an affection is calculated to produce, and is as guilty as imprudence and selfishness can render him.

Of De Montfort we shall not speak. It is too well known to require our recommendation. It has been twice

produced upon the stage. It was, at its first representation, worthily supported by the finest performance that can be conceived, on the parts of Mrs Siddons and Mr Kemble. It was subsequently caricatured at Drury Lane. In the course of a debate, originated by a petition for a new theatre, when the misapplication of the two great patent theatres to shows and pantomimes, was alleged as another motive for allowing such an infringement of their licensed monopoly-it was argued by the late Mr Sheridan, that all sentiment for legitimate drama had perished in this country-that the proprietors had been unwillingly urged to this miserable degradation of the stage by the unanimous call of the public; and that the failure of De Montfort was a sufficient evidence of the corruption of the public taste.*

The two parts of Ethwald, are Tragedies on Ambition ;-they form the history of an imaginary Sovereign, whose existence this great dramatist has feigned during the half-civilized, half-barbarous times of the Heptarchy, with such a persuasive truth of sentiment, of manners, and of character, as almost to induce the reader to seek in the pages of authentic history for the records of her hero's actions. From

this play we shall make our extracts, and lay before our readers a selection of scenes from the first part of Ethwald, containing the fate of the gentle and guileless Bertha, the object of that love which Ethwald sacrificed to ambition.

Ethwald, a stripling, the younger son of an inferior Thane, is discovered leaning against a pillar, in a small apartment of his father's castle. After a pause, he comes forward.

Is it delusion this?

Or wears the mind of man within itself
A conscious feeling of its destination?
What say these suddenly imposed thoughts,
Which mark such deepen'd traces on the

brain,

Of vivid real persuasion, as do make
My nerved foot tread firmer on the earth,

And my dilating form tower on its way?
That I am born within these narrow walls,
The younger brother of a petty chief,
To live my term in dark obscurity,
Until some foul disease or bloody gash,
In low marauding strife, shall lay me low?
My spirit sickens at the hateful thought!
It hangs upon it with such thick oppres-
sion,

As doth the heavy, dense, sulphureous air
Upon the breath it stifles.

(Pulling up the sleeve of his garment, and baring his right arm from the shoulder.)

A firmer strung, a stronger arm than this, Own'd ever valiant chief of ancient story? And lacks my soul within, what should impel it?

Ah! but occasion, like th' unveiling moon, Which calls the advent'rer forth, did shine

on them!

Ber. Dost thou remember How, on our throne of turf, with birchen crowns,

And willow branches waving in our hands, We shook our careless feet and caroll'd out,

And call'd ourselves the King and Queen of Kent?

Eth. Yes, children ever in their mimic play

Such fairy state assume.

Ber. And bearded men Do sometimes gild the dull enchanting face Of sombre stilly life, with like conceits. Come, an you will, we'll go to play again. (Tripping gayly round him.) Eth. Who sent thee here to gamble round me thus ?

Ber. Nay, fie upon thee! for thou

know'st right well

As he entwists his many circling bands. Nay, men and matrons, too, around him flock,

And Ethelbert, low seated on a stone,
With arms thus cross'd, o'erlooks his cu-
rious craft.
Wilt thou not come ?

Eth.
Away! I care not for it.
Ber. Nay, do not shake thy head, for
thou must come.

This magic girdle will compel thy steps.
(Throws a girdle round him playful
ly, and pulls it till it breaks.)
Eth. (Smiling coldly.) Thou see'st it
cannot hold me.

(Bertha's face changes immediately;

she bursts into tears, and turns away to conceal it.)

Eth. (Soothing her.) My gentle Bertha ! Little foolish maid! Why fall those tears? Wilt thou not look

To seek thee in thy modest privacy; Approving more to see the here retired, Than, boldly to the army's eye exposed, Greeting his first approach. I, the mean

while,

Intrusted am with orders from the Thane, Which must not be neglected. (Exit.) (Bertha, after waiking up and down, agitated, and frequently stopping to listen.)

Ah no! deceived again! I need not listen! No bounding steps approach.

(She sits down despondingly. Enter Ethwald behind, and steals softly up to her.)

Eth. Bertha !

Ber. (Starting up.) My Ethwald ! (IIe holds out his arms to her joyful. ly, and she bursts into tears.) Eth. Thou dost not grieve that I am safe return'd?

Ber O no! I do not grieve, yet I must

weep.

Hast thou, in truth, been kind? I will not chide :

I cannot do it now.

Eth. O fie upon thee! like a wayward child

To look upon me thus! cheer up, my love. (He smiles upon her joyfully, and her countenance brightens. She then puts her hand upon his arm, and stepping back a little space, surveys him with delight.)

Ber. Thou man of mighty deeds! Thou, whom the brave shall love, and princes honour!

Dost thou, in truth, returh to me again, Mine own, my very Ethwald?

Eth. No, that were paltry : I return to thee

A thousandfold the lover thou hast known

Ine.

I have, of late, been careless of thee, Bertha.
The hopeless calm of dull obscurity,
Like the thick vapours of a stagnant pool,
Oppress'd my heart, and smother'd kind
affections;

But now the enliv'ning breeze of fortune wakes

My torpid soul-When did I ever fold thee To such a warm and bounding heart as this? (Embraces her.) The king has given me Mairneth's earldom

Nay, smile, my Bertha !

Ber. So I do, my Ethwald.

