"O Anne, Anne! The world may banish all regard for thee, Mewing thy fame in frigid chronicles, But every memory that haunts my mind Shall cluster round thee still. _I'll hide thy name Under the coverture of even lines, I'll hint it darkly in familiar songs_, I'll mix each melancholy thought of thee Through all my numbers: _so that heedless men Shall hold my love for thee within their hearts, Not knowing of the treasure_." The last scene, preceding the death of Anne Boleyn, is simple and almost homely in its entire want of poetic imagery; yet nothing could be more profoundly touching, and--in the highest sense of the word--tragic. The same tears which blur for us the lines of Browning's _Blot on the 'Scutcheon_, and the last words of Shelley's _Beatrice Cenci_, suffuse our eyes at this parting address of Anne Boleyn to her maidens, beside her on the scaffold: "And ye, my damsels, Who whilst I lived did ever show yourselves So diligent in service, and are now To be here present in my latest hour Of mortal agony--as in good times Ye were most trustworthy, even so in this, My miserable death, ye leave me not. As a poor recompense for your rich love, I pray you to take comfort for my loss-- And yet forget me not. To the king's grace, And to the happier one whom you may serve In place of me, be faithful as to me. Learn from this scene, the triumph of my fate, To hold your honors far above your lives. When you are praying to the martyred Christ, Remember me who, as my weakness could, Faltered afar behind His shining steps, And died for truth, forgiving all mankind. The Lord have pity on my helpless soul!" Since the publication of _Anne Boleyn_, Mr. Boker has written two plays, _The Betrothal_, and _All the World a Mask_, both of which have been produced on the stage in Philadelphia with the most entire success. _Calaynos_ was also played for a number of nights, Mr. Murdoch taking the principal part. _The Betrothal_ was performed in New-York and Baltimore, with equal success. It is admirably adapted for an acting play. The plot is not tragic, though the closing scenes have a tragic air. The dialogue is more varied than in _Anne Boleyn_ or _Calaynos_--now sparkling and full of point, now pithy, shrewd, and pregnant with worldly wisdom, and now tender, graceful, and poetic. _All the World a Mask_ is a comedy of modern life. We have not seen it represented, and it has not yet been published; yet no one familiar with the fine healthy humor displayed in portions of _Calaynos_ and _The Betrothal_ can doubt the author's ability to sustain himself through a five-act comedy.