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Per. O, Douglas! Douglas! even such a friend,
For death or life, was thy great sire to mine.

Doug. Straight, let us turn our trumpets to the hills;
Declare aloud thy name, and wrongs; in swarms
Call down the warlike tenantry, and teach
Aspiring Neville fatal is the day

The Percy and the Douglas league in arms.

Per. If he were all-Remember haughty Henry, The nephew* of his wife, whose word could speed A veteran army to his kinsman's aid.

Doug. Come one, come all; leave us to welcome them. [Exit Douglas.


Per. Too long, too long a huntsman, Arthur comes
Stripped of disguise, this night, to execute
His father's testament,-whose blood lies spilt;
Whose murmurs from the tomb are in his ears;
Whose injuries are treasured in a scroll
Steeped in a mother's and an orphan's tears.
O'er that cursed record has my spirit groaned,
Since dawning reason, in unuttered anguish.
When others danced, struck the glad wire, or caught
The thrilling murmurs of loved lips, I've roamed
Where the hill-foxes howl, and eagles cry,
Brooding o'er wrongs that haunted me for vengeance.
Ay! I have been an outcast from my cradle;
Poor, and in exile, while an alien called

My birth-right, home. Halls founded by my sires
Have blazed and rudely rung with stranger triumphs;
Their honourable name cowards have stained;
Their laurels trampled on;-their bones profaned.
Hence have I laboured ;-watched while others slept;
Known not the spring of life, nor ever plucked
One vernal blossom in the day of youth.-
The harvest of my toils this night I reap;
For death, this night, or better life awaits me.


The Prodigal Son.

A CERTAIN man had two sons: and the younger of them said unto his father, "Father, give me the portion of goods * Pronounced nev'ew.

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that falleth to me." And he divided unto them his living. And, not many days after, the younger son gathered all to gether, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And, when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled him. self with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him.

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And, when he came to himself, he said, "How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough, and to spare ;—and I perish with hunger!-I will arise, and go to my father, and will say unto him-Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son :-make me as one of thy hired servants.


And he arose, and was coming to his father:but, while he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, “ Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son." But the father said to his servants, "Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet;-and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry:-for this, my son, was dead, and is alive again;-he was lost, and is found."

Now his elder son was in the field-and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, "Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath re ceived him safe and sound."

And he was angry-and would not go in: therefore came his father out and entreated him. And he, answering, said to his father, "Lo, these many years have I served thee, neither transgressed I, at any time, thy commandment;and yet-thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends:-But, as soon as this-thy son was come, who hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf."

And the father said unto him- Son, thou art ever with me; and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry and be glad: for this thy brother was ead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."


The Church-yard.-KARAMSIN.

[From the Russian Anthology.]
First Voice.

How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear!
With the howls of the storm-wind-the creaks of the bier,
And the white bones all clattering together!

Second Voice.

How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep:
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
And flowerets perfume it with ether.

First Voice.

There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead,
And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed,
And snakes in its nettle weeds hiss.

Second Voice.

How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb :
No tempests are there :-but the nightingales come
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.

First Voice.

The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: "Tis the vulture's abode:-'tis the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the earth with their fangs.

Second Voice.

There the cony at evening disports with his love,
Or rests on the sod;-while the turtles above,
Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.

First Voice.

There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath,
And loathsome decay fill the dwelling of death;

The trees are all barren and bare!

Second Voice.

O, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb,
And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume,

With lilies and jessamine fair.

First Voice.

The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears,
Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears,
He is launched on the wreck-covered river!

Second Voice.

The traveller outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary,
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary,
And sweetly reposes for ever.


The rich man and the poor man.-Khemnitzer.
[From the same.


So goes the world;-if wealthy, you may call
This friend, that brother;-friends and brothers all;
Though you are worthless-witless-never mind it;
You may have been a stable boy-what then?
"Tis wealth, good Sir, makes honourable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it,

But if you are poor, heaven help you! though your sire
Had royal blood within him, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels too,

'Tis all in vain;-the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score:-Why should it take the pains?
'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.

I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,

Witty and wise:-he paid a man a visit,

And no one noticed him, and no one ever

Gave him a welcome. "Strange," cried I," whence is it?

He walked on this side, then on that,

He tried to introduce a social chat;

Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied,

And some

Said by their silence" Better stay at home."

A rich man burst the door,

As Croesus rich I'm sure,

He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;

He had what's better; he had wealth.

What a confusion !-all stand up erect-
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.

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"Allow me, Sir, the honour ;"-then a bow Down to the earth-Is't possible to show Mest gratitude for such kind condescension?


The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,

"This is indeed beyond my comprehension :"
Then looking round

One friendly face he found,

And said "Pray tell me why is wealth preferr'd
To wisdom?" That's a silly question, friend!"
Replied the other-"have you never heard,
A man may lend his store

Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?"


The abuses of Conscience.—A Sermon.—STERNE:

Hebrews xiii. 18.

For we trust we have a good Conscience.

"TRUST!-Trust we have a good conscience!"

[Certainly Trim, quoth my father, interrupting him, you give that sentence a very improper accent; for you curl up your nose, man, and read it with such a sneering tone, as if the parson was going to abuse the Apostle.

He is, an't please your honour, replied Trim.
Pugh! said my father, smiling.

Sir, quoth Doctor Slop, Trim is certainly in the right; for the writer, (who I perceive is a Protestant by the snappish manner in which he takes up the Apostle,) is certainly going to abuse him;-if this treatment of him has not done it already. But from whence, replied my father, have you concluded so soon, Doctor Slop, that the writer is of our church? for aught I can see yet, he may be of any * Pronounced pook.

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