violence which every well-ordered mind must
deplore, and then ensues the following striking
"situation":

Ang. Horrible! horrible!

Osm. Must Reginald die, or will Angela be
mine?

Ang. Thine? She will perish first!

Osm. You have pronounced his sentence, and
his blood be upon your head! Farewell!

Ang. (detaining him and throwing herself on
her knees). Hold! hold! . . . Mercy, Osmond !
O mercy! mercy!

Osm. Lovely, lovely suppliant! Why owe to
cold consent what force may this instant give
me? It shall be so; and thus— (Attempting
to clasp her in his arms, she starts from the ground
suddenly, and draws her dagger with a distracted
look.)

Ang. Away! Approach me not! Dare not
to touch me, or this poniard —

Osm. Foolish girl! let me but say the word
and thou art disarmed this moment. (Attempting
to seize it, his eye rests upon the hilt, and he
starts back with horror.) By hell, the very
poniard which —

Ang. (in an exulting tone). Ha! hast thou
found me, villain? Villain! dost thou know
this weapon? Know'st thou whose blood
encrusts the point? Murderer! It flowed from
the bosom of my mother!

Osm. Within there! Help! (Hassan and
Alaric enter. He falls senseless in their arms.)

Ang. He faints! Long may the villain wealthy
chains, oblivion! (She remains for some
moments prostrate on the ground in silent sorrow.
The castle bell strikes " one." She rises.) Hark!
the bell !' (A plaintive voice sings within, accompanied
by a guitar.)

Ang. Heavens! The very words— the door,
too! It moves! It opens! Guard me, good
angels! (The folding-doors unclose, and the
oratory is seen illuminated. In its centre stands
a tall female figure, her white and flowing garments
spotted with blood; her veil is thrown back,
and discovers a pale and melancholy countenance;
her eyes are lifted upwards, her arms extended
towards heaven, and a large wound appears upon
her bosom. At length the spectre advances slowly
to a soft and plaintive strain: she stops opposite
to Reginald's picture, and gazes upon it in silence.
She then turns, approaches Angela, seems to invoke
a blessing upon her, points to the picture, and
retires to the oratory. The music ceases. Angela
rises with a wild look and follows the vision.
Instantly the organ's swell is heard: a full chorus
of female voices chant Jubilate. A blaze of light
flashes through the oratory, and the folding-doors
close with a loud noise. Angela falls motionless
on the floor.)

Beside these marvellous stage directions, ail
modern " business" seems tame: the " large
wound" in the unhappy lady's bosom, palpable
and appreciable to the remotest eye in the gallery,
was an effective stroke.

But for a true sensation scene, of real merit
and excitement, the escape at the end of the
second act is really artistic. It dwells on the
memories of children taken at Christmas time
to the pantomime, for which this piece furnished
an agreeable introduction and gentle palpitation.
The two blacks are playing at dice on the ground
while their prisoner sleeps. Fishermen outside
sing and invite the prisoner to throw himself
from the window. The blacks are absorbed in
their game, and the audience must be a dull one
which does not feel a little nervous as the captive
climbs up softly to the window and gets through.
Few modern dramas have anything so effective
as this, without being in the least strained or
far fetched.

Quite akin to the Castle Spectre, and of the
same school, was The Bleeding Nun, or Raymond
and Agnes: positively steeped in blue
fires, forest glades, white figures, and slow
music. In this wonderful drama, towards the
close, comes a scene which opens in what is
called, " A Cut and Back Wood— a mound, c."
Without pausing to inquire the meaning of this
character of glade, the business commences in
this wise: " Enter the Bleeding Nun and Raymond
through the wood: Raymond, still supposing
her to be Agnes, follows her till she gets on the
mound, c.— as he approaches to embrace her she
vanishes, and a transparency rises on the mound
with the following inscription:

"PROTECT THE CHILD OF THE MURDERED
ALICE!

"Ray. Ye powers of mercy! Yes, I swear to
obey the injunction. My Agnes, then, is the
hapless orphan! Beatified spirit! hear me renew
the solemn vow to protect thy lovely child, the
injured Agnes, and may I be happy or wretched
as I keep my oath! [Music. Exit L."

At the last scene a still more effective " business"
takes place. " Raymond and Agnes meet
— they embrace and kneel, c— a loud crash is
heard— the back of the cavern falls to pieces,
and discovers the BLEEDING NUN in a blue
ethereal flame, invoking a blessing on them —
she slowly ascends, still blessing them— they
form a tableau, and the ' curtain descends.'"
Much stress is laid through these pieces on the
"music," which must be of a "plaintive" character,
and lies in wait at every turn. In this
Bleeding Nun, too, there is effective service
done with a " dagger," which is " dropped,"
"drawn," flourished and exhibited in every
conceivable pose. Some one even " aims a
dagger" at another.

Canning, in his Merry-men of the anti-Jacobin,
was not slow to see what burlesque lay on
the surface of this grim wallet of horrors; and
in that pleasant periodical appeared very shortly
an inimitable travestie from the pen of the
future prime minister, entitled, The Rovers,
with its admirable cast of characters, which
makes the comic lists given in modern play-bills
read a little feebly. There is the Prior of the
Abbey of Quedlingburgh, " very corpulent and
cruel," and " Rogero," the suffering hero. Could
better names be found for stage English noblemen.