open-" Wills's Moral and Religious Epistles."* One of the most beautiful is addressed, in a calm and elevated tone, which reminds us of Milton's "Sonnet to a virtuous Young Lady," to one who, we learn from other verses of the same writer, has been since removed from earth :

"Lone is the path, apart from worldly ways,
Where walk salvation's wise in prayer and praise :
Rejected, like their Master, by the crowd,
Spurned by the sensual, slighted by the proud-
Condemned to bear the world's vindictive sneer,
That fain would silence what it will not hear;
Still led by hope that passeth earthly show,
The faith which ends not in this world below.
Lone-but, how blest!-extending far and wide,
The ways of error lead on every side

To Death's broad portal, end of sin and strife;
But this this only is the way to life."

The poem on this lady's death is of singular beauty. We can give but a

sentence:

"O, friend, I stood beside thee at thy tomb, Filled with a thousand bleeding memories; Thine image rose upon my thoughts, and filled My spirit with sad love. I thought, dear friend, That in the strife of thy long-suffering

I had not mourned enough for one so loved.
I then wept inly. But a thought returned,
As though an angel clothed in shining raiment
Stood by the opening tomb, and said- Weep not,
For she is not in dust, but far away,

Even with the deathless, where no pains can come―
Beyond the reach of sorrows." Then I looked

On those who stood with solemn aspect round,
And knew we were the dead in sin, not thou!

"Thou art not of the dead: or if so named,
The tomb grows holy when we think of thee.
No more than cavern of decay from which
The bosom shrinks appalled-but holy-holy
The sacred portal of the realm beyond,
Where they who follow thee are found with God."

"The Empire of Music, and other Poems," by Alfred Lee, is a volume of very considerable promise. We wish we had room for an extract.

The next volume is Tennyson's "In Memoriam," greatly the most beautiful and best of his works that we have seen. It is a series of elegiac thoughts on the death of a son of Hallam the historian, who was his chosen friend, and to whom his sister was betrothed. The death occurred in 1833. What interval past between it and Tennyson's writing all, or any of these poems, we are not told. There is scarce a reason for selecting one rather than another of these; all are beautiful-all are consolatory; though we think that some of the truer topics of consolation are more happily dwelt on in the poem of Mr. Wills, which

we quoted in a former part of this paper :

"A happy lover who has come

To look on her that loves him well,
Who lights and rings the gateway bell,
And learns her gone and far from home,
"He saddens, all the magic light

Dies off at once from bower and hall,
And all the place is dark, and all
The chambers emptied of delight;
"So find I every pleasant spot

In which we two were wont to meet,
The field, the chamber, and the street,
For all is dark where thou art not.
"Yet as that other, wandering there

In those deserted walks, may find
A flower beat with rain and wind,
Which once she foster'd up with care;
"So seems it in my deep regret,

O my forsaken heart, with thee,
And this poor flower of poesy
Which little cared for fades not yet.
"But since it pleased a vanish'd eye
I go to plant it on his tomb,
That if it can it there may bloom,
Or dying there at least may die."
"When I contemplate all alone,

The life that had been thine below,
And fix my thoughts on all the glow
To which thy crescent would have grown;
"I see thee sitting crown'd with good,
A central warmth diffusing bliss
In glance and smile, and clasp and kiss,
On all the branches of thy blood;
"Thy blood, my friend, and partly mine;
For now the day was drawing on,
When thou should'st link thy life with one
Of mine own house, and boys of thine
"Had babbled Uncle' on my knee;
But that remorseless iron pur
Made cypress of her orange flower,
Despair of Hope, and earth of thee.
"I seem to meet their least desire,

To clap their cheeks, to call them mine,
I see their unborn faces shine
Beside the never-lighted fire.
"I see myself an honour'd guest,

Thy partner in the flowery walk
Of letters, genial table-talk,
Or deep dispute, and graceful jest:
"While now thy prosperous labour fills
The lips of men with honest praise,
And sun by sun the happy days
Descend below the golden hills
"With promise of a morn as fair;

