liness, of which the girl knew so little; and as she "passes," singing in her innocent, unconscious joy, her words fall on men's hearts with a strange power to bless, as calling them to purity, truth, courage, reverence. She has come into closest contact with passions which she never knew, with vileness from which her purity would have shrunk ; she has altered the whole current of lives which seemed at an infinite distance from her, and she returns to her room at night, little knowing what she has done, and sings herself to sleep with the hymn with which she began the day, and of which its events since the morning have been so wonderful an illustration :

:

"All service is the same with God

With God, whose puppets, best and worst,

Are we there is no last nor first."

Next to this in clearness, with nothing but the simplest of plots, and with hardly more than two characters, one playing on and unfolding the weakness of the other, is "A Soul's Tragedy." A mob-leader, claiming the merit of a deed of patriotic vengeance which was not his, trading on the fame of it, rising to supreme power, then losing in that falsehood all true nobleness, becoming sensual, corrupt, servile, till at last the astute Machiavellian politician who has seen "twenty-three leaders of revolutions" entraps him in his own snare, puts him to shame, and registers him as the "twenty-fourth;"-this moves on simply and naturally enough, and the reader is never embarrassed, as in the other plays, by vain efforts to recollect what has gone before, and connect it with what is coming next. In one point, however, the "Soul's Tragedy" stands almost alone in its departure from the conventional type of tragedy. It has, of course, been common enough to mingle blank verse and prose in the same drama, leaving the latter to the less noble, assigning the former to the more heroic characters. Here, however, Mr. Browning wishes to symbolize the truth that the noble aspirations of the patriot degenerate into the ignoble baseness of the ambitious demagogue, and he does so by making everybody discourse in verse in the first part of the play, and, with an equal uniformity, talk prose in the second. As with every bold stroke of art, there is, at first, a certain effectiveness in this, but the second and permanent impression which it leaves is that there is something of the nature of a trick in it, true neither to the ideal of poetry nor the reality of actual life. We are compelled to look on it as an exemplar vitiis imitabile.

We would fain speak more fully of our author's other dramas, but our limits warn us that we must be brief, and we must leave all but "Strafford" and "Paracelsus" unnoticed. These are at once the most interesting in their subjects, and the most conspicuous for their power. The former has the additional interest of challenging com

parison with a tragedy on the same subject by another writer, who, if his life had been prolonged, and energy and brightness had ripened into strength, might have occupied one of the foremost places in the literature of our time. As it is, those who were not his personal friends remember John Sterling chiefly in connection with other names, with those of Hare and Carlyle, and Maurice and Trench; but had his tragedy of "Strafford," published in 1843,* been the first of a progressive series instead of standing by itself, he would have won, long ere this, the fame which his early associates seem to have so confidently expected for him. As it is, we think, most readers will find his "Strafford" at least the easier of the two. Living as are many touches of Mr. Browning's portraiture of the stern but not relentless Wentworth, and interesting as are the features to which he gives prominence of an early friendship between him and Pym, and of passionate devotion to him on the part of Lady Carlisle, the play suffers from the intricacy of plot, the multitude of half-spoken thoughts, and dark hints, which we have before noticed as characteristic of all Mr. Browning's dramas. We question, however, whether the subject was well chosen by either dramatist. Attractive as are the great characters and great events of history to a writer of essentially dramatic genius, he needs to remember that these are precisely the subjects which are most familiar to his readers, and in which therefore they expect most, and are most likely to be disappointed, whether the author reproduces what they know already, or startles long-cherished feelings by a divergence from it. We know the great scenes of Strafford's life,-how he wrote to Laud and Charles (neither writer, by the way, seems to have utilized the "thorough" correspondence with the former as he might have done),-what he spoke at his trial; and the dramatist is therefore exposed to the risk of telling a twice-told tale, or, if he seeks to escape that difficulty by fixing on an episode in his life, of giving a factitious importance to what is in itself subordinate. History must absolutely, or relatively, be remote enough to have lost somewhat of the precision of its outline before it can safely be taken by any but a poet of the highest order-even if by him-as the subject-matter of a drama. In proportion to the greater fulness with which we know the history of the last three centuries in all their details is the difficulty of so treating them. The Revolution of 1688 would be a far more difficult subject for a dramatic writer of our own time than the Wars of the Roses were for Shakspere.

* It is singular that a writer like Sterling, living in close contact with the current literature of the time, should have brought out his "Strafford" without any reference to Mr. Browning's, though the latter had been published six years before. If this apparent ignorance were also real, it is a striking instance of the slow progress of Mr. Browning's reputation.

