frantic landlord; "never was such luck ever seen or heard tell of! "We'll bang the barrel about, and having sung this well-known Then did the triumphant shouts, that burst from every pore of the Hog in Armour, fairly beggar all description. Some yelled for pailfuls of punch, some for flaggons of wine, others huzza'd until the very windows chattered in their casements, and not a few shuffled and cut like a parcel of delirious dancing-masters; whilst, ever and anon, the Reverend Mr Obadiah Skinnandgrief, our muchrespected Curate, pulled the bellcord with both hands, singing out most lustily," Beef steaks and ingans for ever!" In this manner did the parlour-gentry conduct themselves, until an unusual thumping noise was distinctly heard, which induced them to sally forth, and, by the glimmer of day-light that remained, they descried Mr Tubly, and a few more jolly fellows, banging open the cellar door with a billet of wood, mine host being in too great a hurry to grope for the key. Such was their ardour, that in fifteen minutes the door, though a stout one, was compelled to give way, half-a-dozen butts of strong ale were rolled to the street, their heads stove in with a hatchet, and all comers made welcome. To the honour of merry old England be it spoken, never did ale barrels stand long in such an inviting attitude without being emptied. The casual passenger was arrested on the spot, or, more properly speaking, fascinated by the fumes of our national beverage; the immediate neighbours rushed from their dwell ings, tankard in hand, to partake thereof; and presently the whole male and female population of Higgler-lane was in motion, as far as the eye could reach. But Mr Tubly was not solus in the work of jollification. His lady caused a fire to be kindled under the brewing copper, and twisted the neck of every fowl she could lay her hands on. ed the spits and gridirons to be put in a state of requisition, and dispatched messengers to certain butchers, fishmongers, fruiterers, and confectioners, with positive orders to furnish abundant supplies of their respective commodities. All these commandments being executed to her liking, Mrs Tubly hied her away to Ned Faggle's, partly to communicate the joyful news, and partly to clap her thumb on every roasting-pig in his possession. Edward and his consort were in the back court, suppering their hogs, when Mrs T. arrived with the glorious tidings, and so wonderfully struck were these good people with the superabundant dazzle of wealth that presented itself to their respective fancies, that they really knew not what hand to turn themselves. Ned caught little Seuk in his arms, bolted out at the back door, and made the best of his way to the Hog in Armour; Mrs Faggle, upon sight, hastily put her gowntail about her, and followed his example; mine hostess also took to her heels; and the swine, seventeen in number, conceiving themselves at perfect liberty to use their own discretion, sallied forth, and ambled away after their master and mistress, though they made but a sorry hobble of it, being full of keep, and all of them. on the Doomster's list. The Porkman and his lady were quite delighted with the scene that presented itself, when they arrived within eye-cast of Mr Tubly's door, and many gentlemen of high respectability scruple not to say, that they felt much pleasure in witnessing men, women, and children, of every age and denomination, quaffing mine host's homebrewed from all manner of concave utensils; whilst those less fortunate in procuring drinking-vessels, dashed their hats, wigs, and what not, into the ale-butts, and guzzled until they humbled themselves in the kennel by threes and fours at a downfall. Poor Jem Wheezley, the bellows-maker, had well nigh lost his life on this occasion. Having dropt his pitcher in one of the butts, he leapt up to regain it, but unfortunately overbalancing himself, the affrighted youth plunged in head foremost, and certainly would have She also command perished, had not the humane byestanders pulled him out by the heels; though, in so doing, they overturned the vessel, and the whole of its precious contents would most assuredly have been lost to the public for ever and ever, but for the timely interposition of Dick Flare, agent to the Caloric Insurance Company. That gentleman, with a presence of mind peculiar to his profession, dammed the kennel with the readiest materials he could procure, and thereby saved many a precious gallon. Such was the state of affairs when Ned Faggle's swine hove in sight, accompanied by a few friends whom they had picked up by the way. Now, of all breathing animals, the hog possesseth the happiest knack of upsetting his opponents, particularly those