Fern. [rising, and throwing himself into the arms of PROCIDA].

Proc. O, my son!

[My father!

Fern.

What shall I do ?

Fern. The gauntlet of

The martyr king!

Proc. There!-Stop! Not now, my son;
I find thee quick in the affection

Thou owest me, and which, like a new spring
Just struck upon, doth bubble richly up
And run an ample torrent. No, my son;
I will not take advantage of the burst
To let it hurry thee along with it.

A sudden change and violent, is scarce

A lasting one. Thou mightst repent it. No;
I'll prove thee ere thou join'st the holy cause.
Thou to Messina shalt return once more,

Before thou see'st her free. My word was given,
Thou art a man. Men that uphold the name
Act, not from impulse, but reflection.
Declare thy meditated nuptials things

Thy duty to thy neighbour and thy God

Compels thee to abandon.

Then come back,

From every let released, and take the oath,

And live the son of John of Procida.

Fern. When I can say thy first behest is done,

I'll show myself to thee.

Proc. Farewell!

Farewell!

How suddenly his visage brighten'd up,

At mention of returning to Messina.

What speed is there! Is't all on my account?

Now he is gone my heart misgives me.

What

Have I done? Why do we pray that we be spared
Temptation, but that 'tis a whirlpool, which,

Once we're within its vortex, draws us in

And sucks us down to ruin-Charybdis like!
Which of the huge war-galley makes as light,
As boat, compared to that, a cockle-shell!

Whence should all men that love their souls beware
Temptation. I will call him back! He is out
Of hearing. Should his love for her be strong?
I did not note if she was very fair.

But souls were never made for eyes to read,
And there lies woman's beauty. If she loves
Strongly and O how strongly woman loves-
The force of two hearts must he struggle with.
I'll trust in Heaven! Alas! how many men
Do trust in Heaven, when they betray themselves!

[Goes out.

If he's my son!-I talk with fifty years
For counsellors! O, it was oversight,
Preposterous in a father! If I have found
My son to lose him-best I ne'er had found him.
Yet ere I lose him I will risk my life-

Risk all-except the sacred cause I'm sworn to.

[Goes out.

CASABIANCA.

Mrs. Hemans.

THE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm ;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud though childlike form.

The flames rolled on-he would not go
Without his father's word;

That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud-" Say, father, say,
If yet my task is done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

Speak, father!" once again he cried;

"If I may yet be gone!

And"- -but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair;

And looked from that lone post of death,

In still yet brave despair;

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

Then came a burst of thunder-sound,—

The boy!-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea,

With mast and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part ;-
But the noblest thing that perished there,
Was that young faithful heart!

WOLSEY'S APPEAL TO HENRY VIII.*

W. H. Ainsworth.

[WOLSEY, in consequence of his disapproval of the divorce of Katharine of Arragon, is in disgrace with the king, and he gives his palace at Hampton Court, with the large amount of gold which he has stored up there, to appease the king's anger, being aware that the king does, or shortly will, know of the existence of the treasure, through his jester, Will Somers, who has learnt the secret from Wolsey's jester, Patch.]

Enter KING HENRY and CARDINAL WOLSEY.

King. WELL, Cardinal! You are playing a deep game with me, as you think; but take heed, for I see through it.

Wolsey. I pray you dismiss these suspicions from your mind, my liege. No servant was ever more faithful to his master than I have been to you.

King. No servant ever took better care of himself. Not alone have you wronged me to enrich yourself, but you are ever intriguing with my enemies. I have nourished in my heart a viper, but I will cast you off -will crush you as I would the noxious reptile! [stamping his foot.]

Wolsey. Beseech you, calm yourself, my liege; I have never thought of my own aggrandisement but as it was likely to advance your power. For the countless benefits I have received at your hands, my soul overflows with gratitude. You have raised me from the meanest condition to the highest. You have made me your confidant, your adviser, your treasurer-and, with no improper boldness I say it, your friend. But I defy the enemies who have poisoned your ears against me, to prove that I have ever abused the trust placed in me. The sole fault that can be imputed to me is, that I have meddled more with temporal matters than spiritual; and it is a crime for which I must answer before Heaven. But I have so acted because I felt that I might thereby best serve your Highness. If I have aspired to the Papal throne-which you well know I have it has been that I might be yet a more powerful friend to your Majesty, and render you what you are entitled to be, the first prince in Christendom.

King. Tut, tut?

