As round the dearest treasure that we own'd.
She was the centre of our souls' affections--
She was the bud, that underneath our strong
And sheltering arms, spread over her, did blow.
So grew this fair, fair girl, till envious fate
Brought on the hour when she was withered.
Thy father, sir--now mark--for 'tis the point
And moral of my tale--thy father, then,
Was, by my sire, in war ta'en prisoner--
Wounded almost to death, he brought him home,
Shelter'd him,--cherish'd him,--and, with a care,
Most like a brother's, watch'd his bed of sickness,
Till ruddy health, once more through all his veins
Sent life's warm stream in strong returning tide.
How think ye he repaid my father's love?
From her dear home he lur'd my sister forth,
And, having robb'd her of her treasur'd honour,
Cast her away, defil'd,--despoil'd--forsaken--
The daughter of a high and ancient line--
The child of so much love--she died--she died--
Upon the threshold of that home, from which
My father spurn'd her--over whose pale corse
I swore to hunt, through life, her ravisher--
Nor ever from by bloodhound track desist,
Till line and deep atonement had been made--
Honour for honour given--blood for blood.

"The Queen orders Gonzales to death; but the monk accuses her of the
intended murder of Francoise, and produces her written order to that
effect. The King can no longer be blind to his mother's crimes; she is
disgraced, degraded, and condemned to pass the rest of her days in a
convent."

Here the fourth act, and the acting play closes. In the fifth De Bourbon
reappears. Lautrec proposes to join him, and assassinate the King, in
revenge for the ruin of Francoise. The memorable battle of Pavia ensues,
and terminates with the death of the King and the triumph of Bourbon.

Triboulet, the jester of the Court of Francis, is introduced with some
pleasantry, by way of relief to the darker deeds.

We cannot conclude this imperfect sketch better than by the following
judicious observations from the _Quarterly Review_: "How high Miss Kemble's
young aspirings have been--what conceptions she has formed to herself of
the dignity of tragic poetry--may be discovered from this most remarkable
work; at this height she must maintain herself, or soar a still bolder
flight. The turmoil, the hurry, the business, the toil, even the celebrity
of a theatric life must yield her up at times to that repose, that
undist