Enter MRS. HALLER.

MRS. H. (Advances slowly and in a tremor. Approaches the Stranger, who with averted countenance, and in extreme agitation, awaits her address.

My Lord!

STRA. (With tremulous utterance, and face still turned away.) What would you with me, Adelaide ? MRS. H. (Much agitated.) No-for Heaven's sake! I was not prepared for this-Adelaide! No, no! For Heaven's sake! Harsh tones alone are suited to a culprit's ear. Oh! if you will ease my heart, if you will spare and pity me, use reproaches.

STRA. Reproaches! Here they are: here cn my sallow cheek-here in my hollow eye-here in my faded form. These reproaches I could not spare you.

MRS. H. Were I a hardened sinner, this forbearance would be charity; but I am a suffering penitent, and it overpowers me. Alas! then I must be the herald of my shame, for where shall I find peace, until I have eased my soul by confession?

STRA. No confession, madam. I release you from every humiliation. I perceive you feel that we must part forever.

MRS. H. I know it. Nor come I here to supplicate your pardon. All I dare ask is, that you will not curse my memory.

STRA, (Moved.) No, I do not curse you. I shall never curse you.

MRS. H. (Agitated.) From the conviction that I am unworthy of your name, I have during three years abandoned it. But this is not enough; you must have redress which will enable you to choose another another wife. This paper will be necessary for the purpose; it contains a written acknowledgment of my guilt. (Offers it tremblingly.)

STRA. (Tearing it into a thousaud pieces, and scattering them on the floor, at the same time bursting out with heroic fury.) Perish the record forever!-(immense applause. No, Adelaide, you only have possessed my heart. and I am not ashamed to own it, you alone will reign there forever. Your resolute honour forbids you to profit by my weakness; and even if Now, by Heaven, this is beneath a man! We cannot-we cannot--But never, never will another fill Adelaide's place here.

MRS. H. (Trembling.) Then nothing now remains but that one sad. harsh, just word-farewell! Forget a wretch who never will forget you; and when my penance shall have broken my heart, when we again meet in a better world-

STRA. There, Adelaide, you may be mine again. (They embrace tenderly.)

This final scene told with tremendous effect upon the audience at Tinnecum. In many parts Chipp was really terrific, and showed that he had studied the tragic art attentively. There was not a dry eye in the room. Mr. Dawkins was beguiled into silence, and appeared to "feel deeply." Squire Sharkey was completely unmanned. The editor of the Tinnecum Gazette cried. The sobs of the women broke out at the conclusion into a universal wail, and the children and infants at the breast united their energies.

On this scene of affliction the curtain fell, and the success of the legitimate drama was complete. To say that the spectators were delighted, would be too feebly to express the truth. All their better feelings were stirred up. "Oh," said they, wiping their eyes, "that can't be beat! We wish the minister was here. He would certainly approve of it." "And poor Susanna Jane," said a fair girl, "what a pity she has not seen it !-she would have been so affected; she may never see the like again at Tinnecum." The person thus alluded to was Miss Chubbs, the only young lady of any respectability who had been absent. She had besought her father on the evening of performance in her most winning way, "Dear Papa! do let me go to Mr. Chipp's benefit." But that inexorable man refused. Many of the audience were so thoroughly impressed with the reality of the scenes which they had witnessed, that they could not divest themselves of this feeling even when the play was done; and they hoped that the STRANGER, now that he was so happily reconciled with his wife, would never fall out with her again, and that they would live together happily all their lives.

While these things were going on in the audience, Mr. and Mrs. Chipp tipped each other the wink behind the scenes, and refreshed themselves each with a glass of brandy-and-water, sweetened with a little sugar. In a moment after, Squire Sharkey and Mr. Dawkins came there, just as Mr. Chipp had one leg in a pair of white trowsers.

"My dear sir," said the squire,

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your style of acting does honour to the human heart. You have made a great hit at Tinnecum."

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"And you too, ma'am," added Mr. Dawkins, grinning with a patronizing air upon the lady, you have made the Tinnecum tears flow rapid, I assure you. You're a going to dance a pazzool now, aint you ma'am.

