the causes of this change in the popular sentiment: at present we must restrict ourselves to a few brief observations. Something, no doubt, may be attributed to the hours of the different ranks of society, which are still receding farther from each other, making it extremely difficult to accommodate the time of performance to the several classes who must meet together to fill the various parts of the theatre; but the cause lies still deeper. The immense increase of the reading public has reduced the part of the community who have the power to enjoy, and the inclination to support the drama, to comparative insignificance. The novelist, as we on a former occasion said,* has supplanted the dramatist in public interest. Where the theatre has one visiter, the circulating library has a hundred subscribers. The author, who in former times would have strained every nerve to obtain success on the stage, who would have listened with trembling delight to the fiat of the manager for the reception of his piece, as sealing his hopes of fame and even of profit-instead of concentrating whatever of poetry, passion, or wit, he may have at his command, into five acts, now beats it out into three volumes of prose, and awaits his doom from Messrs. Colburn or Cochrane. Even the dramatic poet does not consider success upon the stage as essential to his fame: he trusts to the power of his poetry over the public mind, read only in the quiet chamber, not performed in the crowded theatre;-well knowing, that for one spectator he may thrill the bosom of a thousand readers;—that while his theatric success must be confined to the metropolis, and some of the larger provincial towns, he may find his way in the printed volume into every house throughout the kingdom, and win the applause of multitudes, who have never even witnessed the humblest dramatic performance-where the barns are undisturbed by the most adventurous itinerant. In our day, Shakspeare, unless the connexion of the merry deer-stealer with a troop of comedians had fettered his genius, would have been another Scott; Macbeth would have furnished matter for a rival series of Tales of my Landlord, and King John would have grown into a second Ivanhoe. Still-regarding the perfect drama in either of its forms-the drama of Sophocles or of Shakspeare-as the noblest, and, in its consummate excellence, the most difficult effort of human imagination-if we despair, at least under the present circumstances of 6 * See No. LXVIII.-Review of Ballantyne's Novelist's Library. That work has not been continued-probably the size of the volumes was considered inconvenient; but we hope better success will attend Roscoe's Novelist's Library,'--a series of neat and portable 12mnos. recently started by a judicious editor, and copiously illustrated with etchings from the hand of an exquisite humourist; in truth, a great original master in his art,-Mr. George Cruikshank. The designs for Smollett, in particular, are of first-rate merit. society, society, of its re-asserting its ancient power over the general mind, we trust that, for its few lingering worshippers, it will be able to triumph over those impediments to its success which are independent of the state of public feeling. We would venture to hope, that, in deference to common sense, one theatre at least will shrink to rational dimensions; that one company will embody all the strength of acting, to which our taste is now so closely wedded as to consider it indispensable to the enjoyment of the theatre; that it will break for ever its unholy association with open vice and immorality, by imitating the stricter police of the continental theatres; and thus offer to those, whose taste it may suit, an highly intellectual amusement-so far chastened as to be presented, without offence, virginibus puerisque—and, in this respect, uniting the severe propriety of the Greek or French tragedy with the free, picturesque, and animating variety of our own national romantic drama. IT ART. VIII.-Tour in England, Ireland, and France, in the Years 1828 and 1829, with Remarks on the Manners and Customs of the Inhabitants, and Anecdotes of distinguished public Characters. By a German Prince. 2 vols. 12mo. London. 1831. T would appear that the German publishers are before even our own in the arts of the puff; at least we have not yet seen a fashionable novel' of the Burlington Street manufactory ushered into public life with the trumpettings of a first-rate English author. This celebrated tour,' as the advertisements style it, has, however, the advantage of a preliminary flourish from no less a person than Meinherr von Goethe, who, among other things, extols the tourist for the accuracy of his descriptions of English scenery and society, particularly the hunting-parties and drinkingbouts, which succeed each other in an unbroken series,' and which are made tolerable to us' (i. e. M. Goethe)' only because he can tolerate them.' The peculiarities of English manners,' continues the puff, are drawn vividly and distinctly, without exaggeration; but how the sage of Weimar should have fancied himself qualified to form so decided an opinion upon the accuracy of his protegé, we do not presume exactly to understand; inasmuch as we have reason to believe, that he has suffered eighty-three years of his youth to slip away, without availing himself of an opportunity of judging of our peculiarities from personal experience. · Like other unprejudiced travellers of modern times, (he proceeds) our author is not very much enchanted with the English form of existence existence-his cordial and sincere admiration is often accompanied by unsparing censure. He is by no means inclined to favour the faults and weaknesses of the English; and in these cases- -(what cases?)—he has the greatest and best amongst them, those whose reputation is universal,-on his side.' The great charm, however, which attaches us to his side, consists in the moral manifestations of his nature, which run through the book: his clear understanding, and simple natural manner, render him highly interesting. We are agreeably affected by the sight of a right-minded and kind-hearted man, who describes, with charming frankness, the conflict between will and accomplishment.'! (What does the Patriarch mean?) We represent him to ourselves as of dignified and prepossessing exterior. He knows how instantly to place himself on an equality with high and low, and to be welcome to all ;—that he excites the attention of women is natural enough—he attracts and is attracted: but his experience of the world enables him to terminate any little affaires du cœur without violence or indecorum!' We shall presently enable the reader to judge for himself as to some points of this eulogy.