Bev. Liberty and life. Come, kneel and curse me. Mrs. B. Then hear me, heaven. [Kneels.] Look down with mercy on his sorrows! Give softness to his looks, and quiet to his heart! On me, on me, if misery must be the lot of either, multiply misfortunes! I'll bear them patiently, so he be happy! These hands shall toil for his support; these eyes be lifted up for hourly blessings on him; and every duty of a fond and faithful wife be doubly done to cheer and comfort him. So hear me ! so reward me! [Rises.] Bev. I would kneel too, but that offended heaven would turn my prayers into curses; for I have done a deed to make life horrible to you. Mrs. B. What deed? Jar. Ask him no questions, madam; this last misfortune has hurt his brain. A little time will give him patience. Bev. Why is this villian here? [Enter Stukely.] Stuk. To give you liberty and safety. There, madam, is his discharge. [Gives a paper to Charlotte.] The arrest last night was made in friendship, but came too late. Char. What mean you, sir? Stuk. The arrest was too late, I say; I would have kept his hands from blood; but it was too late. Mrs. B. His hands from blood! Whose blood? Stuk. From Lewson's blood. Char. No, villain! Yet what of Lewson; speak quickly. Stuk. You are ignorant then; I thought I heard the murderer at confession. Char. What murderer? And who is murdered? Not Lewson? Say he lives, and I will kneel and worship you. Stuk. And so I would; but that the tongues of all cry murder. I came in pity, not in malice; to save the brother, not to kill the sister. Your Lewson's dead. Char. O horrible! Bev. Silence, I charge you. Proceed, sir. Stuck. No; justice may stop the tale; and here's an evidence. [Enter Bates.] Bates. The news, I see, has reached you. But take comfort, madam. [To Charlotte.] There's one without inquiring for you; go to him, and lose no time. Char. O misery! misery! Mrs. B. Follow her, Jarvis; if it be true that Lewson's dead, her grief may kill her. Bates. Jarvis must stay here, madam; I have s me questions for him. Bev. Why, ay; this looks like management. Bates. He found you quarrelling with Lewson in the street last night. Mrs. B. No; I am sure he did not. Jar. Or if I did [To Beverley.] Mrs. B. 'Tis false, old man; they had no quarrel, there was no cause for quarrel Bev. Let him proceed, I say. O! I am sick! sick! Reach a chair. [Jarvis brings it, he sits down.] Mrs. B. You droop and tremble, love. Yet you are innocent. If Lewson's dead, you killed him not. [Enter Dawson.] Stuk. Who sent for Dawson ? Bates. 'Twas I. We have a witness too you little think of Without there. Stuk. What witness? Bates. A right one. Look at him. [Enter Charlotte and Lewson]. [Mrs. B. on perceiving Lewson, goes into a hysterical laugh, and sinks on Jarvis.] Stuk. Lewson! O villains! villains! Mrs. B. [To Bates and Dawson.] Risen from the dead! Why, this is unexpected happiness! Jar. What riddle is this? Bev. Be quick and tell it, my minutes are but few. Mrs. B. Alas! why so? You shall live long and happily. Lew. While shame and punishment shall rack that viper. [Points to Stukely.] The tale is short; I was too busy in his secrets, and therefore doomed to die. Bates, to prevent the murder, undertook it; I kept aloof to give it credit. Char. And give me pangs unutterable. Lew. I felt them all, and would have told you; but vengeance wanted ripening. The villain's scheme was but half executed; the arrest by Dawson followed the supposed murder, and now, depending on his once wicked associates, he comes to fix the guilt on Beverley. Lew. And of a thousand frauds; his fortune ruined by sharpers and false dice; and Stukely sole contriver and possessor of all. Daw. Had he but stopped on this side murder, we had been villains till. Bev. Why, well. Who's he that asks me? Mrs. B. 'Tis Lewson, love. Why do you look so at him? Bev. [Wildly.] They told me he was murdered! Mrs. B. Ay; but he lives to save us. Bev. Lend me your hand; the room turns round. Lew. This villain here disturbs him. Remove him from his sight; and on your lives, see that you guard him. [Stukely is taken off by Dawson and Bates.] How is it, sir? Bev. 'Tis here, and here. [Pointing to his head and heart.] And now it tears me! Mrs. B. You feel convulsed, too. What is it disturbs you? Bev. A furnace rages in this heart. [Laying his hand upon his heart.] Down, restless flames! down to your native hell; and there you shall rack me! Oh, for a pause from pain! Where is my wife? Can you forgive me, love? Mrs. B. Alas! for what? Bev. For meanly dying. Mrs. B. No; do not say it. Bev. As truly as my soul must answer it. Had Jarvis staid this morning, all had been well; but pressed by shame, pent in a prison, and tormented with my pangs for you, driven to despair and madness, I took the advantage of his absence, corrupted the poor wretch he left to guard me, and swallowed poison. Lew. Oh, fatal deed! Bev. Ay, most accursed. And now I go to my account. Bend me, and let me kneel. [They lift him from his chair, and support him on his knees.] I'll pray for you, too. Thou Power that mad'st me, hear me. If, for a life of frailty, and this too hasty deed of death, thy justice doom me, here I acquit the sentence; but if, enthroned in mercy where thou sitt'st, thy pity hast beheld me, send me a gleam of hope, that in these last and bitter moments my soul may taste of comfort! And for these mourners here O let their lives be peaceful, and their deaths happy. Mrs. B. Restore him, heaven! O, save him, save him, or let me die too! Bev. No; live, I charge you. We have a little one; though I have left him, you will not leave him. To Lewson's kindness I bequeath him. Is not this Charlotte? We have lived in love, though I have wronged you. Can you forgive me, Charlotte ? Char. Forgive you? O, my poor brother! Bev. Lend me your hand, love. So; raise me-no; it will not be; my life is finished. O for a few short moments to tell you how my heart bleeds for you; that even now, thus dying as I am, dubious and fearful of a hereafter, my bosom pang is for your miseries. Support her, Heaven! And now I