grace and ruin upom my name, and drove me an exile from my country and mankind. Like you, I carried revenge into my retreat; and, like you, I suffered it to prey upon my heart. I planned various schemes of vengeance, but none answered the extent of my wishes. At length, I, fortunately, became acquainted with one who was well skilled to assist my research, and guide me in the right way to obtain satisfaction for my past wrongs. It was long, however, before I could obey his suggestions, or listen to his entreaties;-but, in the end, he prevailed, and opportunity alone was wanting to complete my projected plan." "And has that opportunity been granted ?"—eagerly enquired Abdallah." "I thank heaven," replied Pierre, fervently, "it has! Years had passed away, when, in an unlooked-for hour, my treacherous friend was thrown into my power. His life was in my hands;-no one was near to witness the deed; -he was alone, undefended, and "And," cried Abdallah, in a voice which shook with emotion, 66 you slew him!" "My revenge," returned Pierre, 66 was not to be so gratified." He raised his eyes to heaven; and then, extending his arms towards Abdallah, he exclaimed," I forgave him! Look at me, Abdallah!-Poor and mean as I am, do you not recognize, under these weeds, your once loved, once honoured, Hamet? Nay, hide not your face, but repose, again, on the bosom of friendship. I have learned a better lesson than to take vengeance. I have exchanged the slavery of passion for the freedom of the Christian; and entreat you to partake of that peace which has long filled my bosom,-and which now swells it with joy unutterable !-Your enemy still lives, and is sheltered, with yourself, in these walls." Abdallah paused for a few minutes, and his varying countenance shewed the perturbation of his mind. Then, throwing his arms round the neck of Pierre, he sobbed-"Hamet! teach me this lesson, and bring me to your God; and let the restoration of your friendship be the promise of his pardon and acceptance!" THE BANQUET. A SCENE FROM AN UNFINISHED DRAMA. Imitated from the Ancient English Dramatists. BY LAURENCE YOUNG, ESQ. SCENE-AN ILLUMINATED HALL. Marquess Veroni-Marchioness, his wife-Erixine, his mistress-Count, brother to the Marchioness-Bartolo, and other Guests—surrounding a Table. Veroni. Fie! Count!-thou dost affect a ceremony Here's to the noble patron of our revels! March. Just seven sweet years. Veroni. I would have guessed it nine. Bartolo. Shrewd reckoning that!—more stale than old, it seems! [Aside. [Aloud.] In truth, his godship ages cruel quick. —So, thou art wooing for a song out yonder, Sure tones like thine, breathed out in Paradise, March. What needs, my lord! to bid the fair Erixine? We will not so task her timidity, Bid in the minstrels. Chorus. [Enter Music. Wake, O! wake, the sprightly measure, Count it by the pulse of pleasure, Softer, slower, bid it move, Soft as sigh of yielding love; Love and beauty-music-wine What more hath heaven to call divine! During the music, Bartolo talks apart with another of the guests. Bartolo. Mark how his wistful eye fawns on his minion! Guest. And by my troth, she is a pleasant prospect. And senseless gold grows proud within her clasp! Shame's crimson front glares through her crystal cheek, As to reveal-See how her downcast lid Veroni. Nay, I will have it so; come, sweet Erixine ! Make our ears happy. Erixine sings. I've woven a garland—a wreath for my love; -A type of his honour, untarnished and fair! Of the tall, stately fir-tree—to speak of his pride! |