The genial night, wi' balmy breath, gars verdure spring anew, And ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. Sae, lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we should feel owre proud and hie, And in our pride forget to wipe the tear frae poortith's e'e, Some wee dark clouds o' sorrow come, we ken na whence or how, But ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. When the Glen all is Still. [By H. S. Riddell.] When the glen all is still, save the stream from the fountain; When the shepherd has ceased o'er the heather to roam; And the wail of the plover awakes on the mountain, Thy locks shall be braided with pearls of the gloaming; And hover around thee till rise of the dawn. O Mary! no transports of Heaven's decreeing Can equal the joys of such meeting to me; For the light of thine eye is the home of my being, And my soul's fondest hopes are all gathered to thee. Florence Nightingale.* With lofty song we love to cheer The hearts of daring men, When she, who stems the wound that bleeds, And heroes saved exulting tell How well her voice they knew; How sorrow near it could not dwell, But spread its wings and flew. Neglected, dying in despair, They lay till woman came To soothe them with her gentle care, She called their fluttering spirits back, They knew that they were cared for then, They woke the angel bending there DRAMATISTS. Dramatic literature no longer occupies the prominent place it held in former periods of our history. Various causes have been assigned for this declineas, the great size of the theatres, the monopoly of or scenic display which has usurped the place of the the two large London houses, the love of spectacle legitimate drama, and the late dinner-hours now prevalent among the higher and even the middle classes. The increased competition in business has also made our nation of shopkeepers' a busier and harder-working race than their forefathers; and the diffusion of cheap literature may have further tended to thin the theatres, as furnishing intellectual entertainment for the masses at home at a cheaper rate than dramatic performances. The London managers appear to have had considerable influence in this matter. They lavish enormous sums on scenic decoration and particular actors, and aim rather at filling their houses by some ephemeral and dazzling display, than by the liberal encouragement of native talent and genius. To improve, or rather re-establish the acted drama, a writer in the Edinburgh Review for 1843 suggests that there should be a classification of theatres in the metropolis, as in Paris, where each theatre has its distinct species of the drama, and performs it well. We believe, he says, 'that the evil is mainly occasioned by the vain endeavour of managers to succeed by commixing every species of entertainment-huddling together tragedy, comedy, farce, melo-drama, and spectacle-and striving, by alternate exhibitions, to draw all the dramatic public to their respective houses. Imperfect-very imperfect companies for each species are engaged; and as, in consequence of the general imperfection, they are forced to rely on individual excellence, individual performers become of inordinate importance, and the most exorbitant salaries are given to procure them. These individuals are thus placed in a false position, and indulge themselves in all sorts of mannerisms and absurdities. The public is not unreasonably dissatisfied with imperfect companies and bad performances; the managers wonder at their ruin; and critics become elegiacal over the mournful decline of the drama! Not in this way can a theatre flourish; since, if one species of performance proves attractive, the others are at a discount, and their companies become useless burdens; if none of them prove attractive, then the loss ends in ruin.' Too many instances of this have occurred within the last thirty years. Whenever a play of real excellence has been brought forward, the public has shewn no insensibility to its merits; but so many circumstances are requisite to its successful representation-so expensive are the companies, and so capricious the favourite actorsthat men of talent are averse to hazard a competition. Bulwer Lytton-elsewhere noticed in this volumeThe tragedies of Miss Mitford and Sir Edward were highly successful in representation, but the fame of their authors must ever rest on those prose fictions by which they are chiefly known. Sir Edward's Lady of Lyons is, however, one of our most popular acting plays; it is picturesque and romantic, with passages of fine poetry and genuine feeling. THOMAS NOON TALFOURD. Two classic and two romantic dramas were produced by THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, an eloquent English barrister and upright judge, whose sudden death was deeply lamented by a most attached