THE BENTLEY BALLADS * IT is now-a-days a matter of

rather rare occurrence for any writer of magazine—or review—articles to attain to any material degree of popn.- laritv or success, without becoming impressed with the conviction that hiscontributions are worthy of more than a merely ephemeral existence, and that he is simply doing his duty to himself and the public by reproducing them in a collective and more substantial form. The practice to which this impression gives rise, itself only of cornparatively recent origin, has, within the last two or three years, ex- tended from the contributors to the proprietors of periodical publi- cations. The latter gentlemen are, we presume, actuated by the con- sideration that, even after their pages-have been despoiled of those * The Bentley Ballads; containing the choice Ballads, Songs, and Poems, contri- buted to "Bentley's Miscellany." Richard Bentley. contributions which, either from their own magnitude or the celebrity of their authors, are able to stand alone, there rem 'ains a considerable mass of available matter, the work of a variety of writers who are individually of less note, but who derive a kind of collective import- ance from the common medium through which their productions have been given to the public. Whether this consideration will serve as an adequate justification for the wholesale reproduction of maga- zine articles, which is becoming one of the prominent literary features of the present day, is a point on which we confess we are not entirely free from doubt. We are by no means sure that the flowers are not more attractive when growing in the garden in which they were originally planted, than they are when made into a bouquet and placed upon the drawing-room table; especially if the gardener has included among them a few weeds, whose presence may, perhaps, be unobserved in the garden, while in the bouquet it can neither be tolerated nor overlooked. And there are, we think, special reasons why the republication of magazine-verses should be an experiment of a peculiarly hazardous nature. In the case of verse, the standard of

periodical literature is, on the whole, decidedly lower than in that of prose ; and many a batch of indifferent rhymes, which may pass muster when serving as a relief to a mass of more weighty matter, will be at once rejected when deprived of the advantage of its original position, and compelled to rely upon its intrinsic merit alone. In the feast which a magazine-editor provides for the public, the poetical articles may be regarded as representing the sweetmeats and light pastry; ana though such "pretty tiny kickshaws" are pleasant and palatable enough in their proper time and place, there are but few people whose taste would not be offended and stomachs disordered by a meal of which they were the sole ingredients. Whether, however, these doubts of ours have any real foundation,

or no, it is at least certain that Mr. Bentley is troubled by no such misgivings. The experiment which he tried about a couple of years ago, of republishing the principal poetical contributions which ap- peared in his Miscellany between the years 1837 and 1810, has proved so successful that he has been induced, in preparing. a new edition of the work, to extend its range over the whole period be- tween 1837 and 1855. This reissue of the Bentley Ballads may be regarded, therefore, as a new work rather than as a new edition. We do not think, however, that the great increase in the quantity of matter contained in the book, which necessarily results from this wide extension of its range, is attended by anything like a propor- tionate improvement in its quality. The title of the volume has certainly become a complete misnomer; for we are not understating the number of pieces to which, by the utmost stretch of courtesy, the term "Ballad" can possibly be applied, in estimating them at scarcely more than a tenth part of the total contents of the book. The bur- lesque figures with which the outside of the volume continues to be decorated are equally misplaced; for a decided majority of the pieces

, contained in the present edition are not of a comic, but of a more or

less serious and sentimental, nature. The fact is that Mr. Bentley's chance of reproducing a really characteristic collection of the poet- ical contributions to his Miscellany was irremediably damaged by the publication of the "Ingoldsby Legends" in a separate form. Our estimate of the real value of these well-known and popular produc- tions is far from being a very high one. Their attractiveness depends mainly upon their being notable examples of that form of humour— not, in our opinion, a very exalted one—which consists in treating a grave subject in a facetious manner. But, whatever may be our esti- mate of their literary merit, there can be no doubt that they were the most thoroughly characteristic of the poetical contributions to Bent- ley's Miscellany, nor that they were very extensively popular, especially among the younger class of readers. Nor must. we forget that they were really very good in their way. Mr. Barham possessed a peculiar faculty for the manufacture of those intricate and in- genious rhymes, for the introduction of which that class of composi- tions affords especial opportunities. The few legends of the same kind which are contained in the present edition of the Bentley Bal- lads, appear to us to be inferior in every respect ; and in none more decidedly than in the carelessness and imperfection of their rhymes. The only exception to this general censure is the legend of "Emma and Eginard," in which we have met with one or two rhymes of con- siderable ingenuity. The following are, perhaps, the best :— " Till yea find your tone grow tragic,

And your bosom toss and glow; Till you groan out ghastly adjec- tives, in whispers hoarse and low. "So shall you feel due sympathy For our reverend young bean, mazed in Cupid's dim path, he Shall chance at last on woe."

