had not been since, as an ugly, sickly child, she was despised for her excessive plainness. Now, however, full justice was done her, and she was welcomed as the queen of song. George III. and his graceless son were at least agreed in their admiration of Mara's voice. During her stay in England, those bonds which she had twelve years before so eagerly embraced, and found such galling fetters, were broken, and she separated from her worthless husband, pensioning him off so amply as to satisfy the selfish dé bauchée. After this separation, her days were calm, if not happy. She retired early from public life, and settled at Reval, where, on her eighty-third birthday, she received a copy of verses from Goethe, who, on the same day sixty years before, had, as a student at Leipsic, sung her praises as Mademoiselle Schmähling. Madame Mara died at Reval, on the 20th of January, 1833, having nearly completed her eighty-fifth year. Godey's American Magazine. No. I. THE DRAMA IN GREECE; IN ROME; dancing. The contents of these songs were IN THE MIDdle Ages. It has been justly said that the origin of the drama must be sought for in that powerful agent in human nature, the love of imitation: hence, in our efforts to trace its rise, the mind must be directed to periods the most remote, when civilization had not visited the abodes of man. The rude war-dance, indicating a species of entertainment, when the performers formed an exhibition for the amusement of the spectators, has always existed among savage tribes; forming, with them, the rites of their religion, and which is found to prevail in the early history of all nations. As representations of this rude nature increased in proportion as religious ceremonies advanced, imitative exhibitions became more extensive, and finally constituted that which in a strict sense may be denominated dramatic performance. These rites and ceremonies, originating when man was in a rude and barbarous state, are still performed with many nations; for, even to this day, at the celebration of various festivals, exhibitions are brought forward of a religious kind, which represent with more or less accuracy the chief particulars of the event about to be commemorated in short, the elements of the dramatic art have existed among all nations; and every country which has made any progress in civilization has at the same time developed this art. As mankind progressed in knowledge, the drama assumed in its character a form differing from mythological representation. Greece, distinguished beyond all other ancient states for the advance of those arts which lead to the cultivation of science and philosophy, is the country to which we must look for the rise and progress of the regular drama. But although Homer had sung with great beauty the conflict of the Trojan war, and Hesiod had breathed forth in immortal song the enjoyments of rural life, yet centuries elapsed before the people of ancient Greece had established the old Greek comedy, and which principally consisted of dramatic songs and mirthful, ludicrous, and too often indecorous. The term "Comedy” signifies village-song; but the original meaning has been much altered. To Lusarion, who flourished 580 years before the Christian era, the Greeks were indebted for the first regular comic-drama. Thespis-of whom we know little more than the name, retained by his descendants, the children of the "sock and buskin" of the present day— was contemporary with Lusarion, and added to the interest created by the choral-songs in introducing an actor whose office it was to recite, during the pauses of the singing, verses in honour of Hercules, Theseus, or some other hero of antiquity. The face of the actor was daubed with wine-lees; and the simple paraphernalia necessary to the exhibition were conveyed from place to place in a waggonsomewhat after the fashion of our travellingshowmen who frequent the public fairs. With this rude structure, on a moveable stage, Lusarion and Thespis held up to ridicule the vices and follies of their age. At the end of the Peleponnesian war it was strictly prohibited to bring living persons by name on the stage, or to ridicule the government. And a proof of the power of the drama over the human mind at that period may be deduced from the fact, that the comedies of Aristophanes influenced the Greeks in their decree of death to the great philosopher, Socrates. Aristophanes, the most popular, and at the same time the most severely satirical, of the Greek dramatists, in his writings held Socrates, his doctrines and the philosophy of his school, up to the severest ridicule; which, it is said, tended much to alienate the minds of the ever-changing multitude from their great sage. By degrees tragedy became a distinct branch of the art, and its graver scenes served as an entertainment for the inhabitants of cities; whilst comedy retained its gay character, and chiefly served to amuse the country-people of Greece. Regular companies of comedians were at length established at Atticus, being tolerated by the government. The old comedy of the Greeks was thoroughly national, with something of a political tendency. The "Middle Comedy," so-called, now began to appear. The oligarchy of that period, writhing under the lash of keen satire, having forbidden the representation of living persons on the stage, the chorus-chief instrument of vituperation was abolished, and general character represented by masks not imitating the countenances of particular individuals. Thus, out of the fears of the great men of that day arose comparative decorum in the compositions of the drama. The names of Menander and Philemon im- Th' Almighty Sire, th' Eternal King of kings; : reputation and friends by the talents