Emilius, and that of Emilius by the "quick-clown's and pantaloon's mask he looks for a heart silver Roderick," with the poem which follows, are true delineations of character: the one quick, fiery, and restless; the other quiet, studious,

and in love.

"He could not find the object of his search, however, though he had three times gone up and down the saloon, and scrutinised carefully all the unmasked ladies, either dancing or sitting; and the idea that that beautiful face was concealed under one of the disgusting masks, was too intolerable to be admitted for a moment.

"You are here after all, then?' said the Spaniard, who came up and joined him. You are looking for your friend, I suppose?'

"Emilius had really never thought of him. Somewhat ashamed, he replied, Indeed I am surprised not to see him here; his mask is remarkable enough.' "Only conceive what the strange fellow is about,' said the young officer, he has not danced once since he has been in the saloon. Directly he entered he fell in with his friend Anderson, who, it seems, has just come back from his travels. Their conversation fell upon literature, and as Anderson did not know the new poem which had just come out, nothing would satisfy Mr. Roderick but that they must shut themselves up in one of the back rooms; and there he is now, with a single candle, reading the whole production aloud to him.'

"That is so like him,' answered Emilius. He is made up of whims and fancies. I have done all I could. I have even risked one or two friendly quarrels-to cure him of his way of living so altogether | extempore gambling away his existence in impromptus; but these follies are so grown into his heart, that he would sooner lose his dearest friend than part with them. This book you speak of, he professes to be passionately fond of, and always has it about with him. The other day I asked him to read it to me, and he began to do so. We had scarcely got beyond the opening, and I had begun to enter into the beauties of it, when suddenly he jumped up, ran out of the room, and presently came back with the cook's apron on, made a prodigious fuss to light a fire, and all to do me a beef-steak, for which I had not the slightest inclination, and which, though he fancies he does them better than any one in Europe, few people who have tried once are very anxious to attempt a second time.'

"The Spaniard laughed. 'Has he never been in love?' he asked.

and

"After his fashion,' said Emilius, bitterly, 'as if he wanted to make a fool of himself, and turn love into ridicule, with a dozen women at once, if you believe what he says, to desperation. week he has forgotten them all.'

In a

"They were parted by the crowd, and Emilius went off to the room the Spaniard had pointed out to him, where he heard his friend's voice declaiming long before he reached it.

"That (Emilius) is the strangest fellow,' he (Roderick) said, turning to his new friend, "so solemn, so serious and sober-minded; he is a regular kill joy, or rather, he does not know what joy means. Everything must be lofty, ideal, exalted, ir lim. His heart must take a part, even if it be a puppet-show he is looking at; and when things do not come up to his notions, as of course most things can't, then he gets upon stilts, turns tragical, and the whole world is going to the devil. Under every

overflowing with longings and supernatural impulses;
harlequins must philosophise on the nothingness of
human wishes; and if these expectations are not ex-
actly realized, tears start into his eyes, and he turns
his back on the pretty show in a fever of scorn and
indignation.
To be his friend is the
most difficult of things; for he is so irritable that if
one does but cough, it is a sign one is not spiritual,
and to pick one's teeth would throw him into con-
vulsions.'

"Has he never been in love?' inquired Anderson. "Why, whom is he to love?' answered Roderick; he despises all the daughters of earth. If his ideal were to show a fancy for a bow or a ribbon, much more to dance, it would break his heart; and if she did but catch a cold, I don't know what would be come of him!'"'

THIODOLF THE ICELANDER; from the German of De la Motte Fouqué. 1 Vol. (Burns). -The plot of this romance will remind the reader of the last work from the pen of Sir Walter Scott, "Count Robert of Paris." The contrasting of the rich and overflowing luxury of the Byzantine court, with the unpolished, selfdenying, we had almost said niggardly Northman, forms in each the most conspicuous feature of the tale. By Fouqué, “Thiodolf” was considered his most successful work; and that this tale was borne in mind by Sir Walter Scott, in more than one of his works, is evident. Thiodolf, in his searches for the beautiful Isolde, is offered the hand of the princess Zoe, and this is made also an occasion to win him to Christianity:

"The emperor, since he came to the throne, has cherished the thought of choosing a successor in the husband of the princess Zoe, had the lady's inclina. tion honoured one of the brave and thoughtful men who have shewn themselves in this capital. I am permitted to inform you, that you are the first happy man on whom those illustrious eyes have restedperhaps even before the last expedition. And now your mighty renown in war, and the ever more courtly manners which shew themselves in your whole demeanour, have removed whatever obstacles might have opposed themselves; and the emperor merely desires that, to gratify the people, you should change your name into one of Greek sound"

"As Thiodolf I have conquered for this people," interrupted the Væringer leader, "as Thiodolf I will live and die."

"Your name," continued Androgenes, "bears in Icelandic tongue the meaning of helper of the people.' You shall be called in Greek, Laomedon,' which is but a translation. At the same time, it may, perhaps, be allowed you to retain with it your northern name."

"Ah, that indeed is not the greatest difficulty," said Thiodolf, with a sigh.

66

Certainly not," replied the chamberlain. “The emperor naturally requires, before all things, that you enter the pale of the holy Catholic church. And then the noble Icelander Laomedon becomes the bridegroom of Zoe, and the declared heir of the Greek empire."

"Father of all!" cried Thiodolf, "is any new attraction needed to take me to the white Christ-I have so long sought Him with a longing heart, and could well nigh weep at not finding Him."

"That is what our great emperor well understands," said Androgenes. "He knows also, that He whom you call the White Christ calls to Him every one who, like you, seeks Him with the whole heart. Therefore, only pledge your word that you will at all times be true and faithful to the emperor, and a loving husband to the princess Zoe, and hereafter a benevolent ruler of this realm, and I greet you at once in the emperor's name as Laomedon, the heir of the throne; and this very evening you shall be presented to the princess Zoe as her bridegroom. The public declaration shall take place as soon as the rays of the true religion have sufficiently enlightened you to make you meet for holy baptism."

His tears relieved him; a soft, warm glow seemed to reach his heart, and, in the midst of his deep consuming sorrow, a blessed hope arose within him, and a feeling unknown till then.

Then some one pressed him gently and kindly to his bosom. He let fall the mantle from his head, and looked up; Bertram stood before him. The evening sky was already looking down upon them both with all its glittering stars. The sounds from St. Sophia yet poured forth their lofty melody.

"Why dost thou weep, beloved hero?" asked Bertram.

"Because I cannot find the white Christ," answered Thiodolf.

"Patience, resignation, hope!" said Bertram ; and again clasping the Væringer chief in his arms, he wept heartily with him.

Then the tones of the organ were hushed, and the voices of women, without accompaniment, raised a soft, heart-stirring hymn. It was again the song of the sea of Tiberias, and the King in the white garment. Thiodolf's tears flowed more abundantly and more gently; he stretched out his hand towards the church, and sighed, "O blessed Sophia, help me!"

Plunged in deep thought, without sound or motion, Thiodolf remained in old Helmfrid's seat. Only at times some rings of armour shook, bearing witness to the mighty conflict which the young hero was inwardly waging. Strange images passed before him. His father Asmunder, and with him all the ancestors of his race, together with the beckoning misty figure of their forefather Odin, all came by; and it was as if their quenched eyes sparkled with youthful brightness in the reflection of the Greek crown which was suspended over the brow of their great descendant. Then, blooming in all her endless loveliness, the young Zoe arose from a bed of roses, and the cloudy train of the old heroes caught a gleam of this earthly light; she held in her fair hands, with bashful grace, a floating wreath of flowers, which she waved to and fro as if in sport, then wove it in the imperial crown that was descending on his brows, and stretched out flowers and chaplets towards the young hero. Then there sounded from afar a voice of mourning :Isolde is lost for thee-lost for this life irrecover-tongue?" ably! Deluded hero, why dost thou yet hesitate? Wreaths of love and crowns are sweeping past thee !"

Thiodolf pressed tightly his mailed hands upon his bosom, that none of the links of his breast-plate might burst asunder. He turned his eyes, and suddenly the golden shield sparkled before him, and it was as if old Helmfrid's image looked down from it, as when he spoke, even in death, of the Norwegian king's daughter; and Thiodolf saw, too, the old fortress on the sea-shore, where the weary maiden sang to the moon, and where her heart broke in the same instant that her grey-haired love bled to death from the wounds of the Bulgarian lances.

