RICHARD L. SHEIL-J. H. PAYNE-B. W. PROCTER. Another Irish poet, and man of warm imagination, RICHARD Lalor Sheil (1794-1851), sought distinction as a dramatist. His plays, Evadne and The Apostate, were performed with much success, partly owing to the admirable acting of Miss O'Neil. The interest of Mr Sheil's dramas is concentrated too exclusively on the heroine of each, and there is a want of action and animated dialogue; but they abound in impressive and wellmanaged scenes. The plot of Evadne is taken from Shirley's Traitor, as are also some of the sentiments. The following description of female beauty is very finely expressed :

But you do not look altered-would you did!
Let me peruse the face where loveliness
Stays, like the light after the sun is set.
Sphered in the stillness of those heaven-blue eyes,
The soul sits beautiful; the high white front,
Smooth as the brow of Pallas, seems a temple
Sacred to holy thinking-and those lips
Wear the small smile of sleeping infancy,
They are so innocent. Ah, thou art still
The same soft creature, in whose lovely form
Virtue and beauty seemed as if they tried
Which should exceed the other. Thou hast got
That brightness all around thee, that appeared
An emanation of the soul, that loved
To adorn its habitation with itself,
And in thy body was like light, that looks
More beautiful in the reflecting cloud
It lives in, in the evening. O Evadne,
Thou art not altered-would thou wert!

Mr Sheil was afterwards successful on a more conspicuous theatre. As a political character and orator, he was one of the most distinguished men of his age. His brilliant imagination, pungent wit, and intense earnestness as a speaker, riveted the attention of the House of Commons, and of popular Irish assemblies, in which he was enthusiastically received. In the Whig governments of his day, Mr Sheil held office; and at the time of his death, was the British minister at Florence.

In the same year with Mr Sheil's Evadne (1820) appeared Brutus, or the Fall of Tarquin, a historical tragedy, by JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. There is no originality or genius displayed in this drama; but, when well acted, it is highly effective on the stage. In 1821, MR PROCTER'S tragedy of Mirandola was brought out at Covent Garden, and had a short but enthusiastic run of success. The plot is painful-including the death, through unjust suspicions, of a prince sentenced by his father-and there is a want of dramatic movement in the play; but some of the passages are imbued with poetical feeling and vigorous expression. The doting affection of Mirandola, the duke, has something of the warmth and the rich diction of the old dramatists.

Duke. My own sweet love! O my dear peerless wife!

By the blue sky and all its crowding stars,

I love you better-oh, far better than
Woman was ever loved. There's not an hour
Of day or dreaming night but I am with thee:
There's not a wind but whispers of thy name,
And not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon
But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale
Of thee, my love, to thy Mirandola.
Speak, dearest Isidora, can you love
As I do? Can-
But no, no;
Foolish if thus I talk. You must be gone;
You must be gone, fair Isidora, else
The business of the dukedom soon will cease.
I speak the truth, by Dian! Even now
Gheraldi waits without (or should) to see me.
In faith, you must go one kiss; and so, away.
Isidora. Farewell, my lord.

I shall grow

Duke. We'll ride together, dearest, Some few hours hence.

JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

The most successful of modern tragic dramatists was JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES (1784-1862), whose plays have been collected and republished in three volumes. His first play, Caius Gracchus, was performed in 1815; and the next, Virginius, had an extraordinary run of success. It was founded on that striking incident in Roman story, the death of a maiden by the hand of her father, Virginius, to save her from the lust and tyranny of Appius. Mr Knowles afterwards brought out The Wife, a Tale of Mantua; The Hunchback, Woman's Wit, The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green, William Tell, The Love Chase, &c. With considerable knowledge of stage-effect, Mr Knowles unites a lively, inventive imagination, and a poetical colouring, which, if at times too florid and gaudy, sets off his familiar images and illustrations. His style is formed on that of Massinger and the other elder dramatists, carried often to a ridiculous excess. He also frequently violates Roman history and classical propriety, and runs into conceits and affected metaphors. These faults are counterbalanced by a happy art of constructing scenes and plots, romantic, yet not too improbable; by skilful delineation of character, especially in domestic life; and by a current of poetry which sparkles through his plays, 'not with a dazzling lustre-not with a gorgeousness that engrosses our attention, but mildly and agreeably; seldom impeding with useless glitter the progress and development of incident and character, but mingling itself with them, and raising them pleasantly above the prosaic level of common life.'* Mr Knowles was a native of Cork. Having succeeded in the drama, he tried prose fiction, and wrote two novels, George Lovell and Henry Fortescue; but they have little_merit. He next embarked in polemical discussion, attacking the

