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1851.

"He either fears his fate too much,

Or his desert is small,

Who dares not put it to the touch

To win or lose it all."

And much as Ford's effort is below his teacher's, it is undoubtedly a very creditable composition.

We have now come to a period in Ford's life when the whole current of his mind must have undergone a complete change. Heretofore his compositions may generally be noted for their solemn and serious cast; but the only two remaining products of his pen are of a totally different nature; more in the style of some of Fletcher's best comedies, with any of which they will favorably compare. The first of these is styled The Fancies, Chaste and Noble," printed in 1638. In the prologue Ford assures us that

"in it is shown Nothing but what our author knows his own, Without a learned theft."

The extreme singularity of the plot has called forth some invidious censure, inasmuch as it withdraws the attention from the general style and execution of the composition itself. It strikes us that an equally sensible objection would be found against the Tempest, or the Midsummer Night's Dream. We think that a critical examination will decide that if any fault is to be found, it must be with the plot per se, on account of its improbability. Some of the passages scattered throughout are so admirably adapted for quotation, that we cannot resist giving one :—

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Ford evinces that his skill in the delineation
of the female character had not deserted
him to the last. The parting scene of Au-
ria and his wife in the first act; his alterca-
tion with the friend of his heart in the third;
the arraignment of Adurni in the fourth,
and the reconciliation of Spinella and Auria
pages
of
in the fifth, would not disgrace the
any of his dramatic contemporaries." The
gist of the plot is briefly, that whilst in en-
joyment of all temporal dignities, the hus-
band can find no happiness until his wife,
whom he falsely suspected to be unchaste, has
returned to him with proofs of her innocence.

The following is Auria's advice to Spinella, on his departure for the wars:

"The steps

Young ladies tread left to their own discretion,
However wisely printed, are observed
And construed as the lookers-on presume:
Point out thy ways then in such even paths,
As thine own jealousies from others' tongues
May not intrude a guilt, tho' undeserved.
Admit of visits as of physic forced,
Not to procure health, but for safe prevention
Against a growing sickness; in thy use
of time and of discourse be found so thrifty,
As no remembrance may impeach thy rest;
Appear not in a fashion that can prompt
The gazer's eye, or holla to report;
Some widow'd neglect of hand, some value;
In recreations be both wise and free;
Live still at home, home to thyself, howe'er
Enriched with noble company; remember
A woman's virtue in her life-time writes
The epitaph all covet on their tombs.
In short, I know thou never wilt forget
Whose wife thou art, nor how upon thy lips
Thy husband at his parting sealed this kiss.
No more."

This passage has many elegant points; the anxious care with which the husband dictates the proper course of conduct to be pursued by his wife, is admirably drawn. Perhaps, however, if husbands, in that as

She was once an innocent, As free from spot as the blue face of heaven, Without a cloud in't; she is now as sullied As is that canopy when mists and vapors Divide it from our sight, and threaten pestilence." In 1639 the "Lady's Trial" was pub-well as the present day, treated their wives lished; akin in its nature to the last, but both in plot and in composition infinitely superior. As a whole it is to our mind equal to any thing of the kind that ever Fletcher penned. Mr. Weber says of it: "There are scenes which may be read by the most sagacious critic, and defy the severest scrutiny. The characters of the noble Auria, the precise and scrupulous Aurelio, the discontented Malfato, and the ni, are well contrasted with the strutting Guzman, the conceited Fulgoso, and the roaring Benatzi. In Castanna and Spinella

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Adur

more like human beings, and less slaves or pets, who were withdrawn from the domestic influence by a day's absence, there would be considerably less family unhappiness in this world. The following outburst, in which Malfato works up his personal spleen against the lord Adurni, into a fancied slight upon his social position, has been much and deservedly admired :

"I am
A gentleman, free-born; I never wore
The rags of any great man's looks, nor fed
Upon their after-meals; I never crouched
Unto the offal of an office promised,

Reward for long attendance, and then miss'd.
I read no difference betwixt this huge,
This monstrous big word lord, and gentleman,
More than the title sounds; for aught I learn,
The latter is as noble as the first,

I'm sure more ancient."