circle of literary and accomplished friends, as well as by the public at large. Mr Talfourd was a native of Reading, in Berkshire, born in 1795. His father was a brewer in Reading. Having studied the law, Talfourd was called to the bar in 1821, and in 1833 got his silk gown. As Serjeant Talfourd, he was conspicuous for his popular eloquence and liberal principles, and was returned to parliament for his native town. In 1835, he published his tragedy of Ion, which was next year produced at Covent Garden Theatre with success. His next tragedy, The Athenian Captive, was also successful. His subsequent dramatic works were The Massacre of Glencoe, and The Castilian, a tragedy. Besides these offerings to the dramatic muse, Talfourd published Vacation Rambles, 1851, comprising the recollections of three continental tours, a Life of Charles Lamb, and an Essay on the Greek Drama. In 1849, he was elevated to the bench, and in 1854 he died of apoplexy while delivering his charge to the grand jury at Stafford. Ion, the highest literary effort of its author, seems an embodiment of the simplicity and grandeur of the Greek drama, and its plot is founded on the old Grecian notion of destiny, apart from all moral agencies. The oracle of Delphi had announced that the vengeance which the misrule of the race of Argos had brought on the people, in the form of a pestilence, could only be disarmed by the extirpation of the guilty race, and Ion, the hero of the play, at length offers himself a sacrifice. The character of Ion-the discovery of his birth, as son of the kinghis love and patriotism, are drawn with great power and effect. The style of Mr Talfourd is chaste and clear, yet full of imagery. Take, for example, the delineation of the character of Ion: Ion, our sometime darling, whom we prized Hath his clear spirit vanquished-Love, the germ Struck sunlight o'er it: so his life hath flowed [Extracts from Ion.'] [Ion being declared the rightful heir of the throne, is waited upon by Clemanthe, daughter of the high priest of the temple, wherein Ion had been reared in obscurity.] Ion. What wouldst thou with me, lady? Nothing, my lord, save to implore thy pardon, Clem. To forget it! Indeed, my lord, I will not wish to lose Ion. Speak not, fair one, In tone so mournful, for it makes me feel Clem. Dost thou yet Esteem it rapture, then? My foolish heart, This once at least-it could not in my thoughts Ion. It must separate us! Think it no harmless bauble; but a curse And shall we never see each other? I have asked that dreadful question of the hills I feel the love that kindles through its beauty Clem. Bless thee for that name; Pray, call me so again; thy words sound strangely, Faint records of thy deeds, and sometimes catch Ion. No; thou must live, my fair one: As thine hath been, till breezy sorrow comes Hardly at first, at length will bring repose Then he has cast me off! no-'tis not so; [Ion is installed in his royal dignity, attended by the high priest, the senators, &c. The people receive him with shouts.] Ion. I thank you for your greetings-shout no more, But in deep silence raise your hearts to heaven, That it may strengthen one so young and frail As I am for the business of this hour. Rise tranquil from her griefs--'twill not be long, If the great gods smile on us now. Remember, Meanwhile, thou hast all power my word can give, Whether I live or die. Agenor. Die! Ere that hour, May even the old man's epitaph be moss-grown! Crythes. I kneel to crave Humbly the favour which thy sire bestowed Ion. I cannot mark thee, That wakest the memory of my father's weakness, Crythes. Dost intend To banish the firm troops before whose valour Barbarian millions shrink appalled, and leave Our city naked to the first assault Of reckless foes? Ion. No, Crythes; in ourselves, In our own honest hearts and chainless hands I would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop- Crythes. My lord Ion. No more-my word hath passed. To those thou hast grown old in; thou wilt guard Medon. Think of thee, my lord? Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign. Ion. Prithee no more. Argives! I have a boon To crave of you. Whene'er I shall rejoin In death the father from whose heart in life Stern fate divided me, think gently of him! Think that beneath his panoply of pride Were fair affections crushed by bitter wrongs Which fretted him to madness; what he did, Alas! ye know; could you know what he suffered, Ye would not curse his name. Yet never more Let the great interests of the state depend Upon the thousand chances that may sway A piece of human frailty; swear to me That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves The means of sovereignty: our country's space, So happy in its smallness, so compact, Needs not the magic of a single name Which wider regions may require