"Two will I mention dearer than the rest," That Egyptian, who was kind exceedingly to Joseph, the son of Jacob; and that Saxon, in whose eyes John found favour, even John Bunyan, the tinker, and the son of a tinker, who, being a prisoner, was yet free, and, without bail, walked to and fro even as a man whose legs were unacquainted with bonds. "That he escaped, however, is very certain, and returned to his old occupation of providing matter for the theatres. ried, moreover, at this time, a young woman He mar. who was a Catholic, and who brought him a female child in 1595, and a son in the spies he hath an epigrame." "How sex is pitiful; and then we trust the far this was matter of fact or imagina- jailer, in his humanity, was prudent, tion," quoth Barry, "we have no and warned Ben simply by putting his means of ascertaining." That is very finger to his nose, or cocking his eye true-two hundred and forty years, at each ugly customer, thereby exand upwards, have elapsed since then, pressing more forcibly than by words and Barry Cornwall the sceptic, is "Hic niger est-hunc, tu Romane, left without any means of ascertaining caveto." Such worthy jailers there the fact. But let him not be hurried have been in this wicked world-fearaway by the force of his own reason- less of "compromising themselves ing powers. That Ben "was, beyond with persons above them"-incredible doubt, a Protestant on his entering as such folly may seem to Barry prison," may be true-though Barry Cornwall. might be puzzled to tell how he came to know it; but the more suspicious, for that very reason, to a suspicious Government might seem the visits of a seminary priest. "The years 1693-4," says Gifford, "were years of singular disquietude and alarm. The Catholics, who despaired of effecting any thing against the Queen by open force, engaged in petty conspiracies to take her off by sudden violence. The nation was agitated by those plots, which were multiplied by fear; and several seminaries, as the Popish priests educated abroad were then called, were actually convicted of attempts to poison the Queen, and executed." "One does not well see," quoth Barry, "first, how this jailer should learn that the persons alluded to were spies; or secondly, why he should communicate the matter to Jonson, to whom he was a stranger, and thus compromise himself with the persons above him." Why, we humbly venture to suggest, that jailers are "'cute fellers enough in their way," and have a sharp eye for spies, informers, and peachers: and if " the alluded persons to" were not spies, pray, may we ask who they were, and how the devil they came there? Secondly, why the jailer "should communicate the matter to Jonson, to whom he was a stranger," does not seem so unaccountable to Christopher North as to Barry Cornwall-seeing that the prisoner, who had got into an awkward hobble, and might be hanged, was a youth in his twentieth year, a brave youth and a bright-a learned youth and an eloquent-such a "broth of a boy" as it had never been the lot of the said jailer to converse withal, since he first mounted a bunch of keys at his girdle. "Thus to compromise himself with the persons above him," was rash; but his wife would not, on that offence, read her husband a curtain lecture, for the following year. Both these children died young." "That he escaped, however, is very his twentieth year "he returned to his certain"-hanged he was not-and in old occupation." Pray, wherein lies the charm of calling daughter "a female child?" Is not a son "a male child?" Then, why not say so? We hate all such invidious distinctions. In 1596, was produced "Every Man in his Humour"-which, in 1598, was recast the scene having been wisely transferred from Italy to England. Hear Barry on this matchless Comedy. "In regard to Every Man in his Humour,' it is a fair sample of the author's style, and betrays the peculiar character of his genius. It is the only one of his dramas, except The Alchemist" (the latter, however, reduced to a farce), which has kept possession of the stage. Once in a season, perhaps, some actor, desirous of exhibiting the diversity of his powers, undertakes the character of Kitely, and extracts from a patient audience a mode. rate portion of applause. But the play is rarely repeated, until after the lapse of one or two succeeding years. In truth, amongst a good deal of sound sensible writing, and with little to object to, there is nothing to stimulate curiosity or excite There is a any rapturous admiration. deficiency of passion, and not much delicacy of character; and there is no heroism or strong feeling of any sort. With the exception of Bobadil, who is a brave bit of humour, the characters are of a level order; never rising much beyond the line in which they set out, but nevertheless uttering, in their course, a good many shrewd, and even some witty things. The persons of the drama speak partly in blank verse, and should therefore be occasional ly poetical; yet they seem for the most part to be of the opinion of the elder Knowell, who thus declares himself at the outset of the play : 'Myself was once a student, and, indeed, Fed with the self-same humour he is now, Dreaming on nought but idle poetry; That fruitless and unprofitable art, Good unto none, but least to its professors, Which then I thought the mistress of all know But since, Time and the truth have wak'd my judgment, ledge; And Reason taught me better to distinguish He appears from all this not to have the slightest conception of the character of this inimitable comedy-and does what he can to underrate it-and at the same time the Alchemist-by telling us that it now produces no effect on the stage. We know not, and care not how that may be-nor yet who has "reduced the Alchemist to a farce." "There is deficiency of passion," he says-what! in Kitely? Bah!" There is no heroism." And why should there be any heroism? There