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

W. Knowles

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, te 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."*

[Scene from Virginius.']

APPIUS, CLAUDIUS, and LICTORS. Appius. Well, Claudius, are the forces At hand?

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

Claudius! If you lay claim to any interest
In the question now before us, speak; if not,

Bring on some other cause.

Claud. Most noble Appius

Vir. And are you the man

That claims my daughter for his slave?-Look at me And I will give her to thee.

*Edinburgh Review for 1833.

[Retires.

Num. Will she swear she is her child?
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

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

To the honour of a Roman maid! my child!
Who now clings to me, as you see, as if
This second Tarquin had already coiled
His arms around her. Look upon her, Romans!
Befriend her! succour her! see her not polluted
Before her father's eyes!-He is but one.
Tear her from Appius and his Lictors while
She is unstained.-Your hands! your hands! your
hands!

Citizens. They are yours, Virginius.

App. Keep the people back

Support my Lictors, soldiers! Seize the girl,
And drive the people back.

Icilius. Down with the slaves!

[The people make a show of resistance; but, upon the advance of the soldiers, retreat, and leave ICILIUS, VIRGINIUS, and his daughter, &c. in the hands of APPIUS and his party.]

Deserted-Cowards! traitors! Let me free

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 little You 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?

[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 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.

Lorenzo. This spoke impediment; or he was bound
By promise to another; or had friends
Whom it behoved him to consult, and doubted;
Or 'twixt you lay disparity too wide
For love itself to leap.

Mariana. I saw a struggle,

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?

Mariana. What could I do?
Cot, garden, vineyard, rivulet, and wood,
Lake, sky, and mountain, went along with him!
Could I remain behind? My father found
My heart was not at home; he loved his child,
And asked me, one day, whither we should go?
I said, 'To Mantua.' I followed him
To Mantua! to breathe the air he breathed,
To walk upon the ground he walked upon,
To look upon the things he looked upon,

To look, perchance, on him! perchance to hear him,
To touch him! never to be known to him,
Till he was told I lived and died his love.

THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES.

The Bride's Tragedy, by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES, published in 1822, is intended for the closet rather than the theatre. It possesses many passages of pure and sparkling verse. The following,' says a writer in the Edinburgh Review, will show the way in which Mr Beddoes manages a subject that poets have almost reduced to commonplace. We thought all similes for the violet had been used up; but he gives us a new one, and one that is very delightful.' Hesperus and Floribel (the young wedded lovers) are in a garden; and the husband speaks:

Hesperus. See, here's a bower
Of eglantine with honeysuckles woven,
Where not a spark of prying light creeps in,
So closely do the sweets enfold each other.
'Tis twilight's home; come in, my gentle love,
And talk to me. So! I've a rival here;
What's this that sleeps so sweetly on your neck!
Floribel. Jealous so soon, my Hesperus Look
then,

It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for you:
Here's the blue violet, like Pandora's eye,
When first it darkened with immortal life.
Hesperus. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper
fingers,

Have they been brushing the long grass aside,
To drag the daisy from its hiding-place,

Where it shuns light, the Danae of flowers,

With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap?

is waiting for him in the Divinity path, alone, and is terrified. At last he comes; and she sighs outSpeak! let me hear thy voice, Tell me the joyful news!

and thus he answers

Ay, I am come

In all my solemn pomp, Darkness and Fear,
And the great Tempest in his midnight car,
The sword of lightning girt across his thigh,
And the whole demon brood of night, blind Fog
And withering Blight, all these are my retainers;
How? not one smile for all this bravery?
What think you of my minstrels, the hoarse winds,
Thunder, and tuneful Discord? Hark, they play.
Well piped, methinks; somewhat too rough, perhaps.
Else I might well be scared. But leave this mirth,
Floribel. I know you practise on my silliness,
Or I must weep.

Hesperus. "Twill serve to fill the goblets
The bride-maids are without; well-picked, thou'lt say,
For our carousal; but we loiter here,
Wan ghosts of wo-begone, self-slaughtered damsels
In their best winding-sheets; start not; I bid them
wipe

Their gory bosoms; they'll look wondrous comely;
Our link-boy, Will-o'-the-Wisp, is waiting too
To light us to our grave.

After some further speech, she asks him what he means, and he replies

What mean I? Death and murder, Darkness and misery. To thy prayers and shrift, Earth gives thee back. Thy God hath sent me for thee; Repent and die.

She returns gentle answers to him; but in the end he kills her, and afterwards mourns thus over her body :

Dead art thou, Floribel; fair, painted earth,
Between those ruby lips: no; they have quaffed
And no warm breath shall ever more disport
Life to the dregs, and found death at the bottom,
The sugar of the draught. All cold and still;
Her very tresses stiffen in the air.

Look, what a face! had our first mother worn
But half such beauty when the serpent came,

chance,

A lily of the valley; low it lay

Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping,

As on a fairy's grave.

Hesperus. Of all the posy

Give me the rose, though there's a tale of blood
Soiling its name. In elfin annals old

'Tis writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love
(The love he bare to Summer, who since then
Has, weeping, visited the world), once found
The baby Perfume cradled in a violet;
('Twas said the beauteous bantling was the child
Of a gay bee, that in his wantonness
Toyed with a pea-bud in a lady's garland);
The felon winds, confederate with him,
Bound the sweet slumberer with golden chains,
Pulled from the wreathed laburnum, and together
Deep cast him in the bosom of a rose,

And fed the fettered wretch with dew and air.

And there is an expression in the same scene (where the author is speaking of sleepers' fancies, &c.) While that winged song, the restless nightingale Turns her sad heart to music

which is perfectly beautiful.

The reader may now take a passage from the scene where Hesperus murders the girl Floribel. She

No hand but this, which I do think was once
Cain, the arch murderer's, could have acted it.
And I must hide these sweets, not in my bosom ;
In the foul earth. She shudders at my grasp:
Just so she laid her head across my bosom
When first-oh villain! which way lies the grave?

MISS MITFORD-SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER-
THOMAS NOON TALFOURD.

MISS MITFORD, so well known for her fine prose tales and sketches, has written three tragediesJulian, Rienzi, and The Vespers of Palermo. They were all brought on the stage, but Rienzi' only met with decided success. An equal number of dramas has been produced by another novelist, SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER: these are entitled, The Lady of Lyons, La Valliere, and Richelieu. The first of these pieces is the best, and it seldom fails of drawing tears when well represented. It is a picturesque and romantic play, with passages of fine poetry and genuine feeling. La Valliere' is founded on the court and times of Louis XIV., but it wants prominence of character and dramatic art. Richelieu' is a drama of greater energy and power, but is also loosely constructed. THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, sergeant-at-law, an eloquent English barrister, has written two classic plays, Ion, and The Athenian