* From W. H. Ainsworth's Romance of "Windsor Castle."

Wolsey. The gifts I have received from foreign princes-the wealth I have amassed-have all been with a view of benefiting your Majesty. King. Humph!

Wolsey. To prove that I speak the truth, sire, the palace at Hampton Court, which I have just completed

King. And at a cost more lavish than I myself should have expended on it.

Wolsey. If I had destined it for myself, I should not have spent a tithe of what I have done. Your Highness's unjust accusations force me to declare my intentions somewhat prematurely. Deign [throwing himself at the king's feet] to accept that palace and all within it. You were pleased, during your late residence there, to express your approval of it; and I trust it will find equal favour in your eyes now that it is your own.

King. By holy Mary, a royal gift! Rise, Cardinal. You are not the grasping, selfish person, you have been represented.

Wolsey. Declare as much to my enemies, sire, and I shall be more than content. You will find the palace better worth accepting than at first sight might appear.

King. How so?

Wolsey. Your Highness will be pleased to take this key-it is the key of the cellar.

King. You have some choice wine there-given you by some religious house-or sent you by some foreign potentate—ha !

Wolsey. It is a wine that a king might prize. Your Majesty will find a hundred hogsheads in that cellar; and each hogshead filled with gold.

King. You amaze me! [feigning astonishment]. freely give me ?

And all this you

Wolsey. Freely and fully, sire. Nay, I have saved it for you. Men think I have cared for myself, whereas I have cared only for your Majesty. Oh! my dear liege, by the devotion I have just approved to you, and which I would also approve, if needful, with my life, I beseech you to consider well before you raise Anne Boleyn to the throne. In giving you this counsel, I know I hazard the favour I have just regained; but even at that hazard I must offer it. Your infatuation blinds you to the terrible consequence of the step. The union is odious to all your subjects-but most of all to those not tainted with the new heresies and opinions. It will be never forgiven by the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who will seek to avenge the indignity offered to his illustrious relative; while Francis will gladly make it a pretext for breaking his truce with you. Add to this the displeasure of the Apostolic see, and it must be apparent that, powerful as you are, your position will be one of infinite peril.

King. Thus far advanced, I cannot honourably abandon the divorce. Wolsey. Nor do I advise its abandonment, sire? but do not let it be a means of injuring you with all men. Do not let a mal-alliance place your very throne in jeopardy; as, with your own subjects and all foreign powers against you, must necessarily be the case.

King. You speak warmly, Cardinal.

Wolsey. My zeal prompts me to do so. worthy of the honour you propose her.

Anne Boleyn is in no way

King. And whom do you think more worthy?

Wolsey. Those whom I have already recommended to your Majesty -the Duchess d'Alençon, or the Princess Renée; by a union with either of them you would secure the cordial co-operation of Francis, and the interest of the see of Rome-which, in the event of a war with Spain, you may need.

King. No, Wolsey; no considerations of interest or security shall induce me to give up Anne. I love her too well for that. Let the lion, Charles, roar; the fox, Francis, snarl; and the hydra-headed Clement launch forth his flames; I will remain firm to my purpose. I will not play the hypocrite with you, whatever I may do with others. I cast off Katharine that I may wed Anne; because I cannot otherwise obtain her. And shall I now, when I have dared so much, and when the prize is in my grasp, abandon it ?—Never! Threats, expostulations, entreaties, are alike unavailing.

Wolsey. I grieve to hear it, my liege; it is an ill-omened union, and will bring woe to you, woe to your realm, and woe to the Catholic Church.

THE PIG.

Southey.

JACOB! I do not love to see thy nose
Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig.
It would be well, my friend, if we, like him,
Were perfect in our nature! Why dislike
The sow-born grunter? He is obstinate,
Thou answerest; ugly; and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal. Now, I pray you,
Hear the pig's counsel.

Is he obstinate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words,
By sophist sounds. A democratic beast,
He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek
Their profit and not his. He hath not learnt
That pigs were made for man-born to be brawn'd
And baconized; that he must please to give

Just what his gracious masters please to take;
Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave

For self-defence, the general privilege;

Perhaps hark, Jacob! didst thou hear that horn ?—
Woe to the young posterity of pork!

Their enemy is at hand.

Again-Thou say'st

The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him!

Those eyes have taught the lover flattery.
His face,- -nay, Jacob! Jacob! were it fair
To judge a lady in her deshabille ?