Right far a-fiel' I freely fought, Gainst mouy an outlandish loon, Although I'm marching life's last stage, Discharges a' my toil and pain, The great popularity of Burns's lyrics, co-operating with the national love of song and music, continued to call forth numerous Scottish poets, chiefly lyrical. A recent editor, Dr. Charles Rogers, has filled no less than six volumes with specimens of The Modern Scottish Minstrel, or the Songs of Scotland of the Past Half Century,' (1856-1857). Many of these were unworthy of resuscitation, but others are characterised by simplicity, tenderness, and pathetic feeling. DRAMATISTS. The popular dramatic art or talent is a rare gift. Some of the most eminent poets have failed in attempting to portray actual life and passion in interesting situations on the stage; and as Fielding and Smollett proved unsuccessful in comedy--though the former wrote a number of pieces-so Byron and Scott were found wanting in the qualities requisite for the tragic drama. It is evident,' says Campbell, that Melpomene demands on the stage something, and a good deal more than even poetical talent, rare as that is. She requires a potent and peculiar faculty for the invention of incident adapted to theatric effect; a faculty which may often exist in those who have been bred to the stage, but which, generally speaking, has seldom been shewn by any poets who were not professional players. There are exceptions to the remark, but there are not many. If Shakspeare had not been a player, he would not have been the dramatist that he is.' Dryden, Addison, and Congreve are excep tions to this rule; also Goldsmith in comedy, and, in our own day, Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer in the romantic drama. The Colmans, Sheridan, Morton, and Reynolds never wore the sock or buskin; but they were either managers, or closely connected with the theatre. RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. Sheridan was early in the field as a dramatist, and both in wit and success eclipsed all his contemporaries. In January, 1775, his play of "The Rivals' was brought out at Covent Garden. In this first effort of Sheridan-who was then in his twenty-fourth year-there is more humour than wit. He had copied some of his characters from Humphrey Clinker,' as the testy but generous Captain Absolute- evidently borrowed from Matthew Bramble-and Mrs. Malaprop, whose mistakes in words are the echoes of Mrs. Winifred Jenkins' blunders. Some of these are farcical enough; but as Moore observes -and no man has made more use of similes than himself-the luckiness of Mrs. Malaprop's simile- as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile'-will be acknowledged as long as there are writers to be run away with by the wilfulfulness of this truly headstrong species of composition. In the same year, St. Patrick's Day,' and The Duenna' were produced; the latter had a run of seventy-five nights! It certainly is greatly superior to 'The Beggar's Opera,' though not so general in its satire. In 1778, Sheridan wrote other two plays, The Trip to Scarborough' and The School for Scandal.' In plot, character, and incident, dialogue, humour, and wit, 'The School for Scandal' is acknowledged to surpass any comedy of modern times. It was carefully prepared by the author, who selected, arranged, and moulded his language with consummate taste, so as to form it into a transparent channel of his thoughts. Mr. Moore, in his 'Life of Sheridan,' gives some amusing instances of the various forms which a witticism or pointed remark assumed before its final adoption. As, in his first comedy, Sheridan had taken hints from Smollett, in this, his last, he had recourse to Smollett's rival, or rather twin novelist, Fielding. The characters of Charles and Joseph Surface are evidently copies from those of Tom Jones and Blifil. Nor is the moral of the play an improvement on that of the novel. The careless extravagant rake is generous, warm-hearted, and fascinating; seriousness and gravity are rendered odious by being united to meanness and hypocrisy. The dramatic art of Sheridan is evinced in the ludicrous incidents and situations with which The School for Scandal' abounds: his genius shines forth in its witty dialogues. The entire comedy,' says Moore, 'is an El Dorado of wit, where the precious metal is thrown about by all classes as carelessly as if they had not the least idea of its value, This fault is one not likely to be often committed! Some shorter pieces were afterwards written by Sheridan: The Camp,' a musical opera, and The Critic,' a witty afterpiece, in the manner of The Rehearsal.' The character of Sir Fretful Plagiary-intended, it is said, for Cumberland the dramatistis one of the author's happiest efforts; and the schemes and contrivances of Puff the manager-such as making his theatrical clock strike four in a morning scene, 'to beget an awful attention' in the audience, and to save a description of the rising sun, and a great deal about gilding the eastern hemisphere '--are a felicitous combination of humour and satire. The scene in which Sneer mortifies the vanity of Sir Fretful, and Puff's description of his own mode of life by his proficiency in the art of puffing, are perhaps the best that Sheridan ever wrote. SERVANT. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir. DANGLE. Beg him to walk up. [Exit Servant.]-Now, Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to your own taste. MRS. DANGLE. I confess he is a favourite of mine, because everybody else abuses him. SNEER. Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if not of your judg ment. DAN. But, egad! he allows no merit to any author but himself; that's the truth on 't, though he's my friend. SNEER. Never. He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of sixand-thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works, can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations. DAN. Very true, egad! though he's my friend. SNEER. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper strictures; though, at the same time, he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks like a scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of true criticism: yet is he so covetous of popularity, that he had rather be abused than not mentioned at all. DAN. There's no denying it; though he's my friend, SNEER. You have read the tragedy he has just finished, haven't you? DAN. O yes; he sent it to me yesterday. SNEER. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you ? DAN. Why, between ourselves, egad! I must own-though he's my friend-that it is one of the most-he's here!-[Aside]-finished and most admirable performSIR F. [Without] Mr. Sneer with him, did you say? Enter SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY. DAN. Ah, my dear friend! Egad! we were just speaking of your tragedy. Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable! SNEER. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful; never in your life. SIR F. You make me extremely happy; for, without a compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a man in the world whose judgment I value as I do yours; and Mr. Dangle's MRS. D. They are only laughing at you, Sir Fretful; for it was but just now that DAN. Mrs. Dangle!-Ah! Sir Fretful, you know Mrs. Dangle. My friend Sneer was rallying just now. He knows how she admires you, and SIR F. O Lord! I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and sincerity than to A double-faced fellow ! DAN. Yes, yes; Sneer will jest, but a better-humonred SIR F. Oh, I know. DAN. He has a ready turn for ridicule; his wit costs him nothing. MRS. D. Because his jest is always at the expense of his friend. SIR F. No, egad! or I should wonder how he came by it. [Aside. [A side. DAN. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the managers yet? or can I be of any service to you?... SIR F. Sincerely, then, you do like the piece? SNEER. Wonderfully. SIR F. But, come, now, there must be something that you think might be mended, eh ?-Mr. Dangle, has nothing struck you? DAN. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing for the most part to- SIR F. With most authors it is just so. indeed; they are in general strangely tenacious; but, for my part, I am never so well pleased as when a judicious critic points ont any defect to me; for what is the purpose of shewing a work to a friend if you don't inean to profit by his opinion? SNEER. Very true. Why, then, though I seriously admire the piece upon the whole, yet there is one small objection which, if you'll give me leave, I'll mention. SIR F. Sir, you can't oblige me more. SNEER. I think it wants incident. SIR F. Good God! you surprise me! wants incident? SNEER. Yes; I own I think the incidents are too few. SIR F. Good God! Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there is no person for whose judg ment I have a more implicit deference; but I protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I am on y apprehensive that the incidents are too crowded.-My dear Dangle, how does it strike you? DAN. Really, I can't agree with my friend Sneer. I think the plot quite sufficient; and the four first acts by many degrees the best I ever read or saw in my life. If I might venture to suggest anything, it is that the interest rather falls off in the fifth. SIR F. Rises, I believe you mean, sir. DAN. No; I don't, upon my word. SIR F. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul; it certainly don't fall off, I assure you; no, no, it don't fall off. DAN. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it struck you in the same light? MRS. D. No, indeed, I did not. I did not see a fault in any part of the play from the beginning to the end. SIR F. Upon my soul, the women are the best judges after all! MRS. D. Or if I made any objection, I am sure it was to nothing in the piece; but that I was afraid it was, on the whole, a little too long. SIR F. Pray, madam, do you speak as to duration of time; or do you mean that the story is tediously spun out? MRS. D. O lud! no. I speak only with reference to the usual length of acting plays. SIR F. Then I am very happy-very happy indeed; because the play is a short play, a remarkably short play. I should not venture to differ with a lady on a point of taste; but on these occasions the watch, you know, is the critic. MRS. D. Then, I suppose it must have been Mr. Dangle's drawling manner of reading it to me. SIR F. Oh, if Mr. Dangle read it, that's quite another affair; but I assure you, Mrs. Dangle, the first evening you can spare me three hours and a half, I'll undertake to read you the whole from beginning to end, with the prologue and epilogue, and allow time for the music between the acts. MRS. D. I hope to see it on the stage next. [Exit. DAN. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours. SIR F. The newspapers! sir, they are the most villainous, licentious, abominable, infernal-not that I ever read them; no, I make it a rule never to look into a news# paper. DAN. You are quite right; for it certainly must hurt an author of delicate feelings to see the liberties they take. SIR F. No; quite the contrary; their abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric; I like it of all things. An author's reputation is only in danger from their support. SNEER. Why, that's true; and that attack, now, on you the other day— SIR F. What? where? DAN. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday; it was completely ill-natured, to be sure. SIR F. Oh, so much the better: ha, ha, ha! I wouldn't have it otherwise. DAN. Certainly, it is only to be laughed at, fort SIR F. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow said, do you? SIR F. O lud, no! anxious? not I, not the least-I-but one may as well hear, you know. DAN. Sneer, do you recollect? Make out something. [A side. SIR F. Well, and pray now-not that it signifies-what might the gentleman say? SNEER. Why, he roundly asserts tha you have not the slightest invention or original genius whatever, though you are the greatest traduccr of all other authors living. SIR F. Ha, ha, ha! very good! SNEER. That as to comedy, you have not one idea of your own, he believes, even in your commonplace-book, where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are kept with as much method as the ledger of the Lost and Stolen Office. SIR F. Ha, ha, ha! very pleasant! SNEER. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have the skill even to steal with taste; but that you glean from the refuse of obscure volumes, where more judicious plagiarists have been before you; so that the body of your work is a composition of dregs and sediments, like a bad tavern's worst wine. SIR F. Ha, ha! SNEER. In your more serious efforts, he says, your bombast would be less intolerable if the thoughts were ever suited to the expressions; but the homeliness of the sentiment stares through the fantastic encumbrance of its fine language, like a clown in one of the new uniforms. SIR F. Ha, ha! SNEER. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit the general coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs would a ground of linsey-woolsey; while your imitations of Shakspeare resemble the mimicry of Falstaff's page, and are about as near the standard of the original. SIR F. Ha! SNEER. In short, that even the finest passages you steal are of no service to you; for the poverty of your own language prevents their assimilating, so that they lie on the surface like lumps of marl on a barren moor, encumbering what it is not in their power to fertilise. SIR F. [After great agitation.] Now, another person would be vexed at this. SNEER. Oh, but I wouldn't have told you, only to divert you. SIR F. I know it. I am diverted-ha, ha, ha! Not the least invention! ha, ha, ha!-very good, very good! SNEER. Yes; no genius! ha, ha, ha! DAN. A severe rogue, ha, ha, ha!-but you are quite right, Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense. SIR F. To be sure; for if there is anything to one's praise, it is a foolish vanity to be gratified at it; and if it is abuse, why, one is always sure to hear of it from one d-d good-natured friend or another! Anatomy of Character.-From 'The School for Scandal.' MARIA enters to LADY SNEERWELL and JOSEPH SURFACE. LADY SNEERWELL. Maria, my dear, how do you do? What's the matter? MARIA. Oh, there is that disagreeable lover of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my guardian's with his odious uncle, Crabtree; so I slipt out, and ran hither to avoid them. LADY S. Is that all? JOSEPH SURFACE. If my brother Charles had been of the party, madam, perhaps you would not have been so much alarmed. LADY S. Nay, now you are severe; for I dare swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you were here. But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin done that you should avoid him so? MARIA. Oh, he has done nothing-but 'tis for what he has said: his conversation is a perpetual libel on all his acquaintance. JOSEPH S. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no advantage in not knowing him -for he'll abuse a stranger just as soon as his best friend; and his uncle Crabtree 's as bad. LADY S. Nay, but we should make allowance. Sir Benjamin is a wit and a poet. MARIA. For my part, I own, madam, wit loses its respect with me when I see it in company with malice.-What do you think, Mr. Surface? JOSEPH S. Certainly madam; to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal in the mischief. LADY S. Pshaw!-there's no possibility of being witty without a little ill-nature: the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick.-What's your opinion, Mr. Surface? JOSEPH S. To be sure, madam; that conversation where the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious and insipid. |