drama. The manager is full of anxiety. He exhorts the poet on the subject of his work as if it were still to do—as if he were there to inspire the actors, or to possess them in the very hour of their performance, and he supplicates for invention, novelty, variety, incident, and spirit, as one whose means of living depend on the event. He classes the poet and the clown together as the pillars of his hope—he reminds them that they have stood by him thus far through foul and fair, and begs them not to desert him here in his extremest need—he lectures them upon public taste and the most infallible clap-traps and baits for applause, and declares it is far better to get cash from the present generation, than the shadowy hope of a harvest of praise from the next. All this is as nuts to the clown—to the poet bitter ashes. Suppose, says the former, scoffingly, I too should talk about posterity and neglect my business, who would make sport for the world that is passing—yet this must have its pleasures. You know what we stand in need of, dish it up for us by old rules and approved receipts, a love adventure, hopes, fears, and a catastrophe, a little noise and tinsel, and all goes down. But the dealer in metre stands upon his dignity—he speaks disrespectfully of the mob—gets on his high horse and appeals to future ages—then thinks of bygone days, and promises passionately that if they can be recalled, all contradictions shall be reconciled, all impossibilities performed, and all parties satisfied.
When early hopes, a ripening throne.
Poured from the heart's perpetual spring.
Uninterrupted joy and song.
When morning mists, all din and gray,
Around life's rugged steeps were curl'd,
And all the vales with flowers were gay,
And buds just opening to display
The promise of a magic world.
Possessing nought, yet rich—how sweet
That love of truth—that self-deceit—
That chainless impulse—bid it move
Those hopes—those passions—bid them burn—
That strength of hatred—power of love
And youth—oh bid my youth return.
This, however, is asking too much, but the manager smooths him down as well as he can, and comforts him for the control he cannot have over time and the past, by offering the regions of space and all that therein is to his absolute disposal. He begs him again to astonish the expectant audience to the very
