How they beset the house, dreamy and dim,
The ghosts of infants by their parent slain?*
Their hands are full of their own flesh-strange food,
Unholy banquet, which their father spread.
From these hath an avenging lion risen,
Even to be guardian of this house, alas,
And to devise revenge on this my lord,

(I speak as fits a slave) at his return.

Him, the great Captain, and the scourge of Troy,
His hateful consort, having soothed with words,
Shall miserably slay. The weaker hand
Shall overbear the stronger. What dire pest
May I best name her? some empoisoned snake,
Or Scylla, habitant of deadly rocks,

Spreading her traps for sailors in the strait,
A boiling hell of waters? How she greeted him,
Vile hypocrite, her voice was as of one

Who shouts as battle turns, she seemed to joy

At his unhurt return. But what if none

Give credence to these words? What then? Stern fate

Will work its work alone; and ye, full soon

Pitying my lot, and witnessing my words,

Too true a prophet shall acknowledge me.

Chorus. Thyestes' banquet is to me well known;

I shudder at its mention, hearing thee

Whom least I thought, detailing all its woes.

But in the rest I cannot follow thee.

Cassandra. Thou shalt ere long see Agamemnon slain.

Chorus. Calm thy rash tongue, poor wretch, and talk not thus.

Cassandra. No calming power suggests the deed I speak.

Chorus. True, if it must be; but may heaven avert it.
Cassandra. While thou art praying, they are murdering.
Chorus. By what man's hand shall such a crime be wrought?
Cassandra. My prophecies thou hast not understood.

Chorus. No: 1 ken not the murderer's device.

Cassandra. And yet I speak the Grecian tongue too well.

Chorus. So do the oracles; but they are hard.

Cassandra, Alas, what fire is coming o'er me now?

Apollo, oh Apollo, oh, me, me!

She, the fell lioness, coupled in crime

With the base wolf, in absence of her lord,

Shall slay me also; mingling in her ire

My ruin likewise in her cup of death.

Even now she whets the faulchion for her lord,
And boasts to pay my voyage here with blood.
Why do I speak, these my vain ornaments,
My staff, and wreath prophetic on my neck?
Thee will I crush before my turn is come.

[Throwing off her ornaments.]
Lie there and perish; I shall nothing lose;
Go, and endow some other to her ruin.
See, the bright God himself is doing off

My robe prophetic. Long has stern contempt

Been poured upon my art, and to my foes,

Yea, and my friends, I have but seemed to be

Some wandering quack. Now he hath led me here;
Where, for my country's altar, the sad block
Appears, and I must die by bloody stroke.

But not forgotten by the Gods above

Shall we two perish: there shall come for us

Thyestes, the son of Pelops, and uncle of Agamemnon, had been fed by his brother and enemy Atreus on the flesh of his own child. From this horrid banquet the miseries of the house of Atreus begins-and to this Cassandra alludes in the text.

A sure avenger, who shall stain his bands
In his own mother's blood. Afar he dwells
An exile now, but he shall then return-
His father's blood shall cry, and fetch him back,
And crown the griefs of his ill-fated race.
But why do I complain-I who have seen
My own dear country sunk in hopeless woe,
And these, its ravages, requited thus?
Uncalled I'll go-Iwill invite my death.
Grant me, ye Gods a swift and easy stroke,
That without struggle, my life's dearest blood
Forth flowing, I may close these fevered eyes.

[She goes wildly towards the altar.]

Meantime the queen's designs have been proceeding. The king is weary with his voyage. She has taken him to the refreshing bath. She has attended him there, and spoken more false and soothing words. 'Come forth, and let the wife of thy youth clothe thee with the garments she has prepared.'

Still the prophetic maid is raving without. She cries,

There is a smell of slaughter from the house,

A thick dark vapour, as from sepulchres.

In a few more words she bewails her own fate-an awful pause followsthe Chorus begin a song-you hold your breath-you feel your heart throbbing-hark!-hark again! "Tis one dying, one dying within! 'Tis the voice of the king! Never was shriek like that from one who should speak again.