The lady made a retreating curtsey, inclining her head sidewise, and smiling, at the same time intimating that she had not yet made her toilette, and the curtain would soon rise.

"Certingly, certingly," said Squire Sharkey, taking the hint: “Dawkins, we'll go out, and tell the music to keep on a spell." These worthies then went back into the audience, where somebody had usurped the seat of Mr. Dawkins, and refusing to

give it up, a severe fight ensued, and before it could be quelled, the gentleman of the press had received a black eye, and a long scratch on the nose.

But the attention of every one was withdrawn from this, when Mrs. Chipp came bounding upon the stage, to the music of the Tinnecum band. In personal appearance this lady might not be called handsome. She was ill-formed about the neck and shoulders, and somewhat deficient in tournoure; but she smiled bewitchingly when she danced, and exhibited a style of art totally unknown to the Tinnecumites. Never before had they realized the poetry of motion; never had they seen anything so ethereal. It was indeed a marvel that Mrs. Chipp danced so well, as the Rossini band had got two tunes mixed up in a marvellous manner; but in spite of all that she went bounding and pirouetting away, until becoming fatigued, she glided behind the screen, from the eyes of the delighted spectators.

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"By all the powers!" shouted Dawkins, "we'll have that over again. Huzza! Bravyo! Oncore!" A tumultuous cry arose : Bravyo! oncore! oncore!" and amidst the stamping of heels, and the clapping of hands, and the waving of handkerchiefs, out came Mrs. Chipp again, all smiles and gladness, nodding to her friends with airy grace, balancing herself with bare and somewhat long arms, standing on the tips of her toes, and performing feats compared with which pigeon-wings were contemptible. If the audience had been delighted with Mrs. Haller, how much more with the intellectual character of the dance! Their brains now swam with indefinable emotions; they became enchanted for the moment, and were the victims of an hallucination hitherto unknown. Men's and women's hearts were in a flutter. Their breath came and went. Mr. Dawkins stood aghast in amazement. He thought he had discovered Mrs. Chipp's garters. To the ordinary marks of applause were now added the more tumultuous noises of the play-house; frantic screams of delight, cries of bravyo! bravyo! and modes of expression peculiar to Tinnecum: "fust rate!" "go a-head!" "that can't be beat!" etc.

66 Good!"

Mrs. Chipp was called out a third time. The mania was spreading. The very selectmen were catching the contagion. Squire Sharkey was observed to be visibly agitated. His mind was beginning to wander; he looked wild "out of his eyes," and starting from his seat, as he caught the shadow of the danseuse again coming from behind the screen, and grasping the shoulders of the drummer for support, "Dawkins!" gasped he, with difficulty; "Gentlemen of the board; Mr. Editorladies and gentlemen-I beg that you will all rise in a body, out of respect and veneration for-for-for- this remarkable woman!"

Redoubled shrieks rent the air. The whole audience started from their seats, and waved their hats and handkerchiefs with wild enthusiasm. "Hoorah! Sharkey for ever! Chipp and Sharkey! Theaytre for ever! Bravyo! Oncore! oncore! oncore !" Mrs. Chipp again disappeared, and it was the will of the house that she should come out a fourth time; she however properly declined the honour. But the spectators had lost their senses, and kept up a continual noise and clamour for several minutes. It was well there were a few reasonable men among them. One of these now arose. "Come," said he ; 66 my friends, you've got the worth of your money. Do you want the woman to dance herself all into a sweat? Do you want her to ketch her death a-cold?" 66 No, no, no!" shouted many in a breath, who began to feel "the fulness of satiety." "Very well," said Dawkins, holding his hat aloft," then let's give three cheers for Mrs. Chipp; Huz-za-a! h'za-a! h'za-a! Three more! Huzza-a! h'za-a! h'za-a! h'za-a! huzza! Now three more! Huzza-a! h'za-a! hʼza-a !'

