Thou had'st found no honey on my tongue ;-Pauline.'
That is not love.

Pauline.-Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince!

"Tis true I might not at the first been won,

Save through the weakness of a flattered pride;

But now!-Oh! trust me,-could'st thou fall from power
And sink

Melnotte. As low as that poor gardener's son

Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?

Pauline.-Even then,

Methinks thou would'st be only made more dear
By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep
Is woman's love! We are like the insects, caught
By the poor glittering of a garish flame !

But oh, the wings once scorched,—the brightest star
Lures us no more; and by the fatal light
We cling till death!

We can feel no hesitation in deciding on the merits of such writing as this.

Of a different grade, but of the same kind, is the following extract from another dramatist of the playwright school. Bourcicault is however far lower in the scale, and has no spark of that temperament which enables the other to write very elegant verses.

"Meddle. (To Max.)—I have something very particular to communicate. Max.-Can't listen at present.

[Exit, L.

Med. (To Dazzle and Young Courtly.)—I can afford you information, which I

Daz.-Oh, don't brother!

Young C.-Go to the devil!

}

[Exeunt, L.

Med. Now, I have no hesitation in saying that is the height of ingratitude.-Oh-Mr. Cool-can you oblige me?

[Presents his account.

Cool. Why, what is all this?

Med. Small account versus you—to giving information concerning the last census of the population of Oldborough and vicinity, six and eight pence. Cool. Oh, you mean to make me pay for this, do you?

Med.—Unconditionally.

Cool. Well, I have no objection—the charge is fair-but remember, I am a servant on board wages,—will you throw in a little advice gratis—if I give you the money?

Med.-Ahem!—I will.

Cool.-A fellow has insulted me. I want to abuse him-what terms are actionable?

Med. You may call him anything you please, providing there are no wit

nesses.

Cool. Oh, may I? [Looks round.] Then, you rascally, pettifogging scoundrel!

Med.-Hallo!

Cool. You mean-dirty-disgrace to your profession.

While we are on comparisons, we will select part of a scene from another dramatist, who, a few years since, was the most popular of his class. Sheridan Knowles has so much bluntness and directness of purpose about his plays, that at first we are almost persuaded he is a dramatist, and we candidly admit he is undoubtedly the best playwright of his day; but his appropriations are so extensive as to deprive him of the right of being called a very fertile or lavish writer, and his dialogues are too often written under the influence of imitativeness, or memory, to entitle him to the praise of being an original one.

[Enter Widow Green, L. supported by her Bridesmaids, and followed by

Amelia.]

"Widow G.-I cannot raise my eyes-they cannot bear

The beams of his, which, like the sun's, I feel
Are on me, though I see them not, enlightening
The heaven of his young face; nor dare I scan
The brightness of his form, which symmetry,
And youth and beauty in enriching vie.

He kneels to me! Now grows my breathing thick,
As though I did await a seraph's voice,
Too rich for mortal ear.

Sir W. Fondlove.-My gentle bride!
Widow G.-Who's that? who speaks to me?
Sir W.-These transports check.

Lo, an example to mankind I set,

Of amorous emprise ; and who should thrive
In love, if not Love's soldier, who doth press
The doubtful siege, and will not own repulse.
Lo! here I tender thee my fealty,

To live thy duteous slave. My queen thou art,
In frowns or smiles, to give me life or death.
Oh, deign look down upon me! In thy face
Alone I look on day; it is my sun

Most bright; the which denied, no sun doth rise.
Shine out upon me, my divinity!

My gentle Widow Green, my wife to be,

My love, my life, my drooping, blushing bride.

Widow G.-Sir William Fondlove, you're a fool.
Sir W.-A fool?

Widow G.-Why come you hither, sir, in trim like this?
Or rather, why at all?

Sir W.-Why come I hither?

To marry thee.

Widow G.-The man will drive me mad!

Sir William Fondlove, I'm but forty, sir,

And you are sixty, seventy, if a day;

At least you look it, sir. I marry you!
When did a woman wed her grandfather?
Sir W.-Her brain is turned.

Widow G.-You're in your dotage, sir,

And yet a boy in vanity! But know

Yourself from me: you're old and ugly, sir.

Sir W.-Do you deny you are in love with me?
Widow G.-In love with thee!

Sir W.-That you are jealous of me?
Widow G.-Jealous!

Sir W. To very lunacy?

Widow G.-To hear him.

Sir W.-Do you forget what happened yesterday?
Widow G.-Sir William Fondlove!-

Sir W.-Widow Green, fair play!

Are you not laughing? Is it not a jest?

Do you believe me seventy to a day?

Do I look it? Am I old and ugly? Why,

Why do I see those favors in the hall,

These ladies dressed as bridesmaids, thee as bride,
Unless to marry me?

Widow G.-He is coming, sir,

Shall answer you for me!"

In order to bring the acting dramatist to a general test we call the attention of our readers to a scene from "Love's Sacrifice," a play by John Lovell.

SCENE II-A Gallery in Elmore's House.

[Enter Margaret, looking fearfully behind her.]

"Mar.—I had nearly ruined all-I must repair it!
To flight! To flight from him I love the best,
To him I loathe the deepest-and alone—
Before my father can suspect my purpose.
He'll stay me else-and then he 's lost!
Eugene !

Oh, cruel accident!

[Going, starts and stops.

[Endeavoring to retire.

[Enter Eugene.]

Eug.-Margaret, I sought you.

Mar.-Not now-another time-to-morrow

Eug.-Now!

For every moment is an age of torture.

Is this your writing?

[Shows a letter.

Mar. (Faintly, and averting her head.)—Yes.
Eug. You answer me

Without examination.

Mar. (As before.)—It is mine.

Eug.-Own not so lightly to the cruel lines

You do not know their purport. They would tell me
That you disclaim the vows so lately made,-
Call back the love bestowed but yesterday,-
And bid me part from you for ever.
Mar.-Yes-'twas thus I wrote.

Eug.-Thou didst !—What have I done?

Wherein deserved this?-What has been my offence?
Mar.-Nothing.

Eug.-I'll swear it!-I have asked the heart
That hung upon thee with such doting love,—
The zeal that followed, worshipping thy steps,-
The faith that stored its all of happiness
Under thy keeping-I have asked them all,
And all declare me guiltless.

Mar. (Aside.)-I must go—

I dare not listen, or I shall betray

Eug.-Oh, hadst thou died, I would have wept thee, then,

With tears that, amber-like, should have embalmed

Thy memory, till they and it were one.

But thus to lose thee!-thus to find thee false

To vows-to oaths

Mar.-Oh, no! not false, Eugene!

[Crosses.

Eug.-Not false !—what art thou, then?
Mar.-Wretched-most wretched!

Ask me no more-Eugene, be generous!
Think me unhappy, but not criminal."

[Then suddenly.

After these specimens let the reader delight himself with a scene from "The Merry Wives of Windsor," and he will then have at one sensation the distinction between nature and artifice.

We conclude our review of acted dramatists by giving two extracts from " 'Mirovitch;" a tragedy, by an American author; the subject is Russian, and the plot turns upon the emancipation from