Count. Eggs?

Filippo. One, but addled.
Count. No bird?

Filippo. Half a tit and a hern's bill.

The Lady Giovanna arrives, and the Count welcomes her with the words:

Lady, you bring your light into my cottage
Who never deign'd to shine into my palace.
My palace wanting you was but a cottage;
My cottage, while you grace it, is a palace.

In the course of the ensuing conversation we find some lines that merit quotation. Thus, he assures the lady:

You can touch

No chord in me that would not answer you

In music;

and referring to a warlike exploit in which he wore her wreath, he declares:

I wore the lady's chaplet round my neck;

It served me for a blessed rosary.

On her side, the Lady, returning some diamonds he had presented her with, in more prosperous days, exclaims:

No other heart

Of such magnificence in courtesy

Beats out of heaven.

At the end of the piece the child still lives, and Federigo addresses the Lady, now his betrothed bride, in these words:

We two together

Will help to heal your son your son and mine

We shall do it we shall do it.

The purpose of my being is accomplish'd,

And I am happy!

Another version of this same story, the Falcon, may be found in Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn, as the Student's Tale; and it likewise forms the subject of Gounod's opera, La Colombe.

Of the two-act tragedy, the Cup, it will suffice to say, that the heroine, Camma, wife of Sinnatus, Tetrarch

of Galatia, after the murder of her husband by the ex-Tetrach Synorix, at once revenges herself on the assassin, and puts an end to her own existence, by inducing Synorix, under pretence of a marriage between them, to partake with her of a cup of poisoned wine. More interesting, in all respects, is the five-act tragedy, Becket. The list of dramatis personae includes King Henry II., Queen Eleanor, Becket, Rosamund Clifford, and most of the other historical personages who at that time played a part of any importance on the political stage. In a Prologue, which is itself as long as an ordinary act, Becket and the King are introduced to us, seated at chess, and the impatient and choleric temper of Henry, manifested by the rashness of his moves, is skilfully contrasted with the calculating coolness of his antagonist, who wins the game. On the whole, Lord Tennyson in his tragedy respects the facts of history, if we except the scene in the fourth act, where Becket rescues Rosamund Clifford out of the murderous hands of the vindictive Queen Eleanor, and the last scene of the fifth act, when Rosamund. in her turn, endeavours though unsuccessfully to repay the obligation by shielding the life of her benefactor. The last-mentioned scene is the most stirring and exciting in the tragedy. Becket, who had been the friend and servant of the King as Chancellor, becomes as Archbishop a dangerous competitor for popularity and power. Out of favour at Court, he sullenly retires to his see of Canterbury, whither he is pursued by four knights, devoted partisans of Henry, who have vowed the death of the audacious priest. How they discharged this rash vow we shall leave the poet himself to tell. The scene is the North Transept of Canterbury Cathedral: Oh, my lord Archbishop,

Monks.

A score of knights all arm'd with swords and axes
To the choir, to the choir!

(Monks divide, part flying by the stairs on the right, part by
those on the left).

Becket. Shall I too pass to the choir,

And die upon the Patriarchal throne

Of all my predecessors?

John of Salisbury.

Grim.

No, to the crypt!
Twenty steps down. Stumble not in the darkness,
Lest they should seize thee.

To the crypt? no

no,

To the chapel of St. Blaise beneath the roof! John of S. (pointing upward and downward.)

That way, or this! Save thyself either way.
Becket. Oh, no, not either way, nor any way

Save by that way which leads thro' night to light.
Not twenty steps, but one.

And fear not I should stumble in the darkness,
Not tho' it be their hour, the powers of darkness,
But my hour too, the power of light in darkness!

I am not in the darkness but the light,

Seen by the Church in Heaven, the Church on earth
The power of life in death to make her free!

Enter the four Knights. John of Salisbury flies to the altar
of St. Benedict.)

Fitzurse. Here, here, King's men!

(Catches hold of the last flying Monk.)

Where is the traitor Becket?

Monk. I am not he! I am not he, my lord.
I am not he, indeed!

Fitzurse.

Hence to the fiend!

(Pushes him away.)

Where is this treble traitor to the King?
De Tracy. Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket?
Becket.

