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Alt. And mine would be slain outright, was he condemned to suf-son!-dare I to call him ours?

ther!-Son!-Oh God! is he that

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fer. Altenburg as broken his chains; will Rosenheim's be the hand to rivet them again?

Adr. Look up, my mother !-'tis Adrian calls! will you not bless him with a word?

[Madame, without answering, fee bly disengages herself from AdriIan's embrace· -totters toward Altenburg-sinks on her knees, and, sobbing audibly, takes his hand and kisses it.]

Alt. No thanks, dear lady! but if you were once my enemy, only say I have atoned to you, and that I am now forgiven.

Mad. All is forgiven!-All shall be atoned!

[She draws aside the veil, and gazes upon him, pale and trembling.]

you

Alt. Why do fasten thus your eyes upon me?-Gracious Heaven! What dreadful charm is in your looks?-those eyes! they pierce my soul-never but once I gazed on such before-terrible illusion!-Speak but a word-one word!

Mad. Matilda!
(Her eyes close, and she falls pro-
strate at his feet.)

Alt. Almighty powers! 'tis she, -the wronged, betrayed, and still adored Matilda!—O! let me catch you from the ground, and clasp you ever in these trembling arms! Matilda! look upon me! receive my penitence, and bless me with your pardon!

Mad. Away!-such bliss must ne'er be mine!

(Struggling to force him from her.) Nay, hold me not--You know not what you do-You press to your bosom a serpent, that would have stung your noble heart to death!

Alt. O! do not shun me!-Fancy luxuriates, and I grow wild with hopes-Matilda !—Adrian !-Mo

Mad. (with bitterness.) Ours !— would Altenburg then acknowledge Matilda Carlstein's nameless boy?

Alt. Rack me not with doubts so cruel!-bless me with a word, and say that I am still a parent:-but wherefore do I ask?-Nature irresistibly declares I am.-Adrian! my eager arms and throbbing heart expand together, and invite a son.

(He rushes forward to embrace Adrian.)

Mad. (interposing) Hold! Altenburg! forbear!-Adrian is not my

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Mad. Again I charge you hold!

By the eternal majesty of Truth! here, in the face of Man and Heaven, I swear it! Adrian is not my son!

Adr. What then am I? how must I regard you?

Mad. As a fiend to be abhorred for ever.

Adr. No, no; Adrian blesses you! Mad. Soon will you learn to curse me-you will-you must-but I care not-my brain burns-yet all shall be confessed.

Alt. Matilda! a child once blessed

our love,-say, in pity say, where is that child now?

Mad. Dead! Prince! dead! dead! dust in the grave!--Hear me!— Twenty years since, sorrowing and blushing with my wrongs, I left the gaudy mansion of my shame, and sought in distant shades an humble refuge with my child;-desolate as I was, when I pressed my baby to my heart, I still felt comforted-a brief illusive calm soothed my worn spirit, and I began again to dream

Mad. Yet a moment! both day and night I travelled on my wild design-at last the towers of Altenburg rose proudly on my sighta thick bower concealed me, and I watched the spot, unsettled in my aim, but fixed upon revenge!-the Castle gates unfolded-and a child, lovely as Cherubim, came tripping o'er the lawn, plucking the flowers and weaving them in playful wreaths. He approached the ambush where I stood concealed-I gazed upon his features, and I knew their stamp'twas your son, Altenburg, your le

of peace when suddenly a malignant fever seized upon my blooming infant-for three wretched days and nights I watched by its bed incessantly, and Heaven knows how fervent were my prayers! but watch and prayer were vain, and the Angel of Death tore from my weak arms the only solace I retained on earth. -Even now I shake with the terrors of that hour. It was your child, Altenburg!—and, had you seen its soft blue eyes for ever closing, I think you would have pitied its wretched mother! Alt. Oh God! how tenderly-gitimate son, whom I beheld; Rehow truly

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venge,' I cried-and as the fearless infant gambolled near the bower, sudden and unseen I snatched him in my arms-the turbid waters of the Elbe flowed near-swift to the river's brink I flew and bore my vic

Alt. Inhuman murderess! then by you my gentle lamb was sacrificed-your hands plunged my infant in the roaring flood!