The Chorus run hither and thither in confusion. The doors of the palace open-what see we? The murderess standing triumphant-the bloody knife in her hand-beneath her, the deed she has done. She rejoices-she boasts of her victory. 'Twas no mean artifice, that of her's. As he came from the bath she cast over him a fatal garment without outlet and thus entangled, naked, and helpless, he fell by her hand. His blood is on her-she points to it, and tells them, that a flower does not more repine in being sprinkled with the dew of heaven. She taunts him with his crimes. The Chorus lament and remonstrate—she answers with

insult and scorn. Her paramour returns-they congratulate—all things shall be firmly settled and well governed-their sun of glory is risingsome few threats of distant revenge are uttered by the Chorus,-but the avenger is an infant-he is distant-the clouds clear away-the day of tyranny and sin has begun in Mycena.

Is this all?

Our next chapter shall right the balance.

MODERN METAMORPHOSES.

THE OLD BORE.

No. 2.

INTRODUCTORY.

UNEASY lies the head that wears a crown!" exclaimed his Majesty, as for at least the forty-fifth time, to the extreme vexation and derangement of his royal consort, he rolled over again in his splendid bed, vainly seeking for repose.

"What is the matter with you, Jovy? can't you lie still and go to sleep? oh dear, oh dear!" issued more than once in fretful tones from the lips of his better (sometimes bitter) half, during these restless tumblings: still, spite of conjugal objurgation, the monarch's uneasiness continued, Somnus had forgotten to administer the usual soporific, the pillows so perseveringly consulted by their sovereign returned no soothing answer,-what was to be done?

"It's very strange I can't sleep," inwardly cogitated Jupiter, "of late I've been unusually abstemious, my suppers have been the lightest of which a royal appetite will admit, and I rarely take anything afterwards except a few bowls of bishop nectar, and that can't hurt me surely, hum, aye, that's it, my nerves must have a dose, consult Esculapius to-morrow, a gentle stimulant or so, more generous diet.-Styx! what's that? Uttering the last words aloud, his Majesty instantly sprung out of bed, effectually rousing Juno, procured a light, and sought with deep indignation for the intruder. Whether he had escaped, or the royal feelings had been deceived by the nervous excitement of which some intimation has been given, remains to the present day a mystery, certainly the search was a vain one: additionally irritated, his Majesty, with sundry expressions of wrath, again addressed himself to rest.

It was a lovely night, the moon had not yet risen, but the stars were out by thousands on the azure plain, and glittered through the calm clear air with unusual beauty, not a breeze disturbed the foliage and flowers, not a sound save the distant note of the nightingale broke on the listening ear. Nature lay hushed, and the heavens smilingly watched her

repose.

Jupiter now gazed at the splendid canopy above him, and as the soft light streamed through his curtains, and twinkled on the golden fringe, amused himself for some time by connting over and tracing the tassels, knosps, rings, and embroidered figures belonging to the drapery.-Finding himself after this salutary process as wakeful as before, he resolutely shut his eyes and determined not to open them until morning.-All would not do, sleep was as distant as ever, and in utter despair of its approach his Majesty resolved (leaving an example to modern times) to make others share his inquietude.

A few thunderbolts of a new size and pattern sent up by Vulcan for inspection, happening to lie on the adjoining dressing table, were imme

diately hurled at the door of the royal dorinitory, and Mercury instantly appeared in answer to the summons

"Knave Bluepil, what's o'clock, how goes the night?"

"Goes, Sire? nay, it is gone an hour ago, 'tis near two, and the cock is eating his breakfast."

"How is the weather?"

"The barometer says fair weather, no sign of change; the latter indication I should opine equally true of weather and women."

"No impertinence, sir; have all the courtiers retired?”

"The lords in waiting are asleep, some of the household are out of the house, and some are keeping open house, imprimis, the Marshal Mars, is at an evening soiree with the Lady Venus, Sir Tar Tar Neptune, and Sir Fieryplug Pluto are not returned from the United Servevice Club, and the Counts Momus, Comus, Brandybrew Bacchus, and Griddle Pan, are roystering with a select party below stairs."

"Pretty doings in our royal palace truly, and where's Dan Phoebus?" "He came home, Sire, looking very cloudy, took a salt water bath, and went to bed directly; his valet Eolus told me his master was in a somewhat bilious humour; it is rent-day to-morrow, and several of the Irish tenants have moonshined."

“Och hone! hubbubboo! the shine' will be somewhat shaded of the 'finest pisantry in the universe, now then,'-but where's the Marquis Hercules?"

