BEL. A cannibal! BAB. Let us seek our rooms. [The princesses retire: the princes remain in attitude of listening terror. The curtain drops.] ACT III.-SCENE I. A long gallery, opening upon the gardens of the Enter the PRINCE HAUTPERCHE, PELICAN, Soldiers, &c. PRINCE. No, no! not exactly there-but my courser, Almanzor, is a merciless animal. Pelican, that quadruped shook me nearly to pieces, and this ceaseless shaking, up and down, up and down, on the same spot, having become at last intolerable, I exclaimed, "By my chivalry, I wish success to the crusaders-they may return from Palestine as best they can-for my part, I have done my duty, and shall return!" With these words I forced Almanzor to the right about: he set off at a dreadful trot, which increased to a diabolical gallop, and I arrived here like a flash of lightning. I verily believe I shall never be able to ride again. PEL. You deserve to be crowned with laurels. PRINCE. As for you, brave warriors, who have partaken in my toils and dangers, begone and enjoy yourselves. I shall send you a tun of my best wine; let the clink of the wine-cup succeed that of the war-weapon. [They retire.] SCENE II. The PRINCE, PELICAN. PRINCE. Now that we are alone, Pelican, what has passed since my departure? PEL. Nothing remarkable, your highness. PEL. Are in excellent health. PRINCE. You have informed them of my arrival? PEL. Yes, Sir. PRINCE. And told them that I will not see them unless they bring their distaffs? PEL. Yes, Sir. PRINCE. Tis well. What papers are those in your hand? PEL. Prince, they are three letters which three smart pages have brought for you. PRINCE. Letters? Oh! I am too fatigued to read anything that is not printed; look them over, and let me know the contents. PEL. [After examining them.] Ah, Sir, what an honour! Lord Wildboar, Count Ruffle, and the Marquis of Spitfire, solicit the hands of your daughters in marriage. [BELVOIR appears R. H., listening.] BEL. Indeed! Let us hear more. PRINCE. Is it possible, Pelican ? A Lord, a Count, and a Marquis? Magnificent! I don't know them-I have never even seen them, but I am certain that they will suit my girls. BEL. What a discovery! We must assume their names. [Exit.] PRINCE. Upon my word, I congratulate my self on my return, since it permits me to establish the princesses so quickly. It is so delightful for a father to have it in his power to rid himself of three daughters at one stroke! Ahi! ahi! PEL. What is the matter, Prince? PRINCE. Nothing! A recollection of Almanzor, -assassin of a steed, catch me mounting your back in a hurry! But I must think of receiving those three suitors. PEL. The hall of audience is ready. PRINCE. Not there! I should be obliged to sit down-and-that cursed horse! I find it easier to stand at present. PEL. Which of the gentlemen shall I introduce first? PRINCE. The question is one not easily solved. We must not give offence. Ah! you must introduce all three together, none can then be jealous. PEL. True; Solomon could not have decided better. PRINCE. Let a superb banquet be prepared, and Let two hang garlands all over the chateau. calves be slaughtered for my Lord Wildboar. Now you may introduce them." BEL. Exactly those whom you expect. We could not control our impatience, and said to each other, "Let us at once approach the noble Prince, without ceremony !" PRINCE. [TO PEL.] He expresses himself with great elegance. By Jove! they are three handsome fellows! [Aloud.] My lords, I have read your epistles, the style of which is fluent and ornate, my reply is favourable. [The princes bow.] Your titles are very beautiful, and you all seem to enjoy excellent health! [The princes cough violently.] BEL. Thank your highness; we have caught a little cold from being in-on, I mean, the water! PRINCE. Pelican, issue orders for a festival. Well, princes, you shall see my girls, whom you will find to be BEL. Charming! PRINCE. And, what is more, the most innocent of human beings, of which I intend to furnish you with convincing proofs. THE PRINCES. Oh! what bliss! PRINCE. [Aside.] What fine fellows! [Aloud. But I hear my vassals, and my daughters come. I wish to make the triumphant display of their virtue public. RALPH. [Aside.] How the deuce will it end? RICH. [Aside.] Oh! if all is discovered, death! SCENE IV. Enter the Princesses, Vassals, Soldiers, &c., in the back ground. PRINCE. Approach, my beloved daughters. [They draw near slowly, their heads bent; FINETTE | alone has a distaff, her sisters press closely against her.] FIN. Courage, dear girls! [Aside.] PRINCE. Welcome, my children! My sudden return has astonished you; I am not surprised that it should do so; but I am going to astonish you still more. Learn then that three noblemen of the first rank-three magnificent fellows-have requested your hands in marriage. BAB. [Aside