not acknowledged by thy race, why, then become the noble founder of a new one. The most valuable carnations were once seedlings-and the pride of my flower-bed is now a Henry, which, when known, will be envied by every florist in Britain. Come with me to the castle for the last time. Hen. The last time!

Everg. Ay, boy; for when Sir Philip arrives, thou must avoid him.

Hen. Not see him! Where exists the power that shall prevent me?

Everg. Henry, if you value your own peace of mind, if you value an old man's comfort, avoid the castle.

Hen. [Aside.] I must dissemble with this honest creature--Well, I am content.

Everg. That's right-that's right, Henry-be but thou resigned and virtuous, and he who clothes the lily of the field, will be a parent to thee.

III-VIRTUE-GENEROUS AND UNSUSPECTING.--Morton.

SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD-HENRY.

[NOTE. Sir Philip is the uncle of Henry, but conceals the fact, and spurns him from feelings of remorse.]

Sir Philip. By what title, Sir, do you thus intrude on me?

Henry. By one of an imperious nature; the title of a creditor.

Sir P. I your debtor !

Hen. Yes; for you owe me justice. You, perhaps, withhold from me the inestimable treasure of a parent's blessing. Sir P. (Impatiently.) To the business that brought you hither.

Hen. Thus then. I believe this is your signature [Producing a bond.]

Sir P. Ah! [recovering himself.] It is—

Hen. Affixed to a bond of £1.000, which, by assignment, is mine. By virtue of this, I discharge the debt of your worthy tenant, Ashfield; who, it seems, was guilty of the crime of vindicating the injured and protecting the unfor

tunate. Now, Sir Philip, the retribution my hate demands is that what remains of this obligation may not be now paid to me, but wait your entire convenience and leisure. Sir P. No; that must not be.

Hen. Oh, Sir, why then oppress an innocent man? Why spurn from you a heart that pants to serve you? Nc answer. Farewell [Going]

Sir P. Hold - one word before we part. Tell me, how came you possessed of this bond?

Hen.

saved

A stranger, whose kind benevolence stept in and

Morrington.

Sir P.

Fiend! tormentor! has he caught me?

have seen this Morrington?

Hen. Yes.

Sir P.

Did he speak of me?

You

Hen. did-and He did and of your daughter. "Conjure him," said he, "not to sacrifice the lovely Emma by a marriage her heart revolts at. Tell him the life and fortune of a parent are not his own. He holds them but in trust for his offspring. Bid him reflect, that while his daughter merits the brightest reward a father can bestow, she is by that father doomed to the harshest fate that tyranny can inflict.” Sir P. Torture! [With vehemence.] Did he say who caused this sacrifice?

Hen. He told me you had been duped of your fortune by sharpers.

Sir P. Ay, he knows that well! Young man, mark me. This Morrington, whose precepts wear the face of virtue, and whose practice seems benevolence, was the chief of the banditti that ruined me.

Hen. Is it possible?

Sir P.

by robbery.

That bond you hold in your hand was obtained

Hen. Confusion!

Sir P. Not by the thief who, encountering you as a man, stakes life against life, but by that most cowardly vil lain, who, in the moment when reason sleeps and passion is roused, draws snares around you, and hugs you to your ruin; then fattening on the spoil, insults the victim he has .made.

Hen.

On your word, is Morrington that man? Sir P. On my word, he is

Hen. Thus, then, I annihilate the detested act, [Tears the bond] and thus I tread upon a villain's friendship! Sir P. Rash boy! What have you done?

Hen. An act of justice to Sir Philip Blandford.
Sir P. For which you claim my thanks?

Hen. Sir, I am thanked already HERE [In his heart] Confusion to such wealth. Compared with its possession, poverty is splendor. Fear not for me--I shall not feel the piercing cold; for in that man whose heart beats warmly for his fellow-creatures, the blood circulates with freedom. My food shall be what few of the pampered sons of greatness can boast of, the luscious bread of independence, and the opiate that brings me sleep will be the recollection of the day passed in innocence.

Sir P. Noble boy! Oh, Blandford !

Hen.

Sir P.

Hen.

Sir P.

Ah!

What have I said?

You called me Blandford!

'Twas error-'twas madness.

Hen. Blandford! a thousand hopes and fears rush on my heart. Disclose to me my birth-be it what it may, I am your slave forever. Refuse me-you create a foe, firm and implacable as-

Sir P. Ah! am I threatened? Do not extinguish the spark of pity my breast is warmed with.

