cods' heads and livers. He carried his economy into every department of life.

"Mr. Thompson was paying a ministerial visit to one of his farming friends, who annually made a great quantity of most excellent cheese. This was an article the minister was very fond of; and seeing a number of cheeses piled one upon another in the dairy, as he was accidentally passing by, after having put his horse into the stable, he gave the mistress of the house a pretty strong hint that one of them would be very acceptable. This was readily complied with; and she promised to send it to his house by one of the market-carts on the following Saturday. But in all congregational donations, Mr. Thompson seemed always to act upon the old maxim, that one bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Accordingly, he set himself to devise means to carry the cheese home with him. After some little consideration among the members of the family on this point, a pair of old saddle-bags were provided, and the cheese safely deposited in one end of them, till the hour of departure arrived. When the Reverend Josiah got mounted upon his steed, he found that the single cheese hung rather awkwardly; but upon his friends again hinting that he had better leave it till an opportunity occurred of sending it with the corn-carts, he resolutely persisted in making a vigorous effort to bear away the prize in propria persona; so, clapping the spurs to his nag, he bade his host good evening, and scampered off. He had not, however, got above two or three hundred yards out of sight of the farm-house, till down comes the cheese and the saddle-bags among the mud. After bedaubing himself all over with filth, in endeavouring to replace them again upon his horse's back, but without effect, (for the cheese was nearly three stones,) he left it, and rode back to his friends to tell them of the disaster, and to obtain some assistance. After this was got, he was again reminded of the inconvenience of carrying this bulky and weighty article with him at present; but his pride was roused, and he was more determined than ever to accomplish the undertaking of being his own carrier on this occasion. While the matter was under arrangement, a thought struck him in a moment, that he saw the source of all the inconveniences he had experienced, and a sure method to remedy them. 'I see,' said the reverend gentleman, if I had another cheese in this empty end of the bag, there would then be an equal balance, and I would ride with ease between them.' This appeal could not be resisted; another cheese was procured, and he arrived in safety at his own dwelling.

"There was another standing joke against him, which arose out of the same anxious disposition. He was extremely fond of ducks, and always kept a large quantity of them in his yard. Some person, or persons, more, perhaps, to play the minister a trick, than from any thievish motive, took away his drake one night, on which he set a very high value, and at the loss of which he was inconsolable. Being out in the country seeing some of his hearers, he espied a fine drake belonging to one of them; and having, in a very sorrowful and plaintive mood, related his recent bereavement, the good mistress of the house kindly offered him as a present the drake which had caught his fancy. She said that she would send it to him the next market-day. But Mr. Thompson acted with the drake as with the cheese.

He was determined to carry the bird home with him that evening: and, after a little trouble, the drake was caught, and thrust into one of his huge coat-pockets.

"In wandering homeward with the drake in his pocket, whose head was every now and then out of the corner of its prison-house, as if to mark the progress of the journey, and to scan the country which was new to it, the minister thought he would turn a little out of his proposed route, to see one of his people who was very ill, and to administer to him some religious consolation and a word of prayer. As he was engaged in the latter solemn duty on his knees by the bedside of the sick man, the drake, feeling there was a firm footing for him from the position of the clergyman, and thinking probably that he was again on terra firma, ventured to put out his head at a very grave moment of time, and gave a loud quack, quack, quack. The family were confounded with astonishment, and the ailing man ascribed the sound to some supernatural agency. But Mr. Thompson took everything in a very cool and collected manner; and never stopping a moment in his prayer, but placing his hand behind his back, he gently but firmly grasped the drake by the throttle, and stopped his cry for a moment. The voice, however, of the imprisoned drake was only by this expedient rendered more discordant; for as the pastor relaxed his gripe, lest he might choke his favourite bird, the stifled quack, quack, quack, came out more hideous than before, when he was allowed perfect liberty of speech. The clergyman found it necessary to cut his prayer short, and to enter into an explanation how he happened to carry about with him on such occasions so singular and irreverent a companion.

