Just. Make out the bail-bond.

Off. (Surveying Pendulous.) Please, your worship, before you take that gentleman's bond, may I have leave to put in a word?

Pen. (Agitated.) I guess what is coming.

Off. I have seen that gentleman hold up his hand at a criminal bar.
Just. Ha!

Miss F. (Aside.) Better and better.

Off. My eyes cannot deceive me. His lips quivered about, while he was being tried, just as they do now. His name is not Pendulous.

Miss F. Excellent!

Off. He pleaded to the name of Thomson at York assizes.

Just. Can this be true?

Miss F. I could kiss the fellow!

Off. He was had up for a footpad.

Miss F. A dainty fellow!

Pen. My iniquitous fate pursues me everywhere.

Just. You confess, then.

Pen. I am steeped in infamy.

Miss F. I am as deep in the mire as yourself.

Pen. My reproach can never be washed out.
Miss F. Nor mine.

Pen. I am doomed to everlasting shame.

Miss F. We are both in a predicament.

Just. I am in a maze where all this will end.

Miss F. But here comes one who, if I mistake not, will guide us out of all our difficulties.

Enter MARIAN and DAVENPOrt.

Mar. (Kneeling.) My dear father!

Flint. Do I dream?

Mar. I am your Marian.

Just. Wonders thicken!

Flint. The casket

Miss F. Let me clear up the rest.

Flint. The casket

Miss F. Was inadvertently in your daughter's hand, when, by an artifice of her maid Lucy,-set on, as she confesses, by this gentleman here,Dav. I plead guilty.

Miss F. She was persuaded, that you were in a hurry going to marry her to an object of her dislike; nay, that he was actually in the house for the purpose. The speed of her flight admitted not of her depositing the jewels; but to me, who have been her inseparable companion since she quitted your roof, she intrusted the return of them; which the precipitate measures of this gentleman (pointing to the Officer) alone prevented. Mr Cutlet, whom I see coming, can witness this to be true.

Enter CUTLET, in haste.

Cut. Aye, poor lamb! poor lamb! I can witness. I have run in such a haste, hearing how affairs stood, that I have left my shambles without a protector. If your worship had seen how she cried (pointing to Marian,) and trembled, and insisted upon being brought to her father. Mr Davenport here could not stay her.

Flint. I can forbear no longer. Marian, will you play once again, to please your old father?

Mar. I have a good mind to make you buy me a new grand piano for your naughty suspicions of me.

Dav. What is to become of me?

Flint. I will do more than that. The poor lady shall have her jewels again.

Mar. Shall she?

Flint. Upon reasonable terms, (smiling.) And now, I suppose, the court may adjourn.

Dav. Marian!

Flint, I guess what is passing in your mind, Mr Davenport; but you have

behaved upon the whole so like a man of honour, that it will give me pleasure, if you will visit at my house for the future; but (smiling) not clandestinely, Marian.

Mar. Hush, father.

Flint. I own I had prejudices against gentry. But I have met with so much candour and kindness among my betters this day-from this gentleman in particular-(turning to the Justice)—that I begin to think of leaving off business, and setting up for a gentleman myself.

Just. You have the feelings

of one.

Flint. Marian will not object to it.

Just. But (turning to Miss Flyn) what motive could induce this lady to take so much disgrace upon herself, when a word's explanation might have relieved her?

Miss F. This gentleman (turning to Pendulous) can explain.

Pen. The devil!

Miss F. This gentleman, I repeat it, whose backwardness in concluding a long and honourable suit from a mistaken delicacy—

Pen. How!

Miss F. Drove me upon the expedient of involving myself in the same disagreeable embarrassments with himself, in the hope that a more perfect sympathy might subsist between us for the future.

Pen. I see it-I see it al!.

Just. (To Pendulous.) You were then tried at York.
Pen. I was-

-CAST

Just. Condemned

Pen. EXECUted.

Just. How !

Pen. CUT DOWN, and CAME TO LIFE AGAIN. False delicacy, adieu!

The

true sort, which this lady has manifested-by an expedient which at first sight might seem a little unpromising, has cured me of the other. We are

now on even terms.

Miss F. And may

Pen. Marry, I know it was your word.

Miss F. And make a very quiet—

Pen. Exemplary—

Miss F. Agreeing pair of

Pen. ACQUITTED FELONS.

Flint. And let the prejudiced against our profession acknowledge, that a money-lender may have the heart of a father; and that in the casket, whose loss grieved him so sorely, he valued nothing so dear as (turning to Marian) one poor domestic jewel.

To M. W.

THERE'S Something in thy lightest mirth For, like a sainted virtue, Thou

That's like an angel's sadness,

A dim soft pathos overflows

Thy wildest voice of gladness.

I, with a poet's insight, see

How feelings true enhance The finer impulses that stir

Thy leaf-like elegance.

And, Margret, when I look on thee,
Are swept away the fears,
Which whisper beauty is a thing
Of peril and of tears.

