The Memoirs of Mr. Charles J. Yellowplush Part 23

Secknd. You are a novice to the style of composition.

Third. You MAY be mistaken in your effects, being a novelist by trade, and not a play-writer.

Fourthly. Your in such bad helth and sperrits.

Fifthly. Your so afraid of the critix, that they damp your arder.

For shame, for shame, man! What confeshns is these,--what painful pewling and piping! Your not a babby. I take you to be some seven or eight and thutty years old--"in the morning of youth," as the flosofer says. Don't let any such nonsince take your reazn prisoner. What, you, an old hand amongst us,--an old soljer of our sovring quean the press,--you, who have had the best pay, have held the topmost rank (ay, and DESERVED them too!--I gif you lef to quot me in sasiaty, and say, "I AM a man of genius: Y-ll-wpl-sh says so"),--you to lose heart, and cry pickavy, and begin to howl, because little boys fling stones at you!

Fie, man! take courage; and, bearing the terrows of your blood-red hand, as the poet says, punish us, if we've ofended you: punish us like a man, or bear your own punishment like a man. Don't try to come off with such misrabble lodgic as that above.

What do you? You give four satisfackary reazns that the play is bad (the secknd is naught,--for your no such chicking at play-writing, this being the forth). You show that the play must be bad, and THEN begin to deal with the critix for finding folt!

Was there ever wuss generalship? The play IS bad,--your right--a wuss I never see or read. But why kneed YOU say so? If it was so VERY bad, why publish it? BECAUSE YOU WISH TO SERVE THE DRAMA! O fie! don't lay that flattering function to your sole, as Milton observes. Do you believe that this "Sea Capting" can serve the drama? Did you never intend that it should serve anything, or anybody ELSE? Of cors you did! You wrote it for money,--money from the maniger, money from the bookseller,--for the same reason that I write this. Sir, Shakspeare wrote for the very same reasons, and I never heard that he bragged about serving the drama. Away with this canting about great motifs! Let us not be too prowd, my dear Barnet, and fansy ourselves marters of the truth, marters or apostels.

We are but tradesmen, working for bread, and not for righteousness'

sake. Let's try and work honestly; but don't let us be prayting pompisly about our "sacred calling." The taylor who makes your coats (and very well they are made too, with the best of velvit collars)--I say Stulze, or Nugee, might cry out that THEIR motifs were but to a.s.sert the eturnle truth of tayloring, with just as much reazn; and who would believe them?

Well; after this acknollitchmint that the play is bad, come sefral pages of attack on the critix, and the folt those gentry have found with it.

With these I shan't middle for the presnt. You defend all the characters 1 by 1, and conclude your remarks as follows:--

"I must be pardoned for this disquisition on my own designs. When every means is employed to misrepresent, it becomes, perhaps, allowable to explain. And if I do not think that my faults as a dramatic author are to be found in the study and delineation of character, it is precisely because THAT is the point on which all my previous pursuits in literature and actual life would be most likely to preserve me from the errors I own elsewhere, whether of misjudgment or inexperience.

"I have now only to add my thanks to the actors for the zeal and talent with which they have embodied the characters entrusted to them. The sweetness and grace with which Miss Faucit embellished the part of Violet, which, though only a sketch, is most necessary to the coloring and harmony of the play, were perhaps the more pleasing to the audience from the generosity, rare with actors, which induced her to take a part so far inferior to her powers. The applause which attends the performance of Mrs. Warner and Mr. Strickland attests their success in characters of unusual difficulty; while the singular beauty and n.o.bleness, whether of conception or execution, with which the greatest of living actors has elevated the part of Norman (so totally different from his ordinary range of character), is a new proof of his versatility and accomplishment in all that belongs to his art. It would be scarcely gracious to conclude these remarks without expressing my acknowledgment of that generous and indulgent sense of justice which, forgetting all political differences in a literary arena, has enabled me to appeal to approving audiences--from hostile critics. And it is this which alone encourages me to hope that, sooner or later, I may add to the dramatic literature of my country something that may find, perhaps, almost as many friends in the next age as it has been the fate of the author to find enemies in this."

See, now, what a good comfrabble vanaty is! Pepple have quarld with the dramatic characters of your play. "No," says you; "if I AM remarkabble for anythink, it's for my study and delineation of character; THAT is presizely the pint to which my littery purshuits have led me." Have you read "Jil Blaw," my dear sir? Have you pirouzed that exlent tragady, the "Critic?" There's something so like this in Sir Fretful Plaguy, and the Archbishop of Granadiers, that I'm blest if I can't laff till my sides ake. Think of the critix fixing on the very pint for which you are famus!--the roags! And spose they had said the plot was absudd, or the langwitch absudder still, don't you think you would have had a word in defens of them too--you who hope to find frends for your dramatic wux in the nex age? Poo! I tell thee, Barnet, that the nex age will be wiser and better than this; and do you think that it will imply itself a reading of your trajadies? This is misantrofy, Barnet--reglar Byronism; and you ot to have a better apinian of human natur.

