Old Man. Well, well-I am but like the ancient He almost curses life, so does he long

—a room in the collage. In the far part, Night-fallthe old Man's bed, with the curtains drawn round it. Margaret sits within a screen at her work; a small lamp is burning beside her.

Marg. I'll sing a hymn, it oft hath cheered his
spirit

In its disquietude- Oh Lord forgive him,
If he say aught injurious of thy mercy -
He is a weak, old man!

To pass away in death, which he conceives
The portal of immortal youth and joy.
Never did aged man abhor his years
Like my poor father! "Tis, I must believe,
Only the weakness of a feeble spirit,
Bowed down beneath his threescore years and ten!
Ugo. Margaret, thou hast performed a daughter's

part;

Now list to mine. Do thou make him my father,
I did allow thy father's claim to thee,-

And let him dwell with us; we 'll comfort him-
Our bliss will reconcile him to his life!

Marg. Alas, thou know'st he will not leave this
roof!

Sorrow and love have bound him to these walls
He'd die if we remove him; and thy duties,
As the good pastor of a worthy flock,

[She sings. Bind thee unto thy mountains! Ugolin,
Could I believe this weary waiting for me -
This seven years' tarriance on a daughter's duty,
Fretted thee with impatience, I would yield
Thee back thy faith, and give thee liberty

Bowed 'neath the load of human ill,
Our spirits droop, and are dismayed;
Oh Thou, that saidest peace, be still,'
To the wild sea, and wast obeyed,
Speak comfortable words of peace,
And bid the spirit's tumult cease!

We ask not length of days, nor ease,
Nor gold; but for thy mercy's sake,
Give us thy joy, surpassing these,
Which the world gives not, nor can take;
And count it not for sin that we

At times despond, or turn from thee!

Enter UGOLIN, softly.

Ugo. How is thy father, Margaret? does he sleep?
Marg. Methinks he does; I have not heard him!

move

For half an hour.

Ugo.
Hast thought my tarriance long? I would have sped
To thee ere sunset, but I stayed to comfort
A mother in affliction; a poor neighbour;
Wife of the fisherman, whose son hath fallen
Into the lake, and was brought home a corpse!
A worthy son, the comfort of the house.

Thou lookest sad, my love,

Marg. Alas, poor soul! it is a great affliction!
Ah Ugolin, this is a world of sorrow,
And, saving for the hope the Christian bears
In his dear faith, a dark and joyless world!
Ugo. It is not oft thy spirit is o'ercast —
I see thee ever as a gentle star,
Shedding kind, cheering influence!

To choose elsewhere; but I have known thee well,
Have known thy constancy, thy acquiescence
With the great will of God, howe'er unpleasing
To our poor souls; so let us still perform
Our separate duties! When my father needs
My care no longer, 't will be a great joy
To have performed my duty unto him;
And all the good, life has in store for us,
Will come with tenfold blessing!

Old Man.

Good Ugolin!

Ay, ay, perchance it might be Ugolin!
I was in dreams-I thought it was the man
Who did converse with me beside the door;
It was a dream-a strange, unpleasing dream.
But go, my child,- -it only was a dream,
For rarely dost thou see poor Ugolin;
Yet ere thou go, smoothen my pillow for me!
[Margaret adjusts the pillow, and draws

the curtains.

Ugo. Thy father is not well, dear Margaret, His sleep is sore disturbed.

A master of the art; make way for him!

Marg.

"T was but a dream;
There came a stranger and conversed with him
An hour ere sunset, and he sees so rarely
The face of man, that it becomes a terror
To him in sleep; besides, his mind was burthened
Before he went to rest.

Ugo.

[A bell tolls the hour.

The time wears on;

1 must not tarry longer, or the hour

Will be past midnight ere I reach my home.

I will be here to-morrow ere the sun set.
Sweet rest to thee, my Margaret, and good dreams,
And to the poor old man!
[He embraces her.
Marg. Farewell, good Ugolin! [He goes out.
[Margaret fastens the door; then, after
listening a few minutes by her father's
bed, she retires to her own chamber.

SCENE III.

[The Old Man takes the sling, but attempting to throw, his arm drops powerless. The youths turn away and laugh.

Old Man. Curse on this arm! am I a laughingstock?

