The Sun. — 1830-04-10 (London, England)

WISMAR ; A TRAGEDY.-LONDON, Iq3o.  We congratulate the author of " Wismar" on his having produced the most absurd affair in the shape of a tragedy, that we have read for some years. When, however, we say absurd, we do not mean to say that the thing is consequently unamusing, for the tragic scenes are richly farcical, and the serious soliloquies diverting to a degree beyond expression. The plot of this very droll performance is as unique as its characters. An old peasant who answers to the baptismal appellation of Wimund, goes one day to his landlord—a fat Danish Count, hight Wismar, living on the shores of the Baltic—to ask him to rebuild his cottage and lower his rent. The fat Count very sensibly, as we conceive, replies that he will neither do one nor the other, and winds up his refusal by calling Wimund an old dotard. This naturally puts Wimund in a passion, and he at once tells the story of his affront to his daughter Edith, who happens to be soliloquizing on the shores of the Baltic, in such terms as the following :  " Aiy father's sternness makes the sea seem kind." On hearing his little anecdote Edith exclaims—  " 011, father, may be the Baron meant it not." To which very sagacious remark Wirnund replies,  " Could be then call me old dotard by mistake— n have revenge."  The way in which this wicked man " has revenge" is strikingly felicitous, not to say original, The Count, it seems, has two nephews, Edric and Athulf, one legitimate, the other gitimate; one a sweet: young man, slim, virtuous, and pale-faced ; the other a horrible fellow, ugly, " guilt-enfiended" (as the author quaintly assures us) in his countenance, and wholly delivered over to the abominations of iniquity. Now, what do you think, astounded reader, this wicked Wimund does to these two young men ? Why he actually stirs up strife between them, compels one to kill the other in order that the Baron I,Vismar's tender sail may be shocked by the news of his assassination, and is only prevented from sticking the survivor by the seasonable discovery that he has been stuck already. The upshot is awfully impressive. Just as Wimund is going to Burke his victim, and has found him dead, a youth named Florian comes by and at once takes him up for the murder, and bawls him off to the fat Count Wismar, who exclaims on seeing him—  " Wimund, the situation you were found in Near my poor nephew, with the bloody steer —LA butcher's steel, we presume].— " And your known wicked heart, are proofs enough : I cannot doubt you ars the murderer." h'is execution follows as a matter of course, and with an epigrammatic finish that cannot be too high.ly commended. Wismar. " Lay his head on the block. There ! Off with it. do so.) Strike•"—( They  Such is the plot of this very peculiar tragedy, which abounds also in scenes, characters, and conversations worthy of Bombastes Furioso. The following is sprightly and vivacious in an eminent degree. It is impossible to read it without an admiring simper :  Edrie presentilng Florian. Brother this is toy friend. Athulf, 1 wish him joy. Florio n.  I feel it, seeing Edric's kind rt:ccption From his fair cousin and his nr)ble sunk. His brothers,—  Athul f. I'm his brot her. Florian,. So he says— Else I should scarce have guen it. Athol f. Hera? Indeed? (Aside.) I don't much like th is fellow. (Aloud.) You are a wit, sir. Florio  Oh, no. Edric Indeed you do preteni l to be one.  Brother, you're-right. He seta up for a wit. I hope you'll find him an amu ;ing animal. Athu lf. Ne doubt, when I've the hone ur of his acquaintance, I shall. But now, good morning. (Exit.)  Wisrn •sr. WI Al, you see Your brother is not alter'd, Ei lrie.  kfdri c. ) my Lord.