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He that would snare John Cumming must get up Betimes i' th' morning. [Chorus of Admirals and Colonels, shouting " Ha! ha! ha! Well

done, Cumming!" The Romish priests and others also shout Ha! ha! ha!" ironically, and in a tone of triumph, which makes Dr. Cumming and his friends turn pale. The Cardinal claps his hands, and there issue from behind the tapestry hanging on the walls four-and-twenty black slaves, with turbans on their heads and bow-strings in their hands. They approach Dr. Cumming and his supporters, who form themselves into the Macedonian phalanx, presenting their pistols and brandishing their swords. The Romanists attempt to seize them, but in vain. Grand Tableau: Dr. Cumming, with his Admirals and Colonels, stand defying their adversaries, who appear petrified with dismay. Suddenly the Cardinal again claps his hands, when trapdoors open under the feet of the Cumming party, the brass band strikes All in the Downs," and the whole of the Protestants are precipitated headlong into the abyss below. They discharge their pistols as they fall, but hit no one.

The Romanists congratulate one another; tea and coffee are handed round, and the scene closes.]

SCENE III. [The same apartment as before in the Jesuits' Palace at Rome.

Astolfo, the General, discovered, in a figured satin dressinggown, lying on a richly brocaded sofa, with a small round table of carved ivory by his side, on which stand ice-creams and glasses of sherry.cobbler and Soyer's nectar. He partakes of the refreshments alternately, and serenely contemplates several large money

bags placed on another table near him. At length he speaks.) Astolfo. This Roman summer is unbearable. Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Ah, the pains of power, the sleepless nights, The loss of appetite: I am a-weary; I would that I were dead! Fie, fie, Astolfo! Shake off these coward fears, and be a man; Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!

[One of the telegraphic bells rings.] That tinkling bell again! This time from France. Those tinkling bells, those tinkling bells; How many a tale their music tells, Of secret thoughts and hopes sublime, Of vows, and pangs, and deeds of crime ! [He rises, and goes to the telegraph, and replies to the Provincial of

the French Jesuits that he is all attention. The Provincial replies, that one of the members of the Society in Paris, the Père

Beauvais, shows symptoms of refractoriness, and that he will be
glad if the General himself will speak to him on the subject.
Astolfo desires him to call the Père Beauvais, and he will
converse with him by means of the telegraph. The following
conversation ensues between Astolfo and Beauvais, the former
being at the Roman end of the telegraphic wires, and the latter

at the Parisian terminus.]
Astolfo. What's this I hear, sir, of your wilfulness?
Your excellent provincial sends me word
That you show signs of doubt and hesitation
When he assigns you any disagreeable office.

Beauvais. Nay, reverend father, that is not the case.
'Tis not from what is disagreeable that I shrink,
But only when 'tis wrong.

Astolfo. Ha, say'st thou so?
Hast thou forgotten 'tis for me to say
What's right and what is wrong? 'Tis not for thee
To bandy words with those thou’rt bound to obey.

Beauvais. I do perceive here a divided duty.
My conscience-

Astolfo. Hang your conscience !
Beauvais. Nay, my father!

Astolfo. I say, sir, will you do what you are told;
Or will you not?

Beauvais. My father, that I will ;

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But yet

Astolfo. Then do it, and let's hear no more Of this confounded nonsense

Beauvais. Father, hear me!
Only one little word.

Astolfo. Well, then, be quick,
For I am busy; I have messages
To send to-day to India, Canada,
To China, Mexico, and Timbuctoo,
To New South Wales and Westminster.
So please be quick.

Beauvais. Well, father, to the point:
I cannot, will not, tell these monstrous lies
I am enjoined; nor will I foster more
These quarrels among those whom God has joined
In holy marriage; nor am I yet convinced
That poison may be fairly used when-

Astolfo. Sir, no more!
You are a traitor; but


tenderness Gives you a chance. Beauvais. Father, I thank


Astolfo. Deeper and deeper still thy goodness, child,
Pierceth a father's bleeding heart, and checks
The cruel sentence on my faltering tongue.
But it must be. Take now your choice; to go
To Timbuctoo or to the Frozen Ocean.
Take your choice, and start this afternoon.
Stay, there's a third alternative. If these
Are terms too hard, and yet your soul
Is deep impressed with that tremendous vow
You once did take to be


slave for ever,
Then leave this life at once ; a few small drops
Will quench the vital spark; and none shall know
Who did the deed.