Let me go hence, I am an aged fool!

Yet that I might but only shame those scoffers
I'd yield my hope in heaven!

Strang. [reconducting him to his seat.] My friend,
you shall!

Vain-glorious fools! to laugh the old to scorn.
I told you I was skilled in medicines;
The secret virtues of all plants and stones,
And earths medicinal, are known to me;
And hence I have concocted a strong draught
Of wondrous power-it is the Elixir Vitæ,
For which the wise of every age have sought.

[He presents a small flask. Drink this, my friend, and vigorous life shall run Throughout your frame; you shall be young anon; You shall be even as these; and more than these! Old Man. Give me the flask! I'll shame the insolent :

Noon of the next day—the saloon of a house in the
city, opening to a green on which young men are
engaged in athletic sports- the old Man sits in a I will outsling these mockers!
large chair looking on; the Stranger stands beside
him.

Strang. Nay, nay, you know it was with your

consent

I brought you here. The litter was so easy,
The day so warm, the gale so soft and low,
You did yourself confess the journey pleasant;
Confessed that a new life refreshed your limbs;
Yet now you murmur, and uneasy thoughts
Disquiet you!
Old Man.
So is the spirit.

Strang.

When the poor flesh is weak,

True, my ancient friend!

But let us now regard the youths before us;
Behold their manly forms, their graceful limbs,
Supple, yet full of force Herculean.

Look at their short, curled hair; their features' play;
Their well-set, noble heads; their shoulders broad;
Their well-compacted frames, that so unite
Beauty and strength together! Such is youth.
Old Man. I once was such as they.
Strang.

Look at that boy,
Throwing the classic discus! such as he
The old Greek sculptors loved; look at his skill,
How far, how true he hurls!

Old Man.

When I was young
I threw it better far! Oh for the years
That now are distanced by decrepitude!
Strang. Look at the slingers yonder; how they
mark

At yon small target!

Strang. Yes, yes! will give thee youth, and
strength and beauty-

Will give thee youth which is imperishable!
Old Man. And I shall live, enjoying life on earth?
Strang. Yes, wilt enjoy upon this glorious earth
All that the young desire!

Old Man. [giving it back.] I'll drink it not!
I'll none of it-it is an evil thing.

Strang. What, to be such as these, an evil thing! Did they not laugh at thee, and mock thine age? Old Man. Ay, what is youth but folly? Now I

see

The sinfulness of my unholy wishes :

I thank thee, God, that thou hast kept my soul
From this great snare! Oh, take me, take me hence,
A feeble man, I am not of your sort!

Strang. [aside.] A curse upon thee, and thy feeble-
ness. [He speaks to four of the young men.
My friend, the litter will be here anon;
These will conduct thee safely to thy daughter:
Give me thy hand, old friend, I fain would serve thee.
Old Man. Let me go home: I am a weak old man.
[The four youths accompany him out.
Strang. A weak old man! a weak old whining
fool!

If pain and hunger could have made him mine,

Old Man. [attempting to rise.] Give me here a He should not thus have left me: but I know

sling;

I will excel them all!

Strang. [supporting him.] You shall, my friend! [To one of the youths.] Give here a sling, good Decius; here you see

The soul is only strengthened by oppression.
I still will speak him fair-1 will flatter him,
And stir up that impatient soul of his,
Till his own act shall make him mine for ever.
Now let him rest awhile, and bask i' the sun,

The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin of our dear brother here departed, we therefore comis the law, mit his body to the ground: earth to earth; ashes But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory to ashes; dust to dust: in the sure and certain hope through our Lord Jesus Christ." of the resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ."

Is pastor Ugolin! There then is buried
My hope of that repining, weary soul!
Death was before-hand with me. I ne'er dreamed
Of his sands running out, just yet at least;
Life is a slippery thing! I'll deal no more
With any mortal who is turned three-score!

[He hastens off.
[The funeral train moves away, preceded
by choristers chanting.

"I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, write, from henceforth, blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; even so saith the spirit, for they shall rest from their labours."

