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the few minutes of portentous, deathlike silence which reigned throughout the house: the preacher, removing his white handkerchief from his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears) and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it, begins the sentence: "Socrates died like a philosopher"—then pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both, clasped together, with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his "sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice "but Jesus Christ-like a God!" If he had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been more divine.

LESSON CLXXXII.

Scene from the Tragedy of King John.-SHAKSPEARE. Prince ARTHUR, HUBERT, and ATTENDANTS.

Scene.-A room in the castle, Northampton.

Enter HUBERT and two ATTENDANTS.

Hubert. HEAT me these irons hot; and, look thou stand Within the arras: when I strike my foot

Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,

And bind the boy, which you shall find with me,
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

1 Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed,
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you look to’t.—
[Exeunt Attendants.
with you.

Young lad, come forth; I have to say

Enter ARTHur.

Arthur. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub.
Good morrow, little prince.
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince,) as may be.-You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Mercy on me

Arth.
Methinks nobody should be sad but I :
Yet I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,

I should be merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:

Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son ?
No indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day.

In sooth, I would you were a little sick;

That I might sit all night, and watch with you.

I warrant, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.

[Aside.

Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now

foolish rheum!

Turning dispiteous torture out the door!

I must be brief; lest resolution drop

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.-
Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ?
Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth.

Hub.

And will you?

And I will.

head;

[Aside.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again:
And with my hand at midnight held your
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time;
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call it, cunning: do, an if you will:

If heaven be pleased that you should use me ill,
Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you?

Hub.

I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age would do it:
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,

Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench its fiery indignation,

Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harın mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron?
And if an angel should have come to me,

And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's.*
Hub. Come forth.

Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c.
you do.

Do as I bid

[Stamps.

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out,
Even with the fierce looks of the bloody men.

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough?

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.

For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the irons angerly ;

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torments you do put me to.

Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
1 Atten. I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

[Exeunt Attendants.

Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend:
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :-
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.

Hub.

Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Arth. Is there no remedy?

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.

Arth. O heaven! that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,

Any annoyance in that precious sense!

* The two negatives in this line do not amount to an affirmative: they are used to strengthen the negation:-a solecism, tolerated in the age, and often found in the writings, of Shakspeare.

Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

Hub. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert!
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes.
Though to no use, but still to look on you!

Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold,

And would not harm me.

Hub.

I can heat it boy.

Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with griefBeing create for comfort-to be used

In undeserved extremes: See else yourself:
There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heaven hath blown its spirit out,
And strewed repentant ashes on his head.

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert;
Nay, it perchance, will sparkle in your eyes,
And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master that does tarre him on.*
All things that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office; only you do lack

That mercy which fierce fire, and iron, extends,-
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses.

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes

For all the treasure that thine uncle owes;t

Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,

With this same very iron to burn them out.

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised.

Hub.

Peace: no more: Adieu !—
Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

Arth. O heaven !-I thank you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence: no more. Go closely in with me:
Much danger do I undergo for thee.

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[Exeunt.

LESSON CLXXXIII.

The Contrasts of Alpine Scenery.—BYRON.
ADIEU to thee, fair Rhine! how long, delighted,
The stranger fain would linger on his way!
Thine is a scene alike where souls united,
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray;
And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here,

Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay,
Wild, but not rude, awful, yet not austere,
Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year.

Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu !

There can be no farewell to scenes like thine;
The mind is colored by thine every hue;
And if reluctantly the eyes resign

Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine! 'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise:

More mighty spots may rise-more glaring shine, But none unite, in one attaching maze,

The brilliant, fair, and soft,—the glories of old days.

The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom

Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,
The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,

The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between,
The wild rocks, shaped as they had turrets been,

In mockery of man's art; and these withal

A race of faces happy as the scene,

Whose fertile bounties here extend to all,

Still springing o'er thy banks, though empires near them fall

But these recede. Above me are the Alps,
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
And throned Eternity in icy halls

Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The avalanche-the thunderbolt of snow!
All that expands the spirit yet appals,
Gather around these summits, as to show

How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.

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