to draw Their interest into one; but, circled thus, Like a blest family, by simple laws May tenderly be governed-all degrees, Not placed in dexterous balance, not combined Medon. Wherefore ask this now? Thou shalt live long; the paleness of thy face, Of glorious years. Ion. The gods approve me then! And claim obedience. Swear, that if I die, Medon and others. We swear it! Ion. Hear and record the oath, immortal powers! In whose mild service my glad youth was spent, Look on me now; and if there is a power, As at this solemn time I feel there is, and the scene is laid in Flanders, at the close of the fourteenth century. The second, Edwin the Fair, 1843, relates to early English history. Though somewhat too measured and reflective for the stage, the plays of Mr Taylor contain excellent scenes and dialogues. The blended dignity of thought, and a sedate moral habit, invests Mr Taylor's poetry with a stateliness in which the drama is generally deficient, and makes his writings illustrate, in some degree, a new form of the art-such a form, indeed, as we might expect the written drama naturally to assume if it were to revive in the nineteenth century, and maintain itself as a branch of literature apart from the stage.' Besides these works Mr Taylor has written The Eve of the Conquest, and other Poems, 1847; Notes from Life, 1848; Notes from Books, 1849; and The Virgin Widow, a poem, 1850. Eloquent, thoughtful, and learned, all the writings of Mr Taylor are of a high intellectual order. MR LEIGH HUNT, in 1840, came before the public as a dramatic writer. His work was a mixture of romance and comedy, entitled A Legend of Florence: it was acted at Covent Garden Theatre with some success, but is too sketchy in its materials, and too extravagant in plot, to be a popular acting play. Athelwold, a tragedy by WILLIAM SMITH, 1842, is a drama also for the closet; it wants variety and scenic effect for the stage, and in style and sentiment is not unlike one of Miss Baillie's plays. The Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes following Christian sentiment is finely expressed: The spirit of the beautiful that lives In earth and heaven; to ye I offer up CLEMANTHE rushes forward. Clem. Hold! [Stabs himself. Let me support him-stand away-indeed Ion. This is a joy I did not hope for-this is sweet indeed. Clem. And for this it was Thou wouldst have weaned me from thee! I would be so divorced? Ion. Thou art right, Clemanthe- 'Tis past; no show of coldness frets us now; Clem. I will treasure all. Joy is a weak and giddy thing that laughs Crushed from our sorrow all that's great in man The strong, the boastful, and it came to nought; And harps may there be found them, and the branch DOUGLAS JERROLD. This popular humorist and satirist (1803-1857) finds his place more appropriately in our list of miscellaneous writers, but his first grand success was in the character of a dramatist, and his comedies and other pieces for the theatre fill two volumes of his collected works. After some obscure theatrical labours for the Coburg Theatre, Mr Jerrold produced his nautical and domestic drama, Black-eyed Susan, which was brought out at the Surrey Theatre in 1829, and had prodigious success. It had a run of above three hundred nights, and produced many thousands to the theatre, though to the author it brought only about £70. The sailor hero of the piece was admirably repre[Dies. sented by Mr T. P. Cooke, and the other characters and situations in the piece were managed with great skill and effect. The other dramas of Jerrold areThe Rent Day, 1832; Nell Gwynne, and The Housekeeper, 1833; The Wedding Gown, 1834; The School-fellows, and Doves in a Cage, 1835; Prisoner of War, 1842; Bubbles of the Day, and Time Works Wonders, 1845; The Catspaw, 1850; Retired Ion. [Springs to his feet.] Do ye not hear? HENRY TAYLOR-LEIGH HUNT-WILLIAM SMITH. Two dramatic poems have been produced by HENRY TAYLOR, Esq., which, though not popular, evince high genius and careful preparation. The first, Philip van Artevelde, was published in 1834, 622 from Business, 1851; St Cupid, 1853; Heart of Gold, 1854. The plays of Jerrold, like all his other writings, abound in pointed and witty sayings and lively illustration. His incidents and characters are also well contrasted and arranged for stage effect, yet there is a want of breadth and simplicity Douglas Jerrold, about most of his dramas that renders them unattrac Lord Skin. Well, well; command me in any way; benevolence is my foible. [Companies for leasing Mount Vesuvius, for making a Trip all round the World, for Buying the Serpentine River, &c.] Captain Smoke. We are about to start a company to take on lease Mount Vesuvius for the manufacture of lucifer-matches. Sir P. A stupendous speculation! I should say that, when its countless advantages