At which they gorged themselves, then smelling round, Under the pillow soon the cheese they found;

And while at this they regaling sat,

Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap;

Who, half awake, cried out, "Hallo! hallo!

Vat is dat nibbel at my pillow so?

Ah! 'tis one big huge rat!

Vat de diable is it he nibbel, nibbel at ?”

In vain our little hero sought repose;
Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose;
And such the pranks they kept up all the night,
That he, on end antipodes upright,

Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light.
"Hallo! maison! garçon, I say!

Bring me the bill for vat I have to pay!"

The bill was brought, and to his great surprise,

Ten shillings was the charge: he scarce believes his eyes.

With eager haste he runs it o'er,

And every time he viewed it thought it more.

"Vy zounds, and zounds!" he cries, "I shall no pay; Vat! charge ten shelangs for vat I have mange? A leetal sup of porter, dis vile bed,

Vere all de rats do run about my head ?”

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Plague on those rats!" the landlord muttered out; "I wish, upon my word, that I could make 'em scout: I'll pay him well that can.” "Vat's dat you say?" "I'll pay him well that can." "Attend to me, I Vil you dis charge forego, vat I am at, If from your house I drive away de rat?"

"With all my heart," the jolly host replies;
"Ecoutez donc ami ;" the Frenchman cries.
"First, den, regardez, if you please,
Bring to dis spot a leetal bread and cheese,
Eh bien! a pot of porter, too;

And den invite de rats to sup vid you;
And after-no matter dey be villing-

For vat dey eat you charge dem just ten shelang;
And I am sure, ven dey behold de score,

pray,

Dey'll quit your house, and never come no more!"

Ex. LXXVI.-THE MARCH OF DEL CARPIO.

LOCKHART.

WITH three thousand men of Leon, from the city Bernard

goes,

To protect the soil Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes: From the city which is planted in the midst between the seas, To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo's victories.

The peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight,— He quits his team for spear and shield and garniture of might; The shepherd hears it 'mid the mist,―he flingeth down his crook,

And rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook.

The youth who shows a maiden's chin, whose brows have ne'er been bound

The helmet's heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound;

The hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness,

Once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior's ringlets press.

As through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills,

They swelled his host as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills;

They round his banner flocked in scorn of haughty Charle

magne,

And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain.

"Free were we born," 'tis thus they cry,-"though to our king we owe

The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go;

By God's behest our aid he shares, but God did ne'er com

mand

That we should leave our children heirs of an enslaved land.

"Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak, Nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break, To sell our freedom for the fear of prince or paladin ;

At least we'll sell our birthright dear,--no bloodless prize they'll win.

"At least King Charles, if God decrees he must be lord of Spain,

Shall witness that the Leonese were not aroused in vain;
He shall bear witness that we died as lived our sires of old,—
Nor only of Numantium's pride shall minstrel tales be told.

"The LION that hath bathed his paws in seas of Libyan gore,
Shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore?
Anointed cravens may give gold to whom it likes them well,
But steadfast heart and spirit bold Alphonso ne'er shall sell.

LXXVII.—MACLAINE'S CHILD

MACKAY.

"MACLAINE! you 've scourged me like a hound;-
You should have struck me to the ground;
You should have played a chieftain's part,-
You should have stabbed me to the heart.

"You should have crushed me into death;—
But here I swear with living breath,
That for this wrong which you have done,
I'll wreak my vengeance on your son,—

"On him, and you, and all your race!"—
He said, and bounding from his place,
He seized the child with sudden hold-
A smiling infant, three years old.

And, starting like a hunted stag,
He scaled the rock, he clomb the crag,
And reached, o'er many a wide abyss,
The beetling seaward precipice.

And, leaning o'er its topmost ledge,
He held the infant o'er the edge:
"In vain the wrath, thy sorrow vain;
No hand shall save it, proud Maclaine !"

With flashing eye and burning brow,
The mother followed, heedless how,
O'er crags with mosses overgrown,
And stair-like juts of slippery stone;

But, midway up the rugged steep,
She found a chasm she could not leap,
And, kneeling on its brink, she raised
Her supplicating hands, and gazed.

"Oh! spare my child, my joy, my pride; Oh! give me back my child!" she cried: "My child! my child!" with sobs and tears, She shrieked upon his callous ears.

"Come, Evan," said the trembling chief,--
His bosom wrung with pride and grief,—
"Restore the boy, give back my son,
And I'll forgive the wrong you've done!"

"I scorn forgiveness, haughty man!
You've injured me before the clan;
And nought but blood shall wipe away
The shame I have endured to-day."

And, as he spoke, he raised the child,
To dash it 'mid the breakers, wild,
But, at the mother's piercing cry,
Drew back a step, and made reply:

"Fair lady, if your lord will strip,
And let a clansman wield the whip;
Till skin shall flay, and blood shall run,
I'll give you back your little son."

The lady's cheek grew pale with ire,
The chieftain's eyes flashed sudden fire;
He drew a pistol from his breast,

Took aim, then dropped it, sore distressed.

"I might have slain my babe instead.
Come, Evan, come," the father said,
And through his heart a tremor ran;
"We'll fight our quarrel man to man."

"Wrong unavenged I've never borne,"
Said Evan, speaking loud in scorn;
"You've heard my answer, proud Maclaine:
I will not fight you,-think again."

The lady stood in mute despair,
With freezing blood and stiffening hair;
She moved no limb, she spoke no word;--
She could but look upon her lord.

He saw the quivering of her eye,
Pale lips and speechless agony,-
And, doing battle with his pride,
"Give back the boy,-I yield,” he cried.
A storm of passion shook his mind,-
Anger, and shame, and love combined;
But love prevailed, and, bending low,
He bared his shoulders to the blow.

"I smite you," said the clansman true;
Forgive me, chief, the deed I do!

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For by yon Heaven that hears me speak,
My dirk in Evan's heart shall reek !"

But Evan's face beamed hate and joy;
Close to his breast he hugged the boy:
"Revenge is just, revenge is sweet,

And mine, Lochbuy, shall be complete."

Ere hand could stir, with sudden shock,
He threw the infant o'er the rock,-
Then followed with a desperate leap,
Down fifty fathoms to the deep.

They found their bodies in the tide;
And never till the day she died

Was that sad mother known to smile:-
The Niobe of Mulla's isle.

They dragged false Evan from the sea,
And hanged him on a gallows tree;
And ravens fattened on his brain,
To sate the vengeance of Maclaine.

Ex. LXXVIII.-CHARACTER OF CHATHAM.

GRATTAN.

THE secretary stood alone; modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original, and unaccommodating, the features