of the biped breed, for when once he gets his nose fairly between a fellow's legs, and bounces forward, the devil himself cannot uphold the hapless bestrider; an assertion that we will endeavour to make manifest by-and-by. Ned's hogs, as we are about to observe, on perceiving so many animals of a higher class, humbled on all-fours, with their noses in the kennel, naturally enough conceived that they could not by any means degrade themselves by mingling with their betters, and instantly pricking up their ears, the whole herd rushed forward, nose aground. In a twinkling, every lady and gentleman that stood upright was laid low, and the triumphant porkers, without opposition, thrust their long snouts between the jowls of their Christian brethren, and regaled themselves for a season. With respect to the internal jollification, we have merely to observe, that it was much of a piece with the ex⚫ternal rout, in so far as decorum was concerned, and consisted of every delicacy of the season, got up in Mrs Tubly's very best manner, consequently her guests were highly gratified. As for Mrs Faggle's dream-ticket, No. 7152, sorry are we to say, that it came forth a blank, and, what is rather singular, No. 2517, which the learned reader will readily perceive is a fair transposition of Seuky's, not only turned out a prize of twenty thousand pounds, but, being the seventh drawn, was entitled to thirty thousand more, agreeably to the scheme. This very extraordinary fact gave occasion to much unpleasant discussion, when Messrs Swypes and Fudge arrived from London, with the prize cash in their pockets, that amounted not to one twentieth part of the prime cost outlay, which induced all concerned to scratch their heads, and declare, that Jugglum and Scampler "baited with sprats to catch mackerel." Not satisfied with what had befallen them, as we just now hinted, the clubmen set off in a body to expostulate with John Goodwyn for wrongfully interpreting Seuky's dream; but that gentleman having departed from North Carlton by moon-light, they returned to the city of Lincoln just as wise as when they left it, many of them shrewdly suspecting that the old rogue had pocketed their good luck, which really appears to have been the case. Mr Waumphrey, the pedlar, forgathered with him on the Bath road about a twelvemonth thereafter, lolling in an elegant barouche, with a couple of lackeys scampering in his rear; and happening to fall in with Gaffer Todland, a gentleman whom he knew well, Mr Todland informed Saunders, that the great personage who had just then passed them by was no less a man than Squire Goodwyn of Goodwynhall, a rich West-India merchant, who had lately purchased an estate in the neighbourhood. Much ink might be shed in blackening John Goodwyn's character, and much more in proving that he cannot lay on his pillow with a quiet conscience; but as the reader is perfectly capable of judging for himself, and anxious, no doubt, to get rid of a drowsy, unprofitable subject, we take the liberty of respectfully bidding him good-bye. L'Amour. THEY say of old, when Beauty's child, 'Mid roses bright with dew; So up he grew, in Ida's shades, Rejoicing in his youth- Brightly his auburn tresses flowing, Or he a fisher lone would go, So on he went, a child of joy, In Pleasure's summer isles: T. S. D. SCHILLER'S CORRESPONDENCE. (Continued.) Schiller to the Baron Von Dalberg. Stutgardt, 12th Dec. 1781. IN the change proposed by your Excellency on my dramatic work *, with a view to its publication, I rea. dily acquiesce; and the more especially, as I perceive that in this way two very separate and different interests may be reconciled and united, without endangering its popularity, or breaking the natural progression and continuity of its scenes. Your Excellency mentions, however, in addition, several very vital and material alterations, which you have already effected on my drama; and in these I feel assuredly so deep an interest, that I must be forgiven if I enter somewhat fully and critically upon their examination. And in the outset, I may, without disguise, admit, that I should esteem your alteration, in throwing back the action of the drama to the remote era of the immediate establishment of regular and effective government through. out Europe, and the consequent suppression of that wayward and uncurbed violence which previously reigned, together with the entire new * The Drama of the Robbers. modelling of the piece, which must result from the adoption of such a change, as infinitely to be preferred to the dramatic conceptions I have already embodied, could I alone view this matter abstractly, and shut my eyes to the incongruous effects which would result from ingrafting