Defective rhymes are, indeed, a common fault in most of the comic pieces in the volume. Sam, for instance, does not rhyme with man, tower with spire, nor epigram with crepidam ; nor are .Mega- theriuni and theory on, or reveal and veal, any better. It would be well if the authors of the last two examples would ponder over the old paradox, vAiev fistav wayr6s, the truth of which is nowhere more aptly illustrated than in the case of rhymes. As to the overwhelm- ing mass of serious and sentimental pieces, which constitute the bulk of the volume before us, we really cannot see any sufficient reason why the greater part of them should ever have been reprinted at all. Such effusions as those of Mr. Kenealy, or Lady Georgians Fullerton, are not likely to attract more attention now than they did when they were originally published; and the numerous contributions by Long- fellow (whose initials, by the way, are H. W., not W. H.) are per- fectly accessible to his admirers in any one of the numerous editions

lus collected works. Occasionally we meet with a piece which is interesting from the celebrity of its author, rather than from any intrinsic merit of its own. 'Dins we have some stanzas entitled "The Lass of Albany," by Robert Burns; a fragment "To my Library," by Southey ; and a satirical poem entitled "A Game at St. Stephen's Chapel," which bears the signature of George Canning. The name of Dion Bourcicault, which is appended to a poem called "Light," is one which, at the present time, is very familiar to the public ear. We have long known this gentleman as a remarkably brilliant and skilful dramatist, and recent experience has shown him to be an actor of no common excellence; and we think it likely that many of our readers will share the curiosity which we naturally felt, to see what sort of figure he makes as a poet. His verses, which are in a singularly wild and irregular metre, are suggested by the passage in Genesis, "And God said, Let there be light, and there was light." Here is a sample of ithem:

" Syren myrtles woo the fickle May-breeze with a rustling kiss filch'd of The lagging wind ; while ev'ry twinkling leaf' Whispers a lay of love-sick melody. The airy multitudes, distilling Sweetest music in their shrill tale of first Affection, swell out the gentle tumult Of this mellow choir, till beaming Nature Seems one song of universal adoration.

"'Light was—and God saw that it was good.'

"The Day went down, while Heaven blush'd at Evening's Fickle flight. Night crept from the caves, keeping Far off the dreaded sun ; and as it came With stealthy crawl, deserted Earth saw, And its latest zephyr moan'd a wailing cry. Twilight, the day's last warm embrace, turned back

From following the sun, and wept dew upon

The drooping flowers there, with a mother's slow And struggling gait, with face o'er her shoulder Bent, fixed a last fond gaze upon the mute-struck Loveliness of recumbent Nature."

Is this rhapsody sublime, or is it ridiculous ? This is a question which we leave our readers to answer; only saying that we cannot resist a faint suspicion of, at least, the possibility of admitting the latter alternative.

Hitherto, we have spoken mainly of what, to return to our original metaphor, must, we fear, be regarded as the weeds in Mr. Bentley's bouquet; of which, it mast be acknowledged, there is a disproportionate, and, on the whole, scarcely justifiable number. The reader must not, however, imagine that it contains no flowers at all. The contributions of Dr. Magill% Father Prout, and the genial and rollicking gentleman who signs himself "The Irish Whiskey-Drinker," are, for the most part, very good indeed, and are quite worthy of reproduction in a separate form. It is, in fact, the Irish element which, almost exclusively, gives life and spirit to Mr. Bentley's volume. Of Dr. Mag,inn's productions, which are mostly of a more or less serious nature, the best is, we think, that entitled "The Mockings of the Soldiers," which is decidedly superior, both in thought and expression, to the mass of miscellaneous sentiment in which it is embedded. In connexion with the name of the Irish Whiskey-Drinker, it is only necessary to mention the capital ode in praise of whiskey, beginning, "Whiskey, drink divine !" which is, no doubt, thoroughly familiar to the majority of our readers. The most characteristic and spirited of Father Front's contributions are his translations into Latin of several well-known Irish comic songs ; and it is to these that we wish specially to direct the reader's atten- tion. In proceeding to render into Latin any verses of a comic or humorous nature, whose effect is at all dependent upon the peculiarity of their metrical form, it is, we are inclined to think, a waste of time and a misapplication of ingenuity to attempt to adapt them to one of the recognised classical metres of Latin poetry. Such a trans- lation, if it be thoroughly well done, may faithfully convey the mean- ing, but must lose something of the spirit, of the ori,ginaL One such attempt has been made in the present volume by Mr. G. K. Gillespie, who has furnished a translation into elegiacs of the well-known song "Sally in our Alley," which, though not devoid of ingenuity, is obtrusively unclassical, and is, on the whole, far from being an entirely satisfactory performance. Far preferable, in our opinion, is the system of translation pursued by Father Front, who invariably adopts a metre either identical with, or closely resembling, that of the original. In support of our judgment on this point, we will quote the first stanza of a Latin version—the metre of the original being preserved —of the melancholy story of the "Unfortunate Miss Bailey," with which it would be clearly hopeless for even the best possible transla- tion into any known classical metre to enter into competition for a moment:

" Seduxit miles virginem, receptus in hibernis, Qute laqueo prwcipitest se transtulit Avemis ; Impransus ills restitit, sed acrits potabat, Et, conscius facinoris, per vies clamitabat • Miseram Bailiam, infortunatam Bailiatn, Froditam, traditam, miserrimamque Baillam."

