As he did by his brother! May the swords
And wings of fiery cherubim pursue him

By day aud night-snakes spring up in his path-
Earth's fruits be ashes in his mouth-the leaves
On which he lays his head to sleep be strewed
With scorpions! May his dreams be of his victim!
His waking a continual dread of death!
May the clear rivers tarn to blood as he
Sloops down to stain them with his raging lip!
May every element shun or change to him!
May he live in the pangs which others die with!
Aud death itself wax something worse than death
To him who first acquainted him with man!
Hence, fratricide! henceforth that word is Cain,
Through all the coming myriads of mankind,
Who shall abhor thee, though thou wert their sire !
May the grass wither from thy feet! the woods
Deny thee shelter! earth a home! the dust

A grave! the sun his light! and Heaven her God!
Adam. Cain! get thee forth: we dwell no more together.
Depart! and leave the dead to me—I am

Henceforth alone-we never must meet more.

The speech of Adam is concise, and like that of a man whose woes are too deep and heavy to rouse a lengthened curse. The contrast of this with the heartbroken mother's passionate raving is characteristic and skilful in an eminent degree.

But the only delightful part of this Mystery'-the only part upon which we can dwell with real pleasure—is the last scene, in which Adah, the wife of Cain, expresses her resolution to share his fortunes with him. This is a fine display of womanly love—a love so intense that the most terrific dangers cannot appal it—so pure that it sheds a portion of its lustre over the gloomy guilt of Cain:

Adah. Cain! thou hast heard, we must go forth. I'm ready,

So shall our children be. I will bear Enoch,

And you his sister. Ere the sun declines
Let us depart, nor walk the wilderness
Under the cloud of night.-Nay, speak to me,
To me-thine own.

Adah.

Why, all have left thee,

Cain. And wherefore lingerest thou? Dost thou not fear To dwell with one who hath done this?

Nothing except to leave thee, much as I

Shrink from the deed which leaves thee brotherless.
I must not speak of this-it is between thee
And the great God.

A voice from within exclaims-Cain! Cain!
Adah.
Hearest thou that voice?

The voice within-Cain! Cain!

Adah.

It soundeth like an angel's tone.

Enter the Angel of the Lord. Angel. Where is thy brother Abel? Cain.

My brother's keeper?

Angel.

Am I then

Cain! what hast thou done?
The voice of thy slain brother's blood cries out,

Even from the ground unto the Lord.-Now art thou
Cursed from the earth, which opened late her mouth
To drink thy brother's blood from thy rash hand.
Henceforth, when thou shalt till the ground, it shall not
Yield thee her strength; a fugitive shalt thou
Be from this day, and vagabond on earth!

Adah. This punishment is more than he can bear.
Behold, thou drivest him from the face of earth,
And from the face of God shall he be hid.

A fugitive and vagabond ou earth,

'Twill come to pass that whoso findeth him

Shall slay him.

Cain.

Would they could! but who are they

Shall slay me? where are these on the lone earth,

As yet unpeopled ?

Angel.

Thou hast slain thy brother,

And who shall warrant thee against thy son?
Adah. Angel of Light! be merciful, nor say
That this poor aching breast now nourishes
A murderer in my boy, and of his father.

Angel. Then he would be but what his father is.

Did not the milk of Eve give nutriment

To him thou now see'st so besmeared with blood?
The fratricide might well engender parricides.-
But it, shall not be so-the Lord thy God
And mine commandeth me to set his seal
On Cain, so that he may go forth in safety.
Who slayeth Cain, a sevenfold vengeance shall
Be taken on his head. Come hither!

My brow, but nought to that which is within it.

Is there more? let me meet it as I may.

Angel. Stern hast thou been and stubborn from the womb, As the ground thou must henceforth till; but he

Thou slewest was gentle as the flocks he tended.
Cain. After the fall too soon was I begotten;

Ere yet my mother's mind subsided from
The serpent, and my sire still mourned for Eden:
That which I am, I am; I did not seek

For life, nor did I make myself; but could I
With my own death redeem him from the dust.
And why not so? let him return to-day,

And I lie ghastly: so shall be restored

By God the life to him he loved; and taken

From me a being I ne'er loved to bear.