-Meantime, we turn the leaf, and find a second flourish from-the translator of these wonderful letters. • A rumour,' says this cautious and disinterested critic, 'has ascribed them to Prince Puckler-Muskau, a subject of Prussia, who is known to have travelled in England and Ireland about the period at which they were written. He has even been mentioned as the author in the Berlin newspapers: as, however, he has not thought fit to accept the authorship, we have no right to fix it upon him, though the voice of Germany has perhaps sufficiently established his claim to it. At all events, the Letters contain allusions to his rank which fully justify us in ascribing them to a German Prince.' After Goethe, and the translator, or, in German phrase, oversetter, comes the editor!-who, in the midst of some would-bepathetic cant, drops two bits of information, both entirely false; namely, that the letters, with very few and unimportant exceptions, were written at the moment;' and, secondly, that the author is dead!' The editor adds that there actually exist four volumes of this correspondence, but from various circumstances, which cannot be explained, it has been found necessary to publish the two last volumes first ;'-the pair, as yet unprinted, containing his highness's opinions and illustrations of London society, as these, now before us, exhibit the manners and customs' of the provinces, and of Ireland. As to the alleged demise of the author-Shakspeare mentions a certain class of persons who die many times before their deaths;' and perhaps his highness may have thought it as well to feel his ground with our provinces, before venturing upon what he calls ' the 'the grand foyer of European aristocracy.' However—unless the whole affair is an impudent juggle-we are justified in fixing this performance upon the Prince Puckler-Muskau; and we only wonder how any English reviewer of the book could have hesitated about doing so, provided he had read as far as to page 284 of the first volume, where we find our German prince' at Limerick, in company with Mr. O'Connell, a relation of the great agi tator. 'We quitted the church, and were proceeding to visit the rock near the Shannon, upon which the English signed the treaty after the battle of the Boyne; a treaty which they have not been remarkably scrupulous in observing. I remarked that we were followed by an immense crowd of people, which increased like an avalanche, and testified equal respect and enthusiasm. All on a sudden they shouted "Long life to Napoleon and Marshal "Good God," said I, "for whom do the people take me? As a perfectly unpretending stranger I cannot, in the least degree, understand why they seem disposed to do me so much honour." "Was not your father the Prince of ?" said O'Connell. "Oh no," replied I; "my father was indeed a nobleman of rather an older date, but very far from being so celebrated." "You must forgive us then," said O'Connell incredulously; "for, to tell you the truth, you are believed to be a natural son of Napoleon, whose partiality to your supposed mother was well known." "You joke," said I, laughing: "I am at least ten years too old to be the son of the great emperor and the beautiful princess." He shook his head, however, and I reached my inn amid reiterated shouts. Here I shut myself up, and shall not quit my retreat to-day. The people, however, patiently posted themselves under my windows, and did not disperse till it was nearly dark.' We make no apology for anticipating here the arrival of his highness at Limerick, because, by showing in the outset the mistake that Mr. O'Connell made between the titles of Prince de la Moscowa and Prince Muskau, we establish at once the identity of Goethe's unprejudiced traveller,' and a right-minded' and ' decorous' terminator of affaires de cœur-of whom many of our readers have had some personal knowledge-and whose imposing mustachios are still fresh in our own recollection. The cold nights of November do not more surely portend to the anxious sportsman in the country the approach of woodcocks, than do the balmy zephyrs of May foretell the arrival of illustrious foreigners in London; each succeeding season brings its flock of princes, counts, and barons, who go the ordinary round of dinners, assem blies, concerts, and balls; yawn each of them, one night under the gallery of the House of Commons; one day take their position on the bench at the Old Bailey; visit the Court of Chancery; snatch a glimpse of the House of Peers; mount St. Paul's; dive into the Tunnel; see Windsor; breakfast at Sandhurst; attend a review on a wet morning in Hyde Park; dance at Almack's; try for an heiress-fail; make a tour of the provinces; enjoy a battue in Norfolk; sink into a coal-pit in Northumberland; admire grouse and pibrochs in Scotland; fly along a rail-road; tread the plank of a steam-packet, and so depart,—' and then are heard no more.' Such was this Prince Puckler Muskau; and such were his qualifications and opportunities for depicting that strange insular life which' (according to the clear and consistent summary of M. Goethe) is based in houndless wealth and civil freedom, in universal monotony and manifold diversity-formal and capricious, active and torpid, energetic and dull, comfortable and tedious, the envy and the derision of the world'! His first letter, addressed, as all his letters are, to his dear Julia,'-(that is to say, no doubt, his highness's consort, Princess Puckler, to his alliance with whom, we believe, he owed his prince-ship-) is dated Cheltenham, July 12, 1828; and the first observation which his highness is pleased to make upon his arrival at that popular watering-place is one of a mixed character, political, statistical, and philosophical, whence may be derived a tolerably fair estimate of his highness's accuracy and knowledge of things in general.' He is describing to his dear Julia' the nature and character of the distress amongst the lower orders in England, and its causes and origin. The distress,' says his highness, IN TRUTH, consisted in this; that the people, instead of having three or four meals a day, with tea, cold meat, bread and butter, beefsteaks, or roast meat, were now obliged to content themselves with two, consisting only of meat and potatoes. It was, however, just harvest-time, and the want of labourers in the fields so great, that the farmers gave almost any wages. Nevertheless, I was assured that the mechanics would rather destroy all the machinery and actually starve, than bring themselves to take a sickle in their hands, or bind a sheaf, so intractable and obstinate are the English common people rendered by their universal comfort, and the certainty of obtaining employment if they vigorously seek it. From what I have now told you, you may imagine what deductions you ought to make from newspaper articles." This valuable information is followed by an anecdote. Yesterday, "entre la poire et le fromage," (at what period of a Cheltenham dinner that might be, his Highness does not condescend to explain,) I received the twice-declined visit of the master of the ceremonies, a gentleman who does the honour of the baths, and exercises a considerable authority over the company of an English watering-place, in virtue of which he welcomes strangers with most antiEnglish officiousness and pomposity, and manifests great care and zeal VOL. XLVI. NO. XCII. 2 M for |