vided for the patrons of the Lyceum can hardly be imagined. "Action, action, action!" the sine quâ non of oratory, appears to be in Mr. Fechter's opinion the essential of a successful play. "Bel Demonio" has really scarce any dialogue worth listening to. It addresses the eye, and the eye alone. Yet, strangely enough, it closely resembles in its incidents one of the masterpieces of dramatic poetry, for its most marked features are identical with some of the most conspicuous situations in "Romeo and Juliet." On this ground alone it is well worth seeing, as it presents the strange spectacle of the transforming power of melodrama. However, if the object of a play be to please, and to keep the interest and attention perpetually alive, "Bel Demonio" answers its end excellently. Its most ambitious scene, that of the marriage in the chapel over the cataract in Act II., is the least satisfactory; but with this exception it presents a series of pictures of the stormy days of mediæval Italy unexampled in vividness and beauty. The most superb revival of the Kean management at the Princess's never produced a scene like the Hall in the Campireali Palace.

Mr. Fechter presents us with a character resembling in its outlines that of the celebrated Captain Lagardère, but yet with sufficient differences of shade and colour to prevent the new hero being a mere repetition of the old one. The thoroughness of this great actor's study is nowhere more plainly visible than in his careful observation and discrimination of national characteristics. Angelo, in his impulsive love-making, his desperate fighting, his quick jealousy, is a thorough Italian of the days of Romance; the lover of Blanche de Nevers, on the contrary, with the warmest of hearts to suggest an end, and the coolest of heads to devise means, is the model of a French cavalier of the seventeenth century.

There are only three speeches which give scope for depth or variety of dramatic expression in the play: of these, one is the apostrophe to the Vatican by Cardinal Montalto, in Act IV.; the other two are given to Mr. Fechter. One, in which he suspects his betrothed's faith, and accuses her of having made his devotion a pastime; the other, when he defies fate to do its worst while assured of the happy truth that Lena loves him. Both of these speeches were given with admirable taste, and with that warmth and freshness of manner in which Mr. Fechter excels. We are pleased, too, to observe an increasing mastery over our language. In several speeches there was scarcely any trace of the foreign cadence.

Our space is nearly exhausted, but we should be very uncourteous if we alluded to recent successes without congratulating Miss Kate Terry on her graceful impersonation of the heroine; few actresses are winning their way more surely to the front rank of the profession than this lady. Mr. John Brougham, also, has given proof of the possession of two new powers: first, by his performance of the character part of the mock invalid who coughed himself into the Pontifical Chair; secondly, by surpassing the majority of modern song-writers in the pleasantness of the words which we hear wedded to Balfe's excellent Music in the Opera of "Blanche de Nevers."

Wisely forbearing to vie with Mr. Fechter in an attempt to gratify our eye, Mr. Webster strikes out into a different line, boldly abandons all

idea of attempting to please, and gives us a Sermon on Toleration in a dramatic form. Cumberland's play of "The Jew" supplies the moral, and the Book of Deuteronomy much of the language of "Leah." Its central figure is the persecuted Jewess, and its immediate object the introduction of Miss Bateman as a grown-up actress to an English audience. This lady belongs to the school of which Miss Charlotte Cushman was the best and Miss Avonia Jones the least favourable representative, and she may be placed fairly midway between the two. Her tragic energy is considerable, and the climax of its manifestation in the " curse' "of the churchyard scene evinces marked power. This is, however, after all, a very short outburst, and we want proofs of the lady's ability to sustain a part in any of the long passionate dialogues of which examples are to be found in the higher dramas; in such a trial, we fear a certain grating monotony of voice, and a laboriousness of utterance, would tell much to her disadvantage. Still there is a conscientious effort in her representation. The fifth act, where the more human and tender emotions have to be portrayed, is touching and beautiful. But the sparing of Nathan the Apostate, after the threat of Judith-like vengeance, at the last moment, conveys no distinct impression to our minds. We are at a loss to determine whether Leah relents from a conviction of the sublime superiority of the doctrine of forgiveness, or whether she is physically incapable from weakness and exhaustion of fulfilling the purpose of wrath.

This injures the moral of a play which requires a very definite concluding lesson to excuse many expressions that jar painfully on unaccustomed ears. The use of Biblical phrases and the exhibition of religious rites (carried to an extremity in Schiller's "Mary Stuart") are legitimate in Germany, but are not recognised as lawful on our stage, since the practice lacks the sanction of our great dramatists, and is alien from the taste of the English public.

