The English Traveller.—­Heywood’s preface to this play is interesting, as it shows the heroic indifference about the opinion of posterity, which some of these great writers seem to have felt.  There is a magnanimity in authorship, as in everything else.  His ambition seems to have been confined to the pleasure of hearing the players speak his lines while he lived.  It does not appear that he ever contemplated the possibility of being read by after-ages.  What a slender pittance of fame was motive sufficient to the production of such plays as the English Traveller, the Challenge for Beauty, and the Woman Killed with Kindness!  Posterity is bound to take care that a writer loses nothing by such a noble modesty.

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THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WILLIAM ROWLEY.

A Fair Quarrel.—­The insipid levelling morality to which the modern stage is tied down, would not admit of such admirable passions as these scenes are filled with.  A puritanical obtuseness of sentiment, a stupid infantile goodness, is creeping among us, instead of the vigorous passions, and virtues clad in flesh and blood, with which the old dramatists present us.  Those noble and liberal casuists could discern in the differences, the quarrels, the animosities of men, a beauty and truth of moral feeling, no less than in the everlastingly inculcated duties of forgiveness and atonement.  With us, all is hypocritical meekness.  A reconciliation-scene, be the occasion never so absurd, never fails of applause.  Our audiences come to the theatre to be complimented on their goodness.  They compare notes with the amiable characters in the play, and find a wonderful sympathy of disposition between them.  We have a common stock of dramatic morality, out of which a writer may be supplied without the trouble of copying it from originals within his own breast.  To know the boundaries of honor, to be judiciously valiant, to have a temperance which shall beget a smoothness in the angry swellings of youth, to esteem life as nothing when the sacred reputation of a parent is to be defended, yet to shake and tremble under a pious cowardice when that ark of an honest confidence is found to be frail and tottering, to feel the true blows of a real disgrace blunting that sword which the imaginary strokes of a supposed false imputation had put so keen an edge upon but lately; to do, or to imagine this done, in a feigned story, asks something more of a moral sense, somewhat a greater delicacy of perception in questions of right and wrong, than goes to the writing of two or three hackneyed sentences about the laws of honor as opposed to the laws of the land, or a commonplace against duelling.  Yet such things would stand a writer now-a-days in far better stead than Captain Agar and his conscientious honor; and he would be considered as a far better teacher of morality than old Rowley or Middleton, if they were living.

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