FOOTNOTES:

And the tall trees stoodcirclingin arow.[P]

The humour of this comedy, in many of the scenes, has hardly ever been exceeded by any writer in any language. The dialogue between Don Manuel and Don Philip, in which the former undertakes to "bamboozle" the son of his friend, whom he conceives to be an arrant impostor, is absolutely a masterpiece of humour. There are several other scenes of nearly equal merit. It is difficult even at this day, to form a correct judgement of Cibber—as the disgrace attached to him by Pope in the Dunciad excited against him a prejudice which at this distance of time continues to operate on the mind of the reader.

It is generally known, I believe, that the livery servants, a very numerous and formidable body, formed a combination to suppress this elegant and humorous satire on their vices and follies, the first night it was performed. But fortunately for good taste and good sense, these heroes of the epaulette were suppressed, and the piece had much more success than it probably would have had, but for this ill-judged attempt.

It is not, however, so generally known that this after piece owes its origin to one of the papers in the Spectator, in which a number of servants of the nobility are introduced, aping the manners, the airs, and graces of their masters. The perusal of this essay suggested the idea which has been so felicitously expanded in High life below Stairs.

No person in the smallest degree acquainted with theatrical affairs, can be ignorant of the strong spirit of rivalship that exists between Drury Lane and Covent Garden, and that has prevailed since the first establishment of those theatres. The anecdote I am going to relate, affords probably the strongest instance of this spirit that is on record.

When Garrick's celebrity was at its highest pinnacle of glory, Rich, the manager of Covent Garden, engaged Barry and Mrs. Cibber, performers of very great talents, and high reputation, and entered the lists with Garrick in the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. Barry performed the young Montague, and Mrs. Cibber the delicate and elegant Juliet. Garrick produced the celebrated, but frail and unfortunate Mrs. Bellamy in Juliet, while he played Romeo. Every exertion within the compass of human powers was made by both parties, and the public opinion was held for a time divided between the rivals. The warfare was continued for twenty nights successively. At length Rich, growing tired of the contest, abandoned Romeo and Juliet; and Garrick in triumph had it represented one night more. The constant repetition of the same play disgusted the public, and gave rise to the following epigram, which was published in the papers of the day—

"What play tonight?" says angry Ned,As from his bed he rouses."Romeo again!" he shakes his head—"A pox on both your houses."[Q]

However incredible the following story may appear, it stands on the very respectable authority of Arthur Murphy[R]and David Erskine Baker[S]. A tragedy, called Zingis, written by Alexander Dow, was so totally unintelligible that the audience were continually asking each other—What is it about? What is it about?—That such nonsense should be written is not so very marvellous, as that the miserable farrago should have had a run of nine nights, which has been frequently denied to works of first rate merit.

FOOTNOTES:[L]Baker's Play-house Companion, vol. 1.[M]Idem, 426.[N]Baker's Play-house Companion, vol. 1. 312.[O]Idem, 292.[P]Baker's Play-house Companion, vol 1. p. 250.[Q]Murphy's life of Garrick, Dublin Edition, p 125.[R]Idem, page 294.[S]Play-house Companion, Vol. 2. p. 417.

[L]Baker's Play-house Companion, vol. 1.

[M]Idem, 426.

[N]Baker's Play-house Companion, vol. 1. 312.

[O]Idem, 292.

[P]Baker's Play-house Companion, vol 1. p. 250.

[Q]Murphy's life of Garrick, Dublin Edition, p 125.

[R]Idem, page 294.

[S]Play-house Companion, Vol. 2. p. 417.

"... Not unknown to me the glow,The warmth divine that poets know."Shaw's M.S.

We find that proposals have been issued for publishing by subscription the Poems of the late Doctor John Shaw of Baltimore. This is one of the few occasions on which every man who pretends to revere virtue and personal excellence, to admire talents, and to respect erudition, will, feel himself imperiously urged to step forward with something more than empty professions, and by practically interesting himself in the advancement of this subscription, to pay a posthumous tribute to the memory, and as the editor of the proposed work elegantly expresses it, "the living remains" of a gentleman in whom those qualities were conspicuously united. The pleasure we have often received from the writings of Doctor Shaw—the high and ample space he filled in the opinion of the country, particularly of those who best knew him, and the honourable testimony which one of the most enlightened personages who in this age have done honour to the peerage of Great Britain (lord Selkirk) has borne to his talents and virtues, would prompt us to enlarge upon this theme, if we did not feel that it would be injuring the matter to take it out of the hands of the editor, J. E. Hall, Esq. whose words, as being much preferable to any thing we could offer, we take the liberty of transcribing.

"The Poems which are now offered to the patronage of the public, were composed by a gentleman whose extensive endowments and excellent qualities commanded the respect, and won the esteem of all who knew him. Those who remember the communications ofIthacus, in the earlier volumes of thePort Folio, will not condemn the taste which deems them worthy of republication in the form that is now proposed: and the many who lament the untimely blow which deprived them of a friend, and society of a useful and brilliantornament, will liberally aid an attempt to give "a local habitation" to the memorials of his genius.

