"

good success, under the title of Eily O'Connor. In 1830, Griffin put forth two more Irish sketches, entitled "The Rivals and "Tracey's Ambition," which were evidently written in a hurry, and on the whole inferior to their predecessors. His last production, Tales of the Five Senses," appeared in 1832. They must be pronounced inferior to "The Collegians and "The Munster Tales," although by no means deficient in the "dark, touching power," which Carleton has spoken of as the distinguishing excel. lence of his countryman and brotherlabourer in the same field.

"

In that same year, Griffin was deputed by his townsmen of Limerick to wait upon Thomas Moore at his cottage in England, and invite him to stand for the representation of that city in Parliament. The poet declined the proffered honour, but gave a warm reception to his visitant, and his brother, who accompanied him. Griffin, although successful as a writer, and enjoying full reputation, began to grow tired of the world, its cares, anxieties, disturbing passions, and unsatisfactory pleasures. He had been educated in the Roman Catholic faith, and one of his sisters had already taken the veil. After mature deliberation, he determined to seclude himself in a sort of semi-monastic life, in one of those retreats set apart in Ireland for devotees of the church to which he belonged. In 1838 he carried his design into execution, and joined the Society of the "Christian Brotherhood" (whose duty it is to instruct the poor), in their establishment at Cork. During the second year of his novitiate, he was attacked with typhus fever, and died on the 12th of June, 1840, at the early age of thirty-six and a few months. The stone which covers his remains is marked by the simple words, " Brother Gerald Griffin."

66

After Griffin's death, the tragedy of Gisippus was found amongst his papers. When acted at Drury-lane, in 1842, the subjoined preface appeared with the printed copies, and told the

manner in which, after a long suppression, it had at last found its way to the stage:

"The following play has been brought before the public under rather peculiar circumstances. The author of The Collegians,' to whom it owed its origin, had, in the early part of his literary career, a strong turn for dramatic writing; and, so long ago as the year 1823, had produced no less than four tragedies. The first of these was begun while he was yet in his eighteenth year, and Gisippus, the last of them, before he had completed his twentieth. He went to London in the summer of that year, filled with the high aspirings after literary fame which are characteristic of that passion in early youth, and which were strengthened in his case by a temperament peculiarly ardent and sanguine, and by his want of experience of the difficulties with which its attainment is usually beset. His intention was to get one of them performed at one of the great theatres, if possible; but, at that time, the public taste was vitiated by managers who yielded to the depraved appetites of the multitude, instead of endeavouring to correct them.* Mechanical wonders, cataracts of real water, brilliant scenic representations, and sights of an amphitheatrical and popular character, usurped the place of the legitimate drama, and after many distressing difficulties, and much valuable time sacrificed in the attempt, he gave it up as hopeless. Gisippus is the only one of these plays that has been preserved amongst his papers; the rest there is no trace of, and it is presumed they have been destroyed. It may, perhaps, be interesting to notice what the author himself says of it in a letter to his friends in Ireland, a short time before he came to the determination above-named 'But what gives me the greatest satisfaction respecting it, is the consciousness that I have written an original play. That passion of revenge you know was threadbare.' (He alludes to the subject of one of his former pieces.) 'Banim has made some suggestions which I have adopted; I will finish it immediately, place it in his hands, and abide the result in following other pursuits." "

The preface goes on to say that Gisippus was submitted to more than one competent professional authority, who admitted the high merit of the work, but feared its success in repre

sentation. Finally, it was placed in the hands of Mr. Macready, who, after having perused it, pronounced a decided opinion in its favour, and determined to sustain the principal character. The play was acted with success, undoubtedly, and received warm approbation from successive audiences; but the treasury did not fill, the repetitions were not numerous, and Gisippus, with all its acknowledged merit, remains no longer on the actinglist. During Mr. Macready's engage ment in Dublin, in the early part of the summer of 1842, Gisippus was the first novelty, but was only acted twice. Those who came admired and applauded, and the papers were lavish of their praise, but the most substantial indications of success, full houses, were reserved for another opportunity. Yet many a play of much inferior pretensions has crammed a theatre to the ceiling, and commanded a lasting attraction.

