Star.
London, England, 1817-05-05 00:00:00

THEATRES.

Dasme-Latee.—Saturday night, a new Comedy,
entitled The Touchstone, or the World ar it tors, was
performed, for the first time, at th:i 'Theatre. It is
tetra the pen of Mr KINNY, a writer to whom the
public are alteady itt,taetted for many of the ;roost
lively and interesting Dramas of the present day.—
Tne piece to which our attention is now calied, was
marked by the same ease anti smartness of 'Si 'foga*,
the same ;:repriety ref charaeter tans diversity of liter-
al:rat, which we have (Asset ved %yeti% many other oc-
casions, from the same quieter; and whether we rest
oar j•tdgment on the manner of its :veep inn, its own
hiherent claims, or, as ts 'son seems to require, on
the gr•titnd r.f both considerations, we ate j..stified i
ersr.ctud•og that the author's character must he not
o••le supported but a•'vance.: by his recent effort.—
The plot is simple. Perrgrint, Parespn, whose charac-
ter was sustain( d by Mr. HAULMS', is a schoolmaster,
whespays his iddresses to DierahCropky, daughter
a farmer. lie is treated in rather a supercilious
manner by the neighbouring Squire, a gentleman ni
the name of I•inesse, whine sister, a widow lady, M►s.
Fairweather, follows her brother's example in the
cnnetict she adopts towards the hit!•erto unfortunate
pedag•rgue. Mr. HOLLAND perforrca d Finetre, and
Mts. HAut.•'wi, .calm. Fairweather. The leading prin-
ciple of the drama, .' Lich is to exhibit the conduct of
the w'r•rld as it goes, soon come s into action. Fortune,
the deity of !'is werihip, is pleased to visit runr Pa-
re:on, s. hir•l'' sate does in the shape el a 7 ill. A re-,
late•% of his happening to die in America, bequeaths
him the vim of £SO,OOP. l'he touchstan c is now
applied, and Paroson is found to be a man not only
of greet merit, but of the most attractive qualities;
the Ladies confess his accomplis'nents, and even the
chsdainfut If ;glow I'ai►weather discovers her former
mistake, and relents into an admirer and a lover.—
The Author contests throughout his %A otk the truth
of that poetical adage which says, that pity melts
the sotsi to love." He seems to think, and we appre-
hend with a degree of truth which will save his com-
position tram) the charge of paradox, that money is
much more likely to kindle the tender passion, at
least in modern bosoms. Even Paragon himself is
brought in to illustrate this principle. Dinah, his
former flam., loses all her charms, when he is raised
so far above the'level of her humble condition, by
the powerful magic of the pocket. All parties are
anxious to avail themselves cal this. A Mr. Garnish,
among the rest, is particulatly solicitcus, and, with a
view to entrap the gremdarm schoolmaster, brings for-
ward his sister, Mire Garairh, to make a matrimonial
conquest. Garnish was represented by Mr. WAL-
L/WIC, and his sinter by Mrs. Aceor. The former i►
a sort of contemptible visiting :ippendage to the
Finesse family ; the latter a forwavd, ) et artless female,
who suhroits to he made the instrument of the worldly
♦sews of her broalter, without seeming to have had
the b-nefit of a preparatory education. Though
Mrs. ALsoe's extraordinary comic powers had not
an °prom, .ity for the display of their full force in
this character, they were still sufficiently exerted to
excite the warmest applause, and to cxntribute, in no
small degree, to the general success of the piece.—
Mr. Dowirow had a whimsical part assigned to him,
that of Probe, a smt of philosopher, whose chief am-
bition was !ta commence Lecturer in London, and
for the purpose of tot warding his speculations in that
way, lie pays his court to Paragon, for the same rea-
son that all the others had done—because Paragon
lead money. Another reverse takes place in the pro-
gress of the drawa, which exhibits a more amiable
picture of human nature than had been yet described.
the will upon which Paragon claimed the s€Bo,ooo,
is set aside by the aliscovery of another will sal later
date, and by that Ulm- will the rrjected Dinah Cropky
inherits the fortune. She, unlike• the world, is true
to her Mu affection, even under the disadvantages
of comparative poverty, and bestows her hand on
Paragon, who is of course wonderfully delighted with
her charms, her virtues, and her property. Miss
KELLY, who performed Dinah, exerted herself with
great success; as did also Mr. OXBRISKY, in the cha-
racter of her father. The catastr joie afforded great
by•tue disappointment of the avaricious

parties, whci had laid siege to the schoolmaster's
beart, and the whole went off in a manner that pro-
mises a considerable degtee of success. All the per-
formers rutted themselves greatly, and the ptcce
was announced icor repetition amidst the mast wield-
Mous plaudits of the house.
-'..I.IIILOGUE.
CUMIN av MRS. ALSO,.)
a Olt, what will become of me—Oh, what will t u 4
Nobody coming to marry me!—Nobody coming to wool'
Now, Ladies, is our .-oer's usage bar,
To balk us thus, and laugh at our de-pair;
To ht the world in me an arrant II n see,
Who pops the question as she bobs • curtsey
Could he not catch in his satiric net _

