Of honour and of truth, where, in what risk,
And in what hands do I encounter thee?
O gods! If, Zopyrus, within thy soul
The sense of pity lies-the natural touch
That makes us human-pity thou our fate.
Render me back my wife, and here I swear

Zop. (Threatening Zenobia with the dagger.)

Rad.

Thou seest.

No-no! Where am I-where? How shall I act? My wife! thou traitor!-Ah! What agony is this? My soul at once Rages and bleeds. With tenderness and wrath My heart is riven in twain.

Zop. Zenobia, haste, Come thou with me. Thou (To Radamisthus), if thou wouldst not see

Her death, bethink thee ere thou follow. (To Zenobia), Come.

Rad. My fury 'gins all mercy to o'errule.
Zop. (To Zenobia) Come.

Zen. And my husband 'tis resigns me thus.
Rad. No, sweet; at length he falls.

[About to attack Zopyrus. Zop. (To Zenobia, whom he threatens as before.) Then thou too diest.

Rad. Hear me, and pause.

I saw thee girt with danger. I know not
Who 'twas assailed, or who defended thee.
To leave thee in such peril here alone,
Were shame to me.
Zen.

My greatest peril, Prince,

Aye all thy monstrous wrongs.

Zop.

Begone.

I trust thee not;

Begone,

Rad. By all the gods, I swearZop.

I strike else.

Rad. Monster! savage! Than the fiends Themselves a fiend more damned from that vile breast

I'll tear

Tir. That I

It cannot be

Zen. Leave me in peace, for pity leave,
I do implore thee. For this life thou gav'st
I am most grateful. Wherefore, good my lord,
Make fatal now the boon which thou hast given?

Leave me in peace, for once to find
Calm rest to soothe this troubled mind;
Nor in my breast the tempest wake
The war that strains it near to break:

Tir. Mith. Following fast a flying soldier's heels, Into thy very tents the audacious rushed, Where, through a thousand swords opposed in vain,

He sought the object of his deadly rage,

Against Zenobia will I ne'er forgive-
His blood shall these atone-a forfeit just.
Egle. My life on't, Prince, Zenobia asks it

not.

Tir. Service is doubly given when given unasked. [Going. Egle. Stay. Gods! Believe me, not in vain

I speak.

If to thy heart herself be dear, respect
Him, Radamisthus. Thine o'erhasty zeal
Doth prompt thee to an error past all thought.
Thou will'st to serve her-and thou break'st her
heart.

Tir. Is't possible she loves him?
Egle. (confused)

She-Dost think
I ought. (aside). I tell too much.

Tir. Thou stand'st confused. Mithranes, my blood freezes. Radamisthus Was once my rival. In these woods he lurked She would have followed him. She loves me not. Where I did find Zenobia. He did guard her. Egle, avert-For mercy's sake unfold, Most gentle shepherdess, the all thou know'st. Egle. No more I speak. Too much already's said.

Tir. Ah me! what hand so cold is on my heart?

heart.

for me.

Though hard to bear, as well I know,
Love's proud and bitter scorn,

The heart may yet survive; but oh!

Deceit can ne'er be borne.

If mine enchantress should have changed; If she for other sigh

[Exit.

Sooner than feel her love estranged,
Grant me, great Gods, to die!
Egle. Poor Prince! How do I pity him!
What pain

I felt to see his pain. His gentle mien,
His eyes' soft languish, and his sweet discourse,
Must to his sorrow make each heart akin;
Lover so true deserves a happier lot.
I would I could assuage his grief.
Mith.

Most kind
Egle, thou ever seem'st, and he most worth
Thy pity; yet this tender show of thine
A thousand times exceeds the occasion of't.
Shepherdess, Love's soft desires

Thou feel'st, or else art nigh to love;
And in thine eye compassion's fires
A kind and tender heart approve.
Belike as yet thou hast not felt

His flame-yet Love is not thy foe-
The soul that Pity 'gins to melt

Shall feel, ere long, Love's fiercer glow.
[Exit.

Egle. 'Tis true, this deep emotion which I

feel

Seems something more than pity. Oh whereto,
Unhappy Egle, doth thy heart aspire?
Dar'st thou to lift thy venturous thoughts so
high,

Whom heaven for sheep-cotes framed? Quench thou all hope

Of these too lofty splendours. Or, if this
Thou canst not do, to love in silence learn.

Tir. He sought to slay thee, yet thou lov'st him still;

And lov'st him so, that to obtain his life
Thou hold'st a kingdom cheap!

Zen.

Aye, Tiridates, Should I do less, it were a grievous shame Unto mine honour, and the good report That graced mine ancestors-a shame most foul Unto the sacred duties of a wife, And the immortal Gods, whose presence graced Our union. Even to thyself, my Prince, I should impart dishonour. Where were then The soul of purity, the generous heart Thou found'st in me to praise? Should I not be

Unworthy-tell me--to have known thy love? Tir. Oh what a world of good I lose in

thee!

Zen. If it be true that love from like is born, Why fight'st thou 'gainst my virtue with thy grief?

Equal, exceed it, Prince! I know thou can'st--
I know thy kingly heart. Here let us leave
The path of common lovers, and henceforth
A loftier flame of glory fire our breasts :
So shall the proud remembrance to our minds
Bring calm content, to what exalted good
The Gods have made us equal- so the world,
Taught here by us, shall learn, in noble hearts
The breed of love is ever virtue's fruit.

