"And bid me not depart," she cried,
"My Rudolph, say not so!
This is no time to quit thy side;
Peace, peace, I cannot go.
Hath the world aught for me to fear
When death is on thy brow?

The world! what means it?-mine is here-
I will not leave thee now.

"I have been with thee in thine hour
Of glory and of bliss;

Doubt not its memory's living power
To strengthen me through this!
And thou mine honour'd love and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on!

We have the blessed heaven in view,
Whose rest shall soon be won."

And were not these high words to flow
From woman's breaking heart?
Through all that night of bitterest woe
She bore her lofty part;

But oh! with such a glazing eye,

With such a curdling cheek

Love, love! of mortal agony,

Thou, only thou should'st speak!

The wind rose high, but with it rose
Her voice, that he might hear:
Perchance that dark hour brought repose,
To happy bosoms near,

While she sat striving with despair

Beside his tortured form,

And pouring her deep soul in prayer
Forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death-damps from his brow,
With her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low,
Had still'd his heart so oft.

She spread her mantle o'er his breast,
She bathed his lips with dew,
And on his cheeks such kisses press'd,
As hope and joy ne'er knew.

Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!

She had her meed-one smile in death

And his worn spirit pass'd.

While e'en as o'er a martyr's grave,

She knelt on that sad spot;

And weeping, bless'd the God who gave
Strength to forsake it not!

SCENE FROM "ROMEO AND JULIET."

Shakspeare.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO.

Friar. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamoured of thy parts,

And thou art wedded to calamity.

Romeo. Father, what news? What is the Prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

That yet I know not?

Is

Friar. Too familiar

my dear son with such sour company.

I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.

Romeo. What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom? Friar. A gentler judgment vanished from his lips :

Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Romeo. Ha! banishment? Be merciful, say

For exile hath more terror in his look,

"death :"

Much more than death: do not say "banishment."
Friar. Here from Verona art theu banished:

Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Romeo. There is no world without Verona walls ;
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.

Hence banished is banished from the world,
And world's exíle is death. Then banishment
Is death mistermed: calling death banishment,
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil❜st upon the stroke that murders me.

Friar. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rushed aside the law,

Heaven is here,

And turned that black word "death" to "banishment:"
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
Romeo. 'Tis torture, and not mercy.
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not.-More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship, lives
In carrion flies than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisseз sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly :
They are free men, but I am banished.

And sayst thou yet that exile is not death?

Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp-ground knife,

No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But "banished," to kill me? "Banished!
O friar, the damnéd use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it. How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly cónfessor,

A sin-absolver, and a friend professed,

To mangle me with that word "banished?"

Friar. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.
Romeo. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Friar. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,

To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

Romeo. Yet banished?-Hang up philosophy!

Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,

Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;

It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.

Friar. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.

Romeo. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
Friar. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Romeo. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel:

Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,

Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

KOSSUTH'S FAREWELL ADDRESS.

MDCCCXLIX.

FAREWELL, my beloved country! Farewell, land of the Magyar! Farewell, thou land of sorrow! I shall never more behold the summit of thy mountains. I shall never again give the name of my country to that cherished soil where I drank from my mother's bosom the milks of justice and liberty. Pardon, oh! pardon him who is henceforth condemned to wander far from thee, because he combated for thy happiness. Pardon one who can only call free that spot of thy soil where he now kneels with a few of the faithful children of conquered Hungary! My last looks are fixed on my country, and I see thee overwhelmed with anguish. I look into the future, but that future is overshadowed. Thy plains are covered with blood, the redness of which pitiless destruction will change to black, the emblem of mourning for the victories thy sons have gained over the sacrilegious enemies of thy sacred soil.

How many grateful hearts have sent their prayers to the throne of the Almighty! How many tears have gushed from their very depth to implore pity! How much blood has been shed to testify that the Magyar idolizes his country, and that he knows how to die for it. And yet, land of my love, thou art in slavery! From thy very bosom will be forged the chain to bind all that is sacred, and to aid all that is sacri

legious. O Almighty Creator, if thou lovest thy people to whom thou didst give victory under our heroic ancestor, Arpad,* I implore thee not to sink them into degradation. I speak to thee, my country, thus from the abyss of my despair, and whilst yet lingering on the threshold of thy soil. Pardon me that a great number of thy sons have shed their blood for thee on my account. I pleaded for thee-I hoped for thee, even in the dark moment when on thy brow was written the withering word "Despair." I lifted my voice in thy behalf when men said, "Be thou a slave.' I girt the sword about my loins, and I grasped the bloody plume, even when they said, "Thou art no longer a nation on the soil of the Magyar."