are duly numbered, it will be found a certain wheel of fortune to the enlightened capitalist. Smoke. Now, sir, if you would but take the chair at the first meeting-(Aside to Chatham: We shall make it all right about the shares)-if you would but speak for two or three hours on the social improvement conferred by the lucifer-match, with the monopoly of sulphur secured to the company-a monopoly which will suffer no man, woman, or child to strike a light without our permission. Chatham. Truly, sir, in such a cause, to such an auditory-I fear my eloquence. Smoke. Sir, if you would speak well anywhere, there's nothing like first grinding your eloquence on a mixed meeting. Depend on 't, if you can only manage a little humbug with a mob, it gives you great confidence for another place. Lord Skin. Smoke, never say humbug; it's coarse. Sir P. And not respectable. Smoke. Pardon me, my lord, it was coarse. But the fact is, humbug has received such high patronage, that now it's quite classic. Chat. But why not embark his lordship in the lucifer question? Smoke. I can't: I have his lordship in three comtive in the closet. We dip into them occasionally panies already. Three. First, there's a company-half for a sentiment or piece of satire tersely expressed, a million capital-for extracting civet from asafoetida. yet we cannot read them continuously as we do the The second is a company for a trip all round the world. comedies of Goldsmith or Sheridan. Perhaps the We propose to hire a three-decker of the Lords of the most artistic and most interesting is Time Works Admiralty, and fit her up with every accommodation for Wonders, but the simple pathos and plot of Black-families. We've already advertised for wet-nurses and eyed Susan will always render it a greater favourite on the stage. The following extracts from Bubbles of the Day ridicule the prevailing rage for new schemes and companies: [Fancy Fair in Guildhall for Painting St Paul's.] Sir Phenix Clearcake. I come with a petition to you -a petition not parliamentary, but charitable. We propose, my lord, a fancy fair in Guildhall; its object so benevolent, and more than that, so respectable. Lord Skindeep. Benevolence and respectability! Of course, I'm with you. Well, the precise object? Sir P. It is to remove a stain-a very great stain from the city; to give an air of maiden beauty to a most venerable institution; to exercise a renovating taste at a most inconsiderable outlay; to call up, as it were, the snowy beauty of Greece in the coal-smoke atmosphere of London; in a word, my lord-but as yet 'tis a profound secret-it is to paint St Paul's! To give it a virgin outside-to make it so truly respectable. Lord Skin. A gigantic effort! Sir P. The fancy fair will be on a most comprehensive and philanthropic scale. Every alderman takes a stall; and to give you an idea of the enthusiasm of the city-but this also is a secret-the Lady Mayoress has been up three nights making pincushions. Lord Skin. But you don't want me take a stall-to sell pincushions? Sir P. Certainly not, my lord. And yet your philanthropic speeches in the House, my lord, convince me that, to obtain a certain good, you would sell anything. maids of all work. fittings-up will be so respectable. A delightful billiardSir P. A magnificent project! And then the table in the ward-room; with, for the humbler classes, skittles on the orlop-deck. Swings and archery for the ladies, trap-ball and cricket for the children, whilst the marine sportsman will find the stock of gulls unlimited. Weippert's quadrille band is engaged, and Smoke. For the convenience of lovers, the ship will carry a parson. Chat. And the object? Smoke. Pleasure and education. At every new country we shall drop anchor for at least a week, that the children may go to school and learn the language. The trip must answer: 'twill occupy only three years, and we've forgotten nothing to make it delightfulnothing from hot rolls to cork jackets. Brown. And now, sir, the third venture? Smoke. That, sir, is a company to buy the Serpentine River for a Grand Junction Temperance Cemetery. Brown. What! so many watery graves? Smoke. Yes, sir, with floating tombstones. Here's the prospectus. Look here; surmounted by a hyacinth -the very emblem of temperance-a hyacinth flowering in the limpid flood. Now, if you don't feel equal to the lucifers-I know his lordship's goodness-he'll give you up the cemetery. (Aside to Chatham: A family vault as a bonus to the chairman.) Sir P. What a beautiful subject for a speech! Water lilies and aquatic plants gemming the translucent crystal, shells of rainbow brightness, a constant supply of gold and silver fish, with the right of angling secured to shareholders. The extent of the river being necessarily limited, will render lying there so select, so very respectable. |