* Edinburgh Review for 1833.

Church of Rome; and he occasionally preached in Baptist chapels.

Scene from Virginius.'

APPIUS, CLAUDIUS, and LICTORS.

Appius. Well, Claudius, are the forces At hand?

Claudius. They are, and timely too; the people Are in unwonted ferment.

App. There's something awes me at The thought of looking on her father!

Claud. Look

Upon her, my Appius! Fix your gaze upon

The treasures of her beauty, nor avert it Till they are thine. Haste! Your tribunal! Haste! [Appius ascends the tribunal. Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LUCIUS, CITIZENS, VIRGINIUS leading his daughter, SERVIA, and CITIZENS. A dead silence prevails.

Virginius. Does no one speak? I am defendant here.
Is silence my opponent? Fit opponent
To plead a cause too foul for speech! What brow
Shameless gives front to this most valiant cause,
That tries its prowess 'gainst the honour of
A girl, yet lacks the wit to know, that he

Who casts off shame, should likewise cast off fear-
And on the verge o' the combat wants the nerve
To stammer forth the signal?

App. You had better,

Virginius, wear another kind of carriage;

This is not of the fashion that will serve you.

Vir. The fashion, Appius! Appius Claudius, tell me

The fashion it becomes a man to speak in,

Whose property in his own child-the offspring
Of his own body, near to him as is

His hand, his arm-yea, nearer-closer far,
Knit to his heart-I say, who has his property
In such a thing, the very self of himself,
Disputed-and I'll speak so, Appius Claudius;
I'll speak so-Pray you tutor me!

App. Stand forth,

Claudius! If you lay claim to any interest In the question now before us, speak; if not, Bring on some other cause.

Claud. Most noble Appius

Vir. And are you the man

That claims my daughter for his slave?-Look at me,

And I will give her to thee.

Claud. She is mine, then :

Do I not look at you?

Vir. Your eye does, truly,

But not your soul. I see it through your eye
Shifting and shrinking-turning every way
To shun me. You surprise me, that your eye,
So long the bully of its master, knows not
To put a proper face upon a lie,

But gives the port of impudence to falsehood
When it would pass it off for truth. Your soul
Dares as soon shew its face to me.
Go on;

I had forgot; the fashion of my speech
May not please Appius Claudius.

Claud. I demand

Protection of the Decemvir!

App. You shall have it.

Vir. Doubtless!

Is she not his slave? Will his tongue lie for him-
Or his hand steal-or the finger of his hand
Beckon, or point, or shut, or open for him?

To ask him if she 'll swear! Will she walk or run,
Sing, dance, or wag her head; do anything
That is most easy done? She'll as soon swear!
What mockery it is to have one's life

In jeopardy by such a barefaced trick!
Is it to be endured? I do protest
Against her oath!

App. No law in Rome, Virginius,
Seconds you. If she swear the girl's her child,
The evidence is good, unless confronted
By better evidence. Look you to that,
Virginius. I shall take the woman's oath.
Virginia. Icilius!

Icilius. Fear not, love; a thousand oaths
Will answer her.

App. You swear the girl's your child,
And that you sold her to Virginius' wife,
Who passed her for her own. Is that your oath?
Slave. It is my oath.

