devise a way to express all I felt for her to whom I owed all things. But my gra titude shamed me from the expression of my love. 66 My health was now so firmly established, that I began to think of some active employment. A garden and nursery a few miles from the city was very attractive to me. I soon found that I could obtain pleasant and moderately profitable work there. With a full recognition of the true dignity of labor, I commenced work. I was with nature. The breath of morning and of evening was laden with sweetness and health. I had plenty of pure water, pure food, and a lovely in dustry. When I was settled at my work I wrote to my friends, and told them of the great change which a few months had wrought. A brother, who had been in very successful business as a merchant for several years, came to see me. He was somewhat shocked, not at my appearance, for my neat working-dress was far from having an unpleasant effect; but he was shocked that I, who had been a popular clergyman, should now be hired by the month, to draw flowers and fruits from the bosom of our mother earth. He even wished me to leave my green and fragrant home, for the close, crowded and dusty streets of New-York, where I could engage for the long day in the manly employment of selling tape and lace. I looked at him in pity, and asked him if he would condemn me to such a life, when I had just escaped from a living death? He was moved by my words, but more by my manner, and a few days after he left, he sent me money to make myself a share-holder in my delightful home. This was a most welcome gift. I now rented a beautiful cottage in the neighborhood and took my boys to my home. A kind German woman, recommended to me by my doctor, was my housekeeper. "I had been a week settled in what really seemed to me an earthly paradise, when one afternoon, after I had finished the labor of the day, I was surprised by the appearance of Dr. and Miss Thornton. It was a glowing evening, and the apple blossoms were in the fullness of their beauty and fragrance. The air was rife with the perfume. I had already many choice flowers blooming in my yard, and it was ecstacy to me to see her eye rest on them, and drink in their beauty. I led Miss T. and the Doctor over my cottage and the grounds adjoining, with a more intense pleasure, I think, than I ever before experienced. My boys were in love with the pretty, sweet lady directly. The oldest came boldly forward and took her hand, but little Charley looked up to her as to a star, and presently we missed him. I had prepared the boys to love her by telling them of her beauty and goodness, and her kindness to me. After a time Charley came to us with a great many flowers; he had roses, and pinks, and lilies of the valley, and mignonette and all the beautiful flowers he could find. The bright-haired boy came forward joyously, with his golden curls blown back by the soft breeze, and his ruddy face vying with the glow of the sun, and his flowers in his hand, and Miss Thornton gave him a glance that made my heart beat tumultuously. He is a beautiful boy,' said she, just as the little fellow pulled my sleeve, and made a motion for me to bend down my ear. Please, papa, give the lady my pretty flowers,' said he; and a kiss,' said the Doctor mischievously, having overheard Charley's whisper. A deep blush mantled the fair cheek of my friend as I gave her the flowers. The Doctor led away the boys upon some pretext, and I picked a great many choice roses to pieces in saying some words to Miss Thornton; and my words must have interested her, for she did not notice the beautiful destruction I am sure. I believe I will not tell even you, my dear Doctor, what I said-but when the Doc. tor and the boys returned I was calm enough to gather flowers, instead of picking them to pieces, and happy enough to do without them. Happiness was born a twin.' Miss Thornton is now my wife, and my boys are blest with a mother's love, a father's care, and plenty of healthful activity. 6 Now the distant woods awaken, There will be a drenching rain! Homestead!—ours was very lowly, The old roof would sing aloud! With the Past as memory mingles, Gone the music of my youth! Now descends the brimming fountain! All the landscape drowning wet! Leisure now for jest and story, Cannot reach the old oak floor! Peace within that household ever; Love's sweet rule each breast controlling ; Truth's high precepts broken never;— What though clouds around are rollingLet them roll Theirs the sunshine of the soul! Matchless painter-leaf and flower All in sprightly pearls arrayed. E'en less mournful yon lone willow, We revive-and so will they! Yonder, at the Inn, together Fast a wayside group collecting; Much discourse of rainy weatherIdle almanacs rejecting, Boy and man Each predicting all he can. Hark the ring of happy voices; With the noisy load they draw. Slowly eventide advances; Blushes Fanny-whispers Kate. Is he stranger worn with travel, With a welcome so confest! Earnest he apologizes, From the mill in haste returning, (Ah, forgive young love's disguises, Though it rains, his heart is burning ;) He will stay Just a moment on his way. Round the ready board all seated, Now the motley barnyard nation, And the poor wet things are fed. Forth for home the dairy maiden Ned "will take the pail with pleasure Loving Edward-gentle Jane. Slowly spread the shades of even; BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.