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15.-ROB ROY'S DEFENCE OF HIMSELF.

SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.

[Scott, the head of the novelists of the nineteenth century, was born at Edinburgh, 1771. He was educated at the High School and University of Edinburgh. His father was connected with the law, and the future novelist followed the legal profession while indulging in his literary tastes. The popularity of his poems, though great, was far eclipsed by his prose fictions, commencing with "Waverley" (1814), and ending with "Castle Dangerous' (1831). Unfortunately, Scott became involved as a partner in a publishing firm, and found himself liable for debts to the amount of one hundred thousand pounds. This vast amount he determined to liquidate by the labours of his pen, and he all but succeeded, but the effort was too great for his physical strength. A voyage to Italy failed to restore his health, and he died at Abbotsford in 1832.]

You speak like a boy-like a boy, who thinks the old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young sapling. Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw, stigmatized as a traitor, a price set upon my head as if I had been a wolf, my family treated as the dam and cubs of a hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade and insult; the very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure up the devil with ?

And they shall find that the name they have dared to proscribethat the name of MacGregor is a spell to raise the wild devil withal. They shall hear of my vengeance, that would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. The miserable Highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted, stripped of all, dishonoured and hunted down, because the avarice of others grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on them in an awful change. They that scoffed at the grovelling worm, and trod upon him, may cry and howl when they see the stoop of the flying and fiery-mouthed dragon. But why do I speak of all this ?-only ye may opine it frets my patience to be hunted like an otter, or a seal, or a salmon on the shallows, and that by my very friends and neighbours; and to have as many swordcuts made, and pistols flashed at me, as I had this day in the ford of Avondow, would try a saint's temper, much more a Highlander's, who are not famous for that good gift, as you may have heard. But one thing bides wi' me of what Nicol said. I'm vexed when I think of Robert and Hamish living their father's life. But let us say no more of this. *

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You must think hardly of us, and it is not natural that it should be otherwise. But remember, at least, we have not been unprovoked: we are a rude and an ignorant, and it may be, a violent and passionate, but we are not a cruel people. The land might be at peace and in law for us, did they allow us to enjoy the blessings of peaceful law. But we have been a persecuted people: and if persecution maketh wise men mad, what must it do to men like us, living as our fathers did a thousand years since, and possessing

scarce more lights than they did? Can we view their bloody edicts against us their hanging, heading, hounding and hunting down an ancient and honourable name-as deserving better treatment than that which enemies give to enemies ?-Here I stand-have been in twenty frays, and never hurt man but when I was in hot blood!and yet they would betray me and hang me, like a masterless dog, at the gate of any great man that has an ill-will at me.

You are a kind-hearted and an honourable youth, and understand, doubtless, that which is due to the feelings of a man of honour. But the heather that I have trod upon when living must bloom over me when I am dead-my heart would sink, and my arm would shrink and wither, like fern in the frost, were I to lose sight of my native hills; nor has the world a scene that would console me for the loss of the rocks and cairns, wild as they are, that you see around us. And Helen-what would become of her, were I to leave her the subject of new insult and atrocity ?— —or how could she bear to be removed from these scenes, where the remembrance of her wrong is aye sweetened by the recollection of her revenge? I was once so hard put at by my great enemy, as I may well call him, that I was forced e'en to give way to the tide, and removed myself, and my people, and my family, from our dwellings in our native land, and to withdraw for a time into MacCallummore's country,and Helen made a lament on our departure, as well as MacRimmon himself could have framed it; and so piteously sad and woesome, that our hearts almost brake as we listened to her; it was like the wailing of one for the mother that bore him—and I would not have the same touch of the heart-break again, no, not to have

all the lands that were ever owned by MacGregor.

16.-SPEECH OF LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS,

OVER THE DEAD BODY OF LUCRETIA.

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

[Mr. Payne was an American by birth, long settled in England. He wrote Brutus," a Tragedy, and several other successful dramatic pieces; among them "Clari, the Maid of Milan," in which occurs the ever popular song of "Home, sweet home." Born 1793; died 1852.]

