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iriv day or nour » or remained under punishment for their lives , or for terms . Nobody had ever told him ¦ what society was , —what law was , —nor , of course , his duty to society and under the law . He owned that he could not sleep at night , nor settle his mind in the daytime , for listening for the footsteps of some one coming to let him out . It was at once clear what ¦ was the best mercy in such a case . The lady had a long conversation with him ; and , by the time it was done , he was convinced that as he was guilty , by his oWn admission , and actually undergoing the
punishment to which he was sentenced , there was not the slig htest ground for expecting any change before the exp iration of his term . She put the question plainly to him whether he did not see this ; and , pale as was his face , and quivering as were his lips , he manfully answered " Yes . " He wished her to understand , however , that , while he admitted the act , and that he knew it to be wrong , in a vague sort of way , he had not seen it in a serious light at the time . Here were so many horses , probably "belonging to
well-to-do people , and he was so very much in want of one , that he had not thought the exchange a great tin . He believed , too , that he had had some idea of returning the stolen horse , some day . Still he certainly knew he was wrong , because he would not have done it if anybody had been within sight . He had felt very uncomfortable , too , —unlike anything he had ever felt before . He had turned twice , before he rode away ; but the old mare was lying down , — much as if she would never get up again ; so he
made off . " And this was the first time , " said the lady ; " your first serious offence , you say . I wonder what you think now of being driven to it in such a way . " Reuben looked up . " Some of the quarrels at home , " said the lady , " seem , to have come from your insisting that you were a man , and would be treated like one , while your
stepmother would have it that you were a child . You are nineteen , are not you ?" " Nineteen last Candlemas . " " You insist on being a man at home , and then you let a woman ' s tongue drive you to do wrong . Is that so very manly ?" Reuben ' s head sank as suddenly as if he had been shot .
Here were two new ideas for him to ponderenough for one time . As for the lady , she had to ponder the strangeness of their being new . So they parted . The next time she entered the cell Reuben started up eagerly , for he was full of tilings to Bay . He looked wonderfully better . He now slept well , and could settle his mind to his business in the day . When the lady asked him how he got on now he answered that he made seven shoes n-wcek , and it was not a bad measure of his welfare . Ite had some
"very odd questions to ask about law and punishment , and . society , and a very striking observation to make on his own case . He was g lad that he was caught "when he was , for it really was so very easy to take that horse that he thought tnat , if pressed by difliculty at any time it was more likely that he would have gone to the same place for another Hood horse than for the old grey mare ; and then lie should have gone " deeper in . " Another idea was that lie had better go home , when free , and stay by his father . He did not think lie
could ever let him know what had happened ; and he would not venture to siiy that he could hear with his wtepmother : but perhaps she would not think him it l > oy by that time . lie would be sorry to bring disgrace on his father ; but , if nobody know what bad hu ppened , and if lie went , to be side from temptation , perhaps The htdy filled up the . puu . se of doubt . She thought lie li ' id better jjo home , — hoped ho mi » ht lift , up his head again there , in time but strongly ; ulvi . sed his telling his father everything . Tliis svas the one tiling which he felt eeitiiin he never could do . The thi . nl time the lady went , Reuben w : niun soft , and seiious , and gentle mood for which there was iihuml nnt reason . The chaplain had told him , two diyn before , what nobody el . se but the lady was to know , that , ( lie anxious father had privately traced his hoii , and found out the whole matter , of whieh neither neighbours , brothers and si » ter « , not Htep-mother knew a word . The father hud written to tlie clmjili » iii ( not venturing to come , for ( ear of observation ) , mid had implored him to tell Reuben that lui did not bolievo him wicked , though he had done a wicked
thing ; that he knew he had been hard-driven at home ; that he begged him to bear his punishment patiently , and when it was over to come straight home ; that he should never hear a word of reproach from him , and should be protected from ill-treatment by any body else ; and he might make a good and happy life of it yet . " Well , what do you mean to do ?' - inquired the lady .