And all the train of bounteous hours
Conduct by paths of growing powers,
To reverence and the silver hair;
"Till slowly worn her earthly robe,

Her lavish mission richly wrought,
Leaving great legacies of thought,
Thy spirit should fail from off the globe;
"What time mine own might also flee,

As link'd with thine in love and fate,
And, hovering o'er the dolorous strait
To the other shore, involved in thee,
"Arrive at last the blessed goal,

And he that died in Holy Land
Would reach us out the shining hand,
And take us as a single soul.
"What reed was that on which I leant?
Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake
The old bitterness again, and break
The low beginnings of content."

The intended marriage of the deceased with a sister of the poet is often alluded to:

"Oh! what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good; To her perpetual maidenhood, And unto me no second friend?

*

"With weary steps I loiter on,

Though always under alter'd skies; The purple from the distance dies, My prospect and horizon gone. "No joy the blowing season gives— The herald melodies of spring; But in the songs I love to sing A doubtful gleam of solace lives."

The following Christmas carol, as it may be called, is a fine thing :

66

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light.
The Year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
"Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The Year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
"Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
"Ring out a lowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
"Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in.

"Ring out false pride in place and blood,

The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of God.
"Ring out the shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace."

But of all the volumes of poetry which we have lately seen, the "Virgin Widow" most demands attentive perusal.

It will reward a careful study. A new work by the author of "Philip Von Artevelde," even though it did not purport to be of a character new to our literature, is one having more than common claims to notice.

We do not incline, with our author, to class his work with the earlier English drama. In the plays of our earlier dramatists-call them comedies, or

what you please—a story is told very much for the purpose of telling a story. There is no ulterior purpose of imparting truth under fiction; nothing more or other is thought of, than making out, as the author best can, with the materials that chance may present, an evening's entertainment. Nothing that can produce effect, which is within the compass of the author's powers, is neglected. If there be a general truth to nature in the groundwork of the character, the author is satisfied with this basis of reality, and then exagge rates it beyond all measure and all proportion, relying on the confidence that has been established between himself and his audience. Even a general truth to nature is dispensed with, whenever from any cause-as, for instance, the hero being taken from romance, or having some fixed brand of character stamped on him by traditional historythe hearer's sympathy may be reckoned on. The improbable the outrageous -is preferred, as any one will acknowledge who looks at any volume of these old plays, and does not confine his attention to selected scenes.

Selected scenes mislead us, from the fact that the language of that earlier day was less formal than that of the century which followed; and whatever is expressed in natural language seems, at first view, to have, from that very fact, some foundation in truth. But we think a little fair reading of the works themselves will satisfy most readers that the passions and feelings represented in them are exaggerated, fantastical, silly; and that to class with them, considered as works of art, the present drama, would be greatly to underrate its fair claims. On the other hand, the lavish profusion of imagery everywhere found in those old plays, the variety of incident, the fearlessness with which all subjects, even the most revolting, are treated, give us impressions of the genius of these old giants of this irregular literature of Elizabeth's day, which nothing produced in our own time at all approaches.

But it is by his own work, and not by its relation to that of others, that an author must be judged; and we shall endeavour to assist our readers by an analysis of Mr. Taylor's play.

The scene is in Sicily; the time is not very definitely fixed; but as we have tournaments, and pilgrimages to the Holy Land, we may refer it to such

convenient date of the middle ages as may best please the fancy. Society has advanced beyond its heroics; even love itself seems a well-tempered and regulated passion; still it is the moving impulse which animates every one of the leading characters. If we ask who are the hero and heroine, we suppose we must answer, Silisco, Marquis of Malespina, and Rosalba, the virgin widow. Still the system of our author prevents his making any pair of lovers very prominent; and the grave Ruggiero and the comic Fiordeliza, another couple whose destinies are united, divide the reader's cares. We become early interested, too, for Lisana, on whom the king has fixed his dangerous regards; and her escape from the toils is an underplot skilfully connected with the main story.

