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? Oh, 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.

[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. "Twon't 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!

[Kissing her.

There is one only way to save thine honour

'Tis this.

[VIRGINIUS 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!

VIR. If they dare

To tempt the desperate weapon that is maddened

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

It ruslies in amongst them. Way there! Way!

[Exit through the soldiers.

THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES-DR. THOMAS BEDDOES.

The Bride's Tragedy,' by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES (1803–1849), published in 1822, is intended for the closet rather than the theatre. It possesses many passages of pure and sparkling verse. The fol

lowing,' says a writer in the Edinburgh Review,' 'will shew 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 de

htful.' Hesperus and Floribel-the young wedded lovers-are in 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.

HESP. 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!

FLOR. And here's a treasure that I found by chance,

A lily of the valley; low it lay

Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping,
As on a fairy's grave.

HESP. 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.

nd there is an expression in the same scene (where the author is eaking o sleeper's fancies, &c.)—

While that winged song, the restless nightingale

Turns her sad heart to music

hich is perfectly beautiful.

The reader may now take a passage from the scene where Hesperus urders the girl Floribel. She is waiting for him in the Divinity th, alone, and is terrified. At last he comes; and she sighs out:

d thus he answers:

Speak! let me hear thy voice,
Tell me the joyful news!

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,
FLOR. I know you practise on my silliness,

Else I might well be scared. But leave this mirth,
Or I must weep.

HESP. Twil serve to fill the goblets

For our carousal; but we loiter here,

The bride-maids are without; well picked, thou 'lt say.
Wan ghosts of woe-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, Floribel asks him what he means, and he replies:

To thy prayers and shrift,

What mean I? Death and murder,
Darkness and misery.
Earth gives thee back.
Repent and die.

Thy God hath sent me for thee,

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

Dead art thou. Floribel; fair, painted earth,
And no warm breath shall ever more desport
Between those ruby lips: no; they have quaffed
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,
His heart, all malice, would have turned to love.
No hand but this, which I do think was once
Cain, the arch murderer's, could have acted it.
And 1 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- O villain! which way lies the grave?

Mr. Beddoes was son of DR. THOMAS BEDDOES (1760-1808), an eminent physician, scholar, and man of scientific attainments, as well as of great versatility of literary talent. Dr. Beddoes was married to a younger sister of Maria Edgeworth, and was an early patron of Sir Humphry Davy. His son, the dramatic poet, was only nineteen when The Bride's Tragedy' was produced. He afterwards devoted himself to scientific study and foreign travel, but occasionally wrote poetry not unworthy of the reputation he achieved by his early performance. After his death was published 'Death's Jest-book, or the Fool's Tragedy' (1850); and Poems,' with a memoir (1851). Mr. Beddoes was a writer of a high order, but rest. less, unfixed, and deficient both in energy and ambition.

JOHN TOBIN.

JOHN TOBIN was a sad example, as Mrs. Inchbald has remarked, I of the fallacious hopes by which half mankind are allured to vexatious enterprise. He passed many years in the anxious labour of writing plays, which were rejected by the managers; and no sooner had they accepted The Honeymoon,' than he died, and never enjoyed the recompense of seeing it performed.' Tobin was porn in Salisbury in the year 1770, and educated for the law. In 1785 he was articled to an eminent solicitor of Lincoln's Inn, and afterwards entered into business himself. Such, however, was his devotion to the drama, that before the age of twenty-four he had written several plays. His attachment to literary composition did not withdraw him from his legal engagements; but his time was incessantly occupied, and symptoms of consumption began to appear. A change of climate was recommended, and Tobin went first to Cornwall, and thence to Bristol, where he embarked for the West Indies. The vessel arriving at Cork, was detained there for some days; but on the 7th of December, 1804, it sailed from that port, on which day-without any apparent change in his disorder to indicate the approach of death-the invalid expired. Before quitting London, Tobin had left The Honeymoon' with his brother, the manager of Drury Lane having given a promise that it should be performed. Its success was instant and decisive; and it is still a favourite acting play. Two other pieces by Tobin-'The Curfew' and The School for Authors'-were subsequently brought forward; but they are of inferior merit. The Honeymoon' is a romantic drama, partly in blank verse, and written somewhat in the style of Beaumont and Fletcher. The scene is laid in Spain, and the plot taken from 'The Taming of the Shrew,' though the reform of the haughty lady is accomplished less roughly. The Duke of Aranza conducts his bride to a cottage in the country, pretending that he is a peasant, and that he has obtained her hand by deception. The proud Juliana, after a struggle, submits; and the duke, having accomplished his purpose of rebuking the domineering spirit of her sex,' asserts his true rank, and places Juliana in his palace.

