of an immediate supply of napkins, my black silk breeches were not stout enough to save me from the painful effects of this sudden fomentation, and for some minutes my legs and thighs seemed stewed in a boiling cauldron; but recollecting how Sir Thomas had disguised his torture when I had trod upon his toes, I firmly bore my pain in silence, and sat with my lower extremities parboiled, amidst the stifled giggling of the ladies and the servants. I will not relate the several blunders which I made during the first course, or the distress occasioned by my being desired to carve a fowl, or help to various dishes that stood near me, spilling a sauce-boat, and knocking down a salt-cellar; rather let me hasten to the second course, where fresh disasters overwhelmed me quite!

I had a piece of rich sweet pudding on my fork, when Miss Louisa Friendly begged to trouble me for some of a pigeon that stood near me. In my haste, scarce knowing what I did, I whipped the pudding into my mouth, hot as a burning coal: it was impossible to conceal my agony; my eyes were starting from their sockets. At last, in spite of shame and resolution, I was obliged to drop the cause of my torment on my plate. Sir Thomas and the ladies all compassionated my misfortune, and each advised a different application. One recommended oil, another water, but all agreed that wine was the best for drawing out the heat; but, oh! how shall I tell the sequel? The butler, by accident, gave me the strongest brandy, with which I filled my mouth, already flayed and blistered. With my tongue, throat, and palate, raw as beef, what could I do? I could not swallow; and clapping my hands upon my mouth, the cursed liquor squirted through my nose and fingers, like a fountain, over all the dishes. In vain did Sir Thomas reprimand the servants, and Lady Friendly chide her daughters; for the measure of my shame, and their diversion, was not yet complete. To relieve me from the intolerable state of perspiration which this accident had caused, without considering what I did, I wiped my face with that ill-fated handkerchief, still wet from the fall of Xenophon, and covered my features with streaks of ink in every direction, The Baronet himself could not support this shock, but joined his lady in the general laugh; while I sprung from the table in despair, rushed out of the house, and ran home in an agony of confusion and disgrace. Anonymous.

Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, To wake the wild deer never came, Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game On Cheviot's rueful day;

Keeldar was matchless in his speed, Than Taurus ne'er was stauncher steed, A peerless archer Percy Rede :

And right dear friends were they.

The chase engross'd their joys and woes,
Together at the dawn they rose,
Together shar'd the noon's repose,
By fountain or by stream;

And oft, when evening skies were red,
The heather was their common bed,
Where each as wildering fancy led,
Still hunted in his dream.

Now is the thrilling moment near
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear,
Yon thicket holds the harbour'd deer,
The signs the hunters know;
With eyes of flame, and quivering ears,
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears;
The restless palfrey paws and rears ;
The archer strings his bow.

The game's afoot!-Halloo! halloo !
Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue;
But woe the shaft that erring flew-
That e'er it left the string!

And ill betide the faithless yew !
The stag bounds scatheless o'er the dew,
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true

Has drench'd the grey-goose wing.

The noble hound-he dies, he dies!
Death, death has glaz'd his fixèd eyes,
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies,
Without a moan or quiver.
Now day may break, and bugle sound,
And whoop and hollow ring around,
And o'er his couch the stag may bound,
But Keeldar sleeps for ever.

Dilated nostrils, staring eyes,

Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise:
He knows not that his comrade dies,
Nor what is death; but still
His aspect hath expression drear
Of grief, and wonder mixed with fear,
Like startled children when they hear
Some mystic tale of ill.

But he that bent the fatal bow,

Can well the sum of evil know,
And o'er his favourite bending low,
In speechless grief reclinė;
Can think he hears the senseless clay,
In unreproachful accents, say—-
"The hand that took my life away,
Dear master, was it thine?

"And if it be, the shaft be bless'd,
Which sure some erring aim address'd,
Since in your service, priz'd, caress'd,
I in your service die;

And you may have a fleeter hound,
To match the dun deer's merry bound,
But by your couch will ne'er be found
So true a guard as I."

And to his last stout Percy rued
The fatal chance; for when he stood
'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud,
And fell amid the fray,

E'en with his dying voice he cried—
"Had Keeldar but been at my side,
Your treacherous ambush had been spied-
I had not died to-day!"

SCENE FROM JANE SHORE.

Rowe.

Enter GLOCESTER and HASTINGS.

Gloc. My lord, you're well encountered; here has been A fair petitioner this morning with us:

Believe me, she has won me much to pity her:
Alas! her gentle nature was not made

To buffet with adversity. I told her

How worthily her cause you had befriended;

How much for your good sake we meant to do,

That you had spoke, and all things should be well.