Our kindred animal—a male coquet ?
Ai* they so scarce ?—fray, Ladies, look around;
Scarce I—bless 'em, no—rm sure they /sere abound.
' Oh! ye tremendous host of Lady-killers!
Ye °glen I—Whisperers I—Waheas and Quadrilles!
Wbo doubtless think our sighs and sad mishap.,
So many feathers in your cucomb caps,
You think I'm blind perhaps—that may be true—
But I've my quiszliogilass a► well as you!
There enters one would any heart entice—
Dear Youth! who make your conquests at balf-prke;
Fluttering the benches tiro' each neighbouring hue,
Then, lolling, aim Ida Hyacint hum locks;
Won't you, Sir, take ft laa liscliey off the shelf?
Ak ! no, you're wedd,J—to your own se set
And you, ye fair, how perilyu, your cases,
Who niece their fierce assault of Libby graces,
Yet hear these sounds, each ray of hope bedlordng,
" A d—'d guotf house—but very few Mae women
May, some, like pictures slotted tor a beg,
Air retie ibro' hall the town ::: one •Lort ;
Vier their fond victims giance, and el.s.ippear,
Rub some poor poet of his hairnet' litre:
Then et the Opera crowding the lasi cranny,
Obscure Musa', and viral Lan tsioeanol.
boos they may scorn Ca :or a wave' .ury,
And Tahnit's picwiles desolate Old Drury,
Speed ye, Min !—My lunge i now must guard,
le bete word lug elaytr anti fur Bald;
Vie alley you say, fns tit generate age;
We tests you cry, fur a degenerate stage—
Adieu I if limb-, whose wit fur ages 'halves--
Ye Gesekkes—barrys—Ablogduils and (Aka!
Our het for blemish the charge will own,
AM tboidoe with Cam* her vacant throne.
Yet, while untsiended, she must needs give place
To each adventurous alien from her race,
Let critics gram sunk share of their applause
o a weak struggler in the good old cause.
1 he happier skid ut happier days to learn
Let me too hope--eirgentraie in my turn!
Yet pi Juil.whot you with generoor eye implore me
10 do but hall ivy astisr Ifiere mu/