"Sire, he went out skylarking with the newly arrived Centaurs, defaced a few constellations, removed a planet or two, fought the night watch, and after an amazing display of aristocratic fun, ran his noble head against the Northern Star, was carried off in an insensible condition by the police, rescued by his equestrian friends, and finally deposited in the Argo Hotel, where he now lies tolerably quiet for the present."

"If he had received his final quietus, I should have felt but little regret, the turbulent knave,-but where are the ladies ?"

"The Hon. Miss Iris caught cold in a shower this afternoon, and went to bed with a shivering fit; the Ladies Hebe, Maia, and Ceres, retired early, having promised to gather violets, and breakfast with the Muses in the morning,-the Princesses Minerva and Diana are at this moment engaged, the one in taking observations with the Baron Atlas, the other in reading Endymion's love letters, by star-light, in the balcony. Call them both hither, and then retire."

Mercury having first secretly filched some of Juno's golden ornaments, lying unguarded on the table, made his bow and departed.

Diana was, as the valet truly stated, in the balcony; she obeyed with alacrity the royal summons, and arrived first at her sovereign's casement. (Minerva being somewhat delayed in putting up her telescope.) Placing aside the clustering orange-blossom and jessamine, she modestly peeped in and enquired in a silver voice his Majesty's pleasure.

"Fairest Cynthia," replied the monarch, "I am unusually and preternaturally restless, and shall feel most infinitely and royally obleeged by your condescending to favour me with your charming presence:-the loveliest of my court, the sweetest flower of my garden cannot fail to soothe my unrest."

"Oh, fie! your Majesty, I must not listen to such flattery! surely you are jesting, or your royal wits are wandering."

"Faith then, if I am a lunatic, never had king a fairer cause than the bright face that is beaming on me, never—

"I am glad the Goddess of Wisdom approaches, sire, she will perhaps recal you to sobriety."

66

Ah, my dearest Minny, I am enchanted to see you, though your face is somewhat of the gravest to-night; deign to cheer the weary hours till dawn by your ever pleasant discourse; I have sent for you both, to relieve my uneasiness, and I know your loyalty too well to doubt your willingness to obleege."

"We are your Majesty's most humble slaves," observed the Princess Pallas, "but doubt our poor wit would ill supply the means of solace to your royal ear: suffer us, instead, to read some few of the many papers lying on your Majesty's desk, probably they may be found interesting.'

Here, in defiance of all female decorum, the rules of court, etiquette, or propriety, which every one knows are the finest things in the world, and which, above all others, ought never to be infringed, the Lady Minerva winked, actually winked, and placed her finger on the tip of the most knowing nose in the world, thereby obliging the Lady Cynthia to hide her face in a cloud of roses, lest his Majesty should observe her laughter. The papers, as the lively pair well knew, related to the state: and Jupiter no sooner cast his eyes thereon than he shrugged his shoulders, knowing from old experience that, however the interests of his subjects might be therein concerned-such papers seldom interested him; he said nothing, however; and Minerva taking them up seriatim, proceeded.

"The first, sire, is entitled 'Cornucopiæ, or the Great Corn Question,' apparently a very clever pamphlet, professing to be the substance' of a Lecture delivered by a Doctor Cornelius Chiropod st Bunion to a body of Cornish Agriculturalists on the subject of the Corn Laws. Herein is shewn the ample sufficiency of the Home Growth for the welfare and comfort of the community, the average yearly supply proved to exceed the Demand; and hence are inferred the painful disadvantages under which the Farmer must necessarily labour from an importation of Foreign Corns upon the tender and insecure footing or basis of national barter-the whole made evident and palpable to every one's understanding."

"Ah! my feet ache at the idea; we will dispense with the infliction at present.

"The second is styled Teetotal Tabletalk,' or the ondits of the Totally Unsatisfactory Antisuction Society, collected and edited by the President Doctor Frigorific Drynever. They are eminently remarkable, sire, for their total abstinence from anything like point, spirit, or flavour; and the preface assures us they will not effect even the weakest headshall I read them ?"

"No, faith, I want no gruel at present!"

"Here's an Essay on Dutch Banking, by Mynheer Von Swindleswing, principal manager to the late Northern and Criminal Bank of Rottendain." "I'll not audit the account-pass on."

"Thoughts on the Currency, by an Irish Solicitor, composed during a pedestrian tour through the agricultural districts."

"I don't like the coinage-pass on again."

"A New System of Poor Laws—”