is no heroism in Hudibras. Bobadil is " a brave bit of humour." And he afterwards admits he is" a braggart of the first water," worthy to "march in the same regiment with Bessus and Pistol, and Parolles and the Copper Captain." Now hear Gifford. "Bobadil has never been well understood, and therefore is always too highly estimated; because he is a boaster and a coward, he is scurvily dismissed as a mere copy of the ancient bully, or what is infinitely more ridiculous, of Pistol; but Bobadil is a creature sui generis, and perfectly original. Bobadil is stained with no inordinate vice, and is besides so frugal that a bunch of radishes and a pipe to close the orifices of his stomach," satisfy all his wants. Add to this, that the vanity of the ancient soldier (in the Greek Comedy) is accompanied with such deplorable stupidity, that all temptation to mirth is taken away; whereas Bobadil is really amusing. His gravity, which is of the most inflexible nature, contrasts admirably with the situations in which he is thrown; and, though beaten, baffled, and disgraced, he never so far forgets himself as to aid in his own discomfiture. He has no soliloquies like Bessus and Parolles, to betray his real character, and expose himself to unnecessary contempt; nor does he break through the decorum of the scene in a single instance. He is also an admirer of poetry, and seems to have a pretty taste for criticism, though his reading does not appear very extensive, and his decisions are usually made with something of too much promptitude. In a word, Bobadil has many distinguishing traits; and till a preceding braggart shall be discovered with something more than big words and bearing to characterize him, it may not be amiss to allow Jonson the credit of having depended entirely on his own resources. Gifford is equally just and discriminating on Kitely. "Jealousy is the humour of Kitely; but it is no more the jealousy of Ford than of Othello: original it neither is nor can be, for it is a passion as common as the air, and has been the property of the stage from the earliest times; yet what but a jaundiced eye can discover any servile marks of imitation? Kitely's alarms are natural, for his house is made the resort of young and riotous gallants; yet he drew his suspicions with great delicacy; and when circumstances light as air confirm them, he does not bribe a stranger to complete his dishonour, but places a confidential spy over his wife, to give notice of the first approach to familiarity. In a word, the feelings, the language, and the whole conduct of Kitely, are totally distinct from those of Ford, or any preceding stage character whatever. The author drew from nature; and, as her varieties are infinite, a man of Jonson's keen and attentive observation was under no necessity of borrowing from her at second hand." Sound, manly criticism-how different from the cockney conceit that disgusts equally in Barry's praise and his censure. "The persons in the drama," quoth Barry, "speak partly in blank verse, and should, therefore, be occasionally poetical." And are they not?Knowell is a "scholar and a gentle man," and adapts his language to his subject, and to his hearers; yet even in his advice and admirable advice it is to all men-to Master Stephen, a country gull, he warms into poetryas, for example, when he says finely, "Nor stand so much on your gentility, Which is an airy and mere borrowed thing From dead men's dust and bones, and none of yours, Except you make or hold it." Then, what can be better than thisand is it not sufficiently poetical for blank verse in a comedy? "I will not stop his journey, Nor practise any violent means to stay Th' unbridled course of youth on him; for that Restrained proves more impatient; and in kind Like to the eager, but the generous greyhound, Who ne'er so little from his game withheld, Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat." Or again, "My presence shall be as an iron bar 'Twixt the conspiring motives of desire: Yea, any look or glance mine eye ejects Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave, Ay, that will be the least; and then 'twill be I will not go. Business, go by for once. You must be then kept up, close, and well watch'd, For, give you opportunity, no quicksand And so in a hundred other instances where the thought, feeling, and expression are full of force and fire. Perhaps Barry Cornwall does not know that in the quarto there is a pas When he forgets the limits of proscrip- sage-afterwards omitted-probably tion." Take a longer passage. "Dame K. Pray Heaven it do. "Kit. A new disease! I know not, new or old, But it may well be call'd poor mortals' plague; For, like a pestilence, it doth infect The houses of the brain. First it begins Solely to work upon the phantasy, Filling her seat with such pestiferous air, As soon corrupts the judgment; and from thence, Sends like contagion to the memory: because too poetical-of which Gifford truly says, "it would be unjust to Jonson, as well as to the reader, to suppress the passage, which is full of noble feeling, at once rational, fervid, and sublime. It breathes the very spirit of high antiquity, and forms one of those numerous sources from which Milton (the unwearied though unnoticed follower of this great poet) derived inspiration and vigour." "I can refell opinion; and approve The state of poesy, such as it is, Blessed, eternal, and most true divine: Indeed, if you will look on poesy, As she appears in many, poor and lame, Patch'd up in remnants and old worn out rags, Half starv'd for want of her peculiar food, Sacred invention; then, I must confirm Both your conceit and censure of her merit : But view her in her glorious ornaments, Attired in the majesty of art, Set high in spirit with the precious taste Of sweet philosophy; and, which is most, Crown'd with the rich traditions of a soul, That hates to have her dignity