Anne. I know none; but you may tell us something.

Mech. See, the moon is going down. The sky is getting black and gloomy. Your lamp is going out; I will place my lantern on the table. Truly, lady, I know not many, and am but an indifferent story-teller; but I will try.

'There was once a forester who lived in a thick wood-so thick, that the sunbeams only pierced through it in broken beams; and when the horn blew, it sounded awfully in that green loneliness. The house of the forester lay in the very thickest of the wood. His children grew up in the wilderness, and saw nobody but their father, for their mother had been long dead.

At a certain period of the year, the father was always accustomed to shut himself up for a whole day in the hut; and then the children used to hear a strange noise about the house-a whining, and shouting, and running, and crying; in short, a disturbance as if the devil himself were abroad. At such times they spent their time in the hut in singing and prayer; and their father warned the children carefully not to go out.

'It happened, however, on one occasion, that he was obliged to go on a journey during the week when that day happened. He gave them the strongest orders not to stir out; but the girl, partly through curiosity, partly that she had forgotten the day, went out of the hut. Not far from the house, there lay a grey stagnant lake, round which old moss-grown willows stood. The girl sat down by the lake; and as she looked in, she thought she saw strange bearded countenances gazing at her. The trees began to rustle; something seemed to move in the distance; the water began to boil up, to grow blacker and blacker, and all at once something like a fish or a frog sprung up, and three bloody, bloody hands slowly rose, and pointed with their crimson fingers towards the girl'

Agnes. Bloody! Sister, sister, for God's sake! look at the old witch! See how her face is distorted! Look, sister!

Mech. Child! what is the matter? Agnes. Bloody, did you say? Yes, bloody, thou loathsome hag! Your life is one of blood, ye butchers, ye ruthless murderers! Away with her, I cannot bear her grinning visage opposite to me! Away! So long as I am mistress here, I shall be obeyed.

Mech. These are strange attacks.

[Exit.

Anne. O sister, calm yourself. Agnes. You should have seen how her visage changed during the story.

A Terrace before the Castle, with trees. On the right, part of the Castle, with the great gate, is visible. The Castle is flat-roofed, and surrounded with a balcony; at the side a tower, to which a stair leads up.

ANNE, AGNES, upon the roof. Anne. How beautiful the sun has risen!

Agnes. It brings no consolation to me.

Anne. See how the fresh and ruddy beam streams in yonder between the far hills-how the country becomes visible by degrees in the morning ray.

Agnes. Oh! Anne! (hastily.)
Anne. What is it, sister?

Agnes. Perhaps he may not return. I am so agitated since that night, that your lightest tone falls grating on my ear.

me.

Anne. I meant it for the best.

Agnes. I know it. It is that supports

Peter. Remain there, I will come up. Leave the gates open. The others with the booty will be here immediately. [They enter the gate.

Agnes. He is coming here. It is he indeed!

Anne. Collect yourself, dear sister, all may yet be well.

Agnes. I am sick of life: yet death is terrible to me. I understand not myself. PETER BERNER appears on the balcony. Agnes. I had a presentiment that you would come.

Peter. I have returned sooner than I had calculated on. My foes are defeated, and rich booty has fallen into our hands. Agnes. Fortune seems always to accompany you.

Peter. Think you so?-And how, in the meantime, have you been? Agnes. Quite well.

Peter. Methinks you look pale. Agnes. We rose this morning so early.

MECHTHILDE enters.

Peter. How have you crawled up, old house-dragon?

Mech. I came to wish you joy, my lord.
Peter. I thank you.

Mech. The morning meal is ready. Peter. Good. It is a fair prospect from hence. But standing at this height one must be wary; sometimes the inclination seizes us to leap down; the depth of the descent lures us into the abyss.

Anne. Women think not of such things; but my brother Simon would talk of it for hours.

Agnes. Here are the keys; but I'll give you them afterwards. Peter, Very good.

every thing?

You have seen

Agnes. With delight. I have satiated myself with wonders.

Peter. I think you may as well give me them now.

Agnes. Here.

keep.

The golden one I shall

Peter. For what purpose?

Agnes. As a remembrance.

Peter. Little fool!

Agnes. I never saw you in such goodhumour.

Peter. I am well to-day. Every thing has succeeded with me. Now, childish wife, give me the key. Agnes. Here, then.

Peter. Now we will go down to breakfast.

Mech. Come, my lord.

Peter. (Playing with the key.) What is the matter?

Agnes. Nothing. Shall we go?
Peter. What spot is this?

Agnes. A spot! Perhaps it may have got it just now.

soon.

Peter. Now! hypocritical serpent. O Agnes! I thought not to lose you so None of my wives left me so suddenly; for to all of them my commands were of some force for a few weeks. But you

Agnes. Ah! be not angry.

Peter. Accursed curiosity. (He throws the key from him) Through thee came the first sin into the guiltless world, and still thou leadest men to sins too dark, too monstrous to be named. The crime of the first mother of mankind has poisoned all her daughters, and woe to the deceived husband who trusts to your false tenderness, the feigned innocence of your eyes, your smiles, the pressure of your hands! Deceit is your trade, and you are beautiful only that you may the better deceive. Your very sex should be swept from the face of the earth. This shameless curiosity-this baseness of heart-this contemptible weakness of disposition it is, which with you dissevers every tie,—makes you break your plighted faith and then, allied with cowardice, tempts you to the most ruthless murders. Hell itself! the very embraces of the devil, are the price ye pay for the indulgence of this pleasure. Enough! you have chosen your fate.

Agnes. I tremble to look on you. Have pity on me!

Peter. Old woman, take up the key. Mech. You wish to open the Cabinet? Good. [Exit.

Agnes. (Kneels.) Have mercy! Forgive me my presumption; you shall not repent of it; I will reward you for it with all my love.

Peter. Do I not know you? At this moment you loathe me, you would fly if but an opportunity offered.

Agnes. So young, and yet to die so terrible a death!-Discard me as your wife-make me your servant; the servant of your housekeeper; any thing; but O! let me live!

Peter. Your prayers are vain. It is

Anne. (Kneels.) O spare my sister; let your heart be moved as becomes a man: give mercy as you expect mercy; look on the agony of your poor wife! Let my tears find their way to your heart. I will not say her guilt is trifling, but the greater it is, the more noble will be your lenity.

Ah!

Agnes. Dear, dear husband, look on me with kindness; not so; not with these fearful eyes. Let me cling to your knees; turn not from me so coldly, think of the love you once bore to me. let me not die this fearful fearful death; drag me not into the bloody chamber; drive me forth to the woods-to the wilderness to the stags and wolves; but oh! let me not die here; not to-day!

Peter. All is in vain. Agnes. Every prayer-every tear in vain?

Peter. By the heaven above us!

Agnes. (Rising hastily.) Then rise, sister, pollute your knees no longer. Now hear me for the last time, thou coldblooded, blood-thirsty monster! hear that I loathe thee, that thou wilt not escape thy punishment.

Anne. Had we but other two women here, our nails should scratch your little serpent-like eyes out of your head.

Agnes. Detestable monster!-no man, but an abortion-the mother that bore you should have drowned you like a dog, in order to avert the evil you were to bring upon the world.

Peter. Ho! ho! What prevents me from throwing you both down from this height? Bethink yourselves, ye are mad. Is this language for women-Now come, Agnes. The door beneath is unlocked.

Agnes. And is this your final purpose. O woe is me! I cannot move, my strength is exhausted.

Peter. Come!

Agnes. One prayer to Heaven-you will allow me time for that?

Peter. Then be quick, I will wait below.

[Exit. Agnes. Ah! sister-were it not better to leap down at once from this giddy height. But my courage fails me. (She kneels.) I will pray. O, if my brothers could but come! Sister, look out into the country-it were possible. Ah! I cannot give a thought to heaven. you nothing?

Peter. (From below.) Agnes!
Agnes. Immediately.

See

Anne. I see nothing but the field, and the wood, and the mountains. All is calm-not a breath stirs. The trees on this side shut out the prospect.

Agnes. If your head be not giddy, I would pray you to ascend the tower-but

beware of falling. Now, see you any thing?

Peter. (Below.) Agnes!

Agnes. This instant.

Anne. Nothing but trees, fields, and mountains, and the warm air moves in waves over the ground in the heat of the

sun.

Agnes. Alas! and I cannot pray. Involuntarily I feel myself calling Simon, Anthony, as if help were yet at hand. Peter. (Below.) Agnes, you make me impatient!

Agnes. But one short prayer! See you nothing still?

Anne. I see dust rising.
Agnes. O joy, joy!

Anne. Alas, alas! it is but a flock of sheep.

Agnes. Am I not a fool to hope for impossibilities? I will resign myself to my fate. I will reconcile myself to death. Come down, sister-you see nothing still -and let me take leave of you.

Anne. I see a horseman-two. Agnes. How? is it possible? Anne. They rush like lightning down the mountain, the one after the other. Agnes. O God!

Anne. The one is before the otherfar before.

Peter. (Below.) Agnes, I am coming. Agnes. I am on my way to you; my sister is giving me a last embrace.

Anne. He comes nearer and nearer!
Agnes. Do you not know him?

Anne. No-yes!-It is Simon! (She waves her handkerchief.) Oh woe! his horse stumbles with him-he falls-he rises he runs on foot!

Agnes. Where am I?-I know not whether I am alive or dead. Anne. He is close by!

Agnes. What a strange dream-would I were awake. (She sinks down.)

Peter, (comes up with a drawn sword.) In the devil's name, where do you tarry? How, dead, insensible?—I will drag her by the hair to the spot where she is to bleed.

Simon, (rushes in hastily below with his sword drawn.) Stay-stay-murderervillain! (He rushes through the gale.) Anne. (Above.) Help, help! Peter, (letting Agnes fall.) What cry was that that rose so shrilly here? (Lays hold of her again.) Down with you-despite of angels or devils! (He attempts to

drag her out.)

Simon, (rushing against him.) Stayvillain!

Peter. How? Do you dare?

Simon. Speak not. Let the sword decide. (They fight. PETER falls. SIMON drives the sword through his heart.) Now, I

feel happy. Now I am at ease. Agnes! God in heaven, she is dead!

Anne. Agnes, dear sister! O brother, thanks! Agnes, all danger is over. (She opens her eyes.)

Agnes. Where am I?-Ah, heaven, Simon! Are you there-Whence did you come?-And the murderer

Simon. There he lies dead at your feet. I scarcely know how I came hitherSomething like a tempest seemed to blow me on. And when I first came in sight of the castle and saw your handerchief waving-No matter-All is well now. Come down-the sight of this wretch shall agitate you no more. (They lead her down.)" We have omitted a good deal of episodical matter, which refers chiefly to the love adventures of Brother Leopold with Brigetta, the daughter of Hans von Marloff, and sundry comic scenes with the Fool and Counsellor, thinking their prattle to be tedious, in order to present the real point of interest unincumbered by these accessories. The truth is, that all that part of the play, which is a mere excrescence on the original, might, with much advantage,

have been omitted; nor is there any thing in the humour of the Fool, or the folly of the Counsellor, which, to those accustomed to the Touchstone or Dogberry of Shakspeare, is likely to reconcile them to the introduction of characters so totally unconnected with the plot. The wit, such as it is, is too obviously

prepared, and the characters too palpably opposed to each other, on a principle of absolute contrast. Had Bluebeard been written in three Acts instead of five, and the action confined to the single idea of the punishment of curiosity, it would have been an admirable effective acting play. The whole of the last Act is dramatic, and agitating in the highest degree. As it is, however, we scarcely wonder that, as yet, Bluebeard, though printed in 1797, and read, admired, and lauded by every German critic, since Schlegel led the way in the Jena Literatur Zeitung, has found no manager enterprising enough to bring it upon the stage.

