burghers of these towns we owe the art of printing,-the revival of painting,-the discovery of the mariner's compass, with all its attendant train of benefits,-a New World, and the passage, by sea, to the East. These we owe to the traders of Flanders, and of the Italian cities. For what are we to thank the feudal barons of France and England? Ignorance, craft, cruelty, and superstition, were all the seed they sowed; and the crop was proportionably barren. They produced, however, a great number of very respectable' robbers and pyllers,' fellows whose merit consisted in the bullying bravery of highwaymen, combined with something less than the honesty of a modern pickpocket. Ignorant and barbarous themselves, they seized 'routes of mules,' laden with the produce of other people's skill and industry; and these are the sort of men whom we are told to admire, duly despising the race who did no more for humanity than to confer on it all that we at this day consider as giving to it value, and refinement, and beauty. It is not too much to say that we owe all these to the merchants of Bruges and Venice, of Ghent and of Genoa, of Brussels and of Florence. As for the knights and barons, they could neither read nor write; they could only give and receive dry blows, and foul language. EXERCISE XLV.—ANIMAL HAPPINESS.-Cowper. [Description, interspersed with reflection, requires-as in the following example,-attention to change of tone, as the reader passes from the one to the other; the former marked by the moderate force, middle pitch, and lively rate,-the latter, by softer, but graver, and slower utterance.] Here, unmolested,-through whatever sign * Referring to a shady walk, a favourite resort of the poet. Scarce shuns me; and the stockdove, unalarm'd, Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush, With all the prettiness of feigned alarm, And anger insignificantly fierce. The heart is hard in nature, and unfit Nor feels their happiness augment his own. The bounding fawn, that darts across the glade, When none pursues,—through mere delight of heart, And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; The horse, as wanton and almost as fleet, That skims the spacious meadow, at full speed, Then stops and snorts, and throwing high his heels, The very kine, that gambol at high noon, Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth EXERCISE XLVI.-DIALOGUE FROM THE TRIUMPH OF LUCCA.'Miss Landon. Scene, the Senate-house: Speakers,—Gonsalvı, Castruccio,* Nobles, Attendants; the Senators in session: to them enters Gonsalvi. [See remarks introductory to EXERCISE XXX.] Gon. Henceforward Florence claims your fealty;† Noble. Our treasury's low, my lord. Gon. And so is ours, Exhausted by the late vexatious war,— Noble. Urged by the Count Castruccio, not ourselves. The goldsmiths round our market-place are rich: As more obedient,-right that they should pay Gon. [Rising.] I leave you till to-morrow, when I bring And will receive your homage and your oaths. [Exit.] Noble. Homage and tribute!—these are bitter words,― To day must fix his fate. Several Nobles. Death! What is his doom? Noble. The noise approaches! look ye to your swords, [While yet speaking, Castruccio enters armed and attended, having been rescued by the people.] * Pronounced Castroocho :-ch as in church. The Senate of Lucca, actuated by envy of the patriot chief Castruccio, had imprisoned him, and proposed submission to the sway of the Florentines, their enemies. Pronounced Castroocânee's. Cas. Not yet, not by your hand! Thanks, gentlemen, Noble. The game is yours.-I, for one, ask not mercy. Ye do mistake me, signors: all my thoughts Gon. [Re-entering.] I must demand some escort; for the streets Would I shed blood.-What! Castruccio here? Cas. Cas. On what terms? Gon. That ye submit yourselves, and pledge your faith, Gon. These are her chiefs;—in their consent she yields. Cas. You see that they are silent.-By my voice To terms like these, she has but one reply-defiance. Gon. Florence will teach you better in the field! Cas. This to your conqueror? not three weeks have passed *Pronounced Gonzalvee. Pronounced Lookka. Gon. 'Twas an unlucky chance of war. Cas. Not so, my lord; there was a higher cause,- Some urged by false ambition, some for spoil. Ye were aggressors, and ye fought like such, Cas. War or submission! sad such choice and stern: We for our homes, our rights, our ancient walls! Gon. Have ye no other answer? Cas. None;-Cesario is your escort to the gates. Gon. I take your answer.-War, then, to the death!-[Exit.] Cas. Twice have we met them in the open field, Who have our swords, and urge a war Just in the sight of Heaven. Our weakness lies |