distinction, as Mr. Gifford well observes, "is the uniform respect with which he treats religion and its ministers, in an age when it was found necessary to add regulation to regulation to stop the growth of impiety on the stage. No priests are introduced by him to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh at their licentious follies: the sacred name is not lightly invoked, nor daringly sported with; nor is Scripture profaned by buffoon allusions lavishly put into the mouths of fools and women." This is, indeed, glorious distinction," alas! that it should be any distinction at all. But our old stage is grossly licen tious. From Shakespear, that "Coryphæus of profanation," to Dryden and Congreve, there were immoality and impiety.

66 a

But the literary character of Massinger must not be dismissed without some general observations.

"It is truly surprising," says Dr. Ireland, "that the genius which produced these plays should have obtained so little notice from the world. It does not appear that, in any age since his own, Massinger has been ranked among the principal writers for the stage. Rarely have any of his dramas been acted; and dramatic criticism has been unwilling to mention his name. It has attributed variety and greatness of character to Shakespear and Fletcher, as if Massinger had never existed." Yet, in many of the qualities necessary to constitute dramatic eminence, he is on a level with either. 1. His style is natural, yet elegant; it is easy, clear, flowing, and unaffected. Its great beauty, indeed, is perspicuity; he does not rise into bombast; but he does sometimes descend lower than he ought. 2. If his plots are sometimes intricate, they are always connected; circumstances apparently of trifling import, are made the hinges of important events. 3. And he observes the unities more than the writers of his age, Ben Jonson and one or two more excepted. Of these, unity of action is always essential. He has rarely under-plots; and when he has, they are so skilfully allied with the

pervading one, as not to affect the simplicity and clearness of the action. Sometimes, indeed, he has too much incident; and this hurries the piece so much that we have not leisure enough to dwell on the delineation of character. In regard to the second unity, that of place, he does not always observe it, and for this he has our thanks. He removes the scene from Cæsarea to Rome, from Sicily to Sienna, according to his pleasure. In general, he restricts it to one city, however frequently he may change it from house to house. The third unity, that of time, he regards still less. In some of his dramas, years seem to elapse. 4. Of his learning, we can only say that it was respectable. He has many classical allusions, but these he sometimes applies with little judgment. They are proper enough in the mouth of Dorothea, the Virgin-Martyr, when she wishes to convict her pagan antagonists of folly in their monstrous creed; but they are sadly misplaced in the mouths of women and servants. He seems to have read the early fathers, or at least so much of ecclesiastical history as to be conversant with their spirit. Nor was he ignorant of general history. But he was far more conversant with the traditionary lore of the middle ages. He had read the romances of France and Italy with great attention. His plots are often founded on them. 5. Of his morals we say, as we have already said, that though he has many indecent expressions, many allusions still more so, he is generally ready to visit guilt with retribution.This is one of his distinguishing characteristics. Let us not, however, forget to condemn him for the obscenity of some among his dialogues. He had, indeed, no liking to it; he writes as if he were undergoing a painful necessity; as if he felt that, if he would have his dramas popular, he must sacrifice to the mob. this reason, there is, we are glad to perceive, something very lifeless in such descriptions: they have no charm, they can have none, for the most prurient mind. He has not laboured to render vice attractive, and therefore J In this he is unlike most of

his contemporaries. Beaumont, the son of a judge, Fletcher, the son of a bishop, were far more licentious. 6. His characters are delineated, not, indeed, with the master hand of Jonson, but with considerable felicity. They are, however, more true to nature than those of his celebrated contemporary. He drew more from history or from real life; and he has, consequently, exhibited portraits, less striking, indeed, but far more just. 7. In poetic fancy, he is not equal to Beaumont, or Fletcher, or Ford; but he is superior to Ben Jonson. He writes with too much ease to be studious about words; and he seldom allows a metaphor to carry him 8. Of sublimity he beyond the bounds of sobriety. has little. He did not, however, aim at it. 9. Nor can we say that he has great power over the passions. He inspires pity, indeed, but seldom terror; and he Still he rivets the attention, does not draw tears. both, by the striking nature of his incidents, and by 10. Of wit he has the animation of his dialogue. absolutely none. Hence he was unfitted for comedy. On the whole, we may say of him, with Dr. Ireland, that he does not soar to the heights of fancy: he dwells among men, and describes their business and their passions with judgment, feeling, and discrimination. He has a justness of principle which is admirably fitted to the best interests of human life."

Massinger was removed in time from the sphere of life. The theatres were closed soon after his death. The puritans were becoming all powerful; and they bore nearly as much hatred to the stage as to monarchy and the church. They felt, too, the ridicule which during half a century had been poured upon them by the best dramatic writers; and they were not disposed, now that the means were in their hands, to forego their revenge. Yet we know not that the stage was regarded with favour by moderate virtuous men who were not puritans. To them, the licentiousness which stained, the -high degraded it. rendered it odious; and

Nothing in the whole compass of biography equals the dearth of materials in regard to our ancient dramatists. Of Shakespear, it has been well observed, we know little more than that he was born at Stratford, that he came to London, wrote plays, returned to Strat

The materials for this scanty life are derived from Baker's Biography Dramatica; Dodsley's Old Plays; Malone's Shakespear, by Boswell; Campbell's Specimens of the British Poets; Chalmers's Biographical Dictionary; Weber's Ford; and, above all, the Introduction to Ford, by Gifford.

The time of Ford's death cannot be discovered; probably it was about the year 1650.

ford, and died. Ben Jonson's life is full of uncertainty. Of Beaumont and Fletcher we know nothing beyond a few scanty dates. Of Massinger we can speak only as far as his dedications and a few entries enable us. Of John Ford, we have, if possible, still less to say. How came the world to be so indifferent to men whose genius all must acknowledge, as not even to make the least inquiry about them, until inquiry was too late? The reason, or at least a reason, must be, as Dr. Farmer observes, that play-writing was scarcely thought a creditable employ. Dramatists were little more esteemed than players: both were witty vagabonds, who might occasionally be permitted to make a wise man laugh, but concerning whom, the moment the curtain fell, no man, wise or silly, would waste one word. As well ask the exhibiter in the streets, while delighting children and nursery-maids with the tricks of Punch and Judy, who made his puppets, and what obscure alley in this vast Babylon had the honour to produce him.

The family of Ford was of high respectability in Devonshire, where it had been long seated in the sixteenth century. Thomas Ford, of Ilsington, married the daughter of the well-known lord chief justice Popham, and had issue our poet John Ford, with other children. John was the second son, and was born at Ilsington in 1586. His elder brother was, no doubt, sufficiently provided for without the necessity of a profession. He was obliged to choose one; and his mother's connections probably inclined him to the law. Whether he went to college, we know not; but, in 1602, he became a member of the Middle Temple. He had, indeed, the best prospects of success in a career of which his grandfather was the head. Whether, however, he was fond of so dry a study as the law, may be doubted. Probably he was placed in some sinecure post where few qualifications of this kind were required. It is certain that he soon gave up much of his time to poetry. In 1606, four years after his entrance, when