6

daughter-high-souled Englishman-Donna Christina in despair-prussic acid-stomach-pump in my portmanteau-ope'ration performed-old Bolaro in ecstasies-consents to our union -join hands, and floods of tears-romantic story-very.'

We cannot accuse Mr Browning of having run into the youthful extreme of high-wrought extravagance in his diction. On the contrary, he seems to have laboured very hard to render it as low and unornamented as possible. This affected poverty of language in also a fault of theatrical origin. Nature, on the stage, is too often thought to be best imitated by the use of phraseology which is only natural from its familiar and even vulgar effect. Actors are fond of such passages; they afford an opportunity for the deep impressive whisper, which is always regarded as one of their most taking clap-traps. Nor can it be denied that the occasional and abrupt recall from the majestic tone of the drama to the brief homeliness of common language, on some suitable emergency, is a very allowable artifice. But it requires to be sparingly employed. Mr Browning, on the contrary, seems to make it the rule rather than the exception. The best passages in his play are constantly disfigured either by some creeping vulgarity, or some startling piece of affectation.

Pym, on the first solemn meeting with Strafford after his apostasy, addresses him in the following exquisite vein of sarcasm: "Ah! Wentworth, one thing for acquaintance' sake,

Just to decide a question; have you, now,

Really felt well since you forsook us?'

To which Strafford replies with much dignity

You're insolent!'

'Pym,`

The dialogues between the King and his Minister are carried on with the same graceful simplicity.

Wentworth. That you should trust me, now,

Oh! not for my sake-but 'tis sad, so sad,

That for distrusting me, you suffer-you,

Whom I would die to save: Sire, do you think

That I would die to save you?

Charles. But rise, Wentworth!

Wentworth. What shall convince you? what does Savile do
To... Ah! one can't tear out one's heart-one's heart,

And show it, how sincere a thing it is!'

In the course of this conversation, Charles very reluctantly yields his assent to Strafford's request of a Parliament and the latter thus apostrophizes his Sovereign, like a good boy who has just resigned himself to a dose of physic:

VOL. LXV. NO. CXXXII.

2 E

"Wentworth.

But you will not so very much dislike

My King!

A Parliament? I'd serve you any way.

Charles. You said just now this was the only way.
Wentworth. Sire, I will serve you!

Charles.

You are so sick, they tell me.'

Strafford, spare yourself,

To which considerate observation the Earl makes this elegant reply:

We never thought very amiably of Queen Henrietta; but certainly, if we had been asked to guess her first remark on seeing Strafford again after a long absence, we should hardly have hit upon the following :—

Charles.
Henrietta.

"(As Strafford goes out, the Queen enters).
That man must love me!
Is it over, then!

Why he looks yellower than ever!'

We are bound, however, to say, that our author has some justification, in a passage of Madame de Motteville's Memoirs. According to that lively Frenchwoman, the Queen was continually interrupting her and the other ladies in the royal box in the House of Lords during Strafford's defence, by calling on them

to remark 'what white hands he had.'

Charles being obliged to explain to the Queen his concession of a Parliament, thus delivers himself of the awkward announcement :

'We've hit on an expedient—he—that is—

I have advised-we have decided on

The calling-in Ireland-of a Parliament !'

These beauties are all culled from the first Act. But similar gems abound. Lord Holland, having been hooted away from the gallery of the Commons during a speech of Pym, thus describes the event :

'So in the twinkling of an eye, before

I settled in my mind what ugly brute

Was likest Pym just then, they yelled us out,

Locked the doors after us, and here are we!'

The Queen, afraid lest Strafford on his trial should let out some awkward secrets, thus expresses her feelings to Lady Carlisle

:

'One may well suppose

He'll say some overwhelming fact, Carlisle !'

Rudyard, one of the popular party, interceding with Pym for Strafford's life, beseeches him in this insinuating manner

'Pym, you would look so great!'

The King, congratulating himself on Strafford's dexterous defence and expected acquittal, thus nobly soliloquizes—

'Strafford, you are a prince! Not to reward you
-Nothing does that-but only for a whim!'

Hollis, being affected with poor King Lear's hysterica passio, describes it somewhat literally:

Tell him all

I know my throat would thicken thus.'

Strafford, in the very last scene, breaks through all the interest which he has excited in a really touching speech about his affairs and his children, by these two unlucky lines

'These tedious cares! Your Majesty could spare them;

But 'tis so awkward, dying in a hurry.'

In the general phraseology of the play,—even in the manner in which the rough old Puritans address each other, there is a sort of affected, fondling tone, which perfectly disconcerts us. As for poor Lady Carlisle, seeing that she is desperately in love with Strafford from the beginning of the play, we can perhaps excuse his calling her 'girl,' and 'Lucy,' in every line; but really we do not think there was any thing in the character of the lady to justify him in supposing that Denzil Hollis would have taken the liberty of addressing her as 'girl'

too.

