Botch. Have you heard this rumor, Sir?

Gudgeon. What rumor, for Heaven's sake? They haven't bought up all the large flags in the ward?

Botch. No, Sir.

Gudgeon. Have they got in a new barrel of beer? or hired Blaster, the popular trumpeter? I spoke to him myself last night. They haven't engaged Murphy's two starved horses, that always operate so on the popular sympathies and bring up so many voters?

Botch. None of these, Sir!

Gudgeon. What then, Botch? Be quick—what then?

Botch. Why, Sir, the Brisk party is going to use the belfry of the church to distribute tickets from, and they intend to employ the sexton to read prayers every morning of the election from the small window in the steeple.

Gudgeon. This must be counteracted: it will have an overwhelming effect. We shall have the whole religious community moving against us in platoons, pew by pew!

Botch. Something must be done, Sir; I see clearly something must be done. What shall it be, Sir?

Gudgeon. Yes, something must be done.

Botch. Certainly; something must be done.

Gudgeon. What then, in the name of Heaven, shall it be? Couldn't we get Glib to climb the steeple above the window and deliver an harangue? It might do away with the evil influence of the proceedings below, and give us a tremendous ascendency at once.

Botch. I doubt whether Mr. Glib would undertake it, even if he could snatch a notary's commission from the weathercock, as the chances of being made a martyr of by stoning would be considerable.

In the fourth scene there is a new effect given to stage song-singing, by a Mr. Blanding, one of the characters, which should neither be lost to dramatic writers, theatrical persons, nor to 'the world.' A fragment will suffice, we suspect:

Blanding. (From within.) Fol-la—my heart—andino—has gently—sa—felt—allegro—allegro—sweet Kate—piano—the sharp and sure revenge of fate—La-mi-fol-sa.

Crumb. The fit is coming upon him.

Blanding. Oh smile upon the gloomy wave
That bears me to a gloomier grave.

That goes badly in andante—so-fa-me-fi-so.

Blanding. And fly—too slow—and fly—allegro—allegro,
And fly with me. Prestissimo.

Crumb. (Breaking in.) Heigh-ho! how is this, Sir? Are you trying to set a runaway match to music?

Blanding. I beg your pardon, Sir—but—

Crumb. You may well do that, and the pardon of the whole city council, if you please. Meditating a rhymed elopement with Miss Brisk, daughter of John Brisk, candidate for alderman of the ward! Why this is an audacious breach of ordinance.

Pass we now to the second act, wherein we find Mr. and Mrs. Gudgeon engaged in a remarkably humorous colloquy. He informs her that a committee has been appointed to 'have his own portrait of his individual self, Robert Gudgeon' taken; whereupon, among other things, Mrs. Gudgeon is led to remark, that now she has a presentiment that his election is safe. To which, 'thus then Gudgeon:'

Gudgeon. And so have I. Some great event is clearly at hand. We have had a meteor the other night that whizzed round the sky, like a large Catharine-wheel; then there has been a school of sixty whale cast ashore off Barnegat; and the Rain-King, only last Week, caught a storm on a lightning-rod, and held it there two days, notwithstanding the entreaties of the neighboring county, that was suffering sorely under a drouth. What do these things mean? what do they refer to? The approach of the comet foretold in the Farmer's Almanac; or, it may be so, (for I recollect the birth of my father's five-legged calf, in Danbury, was brought on by an early sun-rise,) the election of Robert Gudgeon as alderman.

Is not the wit of this undeniable? Does it not 'fortify like a cordial?' Yet it is not more striking than the humor of many other portions of the 'Comedy;' not more so indeed than several passages in the third act, especially in the dialogue between Crowder and the committee-men, concerning the means by which the candidate is to recommend himself to his constituents, though it were to 'run a sewer through his pocket (!) and drain it to the last cent.' The committee do not 'sit' in their room at a tavern without 'creature comforts.' Observe: the landlord is called:

Landlord. (From without.) Coming!

Crowder. We want your bill. That will bring him up with it, short and quick.

Landlord. (From without.) It's e'en a'most made out; only a few items to add.

Enter Landlord.

Crowder. Come, read it off, jolly Job Works, in a good clear half-price voice; by particulars, and it's cash on the nail. Begin!

Landlord. That I likes; 'four sperm candle'; Nothing like the ready metal; 'Two quarts beer, with snuffers.'

Crowder. Well, he has a fine throat of his own; it smacks of the spigot.

Landlord. Room-hire, cigars, and two juleps, with benches.

Crowder. Well.

Landlord. A small pig with lemon.

Crowder. A pig with lemon!

Landlord. Two plates pickled beans, two rolls twisted bread, and beer extra.

Crowder. Beans, bread, and beer!

Landlord. Six lobster and two pound sage-cheese; likewise a splendid pork-pie made of chops.

Crowder. A splendid pork-pie made of chops!

Landlord. And a suet pudding.

Crowder. Nothing else?

Landlord. Nothing else.

The landlord declares, in answer to a little grumbling, that 'the things' named in the bill were 'sent down for' from the committee-room by way of the chimney, in a stone-bottle 'as big-as my two-fist,' which struck his cook, 'poor hunch-back Jenny, in the small, or rather I should say in the big of her back, as she was stooping over a dish of prawns (?) for Tom Lug!' Crowder pays, of course, in the usual way; but his rival is not to be outdone by such liberality. He 'bears a charmed life:' for Mrs. Gudgeon has 'told him to buy fresh chick-weed and goose-grass to carry in his pocket, because they say it draws voters!'

But enough. If our readers desire more of Mr. Mathews' 'Comedy,' they must seek it elsewhere. We have selected the liveliest passages we could find: for there is a calm placidity of emptiness, diversified with a bustling inanity of thought, in other portions of this performance, which we have small desire to illustrate by examples; since they would not fail to produce at least twenty yawns to a page; a soporific that neither watchman not sick-nurse could support.

We come next in order to the poems on 'Man, in his Various Aspects under the American Republic;' a very comprehensive title to much incomprehensible rhyme with little reason. As a poet, Mr. Mathews cannot reasonably expect to take the exalted order of rank which he holds as a dramatist. That indeed were expecting quite too much! To use the illustration of a nautical critic, his plan of writing-verse would seem to be, to 'fire away with the high-soundingest words he can get, whereby his meaning looms larger than it is, like a fishing-boat in a fog.' Where there is such a ground-swell of language, there can be no great depth of ideas. Yet there are good ideas in some of the lines in these ten-score of pages, borne down though they be, and almost smothered, with words. For the most part, however, the volume presents but a farrago of crude expressions, ideas, and pictures, some poetical and others 'quite the reverse,' aggregated in a rude and undigested mass. The writer treats, under nineteen divisions, of Man as child, father, teacher, citizen, farmer, mechanic, merchant, soldier, statesman, etc.; and from some of these we propose to select a few examples of Mr. Mathews's thoughts and style poetical. The following stanza is taken from the advice given to 'the father' of an infant: