RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.* Cas. Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow From Night's cold lungs, our purpose know! Pudd. Let Silence, mother of the dumb, Beef. Press on each lip her palsied thumb! That loves to haunt the tranquil inn- GENERAL CHORUS-Con spirito. Then Friendship swear, ye faithful Bands, See where yon Abbey frowning stands! Cas. Thrall'd in a Monkish tyrant's fetters, Y.Pot. In my pocket I have letters, Saying, "help me, or I die!" We believe this song to be copied, with a small variation in metre and meaning, from a song in "Count Benyowsky; or, the Conspiracy of Kamtschatka,”– where the conspirators join in a chorus, for fear of being overheard. E e Allegro Allegretto. Cas. Beef. Pudd. Gren. Trou. Waiter, and Pot. with enthusiasm Let us fly, let us fly, Let us help, ere he die! Scene-the Abbey gate, with ditches, drawbridges, and spikes. Time-about an hour before sunrise. The Conspirators appear as if in ambuscade, whispering, and consulting together, in expectation of the signal for attack. The Waiter is habited as a Knight Templar, in the dress of his Order, with the cross on his breast, and the scallop on his shoulder; Puddingfield and Beefington armed with blunderbusses and pocket pistols; the Grenadiers in their proper uniforms. The Troubadour, with his attendant Minstrels, bring up the rear-martial music-the Conspirators come forward, and present themselves before the gate of the Abbey.—Alarum— firing of pistols—the Convent appear in arms upon the walls—the drawbridge is let down-a body of Choristers and Lay-brothers attempt a sally, but are beaten back, and the Verger killed. The besieged attempt to raise the drawbridge-Pudding field and Beefington press forward with alacrity, throw themselves upon the drawbridge, and by the exertion of their weight, preserve it in a state of depression -the other besiegers join them, and attempt to force the entrance, but without effect. Pudding field makes the signal for the battering ram. Enter Quintus Curtius and Marcus Curius Dentatus, in their proper military habits, preceded by the Roman Eagle-the rest of their Legion are employed in bringing forward a battering ram, which plays for a few minutes to slow time, till the entrance is forced. After a short resistance, the besiegers rush in with shouts of victory. Scene changes to the interior of the Abbey. The inhabitants of the Convent are seen flying in all directions. The Count of Weimar and Prior, who had been feasting in the Refectory, are brought in manacled. The Count appears transported with rage, and gnaws his chains. The Prior remains insensible, as if stupified with grief. Beefington takes the keys of the dungeon, which are hanging at the Prior's girdle, and makes a sign for them both to be led away into confinement.—Exeunt Prior and Count properly guarded. The rest of the Conspirators disperse in search of the dungeon where Rogero is confined. END OF ACT THE FOURTH. No. XXXII. JUNE 18. We are indebted for the following Imitation of Catullus, to a literary Correspondent. Whether it will remove the doubts we formerly expressed, of Citizen Muskein's acquaintance with the Classics, from the minds of our Readers, we cannot pretend to say. It is given to us as a faithful translation from the French-as such, we present it to our Readers; premising only, that though the Citizen Imitator seems to have Sans-cullottized the original in two or three places, yet he every where expresses himself with a naiveté and truth, in his verse, that we seek for in vain, in many of his Countrymen, who have recorded their victories and defeats in very vulgar prose AN AFFECTIONATE EFFUSION OF CITIZEN MUSKEIN, TO HAVRE-DE-GRACE. FAIREST of cities,* which the Seine How gladly, with my tatter'd sail, † AD SIRMIONEM PENINSULAM. * Peninsularum Sirmio, Insularumque, Yet trembling from this wild adventure, Do I thy friendly harbour enter! Well-now I've leisure, let me see What boats are left me; one, two, three- I too am safe,*—yes, I believe, With honest triumph, no bone broken – How pleasing is the sweet transition † From this vile Gun-boat Expedition; From winds and waves, and wounds and scars, From British Soldiers, British Tars, To his own house, where, free from danger, Vix mi ipse credens Thyniam, atque Bithynos + O quid solutis est beatius curis, Quom mens onus reponit, ac peregrino |