BARON HOMPESCH.

BY DR. MICHELSEN.

ADVENTURERS are not unlike some finely laid-out gardens, but which have been neglected and allowed to run wild. Nearly all of them are possessed of much intelligence, firmness, and even benevolence and humanity, but all these qualities have outgrown their due proportions, and the pruning-knife of conscience has not cleared away the noxious weed from the better parts. Such people become homeless in the civilised world, because they abuse the world and all that is sacred in it, their own conscience not even excepted.

Baron Hompesch was the eldest son of an aristocratic family, and heir to considerable property. He became thus an adventurer, not from want and poverty, but simply from inclination and a roving disposition. He ran away from his paternal home when yet a mere lad, but was found by some chance by his uncle at the Hague, who was staying in that place

for the transaction of business for the Order of Malta (of which he was the last grand-master). The uncle procured him a commission in the Austrian service, and Hompesch was stationed with his regiment in Hungary. He was so well pleased with the people and the country, that he caused himself to be naturalised as a Hungarian magyar. He soon after entered into a conspiracy with some of the magnates, his new countrymen against Emperor Joseph II. The object was to effect the independence of the country, and to offer the crown of St. Stephen to some petty prince in Germany, such as the Duke of Weimar, of Brunswick, or some others of the same calibre, who were not strong enough at home to despise the offer of the Hungarian nobility. With this view Hompesch departed for Germany, followed at a distance of a day's journey by a magyar, who was to return and report if any wrong happened to the deputy. Hompesch stopped at Vienna for a few days, and departed. Hardly had he, however, left the place, than a light open chaise overtook and stopped his carriage.

"Have I the honour," asked the occupant, politely, "to speak to Baron Hompesch ?"

"That is my name," was the reply.

"His majesty the emperor, whose private secretary I am," resumed the other, "desires the pleasure of seeing you for a few moments. As the interview will not be long, your carriage may stop here on the road and await your speedy return, while you will take your seat at my side in the chaise."

Hompesch did as requested, but the vehicle, instead of going straight to the palace, wended its way through by-streets and lanes, and at last halted before the state's prison, where the baron was safely lodged.

At the trial Hompesch pleaded not guilty, and stoutly denied the most flagrant facts brought in evidence against him. After a protracted investigation, he was at last, through the intercession of influential friends, set at liberty, but banished from the country as a suspicious person.

Though the object of his mission was now frustrated, Hompesch, nevertheless, broached the matter to the above-mentioned German princes, and even revealed the whole matter to the Prussian minister Herzberg at Berlin, who, in return, got him a commission as major in the Royal Guard, then stationed on the Rhine against the French. There he entered into negotiation with the English government for the formation of a foreign legion. He became English colonel, and repaired with his legion to the Netherlands. On leaving one morning a fortress whence he fetched some pay for his legion, he was captured by a French company under Ney and brought to Paris, where he wisely concealed his English rank, and passed as a Prussian major. As such he was released at the treaty of peace of 1795. He sent his valet before him to Basle, while he himself imprudently stopped for a few days at a small place on the Rhine to settle some affair of honour.

In the mean while, a Belgian patriot, who was acquainted with the antecedents of the baron, drew the attention of the French government to the mistake about his rank and service. He was arrested and thrown into a prison on the bank of the Rhine. Hompesch, seeing from his grated window the river under his feet, undressed himself quite naked, and, clenching his sword in one hand, managed to climb up the

chimney; on arriving at the roof, and being an excellent swimmer, he took his sword between his teeth, and threw himself down into the Rhine and swam across. There he met an Austrian sentinel, who, not liking the appearance of a naked man with a sword between his teeth, took him to the barracks, where he was kept until the Prussian embassy at Basle claimed him as a Prussian subject.

From Basle he repaired to London, whence he was sent with his legion to the West Indies, where he waged war also against the Caribs at St. Vincent. His last expedition was during the Danish war, where he was engaged (in the name, but not with the authority, of England) in a sort of piracy on the Danish islands. He subsequently lived in England on his pension as lieutenant-general in the British service.

In one single phrase Hompesch expressed the whole of his character. "You must know," said he, in conversation with a German friend, “that I am always ready to sell my dinner for my breakfast." Every future prospect he used to call "Capuchin consolation."