which he displayed. His writings were much admired by the polite and learned of Rome, being esteemed for their prudential maxims and morality. Most of his plays, like those of Plautus, are translations from the Greek; but they are valuable on that very account, as giving us an idea of his celebrated model, Menander. Ancient Rome presents a dreary blank in the history of the drama; for shortly after this period her greatness began to fade: vast projects of ambition occupied her senate, whilst the contending factions, under such men as Sylla, Marius, and Pompey, led on to that dreadful degeneracy which ultimately destroyed every feeling connected with the fine arts; and amidst the debasement of manners, in place of the refinements of comedy, the Roman stage was disgraced by the most barbarous spectacles. Gladiators, wild beasts, and other brutal exhibitions, corrupted the public taste, which tending to plunge the people into every species of immorality, the decline of the empire soon followed; ruin and desolation complete its history. That vast empire which gave laws to the world, perished by its own infamy; and speedily ensued over Europe that deluge of ignorance which has been truly termed the dark ages. In the beginning of the middle ages, when everything noble and intellectual was buried under the torrent of barbarism, the dramatic art existed only among the lowest classes of the The Grecian drama forms one of the most de- people, in plays improvisated at certain festivals: lightful walks in the garden of classical literature; these were attacked as heathenish, immoral, and and while it presents models of genuine pathos improper exhibitions; but the favour which they and beautiful writing, it throws important light enjoyed amid the spirit of the times, induced the on the superstitions, prejudices, and moral feel- clergy to encourage theatrical representations ings of that highly intellectual people the Greeks. of subjects from sacred history. These were They retained, even during the decline of their called mysteries; and in all the southern countries government, a strong desire for every species of of Europe, as well as in Germany and England, dramatic entertainment; they were imitated by they preceded the rise of the national drama. the Romans, the conquerers of the world, who Of this kind were the ridiculous Festa Assiintroduced into Rome all the classical improve-naria, in which mass was performed by persons ments of the Athenian stage. It was not, however, till about two hundred years before the Christian era, that Plautus, the great Roman comic-writer, appeared; but whose comedies were principally translations from the works of Dephilus, Epicharmus, and other Greek authors. Notwithstanding this lack of originality, the vigour and beauty of his compositions are much praised; and, according to Varro, the Muses, if they had spoken Latin, would have used the language of Plautus. - Amid the glory of ancient Rome, while the actions of her eminent men, renowned as orators and statesmen, astonished the world, the Roman stage never attained the brilliancy or fertility of the Grecian; Terence being the only writer, next to Plautus, who is worthy of being noticed. Terence flourished about a hundred years before the Christian era, and was by birth an African. He was adopted, when a child, by Publius Terentius Lucanus, a Roman senator, who took him to Rome, and had him educated. Being emancipated by his master, the young African assumed the name of his benefactor, and soon acquired dressed like asses, and every means taken to divert the people in church on the occurrence of the festival of Easter. So popular were these extravagances, that even papal decrees against them were for a long time ineffectual. Craik's "Sketches of the History of Literature and Learning in England," tells us, "The subjects of the mysteries, or miracle plays, were all taken from the histories of the Old and New Testaments, or from the legends of saints and martyrs; and indeed it is probable that their original design was chiefly to instruct the people in religious knowledge." The morals, or moral plays, succeeded, in which all the characters were allegorical. The vices and the virtues were impersonated. The devil of the miracles became the vice of the morals, though in character he was still introduced to undergo his tribulations, to the satisfaction of the audience, in seeing the enemy of mankind overcome. More especially the morals, but even the miracle plays, were written and represented down to the very end of the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Collier gives an account of Lupton's moral, "All for Money," in the title called "A Moral and Pitiful Comedy," in the prologue "A pleasant Tragedy." The catastrophe is sufficiently tragical. Judas, in the last scene coming in (says the stage direction) "like a damned soul in black, painted with flames of fire and a fearful vizard," followed by Dives, "with such like apparel as Judas hath;" while Damnation (another of the dramatis persona), pursuing them, drives them before him, and they pass away, making a pitiful noise," into perdition. Matthew Paris tells us, that shortly after the Conquest in the 11th century, Geoffrey, Abbot of St. Alban's, caused a miracle play, composed by himself, to be acted at the Abbey of Dunstable. It was entitled "St. Catharine;" and an eminent French author asserts that this was long before the representation of mysteries in France, which did not begin there till 1398. They continued in vogue till the beginning of Henry the Seventh's reign: two of them may be found in Hawkins' "Origin of the English Drama." One is entitled "Every Man," the other "Hick Scorner;" and in their