ROME.-A lady's apartment, with a window open, and looking into a garden. LALAGE, in deep mourning, reading at a table, on which lies some books and a hand-mirror. In the background, JACINTA (a servant-maid) leaus carelessly upon a chair.

Lal. Jacinta! is it thou?

Jac. (pertly)

Yes, ma'am, I'm here.

Lal. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting.

Sit down:-let not my presence trouble you.
Sit down: for I am humble, most humble.
Jac. (aside)

'Tis time.

[Facinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look. Lalage continues to read.

Lal. "It in another climate, so he said,

Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil.

[Pauses, turns over some leaves, and resumes.

No lingering winters there, nor snow nor shower;
But Ocean ever to refresh mankind

Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind."
O, beautiful! most beautiful!-how like

To what my fevered soul doth dream of heaven!
O happy land! (pauses.) She died !-the maiden died!
O, still more happy maiden who couldst die!—

Jacinta !

[Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently

resumes.

Again!-a similar tale

Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea.

Thus speaketh one Ferdinand, in the words of the

play,

"She died full young❞—one Bossola answers him— "I think not so; her infelicity

Seemed to have years too many." Ah, luckless lady !— Jacinta! (Still no answer.)

Here's a far sterner story,

But like-O, very like in its despair,

Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily

A thousand hearts-losing at length her own.
She died. Thus endeth the history, and her maids
Lean over her and weep,-two gentle maids

With gentle names-Eiros and Charmion!

Rainbow and Dove!-Jacinta!

Jac. (pettishly)

Madam, what is it?

Lal. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind As go down in the library, and bring me

For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there:
Dew in the night-time of my bitter trouble
Will there be found,-" dew sweeter far than that
Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill.”

Re-enter JACINTA, and throws a volume on the table.
Jac. There, ma'am, 's the book.-Indeed she is
very troublesome. (Aside.)

Lal. (astonished) What didst thou say, Jacinta?
Have I done aught

To grieve thee or to vex thee?—I am sorry;

For thou hast served me long, and ever been
Trustworthy and respectful.

[Resumes her reading.

Jac.

I can't believe

She has any more jewels; no, no; she gave me

all. (Aside.)

Lal. What didst thou say, Jacinta?

think me,

Now, I be

Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.
How fares good Ugo-and when is it to be?
Can I do aught? Is there no further aid
Thou needest, Jacinta?

Jac.

Is there no further aid?

That's meant for me. (Aside.)-I'm sure, madam, you

need not

Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.

Lal. Jewels, Jacinta! Now, indeed, Jacinta,

I thought not of the jewels.

Jac.

O, perhaps not!

But then I might have sworn it.

After all,

There's Ugo says the ring is only paste,

For he's sure the Count Castiglione never

Would have given a real diamond to such as you:
And, at the best, I'm certain, madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn

it.

[Exit.

[Lalage bursts into tears, and leans her head upon the

table; after a short pause raises it.

Lal. Poor Lalage !—and is it come to this?

Thy servant-maid!—but courage !—'tis but a viper, Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul. [Taking up the mirror.

Ha! here at least's a friend-too much a friend
In earlier days—a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale―a pretty tale—and heed thou not,
Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And beauty long deceased; remembers me
Of joy departed-hope, the seraph hope,
Inurnèd and entombed; now in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning

For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true!-thou liest

not;

Thou hast no end to gain, no heart to break;

Castiglione lied, who said he loved:

Thou true, he false false !-false !

[While she speaks, a Monk enters her apartment, and approaches unobserved.

Monk. Refuge thou hast,

Sweet daughter, in heaven. Think of eternal things; Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray.

Lal. (arising hurriedly) I cannot pray. My soul is
at war with God.

The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses. Go, I cannot pray,
The sweet airs from the garden worry me.

Thy presence grieves me-go; thy priestly raiment