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Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
That it threaten'd to give up the ghost t' other day.
Ink. As sublime!—Mr. Tracy—I've nothing to
Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I 'm
Tra. I own it-I know it-acknowledge it—what
To be sure, makes a difference.
Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know
Tra. Make haste then.
That pleasure's to come.
(1) Messrs. Soutney and Sotheby.-E.
(2) My Grandmothers Review, the British." See Moore's Life of Lord Byron. This heavy journal has since been gathered to its grandmothers.-E.
(3) The Journal de Trévoux (in fifty-six volumes) is one of the most curious collections of literary gossip in the world, and the
And I own, for my own part, that 't is not unpleasant.
But let us proceed; for I think, by the hum
Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can
Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levy,
All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles
With a glass of madeira at Lady Bluebottle's.
An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE.
SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE solus.
I have heard people say My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd;
Sir Rich. Was there ever a man who was married so sorry?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
Port paid the British Review an extravagant compliment when he made this comparison.-E.
(4) "Sotheby is a good man-rhymes well (if not wisely); but is a bore. He seizes you by the button. One night of a rout at Mrs. Hope's, he had fastened upon me-something about Agamemnon, or Orestes, or some of his plays)-notwithstanding my
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,
In science and art, I'll be cursed if I know
Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling ; but the You have lost such a lecture! Both. The best of the ten. Tra. How can you know that? there are two more Both. Becaus
symptoms of manifest distress-(for I was in love, and just nicked a minute when neither mothers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips were near my then idol, who was beautiful as the statues of the gallery where we stood at the time). Sotheby, I say, had seized upon me by the button and the heart-strings, and spared neither. William Spencer, who likes fun, and don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and, coming up to us both, took me by the
I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause. The very walls shook.
Ink. Oh, if that be the test, I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best Miss Lilac, permit me to help you;—a wing? Miss Lil. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures next spring?
Both. Dick Dunder.
That is, if he lives.
And why not? Ink. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot. Lady Bluemount! a glass of madeira? Lady Bluem.
With pleasure. Ink. How does your friend Wordswords, that Windermere treasure?
Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy-A Lady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, to place ye;
And you, Mr. Botherby
Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings, And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and kings?
Lady Bluem. He has just got a place.
As a footman ?
For the poet of pedlars 't were, sure, no disaster
Lady Bluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George could but hear——
Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all know, my dear,
T is his way.
Sir Rich. But this place▬▬
Lady B. Excuse me 't is one in "the Stamps;" He is made a collector. (1)
Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat: There his works will appear――
Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges. Ink. I shan't go so far I can have them at Grange's. (2)
Is perhaps like friend Scamp's,
hand, and pathetically bade me farewell; for,' said he, 'I see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then went away: 'sic me servavit Apollo." B. Diary, 1821.
(1) Mr. Wordsworth is collector of stamps for Cumberland and Westmoreland.-E.
(2) Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly.
Ink. Why, I thought-that 's to say-there had
That the taste of the actors at best is so so. (1)
Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
A few green-room whispers, which hinted-you Have taken already, and still will continue
To take what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
I doubt if you 'll leave us an equal behind.
Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to
For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.
Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel.
(1) When I belonged to the Drury Lane Committee, the number of plays upon the shelves were about five hundred. Mr. Sotheby obligingly offered us ALL his tragedies, and I pledged myself, and-notwithstanding many squabbles with my committee brethren-did get Ivan accepted, read, and the parts distributed. But lo! in the very heart of the matter, upon some tepid-ness on the part of Kean, or warmth on that of the author, Sotheby withdrew his play." B. Diary, 1821.
(3) The late Sir George Beaumont-a constant friend of Mr. Wordsworth.-E.
(3) The venerable Earl of Lonsdale. This nobleman on one occasion liberally offered to build, and completely furnish and
Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our What say you to this?
They have merit, I own;
And fear," as the Greek says: "for purging the Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown. mind," Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures ?
Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.
Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness:-
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
And down Aristotle! Lady Bluem. Sir George (2) thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle;
And my Lord Seventy-four, (3) who protects our
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
man, a ship of seventy-four guns, towards the close of the Arre-
(4) "Pedlars," and "boats," and "waggons!" O ye shades
Don Juan, Canto III.-E.
Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing control
'Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's true foun"T is the vision of heaven upon earth: 't is the gas Of the soul: 't is the seizing of shades as they pass, And making them substance! 't is something divine:
Tra. I should think with Du e Humphry was more in your way.'
Ink. It might be of yore ; but we authors now look To the knight, as a landlord, much more than the duke.
Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine ?
Both. I thank you; not any more, sir, till I dine. Ink. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphry (2) to day?
The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is, And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases.
But 't is now nearly five, and I must to the Park.
(1) Fact from life, with the words.
(2) The late Sir Humphry Davy, President of the Royal Society.
(3) The late Miss Lydia White, whose hospitable functions have
Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 't is
This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
I feel so elastic-"so buoyant-80 buoyant!" (1)
I wish her much joy on 't. For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and chamBoth. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check [not This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot Upon earth. Give it way; 't is an impulse which lifts Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts; For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his mountain.
He must mind whom he quotes
Out of Elegant Extracts.
Well, now we break up; But remember, Miss. Diddle (3) invites us to sup. Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet
Tra. And the sweet lobster-salad!
I wish to the gods 't was the same with digestion!
Is worth-God knows what.
"T is at least worth concealing, For itself, or what follows--But here comes your carriage.
Sir Rich. (aside.) I wish all these people were d――d with my marriage! [Exeunt.
not yet been supplied to the circle of London artists and literati— an accomplished, clever, and truly amiable, but very eccentric lady. The name in the text could only have been suggested by the jingling resemblance it bears to Lydia.—E.
Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice;
AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY.
IN FIVE ACTS. (1)
Dux inquieti turbidus Adriæ."-Horace.
THE Conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero is one of the most remarkable events in the annals of the most singular government, city, and people of mo
dern history. It occurred in the year 1355. Every thing about Venice is, or was, extraordinary-her aspect is like a dream, and her history is like a romance. The story of this Doge is to be found in all her chronicles, and particularly detailed in the Lives of the Doges, by Marin Sanuto, which is
(1) Lord Byron finished the composition of this tragedy on the 16th July, 1820. He at the time intended to keep it by him for six years before sending it to the press; but resolutions of this kind are, in modern days, very seldom adhered to. It was published in the end of the same year; and, to the poet's great disgust, and in spite of his urgent and repeated remonstrances, was produced on the stage of Drury Lane Theatre early in 1821. Marino Faliero was, greatly to his satisfaction, commended warmly for the truth of its adhesion to Venetian history and manners, as well as the antique severity of its structure and language, by that eminent master of Italian and classical literature, "It is too regular-the time, twenty-four hours-the change the late Ugo Foscolo. Mr. Gifford also delighted him by pronoun- of place not frequent-nothing melo-dramatic-no surprises-no cing it "English-genuine English." It was, however, little starts, nor trap-doors, nor opportunities for tossing their heads favoured by the contemporary critics. There was, indeed, only and kicking their heels'—and no love, the grand ingredient of a one who spoke of it as quite worthy of Lord Byron's reputation. modern play. I am persuaded that a great tragedy is not to be | “Nothing," said he, “has for a long time afforded us so much produced by following the old dramatists-who are full of gross pleasure, as the rich promise of dramatic excellence unfolded faults, pardoned only for the beauty of their language,—but by in this production of Lord Byron. Without question, no such writing naturally and regularly, and producing regular tragetragedy as Marino Faliero has appeared in English, since the dies, like the Greeks; but not in imitation,-merely the outline day when Otway also was inspired to his masterpiece by the in- of their conduct, adapted to our own times and circumstances, terest of a Venetian story and a Venetian conspiracy. The story and of course no chorus. You will laugh, and say, 'Why don't of which Lord Byron has possessed himself is, we think, by far you do so?' I have, you see, tried a sketch in Marino Faliero; the finer of the two,—and we say possessed, because we believe but many people think my talent essentially undramatic,' and he has adhered almost to the letter of the transactions as they I am not at all clear that they are not right.† If Marino Faliero really took place.”—The language of the Edinburgh and Quar-, don't fail-in the perusal—I shall, perhaps, try again (but not terly Reviewers, Mr. Jeffrey and Bishop Heber, was in a far for the stage); and as I think that love is not the principal pasdifferent strain. The former says-“ Marino Faliero has un-sion for tragedy (and yet most of ours turn upon it), you will not doubtedly considerable beauties, both dramatic and poetical; find me a popular writer. Unless it is love furious, criminal, and and might have made the fortune of any young aspirant for fame: hapless, it ought not to make a tragic subject. When it is melting but the name of Byron raises expectations which are not so easily and maudlin, it does, but it ought not to do; it is then for the satisfied; and judging of it by the lofty standard which he himself gallery and second-price boxes. If you want to have a notion of has established, we are compelled to say, that we cannot but what I am trying, take up a translation of any of the Greek traregard it as a failure, both as a poem and a play." gedians. If I said the original, it would be an impudent pre
Alter an elaborate disquisition on the Unities, Bishop Heber sumption of mine; but the translations are so inferior to the thus concludes:originals, that I think I may risk it. Then judge of the 'simplicity "Marino Faliero has, we believe, been pretty generally pro- of plot,' and do not judge me by your old mad dramatists; which nounced a failure by the public voice, and we see no reason to call for a revision of their sentence. It contains, beyond all doubt, many passages of commanding eloquenee, and some of genaine poetry; and the scenes, more particularly, in which Lord Byron has neglected the absurd creed of his pseudo-Hellenic writers, are conceived and elaborated with great tragic effect and dexterity. But the subject is decidedly ill-chosen. In the
main tissue of the plot, and in all the busiest and most interesting parts of it, it is, in fact, no more than another Venice Preserved, in which the author has had to contend (nor has he contended successfully) with our recollections of a former and deservedly popular play on the same subject."
The following extract from a letter of January, 1821, will show the author's own estimate of the piece thus criticised. After repeating his hope, that no manager would be so audacious as to trample on his feelings by producing it on the stage, he thus proceeds:
+ That such is not the opinion now entertained by the practical men of Drury Lane is evident, from the fact that two of Byron's tragedies have since his death been produced on the stage, and that, during his life-time, the same judges entertained a more favourable estimate of his dramatic powers than his critics were pleased to express, will perhaps be inferred from the following anecdote, which we quote from Galt" When Lord Byron was a member of the managing (query-mis-managing ?) committee of Drury Lane Theatre, Bartley was speaking with him on the decay of the drama, and took occasion to urge his Lordship to write a tra
On the original MS. sent from Ravenna, Lord Byron has writ-gedy for the stage. I cannot,' was the reply: I don't know how "Begun April 4th, 1820-completed July 16th, 1820-finishcopying angust 16th 17th, 1820; the which copying makes ten to make the people go on and off in the scenes, and know not where to find a fit character.' mes the toil of composing, considering the weather-thermome-in the honesty of his heart, one of his Laras or Childe Harolds. Take your own,' said Bartley, meaning, ter 20 in the shade and my domestic duties."— E.
Clays it was planned at Venice, in 1817.
Much obliged to you,' was the reply-and exit in a huff. Byror thought he spoke literally of his own real character."- E.