Of

It may not be amiss to mention here, that there is nothing more extant of which John Ford was the undoubted author. the "Sun's Darling," a Masque by Ford and Dekker, and of the "Witch of Edmonton," a tragedy by Ford, Rowley, and several others, we forbear saying any thing, since it is impossible to discriminate correctly and accurately as to what precise portions came from our auther's hand; and with the others engaged in composing them, we have nothing here to do. Nevertheless, we may state that they are very meritorious productions. The plot of the former is ingenious and the language beautiful; the latter is founded on the belief so prevalent throughout Christendom during the seventeenth century. Nor must we omit to notice the numerous beautiful little songs which are scattered through the preceding plays. Some of them are perfect gems, and will recall very forcibly to the reader's mind similar verses which we meet in Shakspeare and Jonson. We give three or four as speci

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PENTHEA'S SONG.

Oh, no more, no more! too late

Sighs are spent; the burning tapers Of a life as chaste as fate,

Pure as are unwritten papers,
Are burned out: no heat, no light
Now remains; 'tis ever night.

Love is dead; let lovers' eyes,
Locked in endless dreams,
Th' extremes of all extremes,
Ope no more, for now love dies,
Now love dies, implying

Love's martyrs must be ever, ever dying!"

A DIRGE ON CALANTHA'S DEATH. "Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease, Can but please

Outward senses, when the mind

Is not troubled, or by peace refined.
Crowns may flourish and decay,
Beauties shine, but fade away.
Youth may revel, yet it must
Lie down in a bed of dust.
Earthly honors flow and waste,
Time alone doth change and last.
Sorrows mingled with contents prepare
Rest for care;

Love only reigns in death: though art
Can find no comfort for a Broken Heart."

We have thus briefly noticed all that remains of Ford's compositions. Other plays he was undoubtedly the author of, but they were never printed, and the manuscripts are not extant. Every thing connected with our author seems to have hazarded existence; his very death, even, is unknown, when, where or how? There is good reason, however, to suppose that he did not survive much after 1640; but nothing positive can be adduced on this point. The tales told of his contests with Ben Jonson, etc., are at present received with no credit. They are undoubtedly forgeries of the last century; Malone and Campbell regard them in this light. Ford's compositions are remarkable for the extreme delicacy with which the female character, particularly when depressed by adverse circumstances, is portrayed. His melodious and polished versification also commands our praise. Undoubtedly, he is as much inferior, as an author, to Ben Jonson and Fletcher, as they were to Shakspeare. But with Middleton, Rowley and Massinger, comparisons may be instituted. by Ford's admirers without fear of the consequences. His style has much less vigor and masculine energy than Massinger's, but yet possesses far more sweetness and polish. In fine, we may conclude this critique in the eloquent language of the author of Elia: "Ford was of the first order of poets. He sought for sublimity not by parcels in metaphors or visible images, but directly where she has her full residence in the heart of man; in the actions and sufferings of the greatest minds. There is a grandeur of the soul above mountains, seas, and the elements. Even in the poor perverted reason of Giovanni and Annabella [see the play first noticed in this article] we discern traces of that fiery particle, which, in the irregular starting from out of the road of beaten action, discovers something of a right line even in obliquity, and shows hints of an improvable greatness in the lowest descents and degradations of our nature."

THE TRENCHARD PROPERTY.

"The manor, sir! what hath the manor done?
The house is an honest house of wood and stone;
And all the land's as free from taint or vice

As that which Adam walked in Paradise.
In man's own bosom doth the Tempter dwell;

There springs the crime, and there is felt the hell."-CRABBE.

CHAPTER I.

iest days had the mansion acknowledged a wealthier owner than Stephen Trenchard, with his hundred negroes and ten thousand acres of fertile hill and bottom. Nor was the old man, as might be suspected, a miser; the scores whom his bounty had assisted defend his name from such a stigma.

In the State militia, Trenchard had attained the rank of Colonel; and if an indomitable will gives claim to martial titles, he deserved them. With an irascible temperament, he possessed that usual counterprise, easy placability; yet it was observed that if his resentment in any case survived the first interval of quiet, it was apt to rankle ever after in his mind with a bitterness that admitted of no alleviation.