App. Your answer now, Virginius.
Vir. Here it is!

[Brings Virginia forward.

Is this the daughter of a slave? I know

'Tis not with men as shrubs and trees, that by
The shoot you know the rank and order of
The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look
For such a shoot. My witnesses are these-
The relatives and friends of Numitoria,
Who saw her, ere Virginia's birth, sustain
The burden which a mother bears, nor feels
The weight, with longing for the sight of it.
Here are the ears that listened to her sighs
In nature's hour of labour, which subsides
In the embrace of joy-the hands, that when
The day first looked upon the infant's face,
And never looked so pleased, helped them up to it,
And blessed her for a blessing. Here, the eyes
That saw her lying at the generous

And sympathetic fount, that at her cry
Sent forth a stream of liquid living pearl
To cherish her enamelled veins. The lie

Is most unfruitful, then, that takes the flower-
The very flower our bed connubial grew-
To prove its barrenness! Speak for me, friends;
Have I not spoke the truth?

Women and Citizens. You have, Virginius.
App. Silence! Keep silence there! No more of
that!

You're very ready for a tumult, citizens.

[Troops appear behind. Lictors, make way to let these troops advance !We have had a taste of your forbearance, masters, And wish not for another.

Vir. Troops in the Forum!

App. Virginius, have you spoken ?

Vir. If you have heard me,

I have; if not, I'll speak again.

App. You need not,

Virginius; I had evidence to give,

Which, should you speak a hundred times again,
Would make your pleading vain.

Vir. Your hand, Virginia!

Stand close to me.

App. My conscience will not let me Be silent. Tis notorious to you all, That Claudius' father, at his death, declared me The guardian of his son. This cheat has long

[Aside.

Vir. Don't tremble, girl! don't tremble. App. Virginius,

[Aside.

I feel for you; but though you were my father,
The majesty of justice should be sacred-
Claudius must take Virginia home with him!
Vir. And if he must, I should advise him, Appius,
To take her home in time, before his guardian
Complete the violation which his eyes
Already have begun.-Friends! fellow-citizens !
Look not on Claudius-look on your Decemvir!
He is the master claims Virginia!

The tongues that told him she was not my child
Are these-the costly charms he cannot purchase,
Except by making her the slave of Claudius,
His client, his purveyor, that caters for

His pleasure-markets for him, picks, and scents,
And tastes, that he may banquet-serves him up
His sensual feast, and is not now ashamed,
In the open, common street, before your eyes-
Frighting your daughters' and your matrons' cheeks
With blushes they ne'er thought to meet-to help
him

To the honour of a Roman maid! my child!
Who now clings to me, as you see, as if

This second Tarquin had already coiled

His arms around her. Look upon her, Romans !
Befriend her! succour her! see her not polluted
Before her father's eyes!-He is but one.
Tear her from Appius and his Lictors while

She is unstained.-Your hands! your hands! your hands!

Citizens. They are yours, Virginius.

App. Keep the people back

Support my Lictors, soldiers! Seize the girl,
And drive the people back.

Icilius, Down with the slaves!

The people make a show of resistance; but, upon the advance of the soldiers, retreat, and leave ICILIUS, VIRGINIUS, and his daughter, &c. in the hands of APPIUS and his party.

Deserted!-Cowards! traitors! Let me free
But for a moment! I relied on you;

Had I relied upon myself alone,

I had kept them still at bay! I kneel to you—
Let me but loose a moment, if 'tis only

To rush upon your swords.

Vir. Icilius, peace!

You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left

Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies,
Nerveless and helpless.

App. Separate them, Lictors!

Vir. Let them forbear a while, I pray you, Appius: It is not very easy. Though her arms Are tender, yet the hold is strong by which She grasps me, Appius-forcing them will hurt them; They'll soon unclasp themselves. Wait but a littleYou know you're sure of her!

App. I have not time

To idle with thee; give her to my Lictors.

Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not
My child, she hath been like a child to me
For fifteen years. If I am not her father,
I have been like a father to her, Appius,
For even such a time. They that have lived
So long a time together, in so near
And dear society, may be allowed
A little time for parting. Let me take
The maid aside, I pray you, and confer

A moment with her nurse; perhaps she 'll give me
Some token will unloose a tie so twined

And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it,
My heart breaks with it.

App. Have your wish. Be brief!—
Lictors, look to them.

Virginia. Do you go from me? Do you leave? Father! Father! Vir. No, my child

No, my Virginia-come along with me.

Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you?

Will you take me home again? Oh, bless you! bless

you!

My father! my dear father! Art thou not
My father?

VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.

Vir. This way, my child-No, no; I am not going To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee. App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not Approach Virginius! Keep the people back![Virginius secures the knife.

Well, have you done?

Vir. Short time for converse, Appius,

But I have.

The Bride's Tragedy, by THOMAS LOVELL tended for the closet rather than the theatre. It BEDDOES (1803-1849), published in 1822, is inpossesses many passages of pure and sparkling verse. "The following,' says a writer in the Edinburgh Review, 'will shew the way in which Mr Beddoes manages a subject that poets have almost reduced to commonplace. We thought all similes for the violet had been used up; but he gives us a new one, and one that is very delightful.' Hesperus and Floribel-the young wedded lovers -are in a garden; and the husband speaks :

Hesperus. See, here's a bower

Of eglantine with honeysuckles woven,
Where not a spark of prying light creeps in,
So closely do the sweets enfold each other.
'Tis twilight's home; come in, my gentle love,
And talk to me. So! I've a rival here;
What's this that sleeps so sweetly on your neck?

Hesp. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper fingers! Have they been brushing the long grass aside, To drag the daisy from its hiding-place, Where it shuns light, the Danaë of flowers, With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap!

Flor. And here's a treasure that I found by chance, A lily of the valley; low it lay

Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping,
As on a fairy's grave.

Hesp. Of all the posy

Give me the rose, though there's a tale of blood
Soiling its name. In elfin annals old

'Tis writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love-
The love he bare to Summer, who since then
Has, weeping, visited the world-once found
The baby Perfume cradled in a violet

('Twas said the beauteous bantling was the child
Of a gay bee, that in his wantonness

Toyed with a pea-bud in a lady's garland) ;
The felon winds, confederate with him,
Bound the sweet slumberer with golden chains,
Pulled from the wreathed laburnum, and together
Deep cast him in the bosom of a rose,

And fed the fettered wretch with dew and air. And there is an expression in the same scene (where the author is speaking of sleepers' fancies, &c.)

While that winged song, the restless nightingale
Turns her sad heart to music-

which is perfectly beautiful.

The reader may now take a passage from the scene where Hesperus murders the girl Floribel. She is waiting for him in the Divinity path, alone, and is terrified. At last he comes; and she sighs

out:

Speak! let me hear thy voice, Tell me the joyful news!

and thus he answers:

Ay, I am come

In all my solemn pomp, Darkness and Fear,
And the great Tempest in his midnight car,
The sword of lightning girt across his thigh,
And the whole demon brood of Night, blind Fog
And withering Blight, all these are my retainers.
How! not one smile for all this bravery?
What think you of my minstrels, the hoarse winds,
Thunder, and tuneful Discord? Hark! they play.
Well piped, methinks; somewhat too rough, perhaps.
Flor. I know you practise on my silliness,
Else I might well be scared. But leave this mirth,
Or I must weep.

Hesp. 'Twill serve to fill the goblets
For our carousal; but we loiter here,
The bride-maids are without; well picked, thou 'lt say,
Wan ghosts of woe-begone, self-slaughtered damsels
In their best winding-sheets.-Start not; I bid them
wipe

Their gory bosoms; they'll look wondrous comely;
Our link-boy, Will-o'-the-Wisp, is waiting too,
To light us to our grave.