We do not know who is the author, nor have we ever been able to meet with the remainder, of this admirable translation; and we shall be very glad if any of our readers can enlighten us on either of these points. Many of the translations by Father Front which are con- tained in the present volume, are exceedingly happy, and are quite worthy to be ranked with the best specimens of their kind. Take, for instance, the following extract from "The Lament of her Irish Lover to the Hardhearted Molly Carew," the Latin version of which is addressed, "Ad Mollissimam Pu.ellam e Geticit Caruarum Fanul'a

In. HI.

"lieu! Hen! " Och bone!

Per comua lame By the man in the moon! Perpetub tu ne You tease me all ways Me vexes impune? ... That a woman can plaze ; I nunc choro salts For you dance twice as high (Mac-ghius nam tecdm) With that thief Pat Maghee Planta magis all& As when you take share Quern sueveris mecbm 1 ... In a jig, dear, with me; Tibicinem quando Though the piper I bate, Cogo fustigando For fear the ould chate Ile falsum det melee, Wouldn't play you your

Anhelus.--. Favourite tune.

A te in sacello And when you're at Mass Vii mentem revello My devotion you crass, Hen ! misere scissam For 'tis thinking of you Te inter et Missam; I am, Molly Carew; To latitas vero While you wear on purpose Tam strict° galero A bonnet so deep, Ut cernere valtum That I can't at your sweet Desiderem multbm. Pretty face get a peep. Et dubites jam, nbin Oh! lave off that bonnet, (Ob animte damnum) Or else I'll lave on it it fas hune deberi The loss of my wandering Anferri ? Sowl!

Hen! hen! nisi ta Och hone, like an owl, Corkm sis,y is ' gh Czecus sim: elelen!" Dear, to me without you!"

The "Ode in Praise of Whisky," to which we have already alluded, is accompanied by a Latin translation, which, though it does not bear Father Prout's signature, is quite worthy of his pen. The following stanza is rendered with peculiar neatness :

"Bright as Beauty's eye " Clarior ocello When no sorrow veils it; Veneris ridente ; Sweet as Beauty's sigh Snavior suspirio, When Young Love inhales it; Cupidine prtesente ! Come thou, to my lip! Liceat beatis

Come oh rich in busses! To labris applicare,

Every drop I sip Imbrem et bastorum

Seems a shower of kisses!" Guttatim delibare 1"

Besides these translations into Latin, Father Prout has also given us an admirable French version of Burns' well-known song, "For a' that and a' that," which Beranger himself would not have been ashamed to own. As a sample of its quality, we subjoin a single stanza:

" What I though " Quoiqu'on &it faire

On homely fare we dine, Bien maigre chere

Wear hodden grey, Et vetir pauvre vetement ; And a' that; Aux sots leur soie, Give fools their silks, Leur vin, lenr joie ;

And knaves their wine, Ca fait-il 010301E? eh, nullement!

A man's a MAN for a' that: Luxe et grandeur—

For a' that, for a' that, Qn'importe! Their tinsel show, Train et splendeur- And a' that ; Qu'importe I The honest man, Ccenrs vil.s at crenx ! Though e'er so poor, Un noble gueux Is king o' men for a' that." Vant touts la cohorte !"

In connexion with this very clever feu d'esprit a remark suggests itself, with which we will conclude our notice of Mr. Bentley's vo- lume. It is to the effect that many educated Englishmen, who possess considerable familiarity with the French language, appear systematically to ignore one most striking and obvious peculiarity in the poetical pronunciation of that tongue; viz., that the final e, which is mute in ordinary conversation, is, when followed by a con- sonant, invariably sounded as a distinct syllable in all metrical com- positions. We can scarcely imagine that the almost universal neglect of this rule arises from ignorance of its existence, for no one can read half a dozen consecutive lines of any French poet without being struck by the universality of its application; but it is certain that, from some cause or other, it very seldom receives any practical attention at the hands of an English writer. Father Front is too good a French scholar to be guilty of any such blunder; but the same cannot be said of all the writers whose productions figure among the Bentley Ballads. A flagrant instance of the error of which we are speaking occurs in a contribution by Mr. Albert Smith, who was always an inveterate offender in this way; and there is another' not less glaring, in the satirical poem by Canning, to which we have already alluded. The majority of educated Englishmen are far more accurately acquainted with the etymology of the French language than even the most cultivated Frenchmen, generally, are with that of our own; but, as regards a knowledge of pronunciation, we doubt whether either of the two nations has any material advantage over the other.