prophaned With any relish of an earthly thought, Then she is like herself, fit to be seen Such brainless gulls, should utter their stolen wares With such applauses in our vulgar ears; Or that their slubber'd lines have current pass, From the fat judgments of the multitude; But that this barren and infected age, Should set no difference 'twixt these empty spirits, And a true poet: than which reverend name Nothing can more adorn humanity." "The persons of the drama speak partly in blank verse, and therefore should occasionally be poetical." Oh! Barry Cornwall! Barry Cornwall, oh! Let us now hear him on the Silent Woman, The Fox, and The Alche mist. "In 1605, appeared Volpone, or the Fox; in 1609, Epicone, or the Silent Woman; in 1610, The Alchemist; and in 1611, Catiline. In regard to Epicane, we think that, with considerable humour and some diversity of character, the entire drama is a fatiguing and improbable work. The first scene contains those delightful lines, which everybody knows: 'Give me a look, give me a face, They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.' There is something like Molière in the character of Morose; and the quarrel between Otter (the land and sea captain) and his wife, is a curious leaf stolen out of the mysterious book of married life. This is the captain's account, in private, of Mrs Otter :She takes herself asunder still when she goes to bed, into some twenty boxes; and about next day at noon is put together again, like a German clock; and so comes forth, and rings a tedious 'larum to the whole house, and then is quiet again for an hour, but for her quar ters. tions), at the head of his dramatic compositions. We do not [recollect to have seen it remarked, that The Alchemist and Volpone are essentially alike in their constitution; the whole material and burthen of each play consisting of a tissue of cheats, effected by two confederate sharpers, upon various gulls gaping for money, who come successively before them, in order to enable the author to exhibit the wit and roguery of his two principal characters, and the simplicity or greediness of the victims. This is done in a series of scenes, long drawn out. Of the two plays, notwithstanding some powerful writing in the early part of Volpone, we prefer, we confess, The Alchemist. It has more probability-it is fuller of character-it is better constructed -and it comprises poetry of a higher order. The learning of Jonson unfolds itself very happily in the gorgeous visions of Sir Epicure Mammon-which are as magnificent and oriental as an Arabian dream." Without wasting a word on this disparaging and derogatory drivel, let us quote a screed from The Fox. The argument of this glorious drama is given in an acrostic. "Volpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs, Offers his estate to hopes of general heirs, Lies languishing: his Parasite receives Presents of all, assures, deludes; then weaves Other cross plots, which ope themselves, are told. New tricks for safety are so bought! they thrive; when bold, E ach tempts the other again, and all are sold." The Play opens thus :— "SCENE I.-A Room in VOLPONRS' House. "Enter VOLPONE and Mosca. "Volp. Good morning to the day; and next, my gold!— Open the shrine, that I may see my saint. [MOSCA withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate, jewels, &c. Hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad than is The teeming earth to see the long'd-for sun Of sacred treasure in this blessed room. Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name, Title that age which they would have the best; Thou being the best of things, and far transcending All style of joy, in children, parents, friends, Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint, Riches, the dumb god, that giv'st all men tongues, Thou canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things; The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot, Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame, [Gives him money. Honour, and all things else. Who can get Take of my hand; thou strik'st on truth in thee, He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise"Mos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune A greater good than wisdom is in nature. "Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. I glory Yet More in the cunning purchase of my wealth, Than in the glad possession, since I gain No common way; I use no trade, no venture; I wound no earth with ploughshares, fat no beasts, To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron, Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder : I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships "Mos. No, sir, nor devour Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance. "Volp. Right, Mosca; I do loathe it. "Mos. And besides, sir, all, This draws new clients daily to my house, Women and men of every sex and age, That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels, With hope that when I die (which they expect Each greedy minute) it shall then return Ten-fold upon them; whilst some, covetous Above the rest, seek to engross me whole, And counter-work the one unto the other, Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love: All which I suffer, playing with their hopes, And am content to coin them into profit, And look upon their kindness, and take more, And look on that; still bearing them in hand, Letting the cherry knock against their lips, And draw it by their mouths, and back again. How now!" lieving Volpone to be, as he appears, Corvino, a greedy merchant, bea sick, decrepit, and impotent volupbrings him his own beautiful and tuary, to gain favour with the Fox chaste wife, Celia, and offers to submit her to his embraces. "Cel. O God, and his good angels, whither, whither, You are not like the thresher that doth Is shame fled human breasts? that with such stand ease, |