sades. His picture is a faithful one, and many a Lydia Blood will unconsciously behold her own portrait deli cately limned in the bright pages of "The Lady of the Aroostook." Mr. Duvar's drama is called the Enamorado* (Love Stricken), and we feel bound to say that it contains much that we can admire. It is spirited and interesting, and the language for the most part is good. The humour is a trifle coarse, and though Mr. Duvar is careful enough to allow coarse persons such as a clown and a cook of the fifteenth century to utter his nonsense, the effort, while really offensive in some respects, is not successful as a whole. Mr.Duvar is neither a wit nor a humourist. He is a very sober poet. His fun is apparently modelled after the fun of Shakespeare and of Massinger. It has all the vulgarity and none of the piquancy, and let us add, the wisdom, which these great play-wrights have put into the mouths of their clowns and jesters. The story on which the play is founded is a pretty one, and is, we believe, historically correct. We will not destroy the interest which will probably be taken in this clever play, by giving even an outline of the plot. We commend it to our readers. It will be found an exceedingly skilful piece of The Enamorado. A Drama. By JOHN HUNTER DUVAR. Summerside, P. E. I.; Graves & Co. workmanship. It is well constructed, well contained and written in good dramatic form. It is vigorous in action, and the scenes and dialogue are cleverly managed. The character drawing, in many respects, shows power, natural ability and excellent discernment. The author is as successful with his gentlemen as he is with his gentlewomen. It is only when he descends to his boors that he loses his balance, and mistakes vulgarity for wit. The Enamorado is not an acting drama. It is a poetic drama, full of fine things, a number of pretty songs, and graceful figures, and some really eloquent outbursts of passion, such as this, from the fourth act, in the storm scene where Mazias reveals his love to Clara in the lonely grove: 'The lightning is the minister of love, NOTICES. On the authority of MR. WILKIE COLLINS, we beg to state that he is not engaged in writing a conclusion to 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood.' Shortly after MR. DICKENS' death MR. COLLINS was asked to finish the story, but he positively refused to do so. Since then a continental publisher has impudently associated his name with a French version of the story, and this has given some colour to the rumour which we now publicly contradict. Owing to pressing literary engagements, the author of the PAPERS BY A BYSTANDER, is unable to furnish this Magazine with an article this month. the document, but in one corner was a rubrica, an intricate flourish not unlike an Oriental sign-manual. The Spaniards have a custom of affixing these rubricas to their signatures, and in many cases-more especially with high military authorities-the rubrica alone is used. Subsequent experience proved to us that this sign-manual was more efficacious than a signature would have been, as many Carlists whom we met-in several instances commissioned officers-could not read. We learned that since the Carlists had threatened an attack upon the town of Irun, the terminus of the railway running from France to Spain had been at the pretty little village of Hendaye, situated immediately on the French bank of the river Bidassoa, which is here the line of demarcation between the two countries. We reached this village on the afternoon of the fourth day after leaving Paris, and as we wished to learn something of the country we intended visiting before entering it, we resolved to pass the night at the little fonda (inn). A few minutes' walk took us to the summit of the hill at the foot of which the depot is situated, and then a magnificent view lay extended before us From the Bay of Biscay on our right to our extreme left stretched a crescent-shaped mountain-wall comprising the Guadaloupe, Arala and Basses Pyrenean ranges, the Three Crowns towering high above the other mountains, and presenting a further contrast in the absence of verdure on its summit. Suddenly, whilst contemplating-I may almost say inhaling-the beauties of the scene, we were startled by the boom of a cannon, which awakened a hundred echoes in the surrounding hills, as if a salvo of artillery had been discharged instead of the one solitary shell which had been fired by the republicans in Fort Mendivil at the monastery. The missile, falling short, exploded harmlessly in the brushwood at the foot of the hill. Several more shells were fired, but with a similar result. Our landlord informed us in the evening that during the course of more than a year the republicans had been trying to hit the monastery, and had not once succeeded. Many of the shells fell short, but occasionally one would pass over the building. The conclusion was irresistible that the house was protected from injury by its patron saint, and the garrison were prepared to affirm that on several occasions it had disappeared beneath the ground when a shot was fired, and reappeared as soon as the danger was over. Our host and his family were thoroughly Carlist in their sympathies, and gave us much useful information. They advised us to take but little money with us, as the discriminations |