in high favour with the queen, comes to Paris to seek him and his fortune. The very day of his arrival, a female go-between acquaints him that a lady of rank has become enamoured of his shape, and appoints him to meet her that night at the Tour de Nesle. He makes an acquaintance in a coffee-house broil with one Buridan, a soldier, who is also newly arrived in Paris, and-in comparing notesthey find they have received similar assignations, which they explain by the supposition that there are two sisters, and resolve to try the adventure. We next find them in the Tour de Nesle. Marguerite seems to have taken a peculiar fancy to young Philippe, and wishes to save him from her own myrmidons. He, pleased with his bonne fortune, insists on the lady's taking off a mask, which she had persisted in wearing, and on her refusal, he seizes a bodkin from her hair, and scratches her face, in order that he may be able to recognize his unknown benefactress when he may meet her again. This indiscretion alters Marguerite's views, and, for fear of detection, she abandons Philippe to the usual fate. But Buridan, who, with another gallant, had been well treated by the two other sisters, discovering who the ladies are, and the scene of their rendezvous, foresees their fate. He apprises Philippe of their common danger-gets him to write, with a pin dipped in blood from his own arm, a line credential to his brother Gaultier ; and-it happening that one of Marguerite's instruments, Landry, being under some old obligations to Buridan, advises him to plunge at once from the window of the tower into the river, and endeavour to swim ashore-Buridan has hardly taken this perilous leap, when Philippe, assassinated behind the scenes, re-enters all bloody, followed by Marguerite, and dies at her feet.

Next morning opens with the levee of Marguerite, in which the permanent favourite, Gaultier, assists; and she relates to him, that in the night she had dreamed of a young man so handsome-so like her Gaultier !-This interview is interrupted by the exclamations of the people at the discovery of the two murdered bodiesGaultier, alarmed at the absence of his brother, rushes out to examine the corpses-Buridan, disguised as a gipsy, enters-shows Marguerite her bodkin, relates to her the horrors of the preceding night, and threatens to betray her on the spot if she will not promise to meet him that evening at the tavern where the rendezvous was originally made. In order that she may not make short work with him, he has taken the precaution of lodging in Gaultier's hands (but with a solemn promise that Gaultier should never part with them, and should not open them for two days)--the tablets in which Philippe had written the secret of his fate. As the queen

is thus in the power not only of Buridan, but of Gaultier, she is forced to submit to Buridan's terms, which are only that he is to

be

be declared Prime Minister; and he provides himself with an order from the queen for the arrest of Marigny, the actual minister, which he hastens to execute. But he is no sooner gone than the queen sends for Gaultier-persuades him that Buridan is the murderer of his brother-wheedles him out of the tablets-and, taking advantage of his fraternal indignation, makes him the bearer of an order for the arrest of Buridan. Buridan, then, has hardly arrested the prime minister, when he is himself arrested by Gaultier, and all are sent to gaol. Buridan, in a dungeon of the châtelet, recognizes in his keeper his old friend, Landry. He bribes him, by a large sum, to abandon the gaoler's trade and the gaol, and to go to Buridan's lodging, where, in a certain secret place, he is to find a little iron casket, which-if within two days he should not hear of Buridan-he is to deliver into the hands of King Louis himself. Marguerite now comes to the dungeon of the châtelet to enjoy her vengeance on Buridan, in whose presence she destroys the casket; and this only evidence of the guilt (which, after all, was no evidence at all) being destroyed, she indulges in the most revengeful menaces against Buridan. But the tables are soon turned. Buridan, chained to the floor, becomes, by a few words, again the master of the queen. He reminds her that, about twenty years ago, Duke Robert of Burgundy had a daughter, beautiful as an angelwicked as a devil: he had also, in his court, a young and handsome page, Lyonnet de Bournonville. The princess and the page loved one another: the natural consequences ensued: she found herself in a situation in which ladies, in her circumstances, do not wish to be: she, dreading her father's wrath and a convent, placed a poniard in the youth's hands, and led him to her father's bed: the duke died under his blows! When this was over, the lady found the page's presence troublesome: she urged him, by a letter, to expatriate himself; and this letter contained an avowal of the crime. He disappeared-but he is not dead; he still lives—and the poniard and the letter are also in existence; and Marguerite is the princess-and Lyonnet de Bournonville is Buridan! King Louis is expected in Paris on the morrow. Buridan tells her that he has taken means over which he has no longer any control, that this letter shall be the first petition offered to the king on his arrival; and there is no longer any means to prevent the disgrace, ruin, death of the queen, than that Buridan should be Constable and Prime Minister, and should stand by the king's side to receive the iron casket and suppress the fatal evidence it contains-and so it was; Marigny is gibbeted - Lyonnet de Bournonville is first minister-and to him Landry presents the casket. Marguerite now plays another game-she affects to make community of interest