"Some months previous to his demise, Dr. Shaw communicated to a friend his intention of publishing a volume of poetry, and they devoted several evenings to the task of preparing them for the press. But the idea of establishing a Medical College, in this city, which he conceived about that time, and the cares of an increasing family, so much engrossed his attention, that his literary project was abandoned for more important pursuits.

"For most of the pieces therefore, which shall appear in the proposed collection, the editor may plead the sanction of their author: and, in the choice of others, he will not neglect the duty that is due to the fame of his deceased friend.

"It is the intention of the Editor to prefix some account of the life of Mr. Shaw. From his letters and memoranda written during his residence on the coast of Barbary, his probationary studies at Edinburgh, and his wanderings with Lord Selkirk in Upper Canada, it is probable that something may be gleaned to interest a reader. It is proper, however, not to excite any extravagant expectations, as the Editor may not be successful in the collection of sufficient materials for the execution of so pleasing a duty.

"It is deemed not improper to intimate, that this publication is undertaken as well to preserve the memory of the deceased, as to promote the comfort of his "living remains." Thus, while an opportunity is offered for the gratification of the taste of some, the virtue of all may be rewarded by those sensations which arise from the performance of a benevolent action."

From every circumstance that now appears, we augur the success of the work, and a brimming subscription for it. The promised sketch of Dr. Shaw's life ought of itself to ensure the publisher abundant support. Of the execution of that part it may be sufficient to state that it comes from the author of "The Life of Anacreon," and other compositions which have enriched the pages of the Port Folio: and whois he so dull, for whom biography has not charms?—On this last topic we beg leave to borrow, for this once, the expressions of a writer, whose delicacy we should offend, by speaking of him as we think, and to whom the taste and literature of this country are more indebted than any but the wise and learned are competent to understand, or any but the honest and generous are willing to confess.

"In the harmonious family of literature," says Dennie, "History and Biography are sisters. They are twins: and both are beautiful. The port of the one is stately and martial, but the air of the other, if less dignified, is more alluring. One generallycommandsus to repair to the cabinet or the camp, while the otherbeckonsus to the bower. History has respectful and stanch friends, but Biography has passionate lovers. There are some who are indifferent to the charms of the first, but there are none who do not admire the winning grace and sensible conversation of the latter."[T]

Dr. Shaw's Poemsare to be published by Coale and Thomas of Baltimore, who receive subscriptions for the work.

FOOTNOTES:[T]See Preface to the American edition of the Life of Pitt.

[T]See Preface to the American edition of the Life of Pitt.

PHILADELPHIA:PUBLISHED BY BRADFORD AND INSKEEP; INSKEEP AND BRADFORD,NEW-YORK; AND WILLIAM M'ILHENNY, BOSTON.Smith & M'Kenzie, printers.1810.

Prince Palatine,The Abbot of Corbey,Baron Ravensburg,Count Roland,Ravensburg,Prisoner,Bernardo,St. Clair,Everard,Zastrow,Walbourg,Christopher,Oliver,First Falconer,Second Falconer,Free knights, Crusaders, Soldiers, Falconers.Countess Roland,Ulrica,Agnes.Dancers, Attendants.

Countess Roland,Ulrica,Agnes.

Dancers, Attendants.

Ever.Hark! another victim. [Unbars the door. EnterZastrow,leading in a prisoner, whose eyes are bandaged.

Pri.Whither, Oh, whither would ye lead me? To pass apparently o'er rugged rocks, ascend high mountains, and descend to vaults; hear the close baying of the forest wolf, and the loud cataract's terrific roar; and now, e'en now, perhaps, to stand upon the verge of some stupendous precipice——

Zastrow(removing the prisoner's veil) Behold! behold the precincts of that famed tribunal that renders justice to the Christian cause, and strikes dismay throughout the Christian world.

Pris.Merciful Heaven! if justice be the boast of your tribunal, why all this dark, mysterious—

Zas.How! dare but to whisper one invidious word against an institution that's upheld by——

Pris.(crossing to Everard) To you, who seem to wear a human form, to you I make appeal. Some three months past my interest called me from my native land here to Westphalia; and but last night, when all around was calm and still as my own thoughts, a loud terrific knocking at the portal convulsed my habitation. I rushed to know the cause, and, by the moon's pale beam, read, on a banner fixed into the earth, this awful summons: "Appear, Augustus Montfort, before the free knights! traitor appear." How, how was I to act? A stranger to their hidden mystic forms, I sought my neighbours for inquiry, when, sad reverse! I, who before was welcomed with their smiles, met now such fearful and contemptuous looks, that but for conscious and inherent pride, I had been then your victim.

Zas.Ay, none, none dare notice the accused.

Pris.None, save a monk, who, far less worldly than the rest, stopt, and warned me to obey this their first summons, or soon a second and a third would follow; and, on my then not answering, not only would my sentence be proclaimed, but my best friend, ay, my own son, were he a member of this dread tribunal, would, by a solemn oath, be bound to plunge his dagger into his father's heart. Such are free knights! Such the famed members of this lauded court! And having further learnt, that on the tolling of the midnight bell at my own gate, or at the citadel, a chosen minister of vengeance passed to pilot the accused, I went, and you, through paths most dangerous and inscrutable, have brought me to the spot where justice reigns; if so, give the first proof of justice, trial. By that I am prepared to stand or fall.

Ever.Trial! alas! it may be years——

Pri.Years! I'll not believe it. Where are my judges?

Zas.There (pointing to the door) in full council, electing a free knight. And till that awful ceremony's past, they must not be disturbed, nor then but by their chief, Prince Palatine, who, on returning from the holy wars, comes to consult them on affairs of state. [Music.] Hark! he approaches. This way to your dungeon. [Prisoner appeals.] Nay, no parleying. You have to cope with those who'll teach you patience and submission.

Music. Prisoner is led into his cell, andZastrowbars the gate, Everardshowing compassion.Zastrowopens the door, and the prince andWalbourgenter.

Prin.So, after an interval of ten long years, again I view and welcome the tribunal. Ay, Walbourg, welcome it. For though dark traitors, plotting against a state, may oft elude the common vigilance which broad and open justice takes, yet can they escape the penetrating eye of this deep-searching and all-powerful court? No. Unseen it sees, and unknown pries into such hidden guilt, that the detected villain, awe-struck, cries, "this is not man's but Heaven's unerring vengeance."

Zas.And, once detected, shall free knights forgive! Be death the doom of all the prince's foes.

Prin.(after a short pause) Ay, death: for long inured to daring and to desperate deeds, still deeper must I plunge. But Oh, my friend! in the bright morn of life—(aside toWalbourg.)

Trumpets within. The prince shows surprise.

Zas.The council are electing a free knight: the gallant Ravensburg.

Prin.Ravensburg! the brave heroic youth, who on the plains of Palestine first stamped the glory of the Christian arms! I guess his honest, loyal motive. He has heard rumours of conspiracy, and here, as in the field, would die to serve his prince.

Ever.So he avowed, my liege; and also that his father, the baron Ravensburg, had urged him, and though he started when he entered, and wondered much why all our actions should be thus involved in dark obscurity, yet loyal and parental love prevailed, and he rushed into add one more to the ennobled list that graces the tribunal.

Prin.Exalted Ravensburg! Let all who would uphold their prince's cause like thee, uphold this hallowed institution.

EnterRavensburg,hastily.

Rav.In storm, in battle, in the hour of malady, I can brave danger with heroic firmness; but here I own and feel myself so much a coward, that not for worlds would I return and face that scene of unexampled horror. Back with me as I came; and, do I live to utter it? your arm. I sicken, faint with apprehension.

Prin.Why, Ravensburg! The motive, loyal and parental love, and yet dare hesitate! Return—perform the solemn rites—

Rav.What! swear I will pursue all doomed by this despotic court, and, swifter than the lightning, strike a deadly weapon e'en in a parent's breast! Never!

Prin.Never!

Ravens.My liege, error, perhaps, misleads me; but, trained in camps and the rough school of war, though I ne'er felt that superstitious zeal which founded and supports these unknown judges, yet an enthusiast in the Christian cause, I would maintain it as the cause deserves, by open vindication of its rights, and not by such mysterious arts as truth and justice must disdain to practise.

Prin.Mysterious arts!

Ravens.Ay. Why else at dead of night, with shrouded sight, was I conducted to this drear abyss, through ways apparently unknown to man? And next immured in a long vaulted cell, where, as I gazed upon devices framed to heighten my alarm, two ghastly figures, wrapt in mortuary veils, rushed forth, and laying bare my breast, with a new-slaughtered captive's blood, there marked a crucifix, and then descending to a deeper cell, where, in full council, round an altar formed of human skeletons, the secret knights appeared; and, whilst the cavern rung with the loud shrieks of burning and of tortured victims, they proffered me their oath—that oath which bound me to destroy friend, father, mistress! Mighty Heaven! let bigots reconcile and court these scenes. I have the common feelings Nature prompts, and fly from such barbarity. [Going.

Prin.Hold! By this desperate, this outrageous act, you have incurred and well deserved our vengeance. And who is Ravensburg, that thus condemns what laws, what monarchs, and what pontiffs sanction; and which to loyal and obedient minds is now the rallying beacon of their hopes; for who, but this all-seeing court, can save your sovereign andfriend,father,mistress, from a conspiracy, perhaps as fatal as that by which the princess, young Theresa fell?

Rav.How!

Prin.Hear me. Some fourteen tedious years are past since on my loved, lamented brother's death, this infant, only child, became the victim of that curst Italian fiend, the count Manfredi's treachery, and I, against my will, was hailed prince palatine. Manfredi perished not as he merited. He died a natural death, and with him treason seemingly extinct, I, like the rest of Europe's zealous champions, joined the crusaders in the Holy Land. You followed, and you fought so nobly, I confess I little thought that Ravensburg would join with new Manfredis to overthrow his prince.

Rav.That I! lives there the slanderous and calumnious wretch who dare—— [Drawing his sabre.

