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of Catherine Audley, long life to Dr. Booker, who brought the holy maid before us some months sin re-long life to her mare and colt, and the tracks made by them-long life to all concerned in their preservation -and above all, long life to this "original drama,” and the good people of Ledbury who received it with "the greatest approbation!!" After this statement, it might seem presumption in us to offer any critical remarks upon this production, did we not recollect that Lord Byron mentions a play which was performed at some private theatre with the "greatest approbation," and damned at Covent Garden with the greatest expedition!" As Shakspeare truly observes, “there is a tide in the affairs of men," and so it appears to be with St. Catherine. After a long rest in her quiet bed, she has been in an extraordinary manner again suddenly brought before the public; Dr. Booker has illustrated her history in his poems, the tracks of her mare and colt have been recently made the subject of erudite investigation, and here we have an "original drama" developing her whole history. First, then, for the plot, and then for the poetry. St. Catharine appears to be the patron saint of the good town of Ledbury, in Herefordshire, and certain it is, that in the reign of Edward the Second, a devout recluse of the name lived in that town, where there is still an hospital bearing her name. Who this Catherine Audley really was, what duties called her to Ledbury, and induced her to take up her abode there, and when or by whom she received canonization are most unfortunately queries which cannot be satisfactorily answered, though very diligent inquiries have been recently instituted. Thus circumstanced, we hailed with joy the timely appearance of the present drama, and the successful researches of the author seem to have thrown a strong light upon the facts of the case; we hasten, therefore, to relieve the curiosity of our readers, by giving the following outline of this "original drama" which was performed (for 100 successive nights?) at the Ledbury theatre "with the greatest approbation."

According to our author, Catherine Audley, (and, as legal reporters say, "with whom" was Mabel, her "bower-woman") was the only child of Sir Andrew de Audley, in love with Edward the Second, and beloved by Mortimer Earl of March. The young lady is found, rather suspiciously, we think, wandering in men's clothes with her "maid Mabel," in the Forest of Dean, but for what purpose does not appear. At the same time Hugh de Mendax, a squire of Lord Montraver's, gets entangled in the same forest, and is bound and robbed of a packet (with which he was intrusted to deliver to Mortimer, at Wigmore Castle,) by some out-laws," one of whom proves to be Sir Andrew de Audley himself. Catherine and her maid release Mendax, and Peter Coci, a Herefordshire bumpkin, who is made the butt of some drunken jokes ; and are, in kind return, made prisoners by Roland, a squire of Mortimer's, and Mendax, and carried to Wigmore Castle, where Mortimer, Queen Isabel, and Prince Edward are represented to be staying. On Catherine being introduced to Mortimer, as a prisoner, she is immediately recognised, and subsequently imprisoned in consequence of the taunting language addressed to him. Queen Isabel, hearing of this circumstance, has some suspicions of Mortimer's intentions with regard to Catherine, sends for her, and a warm altercation takes place between the ladies. This scene is pleasingly interrupted by the appearance of the third Edward, who, rather strangely comes to solicit grace for Sir Andrew de Audley, whom he has just heard is returned from exile without permission, and is in arms against Mortimer. The Queen refuses. Catherine rushes forward, proclaims Edward King, and tells him Mortimer

has murdered his father. Mortimer now appears, and after a fierce affray, Prince Edward and Catherine are sent to prison. Catherine contrives to assist Edward to escape. Audley and the out-laws arriveblood, fire, and confusion ensue the castle is stormed and burned down, and Mortimer receives his quietus from Edward. All this is very dramatic, and therefore we can forgive our author outraging history, and forgetting the real capture of Mortimer at Nottingham Castle. But this is not the catastrophe of the story. This would not have had the greatest approbation" of the Ledbury audience. The close therefore, the denouement of this singular and original drama is not the burning of the Church, the sack of the town, and other dramatic et cetera, but simply the circumstance of St. Catherine henceforward determining to board and lodge in the good town of Ledbury. This is introduced by the episode of a "Prophecy" uttered, we are left to suppose by the sybil who took the oracles to King Tarquin, and which is thus delivered by "Maid Mabel;"

"The last of the daughters of Audley's old line,

A pilgrim shall wander from shrine unto shrine;
Without rest, without refuge, the maiden shall go,

Till she comes where the waters of Leddon's stream flow;
There the bells of a grey and ivy'd church tow'r,

Without hands shall be peal'd to point out her lone bow'r ;
When the virgin recluse, long by sorrow opprest,
Shall gain from the world a rude mansion of rest."

St. Catherine receives this intelligence with very great complacence, and feels from "the holy calm pervading her mind" she shall soon arrive at the end of her toils. After the burning of Wigmore Castle, a guide and horses are given St. Catherine and her maid to proceed with to a place of safety, but under the conduct of stupid old Coci, they get lost. Here a most beautiful scene occurs, which being the best in St. Catherine's history, we shall give entire, though we regret to understand, peculiar circumstances caused it to be "omitted in the representation."

