a little caricatured the reason

which he attempts to expose. Never, as the letter is plainly both well. ficant and well-executed, we have been ling to withhold it from our readers. Larga.

strates therewith, desiring them to take some course for the suppres sion of common play-houses within the city of London and liberties thereof: who thereupon made humble suit to the queen and her privy council, and obtained leave of her majesty to thrust the players out of the city, and to pull down all play. houses within their liberties; which accordingly was effected. And the play-houses in Gracechurch Street, &c. were quite put down and suppressed.”

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This, Sir, was in the year 1580. Some persons will perhaps tell us, there is more liberality of thinking now-a-days, and that people have happily escaped from the yoke of such strict and severe opinions as were then current: but, until these reasoners can shew that the Bible has altered its tone, and that the spirit of the world is another thing now from what it was then, they will have some difficulty, I appre hend, in persuading those, who are in earnest about saving their souls, that the theatre is not forbidden ground, and that its amusements may be partaken of with safety. It is not my intention, Sir, to go into the general discussion of this subject; but I cannot help remarking, that I consider the evidence adduced in the beginning of this letter, of the feelings of the religious part of the nation in the good old days of Queen Elizabeth, as very important, and as, perhaps, of more value than much of the abstract reasoning which has been employed on the same side. May your readers, Sir, be better taught than to derive their entertainment from such a polluted source!

Yours, &c.

CIVIS.

To the Editor of the Christian Observer.

IN your last number you entertained us with much pleasing poetical extract, as well as with much valuable poetical criticism. The latter I

cannot, pretend, and therefore will not attempt, to emulate. It has occurred to me, however, that, in the dearth of original poetical contributions to your work, it would be desirable to gratify your readers by occasionally selecting passages from any new works of this class which may possess sufficient merit to entitle them to such distinction. My present communication will afford you an opportunity of exercising your judgment on this point.

A Poem has lately made its appearance, entitled "The Battle of Talavera;" the production, as is generally believed, of Mr. Croker, the present Secretary of the Admi. ralty. This poem may possibly be unknown to many of your readers; but it certainly does not deserve the common fate of the great mass of ephemeral poetry, that of being forgotten, by all but the author, the day after it issues from the press. I am very desirous that others may participate in the pleasure which I have derived from the perusal of this spirited, and I believe also correct, account of the well-fought battle which it professes to describe. The subject is one which cannot but interest every British heart; and it must be allowed that in this instance the author has added to that interest the charm of poetry, without availing himself of a poet's immemorial right-to borrow aid from fiction. Taking it for granted that the author's view in the publication has been to excite feelings of patriotic ardour in his readers, I shall consider myself justified in quoting more largely from the poem than it might be fair to do in ordinary

cases.

His end will then be answered with respect to many who would otherwise have no opportunity of reading the original.

The battle, which took place in the night-time, is first described. "Twas dark; from every mountain head The sunny smile of heaven had fled, And evening, over hill and dale Drept, with the dew, her shadowy veil;

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Ranged on Alberche's hither sands,
He of the borrowed crown commands
France's fraternal might;
While Talavera's wall between
And olive groves and gardens green,

Spain quarters on the right;
Thence to where hills o'erlook the plain,
The British bands the left maintain,
Fronting the east, as if to gain

The earliest glimpse of light. There while they wait the anxious morn, Hark! on the midnight breeze are borne Sounds from the vale telow.

What sounds? No gleam of arms they see, Yet still they hear what may it be?

It is, it is the foe!

Down, down the hill, and thro' the shade,

With ball and bayonet and blade,

They charge their home;-that charge has

laid

Full many a Frenchman low!

Thrice came they on, and thrice their shock Rebounding breaks, as from the rock

The wintery billow's thrown;
And many a gallatit feat is done,
And many a laurel lost and won,

Unwitnessed and unknown;
Feats that achieved in face of day,
In Peter's holy aisle, for aye

Had lived in sculptur'd stone.
Oh, for a blaze from heaven to light
The wonders of that gloomy fight,
The wreath of honour to bestow,
Of which the sullen envious night
Bereaves the warrior's brow!
If chance had sped the fatal blow,
Darkling they fight, and only know
Or, by the trodden corse below,

Or by the dying groan:
Furious they strike without a mark,
Save now and then the sulphurous spark
Illumes some visage grim and dark,
That with the fla: is gone

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Promiscuous death around they send”,
Foe falls by foe, and friend by friend,
Heaped in that narrow plain.
Bat, with the dawn, the victors view
Ten gallant French the valley strew
For every Briton slain.”

After some intermediate stanzas, we find the foe again advancing to the attack, "full fifty thousand muskets bright," and General Wellesley issuing his orders:

Away, away! the adverse power,
Marshals, and moves his host.
Ts come, 'tis come, the trial hour,
Each to his destined post.