Prin.(holding his arm) The man who will not court the certain means by which foul treason may be traced and crushed, so far encourages and aids the crime, that he is himself a traitor. And now, when journeying from my capital, I hither come for counsel and redress—Shame! Oh, shame! if feeling for your prince have no effect, think of an absent father's claims, who, to the loss of a son's valued life, may add his own and others of his race. (Ravensburg shows alarm: takes him aside.) Ay, the tribunal once offended, will mark and watch with such suspicious eyes, e'en your most distant kindred, that danger, great as your offence, hangs o'er them.

Rav.They cannot—will not——

Prin.They will. And picture the reverse: by linking with this formidable chain, which, though invisible encircles all, you may watch o'er your house's safety. (Noise without of unbarring gates.) They come—from every quarter come—to execute your sentence! You've no alternative—escape you cannot. In church, in palace shall the free knight strike; therefore instantly complete the forms, and aid your country's and your prince's cause; or, like a base detested parricide, involve an aged parent's life—

Rav.Hold! hold! A parent's claims are ever paramount; and Heaven, that witnesses my motive, will pardon my consenting.

Two free knights appear at each door, and are advancing with uplifted daggers.

Prin.Forbear! He is a convert. He will unite with us in tracing and o'erthrowing new conspiracy. Come, you're my friend again (taking Rosenburg's hand.) And whilst Westphalia's my abode, I will sojourn me in your father's house, and witness, as I'm told, another ceremony; the happy celebration of your nuptials.

Rav.My nuptials happy! Well! well! lead on. Be this my first, my lesser sacrifice.

Music.—A party of free knights enter at one door, carrying a banner, on which is painted the cross, an olive branch, and a poniard. A party likewise enter at the other door, carrying a banner on which is painted an eye, surrounded by clouds, and radiated like the sun.Prince, Ravensburg,and train exeunt, free knights following.

Enter countessRolandandUlrica,from the chateau.

Countess.So, this is grateful; this is graceful. Answer me. Who has maintained you? who has educated you? and from whom did you get these fine clothes and fine manners? From me! you took your manners from me!

Ulrica.Took your manners! Lord, aunt! and yet you call me ungrateful!

Coun.And last summer, who took a fine house for you at Aix-la-Chapelle? and, starting you on a matrimonial speculation, so dazzled and decoyed old baron Ravensburg, that he not only invited us to his chateau here, but selected you to be his son's wife, the wife to the hero of Palestine. And yet, though I told you, modern friends followed new houses as naturally as rats run from old ones, you were for my laying out my last florin on a cottage, a cheap paltry cottage.

Ul.And why, aunt? Because I thought we should both most like what we were most used to.

Coun.Most used to!

Ul.To be sure. Till a few years ago, when you went to live at Roland castle, did'nt you keep such a snug little cot in Franconia, that you might have packed it up and taken it with you?

Coun.My Franconia cottage! mercy on me!

Ul.Yes. Don't I still wish myself in that cot? I do, I do: for it's all very well if a person have the misfortune to be born a fine lady—but to be made one; to be taught to talk without thinking, stare without looking, and be red without blushing! Lord, who'd go and waste money at fairs and carnivals, when they might see curiosities in every great house for nothing!

Coun.If you dare hint to baron Ravensburg—

Ul.Not I! I dare no more tell baron Ravensburg what you once were, than I dare tell your rural relations what you now are: for if he knew you were once Winifred Winbuttle, and they knew—Lord! Lord! if those I so long lived with,if aunt Alice, and her son Christopher—dear darling cousin Christopher!

Countess(who has been walking about in a rage). Jade! Jezabel! how often must I remind you, that I no longer acknowledge this Franconia relationship? That I am, and have been, since last winter, of pure, noble, Norman extraction, and widow of the great count Roland, madam, who, struck with my charms, soon married me, madam, and being married, soon died, madam.

Ulrica.Very, very soon. And you may well take it to heart; for, alas! his estate went with his title—went to his nephew, young count Roland, who, after an absence of many years, returned from his travels on that most melancholy day. (half crying.)

Countess(weeping.) He did; and grief, grief prevented my seeing him; but you saw him Ulrica, and by what I heard of the tender interview, if the count hadn't been suddenly called away again——Oh! 'tis a sweet estate? one third of it would be consolation for any loss.

Ulrica.There! You think I'm to exterminate the whole German nobility, whilst I think there are even doubts about the young baron Ravensburg. Again, from my window this morning, again I saw him in close conversation with the sweet interesting Agnes—and if he love an humble orphan, and I love the humble Christopher—Now, do, aunt, do let me tell him, and every body, you're become a fine lady: if I don't, they'll never find it out, aunt.

Countess.Talks of your cousin, Christopher! whom I hav'n't seen for years, and never mean to see again! Peace, I insist! And for Ravensburg—your betroth'd's—loving Agnes, the Baron's dread of that marriage will hasten yours; or if it don't, and this string snaps, in young count Roland we've perhaps a better. But see—our host—hush! for your life not one word of Franconia.

Baron(speaks without.) Now, prepare yourselves to receive our illustrious visiter with the honour due to his rank.