" Go straight home , ' he answered , with sparkling eyes . "I'll see if I can stand a woman ' s tongue , and . . . But I said so once before , " he continued , in a saddened tone ; " and I couldn ' t stand it . And then , there ' s another thing—I shall have a heavy secret all my life . I ' m glad father knows it ; but , for his sake , nobody else ever must . I never carried a secret before , and this will be a heavy one . " The lady thought that it might be useful as a
warning , and , if taken cheerfully in that way , and as a thing that could not be helped , it would not be very burdensome . But now , and in subsequent interviews , Reuben ' s conclusion , from every point of view of his own affairs , was— " First thing , when I get out , I'll go straight home . " And the lady ' s doctrine j which won its way into his mind by degrees , was that his safety was to be sought , not in place and circumstances , but in a renewed mind .
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-o-LOV K I N A M A ' / . 1 ,. Madame de Stael ' s icstl . ss vanity once prompted her to ask Talleyrand wheiher he thought Napoleon had more esprit than she had . The diplomatic , wit replied , " Maritime , I'ilmpireur a autant d * esprit . nv voits , nitti . H pous et . es jilns intre / mle . ' 1 he Kinperor is perhaps , as clever as you , but you have greater intrepitlilij ! " The mat is perd ct . I thought of it the
other night when listening to Love in a Maze ,. Mr . Boiircieault , if not the Hint of comic writers , in assuredly one of the most , intrepid . lie carries a comedy " Daiiton earrieil a revolutionary meiinure , aver de . l ' auriaro . Relying on the stupidity of the public , and on itf * known preference for " old familiar face . * , " lie dispenses with the labour of invention , taken I lit * cliiiracteiH , like his dri'Hues , from tlie theatrical r < pertory , reproduce *! neon oh and uituatioiiH that have become heirlooms , and dot's not disdain to borrow
jokes frqrn such wellknown books as Bacon 8 Essays And he succeeds , the lucky dog ! the intrepid genius Palmamquimeruitferat , \ et himsucceed who deserves He succeeds by sheer intrepidity . London Assurance is one of the most successful comedies of modern times . Yet every character , every incident in that comedy is unmistakeftbly traceable tosome other play or plays . All Mr . Bourcicault ' s share in it is smart dialogue , and the intrepidity which can thus dexterously seize hold of stereotyped materials and boldly offer them again as new .
The same qualities of liveliness ( wit and animal spirits ) and intrepidity cause the success of Love in a > Maze , Give him good actors , and he will keep the house in a state of merriment at the smallest possible expenditure of invention . He does so in this instance . It would be idle to tell him that a widow making a " dead set " at a reluctant bachelor whom she formerly jilted , and now once more enchained , is a somewhat stale contrivance . Stale ! what of that ? Am I to be cudgelling my brains for novelties when the old succeed as well ? Stale ! so little do I care for that objection that I will employ this situation twice in the same piece , and the audience shall applaud me ! And he does it ! And the audience does applaud ! None but the brave deserve success ! He knows that if
Mrs . Winstanley , as a gay laughing widow , sets her cap at the amorous but recalcitrant Keeley , the audience which delighted in Lady Gay Spanker will be sure to applaud . He knows also that it is as " safe as the bank" to place Mrs . Keeley and Harley on the Btage together , as pert soubrette and lugubrious servingman , she coaxing and wheedling him so pleased to be coaxed and wheedled . With four such characters the " comedy " is complete . All I have now to consider is a little " serious interest " which will employ the Keans , and the piece is done ! Let me see , the Keans—oh ! man and wife in a state of
misunderstanding : loving each other to distraction , butbelieving in each other ' s indifference ; yes ! that ' s it to a " t !" A Fop may be thrown in for Wigan , and a stage fop is to be had any day without much invention , stap my vitals ! Observe that these characters , chosen with such , wise intrepidity by our dramatist , are not only the common property of the stage , but are by him left as he found them . He has added nothing . Why add to what has already been found successful ? Why gild refined gold , paint the lily , and add humanity to a lay figure ? It is believed indeed by pedantic old quidnuncs who look upon the drama as literature , and
imagine that the comic writer has a serious and laborious , no less than a noble task , that observation of life—the life which moves upon the world's stageportraiture of character—invention and profound art are all required to produce a comedy . But the quidnuncs , who regards them ? What do we care about Life , when we have the Stage : what , after all , is the World compared with Inchbald's British 'Theatre ? Invention ? A grand thing , no doubt , but so rare ! Observation ? Good again ; but so difficult , requiiing first the experience , and then the faculty ! Character ? Difficult , difficult ! Art ? Truth ? Nature ? Really such demands are exorbitant ! Robert Macaire , in
one of Phihppon ' s admirable caricatures , is represented as a speculator to whom eome unhappy shareholder is mildly suggesting that he should like "to see the accounts . " " Accounts , "' replies Robert Macaire , " Monsieur , you must comprehend that from the moment you demand accounts commerce becomes impossible ! " Alas , yea ! le commerce devient impossible under such conditions , and I feel that comedies are in this respect like commerce : I must not make impertinent demands ! Art , Truth , Nature , Invention are accounts which no shareholder must call for !