And when you charge, be this your cry,
Britons strike home, and win or die,--
The grave or victory!""

"The pomp of the approaching fight" is well pourtrayed: •Waving ensigns, pennons light, And gleaming blades and bayonets bright, And eagles winged with gold;" "While cymbal clang and trumpet strain, The knell of battle toll'd; And trampling squadrons beat the plain, Till the clouds echoed back again, As if the thunder rolled."

Several stanzas follow, which I should have been glad to transcribe, did I not fear to exceed your limits. They are employed in reflecting on the change which a few hours would produce in the appearance of the same army; on the domestic misery which would spread from Talavera to many a distant land; and on the conduct and character of Bonaparte, the grand author of all this misery. But I must hasten to the battle itself. The French generals are represented as directing their whole force to the point, where "Britain's red-cross shines."

Full then on her the torrent course Of battle drive, and all your force, Your universal train

Erpead on her, and her alone,

Be the whole gathered storm her own,
Her peril and her pain!

Press her with growing thousands round,
Dal that red banner to the ground,
And seal the fate of Spain!

*La the confusion of the night much loss

caused by men taking friends for foes, CHRIST. OBSERV, No. 99.

"Now from the dark artillery broke
Lightning flash and thunder stroke;
And volumed clouds of fiery smoke
Roll in the darkened air:

Wrapped in its shade, unheard, unseen,
Artful surprise, and onset keen,
The nimble French prepare.

On the whole allied line they throw
Their wide extended host,
Center and left and right, nor show

What point they threaten most.
But Wellesley undeceived, the brunt
Of war expects on Britain's front,
But strengthens most the vaward rankɔ
That hang along the mountain banks,
For well he judges, Gallia still

Is bent to seize that bloodstained bill, Strain all her force, exhaust her skill,

To plant her eagles there; That soon, from that commanding height May speed their devastating flight, And, sweeping o'er the scattered plain, The hopes of England and of Spain With iron talon tear.

"Three columns of the flower of France, With rapid step and firm, advance, 7

At first thro' tangled ground,
O'er fence and dell and deep ravine--
At length they reach the level green,.
The midnight battle's murderous scene,

The valley's eastern bound.
There in a rapid line they form,
Thence are just rushing to the storm,

By bold Belluno led,
When sudden thunders shake the vale,
Day seems, as in eclipse, to fail,

The light of heaven is fled;

A dusty whirlwind rides the sky,
A living tempest rushes by

A charge, a charge, the British cry,
With deafening clang and tread-
And Seymour at its head.'

"Belluno sees the coming storm,
And feels the instant need.

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Break up the line, the column form,
And break and form with speed,
Or under Britain's thundering arm
In rout and ruin bleed.'

Quick, as the haste of his commands,

The lengthened lines are gone,

And broken into nimble bands

Across the plain they run;

Spur, Britain, spur thy foaming horse, O'ertake them in their scattered course And sweep them from the land!' She spurs, she flies; in vain, in vain-Already have they passed the plain, And now the broken ground they gain, And now, a column, standi

Rein up thy courser, Britain, rein!'--But who the tempest can restrain?

The mountain flood command?
Down the ravine, with hideous crash,
Headlong the foremost squadrons dash,
And many a soldier, many a steed
Crushed in the dire confusion bleed.
The rest, as ruiu fills the trench,
Pass clear, and on the columned French,
A broken and tumultuous throng
With glorious rashness dash along,
Too prodigal of life;

And they had died, aye every one,
But Wellesley cries, On, Anson, on,
Langworth, and Albuquerque and Payne,
Lead Britain, Hanover and Spain,

And turu th' unequal strife.'

"Now from the plain and every steep

A thousand thunders peal;
Again the vollied tempests sweep,
And sulphury vapours dark and deep
The meeting armies veil ;
The kindling fight at every post
Blazes, but towards the centre most,
Whence, hoping on a happier stage,
The renovated war to wage,

France now assails the hill,
And pours with aggregated rage
The storm of fire and steel;
And when the fresh'ning breezes broke
A chasm in the volumed smoke,
Busy and black was seen to wave

The iron harvest of the field,
That harvest, which in slaughter tilled,
Is gathered in the grave :---
And now before their mutual fires

They yield, and now advance;
And now 'tis Britain that retifes,

And now the line of France:
They struggle long with changeful fate,
And all the battle's various cries
Now depressed, and now elate,

In mingled clamours rise;

Till France at length before the weight
Of British onset flics :

Forward,' the fiery victors shout,

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While full on each uncovered flank
Cannon and mortar swept their rank,
And many a generous Briton sank
Before the dreadful blaze;
Yet 'midst that dreadful blaze and dia
Their fearless shout they raise,
And ever, as their numbers thin,
Fresh spirits, to the post, rush in

Of peril and of praise.

