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--how do you like Jane's hair? You are a judge. She did it all herself. Quite wonderful how she does her hair! No bairdresser from London, I think, could.-Ah! Dr. Hughes, I declare and Mrs. Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a moment. How do you do? How do you

do ?

Very well, I thank you. This is delightful, is it not? Where's dear Mr. Richard ? Oh! there he is. Don't disturb him. Much better employed talking to the young ladies. How do you do, Mr. Richard? I saw you the other day as you rode through the town. Mrs. Otway, I protest! and good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway, and Miss Caroline. Such a host of friends ! and Mr. George and Mr. Arthur! How do you do? How do you all do? Quite well, I am much obliged to you. Never better. Don't I hear another carriage? Who can this be?-very likely the worthy Coles. Upon my word, this is charming, to be standing among such friends ? And such a noble fire! I am quite roasted. No coffee, I thank you, for me; never take coffee. A little tea if you please, sir, by and by; no hurry. Oh! here it comes. Everything so good !”

? Here is your

Supper was announced. The move began; and Miss Bates might be heard from that moment without interruption, till her being seated at table and taking up her spoon.

“Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you? tippet. Mrs. Weston begs you to put on your tippet. She says she is afraid there will be draughts in the passage, though everything has been done-one door nailed up-quantities of matting —my dear Jane, indeed you must. Mr. Churchill, oh! you are too obliging --How well you put it on !--so gratified ! Excellent dancing indeed !-Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I said I should, to help grandmamma to bed, and got back again, and nobody missed me. I set off without saying a word, just as I told you. Grandmamma was quite well, had a charming evening with Mr. Woodhouse, a vast deal of chat, and backgammon. Tea was made down stairs, biscuits and baked apples and wine before she came away: amazing luck in some of her throws : and she inquired a great deal about you, how you were amused, and who were your partners. *Oh!' said I, “I shall not forestall Jane; I left her

dancing with Mr. George Otway; she will love to tell you all about it herself to-morrow: her first partner was Mr. Elton; I do not know who will ask her next, perhaps Mr. William Cox. My dear sir, you are too obliging. Is there nobody you would not rather ?-I am not helpless. Sir, you are most kind. Upon my word, Jane on one arm, and me on the other! Stop, stop, let us stand a little back, Mrs. Elton is going; dear Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks—beautiful lace !-Now we all follow in her train. Quite the queen of the evening !-Well here we are at the passage, Two steps, Jane, take care of the two steps. Oh! no, there is but one. Well, I was persuaded there were two. How very odd! I was convinced there were two, and there is but one. I never saw anything equal to the comfort and style—candles everywhere. I was telling you of your grandmamma, Jane—there was a little disappointment. The baked apples and biscuits, excellent in their way, you know; but there was a delicate fricassee of sweetbread and some asparagus brought in at first, and good Mr. Woodhouse, not thinking the asparagus quite boiled enough, sent it all out again. Now there is nothing grandmamma loves better than sweetbread and asparagus—so she was rather disappointed ; but we agreed we would not speak of it to any body, for fear of its getting round to dear Miss Wood house, who would be so very much concerned !-Well, this is brilliant! I am all amazement could not have supposed anything !-such elegance and profusion! I have seen nothing like it since. Well, where shall we sit? Where shall we sit? Anywhere, so that Jane is not in a draught. Where I sit is of no consequence. Oh! do you recommend this side? Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill-only it seems too good - but just as you please. What you direct in this house cannot be wrong. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect half the dishes for grandmamma? Soup too! Bless me! I should not be helped so soon, but it smells most excellent, and I cannot help beginning."

863.-THE MODERN DRAMATIC POETS.

PART IV.

ION.

