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Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you know

Our poor friend!—but I thought it would terminate so.
Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it.
You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket?
Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others
Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)
All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps,
And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse.
Ink. Let us join them.

Tra. What! won't you return to the lecture? Ink. Why, the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre.

Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd

Tra. How can you know that till your hear him? Ink. I heard Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat. Tra. I have had no great loss then? Ink.

Loss!-such a palaver! I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours To the torrent of trash which around him he pours, Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour,

Thatcome-do not make me speak ill of one's Tra. I make you! [neighbour.

Ink.

Yes, you! I said nothing until You compell'd me, by speaking the truth

Tra.

Is that your deduction? Ink.

To speak ill? When speaking of Scamp ill, I certainly follow, not set, an example. The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany. Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool

makes many.

Bat we two will be wise. Ink.

Tra. I would, but▬▬

Ink.

Pray, then, let us retire.

There must be attraction much higher Than Scamp, or the Jew's-harp he nicknames his lyre, To call you to this hot-bed.

Tra.

I own it-'tis true

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Miss Lilac!

The Blue!

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The devil! why, man! Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can. You wed with Miss Lilac! 't would be your perdition: She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician.

Tru. I say she's an angel.

Ink.

Say rather an angle. If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. (1) say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether. Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with

science.

She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning Herself in all matters connected with learning,

(1) Her favourite science was the mathematical— In short, she was a walking calculation,

Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their covers, Morality's prim personification~~

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And you feel nothing loth To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand [hand. Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand—that hand on the pen.

Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and Ink. To what purpose?

[then? Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose My talent is decent, as far as it goes; But in rhyme-Ink.

You're a terrible stick, to be sure. Tra. I own it: and yet, in these times, there's no For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two; [lure And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few? Ink. In your name?

Tra.
In my name. I will copy them out,
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.
Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?
Tra.
Why,

Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme
What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?
Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Muse.
Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the
"Blues."

Ink. As sublime!-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say. Stick to prose-As sublime!!-but I wish you good day.

Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song. [wrong; Ink. As sublime!!

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Why so?

Tra.

soon

I have heard people say
That it threaten'd to give up the ghost 'tother day.
Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit.
Tra.
No doubt.
Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout?
Ink. I've a card, and shall go: but at present, as
[the moon
As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from
(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits),
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits,
I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation:
"Tis a sort of re-union for Scamp, on the days
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and
praise.

And I own, for my own part, that 't is not unpleasant.
Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.
Tra. That "metal's attractive."
Ink.
No doubt-to the pocket.
Tra. You should rather encourage my passion
than shock it.

But let us proceed; for I think, by the hum

Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can

come,

Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levy,
On the rack of cross-questions, by all the blue bevy.
Hark! zounds, they 'll be on us; I know by the drone
Of old Botherby's spouting ex-cathedrâ tone.
Ay! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin.
Tra. All fair; 'tis but lecture for lecture.
Ink.
That's clear.
But for God's sake let's go, or the bore will be here.
Come, come: nay, I'm off.
[Exit INKEL.
Tra.
You are right, and I'll follow;
"Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit Apollo." (4)
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes,
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand
scribes,

All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles
With a glass of madeira at Lady Bluebottle's.
[Exit TRACY.

(1) Messrs. Southey and Sotheby.-L. E. (2) "My Grandmother's Review, the British." See Moore's Life of Lord Byron. This heavy journal has since been gathered to its grandmothers.-L. E.

(3) The Journal de Trevoux (in fifty-six volumes) is one of the most curious collections of literary gossip in the world, and the Poet paid the British Review an extravagant compliment when he made this comparison.-L. 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)

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ECLOGUE SECOND.

An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE, ---A Table prepared.

SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE solus.

Sir Rich. Was there ever a man who was married!
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
so sorry?
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd;
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd:
The twelve, do I say?-of the whole twenty-four,
Is there one which I dare call my own any more?
What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining,
What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling,
and shining,

In science and art, I'll be cursed if I know
Myself from my wife; for although we are two,
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done
In a style which proclaims us eternally one.
But the thing of all things which distresses me mere
Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me s
Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blur.
Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew
Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cest
-For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the host-
No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my pains,
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains;

smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews,

By the rag, tag, and bobtail of those they
A rabble who know not-

"BLUES;"

-But soft, here they come. Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be dan Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUEMOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY Miss Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Leeturer, etc. etc.

Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning;
I've brought you some friends.
Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside.) If friends,
they 're the first.

Lady Blueb.
But the luncheon attends
I pray ye be seated, “ sans cérémonie."
Mr. Scamp, you 're fatigued; take your chair there,
[They all sit

next me.

Sir Rich. (aside.) If he does, his fatigue is to come Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy Lady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, place ye; And you, Mr. BotherbyBoth.

I obey.

Oh, my dear Lady,

Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye: You were not at the lecture. Ink. Excuse me, I was; But the heat forced me out in the best part-alas!

-notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress-for I was in love, and just nicked a minute when neither me thers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips were near then idol, who was beautiful as the statues of the gallery where we stood at the time). Sotheby, I say, had seated upon me by the button and the heart-strings, and spared neither. William Spencer, who likes fun, and don't dise mischief, saw my case, and, coming up to us both, took me by the hand, and pathetically bade me farewell; for, said he, I see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then we away: 'sic me servavit Apollo." B. Diary, 1821.–L E.

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Never mind if he did; 't will be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir!

Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; T was in your defence.

Both.

If you please, with submission,

I can make out my own. Ink.

It would be your perdition.

While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend
Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.
Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last?
Both. At last?

Ink. Why I thought-that's to say-there had pass'd

A few green-room whispers, which hinted-you

know

That the taste of the actors at best is so so. (3) Both. Sir, the green-room 's in rapture, and so's the committee.

Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our แ pity

And fear," as the Greek says: "for purging the

mind,"

I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind. Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have pray'd

For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid. Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be play'd.

Is it cast yet?

Both.

The actors are fighting for parts, As is usual in that most litigious of arts. Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go the

first night.

Not quite.

Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel. Ink. However, to save my friend Botherby trouble, I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double. Tra. Why so?

Ink.

To do justice to what goes before. Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on

that score.

Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are

Ink.

Never mind mine;

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Have taken already, and still will continue
To take what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place;-but the subject 's a bore.
Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time 's coming.
Ink.
Scamp! don't you feel sore?
What say you to this?

Scamp.
They have merit, I own;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown.
Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your
lectures?

Scamp. It is only time past which comes under

my strictures.

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Lady Bluem. Sir George (1) thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle;

And my Lord Seventy-four, (2) who protects our dear Bard,

And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses, (3) Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. Tra. And you, Scamp!

Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd. Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harass'd

With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and all schools.

[fools.

Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be
I should like to know who.
Ink.
And I should not be sorry
To know who are not:-it would save us some worry.
Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing
control

This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise!-I
Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,
I feel so elastic-" so buoyant--so buoyant!" (4)
Ink. Tracy! open the window.
Tra.
I wish her much joy on't.
Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check
This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot
[not
Upon earth. Give it way; 't is an impulse which lifts

(I) The late Sir George Beaumont-a constant friend of Mr. Wordsworth.-L. E.

(2) The venerable Earl of Lonsdale. This nobleman on one occasion liberally offered to build, and completely furnish and man, a ship of seventy-four guns, towards the close of the American war, for the service of his country, at his own expense;-hence the sobriquet in the text.-L. E. (3) "Pedlars," and "boats," and "waggons!" O ye shades Of Pope and Dryden! are we come to this? That trash of such sort not alone evades Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss Floats scumlike uppermost, and these Jack Cades Of sense and song above your graves may hiss

Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts; For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his mountain. [tain: ! 'Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's true four"T is the vision of heaven upon earth: 'tis the gas Of the soul: 't is the seizing of shades as they pass, And making them substance! 'tis something divine:- | 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(5) to-day?

Tra. I should think with Duke 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.

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.
Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 'tis
And you, Scamp?—
[dark.

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Both.

I honour that meal: For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely-feel Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond question:

I wish to the gods 't was the same with digestion!
Lady Blueb. Pshaw!-never mind that; for one
moment of feeling
Is worth-God knows what.

Ink. "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

The "little boatman" and his "Peter Bell"
Can sneer at him who drew "Achitophel!"
Don Juan, Canto III.-L. E.

(4) Fact from life, with the words. (5) The late Sir Humphry Davy, President of the Royal Society.-L. E.

(6) The late Miss Lydia White, whose hospitable fune tions have not yet been supplied to the circle of London artists and literati-an accomplished, clever, and tray amiable, but very eccentric lady. The name in the test could only have been suggested by the jingling resemblance it bears to Lydia.-L. E.

Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice;

AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY.

IN FIVE ACTS. (1)

Dux inquieti turbidus Adrie."-Horace.

PREFACE.

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 modern history. It occurred in the year 1355. Every thing about Venice is, or was, extraordinary-her aspect ss 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 given in the Appendix. It is simply and clearly related, and is perhaps more dramatic in itself than any scenes which can he founded upon the subject. Marine Faliero appears to have been a man of

Lord Byron finished the composition of this tragedy on the 16th July, 1820.* He at the time intended to keep 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. The extracts from bis setters given by Mr. Moore in his Life, sufficiently explain As feelings on this occasion.

