THE THEATRES.

Tits tide of sums.; seemed ebbing from Covent Garden,.—TALFOURD'S tragedy vunishing with the last renting wave : but the tumultuous roar of public apprimbati (((( swelling the gale of' triumph has rolled it back again, floating in KNOWLES'S last venture on its fullest flood. The aut hor, indeed, o lien he clone quietly forward at the call of the audience It) receive their rapturous gratulations, looked like some rough weather- beaten in:trifler, svimosie bark had come into port after a prosperous voyage—thanke to a skilful pilot and a good crew. Dropping metaphor, let is cone. to the plain facts.

Manua's Wit, or Love's Disguises, is conceived in the finest spirit and executed in the worst manner of KNOWLES'S dramas. The out- line is vigorously sketched, and the parts are boldly developed ; but they are ill put together. The warm glow of a healthful imagination, however, pervades the whole ; and if it cannot hide, at least it reconciles us to the blemishes. In the leading points of dramatic power, development of character, progression of incident, and uncer- tainty iig to the result, this pill is remarkably deficient. The per. volumes want ilidividuality, the action is irregular and often suspended, the plot is based on a groundwork of improbability. and both the mystery and its solution are evident from the first. Yet in spite of these capital defects, so striking and effective are the situations, so powerful is the interest of each scene, that reason yields to the sway of emotion, alai you become wilfully blind to the most etartling incon- sistenvies of circumstance.

" Woman's wit" was never less ingeniously or effectively exerted, nor were " Love's disguises" ever more transparent. Two innocent girls rejected by their lovers, through the arts of the same villain, assume disguises to right their wrongs. Hero, the heroine of the main plot. masquerades in Quaker guise to punish and reclaim her swain, Sir Valentine de Grey, who had taken umbrage at her enjoying a waltz too freely; while Helen, a subordinate character, having been cast-off by her adorer, IValsingimm, dons male attire, to revenge herself on the contriver of the plot by which her honour was seemingly compromised.

-Sir Valentine is much mystified by the likeness of the pretty Quaker to his gay and imperious mistress, and is made to look ridiculous by adopting the Quaker garb and the prefix of Peter to please his tor- mentor; but he is taught no lesson, nor does the lady vindicate her- self by this scheme. So with Helen, or Eustace, for such is her mas- culine name : her year's lessons in fencing are thrown away, for the

duel is prevented after nil ; and except that she finds her quondam lover a fellow-pupil in Monsieur De l'Epee's fencing. school, and

makes a friend of him, nothing results from this. Them as if to go time round of futile purposes, the Ingo of the play, Lord Athunree, is doubly foiled in his intention of carrying off Hero, by his own clumsi. ness, (stage plotters are so careless ! ) and the remorse of his agent_

one of those soft-hearted rascals that KNOWLES is so fond of. The arch-traitor goes off scot-free, bidding defituice to all; the chivalrous Walsinginen does not so much as challenge him. The judicial blind- ness that prevents lovers from recognizing each other during a long in- titnacy, in virtue of a change imi the fashion of a suit of clothes, until it suits the convenience of the author to open their eyes, is carried beyond the bounds of stage licence : it takes away what little interest would be excited by the narrative of Weisinghatin and Eustace of their re- spective sufferings, and makes the pair of disconsolate turtles rather tiresome. This is the weakest passage of sentiment in the play : it borders on the effeminate ; for though we know Eustace to be a woman, Waisingham regards him as a man. The impressive force and tenderness of M,scaaADY, however, and the feeling evinced by Miss TAYLOR, threw an air of grace and beauty over the scenes between them, that, supported by the delicate pathos of the sentiment, made them really affectiug. The scene of time duel, where Waleingham- having by a stratagem dieartned Eustace for the purpose of taking his place against Lord Atimuree, and is in turn deprived of his weapon by a counter manceuvre—is kept at bay by his adversary's second, caused people to rise from their seats with excitement, as if the actual inci- dent had occurred.