His younger brother he had engaged as military chaplain in his legion. "What?" asked a friend of his, "your brother, an imperial baron, a Catholic priest, to be a chaplain in a legion composed of all sorts of religious sects ?"

Why not?" replied Hompesch, coolly. "My brother is clever, and the appointment is worth having. You must know," added he, "that he was brought up for the Church, but gave it up from a peculiar adventure. On the road near Heidelberg stands the statue of some saint which is in reputation of working miracles. My brother, having one day been out hunting in the neighbourhood, took it into his head to test the truth of his Catholic creed by shooting at the saint. Let us see,' said he to himself, what the saint will do at the wicked action.' With these words, he placed himself behind a bush, took aim, fired, and hit the saint in the face. As the saint remained quiet and immovable, my brother ceased from that moment to believe in saints and miracles. He afterwards travelled in Italy, but stopped for a long time at Rome, and was so well pleased with the place, that he spent there the travelling expenses which had been remitted to him twice for his return home. As the third remittance was on a less liberal scale, my brother resolved to return home as a philosopher on foot, and spend the surplus at Rome." Hompesch deeply felt (as he probably never did before) the loss of his daughter by suicide. He had sent for her from Bohemia, and loved her most tenderly. Here, in England, she became melancholy and depressed in mind. She once asked the adjutant of her father what sort of death he thought the most preferable. The young gay officer, as fond of merry life as was her father, laughingly replied that he would have nothing to do with such sad reflections, but that if no alternative was left him, he should certainly prefer the pistol. With some female vanity still lingering in her breast, she replied that it would not do, as the pistol disfigures the face too much. A few days after that conversation she killed herself by the knife. She lingered for some days, and seeing the great agony and distress of mind of her father, she said faintly, with a profound knowledge of his character, "Had I foreseen that it would afflict you so very much, I might not have done it.” With these words she expired.

THE LOGIC OF SMITH THE WEAVER.

A CUE FROM SHAKSPEARE.

BY FRANCIS JACOX.

WHEN Jack Cade, the insurgent leader of "rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent," sought to prove himself rightful heir unto the crown, his genealogical arguments found a powerful backer in Smith the Weaver. Villain, Sir Humphrey Stafford tells Jack, at the émeute on Blackheath, thy father was a plasterer, and thou, thyself, a shearman, art thou not? Jack Cade is not in a position, nor indeed in the mind, to deny either the plaster or the shears. Tacitly he admits the double impeachment. But what of that? Granted the plastering parent, and welcome. Granted, too, his own antecedents in the way of shearing, mowing, hedging and ditching, or what you will. All that, by Jack's contention, touches not his prerogative, impugns not his pedigree. The Pretender's averment is, that Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, marrying the Duke of Clarence's daughter, had by her two children at one birth—the elder of whom, being put to nurse, was by a beggar-woman stolen away; and, ignorant of his birth and parentage, became a bricklayer, when he came of age. "His son am I," asserts Cade; "deny it if you can." One of Mr. John's enthusiastic followers, known if not respected as Dick the Butcher, is prompt forthwith to ratify the allegation of his chief.

Dick. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore, he shall be king.

Dick the Butcher contents himself with a very general statement, resulting incontinently in a very triumphant ergo. But Smith the Weaver has a pronounced genius for dialectics. His ergo, his triumphant therefore, shall not depend on so vague a premiss as that of his friend and confederate the Ashford Butcher. Smith the Weaver will leave generals to Dick, and will argue from particulars himself. He will syllogise; and his syllogism shall be satisfactory to the meanest capacity. Mark you now the method and the manner of the man. Reverting to the plastering progenitor, Smith the Weaver thus brings his logic to bear upon, and to summarily dispose of, the vexed question:

"Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; therefore, deny it not."*

One can fancy something of the complacent effect of Smith's logic upon himself, and the jubilant appreciation of the crowd. When was ergo more convincing? When was ever a therefore more unanswerable? When was ever a Quod Erat Demonstrandum more complete ? Surely, if Cade the Shearman was born to kingship, Smith the Weaver was born to better things than mechanical woof and warf, and was meant by nature to weave major premiss and minor premiss into sublime conclusions.

In his pious work of rebuilding the Cabala, on the precise site of the

* Second Part of King Henry IV., Act. IV. Sc. 2.