Your apinion about the actors I shan't here meddle with. They all acted exlently as far as my humbile judgement goes, and your write in giving them all possible prays. But let's consider the last sentence of the prefiz, my dear Barnet, and see what a pretty set of apiniuns you lay down.

1. The critix are your inymies in this age.

2. In the nex, however, you hope to find newmrous frends.

3. And it's a satisfackshn to think that, in spite of politticle diffrances, you have found frendly aujences here.

Now, my dear Barnet, for a man who begins so humbly with what my friend Father Prout calls an argamantum ad misericorjam, who ignowledges that his play is bad, that his pore dear helth is bad, and those cussid critix have played the juice with him--I say, for a man who beginns in such a humbill toan, it's rather RICH to see how you end.

My dear Barnet, DO you suppose that POLITTICLE DIFFRANCES prejudice pepple against YOU? What ARE your politix? Wig, I presume--so are mine, ontry noo. And what if they ARE Wig, or Raddiccle, or c.u.msuvvative? Does any mortial man in England care a phig for your politix? Do you think yourself such a mity man in parlymint, that critix are to be angry with you, and aujences to be c.u.msidered magnanamous because they treat you fairly? There, now, was Sherridn, he who roat the "Rifles" and "School for Scandle" (I saw the "Rifles" after your play, and, O Barnet, if you KNEW what a relief it was!)--there, I say, was Sherridn--he WAS a politticle character, if you please--he COULD make a spitch or two--do you spose that Pitt, Purseyvall, Castlerag, old George the Third himself, wooden go to see the "Rivles"--ay, and clap hands too, and laff and ror, for all Sherry's Wiggery? Do you spose the critix wouldn't applaud too? For shame, Barnet! what ninnis, what hartless raskles, you must beleave them to be,--in the fust plase, to fancy that you are a politticle genus; in the secknd, to let your politix interfear with their notiums about littery merits!

"Put that nonsince out of your head," as Fox said to Bonypart. Wasn't it that great genus, Dennis, that wrote in Swiff and p.o.o.p's time, who fansid that the French king wooden make pease unless Dennis was delivered up to him? Upon my wud, I doan't think he carrid his diddlusion much further than a serting honrabble barnet of my aquentance.

And then for the nex age. Respected sir, this is another diddlusion; a gross misteak on your part, or my name is not Y--sh. These plays immortial? Ah, parrysampe, as the French say, this is too strong--the small-beer of the "Sea Capting," or of any suxessor of the "Sea Capting," to keep sweet for sentries and sentries! Barnet, Barnet! do you know the natur of bear? Six weeks is not past, and here your last casque is sour--the public won't even now drink it; and I lay a wager that, betwigst this day (the thuttieth November) and the end of the year, the barl will be off the stox altogether, never, never to return.

I've notted down a few frazes here and there, which you will do well do igsamin:--

NORMAN.

"The eternal Flora Woos to her odorous haunts the western wind; While circling round and upwards from the boughs, Golden with fruits that lure the joyous birds, Melody, like a happy soul released, Hangs in the air, and from invisible plumes Shakes sweetness down!"

NORMAN.

"And these the lips Where, till this hour, the sad and holy kiss Of parting linger'd, as the fragrance left By ANGELS when they touch the earth and vanish."

NORMAN.

"Hark! she has blessed her son! I bid ye witness, Ye listening heavens--thou circ.u.mambient air: The ocean sighs it back--and with the murmur Rustle the happy leaves. All nature breathes Aloud--aloft--to the Great Parent's ear, The blessing of the mother on her child."

NORMAN.

"I dream of love, enduring faith, a heart Mingled with mine--a deathless heritage, Which I can take unsullied to the STARS, When the Great Father calls his children home."

NORMAN.

"The blue air, breathless in the STARRY peace, After long silence hushed as heaven, but filled With happy thoughts as heaven with ANGELS."

NORMAN.

"Till one calm night, when over earth and wave Heaven looked its love from all its numberless STARS."

NORMAN.

"Those eyes, the guiding STARS by which I steered."

NORMAN.

"That great mother (The only parent I have known), whose face Is bright with gazing ever on the STARS-- The mother-sea."

NORMAN.

"My bark shall be our home; The STARS that light the ANGEL palaces Of air, our lamps."

NORMAN.

"A name that glitters, like a STAR, amidst The galaxy of England's loftiest born."

LADY ARUNDEL.

"And see him princeliest of the lion tribe, Whose swords and coronals gleam around the throne, The guardian STARS of the imperial isle."