structure may be discovered the seeds of tragedy and comedy. (To be continued.) THE CHILD'S CORNE R. THE LAVERY ROCKS. BY HANNAH CLAY. "Now, my dears, remember what I have told you, and on no account go near the Lavery Rocks." Such was the parting injunction of Mrs. Price to her two little girls, the one eleven, the other nine years of age, who had asked her permission to go and gather shells and sea-weed on the beach. Jane and Ellen Price had been well brought up, and were naturally docile and submissive, though in Ellen this disposition was combated by a strong love of adventure. So, promising to be obedient, they went hand-inhand towards the south beach, their fond mother watching them until they were quite out of sight. Many beautiful sprigs of pink, and white, and purple sea-weed did they pick up, as well as some larger specimens; one of which resembled a cat-o'-nine-tails, excepting that it had as many as twelve or fourteen lashes attached to the stout succulent handle. Another was like a broad, handsome ribbon, with a stripe down each side. Others again were curiously enamelled with ivory stars; and one in particular might have been embroidered by the queen of the Mermaids herself, so curious and diversified were its numerous ornaments. "It is very strange," said Ellen at length, "that we find so few shells. Such a high wind, too, as there was last night. Look! all that I have been able to meet with are these two old limpets, and these few scallops and wilks." "What a poor searcher you must be !" exclaimed Jane. "There are not many, to be sure; but I have got two or three silver-willies, some razor-shells, a bit of cornelian, and these sweet little pink shells, such tiny ones! just look." "If mamma would but have trusted us on to the north beach," said Ellen, we should have found some pebbles, and papa could have polished them for brooches." So Ellen stepped over, and after a while Jane followed; and dismissing all lingering misgivings, they were soon absorbed in the different tempting objects that met their view. It was a beautiful day. The sun shone, but not too hotly, for it was now late in autumn; and the green cliffs, where two or three horses and a cow were grazing, sparkled with the dewdrops that hung upon the blades of the fine, short grass. A few blackberries still clustered upon the brambles, affording the birds a wholesome repast; and towards these wandered our two little girls, where they had picked up all the shells they could find. Scrambling about upon the cliffs was very healthy sport, but it brought the sisters insensibly nearer and nearer the Lavery Rocks; and we are sorry to say, that when they discovered their position they were not so amazed as they ought to have been. These rocks contained many curious corners, and were most tempting to adventurous children Thrown, overturned, heaved, riven in all direc. tions by some mighty convulsion of nature, they were the favourite result of the sea-gulls, who made their nests in the topmost crevices. The smaller rocks, that lay strewed in masses on the sands, were clothed with luxuriant wreaths of sea-weed. There, too, were the blood-red sea-anemones, clinging fast to the face of the rock, like small lumps of jelly. "Look, Jane! look!" cried Ellen, who was in one continued transport of delight, 66 there is a periwinkle walking! Did you ever see such a thing before, Jane ?" Jane never had. And with much interest she watched the slow progression of the little shell-fish, carrying its house upon its back. "After all," said Ellen again, "there is nothing so very dreadful about these rocks. Cook told us something about dark caves, that reached a mile underground; but I see nothing of the kind. There is only one little one, that goes up into the cliff here. Let us see what it is like, Jane." 66 No, Ellen, we had much better turn back again. The tide is coming in." "What are you afraid of? We can soon scamper over the rocks, and reach the sands, even if the water should come quite close." "I don't know, Ellen. I dare not trust to that. Besides," added she in a lower voice, "we are disobeying mamma all this time." Ellen, eager to mount, was already within the cave, but at Jane's words she paused. "So we are, Jane. I had forgotten that. But you know, now we are here, we cannot disobey her any worse, and we might as well see what there is to be seen." How soon sophistry enters the heart of a child! How early it learns to excuse its faults, thereby doubling the evil, and excluding that contrition and self-condemnation which are the first steps to amendment. Because Ellen had already done wrong, she made that a reason for continuing in the wrong, instead of immediately returning to her duty, and thereby offering the only reparation in her power. But wrong-doing has the effect of partially obscuring the mental vision. Jane, overpersuaded by the plausible representations of her more daring sister, followed her into the cave, and together they climbed up the steep ascent. Soon the rocks approached each other so closely that Jane stopped, declaring that she dared go no further. Ellen's love of adventure, however, was roused by the appearance of difficulty; and she persisted in squeezing her slender little person between the rocks, telling Jane to wait for her. About five minutes elapsed, and Jane, alarmed for her sister's safety, called to her loudly to return. Ellen answered by a cry of delight. "If you could but come a little further, Jane! if you could but come a little further! It is so beautiful! Do venture, dear Jane, and then I promise you that we will not look at anything else, but will return home immediately." "If you will keep to that promise, Ellen- come. It is not very narrow, and you