66

Time has written thy destiny on the pages of thy story in yellow and black letters-Death. The Colossus of the north has set his seal to the sentence. But the glowing iron of the east shall melt that seal.

For thee, my country, that hast shed so much blood, there is no pity; for does not the tyrant eat his bread on the hills formed of the bones of thy children?

The ingrate whom thou hadst fattened with thy abundance, he rose against thee; he rose against thee, the traitor to his mother, and destroyed thee utterly. Thou hast endured all; thou hast not cursed thine existence, for in thy bosom, and far above all sorrow, hope has built her nest.

Magyars! turn not aside your looks from me, for at this moment mine eyes flow with tears for you, for the soil on which my tottering steps still wander is named Hungary.

My country, it is not the iron of the stranger that hath dug thy grave; it is not the thunder of fourteen nations, all arrayed against thee, that hath destroyed thee; and it is not the fifteenth nation, traversing the Carpathians, that has forced thee to drop thy arms. No: thou hast been betrayed; thou hast been sold, my country; thy death-sentence hath been written, beloved of my heart, by him whose virtue, whose love for thee I never dared to doubt. Yes! in the fervour of my boldest thoughts, I should have almost as soon doubted of the existence of the Omnipotent as have believed that he could ever be a traitor to his country. Thou has been betrayed by him in whose hands I had but a little space before deposited the power of our great country, which he swore to defend, even to the last drop of his heart's blood. He hath done treason to his mother; for the glitter of gold hath been for him more seductive than that of the blood shed to save his country. Base gain had more value in his eyes than his country, and his God has abandoned him, as he had abandoned his God for his allies of hell.

Magyars! Beloved companions, blame me not for having cast mine eyes on this man, and for having given to him my place. It was necessary, for the people had bestowed on him their confidence; the army loved him, and he obtained a power of which I myself would have been

The Arpad alluded to by Kossuth, is the celebrated chief or khan of the Hungarians, who, when driven with his tribes from the banks of the Volga, towards the end of the ninth century, settled on the Theiss, and as the ally of the Emperor Arnoul beat the Moravians in the year 895. Under the weak rule of the son of Arnoul, Lewis, surnamed the Child, he became master of Pannonia, which the Hungarians have since then kept possession of Arpad gave his name to a Hungarian dynasty, which began with St. Stephen in 997, and which kept the throne till the death of Andrew III., 1301. This race of kings is known as the Arpades.

proud. And, nevertheless, this man belied the confidence of the nation, and has repaid the love of the army with hatred. Curse him, people of the Magyars! Curse the breast which did not first dry up before it gave him its milk. I idolize thee, O thou most faithful of the nations of Europe, as I idolize the liberty for which thou hast proudly and bravely combated. The God of liberty will never efface thee from his memory. Mayest thou be for ever blest!

My principles have not been those of Washington; nor yet my acts those of Tell. I desired a free nation-free as man cannot be made but by God. And thou art fallen; faded as the lily, but which in another season puts forth its flowers still more lovely than before. Thou art dead-for hath not thy winter come on? but it will not endure so long as that of thy companion under the frozen sky of Siberia. No! Fifteen nations have dug thy tomb. But the hosts of the sixteenth will come to save thee. Be faithful, as thou hast been even to the present. Conform to the holy counsels of the Bible. Lift up thy heart in prayer for the departed; but do not raise thine own hymn until thou hearest the thunders of the liberating people echo along thy mountains, and bellow in the depth of thy valleys.

Farewell, beloved companions! Farewell, comrades! countrymen ! May the thought of God, and may the angels of liberty for ever be with you! Do not curse me. You may well be proud; for have not the lions of Europe risen from their lairs to destroy the "rebels?" I will proclaim you to the civilized world as heroes; and the cause of an heroic people will be cherished by the freest nation of the earth-the freest of all free people!

Farewell, thou land dyed with the blood of the brave! Guard those red marks they will one day bear testimony on thy behalf.

And thou, farewell, O youthful monarch of the Hungarians! Forget not that my nation is yet destined for thee. Heaven inspires me with the confidence that the day will dawn when it shall be proved to thee even on the ruined walls of Buda.

May the Almighty bless thee, my beloved country.
Believe; Hope; and Love!

Jacob. WELL! this is decidedly refreshing; to think that the governor won't be back all day-very little business to do—and less inclination to do it. Now seeing that I've a few hours' time to kill, how shall I perpetrate the deed? I have it, I'll run home and get my fishing-rod, which wants repairing, for doing which such another oportunity may not offer. Yet, no; it's rather dangerous to say 'Be back in an hour' on the door; for if any one should call, and no Jacob here, what an explosion