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"place us, your cotemporaries, on the lowest bench. The faults which you ascribe to us may be reduced to two -1. Want of incident or action; and 2. Want of passion; and you support these accusations by quoting bad passages from our works. This, I believe, is the state of your case. In the first place, and in answer to your charge of our being the worst of the three schools,-I deny it.

There are two props by which tragedy (I do not mean what is insinuatingly called "domestic" tragedy, such as "George Barnwell" and the "Gamester," but tragedy proper) is supported: the one is action, and the other poetry. The writers of the age of Elizabeth, I will allow for a moment, had both, the writers of the next age action without poetry, and we poetry without action. In reply to this, you may assert that action is the more material of the two, and that we may have a tragedy without poetry, but not without action. I answer yes; you may have a "domestic" tragedy, a thing with creeping thoughts and bouncing exits, with pistols, and ropes, and the gallows; but tragedy, crowned and built up, as it should be, to the stars, demands poetry of the very highest order. In fact, its breath is poetry, and if it exbales only prose it dies. Shakspeare arrived at the height of his reputation by means of his poetry (his passion of poetry) at least as much as by his dramatic skill. I grant you that he is supereminent in the last, but he is unapproached in the former. The fire of his imagination was so strong that it fused the dull words of common life into passion, and animated with a fresh and impetuous principle the creeping sentences of prose. His superiority did not exist more in the dramatic turn of his dialogue, in his distinction of character, or the rapid changes of events, than in his poetry, which gave life and strength to all.

Am I maintaining then, that as we possess poetry of a certain kind, we have sufficient for the purposes of the drama?-By no means. I do not write to controvert all you say,

but a part only. I think with y in most things. We do want incide Our tragedies (except "Virginius," which, as far as incident is concerned, but not otherwise, is the best tragedy, i. e. the best constructed tragedy of the day) are miserably deficient in events. We want passion also, büt in a less degree; and as a matter of course, action; for passion is almost necessarily the language of action. We want, in short, animal spirit and a change of scene. We inundate our pages with description (the bane of tragedy) when we should stick to the business of the story, and thrill the hearts of our hearers. This must always happen until we draw upon our invention, and sketch out a good and full plot before we begin upon our dialogue. You will have observed that half of our scenes want a purpose. They are often unfolded and swept away, and nothing is done for the story. Two or three persons come forward, and talk for ten minutes, and then vanish. This is not the way to proceed, as you know. Every scene should show a progress made in the story; and nothing should be told which can be acted. A play should be the march of passion from its cradle to its grave. It should have both a change of events, and a growth of passion; and this it is (involving, as it does, a power over character) in which we fail. Occasionally we transport our hero from Rome to Naples-from Thebes to Athens; and thus far some little progress is made; but, after all, such things are the mere spectral appearances-the phantasmagoria of the drama. The body and soul-the action and change of passion - the "deeper and deeper still" are wanting; and without these, the florid power of the poet, his pathos, even his "noise" (I quote Mr. Lacy) will avail but little.

One of the great sins of our dramatists is owing to their egotism, i.e. they will thrust themselves and their opinions into every mask, from king to beggar. They will not let each character do its best; but they (the authors) come forward and play the prompter, from a fear lest the beggar

You will perceive that I here admit too much: for many of them had as little eetion as ourselves (see the Hills, Rowes, Johnsons, Addisons, Murphys, &c.) and wo poetry whatever.

should prove beggarly, and the miser be meagre of his words. This is bad and impertinent. Again, the success of some of our actors, seduces writers into a trickery of speech. They stifle a furious sentence in its birth. They throw in a "Ha!" or a "'Sdeath!" They begin with "By heavens!" &c. and, when you think that they are about to pull Jove from his stool, or dash their words in the teeth of Mars, they fall down suddenly, from alto to basso, quick as a sounding plummet, and end in a "Well, well!" or a moral caution, which draws down the thunder-of the galleries. This is also impertinent and bad. Besides these, we have other faults, which you have enlarged upon; and if I, who am what is called a" successful" dramatist, admit your charges, it is surely some argument in their favour. I do admit them, almost in their extent. We do want incident and passion. Our tragedies are sleepy in their progress, and thin in their construction. Our dramatists seem as though they wrote under the influence of soda-water and the hyp. Their little bursts are like mere water bubbles, while their dose of languor is potent indeed. Their dialogue is indolent, and their passion feverish and unnatural. The pitch is not enough above ordinary talk, and does not consequently stimulate the attention. I am not sorry, I confess that you have applied a cataplasm to the body dramatique, although I am a sufferer under it. But I never piqued myself upon my drama ("The of, or, The fatal "*)-I despised it from the moment I heard it upon the stage, and should have done so before, had my furor had time to cool.

