the hand of the lovely Edith, to whom he swears eternal fealty. The last scene is the same as the first--a wood, with the (invisible) battlemented castle in the distance. Plantagenet the Ruthless enters. He is mad with rage. His prisoner has escaped. He gnashes his teeth. He'll search the wide world through but he will find him. Usurper! ye search not long. Behold him here! He enters, the Knight of the Sable Plume. At length we stand front to front! Back to thy teeth thy lying words! Villain! Defend thyself! They fight to music. One, two, up; one, two, down; one, two, three, four, sideways. They turn round, and when they are face to face, they clash their swords terrifically. They lock their arms together, and fight that way. The gallant knight is getting the worst of it. He is forced first upon one knee, then upon the other. He fights round the stage in this position. By a herculean effort he gains his feet. The swords flash fire. Ah, the usurper yields! He stumbles. He lies prostrate on the ground. Over him glares the knight. Recreant, beg thy miserable life! Never! Die, then, remorseless tyrant! With a piercing shriek Edith rushes in, and cries, Spare him, oh, spare him; he is my father! The Knight of the Sable Plume is softened; his sword drops from his grasp. He kneels, and supports the head of the Ruthless. It is too late; Death has marked me for his own, says Turk. The knight raises his visor. Ah! what is that scar upon thy brow? cries Turk. Avenging heaven! it is _his_ child. These possessions are thine. Take them. Take my daughter. Her love will compensate for her father's hate. He joins their hands, and turning up the whites of his eyes (which elicits from the gallery cries of 'Bravo, Turk!') and saying, 'I die hap-pappy!' proceeds to do so in the most approved corkscrew style. Thus ended _The Knight of the Sable Plume_, by far the most incomprehensible piece of romance it had been my good fortune to witness. Mr. Horace Saint Herbert Fitzherbert was called before the curtain at the end of the drama, and appeared; there were calls also for Turk, but he did not appear. He gloomily informed me, when the performance was over, that Fitzherbert was on a 'starring' engagement, and that it was in the agreement that in his own pieces nobody should be allowed to appear before the curtain but himself. On reference to the playbill, I found that in _The Lonely Murder at the Wayside Inn_ Turk was the murderer, and I am afraid to say how many times he deserved to be hanged for the dreadful crimes he performed in _The Trials and Vicissitudes of a Servant-Girl_. In the last piece the allegorical tableau in coloured fires may have conveyed a good moral, but the smell was suggestive of the lower regions, where good morals are not fashionable.