WITHIN sight of a road which constitutes the principal thoroughfare across one of the counties of Eastern Virginia, there was standing forty years ago a large frame mansion, an object of more than common notice to every traveller. A spacious portico, stretching along the front of the main building, sent its columns upward to the level of the eaves, for the support of the projecting gable and its heavy moulding; while on either side was a wing as high as the central structure, but sufficiently withdrawn to throw out the entrance in bold relief. The house, as we have said, was of frame, and, at the time to which we refer, a brilliant coat of ordinary whitewash covered the exterior of Fair and open in his dealings, whether of the lower story; but by way of contrast, all kindness or hostility, respected by his neighabove the sills of the second tier of windows bors, and affectionately cherished by his showed the natural hue of the yellow pop- slaves, to whom he was at once an imperious lar, only obscured here and there by dingy and an indulgent master, he might, with all relics of the paint which had been applied his riches, have deserved no more lengthy under ancient and very different auspices. tribute to his memory than I have already The beautiful slope which had once been a given, were it not for one or two incidents lawn was now a magnificent cabbage patch. in the latter part of his life. These I now Yonder, to the left, by the rivulet that strug-proceed to relate. The bare facts are themgles so gracefully through the grassy valley, selves sufficiently singular, and I shall not there had been a Grecian summer-house, attempt to add any sort of artificial interhalf embowered in trees; the site was now est. occupied by a pig-sty. In the room of the garden paling, which, as furnishing such convenient kindling-wood, had long since been converted into smoke and ashes, stood a huge but rickety worm fence. The only objects that exhibited no evidence of change were the solid wall of gray freestone inclosing the burial-place of the ancient family, and the noble willows that overshadowed each angle.

Poverty was not the excuse for these inroads of barbarism, for not even in its palm

On an evening in September, in the sixtyfourth year of Colonel Trenchard's age, he received information that one of his distant tobacco fields had been found very much injured by the cold of the preceding night, and every thing betokened a still heavier frost during that which was about to ensue. was anxious and vexed, and in consequence retired to bed sooner than usual. Though the crop threatened with destruction was of many thousand dollars' value, its danger may yet seem too trivial a matter to deserve re

He

vival; but all the particulars which we are now giving-many of them of much less apparent significance than the damage to the tobacco-were at that time revolved and investigated and discussed with an animation very different from any ordinary estimation of their importance. The old man slept uneasily, and finally awoke with a start like one whom the cares of the day haunt in his dreams. It must be mentioned here that he had been an energetic overseer of his negroes as long as his personal activity lasted, and that he retained even now the practice of blowing a horn at early day-break to awaken the household, and of afterwards taking note that his field hands at least started to their work in due season. On the morning we have referred to, Trenchard hastily dressed, lighted a candle, and, without looking at his watch to satisfy himself as to the hour, stepped into the passage at whose further extremity was a window opening in the direction of the quarters, and out of which he was accustomed to sound his blast. In this hall he met an old black man, who, having just ascended from the lower story, was on his way to his chamber in the attic.

"Heigho, marser! what fur wid de horn now?" exclaimed the servant.

"Why, to make you all get up, you blockhead!"

"Bless us, we's got a young marser instead of de old; he's gwine fur to make us work early, sure enough-He-he-he!"

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"What are you grinning for, Ichabod ?" "Why, look dar !"-they now stood before the window-"gwine to take moonlight for sunshine. See de moon jus' ris all red as young gal's lips-call dat day?" And Ichabod, bending nearly double, pointed to the eastern horizon with a tremulous, skinny finger.

"You're right, you're right, old boy. The moon rose last night, by the almanac, at ten minutes past two, so it can't be much after three now. But what makes you a-stirring at this time?"

"Why, I hearn the sheep-bells jingle over beyint the orchard, and so

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"The mischief you did! Those confounded curs at it again? But you didn't go alone, did you ?"

"No, Sir. I wuk Dick, and we went over, and sure there we did find the dogs makin' 'struction."

"How many were there?" "Three; one ob 'em a great big, shaggy, yaller fellow, most like Mister"

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"It was Sol Frazier's, I'll be bound." "Yes, dat's what I tink, Marser Steve," continued the negro. Well, we driv 'em off, and Dick killed one with a fence rail. But they'd done a sight of harm; de flock so big t'udder time sim now like a poor, 'spisable free nigger's. Out o' satisfaction, I counted dem dat was deceased. I skup de small heaps, tinking dey must be spring lambs, an' seed four dozen and a half. Dick says he counts upwards sixty in all. Howsomever, dere's a mortual loss and a mortual luck too, for de last new moon ris on my left shoulder. But Heaven save us !"

To account for honest Ichabod's exclamation, we must explain that his master, without attending to his concluding reflection, muttered rapidly to himself, "What! sixty of my prime lot gone! the best sheep in the country; not to be matched any where ! It's too much-it's too much. Why didn't you get up sooner and save them, you rascal?" This was to the astounded black; and then pealing forth a thundering oath, (we are sorry to say that Trenchard was not unfrequently guilty of profanity,) he hurled the candlestick that he carried violently against the floor.