Having admitted thus much, I must now be permitted to say that I disagree with you, in your comparative estimate of the three schools of the drama. You have put forth your opinion, Mr. Lacy; permit me to state mine :-it is this. I think that tragedy was highest and best in the time of Elizabeth and her successors, previous to the commonwealth. I think that it became

diseased after the Restoration, bloated, mad, and unnatural; and finally, if I may say so, sank into a trance. After the revival of poetry, which I should date from Cowper and Bishop Percy's ballads, &c. and the impulse given to men's minds by certain great political events, I consider the drama as having awaked, languid and inert indeed, but sane, and stripped of its bombastic diseases and hideous deformities, and presenting altogether a sounder aspect and more hopeful character than at any period since the death of Shirley. You will have observed the declension of the drama-from Shakspeare, to Fletcher, to Ford, to Shirley,then its throes and agonies in Dryden and Lee, Congreve and Otway (I shall speak hereafter of "Venice Preserved,") Addison, Rowe (who committed grand larceny upon Massinger), Aaron Hill, Murphy, Thomson, and a world of others, till at last was born the "Douglas" of Mr. Home, free indeed from many of the vices of its predecessors, but the feeblest and frailest infant of the stage, nourished in a period of barrenness, by artificial means, and now kept alive (or perhaps only embalmed) in the sunset reputation of Mrs. Siddons.

I have admitted that we are below the dramatists of Elizabeth; but I mean this chiefly with reference to our comparative powers in poetry, and in the delineation of character. In other respects we are surely but little inferior. One test of a play being (or being not) dramatic, is its fortune at the theatre. Now, I will undertake to say, that few of the old plays, and scarcely one of the second era, would keep up the attention of an audience in the way that is effected by several of our modern dramas. With the exception of "A New Way to pay Old Debts,"-" Every Man in his Humour," and "Rule a Wife and have a Wife,"-(all of which may be considered comedies) there is not one of the old dramas which can keep its footing upon the stage. Did you see "The Jew of Malta," The humorous Lieutenant,"

or

I could, perhaps, call up the late Mr. Astley, a great encourager of rising genius, to say a word or two as to the merits of my drama: but I shall reserve his testimony, in case it shall be necessary to add the weight of my reputation (which is not trifling, in St. George's-fields) to the force of my argument or assertions.

(strongly cast too) or even "The Duke of Milan," represented? If so, you can judge for yourself. As to the dramas of the second era, there are absolutely none, except "Venice Preserved," which can contest the palm. You yourself have convicted "Oroonoko," (one of the best) by being unable to extract more than three lines (and those not good and far from original) out of a whole scene. "Venice Preserved," is upheld by the character of Pierre, which is undoubtedly a strong and dashing sketch. Were it not for him, Belvidera and Jaffier would overwhelm us with their tediousness. The "Revenge," a heavy dull play, is in like manner supported by Zanga alone, and he is a copy: the rest is "leather and prunella." How "Isabella" keeps her widowed eminence at the theatre, I am unable to say. It is a puzzle, altogether; for, certainly, if there ever was a weak play, barren of incident, and tame in diction, it is "Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage." In fact, all the dramas of the second era are mightily deficient in incident (I omit Venice Preserved) and are utterly void of poetry. Dryden is mad and prosaic: Lee is mad and but no, I must except parts of Lee, for he is often poetical: Congreve is tumid and tame: Rowe's "golden lines" turn out to be partly forged and entirely copper: Addison's ten feet are frost-stricken: Thomson's are swollen Doctor

Johnson's are-all that is weak and bad. His muse indeed (if he had a muse) lies absolutely prostrate, and Demetrius and his fellows trample upon her and drawl out their heavy sentences over her, till she dies of "excess of prose."