Dead art thou, Floribel; fair, painted earth,
And no warm breath shall ever more disport
Between those ruby lips: no; they have quaffed
Life to the dregs, and found death at the bottom,
The sugar of the draught. All cold and still;
Her very tresses stiffen in the air.

Look, what a face! Had our first mother worn
But half such beauty when the serpent came,
His heart, all malice, would have turned to love.
No hand but this, which I do think was once
Cain, the arch-murderer's, could have acted it.
And I must hide these sweets, not in my bosom ;
In the foul earth. She shudders at my grasp.
Just so she laid her head across my bosom
When first- O villain! which way lies the grave?

Mr Beddoes was son of DR THOMAS BEddoes (1760-1808), an eminent physician, scholar, and man of scientific attainments, as well as of great versatility of literary talent. Dr Beddoes was married to a younger sister of Maria Edgeworth, and was an early patron of Sir Humphry Davy. His son, the dramatic poet, was only nineteen when The Bride's Tragedy was produced. He afterwards devoted himself to scientific study and foreign travel, but occasionally wrote poetry not unworthy of the reputation he achieved by his early performance. After his death was published Death's Fest-book, or the Fool's Tragedy (1850); and Poems, with a memoir (1851). Mr Beddoes was a writer of a high order, but restless, unfixed, and deficient both in energy and ambition.

JOHN TOBIN.

bald has remarked, of the fallacious hopes by JOHN TOBIN was a sad example, as Mrs Inch

which half mankind are allured to vexatious enterprise. He passed many years in the anxious labour of writing plays, which were rejected by the managers; and no sooner had they accepted The Honeymoon, than he died, and never enjoyed the recompense of seeing it performed.' Tobin was born in Salisbury in the year 1770, and educated for the law. In 1785 he was articled to an eminent solicitor of Lincoln's Inn, and afterwards entered into business himself. Such, however, was his devotion to the drama, that before the age of twenty-four he had written several plays. His attachment to literary composition did not withdraw him from his legal engagements; but his time was incessantly occupied, and symptoms of consumption began to appear. A change of climate was recommended, and Tobin went first to Cornwall, and thence to Bristol, where he embarked for the West Indies. The vessel arriving at Cork, was detained there for some days; but on the 7th of December 1804, it sailed from that port, on which day-without any apparent change in his disorder to indicate the approach of death-the invalid expired. Before quitting London, Tobin had left The Honeymoon with his

he means, and he replies:

What mean I? Death and murder, Darkness and misery. To thy prayers and shrift, Earth gives thee back. Thy God hath sent me for thee; Repent and die.

She returns gentle answers to him; but in the end

a promise that it should be performed. Its success was instant and decisive; and it is still a favourite acting play. Two other pieces by Tobin-The quently brought forward; but they are of inferior Curfew and The School for Authors-were subsemerit. The Honeymoon is a romantic drama, partly in blank verse, and written somewhat in the

style of Beaumont and Fletcher. The scene is laid in Spain, and the plot taken from The Taming of the Shrew, though the reform of the haughty lady is accomplished less roughly. The Duke of Aranza conducts his bride to a cottage in the country, pretending that he is a peasant, and that he has obtained her hand by deception. The proud Juliana, after a struggle, submits; and the duke, having accomplished his purpose of rebuking 'the domineering spirit of her sex,' asserts his true rank, and places Juliana in his palace :

This truth to manifest-a gentle wife Is still the sterling comfort of man's life; To fools a torment, but a lasting boon To those who-wisely keep their honeymoon. The following passage, where the duke gives his directions to Juliana respecting her attire, is pointed out by Mrs Inchbald as peculiarly worthy of admiration, from the truths which it contains. The fair critic, like the hero of the play, was not

ambitious of dress.

Can see her beauty in !

Juliana. I shall observe, sir.

Duke. I should like well to see you in the dress I last presented you.