All these, we must once more repeat it, are, chiefly, defects of taste. They are peculiarities belonging to that which (by the leave of Mr Landor) we must still take the liberty of calling, for want of a better name, the Cockney school' of dramatic authorship. And we have not been thus severe in our observations on the bad taste and affectation with which this play abounds, from any malice of criticism. But the author is a young man, and this essay exhibits powers which we can ill afford to see thrown away in the pursuit of false reputation. Had it been otherwise, we should not have taken the trouble to examine his claims to the distinction which he has earned. His defects are

fostered by a corrupt taste in theatrical matters; and those defects in turn, meeting with applause instead of correction, tend to increase and perpetuate the evil. For the rest, his success is a proof that his work affords striking situations and dramatic interest. He has developed his matter with breadth and simplicity of purpose, instead of breaking it up into highly-wrought details and insulated scenes; and this is the first great requisite in order to produce effect on miscellaneous readers and spectators. Even his style, of which we have thought it our duty to present a few singular specimens, is, on other occasions, wanting neither in power nor richness. When he lays aside affectation, and condescends to employ continuous dramatic dialogue, there is an energy about him not unworthy of the scenes and epochs which he has chosen to represent. 'Bating a little fantastic language, and the historical absurdity of making Vane intercede with Pym and Hampden for Strafford, we cannot give a fairer specimen than the following, from the fourth Act. The chiefs of the Puritans, foiled by Strafford's ready defence against the articles of impeachment, are in deliberation about changing their course of proceeding for a bill of attainder.

'Rudyard. Till now all hearts were with you. I withdrew For one! Too horrible! O, we mistake

Your purpose, Pym; you cannot snatch away

The last spar from the drowning man.

Fiennes (to the rest). You'll join us? mind, we own he merits death: But this new course is monstrous! Vane, take heart:

This bill of his attainder shall not have

One true man's hand to it!

Pym!

Vane.
But hear me,
Confront your bill-your own bill-what is it?
You cannot catch the Earl on any charge:
No man will say the law has hold on him
On any charge and therefore you resolve
To take the general sense on his desert,
As though no law existed, and we met
To found one! You refer to every man
To speak his thought upon this hideous mass
Of half-borne-out assertions-dubious hints
Hereafter to be cleared-distortions-ay,
And wild inventions. Every man is saved
The task of fixing any single charge
On Strafford: he has but to see in him
The enemy of England!

Pym.

A right scruple:
I have heard some called England's enemy

With less consideration.

Vane.

Pity me!

Me-brought so low-who hoped to do so much

For England-her true servant. Pym your friend—
Indeed you made me think I was your friend!

But I have murdered Strafford!

The instrument of this! who shall remove

That memory from me?

Pym.

I have been

I absolve you, Vane :

Take you no care for aught that you have done.

Vane. Dear Hampden, not this bill! Reject this bill! He staggers through the ordeal-let him go,

Strew no fresh fire before him.

Rudyard. For us!

Hampden, plead

When Strafford spoke, your eyes were thick With tears!--Save him, dear Hampden!

Hampden.

England speaks

Louder than Strafford. Who are we, to play
The generous pardoner at her expense--
Magnanimously waive advantages-
And if he conquer us-applaud his skill?
Vane (to Pym). He was your friend.
Pym.

Fiennes. But England trusts you.
Hampden.

The opportunity of serving her

I have heard that before.

Shame be his, who turns

She trusts him with, to his own mean account—

Who would look nobly frank at her expense!

Fiennes. I never thought it could have come to this.

Pym (turning from St John). But I have made myself familiar, Fiennes With that one thought-have walked, and sat, and slept,

That thought before me! I have done such things,

Being the chosen man that should destroy

This Strafford ! You have taken up that thought

To play with-for a gentle stimulant

To give a dignity to idler life

By the dim prospect of this deed to come

But ever with the softening, sure belief

That all would come some strange way right at last.

Fiennes. Had we made out some weightier charge.
Pym.

That these are petty charges !

To the real charge at all?

Can we come

There he is safe,

In tyranny's stronghold. Apostasy

Is not a crime-Treachery not a crime—

The cheek burns, the blood tingles, when you name
Their names, but where's the power to take revenge

Upon them? We must make occasion serve:

The oversight pay for the giant sin

That mocks us!

Rudyard. But this unexampled course! This Bill.

Pym. By this, we roll the clouds away
Of precedent and custom, and at once
The conscience of each bosom-shine upon
The guilt of Strafford: each shall lay his hand
Upon his breast, and say if this one man

You say