"But in many of his economical speculations, he was not quite so successful in making a positive addition to his store, as in those we have just mentioned. One of a rather disastrous kind we shall relate, to shew how misplaced economy sometimes defeats its own end. It was the usual practice of Mr. Thompson to get a new coat and waistcoat once a-year, and to sport the same at the first meeting of presbytery. His lower garments were made to serve for a couple of years. In the year to which we allude, this body held its meeting at Coldstream, about fourteen miles distant from the place of his residence. In the preceding year the presbytery had held its meeting at Wooler; and the members had there for the first time come to the resolution of dining together at an inn, to take a cheerful but temperate glass after dinner, and to chat over their ecclesiastical affairs. This had cost Mr. Thompson a few shillings, which, upon more mature consideration, he thought might have been spared, and appropriated to better purposes. As the rule for an annual dinner was not made absolute by the presbytery, he thought he would avoid this unnecessary expense on a future occasion. When he set out on his Coldstream journey, he took some articles of refreshment with him; and, as he did not like to be encumbered with a bundle in his hand, he placed the same in his hat-crown, along with a sermon he had to preach to his brethren. Among these articles was a half-pound of butter. Thus equipped, he set out on his journey, and, as the day proved excessively hot, he thought he would literally melt under its influence. He fancied he had never perspired so copiously on a journey of equal extent. When he arrived at Coldstream among his brethren, he presented one of the

most ludicrous and pitiable spectacles which ever met their eye. His halfpound of butter having been placed for safety at the bottom of his hat, had been entirely melted away by the heat of the sun; and, running down in streamlets, with the perspiration of his head and face, had so bespattered his new black coat and waistcoat, as to render them quite useless. He was a complete object of pity and ridicule. By this misfortune he was unable to attend the meeting of his brethren, besides losing a valuable black suit, and making himself a standing joke for his ill-timed parsimony."

The author closes the Life of Josiah, which is meant to illustrate the extent and methods of Secession hard-heartedness, aggression, and pretension, with the following passage:

"What has been said, the public will, it is hoped, duly appreciate. We conceive it the duty of Episcopalians and dissenters of every kind to unite and put down the Burgher nuisance, which is spreading like a pestilence over the whole land-tearing asunder the bonds of social and religious union, however closely they may be knit together. No minister can now look upon the moment when he shall, by the hand of death or otherwise, be removed from his flock, without the most poignant feelings of regret, to see the wolves standing over his Christian fold, reedy to scatter and devour his people, who have been, perhaps through a long life, the constant objects of the most tender sympathy, and the most anxious solicitude. Talk of calumny and scurrility, indeed! There is no language sufficiently strong, no epithets too coarse, no sarcasm too biting, no ridicule too unmeasured, which ought not to be employed against men who live, and move, and have their being,' only in cleaving down the rights and privileges of others, and exciting in the breasts of friends and neighbours the most reckless and fiendish passions. From the north and from the south, from the east and from the west, there is only one tale told of the Secession body. There is not a single clergyman in the north of England who has not received some vexation from this sect, or who cannot enumerate scores of mean and pitiful tricks played off by some of its ministers. The Secession are real theological Ishmaelites, having their hand against every one, and every one having their hand against them."

The little volume will keep up the reader's laughter from beginning to end, and will therefore be welcomed by the anti-voluntary party. Its caricature is frequently very happy; for although the pictures are exaggerations, the author has fixed upon the foibles and practices of proselytizers with firmness and distinctness, and hit them smartly.

VOL. I. (1841.) NO. I.

G

82

ART. IX.

1. Money; a Comedy, in Five Acts. By the Author of "The Lady of Lyons," &c. London: Saunders and Ottley. 1840.

2. The Dramatic Works of James Sheridan Knowles. 2 vols. London: Moxon.

1840.

To the question, are there any dramas by living authors which are likely to survive them-or are there any plays of recent production which bid fair to become stock-plays ?-the answerer will most probably require some time to make up his mind. We shall in a sentence or two endeavour to cast our thoughts so about as may resemble the process that would be pursued by the person to whom such a question might be put.