Eth. The noble Ethling greatly honours

That we would cheerly follow."
Unto what end these fair beginnings point
I know not-but of this I am assured,
There is a course of honour lies before me
Be it with dangers, toil, or pain beset,
Which I will boldly tread. Smiles not my
love?

Ber. I should, in truth: but how is
this? methinks

Thou ever look'st upon the things to come I on the past. A great and honour'd man I know thou'lt be: but O, bethink thee then!

How once thou wert, within these happy walls,

A little cheerful boy, with curly pate, Who led the infant Bertha by the hand, Storing her lap with every gaudy flower; With speckled eggs stol'n from the hedgeling's nest,

And berries from the tree: ay, think on this,

And then I know thou'lt love me!

(Trumpet sounds--catching hold of him eagerly.)

Hear'st thou that sound? the blessed saints preserve thee!

Must thou depart so soon?

Eth. Yes, of necessity: reasons of weight Constrain the king; and I, new in his service,

Must seem to follow him with willing steps. But go thou with me to the castle gate, We will not part until the latest moment. Ber. Yet stop, I pray, thou must re

ceive my pledge.

See'st thou this woven band of many dyes, Like to a mottled snake? its shiny woof Was whiten'd in the pearly dew of eve, Beneath the silver moon; its varied warp Was dyed with potent herbs, at midnight cull'd.

It hath a wond'rous charm: the breast that wears it

No change of soft affection ever knows.

Eth. (Receiving it with a smile.) I'll wear it, Bertha. (Trumpet sounds.) Hark! it calls me hence,

Ber. O, go not yet! here is another gift. This ring, enrich'd with stone of basilisk, Whenever press'd by the kind wearer's hand,

Presents the giver's image to his mind.
Wilt thou not wear it?

Eth. (Receiving it.) Yes, and press it too.
Ber. And in this purse-

(Taking out a purse.) Eth. What! still another charm?

(Laughing.)

Thou simple maid!
Dost thou believe that witched gear like this
Hath power a lover faithful to retain,
More than thy gentle self!

Ber. Nay, laugh, but wear them.
Eth. I will, my love, since thou wilt
have it so.

(Putting them in his breast.) Here are they lodged, and cursed be the hand

That plucks them forth! And now receive my pledge.

It is a jewel of no vulgar worth:

(Tics it on her arm.) Wear it, and think of me. But yet, belike, It must be steep'd into some wizard's pot, Or have some mystic rhyming mutter'd o'er it,

Ere it will serve the turn.

Ber. (Pressing the jewel on her arm.) O no! right well I feel there is no need.

Eth. Come, let us go: we do not part, thou know'st,

But at the castle gate. Cheer up, my Bertha! I'll soon return, and oft return again. (Exeunt.)

Vol. II. page 143 to 148.

But he does not return. Fortune siniles on the schemes of his ambition. The aged monarch dies; the young Edward, the lawful heir to the crown, is artfully dispossessed of his right: Ethwald, having usurped his power, is united to the daughter of the deceased king, the cold, the imperious, the cheerless Elburga; and it is not till she and her ladies are awaiting the approach of Ethwald to join in the coronation procession, that the tender and forgotten Bertha is again introduced.

A song heard without.

Ah, maiden! bear the biting smart,
Nor thus thy loss deplore;
The thane's daughter has his heart,-
He will return no more.

1st Lady. 'Tis strangely melancholy.
Dwina. 'Tis like the mournful sounds

(Enter Bertha, with a wild unsettled air, and her hair scattered upon her shoulders. The ladies gather about her with curiosity.)

1st Lady. How fair she is!

2d Lady. Her eyes of lovely blue, Gentle but restless. Dost thou see that glance? (To 1st Lady.)

I fear to look upon her. Dwina. Fie, fie upon it! press not near her thus ;

She seems offended: I will speak to her. (To Bertha.) Sweet lady, art thou sad? (Bertha looks steadfastly at her, then drops her head upon her breast and makes no answer.) We would be kind to thee.

(Bertha then looks more gently on her,
but is still silent.)

1st Lady. Dost thou not speak, thou
who canst sing so well?
Dina. Who taught thee those sweet
notes ?

Ber. The night was dark. I met spirits

on my way.

They sung me sweet songs, but they were sorrowful.

Dwina. Ah, woe is me! and dost thou wander, then,

In the dark night alone, no one to tend thee? Ber. When the moon's dark, I follow the night bird's cry,

Elb. His banner in the air!-What is thy love?

Ber. (Looking fiercely at her.) They say he is a king.

Elb. (Smiling.) Poor maid!-'Tis ever thus with such as she; They still believe themselves of some high state,

And mimick greatness.

Ber. Thou art a fair dame and a gay

not.

[Shrinks from Elburga, walking back-
wards and looking frowningly at her;
then beckoning to Dwina, she speaks
in her ear.)

They say a royal dame has won his faith,
Stately and proud. But in a gloomy dream
I heard it first, confuses and terrible;
And ofttimes since the fiend of night re-
peats it,

As on my pressed breast he sits and groans.
I'll not believe it

Dwina. What is thy name, sweet lady? Ber. (Rubbing her hand across her forehead as if trying to recollect) I had a name that kind friends called me by;

And with a blessing did the holy man Bestow it on me. But I've wander'd far Through woods and wilds, and strangely on my head

The numbing winds have beat, and I have lost it.

Be not offended with me;
For, lady, thou art gentle, and I fear thee.
(Bowing submissively to Dwina.)

Enter ETHELbert.
Eth. (To Dwina, after looking at Ber-

tha.)

What maid is that so haggard and so wild?