"Paracelsus" stands on a very different footing, and is a singularly happy result, at once of close research into the life of a comparatively unknown thinker, and of the power, out of a few scattered hints, to exhibit at least an ideally true portrait of the man. A byword, hitherto, for the worst forms of charlatanry, so that his very name, Bombastus, has been stamped on the inflated language of impostors and braggadocios,-just keeping his place in biographical dictionaries as having introduced the medicinal use of antimony and calomel and laudanum, he becomes, in Mr. Browning's hands, the type of genius, with its high hopes and ambitions struggling upwards, and its love of fame, power, enjoyment dragging it downwards; oscillating this way and that; turning to the memory of friendship with purer and simpler souls, sympathizing with the power to enjoy which he himself has lost. In many respects, of course, the dramatic development of such a character reminds us of the opening scenes of "Faust," and it is hard to think that Mr. Browning would have written as he did but for the influence of the marvellous and, if one may so speak, quickening and generative power of that poem. In Mr. Browning's drama, however, there is a special feature, and one of great beauty. The love of knowledge in "Paracelsus" is contrasted, not as in "Faust" with the mocking demon of sensuality and scepticism, and the simple, child-like innocence of Margaret, but, as in the character of Aprile, with a soul loving art and beauty for their own sakes, resting in them as ends with a passionate and intense delight. We know of no portraiture, in the whole range of Mr. Browning's poetry, more unique and original than this, and it is drawn not only, as are all his characters, with a Shaksperian power, but with a wonderful tenderness and beauty.

(To be continued.)

MONETARY CONVENTIONS AND ENGLISH

COINAGE.

I

HAVE written at the head of this paper a title which is perhaps badly chosen, because it has a harsh technical sound, and may possibly deter some persons from reading the paper whose attention I should be glad to gain. I am very desirous of putting the subject which is to be discussed in so plain and intelligible a form that readers in general may understand it, and take an interest in it, and so be moved to the practical step of endeavouring to bring about an improvement in the English system of money, which would be much to the benefit and honour of England, and a great advantage to the world at large.

The name Monetary Convention is that which is affixed to a most important public document which was published in the Times newspaper of the 8th September last. This document is a treaty between France, Belgium, Italy, and Switzerland, concerning the coinage of these countries; and the provisions of the treaty, putting aside points of detail, are simply these:-That, until January 1880, and subsequently if agreed upon, the coinage of the above four countries shall be one and the same. Each country agrees to receive into its treasury the gold and silver coins of either of the others, subject to certain conditions respecting wear and tear; and each country agrees to make its coins of a certain weight and size, and of a certain fineness, so that in travelling through these countries no change will

have to be made in monetary arrangements. As far as money is concerned, the four countries will be one.

This is certainly a step in civilization, and it is pleasant to find treaties which unite one country with another, and which are the result, not of bloody battles and needle-guns, but of calm consideration of what is for the general good. It would seem that a still further union is contemplated, and in the preamble to the treaty we find the sovereigns of the four countries saying they are moved to make a convention by two reasons,-" to remedy the inconveniences which press upon the communications and transactions between the inhabitants of their respective states in consequence of the diverse values of their coined monies," and "to contribute, by the formation of a monetary union, to the progress of uniformity in weights, measures, and currency." Uniformity in weights and measures would no doubt be a still further step in the union of nations; unity of language would be the crown of all: but as unity of language is probably an impossibility, so other unities have their respective degrees of difficulty; and we may certainly feel indebted to those four nations with whom good sense has triumphed in the case of coinage, and with whom the difficulties of this particular case have been made to vanish.

I have already referred to the Times of September 8th, 1866, as containing the monetary convention which has been signed by France, Belgium, Italy, and Switzerland. In the leading article called forth by the convention, the writer says many things such as we might expect would be said, and ought to be said, upon the occasion; but when he comes to the consideration of the duty of England with regard to money, he makes a remark which, if I understand it, does not deserve to be accepted. He says,

"A universal adoption of the same system is neither to be expected, nor perhaps desired. The assimilation, for example, of our own coinage, weights, and measures, to the French system, would not bring us advantages sufficient to compensate for the immense inconvenience of the change. So long as there are but a few distinct and well-adjusted systems, we shall have all that we can desire."

Now this seems to imply that we English people have a well-adjusted system, and that therefore we may let well alone. Is this true? And to take the case of coinage only,-for I do not intend here to consider weights and measures,—would it not be worth while to make some changes in our coinage, and then ask leave to join the four countries who have led the way in a monetary convention?

These are the questions which I intend to discuss; and although in case of a monetary reform it would be desirable to begin at home, and reform our own system of coinage before we requested to be taken