Besides , what does it matter to me if the public like such pieces as Love in q , Maze—and I am bound to say that I was there on the third night and found a full house really applauding it—is not that enough ? No popular writer should be Heverely handled for his faults , because the fault really lies in the people who encourage him . Martial boldly taxes the Roman public with his popularity : " You , oh , reader ! are the cause of my success ; if Rome delights in my not very proper verses , it is boeiinne you Romans rend and quote them " : — " Heria cum ponaim , quod de'loctantia mnlim Scriliorc ; tu cauasu ea , lector amice , inilii Qui lcuiH , ct totu cuntuH men curmina Roma . "
Mr . Ikmrcicault may say the Home to his public j but perhaps he prefers being silent . The fact ih » however , that only dull dogs like myself who have imbibed fooliwh prejudices about the drama , and who fancy that invention , observation . &o ., are requisite in comeditfH , raise a word of protent a ^ ainnt Love in a Maze : the pit is pleufjed , and after that criticism is a iiicro luxury . But , leaving tho quidnuncs and their exorbitant deiniuulB , I would HU ge » t to Mr . Mnurcicnult that even from his own point of view l ^ ovp in 0 ) iazo is very deficient \ n ^ ubHUnce an < l action . Dull it seldom is , but it is rarely interesting . Thp story is tqq thin *> 'd meagre , MP « ci » HjF a * oni ffcls throughout a nen « e of it * untruth . Rupert * nd Lucy could not liuvp MulTored that misunderstanding to continue
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March 15 , 1851 . ] ©!) * VLeatieX . %$$
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THE PLAINS OF LOMBARDY . Heavily hang the purple grapes By fair Lake Garda ' s waveless side ; Above , in slow ethereal march , Battalion'd clouds in order ride . Oh , Italy , dear Italy ! Did thy sun but light ih . ee free , What earth , what sky , were so divine , So full of majesty as thine ! Fading away to formless mist , In grand long aisles thy mountains stand ; The flame-lit trails of broad-leav'd vine Cling round their poles on either hand , Or , over stones of warm grey wall , Droopingly hang like maids forlorn ; A foreground rich with white church-towers , And feather'd spires of Indian corn . Oh , Italy , dear Italy ! Often we dreamt of thee unknown , — A far-off home , a painter ' s heaven , A heritage the poet ' s own . How have thy saints more holy seem'd Since we beheld the earth they trod ! Where Leonard work'd and Dante dream'd , And Raphael's thoughts were sent of God . The day is dying ; midst the blue A molten sun sinks slowly down ; The earth is black , the purple hills Like shadows of the heaven are thrown . Blind with the glory , mute we stand ; The glorious plains now lost in light , And shortly twilight ' s tender veil Ib lifted by the silver ni ^ ht . When we afar shall think of this , IEow glorious will the memory be ! A golden dream for northern nights , A daily prayer that thou wert free ! — A vision of beauty cheering uh , Who labour under paler skies ; 71 fa i / d'ori be with then in . the day Wlun . thnu and all tin / sons arise . . 15 .
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Leader (1850-1860), March 15, 1851, page 253, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1874/page/17/
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