such a vital alteration upon a work which draws the whole of its distinguishing peculiarities from sources utterly incompatible with the alteration you propose. I feel, assuredly, the force of your objection,-that it is with difficulty, amidst the existing vigorous and definite agency of the laws, and the wide-extended refinement, and more humanized manners of the present times, that we can conceive so lawless an association of desperate men, springing up within the bosom of well-ordered society, and for several years maintaining their evil power and ascendancy. To this I have only to oppose the bold and unfettered freedom of poetical fiction, which, in its seducing and creative power, can invest, with the dignity and force of truth, the cold probabilities of the passing world, and elevate the possible into the magic range of the probable and the likely. This, it is true, does not wholly remove the force of the ob jection. Should I, however, allow this to your Excellency,-and I may do so with the most perfect conviction and sincerity,-what, after all, could justly be deduced from it? Assuredly no more than this, that my dramatic work is disfigured by a blemish in its original conception; a blemish, which so intimately and minutely winds and diffuses itself throughout the whole progresion of its incidents, as to defy every attempt, even of the most dexterous and skilful critical surgery, to remove it. Any endeavours to remedy a defect so closely and inseparably associated with its frame and structure, would only, I fear, draw after it the destruction of the whole. But I shall here render myself, in this, more clearly intelligible to your Excellency. 1. The general tone of the dialogue of my dramatic personages is altogether too obviously modern, and dashed with traits of sentiment and refinement, wholly dissimilar from the manners and modes of thinking of the remote era to which you wish to throw back the action of the piece. That simplicity, so pureand touching, which the author of "Gotzoon Berlichingen" has pourtrayed with such vivid animation, is in my piece wholly a-wanting. Many of the most striking and delicate traits and attributes of my dramatic characters have been drawn from the marked and peculiar aspect of present times, and would ill accord with the far-distant, and more simple age of Maximilian. In a word, my drama, were 1 here to follow your suggestion, would, I fear, exhibit somewhat of the same monstrous incongruity which once struck me in a wooden print prefixed to an edition of Virgil. The Trojans there appeared accoutered in elegant Hussar boots, and the mighty Agamemnon was seen bearing a pair of pistols in his holsters. In this way, then, I should only be doing violence to the times of Maximilian, while I endeavoured to do away the sin of a partial transgression against the age of the second Frederick. 2. But, still farther, my whole episode of the love of Amelia would seem somewhat monstrous and un This noble drama was written by Goethe, in professed imitation of the manner of Shakespeare's Historical Plays." VOL. XIII. natural, if contrasted with the more coldly-chastened and surly-tempered affection which marked the heroines of those more distant chivalrous times. I should then be compelled, in obedience to your hint, to transform Amelia into the noble daughter of one of the knights of the age; and I need scarce, I think, press upon your discernment, that the peculiarity of the character of Amelia, and the distinctive attributes of the mingled ardour and tenderness of her affection, shed across my whole dramatic work so marked and predominating an influence, they sway, and hold forth in such varying lights, the character of the Robber Moor,-and spread their effective colours with so intimate and adhering a power throughout the whole dramatic painting, that it would here be impossible to effect a change, without destroying the appropriate keeping and beauty of the whole. This, also, you may perceive, applies with nearly similar force to the character of Francis, in which I have sought to pourtray a villain, cool, calculating, and with some shade of metaphysical subtlety in his composition. I may, in short, finally add, upon this topic, that such a transformation in my dramatic piece set of its composition and conception, as you propose, while, in the first outit might have been adopted with the highest and most appropriate beauty and perfection, would only now, in its present completed form, impart to it the most discordant and inconsistent qualities. It would, I fear, be like decking the homely crow in Forgive, I beseech you, these zealthe gorgeous plumage of the peacock. intercession, by a father, tender of ous expressions