Scene-The Banks of Sapey Brook, with Tedstone-de-la-Mere in the distance. Enter St. Catherine, Mabel, her Maid, and Peter Coci.

Peter.

Mabel.

In sooth I fear a weary trudge is our's,
Worse than I ever had in all our woods,
Attending on the swine. The colt is lost,
That blessed colt that never wore a shoe,
And her good mother.

Oh ye blessed saints,
Look down on our distress, and if the rogues
Have led our steeds astray, drench them with rain,
Bid lightnings scath them; may the furious winds
Blow them o'er ocean; may the floods o'erwhelm
Their hideous features, and the vultures tear.
St. Catherine. Where'r they tread

The stony bed

Of the brook shall show
Their tracks below;

Both colt and mare

Shall be shown there:

Where'r they spring
The patten-ring
Shall mark their tread

On the stony bed.

Peter. What do my eyes behold? on every stone
Where the brook gurgles, I perceive the mark
Of horses' hoofs-and softly by the side

Of the mare's track, I see the little colt's
Small round impression-down this wat'ry way
The rascals must have gone-come on, come on,
We soon shall overtake them.

Exit Peter.

Scene changes to the Hoar Stone in Tedstone. A thief is seen mounted on pattens leading a mare and colt along the bed of the brook.

Thief. These stones seem soft as clay, I cannot tread
But something pulls me down; the horses drag
As if some lumb'ring wain, high pil'd in air

Peter.

Was at their heels. The curse of some pure saint
Is on me; ere a felon's doom is mine,

I'll leave the nags to fate.

(As he goes off, Peter with a possee of countrymen with pikes and staves rush on him and bind him.)

So-ho-So-ho!

Villain, we've track'd you to this last retreat,

Spite of your wiles; bind up the recreant knave,

Screw him to the Hoar-stone, and from its dizzy peak
There let him dangle, till the dripping springs

Have from his head to every nether part

Made him a stony mass hard as his heart.

Enter St. Catherine.

St. Cath. Long renowned in future story
Be his memorable end,

Here to Sapey's wild rocks hoary,
Pilgrims shall for ever bend;
Here with awe the footsteps trace
Of my mare upon the place,

There the colt's with wonder view,
And the ring's impression too;
Distant ages shall inquire,

And the theme shall never tire.

This most impressive scene, we are persuaded, would have been received with the "greatest approbation" at Ledbury, and we repeat our regret at the "untoward" circumstances that prevented its representation. The writer seems to have thought that it was his duty rather to bring St. Catherine to Ledbury as soon as possible, as the ringing of the bells of Ledbury church "without hands" was of course an event more interesting to the good people of that place than any antecedent facts, however curious and important. We regret, however, to be obliged to remark, that at this critical point our writer breaks down, and when all his energies were required to bear upon the bells, he comes to a most lame and impotent conclusion-and his efforts to bear the bell prove vain. It was evidently his duty to have introduced the belfry and bells of Ledbury upon the stage, that the audience might have been fully satisfied that no trickery was practised upon them. It is useless to object that the belfry was too bulky-for we answer with Don Quixotte in reply to the stupid actor who thought the stage could not admit the numerous throng proposed by the Don

"So vast a throng the stage will ne'er contain,—

Then make a new, or act it on a plain."

So our author was bound to show the audience the bells in question moving without hands. Instead of this, when Mabel sagely remarks that "nothing but my own ears (eyes she means) shall convince me we shall ever hear bells rung without hands," Peter is made to show the possibility of the phenomenon by reference to the bell of Marcle church.

This bell, Peter says, was "stolen by a Welch thief one night, and he was carrying it off between two horses; and the moment they began to trot, wiggle-waggle went the clapper, and waked all the village." And this is positively the only explanation we receive of the important and hitherto unaccounted-for phenomenon of the bells at Ledbury ringing "without hands," and which was the circumstance that induced St. Catherine to take up her abode at Ledbury. To this point, in particular, our author ought unquestionably to have paid the greatest attention, as the prosperity of Ledbury undoubtedly hinged upon it, and we suggest three points for his investigation, the results of which we recommend him to insert in a note in the second edition of his "original drama.” 1st, when St. Catherine observes, "I have heard the peal rung by no human hand," how she had ascertained this extraordinary fact-2ndly. as Mabel observes "self-tolled were the bells," it would seem to imply that these Ledbury bells were not in fact rung by any hand at all, but were instinct with life; and therefore it seems important to ascertain whether the animation ascribed to the bells yet remains, and in what degree it differs from vegetable or animal life. 3rdly, how came bells of this peculiar manufacture to be only placed in the belfry at Ledbury? When these important points are fully cleared up, we purpose again to examine this "original, historical, and local drama," and quaff inspiration from the classic waters of the Leddon! But mercy! what a name -"the waters of Leddon" for an immortal river-we greatly fear it is a first cousin to the Lethe, and in imagination we already see St. Catherine, Mabel, the mare and colt, tracks and all, being ferried over the Styx by old Charon to pass from our sight for ever. Oh for one single draught of the Lethe to forget if it were possible, St. Catherine, her tracks, Mabel, the bells, Ledbury, and this incomparable drama, relating all their acts and deeds. But we fear the spirit of investigation has been so roused, that we shall be left in a similar situation to the Arabian enchanter, who had raised a spirit which he was unable to lay. So St. Catherine, having been once roused from her repose, will, we fear, track our footsteps for many a long year.