THUS, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts
Permitted utterance, we have told our story:
And now, to say one word of the imposture-

The mask necessity has made me wear!
When the ferocious malice of your king—

King, do I call him!-When the monster, Tarquin,
Slew, as you most of you may well remember,
My father Marcus, and my elder brother,
Envying at once their virtues and their wealth,
How could I hope a shelter from his power,
But in the false face I have worn so long?

Would you know why I have summon'd you together?
Ask ye what brings me here? Behold this dagger,
Clotted with gore! Behold that frozen corse!
See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death!
She was the mark and model of the time-

The mould in which each female face was form'd-
The very shrine and sacristy of virtue!
Fairer than ever was a form created
By youthful fancy when the blood strays wild,
And never-resting thought is all on fire!
The worthiest of the worthy! Not the nymph
Who met old Numa in his hallow'd walks,
And whisper'd in his ear her strains divine,
Can I conceive beyond her :-The young choir
Of vestal virgins bent to her. 'Tis wonderful,
Amid the darnel, hemlock, and base weeds
Which now spring rife from the luxurious compost
Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose;
How from the shade of those ill-neighbouring plants
Her father shelter'd her, that not a leaf
Was blighted; but, array'd in purest grace,
She bloom'd unsullied beauty. Such perfections
Might have call'd back the torpid breast of age
To long-forgotten rapture :-such a mind
Might have abash'd the boldest libertine,
And turn'd desire to reverential love
And holiest affection! Oh, my countrymen,
You all can witness that when she went forth
It was a holiday in Rome;-old age

Forgot its crutch, labour its task-all ran;

And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried,

66

'There, there's Lucretia!" Now, look ye, where she lies, That beauteous flower-that innocent sweet rose,

Torn up by ruthless violence-gone! gone! gone!

Say, would ye seek instruction? Would ye ask
What ye should do? Ask ye yon conscious walls,
Which saw his poison'd brother!-saw the incest
Committed there, and they will cry-Revenge!
Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove
O'er her dead father's corse, 'twill cry-Revenge!
Ask yonder Senate-house, whose stones are purple
With human blood, and it will cry-Revenge!
Go to the tomb where lies his murder'd wife,
And the poor queen, who lov'd him as her son;
Their unappeasèd ghosts will shriek-Revenge!
The temples of the gods-the all-viewing heavens-
The gods themselves-shall justify the cry,
And swell the general sound-Revenge! Revenge!

17.-CATO'S SOLILOQUY.

JOSEPH ADDISON.

[See page 117.]

It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well!-
Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought?-Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ?—
"Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;

'Tis Heav'n herself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates Eternity to man.

Eternity!-thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold: If there's a Power above us-
And that there is, all Nature cries aloud

Through all her works-He must delight in virtue,
And that which He delights in, must be happy.
But when! or where! This world was made for Cæsar!
I'm weary of conjectures-This must end them.

[Laying his hand on his sword.

Thus am I doubly arm'd. My death, my life,
My bane and antidote are both before me.
This-in a moment, brings me to an end;
Whilst this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.—
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.

RECITATIONS.

1.—THE ARMADA.

LORD MACAULAY.

[See p. 89.]

ATTEND all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise:
I sing of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
When that great fleet invincible, against her bore, in vain,
The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day,
There came a gallant merchant ship full sail to Plymouth bay ;
The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile.
At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace,
And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.
Forthwith a guard, at every gun, was placed along the wall;
The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgcomb's lofty hall;
Many a light fishing bark put out, to pry along the coast;
And with loose rein, and bloody spur, rode inland many a post.

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes,
Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums:
The yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space,
For there behoves him to set up the standard of her grace:
And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.
Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!
So stalk'd he when he turn'd to flight, on that famed Picard field,
Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield:
So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turn'd to bay,
And crush'd and torn, beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay.
Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, sir knight! ho! scatter flowers, fair
maids!

Ho, gunners! fire a loud salute! ho, gallants! draw your blades!
Thou sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her wide!
Our glorious semper eadem! the banner of our pride!

The fresh'ning breeze of eve unfurl'd that banner's massy fold-
The parting gleam of sunshine kiss'd that haughty scroll of gold:
Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea:
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again shall be.