Ford found some hint, something analogous to his plot, among the Italian novels of those days. We have a very inadequate idea of the solicitude with which the dramatic and romantic treasures of Spain and Italy were sought for and circulated in this country. The literary intercourse was then far more alive than it is at present, for there were many readers, and many translators at hand to furnish them with a succession of novelties; and, though it must be admitted, I fear, that the exchange ran grievously against us-that we imported much and sent out little-yet the bare labour of working up what we received had, as in other cases, a salutary and quickening effect. Meanwhile, I am persuaded that far the greater number of our dramas are founded on Italian novels: this would, perhaps, scarcely be a matter of debate at this time, were it not for the Fire of 1666, which destroyed, beyond hope of recovery, no inconsiderable portion of the light and fugitive literature of the preceding age. In the wide and deep vaults under St. Paul's, lay thousands and ten thousands of pamphlets, novels, romances, histories, plays, printed and in manuscript; all the amusement, and all the satire, of Nash and Harvey, of Lodge and Peel, and Green, and innumerable others, which even then made. up the principal part of the humble libraries of the day. Here they had been placed for secu rity, and here, when the roof of the cathedral fell in, and the burning beams broke through the floor, they were involved in one general and dreadful conflagration. I would not willingly be suspected of deeming too lightly of this drama; it is the plot in which I think the poet has failed; the language of the serious parts is deserving of high praise, and the more prominent characters are skilfully discriminated, and powerfully sustained. The piece, however, has no medium; all that is not excellent is intolerably bad. In the prologue to the "Fancies," the poet makes the only allusion to his native county which appears in any part of his works "if traduced by some, 'Tis well, he says, he's far enough from home."* The succeeding year (1639) gave to the public the "Lady's Trial," which, it appears, had been performed in May, 1638. It is dedicated, in the spirit of true kindness, to Mr. and Mrs. Wyrley; and the poet, though now near the close of his dra * I once thought-or rather, without thinking, followed the prevailing opinion-that Ford was now on his travels: the words quoted prove that this could not be, as the poet speaks in his own person. He probably alludes to the old manor house at Ilsington, which, though in a dilapidated state, is still standing. It was built as early as Elizabeth's reign. matic labours, has not yet conquered his fear of misemploying his time, or rather of being suspected of it, and assures his partial friends that the piece which he has thus placed under their tuition" is the issue of some less serious hours." There seems but little occasion for this; his patrons must have known enough of his personal concerns to render such apologies unnecessary. At fifty-two-and Ford had now reached that age-his professional industry could surely be no subject of doubt; and it requires some little portion of forbearance in the general reader to tolerate this affected and oftrepeated depreciation of the labour to which the genius and inclination of the writer perpetually tended, and overlook the wanton abasement of his own claims to fame. The Lady's Trial," like the "Fancies," declines in interest towards the conclusion, in consequence of the poet's imperfect execution of his own plan: that he meditated a more impressive catastrophe for both is sufficiently apparent, but event comes huddling on event, and all is precipitation, weakness and confusion. It is curious that, in the winding up of each of these pieces, the same expedient is employed; and the honour of Adurni in the former, like that of Troylo in the latter, ultimately vindicated by an unlooked-for marriage. Feeble and imperfect, however, as the plot of the "Lady's Trial" is, and trifling as some of the characters will be found, it is not destitute of passages which the lovers of our ancient drama may contemplate with unreproved pleasure. There is nothing in the Dedication, or in the Prologue and Epilogue, to this play, that indicates the slightest inclination of the poet to withdraw from the stage on the contrary, his mind seems to have attained a cheerful tone and a sprightlier language; yet this was apparently the last of his dramatic labours, and here he suddenly disappears from view. Much as has been said of the dramatic poets of Elizabeth and James's days, full justice has never yet been rendered to their independence on one another generally speaking, they stand insulated and alone, and draw, each in his station, from their own stores. Whether it be, that poetry in that age "Wanton'd as in its prime, and play'd at will or that some other fruitful cause of originality was in secret and powerful operation; so it is, that every writer had his peculiar style, and was content with it. At present, we are become an imitative, not to say a mimic, race. A successful poem, a novel, nay even a happy title-page, is eagerly caught at, and a kind of ombre chinoise representation of it propagated from one extremity of the kingdom to the other. Invention seems almost extinct among us. That it does not somewhere exist, it would be folly to imagine-but it appears to move, comet-like, in very eccentric orbits, and to have its periods of occultation of more than usual duration. It may, and undoubtedly will re-visit us; meanwhile, as the knight of the enchanted cavern judiciously advises, patience, and shuffle the cards! I have been led into these desultory remarks, notwithstanding it may be urged, that an exception to the subject of them may be found in Ford. He appears to have discovered, indeed, that one of the nameless charms of Shakspeare's diction consisted in the skill with which he has occasionally vivified it, by converting his substantives into verbs; and to have aspired to imitate him. He cannot be complimented on his success-nor, indeed, can much be expected without such a portion of Shakspeare's taste and feeling as it seems almost hopeless to expect:-Ford's grammatical experiments take from the simplicity of his diction, while they afford no strength whatever to his descriptions. Not so with the great original; in his conversions all is life. Take, for example, the following passage: it is not a description that we read; it is a series of events that we hear and see: d |