Jul. None.

Lor. Then 'twas my fancy. Every passing hour
Is crowded with a thousand whisperers;
The night has lost its silence, and the stars
Shoot fire upon my soul. Darkness itself
Has objects for mine eyes to gaze upon,
And sends me terror when I pray for sleep
In vain upon my knees. Nor ends it here;
My greatest dread of all-detection-casts
Her shadow on my walk, and startles me
At every turn: sometime will reason drag
Her frightful chain of probable alarms
Across my mind; or, if fatigued, she droops,
Her pangs survive the while; as you have seen
The ocean tossing when the wind is down,
And the huge storm is dying on the waters.
Once, too, I had a dream

Jul. The shadows of our sleep should fly with sleep; Nor hang their sickness on the memory.

Lor. Methought the dead man, rising from his tomb,

Frowned over me. Elmira at my side,
Stretched her fond arms to shield me from his wrath,
At which he frowned the more. I turned away,
Disgusted, from the spectre, and assayed
To clasp my wife; but she was pale, and cold,
And in her breast the heart was motionless,
And on her limbs the clothing of the grave,
With here and there a worm, hung heavily.
Then did the spectre laugh, till from its mouth
Blood dropped upon us while it cried - Behold!
Such is the bridal bed that waits thy love!'
I would have struck it (for my rage was up);
I tried the blow; but, all my senses shaken
By the convulsion, broke the tranced spell,
And darkness told me sleep was my tormentor.

JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

The most successful of modern tragic dramatists is MR JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES, whose plays

WKnowles

have recently been collected and republished in three volumes. His first appeared in 1820, and is founded

on that striking incident in Roman story, the death of a maiden by the hand of her father, Virginius, to save her from the lust and tyranny of Appius. Mr Knowles's Virginius had an extraordinary run of success. He has since published The Wife, a Tale of Mantua, The Hunchback, Caius Gracchus, The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green, William Tell, The Love Chace, &c. With considerable knowledge of stage effect, Mr Knowles unites a lively inventive imagination and a poetical colouring, which, if at times too florid and gaudy, sets off his familiar images and illustrations. His style is formed on that of Massinger and the other elder dramatists, carried often to a ridiculous excess. He also frequently violates Roman history and classical propriety, and runs into conceits and affected metaphors. These faults are counterbalanced by a happy art of constructing scenes and plots, romantic, yet not too improbable, by skilful delineation of character, especially in domestic life, and by a current of poetry which sparkles through his plays, 'not with a dazzling lustre-not with a gorgeousness that engrosses our attention, but mildly and agreeably; seldom impeding with useless glitter the progress and development of incident and character, but mingling itself with them, and raising them pleasantly above the prosaic level of common life.'*

Claudius. They are, and timely, too; the people Are in unwonted ferment.

App. There's something awes me at
The thought of looking on her father!
Claud. Look

Upon her, my Appius! Fix your gaze upon
The treasures of her beauty, nor avert it
Till they are thine. Haste! Your tribunal!

Haste!

[Appius ascends the tribunal.

[Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LUCIUS, CITIZENS, VIRGINIUS leading his daughter, SERVIA, and CITIZENS. A dead silence prevails.]

Virginius. Does no one speak? I am defendant here.
Is silence my opponent? Fit opponent
To plead a cause too foul for speech! What brow
Shameless gives front to this most valiant cause,
That tries its prowess 'gainst the honour of
A girl, yet lacks the wit to know, that he

Who casts off shame, should likewise cast off fear-
And on the verge o' the combat wants the nerve
To stammer forth the signal?

App. You had better,

Virginius, wear another kind of carriage;
This is not of the fashion that will serve you.

Vir. The fashion, Appius! Appius Claudius tell me

The fashion it becomes a man to speak in,
Whose property in his own child-the offspring
Of his own body, near to him as is

His hand, his arm-yea, nearer-closer far,
Knit to his heart-I say, who has his property
In such a thing, the very self of himself,
Disputed and I'll speak so, Appius Claudius;
I'll speak so-Pray you tutor me!

App. Stand forth

Claud. She is mine, then: Do I not look at you?

