pated the fumes of the wine, and the I said to them, and strew them on my phantoms of night, and I questioned bed; sprinkle my head with liquid myself on the deeds of the preceeding amber; and let the lyre, the flute, day, I could not recal to myself the and the harp, with their enchanting source of the joy which I had expe- sounds, dispose the heart to love and rienced, nor the circumstances which you. Beautiful maid, approach, whose had excited it. I immediately consi- angelic form, and beautiful face, prodered that the pleasantries which cure for your master, that happiness charm the convivial guests, and excite which he has so long coveted. Thus their immoderate laughter, have their speaking, I descended from my throne foundation in nonsense, in an equi- of gold, and approaching her with a voque, a play of words, or obscene tender and respectful air, I placed a songs. Perhaps the source of this crown of flowers on her head. Refalse gaiety gives birth to the follies ceive, I said, the honours which naof the one and the wickedness of the ture owes you,and which love accords. other; and it is at the best but a fleet- Elevated above your companions, it ing enjoyment, and is founded on the will now be their duty to obey you. ruin and dishonour of other people. Come, charming maid, follow my Unhappy man! whom grief and steps. Alas! what pain and grief despair yield alternately to different lacerated my heart, when, with a motorments--who, in the flowing glass, dest disdain, she returned me my seeks only the forgetfulness of him- crown of flowers, and sunk into self, and who sees not that sickness, the deepest grief. I concealed my alienation of mind, loss of memory, chagrin, and my eunuchs were comand misery are concealed in the manded to conduct this youthful treacherous draught. beauty to an apartment prepared for my pleasures. Desire and inquietude made me hasten after her. I approached her, I solicited the favour of being heard; I painted the ardour of my passion, but I received every

Is there not any thing remaining wherewith the languor of the soul can be cured, and peace restored to the mind-does not love offer a certain remedy? Deliver thyself up, my soul, to its agreeable delight, and moment a fresh assurance of my dis burn with its delicious fires. Why grace. By turns I was a slave and a shouldst thou hesitate? Why retard tyrant. Imenaced and I implored; at the moment of thy happiness? Fly, last, transported with love and rage, I my favourite, spare not any thing to offered her the choice of a mutual love, give satisfaction to your master. Let or an instant death. Sensible of the all my women, and my concubines, passion and the menaces of her king, superbly adorned, appear this night she retired a few paces, and directing at my royal table. Let the women of towards me a look, mixed of sorIsrael, the beauties of foreign coun- row and indignation, she spoke. tries, the presents of princes, or the What does king Solomon suppose? slaves of my court, present them. My feeble body trembles before you, selves before their monarch, and the and that is the only advantage your most worthy of them shall obtain his power gives you. There it finds its favours. I spoke, and was obeyed- limits. My mind is free above your the most beautiful women of the uni- controul, and fears neither the rage · verse passed before me. One, of the conqueror, nor the weight of amongst the rest, attracted my atten- his chains. They tell me, Prophet tion. I was struck with her superior supreme! that you can argue of the charms. Alas! my soul now recals the angels of men, and the brutes-that first moment of an unhappy and un- you can reason elegantly on the folly fortunate attachment. This virgin of the passions and the empire of was an Egyptian--the graces had reason-that you know to discover to formed her shape; her countenance the attentive tribes, the cause of evil was open, her air commanding, her and the source of good-and that your jetty locks floated on a bosom whiter wisdom is only equalled by your powthan the snow on the mountain. I er. Where then is now that wisdom? invited my friends to contribute to the or is it blinded by love? O judge of happiness of their king. Bring roses, Israel, what art thou at this moment?

UNIVERSAL MAG. VOL. XIV.

3 L

Will the son of David receive, in the first nuptial bed of the universe, a stranger, a peasant, a slave? If your passion suffer you not to attend to these odious names, and if love, like death, absorbs every distinction, are you therefore ignorant, that it belongs to me to satisfy your tenderness. Employ, cruel king, your useless force. Give no rein to your fury, and without knowing real pleasure, obtain that which can delight your tyranny-on my heart it has no effect. Know, Solomon, how much your power is limited. You can, with a threatening look make Israel tremble. It is tenderness alone which gives birth to love, but in this instant it has no influence on me. I am destined for another, beyond the limits of your empire, in my own country. I have pledged my faith to my equal. He received my first sigh, and the first expression of my love: the God above has heard them, and death alone can alter them. Plunge your poinard in my breast, deprive me of a life which I now disdain. Since I am in your power, let your brutality be extin- judgment of things, we should forbear guished in my blood; but whilst it a too hasty decision from external circulates in my veins, and whilst it appearances. I dare swear you'll find, is permitted me to respire, I here at- ere long, that you have greatly wrong. test before the Gods of Egypt, that ed them both. Nay, as to Adelaide, ! hatred of thee shall be my lot: may never can believe her half so vile-and despair, barbarous king, be thine. EdwardStrike, continued the beautiful captive, uncovering her bosom, and let it be written in the annals of Juda, that the son of David, inflamed by an impious passion, immolated his slave, and massacred the object of his love. R. H.

Albert. Be not too rash. In our

shall a slave, a peasant-boy, a lacquey, a mere creature of my will, thus dare to cross me even in my very love?

Albert Yet hear me.

Gorbac. (In a contemptuous manner). But, forsooth, you are his friend, the chosen object of his esteem, his bosom friend; and I can well anticipate the fond excuses you would make.

Albert. No, Gorbuc! I am no mean defender of baseness and ingratitude. Prove to me that Edward is the wretch you think him, and

Gorbac. (Suceringly). I understand you-but-Hell and damnation, the very thought is madness. I tell thee, young man, I saw nila. What, would you have me doubt Lay eyes, my ears, and all my senses? I saz him-curses light on his young body,

would my sword had, in the same instant, sought his perfidious heart. And she, too, the faithless Adelaideshe-your sister-she, could stoop so low, as to listen to the vows of a vile peasant!

Gorbuc. Is a villain! I proclaim it loudly. A base, cringing, cowardly villain! A mere slave, a pander; a wretch who bears about him a foul and frontless conscience,

Albert. Pooh! you're too warm. I cannot keep pace with the violence of your passion.

Gorbue. No, Sir, your ill-timed 'friendship can brook a thousand insults which my honour burns to casti

gate. Yet listen: I will tell the hew, the very place, and time I caught them in the shameless fact. Twas yester-evening, when, walking in the garden, musing on the various turns of life, I saw your sister cruss, the path in which I was. She seemed m haste, and as I bent my nimble steps to follow her, lo! I beneld young Ldward issue from an adjoining walk. A thought, like lighting, flashed across my mind: e'en now it scorches my very brain, and makes me wild. Oh! that at that moment the winged

false?-can he be ungrateful-and my to abuse thine ear with foul tales of sister too, can she have stained her vilest infamy, is it for thee so name by so foul an act! Oh, Ade- readily to eredit the undoing of thy laide, Adelaide, if thou hast done so sister? Enter ADELAIDE.

Hlast done what my brother! What have I committed that should make thee thus, in anguish, call upon my name? (He turns from her). Nay, for Heaven's sake, do not turn from me. If I have ever, even in thought, done ought that can raise a blush upon thy check, oh! drive me, spurn. me from thy presence. But no! I am innocent. Do not, then, so cruelly wring my heart.

Albert. Mark me, Adelaide! I have ever loved thee with a brother's warmth; have felt the same hopes, the same joys, the same fears, and knew no bliss but what I shared with thee. Nay, even now, would die, to shelter thee from hari. Yet, if what I've heard be true,— Adelaide. Oh, tell me tell me all that I may prove how false it it? cannot bear to stand accused before thee, even in thought.

I

Albert. Do you remember yester night.

Adelaide. Oh Heaven! oh earth! bear witness when I say-I am innocent. If Gorbuc, (how my soul shudders at the name), has meanly sought

Adelaide. What of it?
Albert. The garden.
Adelaide. Where?

Albert. Young Edward-the arbour -vows of love. Hah: does it not strike upon your soul, like lightning, and rouse a thousand fiends? What! not change colour! Oh, hardened in your guilt.

Adelaide. Hear me Albert.
Albert. No.

Adelaide. For Heaven's sake do not refuse me. Lo! on my knees I beg it'

Albert. Rise, I pray thee. I wish no humiliation.

Adelaide. Never will I quit this pos ture till I have compelled you to give me justice. Thus will I hold you! and with tears exclaim, "I am innocent!" Albert struggling to go). Nay, you shall not quit me; I will be satisfied.