Angel. Who shall heal murder? what is done is done.

Go forth! fulfil thy days! and be thy deeds

Unlike the last!

[The Angel disappears.

Adah.

He's gone, let us go forth!

I hear our little Enoch cry within

Our bower.

Cain.

And I who have shed blood cannot shed tears!

Ah! little knows he what he weeps for !

soul.

But the four rivers* would not cleanse my
Think'st thou my boy will bear to look on me?
Adah. If I thought that he would not, I would-
Cain, (interrupting her).

No,

No more of threats: we've had too many of them :
Go to our children; I will follow thee.

Adah. I will not leave thee lonely with the dead;
Let us depart together.

And everlasting witness, whose unsinking

Blood darkens earth and heaven! what thou now art,

I know not; but, if thou see'st what I am,

I think thou wilt forgive him, whom his God
Can ne'er forgive, nor his own soul.-Farewell!

I must not, dare not, touch what I have made thee,
I, who sprung from the same womb with thee, drained
The same breast, clasped thee often to my own,
In fondness brotherly and boyish. I

Can never meet thee more, nor even dare

To do that for thee, which thou should'st have done
For me-compose thy limbs into their grave-
The first grave yet dug for mortality.

But who hath dug that grave? O, earth! O, earth!
For all the fruits thou'st rendered to me, I
Give thee back this.-Now for the wilderness.

[Adah stoops down and kisses the body of Abel.
Adah. A dreary and an early doom, my brother,
Has been thy lot! Of all who mourn thee,
I alone must not weep. My office is
Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed them;
But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn like me,
Not only for thyself, but him who slew thee.

Now, Cain, I will divide thy burden with thee.

Cain. Eastward from Eden we will take our way;

'Tis the most desolate, and suits my steps.

Adah. Lead! thou shalt be my guide, and may our God Be thine! Now let us carry forth our children.

The four rivers' which flowed round Eden, and consequently the only waters with which Cain was acquainted upon the earth.

Cain. And he who lieth there was childless. I
Have dried the fountain of a gentle race,

Which might have graced his recent marriage couch,
And might have tempered this stern blood of mine,
Uniting with our children Abel's offspring!

O Abel!

Adah.
Cain.

Peace be with him!

But with me.

[Exeunt.

Lord Byron, whatever he might feel under the severe but just criticisms which his latter writings had provoked, made at present no visible sign of the pain which they occasioned him. It was not, however, to criticism alone that the inconvenient results of such publications were confined. A piratical bookseller published an unauthorized copy of Cain,' which he sold at the price of one shilling. Mr. Murray, actuated by the very reasonable desire of preserving that which he had good right to consider as his own property, applied to the Court of Chancery for an injunction to restrain the publication of the pirated copy; and in this application, after a long argument, he was ultimately unsuccessful.

The decision of the Court of Chancery gave great discontent to those persons who looked no farther than the mere right of Mr. Murray in a book for which he had paid a large price, and the dishonesty of any man attempting to deprive him of the fair profits of his enterprise. But it is only necessary to examine a little farther into the subject, and to take a more comprehensive view of the question which it involves than relates to the mere point of personal property (about which there can be no doubt), to be satisfied that the decision is politically wholesome; and that what appears morally to be unjust is not so in fact, but takes its complexion from the moral wrong which is committed by the authors of such books. Thanks to the wise and resolute deeds of our ancestors, the liberty of the press in England is established upon the surest foundations, and is enjoyed almost without restriction. Leaving out of sight political and personal libels, which are of such a nature as to require a prompt and a peculiar remedy, there is no written law which prescribes to a man what he may, and what he may not, write. There is, however, in this, as in many other branches of English jurisprudence, a sort of self-regulating power, which, whatever may seem to be its theoretical disadvantages, has always hitherto been found to act well. The law of England does not positively forbid a man to write