"That is the right northern love;" exclaimed Thiodolf aloud; "and he who would tempt me by other visions must well be he whom Christians call the devil. May he be now and ever rejected by me! Good sir chamberlain," he continued, turning to Michael, with a calm firm voice, "I lay myself at the emperor's feet with all that I am and all that I possess. He has offered me far more of honour and splendour than I ever can deserve. But I dare not reach out my hand to it, for in my heart I am a betrothed man."

"It is an emperor's daughter, the heiress of a throne, who will vouchsafe you her hand. All other engagements must give way to this."

"I have learnt much in your land of Greece," said Thiodolf gently, "but not so much as that, nor shall I ever learn it. Have the goodness to give my answer to the emperor. The business is ended." Michael turned to the door with a proud, solemn bow.

How beautiful too the following extract is in the discovering to the seeker of the "White Christ" the great object of his life!

"On whom dost thou call?" asked Bertram. "Dost thou know on whom thou callest ?" "On St. Sophia, to whom this church, so unspeakably dear to me, is consecrated," answered Thiodolf.

"There is no St. Sophia in the sense in which thou meanest it," said Bertram earnestly and solemnly. "In what other sense then ?"

"Thou knowest what' Sophia' means in the Greek

"Wisdom."

"Well, then, the eternal Wisdom, whom the Father, in His original blessedness, has looked upon and loved, before the creation of the world, became man, and died on the cross for love of us-He it is to whom this church belongs. And thus her name signifies our blessed Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.'

At these simple words, the scales fell from the eyes of Thiodolf's soul. Joyfully he fell on his knees before the cross, folded his hands with ardent devotion, and only brought forth these broken words: "Light! light! it rises for me! O Thou holy Wisdom made man, let me praise Thee! Light!" The nuns sang the while from St. Sophia's church :

"Man, whene'er thine eye is wet
Thinking of eternal woe,

He is gently calling thee
From Tiberias' tranquil sea,

Clothed in raiment white as snow."

Women are naturally more religious than men, taking them en masse. Their nature is more trustful, dependent, and hopeful; they have not those worldly excitements acting upon the mind, which make that of men depend blindly on its own strength. Nor have they those violent transitions from good to bad fortune in their worldly affairs, which sooner or later invariably fall to the lot of, if not all, at least of most men. These, and a variety of occurrences, tend to harden a man's disposition, to weaken his hope and his dependence in the God by whom heaven and earth, with their natural and casual occurrences, are directed, moved and ruled.-W. H. FISK.

AMUSEMENTS

HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE.

OF THE

The performances in the operatic department have not, during the last month, been particularly novel; yet, as usual, the quality has been firstrate. Il Pirata, I Puritani, Roberto Devereux, Anna Bolena, and the revival of Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutti, for the benefit of Carlotta Grisi, have been the great attractions. It is reported that the revival of Cosi Fan Tutti was by command of Her Majesty, who was present, and bestowed much gracious applause during the performance. While music endures, or man has the powers of appreciation, the exquisite melody, and the ease and natural flow of the music of this work can never be forgotten-it is unique, unlike any other production of this composer. The first act unfortunately seems to have imbibed all the purer aspirations of the composer's mind; it is "music that seraphs might descend to hear :" but, alas! in the second act, the spirit seems to have lost its charm-to have drooped its wing, and become a denizen of earth. This portion of the work, never will be enjoyed to that extent that the first is; yet it develops the taste of the time in which it was written, and, as a composition, it is one that no true lover of the art should let escape him without hearing. To recapitulate those portions of the work the most admired would be to name each duo, trio, quintetto, and sestetto in the opera; yet the exquisite trio in the first act, Soave sia il vento, the lively and spirited coro, Bella vita é il Militar, which ushers in that fine combination of five voices, and the not less superb and exquisite quintetto, Lento oh! Dio! cannot be passed over without particular notice. In the ballet the graceful Taglioni-still bewitching in her form and movements-has once more "bounded the boards" of this theatre: she is still unchanged in form and features, has still her wonted activity, lightness, and energy, and, moreover, that perfect command of her figure, which, combined with her other talents, renders her, even now, the most elegant and refined danseuse of the stage. For many nights she delighted her audience in La Sylphide, but the great attraction was the celebrated pas de quatre, which Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi, and Lucile Grahn, together, executed: it is composed by Perrot, in a style never surpassed on this, nor indeed, on any stage in the world; the eye is revelling in one continued maze of beauties, from the commencement to the close. The Viennois children took their farewell early in the past month; performing, on their last night, two of their most celebrated divertisements and a polka.