TALFOURD. [MR. SERGEANT TALFOURD has written Three Tragedies-Ion,'— The Athenian Captive,'-and'Glencoe.' They have each been acted—the first with great success. In these productions, and in other works, Mr. Talfourd has redeemed the promise of his precocious boyhood, as much as by his forensic success. 'Ion' was suggested by the tragedy of Euripides, in which a foundling youth is educated in a temple, and assists in its services. The 'Ion' of the modern tragedy is a young patriot who devotes himself to his country; confronts the tyrant who is surrounded by sensual pleasures in the midst of his people's desolation by pestilence; is discovered to be that tyrant's son ; and, having been lifted to supreme power, destroys himself in the belief that the vengeance of the gods will not be withdrawn from Argos, till the offending race, of which he is the last, shall be extinct. The following is from the the last scene.]

Ion. I thank you for your greeting.–Shout no more.
But in deep silence raise your hearts to heaven,
That it may strengthen me, so young and frail
As I am, for the business of this hour.
Must I sit here?

Medon. Permit thy earliest friend,
Who propp'd, in infancy, thy tottering steps,
To lead thee to thy throne,--and thus fulfil
His fondest vision.
Ion.

Thou art still most kind.
Me. Nay, do not think of me, my son !

my
What ails thee? When thou shouldst reflect the joy
Of Argos, the strange paleness of the grave
Marbles thy face.
Ion.

Am I indeed so pale ?
It is a solemn office I assume;
Yet thus, with Phoebus' blessing, I embrace it.

TSits on the throne.

son !

Stand forth, Agenor !
Age.

I await thy will.
Ion. To thee I look, as to the wisest friend
Of this afflicted people ;-thou must leave
Awhile the quiet which thy life hath earn'd,
To rule our councils ; fill the seats of justice
With good men, not so absolute in goodness
As to forget what human frailty is;
And order my sad country.
Age.

Pardon me-
Ion. Nay, I will promise 'tis my last request;
Thou never couldst deny me what I sought
In boyish wantonness, and shalt not grudge
Thy wisdom to me, till our state revive
From its long anguish ;-it will not be long
If Heaven approve me here. Thou hast all power
Whether I live or die.
Age.

Die ! I am old
Ion. Death is not jealous of thy mild decay,
Which gently wins thee his : exulting youth
Provokes the ghastly monarch's sudden stride,
And makes his horrid fingers quick to clasp
His shivering prey at noontide. Let me see
The captain of the guard.
Crythes.

I kneel to crave,
Humbly, the favor which thy sire bestow'd
On one who loved him well.
Ion.

I cannot thank thee,
That wakest the memory of my father's weakness ;
But I will not forget that thou hast shared
The light enjoyments of a noble spirit,
And learn'd the need of luxury. I grant,
For thee and thy brave comrades, ample share
Of such rich treasure as my stores contain,
To grace thy passage to some distant land,
Where, if an honest cause engage thy sword,
May glorious laurels wreath it. In our realm
We shall not need it longer.

Cry.

Dost intend
To banish the firm troops before whose valor
Barbarian millions shrink appall’d, and leave
Our city naked to the first assault
Of reckless foes !
Ion.

No, Crythes! In ourselves,
In our own honest hearts and chainless hands,
Will be our safeguard :—while we seek no use
Of arms, we would not have our children blend
With their first innocent wishes ; while the love
Of Argos and of justice shall be one
To their young reason; while their sinews grow
Firm 'midst the gladness of heroic sports :
We shall not ask, to guard our country's peace,
One selfish passion, or one venal sword.
I would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop
For I esteem them valiant-must no more,
With luxury which suits a desperate camp,
Infect us.

See that they embark, Agenor,
Ere night.

Cry. Ion.

No more—my word hath pass'd. Medon, there is no office I can add To those thou hast grown old in ; thou wilt guard The shrine of Phæbus, and within thy homeThy too delightful home-befriend the stranger As thou didst me ;-there sometimes waste a thought On thy spoil'd inmate ! Me.

Think of thee my lord ?
Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign-

Ion. Pr’ythee no more. Argives ! I have a boon
To crave of you ;-whene'er I shall rejoin,
In death, the father from whose heart, in life,
Stern Fate divided me, think gently of him!
For
ye,

who saw him in his full-blown pride,
Knew little of affections crush'd within,
And wrongs which frenzied him ; yet never more
Let the great interests of the state depend

My lord

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