Enters.

Why countess, I've been looking for you every where. What do you think? The prince Palatine means to copy your example; like you, he means to be a visiter at my chateau, and be present at the celebration of my son's nuptials. His train has already pass'd the aqueduct. (A strain of music.) Hark! he approaches. (Calls on the servants.) Come along all of you, and make your best bows and curtsies.

The procession enters.

(After procession.) Now, Ulrica, as I am not one of your silver-toned orators, do you give to the warriors from the holy land a most harmonious greeting.

With well-earn'd laurels in the Christian cause,Receive, great chief, your native land's applause.

Fam'd crusaders! just as brave,Form'd a nation's right to save!Now repose on tranquil plains,Listen to our dulcet strains.Peace inviting,Joy exciting,'Till the foe again assail,Then the glorious contest hail.

Prince.Delightful! exquisite! (To Ravensburg who looks dejected.) Nay, Ravensburg, the die is cast, the solemn oath is sworn, and should your altered looks create the least suspicion of what's past, beware! beware! for 'tis a secret that was ne'er divulged—not e'en your chosen partner must suspect that you're invested with a free knight's rank.

Rav.'Tis sworn—'tis secret.

Baron(advancing with all respect towards the prince). My liege, this honour to a poor old simple baron——

Prince.Sir, you've a title that surpasses pedigree. You are the father of the gallant Ravensburg; and since he comes to claim the soldier's brightest, best reward, fair woman's love, I trust to find you have selected one who richly merits such an envied prize.

Baron(introducing Ulrica.) This is the lady, your highness; and she not only boasts great rank, and, as you see great beauty; but she has nothing of what destroyed my matrimonial happiness—no distant relations, no poor cousins, nephews, nieces, and grandchildren, who, on a rich man marrying into a family, actually treat him as private property, and go on getting more cousins.

Prince(to Ravensburg.) She seems as artless as if trained in humble unsophisticated life; and I prognosticate, will yield that calm content which I, alas! can never hope to taste—never!—Come let us in, and on tomorrow be the nuptials solemnized. (Ravensburg appeals.)

EnterAgnes.

Agnes.Madam—the——(countess stops her.)

Prince.Ay, Ravensburg, tomorrow; for, harassed as we are by foul conspiracy, our stay's precarious; and 'till we're summon'd to the scene of danger, let loud festivity and outward show dismiss our inward grief.

Ravens.My liege, may I suggest——

Baron.Suggest nothing—'tis all settled—the prince has said it. I've said it; and tomorrow the priest, shall say it. Lead on—away—and yet, bless me, how rude I am. I have introduced your highness only to Ulrica. That, entering the chateau, is her aunt, the countess Roland. (Countess curtsies to the prince, and exit). That next to her is Agnes, the poor orphan Agnes.

Ravens.The poor! My liege, though rank nor fortune smil'd upon her birth, she is so rich in more substantial charms, that you, her sovereign, might be proud to boast a daughter of such peerless worth.

Prince(starting, and gazing on Agnes with great emotion.) That form, those eyes! that mark'd, majestic, ne'er to be forgotten mien! (Agnes curtsies, and exit.) Merciful powers! Whence came she, Ravensburg? Fly, swift recall her! yet hold! for if it prove——Impossible, it cannot be!—and the dread vision past, we are ourselves, and hail the festive scene.

[Music. Exeunt into the chateau; the baron and Oliver remaining to usher the party in. The baron is following; Oliver stops him.

Oliver.One word, only one word from your faithful old Oliver, who can't help reminding you, that he became your servant this day thirty years.

Baron.I know you can't. You are always reminding me; and if you go on presuming upon long service, and making honesty so very troublesome—give me a civil downright rascal! And so follow, and assist in preparing for the glorious union of the Rolands and the Ravensburgs—of two families who boast pedigrees.

Oliver.Granted: but I've seen what you might, have seen. Your son don't love Ulrica: he loves my poor dear Agnes!

Baron.Granted. Thanks to the countess, I've seen it ever since he came from the wars; and if Agnes had seen it, she had never seen my house again; but as she chose to be discreet, she shall now see an union that will blazon our family hall with Norman, Saxon, Spanish, Danish—in short, with heraldry never yet seen or heard of.

Oliver.Stop—one word. (Baron breaks from him, and exit.) So this is love of pedigree: this is because he reckons by titles, not by character. And if a certain lady, whose name I won't mention,were not countess Roland, he'd see she was no more than a deep, decoying, match-making——Plague on't! I hope she won't next hook him into the noose; for if she had a husband every morning, my life on't, she'd be a widow before night. Oh lord! poor Agnes, poor young master, and poor old Oliver. (Remains in a thoughtful posture.)

EnterChristopherthrough the gates.

Chris.(looking round.) Dear, dear, what a nice, sweet, pretty place! Well, I declare when travellers used to talk of their fine sights, I used to wink and nod, as much as to say, I believe it's all bounce. But when I go back, and describe that object (pointing to the abbey in the distance) and this object (turning round, and running against Oliver)—Sir, I beg pardon for calling you an object. But you see I am just come from the woods, Sir—from the woods about six leagues off, Sir, where I was hawking with my lord, when he—he—he—od'rabbit it!—Hit or miss, it will be rare sport.