The assumption of the Quaker character by Hero, is a bold and novel expedient, and tells admirably. The "Friends" need not take offence ; for the author has done such justice to the essential articles of their creed, that we admire their simplicity and earnestness, and laugh only at the burlesque exaggeration of their peculiarities of manner. Miss HELEN Fencer, in her disguise, embodies the spirit of the true character—a primitive plainness and directness of thought, manner, and speech : she is no clear-starched piece of muslin, all primness and prudery, but a woman of flesh and blood. In her proper character, Miss Fencer's mummer was at first somewhat stilted and affected ; though in the quarrel with Sir Valentine her look of mingled anger and mortification, and her hysterical affectation of gayety, bespoke genuine feeling. But in the after scenes, time spirit of comedy ani- mated her every look and action ; she threw aside all the conventional formalities of stage-tutoring, and entered heart and soul into the cha- racter. Not only in the arch and playful but the graver passages, this earnestness was apparent : the recognition of her lottg.loet friend Helen was like arm affectionate meeting of two sisters.

Weeps: as Lord .,4thrunree, A:sot:min: as Sir Valentine, BARTLEY as Sir 1Villiain Salton, the uncle of Hero, and DIDDEAR as Lewson, the tender-conscienced scoundrel, played extremely well ; and HARLEY as Clever, made the assumed Quaker character of Obadiah very droll without buffoonery. The play is splendidly got up : the opening scene of the bail at Sir William Sutton's, with the arrival and departure of the numerous and superbly.dressed company, showing the dancing in an inner saloon, is

one of the most dazzling realities ever seen on the stage. The distant views of old London, too, are beautifully painted, with a sober fresh- ness far more effective, because more natural, than the gaudy-coloured daubs that the scene-room usually turns out. Alaftsitebs is the artist.

'rile best-acting plays do not abound with quotable passages ; such being the surplusuge of poetic fancy, that does not always enrich, if it adorns time dialogue. From these excrescences this drama is not free ;

but instead of extracting any of them, we will take a deep and true thought or two, expressed with the terseness and raciness of KNOWLES'S

best writing : they seem to come direct from the heart—are feelings, in fact, clothed in simple imagery—though with an affectation of the actors, serving for any, where a precise tem:and locality form quaintness in phrase, proper to no age, but, Like the cloaks[and caps of essential feature of the drama.no

Hero, having first tried the success of her Quaker disguise on bet uncle, Sir William Sutton, explains she purpose,and asks his coalmen. tion. What an arch joyousness, sharpened by the sense of injury amid the anticipation of redress, is shown in this passage!

SIR WILLIAM.

Why, how bath this beedlen ?

HERO.

I did not dance To please him. No, Sir ! He is a connoisseur In dancing l—bath a notian of his own Of a step ! In carriage, attitude, has taste,

Dainty as palate of an epicure, Which, if ■ou bit not to a hair, disgust

Dotli take the place of zest He is sick of me ! My feet the frolic measure may indulge, - But not my heart—mine eye, my cheek, my lip, Must not he cognizant of what I do Aswood and marble could he brought to dance, Anti look like wood and marble. I shall teach hirn Another style. Corns! I have found you out ; Will you compound for your sedition,

And help me? Come! how say you, little traitress?

EMILY.

Content,

HERO.

And you, most reverend rebellion ?

8IR tVinLnaan.

Command me aught that I can do in reason.

HERO.

Can tin in reason ! In what reason? There Are fifty kinds of reason! There's a fool's reason, And a wise man's reason, and a knave's reason, and An honest man's reason, and an infitnt's reason, And reason of a grandfather : but theme's A reason 'bore them all, and that alone Can stand me now in stead—a woman's reason ! Wilt thou be subject unto me in that?

Woman's love—

Her heart to me.

HERe.

She did ! you know not when

A woman gives away her heart! at times She knows it not herself. Insensibly

It goes from her ! She thinks she bath it still—

If she reflects—while smoothly runs the course

Of wooing ; but if haply conies a cheek— An irrecovera.mle, final one— Aghast— forlorn—she stands, to find it lost,

And with it, all the world !

A happy simile

HERO.

Whether mine eye with a new spirit sees, Or nature is grown lovelier, I know not ; But neer, inethiliks, was sunset half 80 sweet ! He's down, and yet his glory still appears, Like to the memory of a well-spent life, That's golden to the last, and when 'tis o'er, Shines itt the witnesses it leaves behind.

SIR. VALENTINE.

She never gave