* POETRY," says Shirley in his introduction to the folio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher, printed in 1647, "poetry is the child of nature, which, regulated and made beautiful by art, presenteth the most harmonious of all compositions; among which (if we rightly consider) the dramatical is the most absolute, in regard of those transcendent abilities which should wait upon the composer; who must have more than the instruction of libraries, (which of itself is but a cold contemplative knowledge,) there being required in him a soul miraculously knowing and conversing with all mankind, enabling him to express not only the phlegm and folly of thick-skinned men, but the strength and maturity of the wise, the air and insinuations of the court, the discipline and resolution of the soldier, the virtues and passions of every noble condition-nay, the counsels and characters of the greatest princes." All these he then insists are "demonstrative and met" in his beloved authors," whom but to mention is to throw a cloud upon all former names, and benight posterity." The vast admiration thus expressed by a brother dramatist of these celebrated intellectual kinsmen, has been repeatedly echoed. In their own age they enjoyed a wide reputation, and during the reign of Charles II. were twice as popular as Shakspeare himself. Time, however, has been slowly and silently dimming their fame. As their dramas gradually dropped from the list of acting plays, they did not readily pass from the stage into the library, though they have ever occupied a prominent place among the elder dramatists, and are part and parcel of English literature. The highest praise of the dramatic poet, that of being endowed with souls" miraculously knowing and conversing with all mankind," of this they were deservedly shorn; it is, indeed, relatively true only of Shakspeare; but to the great body of English readers, especially in this country, their merits as poets of fancy and sentiment are but imperfectly known. In the present article we propose attempting an analysis of their powers, to set forth their characteristic faults and excellences, and to feed the fancies of our readers with some delicious quotations from their works. Beaumont and. Fletcher belong to that band of the elder English dramatists who received their inspiration from Shakspeare, the true creator of the English drama. Their plays were produced wholly in the reign of James I., from 1607 to 1625. Their first drama was written about four years before Shakspeare's last. But little of their private history is known, except that they were both gentlemen by birth and education, belonged to families unusually prolific in poets, were highly esteemed by their contemporaries, and through life were remarkably constant friends. Beaumont was born in 1586, entered college at the age of ten, and, like a large number of English poets and dramatists, went through the form of studying law. His powers of composition were early developed. When only sixteen he published a translation in rhyme of Ovid's fable of Salmacis and Hermaproditus. At the age of nineteen he had acquired among such men as Jonson, the reputation of sound judgment and poetic power, and was an esteemed member of the club of wits and poets who met at the Mermaid. In 1606 or 1607 his literary confederacy with Fletcher appears to have commenced. He died in 1615, at the age of twenty-nine. Fletcher was born in the year 1576, the son of one of Queen Elizabeth's bishops. There is no positive evidence of his appearance as an author before he had arrived at the age of thirty. It is probable that up to that period his private fortune supplied his wants. At this time his intimacy with Beaumont commenced. It is singular that to this co-partnership Fletcher, the elder of the two by ten years, brought the mercurial spirit and creative fancy, Beaumont the regulating judgment and solid understanding. Their friendship was unbroken. Before Reaumont's marriage, "they lived together," says Aubrey, "on the Bankside, not far from the playhouse, both bachelors; had one in their house, which they did so admire, the same clothes, cloak, &c., between them." The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. With an Introduction by George Darley. London: Moxon. 2 vols. 8vo. |