FARQUHAR'S rich comedy, the Beaux' Stratagem, has been revived again
this season at Covent Garden, but after a deadly- lively fashion. It was a resurrection affair—a ghastly scene as ever was performed in a churchyard. The play itself keeps well, embalmed in its own spicy wit ; but the characters were mere mummies—the ghosts of the living originals mocking with rigid inanition the actions of their life. JONES looked like the resusci- tated corpse of Archer grown old ; his nose pinched, his eyes glazed, and his limbs stark, and moving skeleton-like, as upon wires. ABBOT was Aimwell rehearsing his mad pranks, drowsily as in a dream : he looked dull and dowdy—" shorn of his beams ;" the lustre of his face and of his dress was dimmed, and he was curtailed of his fair proportions. Ms:Avows, too, was Sullen superannuated : he had withered and got dry in spite of his drains; he had not spirit enough left to be sullen. The fat tapster was burly and boisterous, but his mirth was hollow in its loudness ; and he looked like a painted dropsy. The spirit of his " anno domini" had evaporated, and the fluid only was -left. Beautiful women never grow old ; accordingly Dorinda had re- versed the order, and grown young ; but she was as yet but a green girl, not left boarding-school. Miss SIDNEY rehearsed the part well. Mrs. Sullen was a sweet piece of feminine flesh and blood,—not wilful enough to have married a sot out of spite ; too sensible and spirited to have married him for any other cause; and not thoughtless enough to have hazarded an intrigue with a dashing adventurer. It was impossible to look upon ELLEN TREE as the wife of Sullen. She was not lifts. Sullen, that is the fact; but a much more delightful person. Cherry was not " Cherry- bounce," but a clever coquette; and Lady Bountiful looked like her housekeeper. Of all the dramatis personce, Scrub alone was there in propria. He had only been taking a nap in the cellar, and came up in the shape of little KEELEY, as fresh as ever. The truth is, that our stage cannot at this moment furnish a cast of characters for genteel comedy. We have no such thing as a lover, a man of wit and gallantry, or a real fine gentleman, among our actors. There is not one who has animal spirits for the character. JONES apes the man of fashion in an elaborate style; but he is either a fop or a footman. He is a very gentle- manly "gentleman's gentleman;" a perfect prince in the pantry— gentleman usher of the gold-headed cane. He wears a livery like a uniform; and is a very "exclusive" of a valet—one of the aris- tocracy of the servants' hall. But he has none of the gaietO de cur; his vivacity is factitious. Consequently, his rakes are sheer rascals. His confidence is downright impudence; for he has no resistless impulse to excuse his trespasses on decorum—no fervour and gusto to justify them. His liaisons are moral larcenies. His intrigues are swindling seductions. He wants the vinous tempe- rament of the true gallant, who can no more help falling in love with every fine woman he meets, proclaiming his passion, and in- continently laying siege to her beauty, than a bee can refrain how rifling a flower of its sweets. ELLISTON was the last of that lace of brilliant ephemerides. Will it ever revive? . • But though Comedy is so ill provided, Farce is admirably sup- plied. Witness the Clutterbucks, at Covent Garden; which, with- out novelty in its plot or wit in its dialogue, excites abundant laughter. The end of Farce being to amuse, we measure the de- gree of its merits by the quantity of mirth it excites. The dia- phragm is our gauge. And in this view of' the matter, the Clui- terbucks is the best farce we havd seen for 'many a day. The story is the old stage invention of a lover obtaining a footing in the house of his mistress by passing himself off as tbe unseen son of her father's old friend, who is expected to arrive for the purpose of marrying her. The gallant Captain who is the lover in this eases goes, however, beyond the usual extent of such deceptions, and fairly outfaces old Clutterbuck, by declaring himself his son, With the aid of his mistress, her maid, and his valet. The lady's father, too, mistaking old Clutterbuck's rage and astonishment at the barefacedness of the imposture, for anger at his son's prodi- gality, heightens the effect of the deception : it is further 'assisted, by the production, of a letter whichold Clutterbuch acknowledges to be in his son's handwriting; and is crowned by the extempore testimony of the landlord of the inn where the real Clutterbuch Junior slept,--whe is bribed into acquiescence by the payment of the reckoning Of his lodgei;received.froM the pretended ClutterbuCk. Old Clutterbuat iadriien almost out of his -senses and seems in a fair way of 'yielding to the delusion : at this moment his real sort enters,—but repulses his embrace of recognition by a cold stare of astonishment; and protests he is no son of his, nor a Clutterbuck: and before the old gentleman has time to recover from this fresh surprise, he is arrested as his own son disguised as his father. The glorious absurdity of this concatenation of improbabilities can only be made manifest on the stage. With VINING as the Cap- tain, BARTLEY as old Clutterbuck, JONES as the Valet, Mrs. KEELEY as the Waiting-maid, and her droll little wren of a hus- band as young Clutterbuck, our readers may fancy the fun that was going forward. KEELEY was dressed in a pair of yellow tight pantaloons and sky-blue coat, with a red Brutus wig and fiery whiskers, and smoked a cigar. In his paroxysms of terror from his dad and the bailiffs, he hopped about like a galvanized frog : his gasps and ejaculations of horror were irresistibly ludicrous : every time he was recognized, he looked as if he were transfixed. In one of his attempts to elude the bailiffs, he puts on the livery of a gigantic porter; and his appearance in the yellow suit, stealthily crossing the stage, the coat flapping about his heels, the knee-breeches coming down below his calves, and the waist- coat reaching to his legs, threw the audience into convulsions of mirth. The dismay with which, upon learning that the former wearer of the livery lately died of the scarlet fever, he stands un- folding the scarlet horror of the coat-lining—asking if he is red in the face, and really looking like a personification of plethora and fever—is a picture for CRUIKSHANK ; but it should be painted in colours of flame. It was admirable fooling.
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