DRURY-LANE.

The Brussels Operatic Company have forsaken the boards of Covent-Garden, and are now performing at this theatre. Halevy's Reine de

MONTH.

Chypre, known, though but imperfectly, by the public, from an inferior version produced a short time since at the Princess's theatre, has been put upon the stage, and received with enthusiasm; as has that celebrated, though very lengthy production, Les Hugonots. Adams's Postilion de Lonjumeau, a comic opera, has been produced for the first time in England, and therefore is not generally known to the public. The following is the plot of the opera, which we extract at length from the columns of a weekly newspaper :

"Postilion Chapelou (Mons. Tisserant) has just been married to Madelaine (Madame Guichard), the mistress of the village inn at Lonjumeau, where he is overheard, before the usual dinner which attends all such festivities, singing a chanson by a certain Marquis de Corcy (Mons. Thierard) who is on the hunt for a good voice to fill a vacant part in the court revels of Louis the Fifteenth's household. By dint of flattery and persuasion the great man entangles the little; and the postilion is at length in duced, by the temptation held out to him, to abandon his bride on the very day of the wedding, and steal off to Paris with his newly found friend. Madelaine, vexed and disgusted, determines upon shutting up shop, and betaking herself, like another Virginia, to the Isle of France, then a colony of our neighbours; which determination she promptly executes ac cordingly.

act; in which period of time the postilion, who has "Ten years elapse between the first and second adopted a new name, more euphonious, though less honest than his own, has become a bright particular star' at the grand opera, and a man of intrigue and bonnes fortunes, in accordance with the custom of that dissolute court. Among those to whom he pays his most assiduous addresses is a certain Mad. de Latour; a lady who is, of course, as beautiful as an angel, as rich as Croesus, and more virtuous than virtue herself. He proposes marriage; she accepts him; and they are to be united. But Mad. de Latour is only Madelaine enriched and disguised, though Chapelou knows her not; and she resolves that he shall suffer for his former infidelity. Chapelou, who is as big a rogue as all postilions or opera singers usually are, has made up his mind to marry her only after a fashion, and by the instrumentality of a ficti tious priest; but Madelaine, informed beforehand of his intention, substitutes a real priest, and they are once again bona fide married. And then comes the winding up of the affair. Madame de Latour resumes in private her costume as Madelaine, and in that guise appears before the horror-struck Chapelou ; who, affrighted out of his senses at the idea of having procure his release. An explanation settles everycommitted bigamy, is ready to come to any terms to thing, and so ends the comedy."

The music of this opera is graceful and light, and agrees admirably with every situation and the general story of the opera. The execution was fine in the extreme; Mad. Guichard and Mons. Tisserant were particularly excellent, both in voice and acting, especially Mad. Guichard,

who is, deservedly, a great favourite in this country. It is to be lamented the stay of this clever company is to be of such very short duration, and moreover just as they are becoming fully appreciated, and therefore reaping the higher rewards of their exertions.

HAYMARKET.

amusements at this beautiful little theatre, of
which we cannot pass over that of Mrs. Caudle,
or Curtain Lectures, in silence. The loquacious
Mrs. Caudle has found no mean representative
in Mr. Oxberry, Mr. Compton performing Mr.
Caudle. The piece is "got up" in a spirited
manner, though we cannot admire that mania
selves perfect, and, however well performed,
for dramatising productions which are in them-
beauties of the original.
cannot but mar, in a great degree, the peculiar
ADELPHI.

