was appropriated. It was a war, not against the living, but against graven images, nor was the sentiment which prompted the onslaught in the least commingled with a desire of plunder. The principal citizens of Antwerp, expecting every instant that the storm would be diverted from the ecclesiastical edifices to private dwellings, and that robbery, rape, and murder would follow sacrilege, remained all night expecting the attack, and prepared to defend their hearths, even if the altars were profaned. The precaution was needless. It was asserted by the Catholics that the confederates, and other opulent Protestants, had organized this company of profligates for the meagre pittance of ten stivers a day. On the other hand, it was believed by many that the Catholics had themselves plotted the whole outrage in order to bring odium upon the · Reformers. Both statements were equally unfounded. The task was most thoroughly performed, but it was prompted by a furious fanaticism, not by baser motives. Two days and nights longer the havoc raged unchecked through all the churches of Antwerp and the neighbouring villages. Hardly a statue or picture escaped destruction. Yet the rage was directed exclusively against stocks and stones. Not a man was wounded nor a woman outraged. Prisoners, indeed, who had been languishing hopelessly in dungeons were liberated. A monk, who had been in the prison of the Barefoot Monastery for twelve years, recovered his freedom. Art was trampled in the dust, but humanity deplored no victims. REV. ROBERT CHARLES MATURIN. [Mr. Maturin, celebrated alike as a preacher, novelist, and dramatist, was a clergyman of the Established Church, born in Dublin, and educated in Trinity College of that city. On entering into orders he obtained the curacy of St. Peter's. His first tragedy, "Bertram," is a wild, imaginative, but very powerful production. It was performed at Drury Lane, through the influence of Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron, with doubtful success, but it established its author's literary reputation. Maturin, unfortuuately, lived beyond his means, and was never free from embarrassment; notwithstanding he pursued his literary career with avidity. His first most popular novels were "The Fatal Revenge," "The Wild Irish Boy," and "The Milesian Chief." He was also the author of "Melmoth, the Wanderer," and "Woman;" of "The Uni verse, a poem; "Manuel" and "Fredolpho," tragedies; and of six "Controversial Sermons," published in 1824, which prove him to have been a well-read scholar, as he is said to have been an elegant and energetic preacher. He died in 1825.] CHARACTERS. THE STRANGER. | THE PRIOR. A MONK. An Apartment in the Convent a couch, R.C. The STRANGER discovered sleeping on the couch, and the PRIOR (L.) watching him. Prior. He sleeps-if it be sleep; this starting trance, Whose feverish tossings and deep-muttered groans, Do prove the soul shares not the body's rest. (Hanging over him.) How the lip works! how the bare teeth do grind, And beaded drops course down his writhen brow! I will awake him from this horrid trance; This is no natural sleep. Ho! wake thee, stranger! Str. What wouldst thou have? my life is in thy power. Prior. Most wretched man, whose fears alone betraythee What art thou ?-speak! Str. Thou sayest I am a wretch, And thou sayest true-these weeds do witness it— These wave-worn weeds-these bare and bruised limbs What wouldst thou more? I shrink not from the question. I am a wretch, and proud of wretchedness, But, in their dire extreme of outward wretchedness, Full calm they slept in dungeons and in darkness,— Such hath not been thy sleep. Str. Didst watch my sleep? But thou couldst gain no secret from my ravings. Prior. Thy secrets! wretched man, I reck not of them; But I adjure thee, by the church's power, (A power to search man's secret heart of sin,) Weep'st thou the ties of nature or of passion Oh, no! full well I deemed no gentler feeling (The stranger suddenly starts from the couch, raises Str. I would consort with mine eternal enemy, To be revenged on him! Prior. Art thou a man, or fiend, who speakest thus? For lowly men full oft remember those When with strange eyes my kinsmen looked on me. When thou, a barefoot monk, didst bow full low Prior. Mine eyes are dim with age-but many thoughts Do stir within me at thy voice. Str. List to me, monk; it is thy trade to talk, As reverend men do use in saintly wise, Of life's vicissitudes and vanities. Hear one plain tale that doth surpass all saws Hear it from me-Count Bertram-ay, Count Ber tram! The darling of his liege and of his land, Whose smile was fortune, and whose will was law— For water to refresh his parched lip, And this hard-matted couch to fling his limbs on. Bertram. Wilt thou betray me? Prior. Lives there the wretch beneath these walls to do it? Sorrow enough hath bowed thy head already, Thou man of many woes. Far more I fear lest thou betray thyself. Hard by do stand the halls of Aldobrand, (Thy mortal enemy and cause of fall,) Where ancient custom doth invite each stranger, And if thou dost (all changed as thou art) Some desperate burst of passion will betray thee, And end in mortal scathe (A pause.) Why dost thou gaze on with such fixed eyes? I dreamed I stood before Lord Aldobrand Impenetrable to his searching eyes And I did feel the horrid joy men feel Measuring the serpent's coil, whose fangs have stung them; Scanning with giddy eye the air-hung rock, From which they leapt and live by miracle ;- To mark the living lineaments of hatred, And say, this is the man whose sight should blast me; Yet in calm dreadful triumph still gaze on: It is a horrid joy. (Crosses to L.) Prior. Nay, rave not thus, Thou wilt not meet him; many a day must pass Few are the followers in his lonely halls Why dost thou smile in that most horrid guise? Oh! no, no, no! it was a damned thought. (Crosses to R.) Ha ha!-I see him struggling! I see him!-ha! ha! ha! (A frantic laugh.) Help!-Help to hold him, for my strength doth fail. Enter MONK, L. Monk. The lady of St. Aldobrand sends greetingPrior. Oh, art thou come; this is no time for greeting Help-bear him off-thou see'st his fearful state. [Exeunt, bearing off BERTRAM, R. |