The audience were almost wearied out and breathless with such intense excitement and use of the lungs, when very opportunely, in order to allay their feelings, and produce sensations of a calmer nature, Mr. Chipp stepped out, in a sky-blue coat, superlatively cut, in the highest style of the art, the collar rolled back over his shoulders, a little scroll of paper in his hand, and making a graceful bow, began to recite, with distinct enunciation and marked emphasis, an ode, of which the first stanza is as follows:

If the author of this composition could have listened to Mr. Chipp's recitation, his feelings would have been indescribable. He added new points, new readings, new emphasis. He improved the piece very much indeed, no doubt. "When

r-r-rolls the thunder-r-r-r d-r-um of a-heaven," was admirably given. Methinks that Collins' Ode, or Alexander's Feast would have sounded well from such a high tragedian as Mr. George Chipp. "Immortal Shakspeare!" exclaimed Dawhins, at the conclusion of the piece," he will never die!" The editor looked up and repeated, "He will never die!

After this, Mrs. Chipp sang the DASHING WHITE SERGEANT, and charmingly did she sing it. We never shall forget her manner of rendering some passages :

Bravo! bravo! it was worth the price of the ticket to see the lovely songstress march so bravely across the stage, and then to see her rush to a chair, snatch up a glittering sword, and go through the exercise with all the accuracy of a soldier: Attention! eyes right!-slope swords!-prepare to geard!-geard! —cut one, two, three, four, five, and six !—Head protect !-shoulder-arm protect !— sword-arm protect !-geard!-cut one, two-and-one !-St. George rare cut! point to the front!-recover !-slope swords!

March away, march away!

March away, march away!

As a dashing white sergeant I'd march away!

After the song had been encored several times, the farce was received with shouts of laughter and applause, at the conclusion of which Mr. Chipp stepped out, and neatly expressed himself as follows:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN :-It was intended that the entertainments of the evening should be now concluded; but with your permission we will add another farce. It is not mentioned in the bills of the day, but we give it free.

This announcement was followed by a vote of thanks, and three times three cheers for Chipp, after which THE WEATHERCOCK was played.

But I must hasten to let the curtain fall upon the stage at Tinnecum; and having done so, I have yet to mention the most interesting ceremonial of the evening. When it was found that the performances were indeed ended, a tremendous and deafening cry of "Chipp! Chipp! Chipp!" was raised throughout the whole room. For a long time he did not obey the call, and the noise waxed louder and louder. At last he came, leading forth Mrs. Chipp. Both showed evident signs of exhaustion, and appeared overcome by their feelings. Mr. Chipp returned thanks in a speech, the purport of which was briefly this :"I must apologize to this audience for detaining them so long. I had gone temporarily into the bar-room, at the time of your call: as soon as I heard it, I came here, in obedience to your commands. Ladies and gentlemen, the occurrences of this evening will leave an indelible impression on my heart. I came here a total stranger, personally unknown to you, with no end in view but the promotion of the drama, and with expectations altogether inadequate to the success which has crowned my efforts. Such kindness was unexpected; it therefore overpowers me. [His voice falters. Mrs. Chipp leans upon his shoulder, and weeps.] These feelings, ladies and gentlemen, are but natural; I trust they are the spontaneous combustion of warm hearts. Pardon the sensibility of Mrs. Chipp. To-morrow evening will be her benefit. I hope the bill which we shall offer will meet your approbation. In the meantime, farewell!"

The most uproarious applause and yells of "bravyo!" followed the delivery of this speech, in the midst of which Squire Sharkey whispered hurriedly to his neighbour: "Quick! give 'em to me, Dawkins! Where is them roses? Cuss you, I believe you've sot onto 'em!" Sure enough the flowers were well mashed. However, the squire took them, and rising from his seat, called after the comedians, just as they were disappearing behind the screen. "I say, you!" said he, "jist hold on one minute." The squire then jumped over the foot-lights as sprightly as if he had been a boy, and holding forth the bouquet-which Dawkins had yielded up most

unwillingly, for he had intended to have performed the office himself—“ Receive,” said he, "the sweetest flowers ever culled in Tinnecum, and let them flourish on your breast for everlastingly, madam. I opposed you at first. I now say, let the drayma go a-head here. There is no difficul', there is no difficul'." It was a noble spectacle that, say the by-standers, the bald and polished head of the squire, the graceful reception of the gift by the lady, and the dignified deportment of Mr. Chipp. The assembly broke up, and the crowd, in grateful acknowledgment of the services of the chairman of the honourable board of selectmen, elevated him upon their shoulders, and he never touched the ground until he arrived at his own door. The next evening the Chipps performed again before a brilliant house. Flowers and bouquets were cast upon the stage, and everything was done to render the visit of these artists most flattering and agreeable. The annexed is from a discriminating critique in the Tinnecum Gazette:

THE DRAMA AT TINNECUM.