With all our faults (and we have plenty) we at least have something of the characteristic and familiar mixed with something of the poetic; and I maintain that these qualities properly amalgamated form the essence of dramatic dialogue. Give us time, Mr. Lacy, instead of treading upon us; give

us encouragement, as well as abuse. The present state is the collapse of the drama. She is weak after sickness, inert after a long repose, but she has much of what is sane and healthful about her, and wants but time to recruit her strength, and your good word (and the good word of others) to tempt her to higher and better flights.

You are not a common-place man. Do not fall into the common-place, of under-rating your cotemporaries, while comparing them with people whose renown is more secure, though not more deserved than theirs.

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You will observe that I avoid Shakspeare altogether. He is above all "schools and all times:" and you treat us, I think, not quite fairly, Mr. Lacy, when you try us by his standard, instead of by that of his cotemporaries, or by the general cast of the subsequent dramatists. We do not affect to approach him. We never shall-if I may venture on a prophecy-produce any thing like him. He is an enormous and splendid star thrown out of the regular system; or he is, if you prefer it, a sun, around which we, like twinkling planets, move and do homage. Try us by the ordinary run of dramatists, and then give us our place. You should not select Shakspeare, singly; nor even Otway (though I hope we shall, after a little time, face him without fear), but give us our chance with the crowd.-Do I ask any thing but what is fair?

And now to descend from generals, to particulars. You are, I believe, right upon the whole there, also: yet you are (shall I say) unjust upon one point, viz. Lord Byron.

First, however, as to MIRANDOLA. I am assured by a friend that your opinion of this tragedy cannot equal the contempt of the author himself. He says that it was scribbled in a hurry, in the languor subsequent upon illness, and he desires not to be judged by it. The structure of the verse he allows to be often bad, the scenes

⚫ Yet even in Shakspeare (and in his best plays), I could point out to you many instances of what you complain of in us. What do you think of the 3d scene in the 4th act of Macbeth? It is heavy and to no purpose. Neither do I see much use in the Doctor coming forward to speak of the king curing the evil. And with regard to the structure of dramatic verse (observe, I agree with you on this point) you will find as many errors in Shakspeare-look at the Midsummer Night's Dream, &c.—as in almost any other author. I admit that he is not often prosaic, except where it is for the best; and occasionally (though seldom) it is for the best.

often weak, and the incidents too few. After this you should not, perhaps, censure him without putting his exculpatory statement upon record. I have every reason to believe that the account which I now give up of this author's play is true; but I cannot be understood, of course, to vouch for the fact. Nevertheless, even with regard to this tragedy, the dialogue is, I should say, generally dramatic; and the structure of the plot (though too meagre) is in some respects new; for the interest is single, and is cast for two acts upon one character, and then shifted, and devolves upon another. This you will observe escapes the tedium of too long a sympathy with one person; without frittering away the interest, as is often done, by dividing it between the principal and secondary groups. I do not know that this has been done elsewhere.

In regard to LORD BYRON: you have, I think, treated him somewhat harshly. You speak of the injury which he has done to our poetry. But, what poetry was there in existence (of this age) at the time Lord Byron arose ?-absolutely none, except the poems of Mr. Wordsworth, and a few, a very few others. Lord Byron has been the cause of bad rhyme undoubtedly; but this is because he has given a sudden impulse to the public mind, and thrown it headlong (if I may so speak) into poetry. I certainly do not think him the most poetical writer of the day. Mr. Wordsworth, Mr. Shelley, and Mr. Keats, were perhaps more so. But he has an impetuous strength that well becomes the garb of verse, and strikes often harder at our sympathies than the more regular and truer efforts of the muse. Lord Byron is not very dramatic, and he allows this; but he has done good to the generation by so much as he has probed men's hearts to their depths, and awakened the spirit of poetry within them. With all his faults also-and I allow the structure of his blank verse to be far from good-he has done the poetical state some service; and you should, -I think, grant this. You will observe that Lord Byron has said that his tragedies were not written for the stage. Why then do you try him by its rules?