Vir. Your eye does, truly,
But not your soul. I see it through your eye
Shifting and shrinking-turning every way
To shun me. You surprise me, that your eye,
So long the bully of its master, knows not
To put a proper face upon a lie,

But gives the port of impudence to falsehood
When it would pass it off for truth. Your soul
Dares as soon show its face to me. Go on,
I had forgot; the fashion of my speech
May not please Appius Claudius.

Claud. I demand

Protection of the Decemvir!

App. You shall have it.

Vir. Doubtless!

Vir. [Starting forward.] To be sure she will-a
most wise question that!

Is she not his slave? Will his tongue lie for him-
Or his hand steal-or the finger of his hand
Beckon, or point, or shut, or open for him?
To ask him if she'll swear! Will she walk or run,
Sing, dance, or wag her head; do anything
That is most easy done? She'll as soon swear!
What mockery it is to have one's life
In jeopardy by such a bare-faced trick!
Is it to be endured? I do protest
Against her oath!

App. No law in Rome, Virginius,
Seconds you. If she swear the girl's her child,
The evidence is good, unless confronted
By better evidence. Look you to that,
Virginius. I shall take the woman's oath.
Virginia. Icilius!

Icilius. Fear not, love; a thousand oaths
Will answer her.

App. You swear the girl's your child, And that you sold her to Virginius' wife,

Who passed her for her own. Is that your oath?

Slave. It is my oath.

App. Your answer now, Virginius.

Vir. Here it is!

[Brings Virginia forward.

Is this the daughter of a slave? I know

'Tis not with men as shrubs and trees, that by

The shoot you know the rank and order of

The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look
For such a shoot. My witnesses are these-
The relatives and friends of Numitoria,

Who saw her, ere Virginia's birth, sustain
The burden which a mother bears, nor feels
The weight, with longing for the sight of it.
Here are the ears that listened to her sighs
In nature's hour of labour, which subsides
In the embrace of joy the hands, that when
The day first looked upon the infant's face,
And never looked so pleased, helped them up to it,
And blessed her for a blessing. Here, the eyes
That saw her lying at the generous

And sympathetic fount, that at her cry

Sent forth a stream of liquid living pearl
To cherish her enamelled veins. The lie
Is most unfruitful then, that takes the flower-
The very flower our bed connubial grew-
To prove its barrenness! Speak for me, friends;
Have I not spoke the truth?

Women and Citizens. You have, Virginius.

App. Silence! Keep silence there! No more of that!

You're very ready for a tumult, citizens.

[Troops appear behind. Lictors, make way to let these troops advance! We have had a taste of your forbearance, masters, And wish not for another.

Vir. Troops in the Forum!

App. Virginius, have you spoken?

Vir. If you have heard me,

I have; if not, I'll speak again.

App. You need not,

Virginius; I had evidence to give,
Which, should you speak a hundred times again,
Would make your pleading vain.

Vir. Your hand, Virginia!

Stand close to me.

[Aside.

App. My conscience will not let me Be silent. 'Tis notorious to you all, That Claudius' father, at his death, declared me The guardian of his son. This cheat has long Been known to me. I know the girl is not Virginius' daughter.

Vir. Join your friends, Icilius, And leave Virginia to my care.

App. The justice

I should have done my client unrequired,
Now cited by him, how shall I refuse?

Vir. Don't tremble, girl! don't tremble.
App. Virginius,

I feel for you; but though you were my father,
The majesty of justice should be sacred-
Claudius must take Virginia home with him!

[Aside.

[Aside.

Vir. And if he must, I should advise him, Appius,

To take her home in time, before his guardian
Complete the violation which his eyes
Already have begun.-Friends! fellow citizens!
Look not on Claudius-look on your Decemvir!
He is the master claims Virginia!

The tongues that told him she was not my child
Are these the costly charms he cannot purchase,
Except by making her the slave of Claudius,
His client, his purveyor, that caters for
His pleasures-markets for him-picks, and scents,
And tastes, that he may banquet-serves him up
His sensual feast, and is not now ashamed,
In the open, common street, before your eyes-
Frighting your daughters' and your matrons' cheeks
With blushes they ne'er thought to meet to help

him

You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left

Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies,

Nerveless and helpless.

App. Separate them, Lictors!

