They soon arrived where the Queen stood, surrounded by her little train, and by her side the Sheriff of Cumberland, agentleman of the house of Lowther, richly dressed and accompanied by soldiers. The aspect of the Queen exhibited a singular mixture of alacrity and reluctance to depart. Her language and gestures spoke hope and consolation to her attendants, and she seemed desirous to persuade even herself that the step she adopted was secure, and that the assurance she had received of kind reception was altogether satisfactory; but her quivering lip, and unsettled eye, betrayed at once her anguish at departing from Scotland, and her fears of confiding herself to the doubtful faith of England.

"Welcome, my Lord Abbot," said she; "and you, Roland Avenel, we have joyful news for you -our loving sister's officer proffers us, in her name, a safe asylum from the rebels who have driven us from our ownonly it grieves me we must here part from you for a short space."

"Part from us, madam!" said the Abbot; "is your welcome in England, then, to commence with the abridgment of your train and dismissal of your counsellors ? "

"Take it not thus, good Father," said Mary;" the Warden and the Sheriff, faithful servants of our Royal Sister, deem it necessary to obey her instructions in the present case, even to the letter, and can only admit me with my female attendants. An express will instantly be dispatched from London, assigning me a place of residence; and I will speedily send to all of you whenever my Court shall be formed."

"Your Court formed in England! and while Elizabeth lives and reigns?" said the Abbot- -" that will be when we shall see two suns in one heaven!"

"Do not think so," replied the Queen; 66 we are well assured of our sister's good faith. Elizabeth loves fame-and not all that she has won by her power and her wisdom will equal that which she will acquire by extending her hospitality to a distressed sister!-not all that she may hereafter do of good, wise, and great, would blot out the reproach of abusing our confidence.Farewell, my page-now my knight-farewell for a brief season. I will dry the tears of Catherine, or I will weep with her till neither of us can weep longer." She held out her hand to Roland, who, flinging himself on his knees, kissed it with much emo

tion. He was about to render the same homage to Catherine, when the Queen, assuming an air of sprightliness, said, "Her lips, thou foolish boy! and, Catherine, coy it not-these English gentlemen should see, that, even in our cold clime, Beauty knows how to reward Bravery and Fidelity!"

"We are not now to learn the force of Scottish beauty, or the mettle of Scottish valour," said the Sheriff of Cumberland courteously-"I would it were in my power to bid these attendants upon her who is herself the mistress of Scottish beauty, as welcome to England as my poor cares would make them. But our Queen's orders are positive in case of such an emergence, and they must not be disputed by her subject. May I remind your Majesty that the tide ebbs fast?"

The Sheriff took the Queen's hand, and she had already placed her foot on the gangway, by which she was to enter the skiff, when the Abbot, starting from a trance of grief and astonishment at the words of the Sheriff, rushed into the water, and seized upon her mantle.

"She foresaw it!-she foresaw it!" he exclaimed-" she foresaw your flight into her realm; and, foreseeing it, gave orders you should be thus received. Blinded, deceived, doomed Princess! your fate is sealed, when you quit this strand.-Queen of Scotland, thou shalt not leave thine heritage!" he continued, holding a still firmer grasp upon her mantle; true men shall turn rebels to thy will, that they may save thee from captivity or death. Fear not the bills and bows whom that gay man has at his beck-we will withstand him by force. O, for the arm of my warlike brother!Roland Avenel, draw thy sword."

66

The Queen stood irresolute and frightened; one foot upon the plank, the other on the sand of her native shore, which she was quitting for ever.

"What needs this violence, Sir Priest!" said the Sheriff of Cumberland; "I came hither at your Queen's command, to do her service; and I will depart at her least order, if she rejects such aid as I can offer. No marvel is it if our Queen's wisdom foresaw that such chance as this might happen amidst the turmoils of your unsettled state; and, while willing to afford fair hospitality to her Royal Sister, deemed it wise to prohibit the entrance of a broken army of her followers into the English frontier."

"You hear," said Queen Mary, gently unloosing her robe from the Abbot's grasp, "that we exercise full liberty of choice in leaving this shore; and, questionless, the choice will remain free to us in going to France, or returning to our own dominions, as we shall determine-Besides, it is too late-Your blessing, Father, and God speed thee!"

May He have mercy on thee, and speed thee also!" said the Abbot, retreating.

"But my soul tells me I look on thee for the last time!"

