While yet he was but plain old Father Joseph-
And Henry-my Lord Bastard-

I had ta'en oaths enough to serve Don Pedro.
Hark to yon Frenchmen how they boose and sing.
GIL. Come-we'll have cups of welcome from
the king.

SCENE V.

A Chamber in the Castle of Montiel.

[Exeunt.

MARIA DE PADILLA, her SON, and SARAH, seated by a window.

MARIA. Your father will come home anon, my

love.

SARAH. The sun's gone down, and if it please my lady

I'll see him to his chamber.

Boy.

Let me stay

Until my father be come home again,

I will not sleep till he has said good night,

And kissed me.

MARIA.

Kiss me darling

So, you shall stay and get the other too.

Speak truly, Sarah-they're the king's own eyes. SARAH. In part 'tis so; the long lids are the

same

'Tis a sweet mixture-fair and gentle boy!

MARIA. Aye, fair and gentle now-gentle and fair!

But look beneath the shadow of the oak,
And see how delicate the nursling plant

Fruit of some late chance-scattered acorn shews
Its smooth slim stem, its tiny trembling shoots-
Its little glossy leaves-one scarce could dream,
That in the course of nature these must be
Transformed into the rough wide girdled trunk
Scornful of tempests, and the giant boughs,
Whose massive umbrage darkens noon below them—
And yet 'tis so-when the stout parent tree
Has mouldered into age's dust, or yielded
Perchance to the dread flash of heavenly fire-
Aye, or been battered down before its day,
By common woodman's axe-that little budling
Shall be the pride of all the grove around.—
One down-another rises-this smooth chin
Will ere men think that many years have flown,
Be rough and black enow-this ivory forehead
Plaited with wrinkled lines, the legacy
Of sorrows, it may be-most certainly
Of cares-the wind, the sun, foul weather
Will all have done their work to tan this cheek,
And this white shoulder, (now it hath a dimple,
The prettiest bride in all Castile might envy),
Will be deep ploughed with trace of buckled mail,
And clasped plate-Pedro will be a man-

I hope a noble soldier like his father.

SARAH. Aye, and a prince as once his father was,

+

And in God's time a king as he is now.

MARIA. I hope my God will hear my nightly

voice,

And let me sleep in dust before that day—
For my fair child-come Pedro to my knee-
My sinless child, or ere thou close thine eyes
This night, be sure thou kneel-alone-for I
Must not be with thee then, and pray to God
To send down victory on thy father's sword-
Pray strongly for thy father :-simple child,
See, Sarah, how he stares with his black eyes!
Now, prithee, cease my lady,

SARAH.

You'll send us all a weeping to our beds
If you look thus. I met the Lord de Castro
But now as I was coming through the court,
He smiled upon me courteously and gaily :
I'm sure he thinks 'twill all go well to-morrow.
MARIA. The old soldier will not let his eye betray
him.

His counsel and his prudence are my hope
Next to the strong arm of my fearless king.
As for these Moors-

I cannot trust them-Yon old crafty Zagal,
Although his words be of the readiest

I doubt he'll pause before he sheds much blood
Of faithful Mussulmen in this debate :-

SARAH. If you suspect him, speak it to the king.
MARIA. I would the king were here he tarries

long.

SARAH. He hath rode something further than he

thought for

In reconnoissance-he will soon be here;

De Castro, Zagal, and the other lords

Are but assembling in the hall as yet.

MARIA. Sleepy, my boy? Well, Sarah, carry him Up to bis chamber: when the king returns We both will come together-soon I hope.

SARAH. Come, darling, you have watched too

long already.

[Exit with the boy.

MARIA. And now 'tis dark all over-hot and

dark

The heavens must be relieved from this oppression

We from this doubting which is worse than death.
What matters it whether the thunder growl
Once or a thousand times? if it light here-

The spirit of one must be unclad—a king
Or nothing-I—what must I be ?-no matter-
At least if things go darkly I can share
His gloomier destiny-have my full half
Of all that brings-and be at last his equal
As well as bedfellow within the grave.
The grave! Dead Blanche I fear thee-
And yet God gives to kings the arbitrement
Of life and death-and Pedro is a king-

She knew that I had lain on Pedro's breast,

And yet she couched her curls there ;-my sweet boy On thee she had no pity, nor thy mother

[Scene closes.

JESSY OF KIBE'S FARM.

By Miss M. R. Mitford.

ABOUT the centre of a deep winding and woody lane, in the secluded village of Aberleigh, stands an old farm-house, whose stables, out-buildings, and ample yard, have a peculiarly forlorn and deserted appearance; they can, in fact, scarcely be said to be occupied, the person who rents the land preferring to live at a large farm about a mile distant, leaving this lonely house to the care of a labourer and his wife, who reside in one end, and have the charge of a few colts and heifers that run in the orchard and an adjoining meadow, whilst the vacant rooms are tenanted by a widow in humble circumstances and her young family.

The house is beautifully situated; deep, as I have said, in a narrow woody lane, which winds between high banks, now feathered with hazel, now thickly studded with pollards and forest trees, until opposite Kibe's farm it widens sufficiently to admit a large clear pond, round which the hedge, closely and regularly set with a row of tall elms, sweeps in a graceful curve, forming for that bright mirror, a rich leafy

F