Her broozled flesh an' broken banes Are weel as flesh an' banes can be. The Bible says the age o' man Threescore an' ten perchance may be ; She's ninety-four; let them wha can Explain the incongruity. She should hae lived afore the Flood- She's been embalmed inside an' out- There's pickle in her very snout Lot's wife was fresh compared to her The water-drap wears out the rock I'm charged for her annuity ! ; ALEXANDER MACLAGAN (born at Bridgend, Perth, in 1811) published in 1841, a volume of Poems; in 1849, Sketches from Nature, and other Poems; and in 1854, Ragged and Industrial School Rhymes. In one of the last letters written by Lord Jeffrey, he praised the homely and tender verses of Maclagan for their 'pervading joyousness and kindliness of feeling, as well as their vein of grateful devotion, which must recommend them to all good minds.'-JAMES BALLANTINE (born in Edinburgh in 1808) is known equally for his Scottish songs and his proficiency in the revived art of glass-painting ; of the latter, the Palace at Westminster and many church windows bear testimony; while his native muse is seen in The Gaberlunzie's Wallet, 1843; The Miller of Deanhaugh; and a collected edition of his lyrics, published in 1856. In 1871 Mr Ballantine published Lilias Lee, a narrative poem in the Spenserian stanza, with other poems evincing increased poetic power and taste.-ANDREW PARK (born at Renfrew in 1811) is author of several volumes of songs and poems, and of a volume of travels entitled Egypt and the East, 1857. A collected edition of his poetical works appeared in 1854.-JOHN CRAWFORD (born at Greenock in 1816) published in 1850 a volume of Doric Lays, which received the commendation of Lord Jeffrey and Miss Mitford. -HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL (born at Sorbie, Wigtownshire, in 1798, died in 1870) was author of Songs of the Ark, 1831; Poems, Songs, and Miscellaneous Pieces, 1847; &c. Mr Riddell passed many of his years as a shepherd in Ettrick, but afterwards studied for the church.-FRANCIS BENNOCH (born at Drumcrool, parish of Durisdeer, Dumfriesshire, in 1812) settled early in London, and carries on business extensively as a merchant. He has written various songs and short poems, and otherwise evinced his attachment to literature and art by his services on behalf of Miss Mitford, Haydon the painter, and others.— WILLIAM GLEN (1789-1826), a native of Glasgow, whose Poems have been published by Dr Charles Rogers (1874), was author of some popular occasional pieces and songs.-JAMES SMITH, a printer, has published a volume of Poems, Songs, and Lyrics (1866), containing many pieces of merit, especially those of a domestic and tender nature. From The Widow-By A. MACLAGAN. Oh, there's naebody hears Widow Miller complain, The sang o' the lark finds the widow asteer, Refuses ae wee drap o' rain to nature parched and dry, And in our pride forget to wipe the tear frae FROM 1830 This lady, the daughter of William Shore Nightingale, Esq., of Embley Park, Hampshire, is justly celebrated for her exertions in tending the sick and wounded at Scutari during the Crimean war in 1854-55. In directing and presiding over the band of female nurses, the services of Miss Nightingale were invaluable, and gratefully acknowledged by her sovereign and the country. She still (1876) continues her career of disinterested usefulness. Wae's me for Prince Charlie.-By WILLIAM GLEN. Was, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie !' I took my bannet aff my head, For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie. Quoth I: 'My bird, my bonny, bonny bird, Is that a sang ye borrow? Are these some words ye 've learnt by heart, Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?' 'Oh, no, no, no!' the wee bird sang; 'I've flown since mornin' early, But sic a day o' wind and rain Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie. 'On hills that are by right his ain, My heart maist bursted fairly, Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie. 'Dark night cam' on, the tempest roared But now the bird saw some red-coats, And he shook his wings wi' anger: 'Oh, this is no a land for me; I'll tarry here nae langer.' Ere he departed fairly; But weel I mind the fareweel strain Was, 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie.' The Wee Pair o' Shoon.-By JAMES SMITH. Oh, lay them canny doon, Jamie, The lock o' silken hair; For the darlin' o' thy heart an' mine But oh! the silvery voice, Jamie, That fondly lisped your name, An' the wee bit hands sae aft held oot Wi' joy when ye cam' hame! An' oh, the smile the angel smile, That shone like simmer morn; An' the rosy mou' that socht a kiss When ye were weary worn! The eastlin' wind blaws cauld, Jamie, The snaw's on hill an' plain; The flowers that decked my lammie's grave Are faded noo, an' gane! Oh, dinna speak I ken she dwells In yon fair land aboon; But sair's the sicht that blin's my ee- DRAMATISTS. Dramatic literature no longer occupies the prominent place it held in former periods of our history. Various causes have been assigned for this decline—as, the more fashionable attractions of the opera, the great size of the theatres, the love of spectacle or scenic display, which has usurped the place of the 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 suggested 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, melodrama, 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 proves 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 actors-that men of talent are averse to hazard a competition. The tragedies of Miss Mitford and Lord Lytton were highly successful in representation, but the fame of their authors must ever rest on those prose fictions by which they are chiefly known. The 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. Some of the dramatic productions of Mr Tom 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 born at Doxey, a suburb of Stafford, January 26, 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 Sergeant Talfourd, he was conspicuous for his popular eloquence and liberal principles, and was returned to parliament for the borough of Reading. 