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Up I sprang. What words were uttered
Bootless now to think or tell-

Tongues speak wild when hearts are fluttered
By the mighty master spell.

Love, avowed with sudden boldness,
Heard with flushings that reveal,
Spite of woman's studied coldness,
Thoughts the heart cannot conceal.

"Magdalena, dearest, hear me," Sighed I, as I seized her hand"Hóla! Senor," very near me,

Cries a voice of stern command.

And a stalwart caballero

Comes upon me with a stride, On his head a slouched sombrero, A toledo by his side.

From his breast he flung his capa
With a stately Spanish air-
(On the whole, he looked the chap a
Man to slight would scarcely dare.)

"Will your worship have the goodness
To release that lady's hand?”—
"Senor," I replied, "this rudeness
I am not prepared to stand.

"Magdalena, say"-the maiden,
With a cry of wild surprise,
As with secret sorrow laden,
Fainting sank before my eyes.

Then the Spanish caballero
Bowed with haughty courtesy,
Solemn as a tragic hero,

And announced himself to me.

"Senor, I am Don Camillo
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo
De Xymenes y Ribera
Y Santallos y Herrera
Y de Rivas y Mendoza
Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y-" "No more, sir, "Tis as good as twenty score, sir," Said I to him, with a frown; "Mucha bulla para nada, No palabras, draw your 'spada; If you're up for a duelo

You will find I'm just your fellowSenor, I am PETER BROWN!"

By the river's bank that night,
Foot to foot in strife,
Fought we in the dubious light
A fight of death or life.
Don Camillo slashed my shoulder,
With the pain I grew the bolder,

Close, and closer still I pressed;

Fortune favored me at last,

I broke his guard, my weapon passed
Through the caballero's breast-
Down to the earth went Don Camillo
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo

De Ximenes y Ribera

Y Santallos y Herrera

Y de Rivas y Mendoza

Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y-One groan,

And he lay motionless as stone.

The man of many names went down, Pierced by the sword of PETER BROWN!

Kneeling down, I raised his head;
The caballero faintly said,
"Signor Ingles, fly from Spain
With all speed, for you have slain
A Spanish noble, Don Camillo
Guzman Miguel Pedrillo

De Ximenes y Ribera
Y Santallos y Herrera
Y de Rivas y Mendoza
Y Quintana y de Rosa

Y Zorilla y "He swooned
With the bleeding from his wound.
If he be living still, or dead,

I never knew; I ne'er shall know. That night from Spain in haste I fled, Years and years ago.

JEAN VALJEAN THE CONVICT

BY VICTOR HUGO

One evening in the beginning of October, 1815, the Bishop of D- had remained in his bedroom until a late hour. At eight o'clock, feeling that supper was ready, and that his sister might be waiting, he closed his book, rose from the table and walked into the dining-room.

There was a loud rap at the front door. "Come in," said the Bishop. A man entered and stopped; the firelight fell on him; he was hideous. It was a sinister apparition.

"My name is Jean Valjean. I am a galley-slave, and have spent nineteen years in the bagne. I was liberated four days ago, and to-day I have marched twelve leagues. On coming into the town I went to the inn, but was sent away in consequence of my yellow passport. I went to another inn, and the landlord said to me, 'Be off!' I went to the prison and the jailer would not take me in. I got into a dog's kennel, but the dog bit me and drove me off. I went in the fields to sleep in the starlight, but there were no stars. I thought it would rain and, as there was no God to prevent it from raining, I came back to town to sleep in a doorway. A good woman pointed to your house and said, 'Go and knock there.' I have money, one hundred francs, fifteen sous, which I have earned by my nineteen years' toil. I will pay. I am very tired and frightfully hungry; will you let me stay?"

"Madame Magloire, you will lay another plate, knife and fork."

"Wait a minute; that will not do. Did you not hear me say that I was a galley-slave, a convict, and had just come

from the bagne? Here is my passport, which turns me out wherever I go: 'Jean Valjean, a liberated convict, has remained nineteen years at the galleys,-five years for robbing with housebreaking, fourteen years for trying to escape four times. The man is very dangerous.' All the world has turned me out; will you give me some food and a bed? Have you a stable?"

"Madame Magloire, you will put clean sheets on the bed in the alcove. Sit down and warm yourself, sir. We shall sup directly, and your bed will be got ready while we are supping."

"Is it true? What? You will let me stay; you will not turn me out- -a convict? You call me, 'Sir'! I really believed you would turn me out, and hence told you at once who I am. I shall have supper; a bed with mattresses and sheets like anybody else! For nineteen years I have not slept in a bed. What is your name, Mr. Landlord?"

"I am a priest living in this house."

"A priest! oh, what a worthy priest! Then you do not want me to pay?"

"No, keep your money. How long did you take earning these one hundred francs?"

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"Nineteen years!" The Bishop gave a deep sigh.

Madame Magloire came in bringing a silver spoon and fork, which she placed on the table.

"Madame Magloire, lay them as near as you can to the fire. The night breeze is sharp on the Alps, and you must be cold, sir."

Each time he said "sir" in his gentle, grave voice the man's face was illumined. "Sir" to a convict is the glass of water to the shipwrecked sailor. Ignominy thirsts for respect.

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