As though we were not made of flesh and blood;
As though we were not women-women-skiffs
Sure to be toss'd by passion as by waves

The barque that's launch'd into the open sea!
Why don't you weep?-you would for sympathy,
Did you but love as I do.

Ne'er woman loved at all, compared to me!
In me the passion, Anne, is nature! what
I feel you only have a notion of.

I love by heart, you only, Anne, by rote;
Peace, I will have it so! Upon my life

We are a pair of most renown'd old maids!"

Such grace of conception, such nicety of feeling, such polish of execution, is not for the million. It is the delight of the true poet, and the true critic. That the present Covent Garden Management have produced such a work on the stage of a large theatre, is a proof of their taste. The acts of this management are, indeed, nobler than their pledges. While they profess only to conduct their theatre on commercial principles, they venture on performing the highest poetry. The manager of the rival theatre tells us that his is no mercantile speculation. Why? forsooth! Because, he means to reduce the prices of admission! We should have been better satisfied, if he had said, because he meant to give the fullest encouragement to dramatic poetry. As it is, the statement is a pretence of noble purposes-a paltry evasion to conceal the meanest.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

VOL. XCVI.

JULY, 1842.

[No. DXLVII.

ADDRESS.

THE Commencement of a new volume affords a befitting opportunity for offering our best thanks to the supporters of THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE, of which we gladly, and gratefully avail ourselves.

The rapidly increasing circulation has done much to reward the exertions we have made to improve its character, and sustain the principles we so honestly avowed in our opening Address.

Our humble efforts, aided by the co-operation of some of the most popular writers of the day, has obtained for THE MONTHLY a proud position amongst the Periodicals, and this gratifying change in its fortunes, has arisen from our having the satisfaction of claiming amongst our contributors such well known and approved authors as the following:

66

Author of The Tudor-ites;" "Professor Bibundtucker's Remains;""The Critic in Parliament;" "Continental Literati;" "Cento to King of Prussia;" "The Postmaster;" Prospects of the Ministry;" the late F. Haynes Bayley, Esq.; R. Bigsby, Esq.; Walter Ellis, Esq.; the late Isabel Hill; Doctor Mackenzie; The Old Forest Ranger; R. B. Peake, Esq.; George Raymond, Esq.; Thomas Ragg, Esq.; Major Rochfort Scott; Charles Swain, Esq.; Miss Emily Spicer; Henry Spicer, Esq.; Translatress of Wilhelm Hauff; Colonel Wilkie; Lewis Wray, Esq.; "W. R. V."

VOL. XCVI.

B

It affords the Editor great gratification to state that, in addition to the foregoing names, he has entered into arrangements with some of the leading Literati of this country, and hopes, very speedily, to enrich his pages with their communications.

He deeply feels the vast obligation conferred upon him by the Editors of the Metropolitan and Provincial press. Their constant eulogiums have stimulated him to the exertion of his best abilities, and should he fortunately retain their good opinion, it will be found that such approbation will produce the happiest results, as tending to render his hard task, a labour of love.

The praises bestowed upon the Critical remarks on various works sent for the purpose of Review, has had the effect of inducing many of the leading publishers to submit their volumes to our notice.

If Honesty and Impartiality be of any value, in this world of venality and trickery, then, indeed, may we hope that the object in submitting works to our judgment, has been fully answered.

In conclusion, we trust it will be conceded that we have rigidly adhered to the line of conduct which we professed our intention to pursue in our first Number, and being now satisfied that a course so straightforward has proved acceptable to our readers, we shall continue in the same path, assured that in so doing we shall at least afford our humble support in aid of a healthful Literature, which must naturally include a due reverence for the Protestant Church, a devoted loyalty to our beloved Queen, and a respectful deference to the Constituted Authorities, and Laws of the Land.

July 1st, 1842.

B. E. H.

3

RIVAL TUDOR-ITES; OR, CHRISTIAN ENMITIES.*

A TALE OF CREEDS AND PARTIES, DURING THE TIMES
OF THE REFORMATION.

CHAPTER XIII.

LIVING MIRACLES.

SCARCELY had the travestied Howel left Glen Hall, when, on foot, and gliding like a thief, young Ambrose Twyford entered its back courtyard. Ere any one, he thought, perceived him, he heard his name, feebly, but with querulous eagerness, repeated from the window of a loft, over one of the outhouses. He knew that there lay Goody Howel, whom he had seen seized with convulsions, the night he started on his journey; her sufferings seeming the consequences of something which their master had said to her, in private, immediately on his return from the tour.

Though Peggy appeared the least likely person on earth to aid Ambrose, in some urgent business which he had now on hand, he was too kind-hearted a fellow to disregard her summons, therefore ran up the ladder, to her rude apartment. He found her half drest; to his surprise she began—

"Dear lad, I'm glad thou'rt come. I know all. She thou seek'st is locked into her chamber, by my lord; but he is now away. Carry me down, help me thither! I must see her, too. Take pick-axe, or crow-bar, come in quietly, break her door, say I did it. Tell father Brand 'twas a miraculous lightening before death, or after, wrought by his elixir, and his prayers. He has talked long, and enough of such things; but I am neither dead nor going to die, boy, yet be quick!"

Without discovery or molestation they reached the door of Yetlah. The blows Twyford dealt it roused her, she screamed in joy and terror. The oak soon yielded to that vigorous arm, but Brand, startled by the noise, crawled to the spot. He found Peggy and Ambrose both whispering at the ears of the delighted looking infidel.

"Who dared to break this door ?" demanded the priest.

"That dared I, Sir," answered Twyford, who scorned to attempt excusing himself, to lay the blame on another, an aged woman, his friend, by the monstrous fable she had suggested. "I will answer for my trespass, better than my lord may account why he shut her up. It behoved me to see Madam Yetlah, with speed."

They placed old Peggy in the pretty couch, conscious of daintier occupants, thrust rudely past the tottering Brand, and fled, rather than walked, towards the Prison.

Alas! was not the lamb already in the clutches of the wolf? Had not Grefwyth cheated Isabel into the power of Glencraig? By a kind of instinct the holy father, fast as he could, pursued Twyford and Yetlah. And where was Adelm Vanberg?

November had just passed its central day, the news from Yorkshire

* Concluded from No. DXLVI. p. 623.

was not known in London, when, as he sat alone, at Hatfield, old Vaulder came to him, saying

"Mynheer, a very coot poy, ash you remember, is gome boste haste, mid dis letter vor you. I pade him wait, an revresh."

Adelm hastily grasped the epistle, tore it open, and read these startling words :

"Beloved Knight!

We have but just returned. I steal a moment to write, and lie to get a carrier, but I have gold to speed him. To-morrow may decide the fate of Craig. Isabel refusing de Rohan-as she will, I know-her parent is to be charged with Murder. I alone here unite both will and power to say aught in his behalf, but must still seem his foe, awhile, to win him. He shall not die, if I can make him mine; but I have no faith, no credit, with any one! Bring the tall person who sprung into the water. I heard not, or have forgotten his name. Tell him every thing. I greatly err or he can tell you more. Ask Vaulder also. Craig shall escape and join ye with his child-Come all of ye, lose not a moment; I charge you, by your Knighthood, fly to

"YETLAH."

This confirmation of her last note's hint, was a wound, indeed, for Adelm; but how could Doctor Fardel cure it? The lover sent Martin to his friend's apartments, begging that he would join them, in the room where Vanberg now found his former favourite, Twyford, much travel-worn, and only aware that his employer said "more than life depended on his speed, and secresy. He must bring the gentleman to Scarborough, without delay, leave them at such a post, and inform her, alone, of their arrival." The sole sign he had seen of coming mischief was the abrupt disorder of Howel's sturdy mother.

" Woe's me," thought Adelm, 66 aloud, my royal mistress is powerless, and like to be still more so, for life; but she can and will extend to my persecuted angel the protection of a sympathizing Christian maid, and gentlewoman. Ruined and branded as the name of Glen may be, I must snatch my spotless love from the fangs of her oppressors, and make her mine, before the world, aye, though they hang Craig for having killed John de Rohan."

"What," exclaimed Fardel, who had entered with Martin, as Adelm thus raved," How hang the Crag that killed—any man?" "No jests now, worthy Sir, read that!"

The Doctor perused Yetlah's dispatch aloud, rubbed his hands, and shouted, "Magnificent opportunity, by Venus' birthplace, just throw a bit of upstart vanity overboard, and we make lightly for our haven."

"Mine Cot!" cried Vaulder," Crag? Vanity? Oferpoard? Ya! I ondreztond. Ven vurst I zee you, in Vrance, tho' zo long years had gone, and I had not often zeen-but de poy vot help to preserve me, my Bettine, and my Baron! Ha! der coot vaces vash never gived to pe vorgot! I held your mind den, as to de poor youngker, de Rohan, zo do I now, my noble zurgeon-Ha?"

"Right," laughed Fardel, with a self-pitying shrug, "but let's be doing, my tars, and talk as we go. Where be my page and squire ? my mails and armour? We must crave audience of our lady, Baron, get leave, and sail at once!"