LOVENT UrARDE.V.----011 Saturday night a new
Tragedy, called the Amstar, was brought forward,
at this Theatre. It is the production of Mr. SHIM.
an Irish barrister, author of another Tragedy repre.
sented here last season, with rather indifferent success.,
—The scene of the present Piece is laid in Grenada,
at the time of Philip the Second's persecution of the
Moors. Humeya (C. K forme) the Chief of the
Moorish exec, is passionately in love with Ciorinda,
(Miss o'l4mA.) the daughter of Count Alvares, a
Spanish Grandee, but Iron the inveterate animosity
entertained towards his tribe, is in utter desplir of
succeeding in his snit —A fife happens to break nut
in the Palact• of Clorinda's lather, and she is in Im-
minent danger of falling a prey to the flames—the
old man, in an agony of alarm for his damshter, vows
aloud that he will bestow her hand on whoever shall
save her life—Scatce has he finished when Humeya,
the Moor, is seen rushing horn the fiery pile with
Clorinda in his arms. The fair damsel had, in the
midst of the flames, revealed a reciprocal pas.ion for
her deliverer—and at is with a joy as great as unex-
pected, that the devoted lovers now learn from Count
Alvares the vow lw had made, and his honourable
resolution to fulfil it. At this moment Count Pes-
Caret (Macitaanr) the Governor of Grenada, who
has hen bor., utuuccessfully the wooer of Clorinda—
a man of villainy, most " subtle and extreme"—
Ineitaks in upon the exulting gioupe, and blasts their
lair plan of happiness, by anninincing that be has
jest received from King Phillip an edict prohibiting
intermarriage between Spaniards and Moors. Alva-1
tea and his daughter (with what propriety we say not
at present) yield obedience to the hard decree, and
join with equal resolution in assuring Humeya that 1,
the only chance which remains of his ever possessingl
the hand of his beloved, is to abjure his religion and
people, and become a Christian, and a Spaniard.-
1 The conflict between love and faith, between pa-
triotism and sellindailgence. is ton great for the pas-
sionate Moor—he becomes an Alto:tate to his faith —ll
lan alien to his race. One of his oldest and most
faithul followers, Malec (Mr. Your o) indignant at
an apostasy which he had employed every persuasion
to prevent, assembles the principal Moors of Gre-
nada at the house of the Cash, and informs them that
at the moment their Prince is thus abandooing them
for ever, a league had actually been formed atnahg the
Moors of Alpueara to throw off the yoke of the tyrant
Philip. Suddenly Humeya, dressed in the Spanish cos-
tume, enters, and advises Malec to fly, as the t films of
the Inquisition were in pursuit of him. Toe old be.
roic Moor desires his followers to leave him, ban de-
termines to remain himselt,.and brave the worst yen.
graver of his enemies. Gomez and the other ser-
vants of the Inquisition force the gates—and Malec
is accused of having attempted to hiing back to the
Mahometan religion a Moor who had abjured it, and
that Moor is said to be Humeya. The unhappy
Prince immediately declares that Count Pescara, his
rival, pretending friendship, had sent him!) to warn
his ancient preceptor, that the Inquisition pursued
him as a victim. Malec is condemned to death, but,
when tied to the stake, Humeya and his countrymen
rescue him. Humeya, however, is captured. and,
to save his life, Clorinda, after a dreadful struggle,
consents to give her hand to Pescara. Scarcely has
the marriage ceremony been solemnized, when she
hastens to tree her lover—who spurns her, when he
learns that she has become the wife of another. Pes.
cara has followed his bride to the Flit" and, stung
to madness by the ard:nt affection which she breathes
towards Humeya, he gives instant orders for his ezr•
cation. The officers of the Inquisition are dragging
him to the rack. when the. shout of " The Moors."
is heard—and Malec, whose troops had surprised the
city, enters the dungeon with a body of Moors.—
Pescara, foiled at the last, in a paroxysm of rage,
endeavours to strike his poniard into the breast of
Clorinda, hut is prevented by Humeya, who disarms
and slays him. Humeya now gives himself up to
joy. His people are victorious—his great enemy is
destroyed—Clorinda must he his. But this dream
of happiness soon vanishes—Clorinda acknowledges,
that, ere she approached the altar with Pescara, she
had swallowed poison. Humeya, in a fit of despair,
stabs himself—and Clorinda sinks hitless on the body
of her Laver.

Of ihis story, our Readers will, we think, concur
with u.; when we say, that it is more strongly than
happily conceived. It supplies a number of most
striking situations--produces a conflict of passions,
as distracting perhaps as can possibly agitate humit-
nity—But to be striking, is not always to be pleasing
—to agonize is not to subdue—The heroine must
needs inti,t on her lover becoming a Chi istian, in ei-
der Its produce the grand conflict of the Piece, be-
tween Religion and Love. But it is impossible for
the intelligent observer to overlook, how much in this
she departs from a duty which the faith she wishes
her lover to espouse has served to impress on society
more universally than perhaps any other—the duty of
leaving all else and cleaving to the object of our love;
nor how inconsistent it is to make her thus tragically
scrupulous in the first instance, and, in the sequel
the Piece, when Humeya, disclaiming his apos-1
tacy, becomes Moor again, to exhibit her doing
what she bad so stoutly refused before—abandoning
her father and her home, and vowing to follow her'
1 dear Moor to the uttermost corner of the world. The
hes*, too, is not a whit more reasonable than his char-
mer—f or, after she has thus consented to fly with
him to the mountains--after she is mourned and
away—when he is aware how important it is that he
should join the revolted Moors in the mountains—he
is so tempted, we suppose, by the idea of the strilisez
litusthn in which a man must appear, standing in a
Gothic gateway, and with his sirgle arm driving back
a whole host of tots, that he dismisses all his followers,
and actually remains behind to try the. bilge experi-
ment. What again shall we say of the catastrophe to
which this folly leads? Pescara is killeJ, and, in his
death, vice is punished—just•ce avenged. But whet e-
fore must Homey,' and Clorinda also die? Is it the
devotion of the one, or the constancy et the other—
a devotion -so generous—a constancy so magnani-
mous, that demands an expiation of blood ? Is it to
inculcate any thing either rational or moral, that the
innocent and the guilty are involved in the same
common ruin ? No—it is a superfluity of tragedy,
which is quite uncalled tor—arluch makes us revolt
with borri,r, instead of melting us to that anguish of
pity which is the legifTmate object of all tragedy.
Most essureilly the Piece would have terminated
far better—far more agreeably to every just and gene-
rous teeling—brad it terminated with the death ut its

