panions-give great pain to the old count, who endeavors to persuade him to give them up. His son answers him evasively. The father then recommends him to marry Ida; and to this, although he does not refuse to comply, Ulric evinces great reluctance. Ida, on the other hand, is intensely enamoured of her cousin; and, with the simplicity of a young and loving girl, she makes no secret of a passion which she believes is returned. A great festival is celebrated in Prague, where the count sees, for the first time since the night of the murder, Gabor, whom he suspects to have perpetrated it. He gives orders to have him secured, but he is not to be found. The description of the festival, aud of the effect which the sight of Gabor had on the count, are very powerfully given:

The church was thronged; the hymn was raised;
• Te Deum' pealed from nations, rather than
From choirs, in one great cry of God be praised'
For one day's peace, after thrice ten dread years,
Each bloodier than the former: I arose
With all the nobles, and as I looked down
Along the lines of lifted faces-from
Our bannered and escutcheoned gallery, I
Saw, like a flash of lightning, (for I saw

A moment, and no more,) what struck me sightless
To all else the Hungarian's face! I grew
Sick; and, when I recovered from the mist
Which curled about my senses, and again
Looked down, I saw him not. The thanksgiving
Was over, and we marched back in procession.
Ulr. Continue.

Sie.

When we reached the Muldau's bridge,
The joyous crowd above, the numberless

Barks manned with revellers in their best garbs,
Which shot along the glancing tide below,

The decorated street, the long array,
The clashing music, and the thundering
Of far artillery, which seemed to bid

A long and loud farewell to its great doings,
The standards o'er me, and the tramplings round,
The roar of rushing thousands-all-all could not
Chase this man from my mind; although my senses
No longer held him palpable.

Ulr.

No more, then?

Sie.

You saw him

I looked, as a dying soldier

Looks at a draught of water, for this man;

But still I saw him not; but in his stead-
Ulr. What in his stead?

Sie.

My eye for ever fell

Upon your dancing crest; the loftiest,
As on the loftiest and the loveliest head

It rose the highest of the stream of plumes

Which overflowed the glittering streets of Prague.
Ulr. What's this to the Hungarian ?
Sie.

Much; for I

Had almost then forgot him in my son,
When just as the artillery ceased, and paused

The music, and the crowd embraced in lieu

Of shouting, I heard in a deep low voice,

Distinct, and keener far upon my ear

Than the late cannon's volume, this word- Werner!'
Ulr. Uttered by

Sie.

HIM! I turned-and saw-and fell.

Ulr. And wherefore? Were you seen?

Sie.

The officious care

Of those around me dragged me from the spot,
Seeing my faintness, ignorant of the cause;
You, too, were too remote in the procession

(The old nobles being divided from their children)

To aid me.

Gabor is then brought in, and taxed with the murder by the old count in the presence of his son. He denies it; and, being asked how he will disprove the charge, he replies By the presence of the murderer !' A scene ensues which unravels the whole mystery of the tragic tale:

Sie.

Gab.

Name him!

He

May have more names than one. Your lordship had so

Once on a time.

Gab.

You may do so, and in safety,

I know the assassin.

Sie.

Where is he?

Gab. (pointing to ULRIC.) Beside you!
[ULRIC rushes forward to attack GABOR;
SIEGENDORF intcrposes.

Sie. Liar and fiend! but you shall not be slain;
These walls are mine, and you are safe within them.

Ulric, repel this calumny, as I

[He turns to ULRIC.

Will do. I avow it is a growth so monstrous,
I could not deem it earth-born: but, be calm;
It will refute itself. But touch him not.

Sie.

[ULRIC endeavors to compose himself.

Gab. Look at him, Count, and then hear me. (first to GABOR, and then looking at ULRIC.) I hear thee.

My God! you look

Ulr.

Sie.

How?

As on that dread night

When we met in the garden.

Ulr. (composes himself.) It is nothing.

Gab. Count, you are bound to hear me. I came hither.

Not seeking you, but sought. When I knelt down

Amidst the people in the church, I dreamed not

To find the beggared Werner in the seat

Of senators and princes; but you have called me,
And we have met.

Allow me to inquire who profited

By Stralenheim's death? Was't I-as poor as ever ?—
And poorer by suspicion on my name.

The baron lost in that last outrage neither
Jewels nor gold; his life alone was sought-

A life which stood between the claims of others
To honours and estates scarce less than princely.
Sie. These hints, as vague as vain, attach no less
To me than to my son.