This second defeat of Achzib was like a blow given by an unseen hand; it was an event altogether out of his calculation. He had heard how the spirit of the old man, in its moments of irritation, poured forth reproaches and murmurs against God, which would have been mortal sin had the heart responded to them. But his spirit resembled water in its dead calm, corrupt and unsightly, which nevertheless when agitated by the tempest overleaps its barriers, throws off its impurities, and rushes on in a strong, bright torrent. His discontent and his impatience were almost meaningless on his own lips; but addressed to him as the sentiments of another, to which he was required to assent, he started from their sinfulness, beholding, as it were, his own reflected image. This was an event beyond the range of Achzib's idea of possibilities. He was sceptical to all that virtue in human nature, which great occasions bring into action, though it may have lain dormant for half a life, and which may be regarded as a store in reserve for extraordinary emergency.

"How," inquired Achzib, "has her loss been so very great?"

"Know you not," rejoined the other, "that a mother mourns most, suffers most, for the child least worthy of her love? Man knows not to what an extent that mother's heart has suffered: it has been

wounded unto death, and yet it lives on, enduring a life more painful than death, a life quivering with the sting of outraged love!"

"Was he not young," inquired Achzib; “how then has he committed so great sin ?"

"You cannot have attentively regarded these things," replied the stranger, or you would know that, for a young man, the most perilous of all conditions is to be the son of a widow; for losing the authority, the counsel, the example of a father, he falls into numberless temptations, against which a mother can be but an insufficient defence. Besides, young men, too often having experienced the easy, irresolute, uncertain government of a mother in their boyish years, cease to regard her with respect as they approach manhood."

'But," said Achzib, recalling to mind the firm principle and devoted affection of the Poor Scholar, "I have known such arriving at manhood, armed at all points against temptation, and cherishing in their souls the most ardent love, the most holy reverence for a mother."

"God forbid," replied the stranger, “ that I should say all mothers are inadequate to the government of a son, or all sons incapable of estimating, and gratefully rewarding the unwearied solicitude, the neversleeping affection of a mother; for I myself know a widow who has trained three noble sons from their fatherless boyhood, maintaining her own authority, and nurturing in their souls every virtuous and manly sentiment; and who now, adorning manhood, are as a crown of glory to her brow. And it may also be received as a truth, that love and reverence for a widowed mother will be as much a preservation from evil as the authority of a father-but these are the exceptions to the general rule, which is as I have said, that the sons of widows are the most peculiarly liable to temptation, and the least defended against it."

The old man seemed, as it were, to have slipped from his grasp; and, half angry with himself for being overcome by so apparently weak an opponent, he turned from the burial-place and walked on, he hardly knew whither, for many hours. At length he was recalled to his own identity by coming upon a village church-yard, where a funeral was taking place. The dead seemed to have been of the lower class of society, if you might judge by the appearance of the coffin, its humble appurtenances, and its few attendants; but there was a something about its chief and only mourner, which told that misfortune had brought her thus low. Yet was her whole air melancholy and wretched in the extreme; and so "Exactly so," said the stranger: "the timid, enerharrowed by grief, so woe-stricken, so wholly self-vating system of female government, gives the heart abandoned, that no one could see her for a moment without knowing that it was her son who had been committed to the dust, the only child of his mother, and she a widow.

"I believe you to be right," replied Achzib, not a little pleased with the hint, which had inadvertently been given him. "I believe you are right! and of all temptations to which a young man so circumstanced is exposed, those of pleasure would be the most besetting," continued he, remembering the first sin of poor Luberg.

a bias towards pleasure, without strengthening it for resistance, or even enabling it to discriminate between good and evil. This is the snare into which such generally fall; and there is hardly a sin more

Achzib remarked this to an observant stranger who sorrowfully degrading, or one which holds its victim stood by.

"You are right," he replied, "they bury the only child of a widow; a son, who having died before his time, will cause the mother's grey hairs to descend with sorrow to the grave!"

more irreclaimably: he is as one self-conducted to sacrifice; a captive, who rivets on his own fetters, while he groans for freedom: for the indulgence of those vices miscalled pleasure, while they deaden the will, leave quiveringly alive the sense of degradation.

How has the poor youth, who is now gone down to the dust, looked with streaming eyes upon pure and noble beings, whom though he still worshipped, he had not the power to imitate, and from whose society he was cast as a fallen angel from heaven! How, to obliviate the maddening sense of his own degraded condition, has he plunged into excesses which he abhorred! Alas, the spirit, writhing under the compunctuous sense of evil, and the hopelessness of good, is a sight upon which the angels of God might drop tears of pity!"