go. O, mercy! mercy! [Dies.] Lew. How is it, madam? My poor Charlotte, too! Char. Her grief is speechless. Lew. Jarvis, remove her from this sight. (Jarvis and Charlotte lead Mrs. Beverley aside.] Some ministering angel bring her peace. And thou, poor breathless corpse, may thy departed soul have found the rest it prayed for. Save but one error, and this last fatal deed, thy life was lovely. Leu frailer minds take warning; and from example learn that want of prudence is want of virtue. [Exeunt.] The Elfrida, and Caractacus, of Mason, whom we have already noticea were dramas of a much more intellectual and scholar-like cast thaa 'Th Gamester,' but were destitute of tragic interest. They were brought on th stage by Colman, manager of Covent Garden theatre, and were wel re ceived; but they are now known only as dramatic poems, and not ae acun plays. From 'Elfrida' we select the following fine passage : AGAINST HOMICIDE. Think what a sea of deep perdition whelms And let the thought restrain thy impious hand. Which, dreadful sweeping through the vaulted sky, Far the most natural and affecting of all the tragic productions of this period, was the Douglas of Home, which was founded on the old ballad of 'Gil Morrice.' 'Douglas' was brought out in Edinburgh, in 1756, and its representation was attended with praises and with tears without limit; and in the following year it was produced at Covent Garden with equal success, The plot of this drama is pathetic and interesting in the extreme; and while some parts of the dialogue are flat and prosaic, others are written with the liquid softness and moral beauty of Heywood, or Dekker. Maternal affec tion is admirably delineated under the novel and striking circumstances of the accidental discovery of a lost child; and the chief scene between Lady Randolph and Old Norval, in which the preservation and existence of Douglas is discovered, has no equal in the modern, and scarcely a superior, in the ancient drama. Douglas himself, the young hero, 'enthusiastic, romantic, desirous of honor, careless of life and every other advantage when glory lay in the balance,' is beautifully drawn, and formed the school-boy model of most of the English youth, 'sixty years since.' JOHN HOME, the author of this fine drama, was connected with the family of the Earl of Home, and was born at Leith, in 1722. He received his ducation, in preparation for the ministry, at the university of Edinburgh, and succeeded Blair, the author of 'The Grave,' as minister of Athelstaneford. Previous to his ordination, however, he had, in 1745, taken up arms as a volunteer, against the Chevalier, and after the defeat at Falkirk, was imprisoned in the old castle of Downe, whence he effected his escape, with some of his associates, by cutting their blankets into shreds, and letting themselves down to the ground. The romantic poet soon found the church as severe and tyrannical as the army of Charles Edward. So violent a storm was raised because a Presbyterian minister had written a play, that Home was forced to bow to the authority of the presbytery, and resign his living. To compensate him, in some degree, for his loss, Lord Bute bestowed upon him the sinecure office of conservator of the Scots' privileges at Campvere, and on the accession of George the Third, in 1760, when the influence of Bute was paramount, the poet received a pension of three hundred pounds per annum. He wrote various other tragedies, all of which have now passed into oblivion; but with an annual income of about six hundred pounds, an easy, cheerful, benevolent disposition, and the enjoyment of the friendship of Hume, Blair, Robertson, Lord Kames, and many others, distinguished for rank and talents, Home's life glided on in happy tranquillity. He survived nearly all his associates, and died in 1808, having attained the advanced age of eighty-six. As a specimen of the style and diction of Home, we subjoin part of the discovery scene in 'Douglas,' already alluded to. Lord Randolph is attacked by four men, and rescued by young Douglas. An old man is found in the woods, and is taken up as one of the assassins, some rich jewels being also in his possession: DISCOVERY OF HER SON BY LADY RANDOLPH. [Prisoner-Lady Randolph-Anna, her maid.] Lady R. Account for these; thine own they can not be: Detected falsehood is most certain death. [Anna removes the servants and returns.] Pris. Alas! I'm sore beset; let never man, For sake of lucre, sin against his soul! I guiltless now, must former guilt reveal. Lady R. O, Anna, hear! Once more I charge thee speak The truth direct; for these to me foretell And certify a part of thy narration: With which, if the remainder tallies not, An instant and a dreadful death abides thee. Pris. Then, thus adjured, I'll speak to you as just As if you were the minister of heaven, Sent down to search the secret sins of men. Some eighteen years ago, I rented land Of brave Sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's lord; All that I had, and then turned me and mine (Four helpless infants and their weeping mother) Out to the mercy of the winter winds. A little hovel by the river side Received us: there hard labour, and the skill Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and run To where the circling eddy of a pool, Beneath the ford, used oft to bring within My reach whatever floating thing the stream Had caught. The voice was ceased; the person lost: By the moon's light I saw, whirled round and round, And nestled curious there an infant lay. Lady R. Was he alive? Pris. He was. How could'st thou kill what waves and tempests spared? Pris. I was not so inhuman. Lady R. Didst thou not? Anna. My noble mistress, you are moved too much: This man has not the aspect of stern murder; Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear Good tidings of your kinsman's long lost child. Pris. The needy man who has known better days, One whom distress has spited at the world, Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon To do such deeds, as make the prosperous men Lift up their hands, and wonder who could do them; |