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came back again. It advances. Other voices are heard, all advancing. In a short time, figures come hastily down the slope by the side of his cavern, looking over into the area before it as they descend. They enter. They are before him and about him. Some of them, in a Scandinavian habit, prostrate themselves at his feet, and address him in an unknown language. But these are sent away by, another, who remains with none but two youths. Ronald has risen a little, and leans his back against the rock. One of the youths puts his arm between his neck and the rock, and half kneels beside him, turning his face away
weeping. “ I am no god, nor a favourite of gods, as these people supposed me," said Ronald, looking up at the chief who was speaking to the other youth:—" if thou wilt dispatch me then, do so. I only pray thee to let the death be fit for a warrior, such as I once was. The chief appeared agitated. “Speak not ill of the gods, Ronald,” said he," although thou wert blindly brought up. A warrior like thee must be a favourite of heaven. I come to prove it to thee. Dost thou not know me? I come to give thee life for life." Ronald looked more steadfastly. It was the Scandinavian prince whom he had spared, because of his bride, in battle. He smiled, and lifted up his hand to him, which was intercepted and kissed by the youth who beld his arm round his neck. “Who are these fair youths?” said Ronald, half turning his head to look in his supporter's face. “ This is the bride I spoke of,” answered the prince, " who insisted on sharing this voyage
with put on this dress to be the bolder in it." « And who is the other?”. The other, with dried eyes, looked smiling into his, and intercepted the answer also." Who," said the sweetest voice in the world, can it be, but one?"-With a quick and almost fierce tone, Ronald cried out aloud - I know the voice;' and he would have fallen flat on the earth, if they had not all three supIt was a mild return to Inistore, Ronald gathering strength all the
and voice of Moilena, and the hands of all three. Their discovery of him was easily explained. The crews of the vessels, who had been afraid to come nearer, had repeatedly seen a figure on the island making signs. The Scandinavian priests related how they had left Ronald there, but insisted that no human being could live upon it, and that some God wished to manifest himself to his faithful worshippers. -The heart of Moilena was quick to guess the truth. The prince proposed to accompany the priests. His bride and the destined bride of his saviour went with him, and returned as you heard; and from that day forth many were the songs in Inistore, upon the fortunes of the Perfect Hand and the kindness of the Perfect Voice. Nor were those forgotten, who forgot not others.
way at the
Orders received by the Newsmen, by the Booksellers, and the Publisher,
JOSEPH APPLEYARD, No. 19, Catharine-street, Strand.-Price 2d. Printed by C. H. REYNELL, No. 45, Broad-street, Golden-square, London.
There he arriving round about doth flie,
No. XXI.-WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1st, 1820.
SCENES FROM AN UNFINISHED DRAMA. The following scenes are from a play which the Editor intended to write, and belonged to the more serious part of it. The rest he has retained for another purpose. The objects of the piece in general were to shew the character of an English gentleman in the time of Elizabeth; the manners at the same period of the Venetians, both rich and poor; and the generous struggle of a mother to suppress a passion she conceived for our countryman, who had saved her daughter from drowning. The accident, like the scheme of Pollexfen in Sir Charles Grandison, had been purposely contrived by a Venetian of darker character, Malipiero, as the only means of gaining the young lady's affection; but the Englishman was quicker to rescue her, and so threw him doubly aback. The incidents, or rather the dialogues, which took place immediately after this circumstance, occupy the scenes now laid before the reader. Vittoria and Fiammetta, the mother and daughter, are of a similar character for goodness and frankness; but the one is the more stately minded, the other sparkling and full of spirits. Candian, her granduncle, Sebastian, her brother, Molino, Contarini, and Malipiero, are Venetian gentlemen, the four first of different characters of sprightliness or warmth; the last an intelligent man like the rest, but of a violent and envious disposition. Vanni and Gregory are the servants of Candian and the Englishman. With Walter Herbert the Englishman, and indeed with most of the others, it is lucky perhaps that the author had nothing farther to do; for he intended him as one of those high and graceful spirits, in the best age of this country, who were admitted to the society of it's poets and other great men.
" For valour, is not Love a Hercules?"
CONTARINI. The Englishmen indeed, Sir, have graced us,
Like a god
It marred so too
He seized directly
Cont. That's settled then. Some singular punishment Will mark this singular disgrace of Venice.