Juliana. The blue one, sir?

Duke. No, love-the white. Thus modestly attired, A half-blown rose stuck in thy braided hair, With no more diamonds than those eyes are made of, No deeper rubies than compose thy lips, Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them; With the pure red and white, which that same hand Which blends the rainbow mingles in thy cheeks; This well-proportioned form-think not I flatter-In graceful motion to harmonious sounds, And thy free tresses dancing in the windThou 'lt fix as much observance as chaste dames Can meet without a blush.

JOHN O'KEEFE-FREDERICK REYNOLDS

THOMAS MORTON-MARIA EDGEWORTH.

JOHN O'KEEFE, a prolific farce-writer, was born in Dublin in 1746. While studying the art of drawing, to fit him for an artist, he imbibed a passion for the stage, and commenced the career of an actor in his native city. He produced generally some dramatic piece every year for his benefit, and one of these, entitled Tony Lumpkin, was played with success at the Haymarket Theatre, London, in 1778. He continued supplying the theatres with new pieces, and up to the year 1809, had written about fifty plays and farces. Most of these were denominated comic operas or musical farces, and some of them enjoyed great success. The Agreeable Surprise, Wild Oats, Modern Antiques, Fontainebleau, The Highland Reel, Love in a Camp, The Poor Soldier, and Sprigs of Laurel, are still favourites, especially the first, in which the character of Lingo, the schoolmaster, is a laughable piece of broad humour. O'Keefe's writings, it is said, were

merely intended to make people laugh, and they have fully answered that object. The lively dramatist was in his latter years afflicted with blindness, and in 1800 he obtained a benefit at Covent Garden Theatre, on which occasion he was led forward by Mr Lewis, the actor, and delivered a poetical address. He died at Southampton on the 4th of February 1833, having reached the advanced age of eighty-six.

FREDERICK REYNOLDS (1765-1841) was one of the most voluminous of dramatists, author of seventeen popular comedies, and altogether of about a hundred dramatic pieces. He served Covent Garden for forty years in the capacity of what he called 'thinker'-that is, performer of every kind of literary labour required in the establishment. Among his most successful productions are: The Dramatist, Laugh when you Can, The Delinquent, The Will, Folly as it Flies, Life, Management, Notoriety, How to grow Rich, The Rage, Speculation, The Blind Bargain, Fortune's Fool, &c. Of these, The Dramatist is the best. The hero, Vapid, the dramatic author, who goes to Bath to pick up characters,' is a laughable caricature, in which, it is said, the author drew a likeness of himself; for, like Vapid, he had 'the ardor scribendi upon him so strong, that he would rather you'd ask him to write an epilogue or a scene than offer him your whole estate--the theatre was his world, in which were included all his hopes and wishes.' Out of the theatre, however, as in it, Reynolds was much esteemed.

Another veteran comic writer, THOMAS MORTON, is author of Speed the Plough, Way to get Married, Cure for the Heartache, and the School of Reform, which may be considered standard pieces on the stage. Besides these, Mr Morton produced Zorinski, Secrets Worth Knowing, and various other plays, most of which were performed with great applause. The acting of Lewis, Munden, and Emery was greatly in favour of Mr Morton's productions on their first appearance; but they contain the elements of theatrical success. characters are strongly contrasted, and the scenes and situations well arranged for effect, with occasionally a mixture of pathos and tragic or romantic incident. In the closet these works fail to arrest attention; for their merits are more artistic than literary, and the improbability of many of the incidents appears glaring when submitted to sober inspection. Mr Morton was a native of Durham, and bred to the law. He died in 1838, aged seventy-four.

The

MARIA EDGEWORTH, the celebrated novelist, was induced, by the advice of her father, and that of a more competent judge, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, to attempt the drama. In 1817, she published Comic Dramas in Three Acts. Three pieces were comprised in this volume, two of them Irish; but though the dialogue was natural, the plays were deficient in interest, and must be considered as dramatic failures.