raised my arm to stab him to the heart,-when, awakened by the action, I found he had yet escaped, and I wept for disappointment. My wife and children were all swept off by a fever," added he, in a low voice; "my wealth was dissipated. I renounced every connexion, and hired myself with bravoes. At length, I heard that my rival had received a commission which would compel him to cross these mountains. I instantly bent my course hither; and, having encountered his train, I managed to separate him from his attendants. And now, hear me, old man!-hear the completion of my long-protracted hopes. I met him in the pass. I struck him to the earth; and while he lay bleeding on the ground, I proclaimed myself my avenger, and upbraided him with his perfidy! I witnessed the convulsions of his frame! I heard his dying groans-they were music to my ears! and, in a delirium of joy, I still hung over him, when a blow, from an unknown hand, precipitated me down the precipice. Tell me, am I not to be envied! Can happiness, now, be greater than mine, or revenge more complete!"

He seized the arm of Pierre, as he spoke. The countenance of the latter was pale as marble, and it was some moments before he could make any reply. “Abdallah," at length, he cried, "I also was once rich, powerful, and renowned ;—and I also had an enemy. He was once my friend-my brother-the beloved of my heart. I raised him to power, and gratified all his desires. But, he betrayed my love, he brought dis

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,

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you slew him!” “My revenge,” returned Pierre, "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
With our poor fare, and make our wine a stranger.
Count. And if it were so-but that it is not-
"Twere that my glutted senses feast each other,
And eyes and ears do make the lips pay forfeit ;-

A thirsty friar might well forget his bowl,
Content to gaze ;-but thus I drown your censure,
Full fain to swallow your unjust upbraiding! [Drinks.
Veroni. Hist, hist! a pledge to all!—
Here's to the noble patron of our revels!
This was the Marchioness's marriage day!
-How old's our Hymen-calendar, my love?

March. Just seven sweet years.

Veroni. I would have guessed it nine.

Bartolo. Shrewd reckoning that !-more stale than

[Aside.

old, it seems! [Aloud.] In truth, his godship ages cruel quick. Some say he measures his years by the moon; -Not that he'll ever keep the clock in my house, I drink his distance !-still, for his friends' sake, Wishing he'd please to take his birth-day wings For common, daily wear.

Veroni. Unmannered caitiff!

-So, thou art wooing for a song out yonder,
Where thy success shall richly fee thy pleading!
My sweet Erixine!

Sure tones like thine, breathed out in Paradise,
Waked the first emulous nightingale to song!

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!