Oliver.What sport? And who are you? (angrily.)

Chris.Why, that's it. I want to know who I am; and perhaps you can tell me. (Gets close to him.) Little Solomon, you see, one of our under falconers, and who has seen all my relations, come t'other day to this town for a basket of provisions for my lord and his hawking-party; and as he was staring about, who shou'd he see ushered into a fine house, and hear being call'd by a fine name, but my aunt Winifred—old Winifred Winbuttle, the housekeeper! Very well—I cou'dn't say or unsay this, you know; so I directly gets leave of my lord to come myself, and stare about; for thinks I, if Iammade a fool of, I'm only where I was, you know. (With affected simplicity.)

Oliver.Certainly, or worse; for to suppose I'll stay chattering here about Solomon and Winifred, proves, if not quite, that you are very near an idiot! (going.)

Chris.(taking his arm.) Very—I'm very near an idiot! And yet, do you know, upon my honour, Solomon described every thing!—from aunt Winifred, and her great title, down to the Gothic latch'd gate, and the little twaddling old butler who open'd it: he did—and if I could but once—(looking about)—only just once—(seeing the chateau)—Why that's it! by Solomon's description, that must be the very house, that the gate, and you—he! he! he!—Come, I'm no fool now! Icod, I see who you are.

Oliver(standing before the door.) Dolt, booby! I leave you to your folly! But I would have you know, there are none in this house, none but the marchioness Alberti, the countess of Roland—

Chris.Who?

Oliver.The countess of Roland, and her niece Ulrica; so that's your final answer from the little twaddling old butler. [Exit into the chateau.

Chris.(strutting, &c.) 'Tis she!—Aunt Winifred, by law, takes a countess's title; and I—pshaw! I'm like other great people, I'll take any thing!—Not so—some three score hungry, ragged relations, they'll take possession of that beautiful tenement (pointing to the chateau) and Ulrica—sweet Ulrica—will take possession of this beautiful tenement (himself.) And then—Oh, my dear Christopher! how you do long for the wedding day!

I.I'll tap at her door when the morning shall break,And with the first lark I'll be singing;I'll whisper quite soft, "Now, my dear love, awake,For the church bells are merrily ringing.The bridegroom, impatient, no longer can rest:The bridemen and bridemaids quite smartly are drest;The drums and the fifes so cheerily play,The shepherds all chant a gay roundelay;With garlands of roses fair damsels advance,The young and the old partake in the dance;Such mirth and such rapture never were known;I'm surpris'd that so long you will tarry:I prithee, Ulrica—prithee, come down;For the sport of all sports is—to marry."IIWhen home we return, we'll sit down to feast,Our friends shall behold us with pleasure;She'll sip with my lord—I'll drink with the priest,We'll laugh and we'll quaff without measure.The toast and the joke shall go joyfully round,With love and good humour the room shall resound.The slipper be hid—the stocking let fall,And rare blindman's-buff shall keep up the ball;Whilst the merry spinette, and the sweet tambourine,Shall heighten and perfect the gay festive scene.Such mirth and such rapture never were known,I'm surprised that so long you will tarry;I prithee, Ulrica—prithee, come down;For the sport of all sports is—to marry.

I'll tap at her door when the morning shall break,And with the first lark I'll be singing;I'll whisper quite soft, "Now, my dear love, awake,For the church bells are merrily ringing.The bridegroom, impatient, no longer can rest:The bridemen and bridemaids quite smartly are drest;The drums and the fifes so cheerily play,The shepherds all chant a gay roundelay;With garlands of roses fair damsels advance,The young and the old partake in the dance;Such mirth and such rapture never were known;I'm surpris'd that so long you will tarry:I prithee, Ulrica—prithee, come down;For the sport of all sports is—to marry."

When home we return, we'll sit down to feast,Our friends shall behold us with pleasure;She'll sip with my lord—I'll drink with the priest,We'll laugh and we'll quaff without measure.The toast and the joke shall go joyfully round,With love and good humour the room shall resound.The slipper be hid—the stocking let fall,And rare blindman's-buff shall keep up the ball;Whilst the merry spinette, and the sweet tambourine,Shall heighten and perfect the gay festive scene.Such mirth and such rapture never were known,I'm surprised that so long you will tarry;I prithee, Ulrica—prithee, come down;For the sport of all sports is—to marry.

[Exit into the chateau.

Ravens.Today, to swear the dire terrific oath, "and on tomorrow be the nuptials solemnized." In all—in all—must Ravensburg be sacrificed?—He must—his father has committed him! pledged by his promise to accept the fair Ulrica s hand, shall I, perchance, destroy her prospects and her hopes, by basely now retracting! No—though love for Agnes occupies my breast, still is there room for honourable feeling! and be the conflict great as was the last, that feeling shall prevail! This hand shall be Ulrica's—unless—there, there's my hope! Now, at the banquet, she besought a private interview; and whilst the festive scene engages all, I've stolen forth to give her here the meeting. What, what would she impart?—And why delay? Oh, were her tidings welcome, she would not thus withhold them.