The first act shows us Silisco on the high road to ruin. He is wealthy, but unboundedly extravagant. His lands are mortgaged to Ugo, Count of Arezzo; and we find him borrowing money and hiring a ship from the Jews.

In the following scene we have passages which we select, not alone on account of the aid they give us in relating the story, but because they express some of our author's notions on Art. The comments of the singing-girls and the players are conceived in the manner of Goethe. There is a scene of the same kind in the second part of Faust, where the phantoms of Helen and Paris are evoked.

The Palazzo Malespina-SILISCO, RUGGIERO, and other noblemen. BRUNO and CONRADO. A Manager and three Players. Singers and Dancers, and amongst the former ARETINA.

SILISCO.

"Off with these viands and this wine, Conrado;
Feasting is not festivity: it cloys
The finer spirits. Music is the feast
That lightly fills the soul. My pretty friend,
Touch me that lute of thine, and pour thy voice
Upon the troubled waters of this world.

ARETINA.

"What ditty would you please to hear, my lord?

SILISCO.

"Choose thou, Ruggiero. See now, if that knaveConrado, ho! A hundred times I've bid thee

To give what wine is over to the poor

About the doors.

CONRADO.

Sir, this is Malvoisie

And Muscadel, a ducat by the flask.

SILISCO.

"Give it them not the less; they'll never know; And better it went to enrich a beggar's blood Than surfeit ours;-choose thou, Ruggiero!

RUGGIERO.

I!

have not heard her songs.

"Oh, you did, you did; Yet still with reservations; and might I speak My untaught mind to you that know your art, I should beseech you not to stare, and gasp, And quiver, that the infection of the sense. May make our flesh to creep! for as the hand By tickling of our skin may make us laugh More than the wit of Plautus, so these tricks May make us shudder. But true art is this, To set aside your sorrowful pantomime, Pass by the senses, leave the flesh at rest, And working by the witcheries of words Felt in the fulness of their import, call Men's spirits from the deep; that pain may thus Be glorified, and passion, flashing out Like noiseless lightning in a summer's night, Show Nature in her bounds from peak to chasm, Awful, but not terrific.

The vessel which the marquis has hired from the Jews is waiting for sailing-orders. The crew is impatient; and we have a conversation between the captain, mate, and boatswain, which shews that their cupidity has been awakened-" When we reach Rhodes," says Spadone, the captain, "we shall take such a treasure of jewels and ingots aboard, as the good ship never lodged before." Spadone now sends for sailing-orders, and the Jews make their appearance.

Aretina is the mistress of Spadone, and is to meet him at the catacombs under the western suburb of Palermo.

ARETINA.

"He loves my singing, but he loves not me.
How should he? knowing me so vilely link'd
With this Spadone. To have fallen was sad,
But for the love of such a knave as this,
To fall, was falling doubly ;-not as Eve
Lur'd by the fruit, but by the Serpent's self.
Yet is the Serpent not so very wise,
To think that, having fallen, I am his
For ever, and must evermore misdeem
His venom to be nectar. No, could I pierce
The plot that now he hatches-sure I am

"When the Maddelena shall be seen in the offing, hie thee hither. Wait not till she comes into port, for that may chance to be a tedious time; and if they should tell thee that we have gone to the bottom, heed not that; for thou shalt find me here notwithstanding.

ARETINA.

"But tell me, whence is the treasure?

SPADONE.

"For the gold, it comes out of the bowels of the earth. The diamonds were digged up in the further Ind. Touching the pearls, thou shalt ask of an oyster; and in respect of the jewels, a toad could tell thee somewhat. Hark! I hear the Mate bellowing for me through the caverns like a calf that hath lost its dam. Fare thee well!

ARETINA.

"Here then we meet when thou returns't. Farewell. [Exit SPADONE, And for the gold thou bringest, whence it comes Thou know'st not better than I know myself. It is Silisco's gold. Whither it goes, Thou know'st not better-nor so well. In trust For him I'll take it. Falsehood to the false Is woman's truth, and fair fidelity."