with Buridan, though she hates him more than ever she had loved him, and she feels an increased tenderness for Gualtier, whom Buridan (jealous of his favour with her) insists upon exiling. With mutual duplicity they affect to desire a renewal of their ancient intimacy, and an assignation is made for the same night at the Tour de Nesle, of which Marguerite gives Buridan the key. This assignation is destined by each to be the ruin of the other. Marguerite places her myrmidons, with orders to assassinate the man who shall enter by the postern; Buridan, on his part, devises to get rid at once of Gaultier and the queen, by betraying their amours to the king-he gives Gaultier the key of the postern, and substitutes him to meet Marguerite there at the appointed hour; at the same time he obtains an order, signed by the king himself, to the captain of his guards, to surround the Tour de Nesle and take prisoners, and bring before his majesty, all who may be found there, dead or alive. After all these measures had been taken, Buridan discovers, by his old accomplice Landry, (whom he had hitherto omitted to question on this most important matter,) that the princess had given birth to twins-two boys, Gaultier and Philippe; Buridan, shocked at the death of one child and at the danger of another, is induced, in order to save the latter, if there be still time, to hasten to the Tour de Nesle, into a window of which he climbs from the water-side. He meets the Queen, tells her the fate of their children, and explains that he is come thither to save Gaultier. It is too late-Gaultier rushes in bloody and dying by the hands of his mother's bravos. While the wretched couple are horror-stricken at the murder of their children, thus accomplished by their own contrivances, the king's guards burst in the doors. In vain do the queen and the minister announce their ranks, and insist that the order of arrest was not meant for them-the сарtain of the guard drily replies,

'I know nothing of either queen or minister-here is a corpse and two murders, and an order signed by the king's own hand to seize whomsoever I may find in the Tour de Nesle.'

And so ends a complication of intrigue-a vicissitude of eventsand a tissue of horrors, unparalleled, as far as we remember, in all the extravagances of the drama.

But while these writers thus outrage the decencies of their own stage, and libel, as we hope, the manners of their own country, they do not spare ours. We amused our readers in a former number with specimens of BERGAMI, sufficient to show what clear conceptions our neighbours have of the personages and circumstances of our political world. Our foregoing observations on MARIE TUDOR exhibit their acquaintance with our history, our laws, and our national feelings. We must now lay before

them

*

them M. Alexandre Dumas's view of the present state of domestic morals and manners amongst us, as given in his drama of RICHARD DARLINGTON. The play opens in the house of Dr. Grey, an apothecary and accoucheur in the town of Darlington, to which a post-chaise drives up at full speed. Out of this carriage a man. in a mask conveys in his arms a young woman, who is actually in the pains of labour, and for whom he solicits the medical assistance of the doctor. There is barely time to remove the patient behind the scenes when her cries, and the exclamations of the doctor, acquaint us with the progress of the parturition; and in a few minutes the doctor comes back congratulating the man in the mask on the birth of a fine boy. It is arranged that the child shall remain in the doctor's care, that his Christian name shall be Richard, and his surname- What is the name of this town?' Darlington' Then let him be called Richard Darlington.' Just at this moment another post-chaise arrives: 'tis the father of the lady-no other than the Marquis de Sylva, a Portuguese nobleman at the Court of London. The young lady, it appears, had been, about a year before, overset in a wherry on the Thames and saved from drowning by a man of the lower class. This produced a secret intercourse, which, in due course, produced the present crisis. The voice of the father reaches the ears of the lady (as her groans had just before reached those of the audience), and she rushes-within five minutes after the birth of her child pale and in disorder'-into the presence of her father, and entreats not to be separated from her husband ;-the father, who is provided with a legal warrant for the purpose, persists the lover advances-the father pulls off his mask, and sees the full extent of his misfortune at a glance, and informs his daughter that her saviour and seducer is the-HANGMAN! Six and twenty years now elapse. Richard has grown up,