EnterAgnes,hastily, not seeingRavensburg.

Agnes.I cannot comprehend! the prince to gaze on me with such emotion! wildly exclaim, "the sight of her is hateful!" and, with the baron, leave the banquet, to be told the whole of my sad history—'Tis well! I shall not suffer by the truth; for, as I guess, mine, is a story to excite more of compassion than resentment.

Ravens.Agnes! speak—what of the Prince?

Agnes.Nothing, my lord; he would know my story, would be told that I, an infant, friendless, fatherless, was nursed and cherished by the baron Ravensburg, who, like the rest, of late has met me with such altered looks!—but 'tis of late!—for years he called me his adopted child; and you, my benefactor's son, bear witness, I banish from my mind the present change, and dwell with gratitude on past affection.

Rav.'Tis his new friend, this artful, envious countess! 'Till she became your foe—

Ag.I know: and how have I offended? Still I've endeavour'd to obey and please her, and her niece, the fair, the happy—Sir, I forget—I came by her desire—the countess having heard of her intention, will not allow of any private interviews, and therefore 'tis Ulrica's wish, that, as tomorrow is the nuptial day, the day which blesses her, but which—(bursts into tears)—I can no more—Spare! spare! and pity me!

Rav.Proceed! for, if I know Ulrica's heart, you are not messenger of any tidings ungracious to yourself.

Ag.Indeed, I know not—She was, as she has ever been, most kind and most compassionate; but to her wish—she begs you will comply with what is here requested—Take it—(giving him a letter)—and the hard office o'er, farewell until tomorrow! And then, no sister's prayers did e'er more pure and fervent flow than mine shall then for yours and your Ulrica's happiness.

Rav.(having opened the letter.) Stay! (reading.) "Shall I accept his hand, whose heart I perceive to be another's? And can I wish him to accept mine, who, from early education, am better suited to a far more humble sphere! No, generous Ravensburg! Remonstrate with your father, and increase the esteem of Ulrica, by wiping away tears, which flow from silent, genuine passion! Hearts such as yours and Agnes's can best reward each other," Exalted woman! Iwillremonstrate with my father—now, instantly, and come what will, no nuptials shall be solemnized, but those which love shall crown—(taking her hand)—if you refute not what Ulrica writes.

Ag.My lord, 'twere affectation to deny what this our mutual and unequall'd friend has now revealed; but for the rest! if I am worthy of the son's affection, remember, that I owe it to the father; and great, however great the sacrifice, still would I rather meet that son's displeasure, than plant a sting in the protecting breast that warm'd and nourished a forsaken orphan.

Rav.My father will relent! Hark! he comes! the banquet o'er, new revelry succeeds, and now I can partake its joys. Come, the hope that dawns shall lead to lasting sunshine.

Enter thebaron'strain, and theprince'strain.

Theprinceandbaronlast, and together.

Prin.(aside to the baron.) That is her history? You have imparted all?

Bar.That—that is Agnes Lindorf's story.

Prin.And none—none know it!

Bar.None—I've kept it secret, even from herself; because, at first the circumstance exciting interest, I fear'd to lose what might supply a daughter's loss; and, since not wishing to increase an orphan's suffering—

Prin.(starting, on seeing Agnes.) Behold again! again it flashes on my mind full confirmation. Take, take her from my sight! Yet, no—that may create suspicion, and Walbourg! Walbourg will, ere long, return. Oh! were he come! for every moment is an age, till I'm secure! [half aside.

Bar.Walbourg! gone! where my liege?

Prin.(angrily.) No matter, Sir—let the dread interval be filled with these your care-destroying sports. Come, strike!

[Princeandbaronseat themselves, and the other characters are ranged on each side the stage.

Dance.

In the midst of which a loud knocking is heard, accompanied by trumpets without. All show alarm, except theprince,who expresses secret satisfaction.[Music changes.

Folding doors are thrown open byWalbourg,who enters, and points to a black banner, fixed into the ground, on which is written, in golden letters,

"AGNES LINDORF! APPEAR BEFORE THE FREE KNIGHTS!"

[Agnesstands motionless with terror, then runs wildly about, appealing to the different characters. Theprincemenaces—all point to the banner, turn away, and exeunt, exceptRavensburg,who is following, whenAgnesclings to him, and detains him.]

Ag.You! you will not forsake me! Grant, grant me but a look!

Rav.Avoid me! shun me!

Ag.I swear by Him, to whom all crimes are known. I know no more of what I am accused, than does the new born babe! But think, oh think! I am accused by those, whose names strike terror through the world, and who, by solemn and terrific oaths, are bound to execute such dreadful deeds, (Ravensburg trembles violently) that you, whose nature must revolt at such barbarity! you, my kind, only friend! [falling on his shoulder.