It has been laid down as an axiom in theatricals, that good plays generally succeed, and bad ones are usually unsuccessful. There are, however, so many exceptions to this general rule, that success cannot with propriety be considered as the criterion of merit. Many plays offend the judicious few while they gratify the million, and vicé versa. Dennis, writing above a hundred-and-fifty years ago, in a treatise called The Impartial Critic," observes "To say that a play is good because it pleases the generality of an audience is absurd. Before a play can be concluded to be good, because it pleases, we ought to consider who is pleased by it-they who understand, or they who do not. They who understand! Alas! they are but few. He who writes to the many at present, writes only to them, and his works are sure never to survive his admirers. But he who writes to the knowing few at present, writes to the race of mankind in all succeeding ages." Holcroft, in the advertisement prefixed to his comedy of The Vindictive Man, which was condemned in representation, says

"It is published with no hope of deriving profit, but to afford any person, who shall be so disposed, an opportu nity to inquire how far it merits the oblivion to which it was consigned by the audience." He adds, that "a revisal of the public sentences passed at our theatres on pieces approved and

condemned, might greatly promote the progress of good taste."

A few examples of the caprice of audiences, as regards the acceptance or rejection of different plays, may illustrate the question more convincingly than argument. Otway's Don Carlos is a poor tragedy in rhyme, but it was infinitely more applauded, and better followed for many years, than either The Orphan, or Venice Preserved. A coarse lampoon by Rochester, written at the time in his "Trial of the Poets for the Bays," attests this extraordinary success of a piece with very little merit. The Provoked Wife was a failure, and Congreve's Way of the World, his best comedy, was coldly received. The Distressed Mother, a weak translation of Racine's Andromaque, kept the stage with popularity for more than a hundred and twenty years. The Wonder of Mrs. Centlivre, one of the best comedies in the language, was only acted six times the first season, and was completely laid aside after the second. It only became a favourite when Garrick assumed Don Felix in 1756, since which its attraction has never declined, if well performed. Jones's Earl of Essex superseded Banks's and Brooke's, although inferior to either. Douglas was rejected by Garrick, and when afterwards produced at Covent Garden, commanded only nine repetitions. Yet it is one of the select few destined for immortality. The Minor was utterly condemned in Dublin, but subsequently received with immense applause at the Haymarket. Cymon, a poor operatic piece, met with great success, while a revival of Ben Jonson's Silent Woman proved a failure. Cobb's opera of The Haunted Tower was acted above eighty times during the two first seasons, and now would fail to command a single audience. Towards the conclusion of the piece, the Baron of Oakland enters with his sword drawn, and some old armour ridiculously put on. The low comedian, to whom the part is assigned, always makes the most of this. We have seen Dowton descend to the dis

reputable mummery. Mrs. Cowley seems to allude to this stage business, when she says in her preface to the "Town before You"-" In a popular picce a favourite actor, holding a huge sword in his left hand, and making awkward passes with it, charms the audience, and brings down such ap

plauses as the bewitching dialogue of Farquhar pants for in vain.' Shadwell, in his preface to "The Humorist," says "The rabble of little people are pleased with Jack Pudding, and the rabble of fine people are more pleased with the trifles and fripperies of a play, or the trappings and ornaments of nonsense, than with all the wit in the world." The opinion would apply now as justly as in the reign of Charles II. A miserable opera called The Woodman, written by the Rev. Bate Dudley, music by Shield, ran up wards of thirty nights. Speculation, one of Reynolds's worst comedies, was acted thirty-six times, and The Castle Spectre drew forty-seven crowded houses during the first season. It is still on the living list, and generally comes forth at Christmas to usher in the humours of the pantomime. Howard Payne's cento from many plays, which he called The Tragedy of Brutus, met with a great success, entirely owing to the powerful acting of Edmund Kean. It had a run of fifty-two nights, and for a time completely retrieved the failing exchequer of the theatre. Paul Pry was acted fortyone times during the season of 1825, in which it was first produced at the Haymarket, and about seventy-three in the next. After this let us be silent as to success being a fair criterion of merit. We could go on multiplying instances, but enough have been adduced.

The leading (perhaps the only important) defect in Gisippus lies in the utter insignificance of the heroine, and the total want of female interest. The language is highly poetical, the versification fervid, harmonious, and expressive; there is abundance of highlywrought passion naturally depicted, and enough of incident, while the construction of the play is essentially dramatic. But the action centres too exclusively in one character. Fulvius is a good second, but Sophronia is re

duced almost to a nonentity, particularly in the latter portion of the drama. This is a mistake in a young author which practice would have rectified, had the opportunity been afforded. Admitting the errors and crudities of inexperience, it would be difficult in the whole range of the English drama to produce so good a play from any other writer at the same period of youth. It is much to be regretted, that the mind which was capable of conceiving and completing Gisippus at the unripe age of twenty, did not meet at once with fostering encouragement in the line to which it was at first so strongly turned. If Shakspeare's early plays had been rejected, the world, in all probability, would not have possessed those rare models of his maturer genius, which stand alone on an unapproachable elevation, and have never been equalled by any uninspired pen.