Graphic Illustrations of the Life and Times of Samuel Johnson, LL. D. Part I. Murray, Albemarle-street, 1835.

These graphic illustrations will make an admirable companion to the new variorum edition of Boswell's Life of Johnson. Each part, it is announced, will contain at least five engravings; and if these engravings should all be of the style and character which distinguish the first number, just published, a fact which the high respectability of the publisher insures, nothing more perfect can be wished for. There are in this part a view of Lichfield, the birth-place of Johnson, drawn by Stanfield, and exquisitely engraved by Finden; a portrait of Michael Johnson, of Lichfield, the father of the lexicographer, also engraved by Finden, from a drawing in the possession of Mr. Murray; a portrait of Edward Cave, the founder of the Gentleman's Magazine, drawn by Kyte, 1740, and engraved by Scriven; a view of St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell, the residence of Cave, with a fac-simile of his hand-writing; a fac-simile of a letter from Gilbert Walmesley to J. Colson, Esq. F.R.S.; and a fac-simile extract of a letter from Dr. Johnson to Edward Cave, in 1738.

Explanatory notes and interesting anecdotes, copies of letters, and other elucidatory and interesting particulars accompany the plates, which are of two sizes-quarto, for the convenience of collectors, July, 1835.-vOL. II. NO. XII.

3 L

and octavo, for more general use. There are few libraries, public or private, we conceive, into which these charming graphic illustrations will not be admitted.

The Life and Works of William Cowper. Grimshawe, A.M. Vols. III. and IV. duit-street, 1835.

Edited by the Rev. T. S.
Saunders and Otley, Con-

This unique edition of Cowper is now brought down to its 4th volume, and, both in its embellishments and its typography, we cannot but observe, it still continues to be distinguished by the same excellent taste and general correctness.

In the 4th vol. we perceive the learned editor has, for an instant, suspended the progress of the correspondence, to make room for a few pertinent observations on Cowper's great and laborious undertaking, the translation of Homer. Five years of intense application, it seems, were devoted to this employment; being, doubtless, stimulated in his exertions by the idea that he was in that work building up for himself a fame which should immortalize him. On the 1st of July, 1791, the complete version was published in two quarto volumes, the Iliad being inscribed to his young noble kinsman, Earl Cowper; and the Odyssey to the Dowager Countess Spencer. If any circumstance can prove more strongly than another, the infatuation of men of genius, it is that which took possession of Cowper's mind on the subject of this translation. He knew that Pope had failed, who had called to his aid all the varied charms of which poetry was capable, and yet he fancied that the strength of his blank verse would more than compensate for the sweetness of Pope's metrical numbers. The idea strangely wandered in his brain, that by giving a faithful yet free translation, he should embody a genuine and graceful representative of the admired original. It is true that he is more faithful than Pope, but far less rich and spirited-what he has gained in strength, he has lost in elegance and in melody. We read Cowper as a task-we dwell on Pope, and commit his lines to memory. Although there are many passages distinguished by much grace and beauty, and we allow that in the pages of Cowper there is a closer interpretation of Homer's meaning, yet, on the whole, the lofty spirit, the bright glow of feeling, the "thoughts that breathe, the words that burn," are not sufficiently sustained. Each of these distinguished writers, to a certain extent, has failed, not from any want of genius, but because complete success is difficult, if not unattainable. Homer still remains untranslated, because of all poets he is the most untranslatable. He seems to claim the lofty prerogative of standing alone, and of enjoying the solitary grandeur of his own unrivalled genius, allowing neither to rival nor to friend, to imitator nor to translator, the honours of participation; but exercising the exclusive right of interpreting the majestic simplicity of his own conceptions in all the fervour of his own poetic fancy, and in the sweet melody of his own graceful and flowing numbers. He who wishes to understand and to appreciate Homer, must seek him in the charm and beauty of his own inimitable language.

We had intended to give a few specimens from each translator, to invite comparison, but we find that we must defer such intention to our next number. Want of space, and not inclination, must be our

excuse.