Thou had'st found no honey on my tongue ;-Pauline.' 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 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 But oh, the wings once scorched,—the brightest star 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 He kneels to me! Now grows my breathing thick, Sir W. Fondlove.-My gentle bride! Lo, an example to mankind I set, Of amorous emprise ; and who should thrive To live thy duteous slave. My queen thou art, Most bright; the which denied, no sun doth rise. 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. Widow G.-Why come you hither, sir, in trim like this? 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! 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? Sir W.-That you are jealous of me? Sir W. To very lunacy? Widow G.-To hear him. Sir W.-Do you forget what happened yesterday? 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, 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! 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. 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 Eug.-Thou didst !—What have I done? Wherein deserved this?-What has been my offence? Eug.-I'll swear it!-I have asked the heart 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? Ask me no more-Eugene, be generous! [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 |