only villain, Pescara. And hid it done sn, lite Au-
thor would have avoidld the additional reproach to
which we ore afraid he is liable, of presenting us
with a sort of catastrophe which the fate of Romeo
and Juliet has already made familiar to the stage.
Although the Piece is thus far objectionable in re•
spect of its plot and its purpose, it has still many re-
deeming merits—merits of the very highest otd:r.
If the Author has chosen to place his characurs in
situations of energy and di►t►action, somewhat out of
natnre, it must be confessed that he has enabled them
to support their situations admirably well. In strength
of la•:gnage, in elevation of sentiment, in apposite-
ness of embellishment, it is not often that a Piece of
such excelleuce comes under the judgment of the
Public. Many passages were in the highest degree
poetical ; and some there were, which, from origina-
lity of thought and beauty of imagery, seemed to us
to bid fair to rank among the most choice specimens
of our national genius.
The Author, in the course of the piece, has very
happily availed himself of those just feelings of indig-
nation, which a generous and high minded people
must ever feel at a socciacle of slavery so ignomini-
ous as the present' condition of Spain presents to our
view. The horrors of that terrestrial pandemonium
—that disgrace to the Christian name—the bloody
Inquisition of Spain, he has depicted in the most
glowing colours: And in invoking the vengeance of
HEAVEN on the tyrant Power by which
.it is sup-
ported, he called forth shouts of enthusiastic sym-
pathy from the whole audience.
All the Performers acquitted themselves most
ably. Miss O'Nan.t. never, perhaps, displayed herself
in a sphere of such magic power before. The shud-
der of horror with which she recoils from the pio-
posal of Pescara to become his bride as the price of
her lovei's life—the convulsion of agony into which
she is raised at the close of the fourth Act, by the
idea that she hears the screams of her dying lover—
have not, perhaps, been exceeded by any thing within
the whole range of tragic action. They must be seen
to be appreciated—and once seen, will never be forgot.
The acting of Mr. Yoosto in Malec, and Mr. C.
KestaLs in Humeya, was also of the highest order—
though perhaps Mr. KIMBLE might contrive to throw
less of the big boy than he does into his first scenes.
The applause of the audience was throughout most
unqualified, and when Mr. Yenisei appeared to an-
nowt,: it for repetition an universal shout of approval
shook the house.

The Prologue, written by WILLIAM WALLACE,
Esq. was spoken by Mr. CONNOR—and the following
Lvely Epilo,,ue was given with much gaiety and
archness by .vliss S. Boorw: _

[.l Mayer outside.
The Prompter says you lost It—find It you,
Or spe.k yourselt---1 can't without the cue.
[Pushes on Miss Booth, and exit.
(MI Booth, searching round I
Bless me ! did any see—have any found
A scribbled sheet of paper on the ground ?
Your pardon pray—[To Audienct]—but that unlucky dog,
The Prompter, has mislaid our Eps!ogue.
[Prompter outside, in a loud whisper :
I ? 'twas yeurself, Miss Booth—What were you reading,
The time you asked me,
_was the play succeeding t
[Mass Booth.
'TI. all a plot—odious ! each great Grandee,
Who died just now, stands jesting there at me.
Yon Moor, Humeri, who late rav'd about,
And starap'd and storrn'd most awfully, no doubt,
Is simpering slyly there, to put me out !
• Pescara, who could once kkninda scare,
Now chatters to bee with the gayest air !
Forgetting she's a corpse; and on my lite
By that gay air, forgetting she's his wife!
Fierce Make scowls t me, as if, forsooth,
He thought me Miss Giorisiela, Miss Booth;
And even Chirinda—aye, Keane, you may frown,
Who late fell poison'd on the carpet down ;
Looks not at her dead Moor, but dusty gown;
Nay, now while I expose her, turns round speedy,
And to Pescara cries-11 Did you hear that, Macregdy r
Say, damsels, vrho beheld her fate' have ye
Love warm enough to go as far as abet
She went into the other world 1 ween—
Ye would just go as far as—Gretna Green !
Yet, love too fervent fret its in a nice,
As water boii'd will sorest turn to Ice.
Not so with you—you first enquire, spprove,
And after, fail judiciously in love ;
For if an elder brother have the estate,
he younger, faultless otherwise, you hate.
For that vile crime—of being born too late !
But when you wed, thesezensient follies fi:orre,
leave constancy, love, honour, all your own!
Home, stranger, frt. rite, yau solace, charm, endear,
And now, 'tis your's our trembling hopes to cheer !
Support that sex too, who to-nigbt are storied,
For mark—one only fair our stage adoned.
The world's a stage, and when one only fair,
Caled Eve, was on it, sad things happened there;
That stage a serpent ruiued ; he could hiss;
Then, Ladies, let not .serpents ruin this.
League for Clorinda's sorrows all your charms;
Againit the Critic, Beauty, rise in arni.!
Our Poet's cares and mine are all at rest,
If sympathy once Ogled in woman's breast.
Secure, if once he woo the heart's applause,
To you aloes we both commend oar cause.
And if to him you owe a single tear,
Now give your smiles to b!ess our efforts here !