THE events of the past week constitute an era in the dramatic history of this town. From the moment that it became known that the great Mr. GEORGE CHIPP would take a benefit here, expectation was on the stretch. On the evening of performance, the house, as we had predicted, was crowded in every part before the rising of the curtain. Indeed, so great was the competition for seats, that some unpleasant consequences had like to have ensued. Mr. Dawkins of this office was severely wounded in a rencontre arising from the defence of his seat. We cannot find out which party was to blame in this matter; we exceedingly regret that anything should have occurred to mar the pleasures of the evening, which were of the most intellectual kind. Shakspeare's beautiful tragedy of THE STRANGER was enacted in a first-rate style. Chipp was truly great, and so was Mrs. Chipp. They stood forth the true personifications of the characters that they represented. The closing scene beggars all description. Its effect on the audience was intense. Never we believe was anything like it witnessed within the walls of a theatre. The whole audience shed a superfluity of the bitterest tears. Never have we wept so much since the death of our father. But one feeling pervaded all hearts; that of the kindest sensations for the Stranger and his Wife. In the dance, Mrs. Chipp was the essence of queenly grace. Such circumambient motions! Such rectangular extensions of the le-limb! We could mention some bald heads that entirely forgot their gray hairs. Nim Port. Were we to institute a comparison between Mr. George Chipp and the elder Kean, we should say, according to what we have heard of the latter gentleman, that they both had their peculiar styles. One was more brilliant; the other perhaps a little more effective. One possessed more truthfulness; the other more moral suasion. One was more unique in his conception of character; the other more grand in carrying out of the plot. Kean carried away his audiences by storm; Chipp by a tremendous hurricane. Kean could only shudder; Chipp wrought himself into horrible convulsions. Kean's was the awful thunder; Chipp's was the lightning's mildew. Both, however, are deserving of the dramatic crown, to be worn in all ages, interwoven in one glorious halo, and resting reciprocally on the brow of both.

I have thus stated the main facts connected with the introduction of the drama into Tinnecum. At a time when its advocates are lamenting a decline in the Great Metropolis, it may be pleasing to turn to the provinces, and see a taste there springing up sufficient to appreciate genius, a disposition to bestow upon it a generous reward. While the aged trunk shows signs of decay in the place where it may have grown for centuries, perhaps the scions, transplanted to another soil, may spring up and flourish, and bear fruit abundantly. While the old tree may have been deformed by many a sickly branch, and paralytic limb, and monstrous excrescence, perhaps the new may rise up, green, vigorous, and of a perfect symmetry. And then, if duly cared for, neither suffered to grow up in rank neglect nor to be preyed on by noxious worms, nor tortured into fantastic shapes, nor killed by too much tenderness, it may contain within it the germ of a longer life, and flourish over the tombs of many generations.

THE OLD INN AT NAMPTWICH.

BY JOHN WATERS.

A BRIGHT spring morning, in old England-when the mighty sun has dispersed the earth's exhalations, and the last drops have fallen from the young leaves, and the birds sing with confidence that the rain is over, and the bee hums loudly, as if everything now belonged to himself, and the tree bourgeons, and the hawthorn-blossom receives for the first time into her expanding bosom the warm ray of life, and sheds her incense in return, and all the gardens and all the hedges are redolent with perfume :-a bright spring morning, in old England, when God sends it, hath a charm that warms the heart.

