Here's a far sterner story,

But like-oh, very like in its despair—

Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily

A thousand hearts-losing at length her own.

She died. Thus ended the history-and her maids
Lean over her and weep-two gentle maids

With gentle names-Eiros and Charmion !

Rainbow and Dove !-Jacinta !

JACINTA [pettishly].

Madame, what is it?

LALAGE. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind

As go down in the library and bring me

The Holy Evangelists?

JACINTA.

LALAGE.

Pshaw !

[Exit.

If there be balm

For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there!

Dew in the night-time of my bitter trouble
Will there be found-" dew sweeter far than that

Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill.”

[Re-enter JACINTA, and throws a volume on the table. JACINTA. There, Ma'am, 's the book. Indeed she is very troublesome.

[Aside.

LALAGE [astonished]. What didst thou say, Jacinta?

have I done aught

To grieve thee or to vex thee?—I am sorry.

For thou hast served me long, and ever been
Trustworthy and respectful.

[Resumes her reading.

JACINTA.

I can't believe

She has any more jewels-no-no-she gave me all.

LALAGE. What didst thou say, Jacinta?

bethink me

Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.
How fares good Ugo?—and when is it to be?
Can I do aught ?-is there no farther aid
Thou needst, Jacinta?

JACINTA

Is there no farther aid!

[Aside. Now I

That's meant for me. [Aside.] I'm sure, Madame, you

need not

Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.

LALAGE. Jewels! Jacinta,-now indeed, Jacinta,

I thought not of the jewels.

JACINTA.

Oh! perhaps not!

But then I might have sworn it. After all,
There's Ugo says the ring is only paste,
For he's sure the Count Castiglione never
Would have given a real diamond to such as you;
And at the best I'm certain, Madam, you cannot
Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it.

[Exit.

[LALAGE bursts into tears, and leans her

head upon the table—after a short pause

raises it.

LALAGE. Poor Lalage!—and is it come to this ? Thy servant maid !—but courage !—'tis but a viper Whom thou has cherished to sting thee to the soul! [Taking up the mirror.

Ha! here at least's a friend-too much a friend

In earlier days-—a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale—a pretty tale—and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And beauty long deceased-remembers me
Of Joy departed-Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed !—now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning

For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true !-thou liest not!

Thou hast no end to gain—no heart to break

Castiglione lied who said he loved

Thou true-he false !-false !—false !

[While she speaks, a MONK enters her apartment, and approaches unobserved.

MONK.

Refuge thou hast,

Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things;

Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!

LALAGE [arising hurriedly]. I cannot pray !—My soul is at war with God!