will be out again immediately." So Jane reluctantly consented, thinking that afterwards she would get her sister away easily. Having pushed through the narrow passage, she immediately perceived a light that proceeded from an opening in the rocks. Ellen called again; and following the direction of her voice, Jane found herself standing on an open platform. The view was indeed magnificent. The slope of the cave being exceedingly steep, they had ascended several yards above the level of the water; and were thus enabled to see over a small promontory, which had hitherto bounded their view from the beach. Before them extended the sparkling waters, now rising fast, and covered with vessels, looking like whitewinged birds in the quiet sunshine. On the coast to the right, over the promontory, was the romantic glen of Ballure, sprinkled with picturesque villas, that nestled in its recesses, or peeped from beneath its scattered trees; while to the left lay the smooth beach, with its silverflowing rivulet, the pretty town of Luxmore, and the grand sweep of Luxmore Bay. For a short time Jane gazed upon all this in silent admiration; and then she said, "It is too beautiful, Ellen; it makes me dizzy. Let us return." It was easier said than done. They left the platform indeed, threaded the narrow opening, and descended the steep ascent of the cave safely enough; but when they reached the bottom, the sea was rising over the rocks, and their retreat to the beach was nearly cut off. Jane began to cry. Ellen looked dismayed for a moment; and then rallying her spirits, she laughed at the fears of her more timid sister. "Nonsense, Jane! What will crying do for us? Follow me; I am sure we can manage to climb over that big rock. We shall get a little wet, but that won't matter. We will ask Mary to dry us, and not tell mamma." Thus it ever is from wrong to concealment. However, at this suggestion of her sister's Jane cheered up, and began to think it possible to manage. A boy would have made light of the difficulties the little girls now encountered, in climbing over the slippery rock covered with damp seaweed. But it proved a hard task for them; and when at length, after many a slip and bruise, they got on to the rock beyond, they found it impossible to proceed further, for a deep pond lay between them and the sands. All the hard climbing had now to be gone over again, for the water rose so quickly that they dared not remain upon the rock; otherwise Jane would willingly have sat down amongst the wet seaweed, and given herself up to her fate, she was so completely overwhelmed by fright and fatigue. The tide still gained upon them, and the two little girls were fain to take refuge in the cave. They knew that they should be safe there; for it was evident, by the marks on the drifted sand within, that the waters at their greatest height did not cover above a yard of the ascent. But this was not the only consideration. It would be several hours before the tide would so far subside as to allow them to leave the cave; and what would be the feelings of their poor mother during all this time? Already she would be expecting them home to dinner; and they knew how uneasy she would be in another half-hour. But that half-hour passed, and still they did not arrive! 66 66 "Oh, Ellen," exclaimed Jane, seating herself on a rocky ledge, and weeping bitterly, we have done very wrong. If ever we get safely out of this place again, I will never-never Ellen threw her arms around her sister's neck. "We have indeed been very naughty children, and it is all my fault; for I first stepped over the rivulet. Poor mamma! how anxious she will be. She will certainly think that we are drowned!" And the little girl mingled her tears with those of her sister.. i Let us now see what Mrs. Price was doing all this time. As the dinner-hour approached, and her children did not return, she first became somewhat displeased, and then her displeasure. turned into a vague uneasiness; they were usually so punctual. At length she sent Mary, the housemaid, on to the beach to look for the truants, and bring them home. But, as our readers are well aware, no little girls were to be seen; for they were snugly ensconced in the cave. So Mary soon came back again; saying that the tide was in, and that the young ladies were certainly no longer upon the beach, for she had looked everywhere. The girl was next sent to inquire for them at the houses of some of their favourite friends; but the result was the same. Mrs. Price's apprehensions now amounted to agony; and Mr. Price determined himself to go down to the beach, and try if he could succeed any better. When he got there, he shouted aloud, "Jane! Ellen-Ellen! Jane!" until at length he thought be heard a faint response proceeding from the Lavery Rocks; and wading as close to them as he could, without in the least regarding the wetting, he looked up and perceived his two little girls apparently standing in a most dangerous position. We may be sure that he was not long in devising means of relieving them from their "durance vile." The mingled joy and sorrow of the meeting that ensued we leave to the imaginations of our readers to depict-having already exceeded the usual limits of a "Lesson❞ -as also the gusto of delight with which the wanderers were received by their poor mother. "Scold us as much as you will, dear mamma; lay upon us whatever punishment you please: we are ready to bear it all; for we have been very, very naughty and disobedient." But Mrs. Price thought that fear and suspense had already punished them enough, and so it proved. Never again did Jane and Ellen Price listen to the voice of their inclinations, when subtly tempting them away from the path of duty. |