to her sisters.] They have done it, then! RICH. [Aside to the princes.] We'll make a splash presently. PRINCE. Daughters, before my departure I confided to your care three distaffs, three chrystal distaffs! RICH. [Aside.] Now for it! PRINCE. It is requisite that these noble youths, your suitors, should know that to the preservation of these distaffs was attached that of your honour. By displaying them before us, you will give us a high idea of your virtue. BEL. [Aside.] Poor man, little does he guess! RALPH. [Aside.] I shouldn't like to be in their place. PRINCE. Now, girls, let us see your's, Finette! FIN. [Presenting her distaff.] Here it is, father. PRINCE. Without a flaw, without a flaw, my lords! [As he turns his head to address the princes, FINETTE passes her distaff to NONCHALANTE, who is next to her.] And now for your's, Nonchalante! [She shows him the distaff.] Here it is, my lords, as free from blemish as the other! [Nox. passes it to BABILLIA.] Now your turn comes, Babillia! More free from flaw than all the others! Well, I am relieved from a burthensome anxiety! [While he speaks BAB. restores the distaff to FINETTE.] THE SISTERS. [Aside.] We are safe! BEL. What innocence! RICH. What virtue! RALPH. What candour! [To the princes.] How have they managed it? RICH. [Aside.] Did you not observe the exchange? PRINCE. Ah! you are the worthy offspring of your sire! The blood that filters through your veins proclaims its noble source! Now, my girls, give me back all the distaffs that I may restore them to the fairy Zerline. THE PRINCES AND SISTERS. [groaning.] Oh! Heaven! PRINCE. What is the matter? Eh! What? THE SISTERS. [falling on their knees.] Pardon ! pardon! BEL. All is ruined! All is lost! PRINCE. What the devil is all this? I only behold one distaff, and a minute ago, I saw three! BAB. Alas! it was the same one! PRINCE. The same? What? from one to the other? Horrible! you then merit the name of child! is she? You passed it FIN. One of us is guiltless, my lord; but you will never know which; you must slay us allunless a generous pardon PRINCE. Pardon such conduct! Never!-Such conduct, at the very moment too when those noble and handsome gentlemen would have married you! BEL. Prince, calm yourself. PRINCE. Calm myself! after such a disgrace! My lords, I shall hide my face from the world henceforward, in shame and sorrow! RALPH. Your highness, then, places great confidence in these distaffs? PRINCE. Confidence? in the distaffs? To be sure I do, but yourselves, my lords, it is yourselves, for your sakes rather that I BEL. Oh! for us!-hem! hem! [coughs.] RALPH. Glass will break, your highness. BEL. We don't mind-hi! hi! hi! [laughs.] PELI. Oh! my Prince! you are imposed upon. PELI. Lord Wild boar, Count Ruffle, and the Marquis of Spitfire, have just arrived in the courtyard, with all their suite. I have seen them, and recognized their banners. All. Great Heaven! PRINCE. What do I hear?-and these gentlemen? PELI. Are impostors ! PRINCE. Merciful saints. RALPH. [to the Princes.] What an insult. PRINCE. [aside.] They are confused my. daughters tremble-they are their accomplices. [aloud.] Well, gentlemen, you hear what has been said. ing. BEL. Prince, it is no longer the time for feign- PRINCE. The damage!--Oh! you are in a league to stain the scutcheon of the house of Hautperchè. THE SISTERS. Dear father! PRINCE. You are a trio of wicked girls! PRINCE. And you are a terzetto of sharpers. BEL. The word is a bold one. RALPH. The expression is too familiar. PRINCE. And perhaps you imagine, you stupid [aside.] What an ugly set of fellows! As for knaves, that your conduct would pass unpunished. you, wretched girls, quit my palace for ever! FIN. You will not surely drive us from you? PRINCE. Yes, to beggary,-to vagabondize in the ditches,--to dress in rags, and to wear old slippers. RICH. What an old Blue-Beard. PRINCE. And for you, my pretty fellows, there's another game! BEL. He laughs like a tickled tiger! such a series of tortures as would puzzle a Chinese Mandarin! Guards, seize these impostors. [Loud thunder, followed by music.] Hark! It is the fairy Zerline, who comes to partake in my vengeance, and to demand of you miserable girls, What have you done with your distaffs?" Agong sounds-and suddenly a cloud descends, on which in characters of lightning the following inscription becomes visible. "Love has broken them, but HYMEN sets all right." THE PRINCES. Ah! THE PRINCESSES. [aside.] The enigma is plain! PRINCE. Hymen? but after what they must have done, who would be so silly as marry them? [The cloud opens, and discloses the Fairy.] SCENE VI. The same, the Fairy ZERLINE. ZER. Husbands are at hand. The Princes Ralph, Richmond, and Belvoir, demand the hands of your daughters. THE PRINCES. We are here! PRINCE. Is it possible?