The sails were hoisted, the oars were plied, the vessel went freshly on her way through the Frith, which divides the shores of Cumberland from those of Galloway; but not till the vessel diminished to the size

of a child's frigate, did the doubtful, and dejected, and dismissed followers of the Queen cease to linger on the sands; and long, long could they discern the kerchief of Mary, as she waved the oft-repeated signal of adieu to her faithful adherents, and to the shores of Scotland.

No.

Samuel Kiechels, a merchant's son of Ulm, in Suabia, travelled in England, between the years 1585 and 89: the following are extracts from his published work :

At Richmond he saw Queen Elizabeth. The yeomen that surrounded her were clad in red cloth, and had roses embroidered in gold on their breasts and backs. They were all "beautiful, tall, strong, and large men, like half giants, as one may not easily see the like elsewhere. Men and women, in passing the Queen, fell down on their knees, exclaiming, with their hands lifted up: sauve the Queene!' Even noble men are kneeling on one knee, when they are speaking to her."

Gott

The Lord Mayor's swearing seems then to have taken place in the Tower; but the procession to Westminster, which he minutely describes, was the same as it is now.

Speaking of the London stage, he says, that there are some strange houses, with three galleries, one a bove the other. As he does not mention the theatres again in all his journeys, it would seem that there were then no regular play-houses in other places, or that he was particularly struck with the three galleries. It happened frequently, he continues, that the players got fifty or sixty dollars at a time, particularly when they played any thing new, when the price was doubled. And they performed every day, although it was forbidden to do so on Fridays and Saturdays.

"The English have no regular executioner; they take for the performance of that office a butcher, and

VII.

Merry Wives of Windsor.

whoever is called upon is obliged to perform it. The culprit, sitting on a cart, has one end of a rope tied to his neck, the other end being fasten→ ed to the gallows, the cart proceeds, and he remains hanging; after this his friends and relations are pulling him by his legs to make him die the sooner.'

On his leaving England, the news of a Spanish ship that had been captured by Admiral Drake, arrived; in which, as it was reported, there were two millions in gold and silver bars, 50,000 crowns in coined reals, 7000 hides, four boxes with pearls, each of two bushels, with some bags of cochenille. The whole being valued .at twenty-five tuns of gold; it was said to be the tribute of Peru of one year and a half.

Of English manners he expresses himself as follows:-" Women are there remarkably beautiful, so as I have scarcely ever seen before, since they do not disguise, paint, or colour themselves, as is done in Italy, or other places; but they are rather clumsy in their style of dress, which is made of beautiful cloth, some hav ing three coats of this material, one above the other. Likewise, when a foreigner or native goes into a gentleman's house, on business, or on be ing invited, and is received by the master of the house, the lady, or the daughter, who bid him welcome, in the peculiar terms of their language, he has a right to take them by the arm, and kiss them; which is the custom of the country, the omitting of which is considered as illbred or stupid; a custom which also prevails in the Netherlands."

HAYMARKET.-Two new pieces have been brought out here since our last; The Suicide, and Dog Days in Bond Street. The first of these is stated to have been written by the late George Colman, Esq., and is so far new, at least, that it has not been acted for six and twenty years. Pieces that have been once laid aside, seldom have any pre-eminent claims to be brought forward at a subsequent period; and we have observed that revivals are not often successful. The productions of the comic Muse drop off the stage, either because they have not life and spirit enough in them at first, or because the manners which they represent, and from which they draw materials for satire, have become obsolete and uninteresting. Now it is not likely, either that, in the first case, their wit will have brightened by their having lain mouldering on the shelf for a quarter or for half a century; or, in the latter case, that those peculiar traits of character, or absurdities of demeanour, which were then nearly worn out, will have once more returned in all their exuberance, and "the lusty stealth of nature," to be once more hooted from the scene. The Suicide is not deficient in comic humour and bustle; but the chief attraction lies in certain situations and pieces of dramatic patch-work, which were striking enough, perhaps, thirty or forty years back, but have since been worn thread-bare; and indeed are out of modern costume-a tavern brawl, a catch sung in the street at midnight-a fight between the fiddlers or music, and the watch-a drunken scene by the principal character (Charles Kemble), which lasts for a quarter of an hour-the trite artifice by which he is made to think he has swallowed poison-and his reformation, and the reconciliationscene with his friends and his mistress (Mrs. Mardyn), afterwards. These, though we have no doubt they might