Art lifted o'er the day;

God's shadow on thy face is laid

In sanctity for aye.

Mix with the vulgar and the vain,
There's nothing to condemn ;
A charm is hung around thee-Thou
Canst ne'er be one of them.

Then go nor fear to move amidst
Our earth's most tainted air,
Go, like a sea-bird in the gloom,
As fearless and as fair!

J. F.

"Had it not been the obstinate perverseness of our prelates, against the divine and admirable spirit of Wickliffe, to suppress him as a schismatic or innovator, perhaps neither the Bohemian Husse, and Jerome, no, nor the name of Luther or of Calvin, had ever been known.”

MILTON, For the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing.

VI.

The purple pride of the Papal See
Could not to silence win thee;
It's loudest thunders were less to thee,

Than the still small voice within thee:
In the conclave hall, erectly tall,

'Twas thine to stand undaunted,

'Mid threatening throngs, that sought thy wrongs, And insolent power that vaunted.

VII.

To the death 'twas thine to persevere,

Though the tempest around thee rattled; And wherever Falsehood was lurking, there Thy spirit heroic battled:

And though thy bones from the grave were torn,
Long after thy days were ended,

The sound of thy words, to times unborn,
Like a trumpet-call descended,

VIII.

A light was struck-a light which shew'd
How hideous were Error's features,
And how perverted the law, bestow'd
By Heaven to guide its creatures ;
At first, for that spark, amid the dark,
The Friar his fear dissembled;

But soon at the fame of Wickliffe's name,
The throne of St Peter trembled!

IX.

Oh! that the glory, so fair to see,

Should from men's eyes be shrouded;
Oh! that the day-dawn, which rose with thee,
Illumining all, should be clouded!

In vain have heroes and martyrs bled-
When all that they nobly fought for
Is recklessly given, like carrion dead,
To the dogs, whenever sought for!!

X.

Oh! that the lamp of Faith burns dim—
That our public men grow cravens-
And oh! for the spirit that burn'd in him,
An eagle amid the ravens !

Of the book which had been a sealed-up book,

He tore the clasps, that the nation,

With eyes unbandaged, might thereon look,
And learn to read salvation.

XI.

I turn me from him-I cannot gaze

On the calm, heroic features,

When I think how we have disgraced our days—

Poor, miserable creatures!

And when, how we have betray'd our trust

The sons of our sons shall hearken,

Can it be else than that o'er our dust

The spittle of scorn should barken!

THE FIRST GRAY HAIR.

THE matron at her mirror, with her hand upon her brow,
Sits gazing on her lovely face-aye lovely even now:
Why doth she lean upon her hand with such a look of care?
Why steals that tear across her cheek?-She sees her first gray

Time from her form hath ta'en away but little of its grace;
His touch of thought hath dignified the beauty of her face;
Yet she might mingle in the dance where maidens gaily trip,
So bright is still her hazel eye, so beautiful her lip.

The faded form is often mark'd by sorrow more than years;
The wrinkle on the cheek may be the course of secret tears;
The mournful lip may murmur of a love it ne'er confest,
And the dimness of the eye betray a heart that cannot rest.

hair.

But She hath been a happy wife;-the lover of her youth
May proudly claim the smile that pays the trial of his truth;
A sense of slight-of loneliness-hath never banish'd sleep;
Her life hath been a cloudless one ;-then, wherefore doth she weep?

She look'd upon her raven locks;-what thoughts did they recall?
Oh! not of nights when they were deck'd for banquet or for ball;—
They brought back thoughts of early youth, e'er she had learnt to check,
With artificial wreaths, the curls that sported o'er her neck.

She seem'd to feel her mother's hand pass lightly through her hair,
And draw it from her brow, to leave a kiss of kindness there;
She seem'd to view her father's smile, and feel the playful touch
That sometimes feign'd to steal away the curls she prized so much.

And now she sees her first gray hair! oh, deem it not a crime
For her to weep-when she beholds the first foot-mark of Time!
She knows that, one by one, those mute mementos will increase,
And steal youth, beauty, strength away, till life itself shall cease.

'Tis not the tear of vanity for beauty on the wane-
Yet though the blossom may not sigh to bud, and bloom again,
It cannot but remember with a feeling of regret,

The Spring for ever gone-the Summer sun so nearly set.

Ah, Lady! heed the monitor! Thy mirror tells thee truth,
Assume the matron's folded veil, resign the wreath of youth;
Go!-bind it on thy daughter's brow, in her thou'lt still look fair;
'Twere well would all learn wisdom who behold the first gray hair!
T. HAYNES BAYLY.

UPON SEEING MISS FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET.

ITALIAN passion, sudden, deep, intense,
With maidhood's simply fearless innocence,
With the chaste dignity that marriage gives,
Blended in poesy's ethereal hue;—

Such the sweet Juliet Shakspeare's genius drew—
The genius such that now in Fanny lives.

M. M.