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 king-his love and patriotism, are the chief features in the play, and are drawn with considerable power and effect. Take, for example, the delineation of the character of Ion: Ion, our sometime darling, whom we prized Agenor. Pardon me Ion. Nay, I will promise 'tis my last request; Grant me thy help till this distracted state 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 wak'st 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 Hard 'midst the gladness of heroic sports, I would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop- Ere night. 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 By bonds of parchment, or by iron clasps, But blended into one-a single form Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords Of sympathy pervading, shall endow With vital beauty; tint with roseate bloom In times of happy peace, and bid to flash With one brave impulse, if ambitious bands Of foreign power should threaten. Swear to me That ye will do this! Medon. Wherefore ask this now? Thou shalt live long; the paleness of thy face, Ion. The gods approve me then! Medon and others. We swear it! Ion. Hear and record the oath, immortal powers! Now give me leave a moment to approach That altar unattended. [He goes to the altar. Gracious gods! In whose mild service my glad youth was spent, As at this solemn time I feel there is, Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes In earth and heaven; to ye I offer up CLEMANTHE rushes forward. [Stabs himself. Let me support him-stand away-indeed I have best right, although ye know it not, To cleave to him in death. 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 It was a shallow and an idle thought; 'Tis past; no show of coldness frets us now; No vain disguise, my girl. Yet thou wilt think On that which, when I feigned, I truly spokeWilt thou not, sweet one? Clem. I will treasure all. SIR HENRY TAYLOR. [Dies. Although long engaged in public business-in the Colonial Office-MR (now SIR) HENRY TAYLOR is distinguished both as a poet and prose essayist. He is a native of the county of Durham, born in 1800, only son of George Taylor, of Wilton Hall. In 1827 appeared his play of Isaac Comnenus, which met with few readers,' says Southey, 'and was hardly heard of.' In 1834 was published Philip van Artevelde, a play in two parts, characterised by its author as an 'historical romance cast in a dramatic and rhythmical form. The subject was suggested by Southey, and is the history of the two Van Arteveldes, father and son, 'citizens of revolted Ghent, each of whom swayed for a season almost the whole power of Flanders against their legitimate prince, and each of whom paid the penalty of ambition by an untimely and violent death.' There is no game so desperate which wise men As the portrait of a revolutionary champion, Philip is powerfully delineated by the dramatist, and there are also striking and effective scenes in the play. The style and diction resemble those of Joanna Baillie's dramas-pure, elevated, and well sustained, but wanting the brief electric touches and rapid movement necessary to insure complete success in this difficult department of literature. Two years after the historical romance had established Henry Taylor's reputation as a poet, he produced a prose treatise, The Statesman, a small volume treating of 'such topics as experience rather than inventive meditation suggested to him.' The counsels and remarks of the author are distinguished by their practical worldly character; he appears as a sort of political Chesterfield, and the work was said by Maginn to be 'the art of official humbug systematically digested and familiarly explained.' It abounds, however, in acute and sensible observations, shewing that the poet was no mere visionary or romantic dreamer. The other works of Sir Henry are-Edwin the Fair, an historical drama, 1842; The Eve of the Conquest, and other Poems, 1847; Notes from Life, 1847; Notes from Books, 1849; The Virgin Widow, a play, 1850; St Clement's Eve, a play, 1862; A Sicilian Summer, and Minor Poems, 1868. The poetical works of Sir Henry Taylor enjoy a steady popularity with the more intellectual class of readers. Philip van Artevelde has gone through eight editions, Isaac Comnenus and Edwin through five, and the others have all been reprinted. The Death of Launoy, one of the Captains of Ghent. From Philip van Artevelde, Part I. Second Dean. Beside Nivelle the Earl and Launoy met. Six thousand voices shouted with the last : But from that force thrice-told there came the cry The earl waxed wrothful, and bade fire the church. Second Dean. 'Twas done-and presently was heard a yell, And after that the rushing of the flames! First Burgher. A brave end. 'Tis certain we must now make peace by times; The city will be starved else.-Will be, said I? Starvation is upon us. ... Van Artevelde. I never looked that he should live so long. He was a man of that unsleeping spirit, *In Crabb Robinson's Diary, vol. iii, is the following notice of Henry Taylor, then under Sir James Stephen in the Colonial Office: Taylor is known as literary executor of Southey, and author of several esteemed dramas, especially Philip van Artevelde. He married Lord Monteagle's daughter. He is now one of my most respected acquaintance. His manners are shy, and he is more a man of letters than of the world. He published a book called The Statesman, which some thought presumptuous in a junior clerk in a government office.' Southey said Henry Taylor was the only one of a generation younger than his own whom he had taken into his heart of hearts. |