The

have told tolerably well in the last age, are at present too gross and improbable to be much relished; nor is the altercation between the poet and the player, in which they bespatter one another so unmercifully, more in modern taste or etiquette. liberal professions have acquired a certain rank in public estimation, and a certain prescriptive prejudice in their favour, which cannot be shocked by raking into their private recesses and secret history, without a violence to decorum, and injury to the interests of virtù. This last scene, in which the dialogue is admirably kept up, and re-inforced with stores of scandalous abuse and ready recrimination, is, if we mistake not, borrowed nearly verbatim from one of Fielding's novels-we forget which, and have not the volumes to turn to. Old Colman was an expert and judicious poacher in this way; and in his best comedy, The Jealous Wife, had a shrewd eye to the same author's History of a Foundling. We must not forget to add, that Charles Kemble, as the Suicide (we cannot recal the name of the character), played the part of a person intoxicated admirably. It was perfectly natural, and yet as little disgusting as possible; or rather it was not disgusting, because it was real nature. It was not merely the coarse, offensive parts that were given; but all the little peculiarities, the delicate shades, the ineffectual attempts at self-possession, the vacant stare, the conscious smile at his own situation, were faithfully copied it was the gentleman drunk, who still retained, in the overthrow of his faculties, some respect for himself; and he totters into the chair at last, and sinks into a state of stupor (as Cæsar fell, wrapping his mantle round him) gracefully! A Mr. Williams played the poor poet in this comedy; and has of late performed several characters of a subordinate kind at the Haymarket-parti

cularly a drunken, impudent apothecary, in Pigeons and Crows, which he does to the life.

The Dog Days in Bond Street is said, in the prologue, to be written by a lady, and to be of transatlantic growth. It is lively and passable. It has more bustle than spirit, and more spirit than wit. The incidents do not come very unexpectedly upon us, nor are the intricacies of the plot carried off very artfully, or with much adherence to probability. The sceneshifting of the story is its principal recommendation; but we cannot a gree with a certain clever critic, that "all this is managed in a way much superior to the generality of these petty comedies." It is, in our judgment, inferior altogether to Crows and Pigeons, to the Green Man, &c., and even to the Diamond Ring. We take this opportunity to correct an important error in our account of this last piece-under the head of topography, viz. that, whereas, in speaking of the delectable and accomplished Master Sam Swipes, we have attributed his favourite residence and chief breeding to the scite of the Pig and Gridiron, we ought, in strict conformity to the original classic text, to have dated them from the Pig and Windmill. We were more taken with Mrs. Mardyn, in the character of Miss Tresilian, than in that of Lady Cranberry, in the last new piece. We might here say to her, without a compliment" How pretty you are; we like you better so!" Mrs. Mardyn does not hit our taste in the fine lady, and woman of fashion; but we are delighted with her romping characters, and adore her in sentimental ones. She becomes " doublet and hose" well; and wears the willow with a still more charming grace. How beautiful she is in her mourning habit! how lovely in her smiles and tears! Every look and motion seem to utter the conscious sentiment-"Poor young man! poor dear Mr. Tresilian! how sorry I am for him: what a charming bride he has lost!"-Much has been said on the propriety of introducing the slang character of the Boxing Linendraper into this otherwise lady-like production; and the song sung by Mr. J. Russell, who personated this sprig of fancy and fashion, produced a great uproar the first night from

a

the conflicting interests of those who wished to have it encored, and those who wished to have it damned. The fact is, it was introduced in the wrong place; for there was no obvious reason why Mr. J. Russell, in spite of the significant hints of his dress, should volunteer such a song on his first appearance, till we knew something more of the sprightly and heroic turn of his genius. We are sorry to see a writer whom we re➡ spect, and who is in general distinguished both by the profession and practice of liberality, turn round, upon this occasion, to give a hit at the fancy; which we, by an implied compact, and by all the principles of the esprit de corps, are bound to patronise. "There does appear to us," says the above writer, in allusion to the present subject, “ a certain effeminacy in the taste for seeing boxingmatches, for mingling in the mighty talk about other men's bruises, and