I agree with you, that there are beautiful passages in Mr. Haynes's play, great merit in Miss Baillie (though her verse is generally much too artificial), and above all very great power and beauty in the drama of Mr. Beddoes. If this last author does not do something extraordinary I shall be deceived. With respect to Mr. Milman, I cannot think that he has much dramatic power, whatever poetical claims he may possess. Lord Byron is decidedly in my opinion more dramatic than he, to say nothing of his comparative strength.

One or two more observations, and I have done-for the present. You say the rhetorical school at least kept us awake by their noise! To my thinking, their noise, though great, is too monotonous: it lures me into slumber. Noise is an "accident" of the drama; but it depends, for its effect, upon its intervals of calm.

Then, you say that poetry is the accident and not the essence of dramatic language! Yet, it is the grand distinction between Shakspeare and Lillo. It is, in my opinion, as much the essence of tragic dialogue as action: for it is the great principle of elevation, without which, as you justly hint, Tragedy would "walk the stage on her belly," that is to say, it would not walk,but would creep; and the end would be that it would die. It is, therefore, I submit to you, essential.

Upon the whole, Mr. Lacy, I must allow that you have spoken well and justly to us. A little more kindness, perhaps-but let that pass. I write to acknowledge the good service which you have done; generally agreeing with you, but sometimes dilfering, as you will see. I had intended to have retorted more in your own pithy vein, and to have argued the matter more completely and at length; but sickness and some annoyances (which I will not obtrude upon you) have discomposed me, and rendered me less efficient for my task than when I originally designed it. For the present, therefore, farewell! and believe me to be (although a dramatist) your admirer and humble servant,

TERENTIUS SECUNDUS.

RECENT POETICAL PLAGIARISMS AND IMITATIONS.
(Continued.)

TAKING up this subject where we left it in our December Number, we are about to proceed with the imitations in Scott's remaining poems, and with such as have occurred to us in Southey, Montgomery, Moore, &c. and lastly in Byron.

LADY OF THE LAKE.
"Oh! stranger, in such hour of fear,
What evil hap has brought thee here?
An evil hap how can it be
That bids me look again on thee?"

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The Gathering.
Fremerne posso, ove tu a me lo annunzi?
Alfieri, Filipo.

A lock from Blanch's tresses fair
He blended with her bridegroom's hair;
The mingled braid in blood he dyed,
And placed it on his bonnet side.
"By him whose word is truth! I swear,
No other favour will I wear,
Till this sad token I imbue

In the best blood of Roderic Dhu!"

iv. 28.

With which he cut a lock of all their hair,
Which meddling with their blood and earth

he threw ;

a long passage, in which Fitz James
has been vilifying and threatening
Roderic, not aware that it was to
him he was talking. The scene pro-
ceeds.

Fitz James was brave :-though to his heart
The life-blood thrilled with sudden start,
He manned himself with dauntless air,
Returned the chief his haughty stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot before, &c.

Quel Paladin, di che ti vai vantando

Son io!.

C. 5.

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The rest of the passage (the merit of which is wholly in the πυκνωσις εκλελεγμένων, for which Longinus praises Sappho,) is gathered from Lucan and Claudian.

His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot before.
"Come one, come all; this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I."—
Sir Roderic marked, and in his eyes
Respect was mingled with surprize,
And the stern joy which warriors feel
In foeman worthy of their steel.
Stetit aggere fultus
Cespitis intrepidus vultu, meruitque timeri
Non metuens, atque hæc, ira dictante, pro-
fatur.
Pharsal. v. 316.
C. 4. Radiat quam torva voluptas....frontis.

... and gan devoutly swear Such and such evil God on Guyon rear ......if I due vengeance do forbear, Till guilty blood her guerdon do obtain. Fairy Queen.

The chase is up, but they shall know
The stag at bay's a dangerous foe.

The hunt is up! and in the midnight wood
With lights to dazzle and with nets they.

seek

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Moored in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,

C. 5.

Bell. Getic.

The firmer he roots him the ruder it blow, &c.

Rather like the mountain oak,

Tempest shaken, rooted fast,
Grasping strength from every stroke,
While it wrestles with the blast.

C. 2.

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