Hen. I will not.

Oh! forgive me!

Sir P. Yes, on one condition-leave me.

one approaches. Begone, I insist-I entreat.

Ah! some

Hen. That word has charmed me. I obey, Sir Philipyou may hate but you shall respect me.

Hastings. Come, lead me to the block-bear him my head;
They smile at me, who shortly sha.l be dead.-Richard III.

IV.--FROM THE FOUNDLING OF THE FOREST - Dimond.

DE VALMONT FLORIAN-L'CLAIR.

Florian. You were speaking, sir, of Geraldine-lovely Geraldine! Ah, sir, is she not admirable?

De Valmont. The last fond wish left clinging to this heart, is Geraldine's felicity. I shall endeavor to secure it, by uniting her in marriage with a worthy object.

Flor. Sir, marriage, did you say? gracious heavens! marriage?

De Val. What does the idea of Geraldine's marriage af flict you?

Flor. I am not such an ingrate-her happiness is the prayer of my soul.

De Val. (After a pause) Florian, draw yourself a seat. (Florian presents a chair to the count, and then seats himself) You behold me, such as I have seemed, even from your infancy-a suffering, broken-hearted man. I once possessed a heart for enterprise, an arm for achievement. Grief, not time, has palsied these endowments. Like the eaglet, rushing from his nest against the sun, I entered upon life. Flor. Ah, that malignant clouds should obscure so bright a dawn!

De Val. My spirit panted for a career of arms at the age of twenty, I embraced the cause of my religion and my king. Then, Florian, it was, I welcomed love! a first, a last, an eternal passion!

Flor. Oh, sir, desist--these recollections shake your mind too strongly.

De Val. No, let me proceed, Florian! I wooed and won an angel-a lovely infant blessed our union. My felicity seemed perfect! Now, Florian, mark! My country a second time called me to her battles; I left my kinsman, Longueville, to guard the dear ones of my soul-I was wounded and made prisoner-a rumor of my death prevailed through France. I trembled lest Eugenia should receive the tale, and flew to prevent her terrors.--Oh! oh! the blood now curdles round my heart-the wolves of war had rushed upon my slumbering fold-my wife-my infant-I trampled on their ashes!

Flor. Tremendous hour! so dire a shock might paralyze a Roman firmness.

De Val. Florian, there is a grief that never found its image yet in words. I prayed for death; I plunged into the deepest solitudes. At the close of a sultry day, I entered a forest at the foot of the Cevennes. On the sudden, a faint and feeble moan pierced my ear; and, lo! a desolate infant left to perish in the wilderness! It was famishing! I raised it to my breast; its little arms twined feebly round my neck. Florian, thou wert heaven's gracious instrument to reclaim a truant to his duties! Eighteen years have followed that

event.

Flor. Sir. those years shall not pass unforgotten. An orphan's blessing wafts their eulogy to heaven. (He casts himself at De Valmont's feet.)

De Val. Rise, young man! your virtues have repaid my cares. Florian, let Geraldine become your wife-be you hereafter the protector of my people.

Flor. Merciful powers! I! the child of accident and mystery-a wretched foundling!-I !—

De Val. Young man, fortune forbade you to inherit a name, but she has granted you a prouder boast; you have founded one. Your marriage shall receive my blessing. Farewell. (Exit suddenly.)

Flor. Heard I aright? Yes, he pronounced it, "Geraldine is thine." Earth's gross substantial touch is felt no -I mount in air, and rest on sunbeams! Oh, if I dream now, royal Mab! abuse me ever with thy dear deceits!

more

(Enter L' Clair.)

L'C. So, captain! you are well encountered. I have sad forebodings that our shining course of arms is threatened with eclipse.

Flor. How now, my doughty squire-what may be our present jeopardy?

L'C. Ah, captain, the sex-the dear enchanting sex; captain, heroes are but men, men but flesh, and flesh but weakness.

Flor. Knave! I am to be married; varlet, wish me joy. L'C. Certainly, captain, I do wish you joy: for when a man has once determined upon matrimony. he acts wisely to collect the congratulations of his friends beforehand. May I take the freedom to inquire the lady?

Flor. L'Clair, the peerless, priceless Geraldine.

L'C. Peerless. I grant the lady; but as to priceless, I should think, for my own poor particular, that when I bar