But, poor sowl! he will niver ate or dhrink any more, and ye haven't a livin' relation in the world except meself and yer two cousins who were kilt in the last war. I can not dwell on the mournful subject any longer, and shall sale me letther with black salin'-wax, and put in it yer uncle's coatof-arms. So I beg ye not to brake the sale when ye open the letther, and don't open it until two or three days afther ye resave this, and by that time ye will be well prepared for the sorrowful tidings. Yer old sweetheart sinds her love unknownst to ye. When Jary McGhee arrives in America, ax him for this letther, and if he don't brung it from amongst the rest, tell him it's the one that spakes about yer uncle's death, and saled in black.

I remain yer affectionate ould grandmother,

BRIDGET O'HOOLEGOIN.

P.S.-Don't write till ye resave this.

N.B.-When yez come to this place, stop, and don't rade any more until my next.

Direct to Larry O'Hoolegoin, late of the Town of Tullymucclescrag, Parish of Ballyraggett, near Ballyslughgathey, County of Kilkenny, Ireland.

SCENE FROM RICHARD III.*

SHAKSPEARE.

KING RICHARD, starting out of his dream.

(h.) (ff.) Rich. Give me another horse-bind up my wounds—
Have mercy, Jesu! (p.) Soft; I did but dream.
(tr.) Oh coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by:
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here? No-yes; I am.
Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason! Why?
Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?

* Richard III. was born in 1452. By successive murders he reached the throne. In this extract he appears just after waking from a fearful dream, · wherein the ghosts of his victims appear to him.

I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
Oh no; alas! I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain; yet I lie-I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well-fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
(<) And every tongue brings in a several tale,
<) And every tale condemns me for a villain.
(f) PERJURY, PERJURY in the high'st degree,

Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree,
All several sins, all used in each degree,

Throng to the bar, crying all, (h.) (ff.) GUILTY! GUILTY! (7.) I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And, if I die, no soul will pity me:

Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.

Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent; and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

SCENE FROM THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA.

MRS. HEMANS.

[ALVAR GONZALEZ is the Governor of Valencia; ELMINA, his wife. Their two sons, ALPHONSO and Carlos, are held by ABDALLAH, the chief of the besieging army, as hostages of war, the price of whose ransom is treason the yielding of the city of Valencia. GONZALEZ enters, having on his trappings of war. ELMINA addresses him as he enters.]

Elmina.

My noble lord,

Welcome from this day's toil! It is the hour
Whose shadows, as they deepen, bring repose
Unto all weary men; and wilt not thou

Free thy mailed bosom from the corslet's weight,
To rest at fall of eve?

Gonzalez.

There may be rest For the tired peasant, when the vesper bell Doth send him to his cabin, there to sit Watching his children's sports; but unto me, Who speaks of rest?

Elm. Oh why is this? How my heart sinks.
Gonz. It must not fail thee yet,
Daughter of heroes! Thine inheritance

Is strength to meet all conflicts. Thou canst number
In thy long line of glorious ancestry

Those whom the earth call martyrs;

While heaven but claimed their blood, their lives, and not The things which grew as tendrils round their hearts— No, not their children!

Elm. Mean'st thou? Know'st thou aught?

I can not utter it-my sons! my sons!

Is it of them? Oh, would'st thou speak of them?
Gonz. A mother's heart divineth but too well.
Elm. Speak, I conjure thee! I can bear it all.
Where are my children?

Gonz. In the Moorish camp!

Elm.

Say they live!

Gonz. They live, but there is asked a ransom far too high.

Elm. What! have we wealth

Which might redeem a monarch, and our sons

The while wear fetters? Take thou all for them.

Thou knowest not how serenely I could take

The peasant's lot upon me, so my heart
Amidst its deep affections undisturbed
May dwell in silence.

Gonz. Canst thou bear disgrace?

Elm. We were not born for this.

Gonz. No, thou say'st well.

Hold to that lofty faith. But he for whom

Freedom and life may but be won with shame,

Hath naught to do save fearlessly to fix

His steadfast look on the majestic heavens,
And proudly die.

Elm.

Gonzalez, who must die?

Gonz. They on whose lives a fearful price is set,

But to be paid by treason.

Our sons must die unless I yield the city.

Elm. Is there no hope? Tell me there is some hope.
Gonz. Hope but in Him

Who bade the patriarch lay his fair young son
Bound on the shrine of sacrifice, and when
The bright steel quivered in the father's hand,
Just raised to strike, sent forth His awful voice
Commanding to withhold! Earth has no hope;
It rests with Him.

Elm.

Thou canst not tell me thisThou, father of my sons, within whose hands Doth lie my children's fate!

Gonz.

Hast thou cause,

Wife of my youth, to deem it lies within

The bounds of possible things, that I should link
My name with that word—traitor? They that sleep
On their proud battle-fields, thy sires and mine,
Died not for this.

Elm.

Then their doom is sealed.

Thou wilt not save thy children?

Gonz. Think'st thou I feel no pangs?

He that hath given me sons doth know the heart
Whose treasure he recalls. Of this no more;
'Tis vain I tell thee that the inviolate Cross
Still from our ancient temples must look up

Through the blue heavens of Spain, though at its foot
I perish, with my race.

In mine extreme of misery.
Thy heart is not as mine.

Thou art strong;
My brain grows wild-

I know not what I ask. And yet 'twere but
Anticipating fate, since it must fall-

That Cross must fall. There is no power,
No hope within this city of the grave,

To keep its place on high.

Gonz. We have but to bow the head in silence
When heaven's voice calls back things we love.
Elm. Love! love! there is none

In all this cold and hollow world-no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
The mother's heart. It is but pride wherewith
To his fair son the father's eye doth turn,

Watching his growth. Ay, on the boy he looks,
The bright, glad creature springing in his path,
But as the heir of his great name, the young
And stately tree whose rising strength ere long
Shall bear his trophies well. And this is love!
This is man's love! What marvel? You ne'er made

Your breast the pillow of his infancy;

You ne'er kept watch

Beside him till the last pale star had set,
And morn all dazzling, as in triumph, broke
On your dim, weary eye. Not yours the face
Which, early faded through fond care for him,
Hung o'er his sleep, and, duly as heaven's light,
Was there to greet his wakening. You ne'er smoothed
His couch, ne'er sang him to his rosy rest,

Caught his least whisper, when his voice from yours
Had learned soft utterance, pressed your lip to his
When fever parched it, hushed his wayward cries
With patient, vigilant, never-wearied love!
No; these are woman's tasks. In these her youth,
And bloom of cheek, and buoyancy of heart
Steal from her all unmarked. My boys! my boys!
Hath vain affection borne with all for this?

Gonz.

Is there strength in man

Thus to endure? That thou couldst read, through all
Its depth of silent agony, the heart

Thy voice of woe doth rend!

Elm. Thy heart! thy heart! Away! it feels not now; But an hour comes to tame the mighty man Unto the infant's weakness; nor shall Heaven Spare you that bitter chastening. May you live To be alone when loneliness doth seem Most heavy to sustain! For me, my voice. Of prayer and fruitless weeping shall be soon With all forgotten sounds; my quiet place Low with my lovely ones; and we shall sleepThough kings lead armies o'er us, we shall sleep, Wrapped in earth's covering mantle. You the while Shall sit within your vast forsaken halls,