In concluding this paper, it is necessary to correct two or three preceding omissions and mistakes. Mrs. Lefanu, sister of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, was the authoress of a good and successful comedy, entitled The Sons of Erin, acted by the Drury-lane company at the Lyceum, and afterwards at their new theatre, in 1812. Amongst Leonard Macnally's dramas should have been included an opera called The Tornado, produced at Crow-street, in Dublin, in 1819, but only acted three times, the last being the author's night. Maturin's Renegade was brought forward in Edinburgh, in 1831, under the management of Mr. W. Murray, who obtained a copy through Sir Walter Scott. The play was repeated nine times, the last performance being for the benefit of the widow and family of the author. Murray at first informed his public that the Renegade had "never been acted on any stage," but withdrew the announcement when he found that it had been anticipated in Dublin. J. W. C.

him, forming the wing of the line of battle, was the third one, under the command of General Perrone. On the right, under the command of General Durando, was posted the brigade of Aosta, supported by two battalions of the queen; and the position was further strengthened by nature, and by a large canal running in front, on which stood a massive building, the Villa Citadella. A short distance from the town of Novara, at San Mazzaro, was formed, in deep columns, the division commanded by the Duke of Genoa, aided by having the advantage of several guns; while further onwards, to defend the bank of the river Terdopio, was posted the Lombard Dragoons, and several battalions, under the immediate command of General Saloroli.

Towards the small town of Olengo, a short distance beyond San Mazzaro, Porro and the Baron pursued their journey. On their arrival there, they found a small body of Lombard volunteers strongly posted, and of which the command had been delegated to the Baron Pinaldi. The arrival of Porro and the Baron was greeted by that small and compact band of cavalry with loud vivas and shouts of "Viva l'Italia! Viva il Ré!" The whole of that small body was composed of young men of noble birth, the most part of them members of the order of the Vengatori. It was a noble sight, indeed, to gaze upon them, and know they were all brought there animated by one sole hope, one single feeling-the pure and holy love of country. had every man that day been filled with the same indomitable energy and spirit had not the treachery of the Republican party betrayed the high and chivalrous King, who had risked his all at the shrine of Patriotism — a different tale might be recorded, and that day have been, not loaded with disastrous and fatal evils, but full of brave and glorious results. Alas! for the hour when Italy too readily gave ear to the vain dreams of wild theorists, whose only ambition was their own selfish and personal aggrandizement: passion, vanity, the aim; ruin, disorder, the end!

Ah!

After carefully inspecting the small body under the command of the Baron, Pinaldi and Porro determined on reconnoitering the country beyond Olengo. Directly they had refreshed themselves with a hasty breakfast, they

started on their perilous expedition, to gain whatever news they could of the movements of the enemy. In silence, for a time, they pursued their journey towards Garbayna, keeping a careful look over the fairy plains before them, which soon were to become scenes of desolation and misery.

"I know not how it is, Porro," exclaimed the Baron, breaking the silence; "I have over me a feeling of depression I cannot account for. May it not be, is my earnest prayer, the forerunner of misfortune."

"I, too, since I became assured of the positive orders given to General Ramorino by the Commander-in-chief to guard carefully the road to La Cava, and which I discovered yesterday he had most shamefully neglected to do, have the same dismal foreboding of evil. Before my mind's eye comes a shadow

a gloom a doubt; treachery has been at work, casting around us its omens of sinister events."

"Too true, I fear, are your prognostications. I have learnt, however, and it may be a satisfaction for you to know the fact, General Ramorino has been recalled, and General Fanti appointed to the command of the fifth division. What a misfortune that our noble monarch, yielding to the storms of the Republican faction, appointed to so important a post their idol, Ramorino, who, we had too many reasons to believe, was more friendly to the Austrian than to his country. However, the fault has been repaired; and let us hope our evil foreboding will vanish at the sight of the Austrian barbarians; and our deeds show we are worthy to uphold the standard of Italy's freedom."

"You are wrong, Pinaldi; the treachery of Ramorino is almost irreparable. I allude not to the terrible disadvantage we will fight under, nor to the loss sustained in not checking the Austrian sooner on his hitherto triumphant march, but to the anxiety, the doubt that has spread amongst the Sardinian ranks, of treachery being at work. The army will no longer fight with the same valour and confidence in their own strength, whilst brother disbelieves in the honour of his brother."

The two companions had now passed Garbayna, and yet not a sign of the enemy appeared in sight. Turning to the right, they rode towards the steep