Achzib was satisfied with what he had heard; therefore, bidding his companion good day, he returned to the city. He had, however, a superstitious repugnance to making another trial in the scene of his late defeat; he therefore removed to a city where all was new to him, and very soon commenced his fifth essay, according to the hints thrown out by the stranger of the church-yard.

RAYMOND.

RAYMOND.

PERSONS.

In its full joy unto the heaven of heavens;
Thank God for life, and for the spirit which gives
The fulness of enjoyment unto life!

All that the soul desires of good and fair
Will I possess; knowledge that elevates
And that refines; and high philosophy,
Which wakes the god-like principle in man;
And in the founts of sacred poesy
I will baptise my spirit, and drink deep
Of its pure, living waters; and sweet music
Shall minister to me, like heavenly spirits
Calling me upwards to sublimer worlds!
All that is beautiful in art and nature—
Fair forms in sculptured marble, and the works
Of the immortal masters, will I study;
And so imbue my spirit with a sense
Of grace and majesty, till it shall grow
Like that which it perceives! To me far lands,
Immortal for their ancient histories,
Shall be familiar places: I will seek

The Spirit of greatness where the great have dwelt,
And left behind eternal memories!

Am I not young, and filled with high resolves?
And like the sea my will shall be supreme;

ACHZIB, A STRANGER, AFTERWARDS BARTOLIN A Man shall not set it barriers, nor shall say

MAN OF PLEASURE.

"Thus far, but yet no farther!" I will on!

MADAME BERTHIER, THE MOTHER OF RAYMOND. Glory and pleasure at the goal I see,

THE PASTOR, HIS GUARDIAN.

And I will win them both: pleasure, which crowns

ADELINE, THE PASTOR'S DAUGHTER, BETROTHED Glory with its most radiant diadem—

TO RAYMOND.

CLARA, A YOUNG LADY OF THE CITY.
MADAME VAUMAR, HER MOTHER.
COUNT SIEMAR, THE LOVER OF CLARA.
SEVERAL SUBORDINATE CHARACTERS.

Time occupied, upwards of three years.

ACT I.-SCENE I.

▲ summer morning—Raymond sitting under a large tree in the fields—a small village, half hid among

wood, is seen in the distance.

Pleasure, that springs from the proud consciousness
Of high achievement, purchased at a price
None but the great would dare to pay for it!

Ere long, dear mother, thou shalt see thy son
Among the honourable of the earth.
I know not how renown shall be achieved;
But that it shall is my most solemn purpose,
And this is my first earnest of success —
Yes, yes my mother, I will crown thy age
That without power, heaven gives not the desire!
With such transcendent glory of my deeds,
That thou shalt praise God for one chiefest blessing—

Raymond. How full of joy is life! All things are Thy son, thy dutiful, illustrious son!

made

For one great scheme of bliss-all things are good,
As at the first when God pronounced them so:
The broad sun pouring down upon the earth
His bright effulgence; every lighted dew-drop
Which glitters with the diamond's many rays;
These flowers which gem the coronal of earth;
Those larks, the soaring minstrels of the sky;
Clear waters leaping like a glad existence;
Forests and distant hills, and low green valleys,
And feeding flocks, and little hamlet-homes,
All, all are good-all, all are beautiful!
Existence is a joy! I walk, I leap
In that exuberant consciousness of life

I will not bow unto the common things
Men make their idols-I will stand apart
From common men-my sensual appetite
Shall be subservient to my loftier soul-
I will be great and wise, and rise supreme
Above my kind, by dominance of mind!

But who comes here? He hath the look of one
Who hath seen foreign travel, or hath dwelt
Much among men, such ever have that air
Of easy gaiety. The walk through life
Without impediment; my country breeding,
Makes me embarrassed in a stranger's presence

Which nerves my limbs and makes all action pleasure. But I will up and meet him, and perchance

The vigour of strong life is to my frame

As pinions to the eagle: and my soul

Is as a winged angel, soaring up

.

Improve this meeting to a better knowledge.

[He rises, and meets a stranger, who is advancing over the fields towards him.