Here.

No traitor to the King, but Priest of God,
Primate of England.

I am he ye seek.

Your life.

What would ye have of me?

Fitzurse.
De Morville. Save that you will absolve the bishops.
Becket.

Never,

Except they make submission to the Church.
You had my answer to that cry before.
De Morville. Why, then you are a dead man; flee!
Becket.
I will not.

I am readier to be slain, than thou to slay.
Hugh, I know well thou hast but half a heart
To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood.
God pardon thee and these, but God's full curse
Shatter you all to pieces, if ye harm

One of my flock!

Fitzurse. Was not the great gate shut?

They are thronging in to vespers half the town. We shall be overwhelm'd. Seize him and carry him! Come with us nay thou art our prisoner come! De Morville. Ay, make him prisoner, do not harm the man.

Becket. Touch me not!

De Brito.

How the good priests gods himself!
He is not yet ascended to the Father.
Fitzurse. I will not only touch, but drag thee hence.
Becket. Thou art my man, thou art my vassal. Away!

(Flings him off.)

De Tracy. Come; as he said, thou art our prisoner.
Becket.

Down!

(Throws him headlong.)

Fitzurse (advances with drawn sword.)

I told thee that I should remember thee!

Becket. Profligate pander!

Fitzurse.

Do you hear that? strike, strike.

(Strikes off the Archbishop's mitre, and wounds him in the forehead.) Becket. I do commend my cause to God, the Virgin,

St. Denis of France and St. Alphege of England,
And all the tutelar Saints of Canterbury.

(Grim wraps his arms about the Archbishop.)

Spare this defence, dear brother.

Fitzurse.

(Tracy approaches hesitatingly).

Strike him, Tracy!

Rosamund (rushing down from the choir).

No, no, no, no!

This wanton here! De Morville,

I hold her.

Mercy, mercy,

As you would hope for mercy.

Fitzurse.

Strike, I say.

Grim. O God, O noble knights, O sacrilege!

Strike our Archbishop in his own cathedral!

The Pope, the King, will curse you the whole world
Abhor you; ye will die the death of dogs!
Nay, nay, good Tracy.
Fitzurse.

Answer not, but strike.
De Tracy. There is my answer then.

At the right hand of Power

Power and great glory for thy Church, O Lord

De Brito. This last to rid thee of a world of brawls! (Kills him). The traitor's dead, and will arise no more.

If we carefully compare the dramas of Lord Tennyson with those of Lord Lytton, candour we be

lieve will compel us to acknowledge, that whatever superiority the former may justly claim over his old rival, as a poet, is strictly limited by the line which divides the realm of lyrical from that of dramatic poetry. Beyond that boundary Lord Lytton's pre-eminence is unquestionable.

Robert Browning.

We have already mentioned Mr. Browning's two early tragedies, Strafford and the Blot on the Scutcheon. The subject of the first is of course historical. In the second, a proud and punctilious nobleman, Lord Thorold Tresham, accidentally discovers that his sister Mildred accords secret nocturnal interviews to his friend, Earl Mertoun, and the consequences are fatal to all parties. The frigid reception both these tragedies found on representation would have deterred almost any other man from making fresh attempts of the same kind, but Browning, nowise dismayed, subsequently produced: King Victor and King Charles, a tragedy; Colombe's Birthday, a play; a Soul's Tragedy; the Return of the Druses, a tragedy; and Luria, a tragedy. No attempt has been made to bring any of these on the stage. In the firstnamed piece, the principal personages are the first King of Sardinia, Victor Amadeus, and his son Charles Emmanuel; and the main incident is a pretended abdication on the part of the father in favour of his son. Victor afterwards resumes his royal dignity, but only to die as king. There is much in the drama that is anything but clear. Colombe is a German princess, Duchess of Juliers and Cleves, and here we have to do with a real abdication, prompted by the Duchess's love for the humble Valence, in favour of the claimant, Prince Berthold. The plot of a Soul's Tragedy is rather ingenious. Luitolfo commits a political murder, and is forced to fly. His friend Chiappino, desirous of favouring his escape, and moved by the despair of Luitolfo's betrothed. Eulalia, takes the crime on himself, and is