snatching a fearful joy' from a floorer." Now this is smartly put in, but hardly fair. Try it in other cases. Would it be fair to say, that a boy at school shewed a want of spirit, because he was fond of reading of the exploits of Cæsar, or Alexander; or would there not be great injustice in setting down-not to a romantic turn, but-to a want of activity and enterprize, an extraordinary delight in reading books of voyages and travels, in hearing of strange adventures by sea and land? So, if any gentleman with white hands, and no very robust frame, admires the prowess of mightier men than himself, is this invidiously to be ascribed to the conscious diminutiveness of his outward person, not to the bigness of his spirit labouring within? The argument is, that we admire the display of qualities we do not possess, as women admire strength and courage. But why must this analogy be pushed farther? We critics admire the exhibition of wit and humour on the stage. Must it be thrown in our teeth that this is because we are dull, and affect a brilliancy by reflection? If we praise the beauty of a flower, is it to be inferred that we have no smell? Or if we listen with attention to a concert of music, or mingle in the talk about the performance, is it to be supposed that we do it to hide our being deaf?

This would not be a very candid construction: neither do we think it warranted in evidence to assume effeminacy as the proximate cause of "the fearful joy snatched from a floorer." In general, we should be loth to agree, that the disposition to admire and applaud other men's powers or prowess in any shape, is a proof of weakness or pusillanimity. Desdemona, we are told, "loved the Moor but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies;" but her father, Brabantio, a grave senator of Venice (a lazy, incorrigible drone, you will say, but that does not appear), also "loved him, oft invited him, still questioned him the story of his life:"-so that this proves nothing either way. The ladies of old attended the tournaments as an indispensable part of the ceremony; the Stellas and the fair Geraldines; but we do not apprehend that their knights, the Surreys or Sir Philip Sidneys, absented themselves when not engaged in the lists, or were indifferent lookers-on. Mr. Kean has an assault at arms with Mr. O'Shaugnessey (we ask this gentleman's pardon, if we mis-spell his name), without frightening the ladies; and we do not see why Mr. J. Russell (if he should so fancy) might not put on the gloves for a set-to with Tom Belcher, at his benefit, whenever that is, without implicating the manly taste of ours, or the delicate susceptibility of the other sex. "Oh! but the brutal, unfeeling coarseness of boxing!" To be sure, whipping your adversary through the body with a short sword, or stiletto, as we see it often done, or pretended to be done, on the stage, is a much genteeler, and more summary process. Besides, does not the encouragement of boxing, and by consequence, of sparring, as twin-brother to it, conduce to the courage of the lower classes, and to our victories by sea and land, past, present, or to come? And we hope our patriotic principles are known to be no less staunch than our pugilistic ones!-But we have said quite enough on this subject: for we have written fifteen folios of uncut foolscap, and we have the Lyceum, Sadler's Wells, and other matters yet in reserve.

LYCEUM.-The celebrated story of Baron Trenck has been brought for

ward at this theatre. It is amusing enough, without possessing much merit. A light, comick turn has been given to the plot; but (perhaps, from the effeminacy of our tastes) we should have preferred retaining the well-known tragic story. " Sweet are the uses of legitimacy:" and this was indeed, a most precious specimen of them. Mr. T. P. Cooke, as the Baron, bore up against the hundred pounds weight of iron attached to him, very manfully; and Miss Carew did all she could to soothe him and the audience with her soft and silver voice. Miss Kelly, however, is the chief attraction of the piece. But that we like better to see ladies in petticoats, we would say, she looks well in a blue silk stocking, and makes a pretty impudent lad. She played exceedingly well, as she always does when she has to perform smart characters. The pertness of the chambermaid sits well upon the page, and her swagger is becoming. This lady was lately, also, one of the Merry Wives of Windsor: Mrs. Chatterly was the other: Mr. Bartley was the fat knight: and so far all was well. For the rest, we beg to be excused giving an opinion. The success was indifferent: but the manager, like other managers, is of course fond of Shakspeare, and Mr. Bartley is fat. -This little theatre holds up its head, notwithstanding Mr. Elliston's heavy jesting: and, what is more provoking and strange, the summer theatre has, at this time of year, better houses than its blustering rival, the winter one. Yet, when we were there (in mid August) Mr. Kean played Jaffier, and Mr. Elliston Pierre, and Mr.

but really we did not know even the names of the other gentlemen, who came forward to give the world assurance that they would act the worthy conspirators of Venice in Otway's well known play. All that we know is, that the heroes who met in Aquilina's house to plot the downfall of the state, looked like so many undertaker's men! Would they had been mutes! But they roared and blustered, and played the lion's part," an 'twere any nightingale:"-they roared, but " it did no man's heart good to hear them." With the exception of Mr. Kean, and sometimes of Mrs.West→ who, however, frequently goes nigh