Vir. Let them forbear awhile, I pray you, Appius:

It is not very easy. Though her arms

Are tender, yet the hold is strong by which

She grasps me, Appius-forcing them will hurt them; They'll soon unclasp themselves. Wait but a littleYou know you're sure of her!

App. I have not time

To idle with thee; give her to my Lictors.

Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not
My child, she hath been like a child to me
For fifteen years. If I am not her father,
I have been like a father to her, Appius,
For even such a time. They that have lived
So long a time together, in so near
And dear society, may be allowed

A little time for parting. Let me take
The maid aside, I pray you, and confer

A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me
Some token will unloose a tie so twined

And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it,
My heart breaks with it.

App. Have your wish. Be brief!

Lictors, look to them.

Virginia. Do you go from me?

Do you leave? Father! Father!

Vir. No, my child

No, my Virginia-come along with me.

Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you?

Will you take me home again? O, bless you! bless

you!

My father! my dear father! Art thou not
My father

[VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.]

Vir. This way, my child-No, no; I am not going To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee. App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not Approach Virginius! Keep the people back!

Well, have you done?

[Virginius secures the knife.

Vir. Short time for converse, Appius,
But I have.

App. I hope you are satisfied.
Vir. I am-

I am that she is my daughter!
App. Take her, Lictors!

[Virginia shrieks, and falls half-dead upon
her father's shoulder.

Vir. Another moment, pray you. Bear with me A little-'Tis my last embrace. 'Twont try Your patience beyond bearing, if you're a man! Lengthen it as I may, I cannot make it Long. My dear child! My dear Virginia!

With drinking my daughter's blood, why, let them:

[Exit through the soldiers.

[From The Wife, a Tale of Mantua.'] LORENZO, an Advocate of Rome, and MARIANA. Lorenzo. That's right-you are collected and direct

In your replies. I dare be sworn your passion
Was such a thing, as, by its neighbourhood,
Made piety and virtue twice as rich

As e'er they were before. How grew it! Come,
Thou know'st thy heart-look calmly into it,
And see how innocent a thing it is

Which thou dost fear to show-I wait your answer.
How grew your passion?

Mariana. As my stature grew,

Which rose without my noting it, until
They said I was a woman. I kept watch

Beside what seemed his deathbed. From beneath

An avalanche my father rescued him,

The sole survivor of a company

Who wandered through our mountains. A long time
His life was doubtful, signor, and he called
For help, whence help alone could come, which I,
Morning and night, invoked along with him;
So first our souls did mingle!

Lorenzo. I perceive: you mingled souls until you

mingled hearts?

You loved at last. Was't not the sequel, maid!
Mariana. I loved, indeed! If I but nursed a flower
Which to the ground the rain and wind had beaten,
That flower of all our garden was my pride:
What then was he to me, for whom I thought
To make a shroud, when, tending on him still
With hope, that, baffled still, did still keep up;

I saw, at last, the ruddy dawn of health
Begin to mantle o'er his pallid form,

And glow-and glow-till forth at last it burst
Into confirmed, broad, and glorious day!
Lorenzo. You loved, and he did love!

Mariana. To say he did,

Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouched,
What many an action testified-and yet-
What wanted confirmation of his tongue.
But if he loved, it brought him not content!
'Twas now abstraction-now a start-anon
A pacing to and fro-anon a stillness,
As nought remained of life, save life itself,
And feeling, thought, and motion, were extinct.
Then all again was action! Disinclined
To converse, save he held it with himself;
Which oft he did, in moody vein discoursing,
And ever and anon invoking honour,
As some high contest there were pending 'twixt
Himself and him, wherein her aid he needed.

There is one only way to save thine honour'Tis this.

[Stabs her, and draws out the knife. Icilius
breaks from the soldiers that held him,
and catches her.

Lo, Appius, with this innocent blood
I do devote thee to the infernal gods!
Make way there!

App. Stop him! Seize him!

Was all disturbance; but my turn did come.
At length he talked of leaving us; at length
He fixed the parting day-but kept it not-
O how my heart did bound! Then first I knew
It had been sinking. Deeper still it sank
When next he fixed to go; and sank it then
To bound no more! He went.

Lorenzo. To follow him

You came to Mantua?