* It is proper to state that in the general revolution which has taken place—though the old division of plays into acts and scenes is not formally, it is virtually exploded, and these modern pieces are broken by other divisions. Sometimes the opening is made by what they call a prologue and the catastrophe is found in an epilogue, which differ only in name from the first and last acts of an ordinary play. Sometimes the epochs of the drama are called journées-days; sometimes they are designated as tableaux-pictures. To avoid prolixity and confusion, we have been obliged, in the short analyses we give of the several pieces, to omit the notice of these fantastical subdivisions, which do not affect the current of the story, and are only important as marking that the spirit of the new style is not easily reconciled with even the forms of the old stage. The first part of Richard Darlington is exhibited as a prologue.- -We need hardly point out, by the way, to our readers, that this same play of Richard Darlington borrows all that can be called natural-and some things that can scarcely be so called-from the opening chapters of Sir Walter Scott's novel of the 'Surgeon's Daughter,'-a tale in which, as in many of the same author's, an improbable outline is more than atoned for by the beauty and truth of the filling up. The Scotch scenes of the 'Surgeon's Daughter' are admirable; but only to think of transferring to the stage the naked outline of some of them, grossly caricatured by immorality, and entirely unrelieved by touches of nature!

passing

passing for the son of the doctor, although he received at his baptism, and has borne ever since, the surname of Darlington !A general election takes place-one Tompson, intrigant subalterne,' suggests to Richard to stand for the county, or, which it appears is the same thing, the borough. Tompson's motive is that he foresees Richard will make his way, and Tompson's bargain is that he shall have his share in Richard's success.

'Richard. Then you would make me your tool?

Tompson. No-my patron. You shall be the ship and I the bark which she tows.

'Richard. What are your terms?

Tompson. To Richard, a private man-Tompson, valet: to Sir Richard, a landed gentleman-Tompson, steward: to the Honourable Sir Richard, M.P.-Tompson, secretary: to my Lord Richard, minister-Tompson, what my Lord shall please.'-p. 39.

To the building this castle-not in Spain, but in England-only one difficulty occurs: the opposite party have discovered-heaven knows how the secret was betrayed-that Richard Darlington is not the son of Doctor Grey. What, then, is to be done? The doctor, luckily, has a daughter Jenny-she and Richard discover that they feel for each other more than a fraternal affection. Richard marries Jenny, and is elected member for the county of Northumberland, and the borough of Darlington, after a sharp contest with one Mr. Stinson, a scion of the illustrious house of Derby, who, after having, for three hundred years, nominated the member of this county and borough, are beaten by the arts and influence of Tompson, the valet, and the talents and popularity of Richard. We are obliged to pass over scenes amusing from their incredible absurdity and ignorance-of the canvas and the poll, of which the well-informed author exhibits even the most minute details, such as the objections made to the vote of a freeholder because Lord Derby pays his rent-such as the arts to delay the poll for a ship-load of voters, who are expected at Darlington-du fond de Northumberland-and fifty other things, which prove M. Dumas's taste and judgment in selecting for his drama a subject and a country which he so thoroughly understands. The next scene is the House of Commons :

The stage represents the gallery of the House of Commons, reserved for lords and ministers: the back is open, and affords a view of the house-the Speaker is in the chair-he alone is visible-a confused sound announces that the benches (none of which are visible) are full of members.'—p. 66.

Sir Richard makes a powerful speech-the ministers are shakenthe opposition are on the point of a great triumph. The faithful Tompson knows how to make use of such an occasion, the Marquis de Sylva, now a rich Portuguese banker in London, becomes

the