-Are these young thieves-gentlemen, I mean-three Princes, and do they wish to espouse my daughters? The charming young men ! Great Fairy! after so many supernatural events, so many wonders, one other miracle seems indispensable towards the clearing up of these mysteries. FAIRY. Indeed! what further illuminatory evidence can you require? PRINCE. Some Bengal lights, oh fairy!-What féle is complete without those splendid lights, which some centuries hereafter will, no doubt, be as common as cheesecakes. [The Fairy waves her wand, and the stage is illuminated brilliantly.] FINALE-CHORUS. Joy! joy! thro' the palace Let the sounds of mirth be spread; Over hills and over valleys Let the light of love be shed! Virtue is the surest treasure, Wedded love the purest bliss ; Wanting these, there is no pleasure In so dark a world as this! A CANZONET. O, come to your maiden, fly o'er the blue main, Should you seek for a bosom more faithful than mine, For your Ella will live, or would die, to be thine, DIEWN. There are seasons in which an unkind word, though hastily spoken by those we love, will wound its deeply, we may pardon, but we can never forget it, and no subsequent kindness will repair the injury. NOW THOU'RT AGAIN MY OWN! (A LYRIC). BY MRS. C. B. WILSON. Now thou'rt again my own! Now thou'rt again my own! O'er thy rich ripe lips Love's light is thrown, Now thou'rt again my own! Now thou'rt again my own! For thy brow hath lost its sadness; HENCE IDLE GRIEF! BY LEIGH CLIFFE, ESQ. Thou art far worse than Time; Thou witherest every leaf, Thou should grace manhood's prime. Upon my brow, The stamp of age thou'st set; The deadly influence now Forbids me to forget. The lost are shrin'd Like jewels in the heart; The monitors of mindTheir memories ne'er depart. The loved are here, By their looks they prove That can each care beguile, Beams on me from my wife. Hence, idle Grief! I fear'd thee once, but now That quits a blighted bough! INSCRIPTION ON A WELL. Like that bright host which now I hail! From me, who on the margin kneel, And prove myself thy votary: Such I have been from earliest youth, And ever will be-peerless Truth! X. Y. Z. SONNET-TO THE OCEAN. Oh! I have loved with changeless heaat, and own'd Thou nurser of the storm,-thou cradler of the love all divine, TIME is a canker! laughing lips, eyes gay, When it is thus with thee, (for thou art one H. B. M. winds! Thy mirrored surface now is calm; But I have seen thee-when thy billowy foam On thy proud breast-has mounted mountains high. The sea-gull screaming, seeks her rocky home (Skimming the foaming eddies, that are scudding by); It is a dreary home,-yet she is happy there, And when the storm is past,-again she'll roam, Through the wide trackless realms of air. Hark! at the frantic rushing blast; The whale affrighted dives far down,-as it flies past! But ah! a voice is heard, borne on the howling winds, Like the thunder's peal, it comes-" Be still!” Thou hear'st, O mighty Ocean, and art subservient to his will! WHERE ART THOU ? Oh where art thou? Within the heart How oft, alas! these words intrude And call the mourning bosom's smart For hours of bliss no more renew'd. I gaze upon the azure sky, ELLA. The countless orbs of light, that now Their soft sweet murmurings of love. Oblivion's sleep must be thy doom; For hopes no more their charms bestow, To calm the throbbings of the breast, That vainly sighs-oh! WHERE ART THOU ? W. E. H. JENNY BAWN. AN IRISH TALE. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE FAVOURITE," ETC. Jane was the pride of the hamlet that she lived in. She was a young, fair, and lovesome girl. A profusion of pale chesnut curls, a bright hazel eye, and a mouth of sweetness, formed only part of her attractions; for her figure was slender, round, and well proportioned. Eighteen summers had she seen, and had never known a care. She was, alas! an only child, and formed the chief joy and pride of her humble parents. That simple pair set out one morning for a neighbouring market-town, five miles distant, as was their custom. Though the morning was fine and the sky clear, many saw that there were lowring clouds portending rain, storm, or thunder-or, not improbably, all conjoined. The air became oppressive, the atmosphere dense, rendering respiration difficult; vivid flashes of flaming lightning preceded the most awful peals of thunder. The heart of the bravest quaked at this fearful war of the elements, while the timid stood appalled, and offered up their prayers on high; the cattle fled for shelter, taking refuge in lonely sheds, beneath the hedge-rows, and the spreading branches of the summer-clad trees; rain fell in torrents, streams descended from the mountains, the flood-gates burst loose, the rivers swelled, and the highway was covered over. It was nightand Bernard O'Brian and Winefred his wife, that quiet, honest, unoffending