Rav.Fly! swift—escape? (passing her across him.) Where? (stopping her.) Whither! who can elude the penetrating eye of their deep-searching vengeance? And if you answer not that awful mandate? All gracious powers! (turning from her)—I am forbidden to advise, nay, even converse with the accus'd! And yet, Agnes! (turning towards her) though my whole heart be with thee—Farewell! farewell! [embracing her.

Enter, immediately, prince Palatine.

Prin.False, perjur'd Ravensburg! (parting them.) Away! and, but that consciousness of guilt prevails, why, traitress? why this coward fear? Tried and aquitted by this high tribunal, your friends shall welcome you with added honour! But if you shall rashly disobey the summons, your death is certain, and you doom those friends—mark that—you doom, perhaps, your dearest friends, to turn assassins, and destroy that life, which, but for selfish and for dastard terror, had been preserved to bless them.

[Agneseagerly regardingRavensburg,who shows extreme agitation.]

Ag.I see! it breaks! it bursts upon my mind! and though none know where the free knights meet, all are acquainted with their dreaded forms; and soon, and soon will a minister of vengeance come—(crosses to Ravensburg)—to summon the accused. (Trumpets.) My lord—take courage! I'm no more a coward. (She takes Ravensburg's hand.) Feel—do I tremble? Am I by selfish terror influenced? No, mighty Sir, (to the prince) behold what conscious innocence effects! And see, where sympathy and pity prompts, a woman's spirit emulates your own, (embracing Ravensburg.) Farewell, kind, generous friend! Now, Heaven protect, and guard me!

[Music.—Ravensburgwould detainAgnes.Theprinceprevents him. Afree knightappears on the terrace.Agnes,all animation, points to thefree knight—also blessesRavensburg. Ravensburgimplores heaven in her favour.Agnesexit rapidly, andRavensburgis partly persuaded, and partly forced off, by theprince Palatine.

Chris.Not here either!—no where to be met with! Bless my soul? now I am in the house, I might as well be out of it; for I can't find aunt or cousin; and the fine company here seem all out of their senses. One pushes me, and t'other pushes me, and till I'm sure I'm fine company myself, it wont do for me to push again. Countess?—where are you, aunt countess? Do come, and make me fine company! Oh lord! I'll try this door (door in the back scene) and I should be half afraid she kept out of the way because she was asham'd of me, only I know aunt has no pride—not a bit of the gentlewoman about her.

[Exit affectedly into the chamber.

Enter countessRoland,leading inUlricathrough the stage door.

Coun.There! and now, whilst I return, and consult with the baron, I'll take care nobody consults with you. [Taking the key out of the stage door.

Ul.Heavens! what have I done, aunt?

Coun.What have you not done? And till you're wife to Ravensburg this and the adjoining chamber shall be your prison—it shall! for even if the great young count Roland were to offer marriage, who knows but you might write to him about "humble sphere," and "early education." Write! nonsense! Why here I am who never wrote a letter in my life.

Ul.This my prison! Aunt, my dear aunt, if I have long sickened at this scene of splendid misery, and sighed for your sister's calm cottage in Franconia, what must I now, when poor Agnes, and this frightful tribunal——

Coun.My sister's cottage!

Ul.And my cousin Christopher——

Coun.How's again! again insult me with this low relationship! I'm gone, madam (Christopher re-enters behind, smiles, rubs his hands, and stops at the door, and listens)—gone to prepare for your marriage with a man of my own rank, madam. And once more take notice, I disclaim, I disown the whole Franconia family; and if any poor cousin, niece, or nephew attempt to hang on me, depend on't they shall hang on something more substantial. Oh! by way of example, only let me catch one of them—just that this frightful tribunal may catch, rack, and torture him into confession of his own and your presumption. [Exit at the stage door, banging and locking it after her.

Chris.(groaning loudly) Oh! h! h!

Ul.(half turning round.) A man! a strange—help!

Chris.(advancing and trying to stop her mouth) Don't!

Ul.(breaking from him without seeing his face) Aunt! come back, aunt!

Coun.(without) Not I, I promise you.

Chris.Thank ye, thank ye kindly, aunt! (fanning himself with his hat)—and if this be your style of providing for your family, thank you also for disowning the relationship; but you, cousin, though you are going to be married to a man of rank, won't you take pity on your old play-fellow, Christopher, who having heard of aunt's promotion, came, in hopes of getting into high life; and who certainly will get into high life (pulling up his collar) if you don't keep him from being caught, racked, and tortured by——Oh! Lord!

Ul.Christopher! cousin, Christopher! and come to see his aunt, the countess! Very well, sir; you didn't come to see Ulrica, then!

Chris.Eh!

Ul.You didn't come to see her who is already caught, locked up, because she don't choose an unequal marriage; and who, notwithstanding her dress and appearance, is the same simple-hearted creature you left her, sir; but since you're altered, sir, since you forgot your former humble——

Chris.(half crying) I don't—I'm as simple as ever. And if I thought you were not joking—but you are—(looking close in her face)—yes—no—(Ulrica smiles)—she's the same kind-hearted—

Ul.I am; and were we but in our native village, Christopher——

Chris.We'd send for a priest, buy a little land, make money, make love, and have such a happy fire-side!

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