Fuotusm.—Screggins, on whom upwards of ten
thousand pounds depends, upon his ensuing match
with Turner, fought with Fisher for fifty guineas in a
gentleman's drawing-room, near St. James's-square,
between the hours of twelve and one on Friday night
and Saturday morning. Scroggins was in a com-
plete state of inebriation ; but he, nevertheless, alter
a most desperate fight of near fifty round's, occupying
almost an hour, beat his man in high style. Fisher
is not unknown to the fancy, from having conquered
Gravity, before the Grand Dukc NICHOLAS last sum-
mer.—On Friday night last the stakes of one hun-
dred guMeas a side were made good between Oliver
and Painter. The time of combat has again bren
changed from Monday, the 19th inst. to Tuesday, the
tOth orf June.—A match, for twenty guineas a side,
has been made between Dolly Smith (who contended
so nobly with Scroggins for one hour) and one Carmen,
an Herculean bargeman. To take place a distance
from London of 22 miles at least, to-morrow.
It is universally acknowledged, by the most respec-
table part of the profe,sion, that the Medical Boat*, estab-
lished by the celebrated Surgeons of Charlotte House, Illackfriar4
Road,
and Woodstock-street, Oxford-street (a few doors from
liond-simeet), are the fountain head for advice. It is a fact, that,
by the tinned tale' s of these Gentlemen, upwards of Six 'll,nu-
sand Patients have been cured annually of obetinate Disra.es ;
many of whom had been discharged from Hospitals, and hun-
dreds had been improperly treated by persons ignorant of an lam
Tortant braise,' of the profession.—Messrs. Courett, Mu Rotor,
and Co. are consulted datly by all ranks of people, at eccii of then
Establishments; or by letters front the Country, stating then
case, when Medicine and Advice are sent to all parts of
Kingdom: There are tide -doors at each house, and privateruoms
or females.—Direet Charlotte House, opposite the Rev: Rowland
Hill's Chapel; or Woodstock iritiois, mar New Load Street.

LAW INTELLIGLYCE

COURT Or KING'S rENCI-f, Is.

Benjamin Sited was brouelt up in envoi), ~
to an information preferred Ap-iinst him by C.- 1..
T(RNEY•CE::Endfy tar writir!, priming, and Sr`,_
lishinp; a certain wicked, Ells?, mini

tilts: libel, rf and concerning the right of OK. f
to peuitit-n Parliament, of and toner:mug the
mons House of Parliament, and of and c0rce.,....,
the people of
Mr. BA LOW II .1 V •If,v stated the nature of theta
inquired of the de:end.tnt iF he had any wish t0u,,..
it read nic,re at 1n t 11. e cluifendAnt said he %.1
no desire to have it st.tted more foully.
Mr. BA RLOW--." Are you guilty or not guqty
the offence with v.hich you are chatgecf ?"
Defendant —" Guilty."

The ATTORNEY-GEN F. 1111," N!y Lord. th•
fenclant having pleaded s!_afl content n.y.
sell with asking that he may now he discharged,
entering into Ilis own recognizance to appear and re-
ceive judgment when called upon to do so. I 2,
persuaded the ends of justice will be best ansn't:cd
by adopting this course in the resent cat?.."
The Court acceded to this prnpnsition, and t!;r
defendant was discharged on entering into his owl
recogiiizince in the sum of £I(O, to appear and re-
ceive judgmcliewhen culled on to do sr,.