AMONG the many dangers to which the empire, as the reward of its democratic madness, is now exposed, there is none which appears so immediate as that of dismemberment, from the distractions of Ireland, and the powerful influence which the Reform Bill has given to its reckless and unprincipled agitators. We were told again and again, till great part of the nation came to believe the fallacy, that the Catholic influence would be absolutely trifling in Parliament; that five or six members were all that the priests would be able to return for an hundred years to come; that they would be lost amidst the crowd of English Protestants; and that, of all the chimeras on earth, the most extravagant was to expect danger from that quarter. These principles the Whigs incessantly inculcated for thirty years; and on them they acted in passing the Irish Reform Bill,-and giving to its ardent,

VOL. XXXIII. NO. CCIV.

impassioned, destitute, and priestridden population the same privileges as to the sober yeomanry of England.

What is the consequence? Are the Catholics so very despicable? Is the Popish priesthood so very powerless in the formation of legislative authority? Is the cause of the Repeal-in other words, of the dismemberment of the empire, so very hopeless? Is O'Connell, the great agitator, reduced, as he said he would be by emancipation, to a mere plodding nisi prius lawyer? The reverse of all this has avowedly taken place. The Catholic priests have returned above half of the Irish members; O'Connell himself is at the head of a band of ten of his own relations, and thirty more are ready to obey his summons. The Repealers constitute an undoubted majority of the legislators sent from the other side of the Channel.

P

Now, the importance of these Irish Repealers consists in this. They invariably coalesce on every occasion with the Radicals and irreligious party in the British Parliament. A large portion of the Dissenters join them. These three parties have for many years invariably acted together. The bond of union is obvious. Hatred at England and the English Church is the tie which keeps together, and will keep together, until their designs are accomplished, this otherwise heterogeneous union. They may quarrel about the spoil when it is gained; but, till that is the case, they will never separate. As long as an acre of the ancient inheritance of the Church of England remains to that noble establishment, so long will the Catholics, the Radicals, and the Infidels league together for its spoliation.

Nor is the power of this formidable coalition confined to mere votes within Parliament. It wields at will the vast Political Unions of England, called into existence by the Whig Ministry, and vested with power by the Reform Bill. It directs the ardent and reckless Catholics of Ireland, destitute, for the most part, of property, burning with now unfettered passions, and guided by an able and ambitious priesthood; it is supported by the unprincipled, the profligate, the abandoned, and the insolvent all over the empire;-a numerous race at all times, but fearfully augmented by the dissolution of principle, and the wreck of fortune consequent on the political agitation of the last two years; and now, in almost all the great towns, rendered omnipotent. The numerous class so well described by Sallust have everywhere risen into fearful political activity." Semper in civitate quibus opes nullæ sunt, bonis invi

dent, malos extollunt; vetera odere, nova exoptant; odio suarum rerum mutari omnia student; turba atque seditionibus sine cura aluntur, quoniam egestas facile habetur sine damno. Sed urbana plebs eo vero præceps ierat multis de causis, nam qui ubique probro atque petulantia maxime præstabant, item alii per dedecora patrimoniis amissis, postremo omnes quos flagitium aut facinus domo expulerat, ii Romam, sicut in sentinam, confluxerant." The representatives of these men uniformly and invariably ally themselves with the Catholics and the Infidels; and it is the union of these fearful bodies, when government is in weak and feeble hands, that threatens the empire with approaching dissolution.

Every one practically acquainted with the House of Commons must know how great a preponderance a body of this description, constantly united, perfectly reckless, and careless of consequences, and always at hand, must have upon their decisions. It is not too much to say that it must soon acquire, unless firmly and resolutely resisted, an irresistible force. Let no man measure the importance of such a body in a public assembly, by the mere amount of its numbers. Its influence consists in the support it receives out of doors; in the aid of a numerous and impassioned body of supporters in the empire, who give to reckless ability in Parliament the aid of reckless physical strength out of it. By such means, in the days of a progressive popular movement, a small body of desperate characters in the Legislature soon acquire a great, at last an irresistible influence. The Jacobins in the first French Assembly were just nine in number; they rose to an hundred in the second; and although they did not amount to much more than a third of the Convention at its first opening, they gradually acquired, by the threats of physical force, and the aid of the populace, a decided command over its deliberations, and ultimately led out their opponents to the scaffold.

There never was a more mistaken idea than to suppose that demagogues will now obtain no influence in the British Parliament. This was prophesied of O'Connell before he was admitted; it was said he would