Tir. Haste! fly, Mithranes! to our presence bring

The enfranchised Radamisthus!

[Exit MITHRANES. [To ZENOBIA.] Thou dost change, E'en at thy will, these wild desires of mine; And while thou quell'st the first, a second flame Dost light, thou matchless woman, in my

breast!

Into one instant crowd! How learn'dst thou this?

Egle. The shepherd I till now believed my sire

Reveal'd it to me. Fifteen years agone
(I was an infant then) he snatch'd me from
The Armenian rebels, and, for very love,
Restored me not; till, when he heard thy tale,
And all thy griefs, and knew thee-who thou

The Gods have given me back a sister here, To whom I owe my life. I would be grateful.

That should have been mine own, suffer me yet

I know that she adores thee. Ah! that hand,

To rule thus far at least-Arsinöe's be't.
Tir. Take it, fair Princess. Every wish of
thine,
Zenobia, I adore!

Egle.

Rad. O faithful wife! Zen.

O happy hour!
O generous lover still!
CHORUS.

'Tis false to say that Love o'er all
A conquering tyrant reigns-
False to assert his sovereign thrall
Our freedom holds in chains:

These lovers' fables are
That would their foibles spare;
And lay to Love alone
The errors all their own.

THE END.

So the fair Miss Lydia Fal-lal put down the first volume of the last new novel, and with sundry loud exclamations published her opinions this matter concerning, for the benefit of her favourite spaniel Floss, and the old grey parrot Poll, in his cage of brazen wire, since there was no one else in the room. Certes, no gentleman was there, or perhaps Miss Lydia Fal-lal would not have spoken so energetically.

The truth was, the young lady's excitement arose from an incident in the tale. She had been absorbing (not reading) its pages; admiring the ardour and devotion of one Wyndham Wells towards the heroine, with whom he was deeply in love. Oh, what a dear fellow that Wyndham was-so docile, so blind to faults, so passionate, and yet so tameable, so handsome and yet so self-sacrificing! Miss Lydia thought in her little heart, that to have such a duck of a man on his knees before her would be synonymous with being raised upon the highest pinnacle of earthly happiness. But the naughty, wild young fellow, Fred. Fribble, Wyndham's sworn friend and companion, perpetually coming in with his tirade and his clatter against matrimony, raised her ire till her pretty black eyes sparkled and said (i. e. as much as said), "If I had you here, Mr. Frederick Fribble, I would try all my weapons of beauty against your disobedient tongue.'

:

The following expressions brought matters to the climax where we introduced Miss Lydia Fal-lal to our sympathizing readers; Wyndham and his friend were conversing together:"Ah!" sighed the former; "my Julia is a paragon-she loves me to distraction; she adores, she dotes on me; and, stupid fellow that I am! I accompanied those Joneses on their pic-nic, and the dear sweet creature Julia wrote to me, and sent-yes, once actually sent for me to accompany her through the bazaars. Confo-" So the love-lorn Wyndham Wells broke from his chair, and perambulated the room in a state of mind bordering on temporary insanity, waving his arms and his pocket-handkerchief like any lunatic. Fred Fribble was bursting with laughter: --" Stupid fellow-ha, ha, ba! Why I should say

Wyndham Wells, Wyndham Wells!" observed his friend, with mock solemnity of manner. "Girls-I mean young ladies-that is to say, your Julia, may be very pleasant, very entertaining indeed, very delightful on occasion in the light of spinster companionship; but, a pair of matrimonial spectacles alter the vision seriously. Don't go and be such a ninny as to marry yet. For my part," said Fred. Fribble, rising from his seat, and resuming his hat to depart, I shall not marry till I'm fifty at least, and then it shall be one of those beings young ladies call-Bachelors' wives ! Good day, old boy." And Mr. Frederick Fribble walked jauntily out of the room.

Suppose we leave Miss Lydia Fal-lal to her exclamations and meditations, for the purpose of making some discursive remarks on the subject ourselves.

Speaking as a bachelor, it is our conviction that the world, and young ladies generally, have a very mistaken notion of a bachelor's wife. Mammas are grossly erroneous in educating or allowing their daughters to be educated up to this false ideal; and papas are decidedly wrong when they imagine that bachelors care nought for the attractive accomplishments mammas are so anxious their daughters should acquire.

Mamma says, "Sing like a Lind-play like an Anderson."

Papa says, "Learn to make puddings and pies and sew buttons on."

The former denies the utility of the useful; the latter thinks refined taste not worth cultivating. And each thus educating the bachelor's wife after his or her own heart, leaves the unfortunate bachelor without his desideratum.

Fair ladies, dear ladies; sensible young ladies of England, married or single-you are the bachelors' wives; it is yours to merit the proud reward of a well-directed education; it is yours to inherit the bitterness of domestic jars, arising from a tuition of home-spun negligence or outof-door vanity. Therefore, it is to you we address ourselves. Let papas and mammas stand by and listen.

Bachelors are not the perfection-seeking beings you would have us believe; there is not one in one hundred of them that cares a jot for the scientific attractions (if the term may be used) which have cost many of you so much time and