This truth to manifest-a gentle wife

Is still the sterling comfort of man's life;
To fools a torment. but a lasting boon

To those who-wisely keep their honeymoon.

The following passage, where the duke gives his directions to Juliana respecting her attire, is pointed out by Mrs. Inchbald as peculiarly worthy of admiration, from the truths which it contains. The fair critic, like the hero of the play, was not ambitious of dress.

DUKE. I'll have no glittering gewgaws stuck about you.
To stretch the ganing eves of idiot wonder,
And make men stare upon a piece of earth

As on the star-wrought firmament-no feathers
To wave as streamers to your vanity-

No cumbrous silk, that, with its rustling sound,
Makes proud the flesh that bears it. She's adorned
Amply, that in her husband's eye looks lovely--
The truest mirror that an honest wife

Can see her beauty in!

JULIANA. I shall observe, sir.

DUKE. I should like well to see you in the dress I last
presented you.

JULIANA. The blue one, sir?

DUKE. No, love-the white. Thus modestly attired,
A half-blown rose stuck in thy braided hair,

With no more diamonds than those eyes are made of,
No deeper rubies than compose thy lips,

Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them;
With the pure red and white, which that same hand
Which blends the rainbow mingles in thy cheeks;
This well-proportioned form-think not I flatter-
In graceful motion to harmonious sounds,
And thy free tresses dancing in the wind-

Thou'lt fix as much observance as chaste dames
Can meet without a blush.

JOHN O'KEEFE-FREDERICK

REYNOLDS-THOMAS

EDGEWORTH.

MORTON-MARIA

JOHN O'KEEFE, a prolific farce-writer, was born in Dublin in 1746. While studying the art of drawing, to fit him for an artist, he imbibed a passion for the stage, and commenced the career of an actor in his native city. He produced generally some dramatic piece every year for his benefit, and one of these, entitled 'Tony Lumpkin,' was played with success at the Haymarket Theatre, London, in 1778. He continued supplying the theatres with new pieces, and up to the year 1809, had written about fifty plays and farces. Most of these were denominated comic operas or musical farces, and some of them enjoyed great success. The Agreeable Surprise,' Wild Oats,' Modern Antiques,' Fontainebleau,' The Highland Reel,' 'Love in a Camp,' 'The Poor Soldier,' and 'Sprigs of Laurel,' are still favourites, especially the first, in which the character of Lingo, the schoolmaster, is a laughable piece of broad humour. O'Keefe's writings, it is said, were merely intended to make people laugh, and they have fully answered that object. The lively dramatist was in his latter years afflicted with blindness, and in 1800 he obtained a benefit at Covent Garden Theatre, on which occasion he was led forward by Mr. Lewis, the actor, and delivered a poetical address. He died at Southampton, on the 4th of February, 1833, having reached the advanced age of eighty-six.

FREDERICK REYNOLDS (1765-1841) was one of the most voluminous of dramatists, author of seventeen popular comedies, and altogether of about a hundred dramatic pieces. He served Covent Garden for forty years in the capacity of what he called thinker'-that is, performer of every kind of literary labour required in the establish