[Exit.

The next scene exhibits Silisco and Ruggiero on the sea-coast, near Palermo. They see Silisco's vessel, the Maddalena, departing, and the Zita coming into port. In the Zita are Rosalba and Fiordeliza. Ruggiero describes them, before they land, to Silisco, who, it would appear, had not seen them before.

SILISCO. "First for the island Countess. RUGGIERO.

"First for her.

In the soft fulness of a rounded grace,
Noble of stature, with an inward life
Of secret joy sedate, Rosalba stands,
As seeing and not knowing she is seen,
Like a majestic child without a want.
She speaks not often, but her presence speaks,
And is itself an eloquence, which withdrawn,
It seems as though some strain of music ceas'd
That fill'd till then the palpitating air

With sweet pulsations. When she speaks, indeed,
'Tis like some one voice eminent in the choir,
Heard from the midst of many harmonics
With thrilling singleness, yet clear accord.
So heard, so seen, she moves upon the earth,
Unknowing that the joy she ministers

Is aught but Nature's sunshine.

BILISCO.

"Call you this The picture of a woman or a Saint?

When Cimabue next shall figure forth
The hierarchies of heaven, we'll give him this
To copy from. But said you, then, the other
Was fairer still than all this?

RUGGIERO.

"I may have said it;
I should have said, she's fairer in my eyes.
Yet must my eyes be something worse than blind,
And see the thing that is not, if the hand
Of Nature was not lavish of delights

When she was fashion'd. But it were not well
To blazon her too much; for mounted thus
In your esteem, she might not hold her place,
But fall the farther for the fancied rise.
For she has faults, Silisco, she has faults;
And when you see them you may think them worse
Than I, who know, or think I know, their scope.
She gives her moods the mastery, and flush'd
With quickenings of a wild and wayward wit,
Flits like a firefly in a tangled wood,
Restless, capricious, careless, hard to catch,
Though beautiful to look at.

"Good old man, he's welcome.
A simpler hearted creature never liv'd
To put on spectacles and see the world
Grow wise and honest, and I wish him joy.
And I will take example by him, too,

And marry when I'm seventy; and till then
I'll live as heretofore, and take delight
In God's creation revell'd in at large,
And not this work or that."

They land; and Ruggiero's painting is felt to be cold and colourless, when the original is seen. Some conversation takes place, but Silisco knows not what he says.

The second act shows Silisco's ruin. His vessel sinks as it is coming into port. The three Jews, knowing his land to be mortgaged to Ugo, issue writs against his person. He seeks to conceal himself, and uses, for this purposes, a secret passage between his garden and the catacombs. The vessel had been scuttled by her officers, and Spadone conceals the stolen treasure in the catacombs. Aretina has met him here in pursuance of their agreement; he leaves her, at the same

SILISCO.

"A woman's blood, Dastard is all that thou shalt shed to-day. [They fight. SPADONE falls. Slain is he? No, I think not-but he swoons. Where's that unhappy girl? Fled forth the caves? Well doth this caitiff merit to be left

To meet his fate. But should he wake to life
And find himself in darkness left to die
Unshriven and unassoil'd! Most horrible!
Gerbetto's house is on the beach hard by ;
I'll take him there: the worthy doctor's skill
May call him from his trance, and he may thus
Repent and live, or be absolv'd and die."

[Exit, bearing out SPADONE.

About the time this scene is taking place in the catacombs, we have Spadone's mate and boatswain waiting for him at the shore. Ruggiero saves a drowning sailor, and learns the villany by which the vessel has been destroyed, and pursues the mate and boatswain.

The third act shows us the gardens of Ubaldo's palace. Rosalba, for a lady engaged to be married to another, gives at least sufficient encouragement to Silisco, in her promise to delay her marriage till All Saints' Day, in order to have him, if he can, break down her father's obstinate determination; nay, from the opening of this third act, he would almost seem an accepted lover: