revealing plots that may succeed. Certainly it would not be wise to punish instead of recompensing, and Manfred is no fool. I would not like to remain about his person, nor would he like it; he will send me as governor to some distant province of Sicily; so much the better for me, I will rule it in my own fashion; I shall have the power of life and death. Oh! what delight to sign a sentence of death! But see how hope can delude prudence. If Charles should come !-then the least that could happen to me, if I remain, is to lose my head; and if I fly, I wander about the world a pauper-and poverty is an atrocious crime; throughout all the world tribunals are established to punish it. I cannot transport my estates and my government with me. Let us bargain for ready money; that would be the best. I will retire to Trapani, and provide myself with a brigantine, and if the Swabian is ruined I will take refuge among the Saracens; and, if necessary, I will become a renegade. The land of my birth!-what birth? Wherever the vine produces the liquor that enlivens the blood, wherever beauty concedes its favours to golden affection, wherever there are souls to corrupt, virtue to mock, vice to exercise, there is my country. Now for the epilogue: Rinaldo is becoming dangerous; he has failed in his faith to me, and prudence demands that I should abandon him." Thus meditating, he reached the royal antechamber.

"Anselmo," said the Count di Caserta, meeting him, as it happened that he returned before the other. "Anselmo, I was expecting you."

"Has anything wrong occurred, Signor?"

"Nothing. Manfred does not suspect us; do not be discouraged, Anselmo; let us look fortune in the face, for affairs are not yet desperate. Have you delivered the despatches?" "I have."

"You are the very man to suggest throwing them into the river."

"Right, Signor; but the whirl of affairs has disturbed my mind. I did not know-I had not thought-"

"Take heed, Anselmo, what you do. My heart, now that it is about to cease to beat, has recovered its ancient vigour; it watches, and you may not find an opportunity of betraying me.'

"Oh! what do you say, my noble patron?" replied Della Cerra, with an obsequious air. "I have never so fervently thanked heaven as now, when it grants me the opportunity of manifesting my gratitude by risking my life for you. I have sworn to myself to share your joys or your sufferings."

Rinaldo feigned to thank him with a smile; but knowing how wicked Anselmo was, and become suspicious from danger, he would not leave it in his option to remain faithful or not; therefore he conducted Anselmo himself into Manfred's presence, and never left him for a moment, till the fate which was even then menacing Della Cerra, had closed his lips with the seal of death. (To be continued.)

TO THE SWALLOW.

BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY.

JOYOUS bird! that o'er land and sea
Seeketh a home where no change may be,
Making a summer throughout the year,
Bounding away when the leaves are sere,
Scorning to share in the common lot,
Fleeing the death thou regardest not,―
The spoils of autumn around us sweep,
And thou art away o'er the trackless deep.

What were thy dreams through the parted hours,
While lingering yet in our own frail bowers?
Did they not sometimes bear thee far

To the brighter realms where thy kindred are;
To the balmy groves and the genial air
Waiting to give thee glad welcome there?
Didst thou not spring, with a joyous bound,
From the fading woods of our alien ground?

Away, away, o'er the glancing brine,
Borne by those tireless wings of thine,
Casting no look of regret behind,
Leaving no track on the ocean wind;
Onward ever thy course is bent,

Till the light of thine own rich element
Around thee breaks, with a glorious blaze,
And a promise glad of unclouded days.

Would that the heart had power to flee
To the better land of its dreams, like thee;
Would that it, too, away could burst,

When the blight and the darkness threaten first;
Spurning sorrow, and wrong, and pain,
Breaking the thrall of its heavy chain;
For, oh! it hath glimpses, all divine,
Of a brighter resting-place than thine!

Far down in its gleaming depths there lie
The golden tints of another sky;
Music-laden, and fresh, and free,
Come the fitful breezes, gushingly,
Fanning such bloom as the suns of earth
Never yet called into bright, brief birth,
And Love and Joy, in that fairy-land,
Still pass on fearlessly hand in hand.

O summer bird, 'twas a wondrous power
That to man and thee gave such varied dower;
Thou hast no treasure to leave behind,

When with joy thou cleavest the seaward wind;
But we, in our visions proud and high,

Must put off the thrall of mortality;

And the loving hearts in whose hope we share,
For us make a summer everywhere!

THE LIGHTS ON THE GOODWIN SANDS.

BY MRS. ABDY.

I GAZED on the boundless and beautiful ocean,
Deserted awhile by the sun's radiant light,
And I thought on the vessels with trembling emotion,
Which braved those dark waves in the silence of night.

I thought how the seamen might crave for assistance,
Unknowing, uncertain, how safely to steer;

I thought on the treacherous sands in the distance,
And visions came o'er me of trouble and fear.

But soon I was soothed by reflections more cheering,—
The bright warning lights shed their rays on my eye,
That nightly, amid those dim quicksands appearing,
Acquaint the frail vessels that danger is nigh.