Mad. No!-heaven spared me from a deed so damned! I cast his hat and mantle on the wave, but held the infant closely nestled to my heart-my cruel fraud succeeded— the clothes were found-their wearer's death believed and unpursued I bore the heir of Altenburg to dis

Mud Soft, let me proceed-a direful dreary blank succeeded-my wits wandered, and for many months I became an helpless lunatic-Suddenly, recollection visited me again twas at the dead hour of night-tim with me. I had escaped from the kind peasants who tended me, and was sitting in the church-yard where my babe lay buried;-as from a dream, the senses seemned to start and wake,-1 -no human shape or sound was near-but the cold breeze of midnight played freshly on my temples, and I heard the fallen leaf rustle as it past meI felt I was alone, and slowly I gazed around-the moon, at its clondless zenith, and the silent march of the stars were above me; and at my feettant realms-hither, to the mouna new-made grave, which my unconscious hand had been strewing o'er with flowers.--I looked, and I knew it for my baby's-I could not weep -fire had dried up the source of tears -but a new spirit, fierce and fiendlike, rose within my breast-I kneeled down amidst the moon-light dews, and calling on my Infant's injured shade, pronounced a dreadful oath of vengeance-'twas on the Father of my Child I swore to be avenged. Alt. Unhappy woman, how could yon purpose

VOL. XXXVIII.

tains of Saxony I fled and here, in peasants' weeds, I hid a prince's form, and reared the fruit of noble veins in vileness as my own-my race of crime at last is run!-Adrian, I lose my child for ever, but you in Altenburg regain a Father.

[Altenburg and Adrian, who have hung upon the sentence in breathless impatience, now rush towards each other.

Mad. Aye! fly to each other's arms, and kill me with the sight of bliss I never must partake; but I

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do not murmur-no, may you be blessed for ever, whilst I eternally am curst!

(Her corporal and mental powers appear to yield together, and she is sinking, when Rosenheim catches and sustains her.) Ros. (vehemently.) No, lady! no! that man must have the heart of a wild heast, who could curse a poor repentant sinner, that, stricken to the earth, implores for mercy!

Adr. (flying to her.) Mother, dearest mother!

Mad. (feebly raising her head.) Ah! that name, Adrian

Adr. (impetuously.) is your sonyou are still his parent, or Adrian is still an orphan !

Alt. Matilda, our offences have been mutual-let our expiation be the same; one son is lost to us, yet another still is ours.

Mad. Ours? O! Altenburg! Alt. Let Adrian be your son-let - Matilda be wife!

my Adr. Blessings on my father! Mad, Adrian, lead me-let me kneel

Alt. No-here, next a husband's heart, be folded, and absolved for ever!

(Rosenheim and Adrian support
Matilda ;-Altenburg meets her
with extended arms, and they
sink on their knees as they em–
brace.)

(The folding doors, at the back of
the scene, open, and Orrila ap-
pears leaning on Githa and Lo-
thaire.)

Loth. Look up, sweet lady! ray, never droop.

Gith. Ah! I said your courage would fail, when put to't; but you would persist.

Ros. (turning suddenly.) How now! whom do I see? Oh! thou undutiful disobedient

Orr. Ah! Sir, spare your rebuke; -your frown alone has too much

terror for your child; humbly I

come

to

Ros. I know it-you come whine, and whimper, and wheedle a fond father to forgive you; but you are too late, for I resolved upon your punishment just eight seconds ago; look up in my face, and tell me if you do not read their rigorous sen

tence?

Orr. (timidly raises her eyes; Rosenheim smiles.) Sir! father!

Ros. Come hither, girl; give me your hand: but no, I'll take it by proxy, and you, young man, shall be my representative. (To Adrian.)

Orr. Ah! dare I to believe

Ros. Any thing: but, that your father can be inconsistent; you must not dare to believe that; for I never in any life rescinded a resolution I once had formed; I always said that Altenburg should be your husband, and 'tis now, only, to an Altenburg I resign you.

Adr. My Orrila! I read your marvel in your eyes-but soft you for a while, and these strange-seem ing chances shall clearly be avouched for truths.

Orr. I know not to believe, yet will not doubt-O! if I dream, never let me wake from such delightful visions, but die of the sweet phantasy, and only find out the deceit in paradise!

Gith. What! does your Lordship forgive my young Lady?-please the saints then, I'll dance a gavot at the wedding!

Loth. When pardon touches all, must I alone despair of mercy?-does my dear master bauish me, never to hope recall?

Alt. From me your fortunes are indeed divorced, but I will marry them to a kinder service, whence no fickle wish can chance to stray.Kncel to the fair Orrila! for henceforth there your duties must be bound. Now, my Matilda, let our

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his fame.