Albert. Foolish girl! This contumacy rather confirms suspicion, and seems as though you'd compel me into a disbelief. Loose me I say, or thus, thus, I tear me from you. (Rushes out, dragging Adelaide after him). End of Act I. ACT. II. SCENE I The Library. Baron discovered reading. knocking at the door heard. Baron. Come in. (Enter Edward). Welcome my young friend. I sent for you Edward, to have a little conversation ere you proceed to your night's repose, in your new apartinent.

Edward. It will ever be my pride to listen to your words, and to obey your dictates.

Albert. Not wronged me! Have The you not stained the honour of your family? Have you not become the pander of your own infamy-the base slave of your paramour?―'sdeath, not wronged me?

A

see.

Baron. I belive you, my boy, and never fight with those they could not I'm glad to see it. I do remember, when first I took you to my house, a little chubby rogue, there was a gentle mildness in thy manners that won my esteem? and I did then predict you would not wrong my kindness.

Edward. Oh, sir, if ever this heart could cease to honour and to love then may it instantly cease to beat. I you, was a poor, friendless child, exposed to all the storms of poverty, when, in your bountiful mercy, you snatched me from penury, and raised me into affluence. My life, 'tis all I have, shall ever be at your service; and surely I can never forget to die in your behalf.

Baron. Come, come, I did not mean this; but now let us proceed to the immediate object of this visit. Sit you down. (They seat themselves). Edward, you have doubtless noted that foolish idea which prevails among my servants, and I believe through the whole village, of the eastern apartments being haunted.

Edward. I have, and oft have sought to quell such childish apprehensions by the force of ridicule, but they are so deeply rooted, and seem to have been so long believed, that I fear it is impossible to eradicate them.

Baron. Pooh! pooh! I dont despair of driving all these hobgoblins into the Red Sea, with thy aid alone. Edward. Command me and I shall

obey.

Baron. Now I wish you, this night, at a test of its fallacy, to sleep in that apartment. I dare venture to say you

are not afraid.

Edward. I afraid! The innocent never fear.

like courage in that to be sure; how-
Edward. Why there was something
ever, I will venture unarmed to meet
this formidable sprite, and doubt not
count of him to-morrow.
I shall be able to render a good ac-

Baron. Hark'ee Edward, I intend to-morrow morning to summon all my household into the great hall, and there you shall relate, if any thing wards, in order that every atom of disoccurs during the night; and aftertrust may be destroyed, they shall accompany you thither, and thus be convinced from occular demonstra

tion.

if I can in any manner be instrumenEdward. Be it so. I shall be happy tal in restoring peace to a family to which I owe so much.

Baron. Aye, aye, you were always a grateful youth; and yet methinks you have been but poorly treated. Gorbuc does not appear to hold you much in his esteem. How is it? have you had any rupture with him?

Edward. None, my lord. ever man shares your good opinion Whatcommands my respect, and compels me, from motives of honour, to stifle dawning resentment.

Baron. I do not understand you. Believe me, you mistake me much, if you think I would designedly misplace my regard. Know you ought of Gorbuc, that can in any manner taint his fair character? By my soul an ye do, and refuse to disclose it, you act not fairly by me.

Edward. Indeed, my lord, I have never observed any thing but an overbearing arrogance, and a studied insolence to those whom he deems his inferiors. I am free in my observation, but it is the language of my heart.

Baron. Yes, yes, but they do sometimes. I do not imagine that my servants are very far from being innocent, that is to say, their consciences are untouched, yet, I'm sure, they would sooner swallow poison, or-or -be married, than pass five minutes in that apartment alone. To be sure they did once offer to go all in a body, armed with pokers, shovels, brooms, Edward. Because what, my lord? saucepans, gridirons, and the whole kitchen artillery, with old Ambrose It was a mere trifle; and, in fact, 'I Baron. Oh! nothing, nothing at all. for their colcuel; but in consequence did not pay much attention to his of one of their fellows affirming that tale, though I observed he was deeply old saucer eyes fights invisibly, they stung; and then he talked of dismissall ran back, swearing they would ing the peasant boy from my protec

Baron Trust me, I fear it is the language of resentment, and you seek to injure Gorbuc in my opinion merely because—