I gazed, and, while thankful that man's kind direction
A safeguard from ill should thus wisely provide,
I thought on a holier, purer protection,

On the light that we owe to a heavenly Guide.

I thought how, on life's troubled sea of contention,
Our bark may be tossed on the waters of wrath,
But we need not fear sorrow, or know apprehension,
While the Light of the Gospel illumines our path.

And I prayed that the bright, blessed Lamp of Salvation
Through life might continue my safeguard to be,
And keep me from danger, from harm, and temptation,
Like the kind warning lights that now shine o'er the sea.

A TOUR AMONG THE THEATRES.*

BY TIPPOO KHAN, LATE OF HYDERABAD.

CHAPTER II.

Mrs. Keeley and the Lyceum-Mr. Webster and the Haymarket. We have associated certain feelings of alloy in our pleasurable visit to Mr. Macready at the Surrey; and although these sentiments could not deprive us of the gratification occasioned by his individual performance, still their existence cannot be denied; nay, must be freely and openly admitted. But we think there is a spot, we fancy we can denote one theatre (and, afterwards, perhaps one, and only one more,) in this great metropolis, where the zealous traveller will be not simply repaid the trouble of his visit, but will be enabled to say, "Here have I witnessed that which has caused happy emotions, with little indeed of alloy :" nor is this from the character of any one entertainment in its literary merits, but from the combined powers of author and actor both; we should say the palm was rather due to the latter, if distinction in award must be made. Knowing from recollection, as well as report, that there existed a very pretty theatre, yclept the Lyceum, or English Opera House; and knowing, moreover, that the said very pretty theatre was under the management of the best English actress on the boards, we sallied thither one night, at half-price, from a certain military terminus in St. James'ssquare; and, on that occasion, witnessed a portion of the "Magic Horn," and of a farce called, if we remember rightly, the "Loan of a Wife." We cannot say that this view of its people and scenery impressed us so much as need be in favour of this locality. We were accompanied by very cold amateurs of the modern drama, and were perched, moreover, at the back of the boxes. The pretty Fatima, and her sweetly arranged dress, and general appearance, created, perhaps, a more lively and lasting impression of pleasure than any other part of the night's performances, which we then saw and listened to. The ship in the storm had a fine effect; but put us much in mind of a magic-lanthorn, dissolving view, Fantoccini sort of child's play, and we cared little for it. Some nights afterwards, dining with a friend at the Oriental, we made up our minds to try the Lyceum again, and this time from a stall. We started off on

• Continued from vol. xlvii., p. 457.

our journey accordingly, and meeting with little or nothing of adventure on the road, eventually reached our destination. As proof of the gratification we experienced, the next night found us in almost precisely the same spot, and twice in the week ensuing, did we witness the same representation. Since then, the orchestra has become quite familiar to us; and we beg to recommend "To Parents and Guardians," the "Magic Horn," and "To Persons about to Marry," as a very delightful dish of entertainment for the unsatiated theatrical appetite. Now to defend our position, for we know we have assailants here.

We are speaking of a tout ensemble; we do not say that a burlesque is a high order of dramatic writing; nor that there are not certain hardnesses about the details of an English stage performance, which often mar the intentions of the farce or burletta writer; but we maintain that, let the tourist for pleasure but suffer himself to be conducted here for two or three times consecutively, he will wish to come again, provided the nature of the entertainment in store for him be of the material above shown. Imprimis-"To Parents and Guardians," if original, and we hope and believe it to be wholly so, is, to our thinking, the best comic drama, or whatever it may be designated, which has been produced on our stage for many a day. The story of old Tourbillon furnishes a fine healthy moral; the heart of Master Robert Nettles sings so harmoniously through the discord of his pranks, that you forget the impropriety of the latter in listening to the (we will use the word again) healthy boyish melody; and the mean, exacting, ignorant schoolmaster, is held up to our contempt and laughter, just as such a character should be. There are no unwholesome, immoral intrigues, in which a pair of lovers are depicted in colours to excite the sympathy, as a wronged husband is made to pull the risible muscles, of a perplexed and gaping audience. There are no murders, adulteries, suicides; there is a simple tale, told with infinite grace and truth, and seasoned with no sparing dash of good, boisterous fun; and tales, such as these, cannot fail to command the interest and applause of the hearer. The acting in this piece is admirable. Mrs. Keeley's schoolboy we must class first; not in compliment to the sex, but in honour of the transcendant "representative" genius of the actress. While we go simply to laugh and be amused at the freaks and vagaries so plentifully displayed to us, let us pause for one minute, and consider, that from his first entry to his final exit, or rather, the downfall of the curtain, in Robert Nettles we look upon a perfect sketch, from the life; if not the result of deep study, the creation of a mind rich with knowledge of human nature. His request for mercy to, and general conduct before, his mother; his apology to old Tourbillon; his treatment of Waddilove, as regards the