It is like a blush of joy upon the cheek of a brunette, russet mantling into pink. It hath neither the clear red and white, the distinctive colouring, of our own glorious

pencilling; where Nature, like Rubens, lays her tints side by side, leaving them to incorporate as they may; nor the soft and melting shades, the mingling outlines, the visible sun-light, the golden atmosphere, and the ineffable blue of Italy; but it is a gracious and unwonted boon, that makes a man look up and interchange a smile with Heaven, and go upon his way rejoicing; or if he be a stranger, that causes him to bless himself and exclaim, "Can this be England? Yes, yes, this is our fathers' Merrie England,' and not half the truth was told us !"

It was upon a morning of this description, after four days of exhaustless showerings since our arrival at Liverpool, that we found ourselves walking through the by-ways and green lanes of the old town of Namptwich, some thirty miles distant from our place of landing, and where we had arrived the night before. It was our first visit to Europe, and to our eyes every structure was old, and everything old was reverend. We entered the little decrepid old church upon tip-toe; admired the old coats of arms and mortuary notices; looked with veneration upon the dusty old pews with their dusty old cushions, and on the stone-floors irregular through age and use; spoke to each other in whispers and to the old sexton in an under-tone; paid him as much respect as if he had been a verger, and four times the ordinary fee when we took leave of him, with thanks for all that he had shown us; and blessed God, as we returned with new delight into the open air, for the delicious verdure and the balmy breath of heaven.

We threaded the lanes once more, and found that every object had unfolded into beauty, into a richer beauty, while we had been occupied in the church; and as often as the tumultuous sensation of haste arose within us, we silenced it by recollecting that we were no longer in America, where the whole world of travellers must fly at the same moment to the same public conveyance; but in England, where the postchaise waited the signal of our satisfied and luxurious leisure. It was not our plan to proceed farther than Warwick during the day, and we sauntered home leisurely to our own inn.

Gentle reader, I will imagine thee for the first time seated near the small fire that has been kindled to remove the dampness, and air the parlour, in that charm of the traveller's life, an English inn. No object about thee seems new, or of late acquisition. The furniture is anything rather than of modern date; it has been thoroughly used, and admirably kept; everything is in its place, and speaks its welcome; nice, tidy, prepared, quiet, cheery, comfortable.

The fragrant tea is of thine own mixture, two spoonsful of black to one of green; the sugar is a study of refinement; and the table is furnished with fresh cream: one more glance at the Times newspaper, and everything has been noiselessly arranged. A cover is now lifted off, and in the deep well of a blue-edged plate, that contrasts beautifully with what it contains, is disclosed that dream of farinaceous enjoyment, the English muffin. How it fills and gratifies the eye as its snowy margin rests teeming upon the border of the dish, and yields to the gradual suffusion of pink that crowns its utmost surface! And in the same degree how does its consistency change, from a rich, pulpy, fruit-like elasticity, into the most delicate and inviting crispness of resistance!

It is cut into quarters, as the world was said to be divided when we were schoolboys; but the whole of this is thine own! ready buttered for thee moreover with grassfed butter through the plane of the horizon! Thou hast finished it! Thou hast drank thy nice tea, poured out for thee by the hands that are dearest to thee in the world! Thou hast "lived and hast loved!"

The waiter to whose noiseless footstep we were indebted for the constant anticipation of every want during our repast, was a hale and erect person, turned of sixty, much inclined to be corpulent if it had suited his vocation, with white hair nicely combed about a sleek and roseate face, white cravat, a scarlet plush waistcoat, well but carefully worn, drab coat and breeches, buckles at the knees, worsted stockings, and well-polished shoes tied with strings of black riband. "Hope that you found the saxton's house without difficulty, sir?" "Without the least, John ; your direction was so exact that we could not miss it." Hope that the eggs are boiled to the lady's taste, sir?" "They could not be more so.' John gave another glance at the table, placed a small bell upon it, and vanished.

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To an American, accustomed from his earliest youth to a bustling and unrelaxed exertion both of body and mind, with hardly a thought of repose unconnected with a state of existence beyond the grave-or even of leisure, without a sensation bordering upon contempt-a quiet breakfast in a still country town, and in a foreign land, is a novelty. We prolonged it for some time, but at last rang for John, and ordered posthorses and the bill. There arn't no post-horses sir," said John. "No post-horses!"