And still as with a blacker shade

Fortune obscures the day;
Commingled thro' the fight they wade,
And hand to hand and blade to blade,
Their blind and furious efforts braid,
As if, still dark and disarrayed,

They fought the midnight fray.
In vain.-New hopes and fresher force
Inspirit France, and urge her course,
A torrent rapid wild and hoarse,

On Briton's wavering train.
As when, before the wintery skies,
The struggling forests sink and rise,
And rise and sink again,
While the gale scatters as it flies

Their ruins o'er the plain;
Before the tempest of her foes,
So England sank, and England rose,
And, tho' still rooted in the vale,
Strewed her rent branches on the gale.
Then, Wellesley! on thy tortured thought
What honest anguish crost!
Oh how thy generous bosom burned,
To see even by a glorious fault
The flowing tide of victory turned,

And Spain and England lost!--
Lost, but that as the peril great,
And rising on the storms of fate
His rapid genius soars,

Sees, at a glance, his whole resource,
Drains from each stronger point its forc
And on the weaker pours:
Present where'er his soldiers bleed,
He rushes thro' the fray,

And, so the dangerous chances need,
In high emprise and desperate deed,
Squanders himself away!

"Now from the summit, at his call,
A gallant legion*, firm and slow
Advances on victorious Gaul;
Undaunted tho' their comrades fal!!

Unshaken tho' their leader's low! Fixed-as the high and buttressed moun That guards some leaguered city round, They stand unmoved-bebind them to. The flying fragments of the storm; While on their sheltering front, amain France drives, with all her thundering u Her full career of death.

The 48th Regiment, commanded Col. Donellan, who was severely wounde

But drives in vain—for unimpressed,
The arm of havoc they arrest,
And from the foe's exulting crest,
Tear down the laurel wreath ;
Nor does the gallant foe resign
A tame inglorious prize;

Long, long on Britain's rallied line
The deadly fire he plies;

Lang, long where Britain's banners shine,
He raiuly toils and dies!--

Xe'er to a battle's fiercer groan
Did mountain echoes roar

Not ever evening blush upon
A rediler field of gore.

Ba feebler now, and feebler still
The panting French assail the hill,
And weaker grows their cannon's roar,
And thinner falls their musket shower,
Fainter their clanging steel :

They shout, they charge, they stand no

more

And staggering in the slippery gore,
Their very leaders reel.

I dare not add to these quotations,

although I feel a strong temptation to insert the passage in which the retreat of the French, spreading conflagration in their rear, is described: but for this, considering the extent to which I have already carried my extracts, I must refer to the poem itself; unless you, Sir, should find that there is room for it, and should therefore admit it.

If the perusal of the above lines should produce no other effect, it may at least shew us what determined valour, joined to strict discipline, are capable, under God's blessing, of effecting in a righteous cause; and it surely ought to lead us, by the view which it affords of the dreadful calamities of war, to wish and pray for peace in the spirit of peace. I am, &c.

REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS.

The Doctrine of the Greek Article, applied to the Criticism and the Illustration of the New Testament. By T. F. MIDDLETON, D. D. 8vo. pp. 700. Cadell and Davies. THAT the Greek article may be omitted or employed at pleasure, is an opinion not to be reconciled with the character of a people, addicted above all others to refined speculation, and delighting in the most ingraus and subtle theory. Yet many persons appear to consider it 2s subject to no rule, but left to the Caprice of the writer; while others imagine that its use is regulated rather by the ear, than the underanding; and that it contributes tore to the harmony of a period, than its perspicuity or force. And even pammarians, who have professedly mired into its nature, have failed their attempts to explain this abrase and difficult subject. Dr. Middleton, therefore, must be ackowledged to have rendered a most portant service to literature, by reducing the use and application of

S.

the article to fixed and intelligible principles.

His second chapter opens with the following definition: "The Greek prepositive article is the pronoun relative &, so employed, that its relation is supposed to be more or less obscure; which relation, therefore, is explained in some adjunct, annexed to the article by the participle of existence expressed or understood. Hence the article may be considered as the subject, and its adjunct as the predicate, of a proposition, differing from ordinary propositions, only as assumption differs from assertion; for this is the only difference between the verb and the participle, between έsì and cv." The remainder of the chapter is a copious illustration and vindication of the preceding definition. To prove that the article is a pronoun, Dr. Middleton has recourse to the authority of Homer, as being the earliest Greek writer whose works have descended to the present times. In the following passages, taken

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