Hear

imploring to be saved from despair and death. what a terrible scene! Genius in ruins, pleading for that which can never be regained when once lost. him call piteously his father's name; see him clutch his fingers as he shrieks for his sister-his only sister, the twin of his soul-now weeping for him in his distant home! See! his hands are lifted to heaven; he prayshow wildly!-for mercy, while the hot fever rushes through his veins. The friend beside him is weeping in despair; and the awe-stricken sons of the forest move silently away, leaving the living and the dying alone together. (The judge, overcome with emotion, falls into a chair, while the rest of the company seem awe-struck, as Marion's voice grows softer and more sorrowful in its tones, yet remains distinct and clear.) It is evening now; the great, white moon is coming up, and her beams fall gently upon his forehead. He moves not; for his eyes are set in their socket, and their once piercing glance is dim. In vain his companion whispers the name of father and sister; death is there to dull the pulse, to dim the eye, and to deafen the ear. Death! stern, terri ble, and with no soft hand, no gentle voice, to soothe his fevered brow, and calm his troubled soul and bid it hope in God. (Harry sits down and covers his face with his hands.) Death overtook him thus; and there, in the midst of the mountain forest, surrounded by Indian tribes, they scooped him a grave in the sand; and without a shroud or coffin, prayer or hymn, they laid him down in the damp earth to his final slumber. Thus died and was buried the only son of a proud father; the only, idolized brother of a fond sister.. There he sleeps to-day, undisturbed, in that distant land, with no stone to mark the spot. There he lies-my father's son-MY OWN TWIN BROTHER! A victim to this (holds up the

glass before the company) deadly, damning poison! Father! (turning to the judge,) father, shall I drink it now?

Judge Otis (Raising his bowed head and speaking with faltering voice)-No, no, my child! in God's name, cast it away.

Marion-(Letting her glass fall and dash to pieces)— Let no friend who loves me hereafter tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not firmer the everlasting hills than my resolve, God helping me, never to touch or taste that terrible poison. And he, (turning to Harry,) to whom I have this night given my heart and hand, who watched over my brother's dying form in that last sad hour, and buried the poor wanderer there by the river, in that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in this resolve. Will you not, (offers him her hand, which he takes,) my

husband?

Harry-With the blessing of Heaven upon my efforts, I will; and I thank you, beyond expression, for the solemn lesson you have taught us all on this occasion.

Judge Otis-God bless you, (taking Marion and Harry by the hand, and speaking with deep emotion,) my children; and may I, too, have grace given me to help you in your efforts to keep this noble resolve.

One of the company-Let us honor the firmness and nobleness of principle of the fair bride, by drinking her health in pure, sparkling water, the only beverage which the great Creator of the Universe gave to the newly wedded pair in the beautiful Garden of Eden.

DRAMATIZED BY SIDNEY HERBERT.

PRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF.

KING HENRY IV., ACT II, SCENE IV.

PRINCE HENRY and POINS, in a back room, in a tavern. Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and PETO.

POINS Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?

Falstaff-A plague of all cowards, I say, and s vengeance too! marry and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether socks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks, and then continues.] You rogue, here's lime in this sack: there's nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man: yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack, with lime in it; a villanous coward. Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt: if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged, in England; and one of them is fat and grows old; a bad world, I say! I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms, or any thing; a plague of all cowards, I say still.

Prince Henry-How now, wool-sack? What mutter you?

Fal. Thou art a king's son. Now, if I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive

all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales! P. Henry-Why, you base-born dog! What's the matter?

Fal.-Are you not a coward? Answer me to that; and Poins there?

Poins-Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee.

Fal.-I call thee coward? I'll see thee hanged ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pounds I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack. I am rogue, if I have drunk to-day.

P. Henry-O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped, since thou drank'st last.

Fal.-All's one for that. A plague of all cowards say I.

still

P. Henry-What's the matter?

Fal-What's the matter! There be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pounds this morning.

P. Henry-Where is it, Jack? Where is it?

Fal.-Where is it? Taken from us it is; a hundred upon poor four of us.

P. Henry-What! a hundred, man?

Fal.-I am a rogue, if I were not at half sword with a dozen of them, for two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four, through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw; look here: [shows his sword]. I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all cowards! Let them speak [pointing to GADSHILL, BARDOLPH and, PETO];

if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.

P. Henry-Speak, sirs; how was it?
Gadshill-We four set upon some dozen-
Fal.-Sixteen, at least, my lord.

Gad.-And bound them.

Peto-No, no, they were not bound.

Fal.-You rogue, they were bound, every man of them. r I am a Jew, else an Ebrew Jew.

Gad.-As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us—

Fal. And unbound the rest; and then come in the other.

P. Henry-What! fought ye with them all?

Fal.-All? I know not what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then I am no two-legged creature.

P. Henry-Pray heaven, you have not murdered some of them.

Fal.-Nay, that's past praying for; for I have peppered two of them; two I am sure I have paid; two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, and call me a horse. Thou knowest my old ward [he draws his sword, and stands as if about to fight]; here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me

P. Henry-What! four? Thou saidst but two even

now.

Fal.-Four, Hal; I told thee four.
Poins-Ay, ay, he said four.

Fal.-These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made no more ado, but took all their seven points on my target, thus