The negro had nearly dropped his light in the effort to express his consternation fully by expanding both palms at once, but he fortunately retained self-possession enough to prevent the double loss. His master seemed to have relieved himself by this explosion of passion, and calmly taking the candle-stick from him, said:

"There, now, Ichabod, the moon's well up, and you can find your way to bed without a light. Go, and we'll talk more about it in the morning."

Thus speaking, he withdrew to his chamber, closed the door, and without extinguishing Ichabod's candle, which he placed on the bureau, or removing any part of his dress, threw himself upon the bed. The bedstead, old-fashioned and very high, stood in the middle of the apartment, and had on one side the convenience and almost necessity of a set of steps to ascend it. An hour or two after, Ichabod, who occupied the room immediately above, and who, like most old negroes, seemed to exist without sleep, heard a noise in his master's chamber as of a sud

den fall, and then a succession of slighter | house; you will find Dr. Middleton there; sounds which imagination could convert into ask him to come immediately." stamps upon the floor. He lay still awhile, but heard nothing; then he arose from his pallet soliloquizing: "Must be up; mought want to 'quire more 'bout dem sheep."

The moon gave sufficient light to enable him to descend the stairs without difficulty, but he found the passage more obscure. Groping his way along it, he at length reached the door of his master's room, and peering through the key-hole, perceived the candle still burning; but nothing more was visible, nor was there the slightest sound within. He waited several minutes listening attentively, but with no result. He knocked gently and spoke: "Marser!" then louder: "Marser!" Still no sound. Slumber so heavy as not to be broken by these calls could not, he thought, be disturbed by opening the door. Accordingly, turning the knob as quietly as the tremulousness of his fingers would permit, he thrust his head within.

To his horror, the old black saw Mr. Trenchard hanging by his neck from one of the bed-posts, apparently lifeless. Running up hastily he endeavored to raise the body and release it from the noose, but his strength was inadequate. He glanced wildly around, and seeing no cutting instrument within reach, rushed into the passage, shouting at the extent of his lungs: "Hallo! Hallo! Marser's hung-marser's dead! Helphelp-marser's dead!"

Then the faithful fellow hurried back to the chamber, and supported the body so far as in some measure to relieve the pressure upon the neck. His aged limbs were strained to the utmost, and broad drops of sweat bathed his forehead ere assistance came. But the interval, measured by the sluggish hands of the clock, was very brief; and persons, attracted by the cries which he continued to utter, ran to the spot from all parts of the house. Besides the negroes, came Mr. Mercer, a gentleman whose residence was some five miles off, and who had called at the house after Trenchard had retired to his chamber.

The rope was of course cut, and such restorative means used as suggested themselves at the instant.

Very soon an elderly lady, dressed in black, entered the apartment, and perceiving the state of Mr. Trenchard, addressed one of the servants: "Here, run, John, to Sally's

The boy returned in a few minutes, accompanied by Mr. Skinner, the overseer, and the Dr. Middleton referred to, a young man whose grave and quiet manner made him appear much older than he was. The skill of the physician and the assiduous efforts of the others were at length rewarded with symptoms of returning animation in the patient, who being removed to another apartment, opportunity was afforded to investigate the late event more particularly than urgent anxiety had before permitted.

Dr. Middleton commenced:

"So, Mr. Mercer, if I understood you aright, you think Col. Trenchard attempted suicide?"

"What else can I suppose? Yet Ichabod must possess more full information. Come, old man, tell us all about it.”

The negro narrated at much length all that he knew of the occurrences of the night.

"Then you think nobody else had a hand in this unfortunate business, and that your master tried to kill himself?"

"Sartain, Doctor, I does tink de debbel tuk de chance when he was 'plexed and bothered, and give him de rope to hang hisself with."

"Yet I cannot think it," said Middleton. "You would 'gree with me, sir," returned Ichabod, "if you'd seen the way his eyes did shine when he pitched the candle 'cross the passage. Thinks I to myself then, 'The Old Boy's in marser.' And then the way he sort of laughed when he tuk my candle and told me to go to bed was wuss than de eye-glitter. And 'sides, who else could a done it; who would a done it?"

"This is indeed a hard question, Ichabod. But, Mr. Mercer, I should be glad to learn from you more precisely how you found Col. Trenchard. It appears to me there is not sufficient space between the floor and where the head-board of the bed unites with the post to prevent a man's feet from touching the floor."

"Truly," replied Mercer, "this is the most singular part of the affair. I found his knees doubled up almost against his breast, and while one end of the rope was fastened to the post, the single knot, or shir, as it is called, being near the middle of it, the other end was tied to his ankles, and confined them

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