Hast.

Your highness binds me ever to your service.

Gloc. You know your friendship is most potent with us, And shares our power. But of this enough,

For we have other matters for your ear;

The state is out of tune; distracting fears,

And jealous doubts, jar in our public councils;

Amidst the wealthy city murmurs rise,

Loud railings, and reproach on those that rule,
With open scorn of government; hence credit,
And public trust 'twixt man and man, are broke:
The golden streams of commerce are withheld,
Which fed the wants of needy clerks and artizans,
Who therefore curse the great, and threat rebellion.
Hast. The lazy knaves are over-run with ease,
As plenty ever is the nurse of faction.

If, in good days like these, the headstrong herd
Grow madly wanton and repine, it is

Because the reins of power are held too slack,
And reverend authority of late

Has worn a face of mercy more than justice.

Gloc. Beshrew my heart! but you have well divin'd The source of these disorders. Who can wonder

If riot and misrule o'erturn the realm,

When the crown sits upon a baby brow?

Plainly to speak; hence comes the gen'ral cry,

And sum of all complaint: 'twill ne'er be well

With England (thus they talk) while children govern.

Hast. 'Tis true, the king is young; but what of that? We feel no want of Edward's riper years,

While Gloster's valour and most princely wisdom

So well supply our infant sovereign's place,

His youth's support, and guardian to his throne.

Gloc. The council (much I'm bound to thank them for't!) Have placed a pageant sceptre in my hand,

Barren of power, and subject to control:

Scorn'd by my foes, and useless to my friends.
Oh, worthy lord! were mine the rule indeed,

I think I should not suffer rank offence

At large to lord it in the eommonweal:

Nor would the realm be bent by discord thus,
Thro' fear and doubt betwixt disputed titles.

Hast. Of this I am to learn; as not supposing
A doubt like this-

Gloc. Ay, marry, but there is

And that of much concern. Have you not heard
How, on a late occasion, Doctor Shaw

Has moved the people much about the lawfulness
Of Edward's issue? By right grave authority

Of learning and religion, plainly proving,

A bastard scion never should be grafted
Upon a royal stock; from thence, at full
Discoursing on my brother's former contract
To Lady Elizabeth Lucy, long before

His jolly match with that same buxom widow,
The queen, he left behind him-

Hast. Ill befall

Such meddling priests, who kindle up confusion,
And vex the quiet world with their vain scruples!
By Heaven 'tis done in perfect spite to peace.

Did not the king,

Our royal master, Edward, in concurrence

With his estates assembled, well determine

What course the sov'reign rule should take henceforward?
When shall the deadly hate of faction cease,

When shall our long-divided land have rest,

If every peevish, moody malcontent

Shall set the senseless rabble in an uproar,

Fright them with dangers, and perplex their brains,
Each day, with some fantastic giddy change!

Gloc. What if some patriot, for the public good,
Should vary from your scheme, new-mould the state?
Hast. Curse on the innovating hand that 'tempts it!
Remember him, the villain, righteous Heav'n,
In thy great day of vengeance! Blast the traitor,
And his pernicious councils, who, for wealth,
For pow'r, the pride of greatness and revenge,
Would plunge his native land in civil wars!
Gloc. You go too far, my lord.
Hast. Your highness' pardon-

Have we so soon forgot those days of ruin,
When York and Lancaster drew forth their battles;
When, like a matron butcher'd by her sons,
Our groaning country bled at every vein;
When murders, rapes, and massacres, prevail'd;
When churches, palaces, and cities, blaz'd;
When insolence and barbarism triumph'd,
And swept away distinction; peasants trod
Upon the necks of nobles; low were laid
The reverend crosier, and the holy mitre,
And desolation cover'd all the land:
Who can remember this, and not, like me,
Here vow to sheath a dagger in his heart,

Whose curs'd ambition would renew those horrors,
And set once more that scene of blood before us?

Gloc.

Hast.

How now! so hot!

So brave, and so resolved.

Gloc. Is then our friendship of so little moment,

That you could arm your hand against my life?

Hast. I hope your highness does not think I mean it :

No, Heaven forbid, that e'er your princely person

Should come within the scope of my resentment.

Gloc. Oh, noble Hastings! Nay, I must embrace you; By holy Paul, you're a right honest man!

The time is full of danger and distrust,
And warns us to be wary. Hold me not
Too apt for jealousy and light surmise,

If, when I meant to lodge you next my heart,
I put your truth to trial. Keep your loyalty,
And live, your king and country's best support.
For me, I ask no more than honour gives,
To think me yours, and rank me with your friends.

[Exit.