It was founded in 1786, on a surplus of 900,000l. of the annual income, above the annual expenditure, which he proposed should be raised to a million sterling by taxes imposed for that purpose. This sum was to be annually paid to commissioners, to be by them. applied to the purchase of stock towards discharging the debt of the country. With a view at once to lighten the burdens of the people, and to render his favourite plan more effective, he proceeded to correct many abuses which had crept inte the collection of the revenue, improving the excise laws, and extend

Thus, when fierce winds the midnight deep ing their operation to the article of

deform,

And shrieks on high the spirit of the storm; The shivering Mariner, aghast with fear,

Clings to the mast, and thinks, his doomsday

near;

Sudden the dark dread danger clears away, Clouds blush with light, warm strikes the new-born day.

In murmuring melody the waves subside, And breeding Halcyons nestle o'er the tide; Thro' Heaven's blue vast swift kindling glo

ries run,

And waking worlds adore the golden sun!

[Exeunt Omnes.

MEMOIRS of the LIFE of the late Right Hon. WILLIAM PITT.

(Continued from p. 8.)

MR. PITT, soon after he had taken the reins of government, brought forward in the house of commons his plan for a reform of parliament; but it was rejected by the house. After settling the accounts of the American war, which were left in a state of great confusion, he submitted to the house of commons a plan for discharging the national debt, which he afterwards amended and improved, and which will doubtless be considered by posterity as the noblest monument of

wine. Nor did he confine his attention to the details of interior re

gulation; his enlightened and discerning mind perceived, that though France for ages had been what is called the natural enemy of this country, the frequent wars in which the two countries bad been involved were more owing to false and mistaken notions concerning the sources of national prosperity, and an illfounded jealousy on the part of France of the commercial riches of England, than from any other cause. He availed himself, therefore, of an interval of peace, to convince the government of France of the mistaken notions they had entertained upon this subject, by shewing them that every endeavour they had made to triumph by sea had diminished the riches and power which it was their object to increase by a contest, and that both their commerce and naval force had been uniformly reduced by the very wars through which they had sought their extention. Concord, therefore, being the mutual interest of both parties, Mr. Pitt conceived the noble design of changing the contentious policy which had so long prevailed by establishing a system of commer

cial intercourse, which should reciprocally increase the value of productive labour. Mr. Eden was accordingly sent to Paris to conclude a treaty of commerce with France, in which he completely succeeded. The advantages of this treaty were so obvious, that they were the best possible panegyric upon the talents which had produced it.

Though whatever related to the commercial prosperity of the country at all times engaged a principal share of Mr. Pitt's attention, he was likewise careful to maintain the dignity of the crown in our relations with foreign states. By a spirited and timely interference in the affairs of Holland, in 1787, he prevented that country from falling a prey to a French faction, which was then looking to the house of Bourbon for support. And in the following year, by measures similarly decisive, Great Britain, in conjunction with Prussia, succeeded in arresting the ambitious views of Catherine II. which were then directed against Sweden, and inducing her to conclude a peace on equitable terms with the Ottoman Porte.

The close of the year 1788 was clouded by a signal calamity which befel the nation in the person of the sovereign. It is unnecessary to advert to the circumstances of an illness which spread grief and dismay over the country, more particularly than merely to recall to the recollection of the reader the circumstances of difficulty in which Mr. Pitt was then placed, and the manner in which he acquitted himself of the arduous duties attached to his station.

But the most difficult period of Mr. Pitt's administration was not yet arrived. Hitherto he had only to combat a political party, a difficulty which every minister in his country must infallibly expect to enBounter. A crisis was approaching

in the affairs of Europe, which threatened the overthrow of all the existing governments. The French revolution produced a war between this country and France. As to the mode of conducting it, there is, perhaps, room for diversity of opinion. The circumstances were new and unprecedented, and therefore little or no light could be derived from experience to guide him in his estimate of the enemy's means, and consequently the extent of the force by which he ought to have been opposed. If we are to judge by events, and lay aside the fatal reverses sustained by our allies-if we are to take the history of the war as merely a contest bctween this country and France, it may be considered as successful on the part of England; and, perhaps, an impartial man would be disposed to infer, not that Mr. Pitt was responsible for the misfortunes and conduct of our allies, but that if he had been able to dispose of the force of the continent as he did dispose of that of this country, the success, which was only partial, would in that case have been general. At the same time, he had an arduous task to perform in counteracting the open and secret attempts of those, for too many such there were, who seditiously wished to introduce into this country the wild theories and ruinous practices of France. Some of the measures he adopted for this purpose were, perhaps, liable to considerable objections; but others of them were no doubt absolutely necessary.

The course of the war was marked by several important events immediately affecting the public credit of the country, and one of which seemed for a time to throw the security of the kingdom into immediate and imminent jeopardy; but they were met by Mr. Pitt with a calmness, firmness, and sagacity, worthy of his character,

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