It will not be denied that of our living dramatists Bulwer and Knowles are not merely most frequently before the public, but the most popular. Their names alone are sufficient to command crowded audiences on the first appearance of any piece, and to secure hearty applause; which at first may appear the same thing as to say that they have deservedly earned these tokens of general and unquestioned approval. But it is notorious that popularity is often ephemeral, that what obtains the shouts of a multitude to-day may be attended with execrations to-morrow. To come closer to the matter in hand, a play may please audiences, may, when acted, have passing attractions, which yet will not bear reading, or stand the tests of deliberate criticism; and we suspect such will be the judgment of a future generation regarding every one of the dramatic efforts of Bulwer that have yet appeared, and, with two or three exceptions, with those of Knowles.

Bulwer is at best only either a skilful melo-dramatist, or a smart and sparkling caricaturist of prevailing vices and foibles, of transient modes and fashions. He seems incapable of drawing from the deep wells of nature, or of entertaining a strong and genial sympathy with human kind. The heart does not swell with generous sentiments under the charm of his wand, nor are new and enlarged feelings generated at his bidding. Yet he is in many respects an originalist, there is a sui generis character about his productions, and in an after age the student of the literature of our times will be unable to estimate or appreciate the genius and complexion of the period, unless he repairs to the dramas of this popular author, and reads the age as reflected there. His present comedy particularly exemplifies the sort of temporary picture to which we allude; for though its embodiment of scenes and of character be limited to particular and far from elevated sections of life, it yet exhibits snatches of these sections with pith and point, so as to enable the

reader to apprehend an index to the manners of a class, and to trace for himself the bearings to other and even distant conclusions. It is to be regretted however that he teaches no lofty code or principles of morality; that he himself is everlastingly prominent in his best passages, as if he studied more to recommend his own name, and to earn admiration, than to achieve any great reforming triumph over the vices and the weaknesses of the period.

With regard to the character of his dramas in a mere literary sense, he is neither a first-rate artist in the matter of constructing plots, nor of sustaining a legitimate interest from scene to scene. Probability is largely violated by him, the laws of human nature frequently outraged, situations and stage effect are generally but at best produced; spirited parapraphs and telling epigrams however being profusely and dextrously pressed into the author's service.

Knowles moves in a higher sphere, cherishes a truer and more earnest zeal for the character of the drama, a nobler moral purpose; but especially commands admiration on account of his strong and healthy sympathy with human nature. It is this which not only commands admiration, but infects the heart, and sends its gushings abroad in genial and fructifying channels; making one love the author, desire his companionship, and feel bettered by his sterling qualities. If Bulwer reflects much of the age in which he lives, one feels that that age would have been greatly deficient had Knowles not existed, or had he never written for the stage.

Knowles is far more of a poet than Bulwer. He is also more of an imitator. He has read carefully the Elizabethan dramatists; drank deeply at that fountain-head for diction, imagery, and sentiment. But at the same time he has incongruously enough interwoven modern manners and feelings, as well as incidents and actors, with antique, even Roman, eras and heroism. His plays are badly constructed in regard to plot; but his dialogue is dramatic, and the progress of the story generally told in action. His versification is often objectionable, but his sentiment is never but fine; and often sublime. His Virginius is the noblest English tragedy which the nineteenth century can boast of, and it will long survive himself. His William Tell, perhaps, depends upon the life of Macready. The Hunchback, and one or two others, appear to us to be also in a questionable condition. But he never yet wrote a piece, he is incapable of producing a drama, that does not contain some scenes and many passages worthy of the best days of British dramatic literature, (if anything short of Shakspeare be the standard), and which ought not to preserve the whole from oblivion.

Sir Edward Bulwer's "Money," is an exaggerated picture of West End clubmen, with a copious sprinkling of hollow or fustian sentimentality, and many clever hits at prevailing moral taints and failings, but abundance of farcical incident. It is always an un