Beauvais. Oh, murder! murder!
Murder most strange, and most unnatural murder!

Astolfo. Nay, nay, my son, obedience is the first
Of natural duties. On the whole, I think
You'd better die; and if you yet decline
To kill yourself, why still you know that ne'er
You'll leave the house alive; so quick, atone
For all that's past by this heroic act.
Of blind obedience.

Beauvais. Oh! oh! oh! What shall I do?

Astolfo. Nay, do not fear. It is a consummation
Devoutly to be wished; for who would bear
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

Beauvais. True, indeed, too true;
I'll take the poison. I've a phial here
That I have carried long for other ends.
Accept my dying sigh.

[breathes his last sigh along the telegraphic wires, and dies.] Astolfo. So much for Buckingham ! [Returns to his sofa, drinks some sherry-cobbler, takes up the Times

newspaper of that morning, laughs heartily at a leading article showing up the Cathedral Commissioners, and falls fast asleep.] First Coalheaver. 'Tis strange; unless my memory plays

SCENE IV. [A street near the Jesuits' Church in Street, London. A coalwaggon

close to the pavement. Two sound Protestant Coalheavers engaged in examining the apertures by which coals are let down into the London cellars.]

drawn up

me false,
This is the hole; but the iron covering
Is fast, and will not move. 'Tis stiff with rust;
It cannot have been used these dozen years.

Second Coalheaver. Try it again.

First Coalheaver. It yields at last; holloa !
Why, what is this? This is no place for coals.
But hark! I hear a voice, deep down i' th' darkness.
'Tis singing surely; no, 'tis groans ; but hark!
That strain again! it has a dying fall.

Second Coalheaver. I'm never merry when I hear soft music; For I've been taught upon the Hullah system.

First Coalheaver. 'Iis a sweet art, my friend, a lovely art; The man that hath not music in his soul Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. Trust no such man.

Second Coalheaver. I will not.

First Coalheaver. Hush ! be still!
That tender strain again! I'll speak to him.

[Stoops down and listens. ] First Coalheaver. He's quoting Scripture, singing Watts's

hymns. Second Coalheaver. The deuce he is ! First Coalheaver. Holloa ! you there! hi! hi!

[He whistles loud.] Voice groans within. Where should this music be? i' the

air, or the earth ? It sounds no more. 'Tis gone! ah, well-a-day ! If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. First Coalheaver. Holloa, you sir! why don't you answer

us ?
We can't stand shouting all the livelong day.

The Voice. Is't possible? or do I dream again?
Is it the light of day that streams adown
This horrid dungeon? Do I hear once more
The friendly greeting of a Protestant?

First Coalheaver. I say, old fellow, speak a little louder;
Who are you? What on earth can keep a man
Down in this hideous hole?

The Voice. The Jesuits !
Both Coalheavers together. Ah!

The Voice. For five-and-twenty dismal years have I
Been buried in this loathsome prison-house
By those incarnate fiends; my sole offence,

That I would read my Bible. Let me out,
And I'll a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Shall harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

First Coalheaver. Good heavens, it is the very thing
I heard last Sunday afternoon at chapel !
A godly minister declared he knew
These Jesuits lurked beneath our very steps.
What say you, comrade ? Shall we venture in,
And save this pious captive?

Second Coalheaver. Ay, indeed:
Jump down, I'll quickly follow; that's your sorts !

[First Coalheaver gets into the hole and disappears.]
Second Coalheaver. I say! what is it like?
Shall I come now?
First Coalheaver (from within). Thus far into the bowels

of the land Have I marched on without impediment.

Second Coalheaver. Then here go I; and so, 'twixt you

and me,

We'll set the miserable captive free. [He gets into the hole, singing, Confound their politics, frustrate

their knavish tricks," with other loyal and patriotic airs, and the scene closes.]


[The interior of the Jesuits' Church in Street, London.

Father Hildebrand discovered, walking up and down.]
Father Hildebrand. Now am I well prepared my part to

The General's message by the telegraph
Is most precise, and speaks the compass vast
Of his gigantic mind; and every part
Is graven on my memory: still, lest some word
Should 'scape my recollection, I have traced
The message on these ivory tablets. Stay,
I'll read it o'er once more; that when she comes,
I may be prompt in action, clear in speech,
And silence every hesitating doubt
With that decisive tone, that seldom fails
To lead the feeble and o'erpower the strong.

[Takes out his tablets and reads.]

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