Marino Faliero was, greatly to his satisfaction, commended warmly for the truth of its adhesion to Venetian ratory and manners, as well as the antique severity of its structure and language, by that eminent master of Italian and classical literature, the late Ugo Foscolo. Mr. Gifford alan delighted him by pronouncing it "English-genuine English. It was, however, little favoured by the contem rary critics. There was, indeed, only one who spoke of as quite worthy of Lord Byron's reputation. "Nothing," aid he, has for a long time afforded us so much pleasure, as the rich promise of dramatic excellence unfolded in this production of Lord Byron. Without question, no such tragedy as Marino Faliero has appeared in English, since the day when Otway also was inspired to his masterpiece

the interests of a Venetian story and a Venetiau conracy. The story of which Lord Byron has possessed Emself is, we think, by far the finer of the two.-and we

may possessed, because we believe he has adhered almost to the letter of the transactions as they really took place." -The language of the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviewers, Mr. Jeffrey and Bishop Heber, was in a far different strain.

The former says

talents and of courage. I find him commander-inchief of the land forces at the siege of Zara, where he beat the King of Hungary and his army of eighty thousand men, killing eight thousand men, and keeping the besieged at the same time in check; an exploit to which I know none similar in history, except that of Cæsar at Alesia, and of Prince Eugene at Belgrade. He was afterwards commander of the fleet in the same war. He took Capo d'Istria. He was ambassador at Genoa and Rome,-at which last he received the news of his election to the dukedom; his absence being a proof that he sought it by no intrigue, since he was apprised of his predecessor's death and his own succession at the same moment. But he appears to have been of an ungovernable temper. A story is told by Sanuto, of his having, many years before,

Marine Faliero has undoubtedly considerable beauties, both ate and poetical; and might have made the fortune of any aspirant for fame: but the name of Byron raises expectations are not so easily satisfied; and judging of it by the lofty standand which he himself has established, we are compelled to say, that cannot but regard it as a failure, both as a poem and a play.

This may be partly accounted for from the inherent difficulty of

these two sorts of excellence of confining the daring and di e genius of poetry within the forms and limits of a regular fa, and, at the same time, imparting its warm and vivifying spirit On the original MS. sent from Ravenna, Lord Byron has writ Begun April 4th, 1320-completed July 16th, 1820-finished ing August 16th-17th, 1820; the which copying makes ten times The star of composing, considering the weather--thermometer 90 in e shade-and my domestic duties."-L. E.

"It was

planned at Venice, and as far back as 1817." Galt.-P. E.

to the practical preparation and necessary details of a complete the-
atrical action. These, however, are difficulties with which dramatic
adventurers have long had to struggle; and over which, though they
are incomparably most formidable to the most powerful spirits, there
is no reason to doubt that the powers of Lord Byron would have tri-
umphed. The true history of his failure, therefore, we conceive, and
the actual cause of his miscarriage on the present occasion, is to be
found in the bad choice of his subject-his selection of a story which
not only gives no scope to the peculiar and commanding graces of his
genius, but runs continually counter to the master currents of his
faney. His great gifts are exquisite tenderness, and demoniacal sub-
limity; the power of conjuring up at pleasure those delicious visions
of love and beauty, and pity and purity, which melt our hearts within!
ns with a thrilling and etherial softness-and of wielding, at the same
time, that infernal fire which blasts and overthrows all things with the
dark and capricious fulminations of its scorn, rancour, and revenge.
With the consciousness of these great powers, and as if in wilful per-
versity to their suggestions, he has here chosen a story which, in a
great measure, excludes the agency of either; and resolutely con-
ducted it, so as to secure himself against their intrusion;-a story
without love or hatred-misanthropy or pity-containing nothing
voluptuous and nothing terrific-but depending, for its grandeur, on
the anger of a very old and irritable man; and, for its attraction,
on the elaborate representations of conjugal dignity and domestic
honour, the sober and austere triumphs of cold and untempted chas-
tity, and the noble propriety of a pure and disciplined understanding.
These, we think, are not the most promising themes for any writer
whose business is to raise powerful emotions; nor very likely, in
any hands, to redeem the modern drama from the imputation of want
of spirit, interest, and excitement. But, for Lord Byron to select
them for a grand dramatic effort, is as if a swift-footed racer were to
tie his feet together at the starting, or a valiant knight to enter the
lists without his arms. No mortal prowess could succeed under such
disadvantages. The story, in so far as it is original in our drama, is
extremely improbable, though, like most other very improbable sto-
ries, derived from authentic sources; but, in the main, it is original;
being, indeed, merely another Venice Preserved, and continually recall-
ing, though certainly without eclipsing, the memory of the first. Except
that Jaffier is driven to join the conspirators by the natural impulse
of love and misery, and the Doge by a resentment so outrageous as to
exclude all sympathy, and that the disclosure, which is produced
by love in the old play, is here ascribed to mere friendship,-the
general action and catastrophe of the two pieces are almost identi
cal; while, with regard to the writing and management, it must be
owned that, if Lord Byron has most sense and vigour, Otway has by
far the most passion and pathos; and that though his conspirators
are better orators and reasoners than the gang of Pierre and Rey-
nault, the tenderness of Belvidera is as much more touching, as it
more natural, than the stoical and self-satisfied decorum of
Angiolina."

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