couple, perished in the wild waters. Jane swept clean her earthen floor, the fire was brightly burning, the pot boiled and bubbled pleasantly with potatoes for their evening meal; the noggans, white and cleanly scowered, were filled with sweet milk by the hand of Jane, who intended adding a rasher of bacon, as a luxury, to the frugal supper. All was arranged, and the return of her beloved parents, her kind father, her tender mother, anxiously anticipated-but they never came. It proved a night of horrors to the lonely orphan. bours said, "The cheeks that used to be as red as roses were grown the colour of a gillgowen, and the two bright eyes that shone like amber beads were dim and dead in her head." It was Sunday, and a lovely sunshiny evening. The dinner done and over, Jane went to dress, to make herself as nice and tidy as her faded wornout garments would admit of. She combed out her long luxuriant tresses, so bright and glossy, when, after plaiting and braiding them, she set out for a solitary walk. Absorbed in her sorrow, she saw not the form of a tall dark man, approaching from a distance. "Urragh, urragh, who is this, I wonder?" she said to herself, as she suddenly "Whatna a blackavised man is raised her eyes. this, or where is he coming till? Well, you have a good pair of legs any how; and you're a wellstept man, full six fut in your stockin' soles, I'll be bound." He had a grave, expressive countenance and a mildly beaming eye. "Jane, Jane, jewel, is it you? No wondhur that I hardly knowed you; for you're sorely gone, poor dear! An' what way are you?" and the hand of an old tried friend was extended towards her. Unaccustomed to the voice of kindness, of interest, or of sympathy, the orphan girl pressed the hand in both of her's, looked tenderly in his wellknown face, and burst into tears. Don't cry, darlin," he said, with a tremulous voice, "Where's the use of fretting? it can't bring the dead to life. The Lord has his own way of working as he thinks fit with us poor worms; an' it's me that was sorry fur your throuble dear when I heard it on home coming. My poor ould daycent comrades, that I was rared beside, warn't they like a brother an' sister to me? An' you, my own god chile, my Jenny bawn, that I nursed on my knee, poor dear!-An' mighty bad you luck," continued the stranger, looking fondly in her face, 66 you are gone to nawthing-the heef of you isn't in it. This little arm is grown soft and small as an infant's: fur you are not getting the thratement that you ought to get. You war used to the good On the following day the bodies were disco-bit-an' the bad bit sot sore an you." vered. The wake was a sober and a quiet one; the song went not merrily round, and the joke was hushed-there was unusual solemnity in the scene. "It was a sore sight," they said, "a heart-scalding sight, to see their quete civil neighbours, their days suddenly cut short; the kinly daycent comely couple laid out, side by side, in their dead clothes an' thou, fair girl-their Jenny bawn, their heart's pride, the one daughter-with streaming hair, blood-shot eyes, and cheeks like chalk, sitting so mournful at the bed-head." The sun shone brightly, the birds warbled in the air, Nature_smiled in her most brilliant robes of beauty, as Jane and her companion strayed along the fields, winding their way along the banks of a rapid stream, while he continued to pour out the overflowings of his affection and sympathy for her whose hand was tenderly clasped in his. "Well mebby I'm nat gled to see you, dear; an' I was on my step fur that same; furl'd be wishful of sarving you. An' was there no place fur you to hire in but Cristy Crummy's, the biggest nagur in the parish, where you'd be worked to an oil, and sarra thank you at the long run, an' the never a kind word said to you thrum Monday morning till Sturday night? -Well, if I had a thought that we war come the length !-if there isn't the widy Maglone's snug wee public-house, at the tother side of the raver, and the big three growin' at the gable en', with the branches spreading all over the roof. We'll just Jane went to service-she had a churlish master crass the stepping stones, an' slip in an' rest ourand a peevish rheumatic mistress. The tenderly-selves; an' a thrate of the widdy's best 'ill do us reared girl had hard work, scanty food, and harsh treatment. She never raised her head. The neigh She attended the burial, with a black ribbon tied on her straw bonnet-the ribbon had been taken off the corpse of her mother for the purpose. One deep grave received them both. When the few articles of furniture which the cabin contained were collected and sold, the sum scarcely served to pay the funeral expenses and other small debts due. no harm this warm evening. A glass of purly punch an' some crackers 'll do you a power of |