Quite well again.
A charming lady.
She's recovered too;
Mol. I have observed it so: the heart, as 'twere,
Yes, when tears
CAND. Escaped,-in an unguarded moment.
'Tis his vehemence. He's vexed at the escape; and to speak truly,
I think his natural emulation chides him
Cont. He'll make it up to him with double praise.
SEB. It does so. I have heard my noble friend
that spirits which have wings
CAND. 'Tis wondered at hy some, that Piero escaped ;
Who, Sir, indeed ?
CAND. Nay we will praise, and thank him, but not envy.
SCENE.-The front of the Candian Palace.
Enter GREGORY. Gregory. This comes of travelling. It seems all a dream. I'm not sure that I sha'n't wake and find myself in the arms of the dear old chair at the Bull. My master, whom it is impossible to resist, offers me to go with him; I consent; and so he ties me in a manner to his coat like a witch, and off I go; first scouring over the road to the sea-side; then rocking up and down, up and down, till I'm sick; then scouring away again; then dragged up mountains into the clouds, till my teeth chatter for fear and cold; then whew! down again like a flourish on paper; then jolted along, all unbuttoned for heat; then bitten till I could have got the sign of the comb to scratch me; or scraped acquaintance with a brick wall; or taken to the cunning custom of flogging myself for penance; or winced, and tumbled, and beaten myself and the very air about me, like a shirt hung out to dry in a high wind:-then comes some more sea-rocking, and then says my master, Now, Gregory, we land for good:"-thinks I, looking about me, and seeing nothing but canals for streets, and houses standing out of them like so many cows in a pond, I hope we don't land for evil: and I had scarcely thought the word, when we took to boating it again, and hey! presto! down goes that Will-o'-the-wisp, my master, souse over head and ears after a fish in petticoats.
Enter VANNI. VANNI. Well, Gregory, this is a strange unaccountable circumstance, isn't it!
Greg. What, a fall in the water! not half so strange to me, Vanni, as that you Venetians will have so much water to fall in.
Van. If we hadn't so much water to fall in, we shouldn't have so much love to fall in. Our shews and our shews-off by day, our gondolas, and our serenades, what should we do without them? And the water causes or sweetens them all. You'll hear guitars to-night twinkling about like stars. I won my mistress's heart by a plunge higher than was known before into the River of Song!
Greg. How these Venetians do talk! Guitars twinkling about like stars! and a plunge into the River of Song! there's a name for a canal! It's fine talking, and sometimes puts me in mind of my master's friends, Master Shakspeare and the others at the Mermaid; but what name comes home to me like the manly and natural one of Fleet Ditch!
Van. You seem sad, Gregory. We shall cheer you up before long. We have every thing here to make a man merry,-rowing, laughing, sunshine, music, wonien, every thing.
GREG. No, Sir,-no, Sir,-you haven't my wife and Bunbill-fields.
Van. There's plenty of fields over the water, and as to your wife, my dear Gregory, I never heard you talk much about her before. Besides, she told
she should be quite happy, you know; and she looked so.
GREG. Ah, Sir, and then you pretend that the English women are not so chearful as your's. Oh, I never loved my wife more than now I am in the thick of 'em. Oh, how I loved her during the squall at sea! and how prodigiously I did love her, when I thought I should have broken my neck on the top of the Alps! I hope, Sir, you found your intended as well as could be expected after your absence.
Van. Better than ever: as hearty as you'll find your wife, Gregory:—but how formal and ceremonious you seem to think it necessary to be in your pathetics. Come, man,
I'll shew you the lions, as you used to say, and keep my word better too, as far as stone lions can go; and then I'll introduce you to Momola. She'll rouse your spirits for you. We'll cross the way to St. Mark's. Bartolo, there! Hallo! Mind the canal, Gregory, you'll run over the parapet.
GREG. Lord! the very dangers in this place have nothing Christian about them! We can't even be run over by a horse, but must be warned how a parapet is run over by a man.
Van. We'll go round by the bridge if you prefer it, Gregory.
SCENE.-An apartment in the Palace Candian. Vittoria and Fram
METTA sitting together, with books, music, and powers about them;
thing about her head.
Be so, child,-be so, dear child.
Vit. No more of that, my love, I have you fast;