At this theatre there has been little or no novelty in the performance. Time works Wonders still occupies the stage, yielding only for a few nights to Peake's Sheriff of the County: but which cannot, after the long run it had on its first production, continue for any length of Peg Woffington, although a clever production, time in its representations. We do not wish to has not realized to so great an extent the usual enter into a comparison between the productions patronage afforded by the frequenters of this of two such eminent authors as Mr. Peake and theatre. Why, we know not, as it is well perMr. Jerrold; yet though the Sheriff of the formed, nor has the author devoted any mean County abounds with-nay is one entire pro- attention to his subject; but we suppose that, duction of broad fun-Time works Wonders like all great epicures, the public have their has in it such exquisite pathos, such beautiful choice dishes. This is evident from the reprotouches of the more gentle feelings of our na-duction of Marie Ducange, which was revived ture, bursting suddenly like the bright drops of rain on a sunny day, and relieving the mind from the one general heat and turmoil of the more active and witty portions of the comedy, that the spectator cannot but be won by it. This comedy proves to have proceeded from the mind of one appreciating nature in each particular phase to which poetry is kin, and has in it truthful though keen and nipping satire. We had not meant to have again commented so largely on Time works Wonders, having noticed it at length in our June number, so, after observing that the farces produced have been of the old but highly amusing stock, and that Old Morton's last new comedy is to be revived, we proceed to the

PRINCESS'S,

on the return of Madame Celeste from the provinces. We know not of an actress in melodramatic art more perfect, nor one by whose impersonations the mind of the house is more entirely engrossed. The houses have been overflowing in the extreme, as have also those

at the

LYCEUM.

enchain the public attention we have not the How long the burlesque of Cinderella will remotest idea; but die when it will, the "laughter-loving" will not lose cause for merriment, as this spirited management has another bonnebouche to succeed it. A new farce, entitled An Object of Interest, from the pen of the author of Polkamania, has made a decided hit. The plot is of peculiar construction, bearing that where Miss Cushman's reign is over, and very-much-to-be-envied stamp-originality. A before long she will take her departure for housemaid (Mrs. Keely), who of course is the America. This lady has performed a series of fountain-head and continued stream of the piece, the most attractive characters of English dra- has read the highly-exciting domestic romances matic authors, in each producing a sensation of Susan Hopley, &c., &c., and becomes, rarely equalled by the performers of the legiti- strangely enough, imbued with the wish to be mate drama in the present day. We had hoped as romantically and unjustly persecuted; of to have seen her and the greatest of our modern course in the end to prove blameless and innotragedians performing together; indeed it is cent, thereby becoming to the sensitive public reported to have been one great object in her An Object of Interest. This she unconsciously visiting the "mother country;" but Miss Cush-effects by putting on one of her mistress's man, Mr. Macready, and the public are, we fear, doomed to be disappointed, as she leaves Liverpool, after her engagement there, and sails in the first Boston steamer with Mr. and Mrs. C. Kean. A Court Ball in 1740, has had a most successful run, nightly drawing down unanimous and deserved applause. Mr. Gilbert and Miss Ballin, as also Mr. and Miss Marshall, have executed with precision and taste the fashionable dances of the period. The Sir Roger de Coverley is particularly entertaining, as it illustrates well the peculiar and somewhat more graceful mode of performing this dance in the reign of George the Second. It is starched and somewhat prudish, ill agreeing with the "romp-ending" version of the present day. A variety of farces have concluded the evenings'

rings for fun, and tells her sweetheart, Barney, the footman (Mr. A. Wigan), that it is a present from a gentleman. He, infuriated, snatches it from her hand, and throws it out of the window. The ring is nowhere to be found (now she be comes an object of interest); she is suspected, and with indignant remarks endeavours to persuade her mistress that she is guiltless. The late Mr. Vernon had left a will, in which Mrs. Vernon (the mistress of the housemaid in question) is begged to give the first choice of her hand, after his death, to Mr. Marmaduke Primrose (Mr. Emery), and it is by this person, in a most ingenious manner, that the ring is replaced in the owner's possession. Mr. Primrose is fresh from Yorkshire, and having been one of a deputation at Court, arrives in his suit of cere

mony, armed with a sword, which he hides under a sofa-cushion, being told that if seen with it he will certainly be laughed at. At the conclusion of the party he cannot get rid of the lady of the house, the which he wishes to do, that, unobserved, he may decamp with the un-nagement. fortunate sword. The lady at length falls asleep on the sofa, when he sneaks up, and while withdrawing the naked sword, he stumbles in the act, when the romantic mad maid-servant, who has sidled into the room, springs upon him in full belief that she is the preserver of her mistress's life from a murderer, when lo! and behold! to her no small astonishment, the lost ring is discovered on his finger. An explanation ensues, and the persecuted is proved innocent. It was perfectly successful; and Mrs. Keeley's imitation of Miss Ellen Tree, when portraying injured innocence, excited shouts of applause.