of conciliation and the fate of his literary offspring. I am aware that my drama, as to any changes or alterations which may be afterwards made upon it, must lie wholly at the mercy of the different theatres. I must, therefore, in this, submissively resign myself to what I have no power to control; and I asculiarly fortunate that my "Robbers" suredly ought to account myself pehas fallen into such safe and lenient hands. This, however, above all, I must anxiously stipulate with H. Schwan, that, in the publication of my drama, he shall scrupulously ad here, without deviation, to the manuscript, in the original unaltered form of its composition. As to any changes or alterations which may be thought more peculiarly to adopt it for public representation, in these I desire to claim no voice, or privilege of direction. Your second main alteration, touching the death of Amelia, excited, if possible, still more strongly my interest than the former. I may here truly assure your Excellency, that it was this incident of the piece which, of all others, I the most deeply weighed and pondered; and the conviction at length irresistibly pressed upon my mind was, that Amelia ought to die by the hands of the Robber Moor. This seemed to me powerfully to elicit a striking dramatic excellency of character, in which the most ardent, uncontrolled tenderness of soul is displayed, with out overlooking what may be deemed the not inappropriate trait of the leader of a robber band. But I feel that, within the narrow limits of a letter, I should be unable to enlarge, as I could wish, on the justification and exposition of this incident of my drama. I may assuredly, however, without hesitation admit, that the few words by which, in your proposed alteration, you merely announce the death of Amelia, are highly excellent, and the dramatic situation deeply impressive. I may say with truth, I should have felt proud of being the author of what is so indubitably marked by the traces of great genius. I perceive, from a letter of H. Schwan, that my piece, with the music, and those pauses during the representation which are indispensable, will occupy no less than five hours; a space assuredly much too long for any drama. I must therefore engage in a second curtailment. I am unwilling to resign to any other this work of compression; and I feel I should myself be unable adequately to undertake its execution, without witnessing, either a rehearsal of the piece, or being present at its first public representation. Were it possible for your Excellency to accomplish your definitive rehearsal of the drama, some time between the twentieth and thir tieth of this month, and were I at the same time permitted to rely upon your kind generosity, in defraying the serious expence of my journey, I might then cherish the hope of very shortly uniting my own interests with those of your theatre, and of imparting to my drama those last appropriate touches, more strikingly suited for scenic effect, and which I should in vain attempt vividly and justly to realize, were I not a previous spectator of its representation. I trust I may hope for a speedy and favourable answer to my request, that I may thus be enabled, in sufficient time, to arrange matters for my departure. H. Schwan writes me, that a Baron Von Gemmingen has done me the high honour of selecting my drama for a public reading, and as the subject of critical examination. I hear, also, that this nobleman is the author of the play, "The German Father of a Family." I should esteem myself peculiarly happy to have the honour of assuring this distinguished personage, that I have found his drama marked by numerous traits of striking excellence; and that I have felt a true pleasure in recognising, throughout it, the pleasing and indubitable traces of an elegant and graceful genius, united with an amiable and benevolent heart. But may I not here exclaim with delighted surprise,-Is it possible that the author of this distinguished dramatic production should yet find somewhat worthy of commendation in the irregular and unsteady efforts of so young and inexperienced a candidate for literary fame? Permit me to add, that when I shall have the delicious satisfaction of expressing, to a Von Dalberg, at Manheim, my deep and ardent respect, I shall then, while my eager affection hurries me within his embrace, declare how inexpressibly dear to me are such gifted minds as Dalberg and Gemmingen. Your suggestion, of a short sketch or summary of the piece, to be distributed previous to its representation, meets with my most cordial acquiescence. I send you here enclosed what may perhaps fully answer this purpose; and I have the honour to remain, with the truest respect, &c. |