whether that poor gentleman is your prisoner or not, is it, sirrah? Who the devil do you think it can be else?" "I don't know who else it can be," returned the fellow, sullenly "but he is grown thicker and shorter, if it is he; and see for yourself, sir, he shakes all over, like a man in an ague. This was but too true. Cæsar was an alarmed auditor of this short conversation, and, from congratulating himself upon the dexterous escape of his young master, his thoughts were very naturally beginning to dwell upon the probable consequences to his own person. The pause that succeeded the last remark of the sentinel in no degree contributed to the restoration of his faculties. Lieutenant Mason was busied in examining with his own eyes the suspected person of the black, and Cæsar was aware of the fact by stealing a look through a passage under one of his arms, that he had left expressly for the purpose of reconnoitring. Captain Lawton would have discovered the fraud immediately, but Mason was by no means so quick-sighted as his commander. He therefore turned rather contemptuously to the soldier, and, speaking in an undertone, observed: "That Anabaptist, Methodistical, Quaker, psalm-singing rascal has frightened the boy with his farrago about flames and brimstone. I'll step in and cheer him with a little rational conversation." "I have heard of fear making a man white," said the soldier, drawing back and staring as if his eyes would start from their sockets, "but it has changed the royal captain to a black.” The truth was, that Cæsar, unable to hear what Mason uttered in a low voice, and having every fear aroused in him by what had already passed, incautiously removed the wig a little from one of his ears, in order to hear the better, without in the least remembering that its color might prove fatal to his disguise. The sentinel had kept his eyes fastened on his prisoner, and noticed the action. The attention of Mason was instantly drawn to the same object, and, forgetting all delicacy for a brother officer in distress, or, in short, forgetting everything but the censure that might alight on his corps, the lieutenant sprang forward and seized the terrified African by the throat; for no sooner had Cæsar heard his color named, than he knew his discovery was certain; and at the first sound of Mason's heavy boot on the floor, he arose from his seat, and retreated precipitately to a corner of the room. "Who are you?" cried Mason, dashing the head of the old man against the angle of the wall, at each interrogatory; "who the devil are you, and where is the Englishman? Speak, thou thunder-cloud! Answer me, you jackdaw, or I'll hang you on the gallows of the spy!" Cæsar continued firm. Neither the threats nor the blows could extract any reply, until the lieutenant, by a very natural transition in the attack, sent his heavy boot forward in a direction that brought it in direct contact with the most sensitive part of the negro-his shin. The most obdurate heart could not have exacted further patience, and Cæsar instantly gave in. The first words he spoke were : "Golly! Massa, you t'ink I got no feelin'?" "By Heavens!" shouted the lieutenant, "it is the negro himself! scoundrel! where is your master, and who was the priest?" While speaking he made a movement as if about to renew the attack; but Cæsar cried aloud for mercy, promising to tell all he knew. 66 "Who was the priest ?" repeated the dragoon, drawing back his formidable leg, and holding it in threatening suspense. Harvey, Harvey!" cried Cæsar, dancing from one leg to the other, as he thought each member in turn might be assailed. Harvey who, you black villain?" cried the impatient lieutenant, as he executed a full measure of vengeance, by letting his leg fly. 66 "Birch!" shrieked Cæsar, falling on his knees, the tears rolling in large drops over his shining face. 66 Harvey Birch!" echoed the trooper, hurling the black from him, and rushing from the room. "To arms! to arms! fifty guineas for the life of the pedler-spy-give no quarter to either. Mount, mount! to arms! to horse!" During the uproar occasioned by the assembling of the dragoons, who all rushed tumultuously to their horses, Cæsar rose from the floor where he had been thrown by Mason and began to examine into his injuries. Happily for himself, he had alighted on his head, and consequently sustained no material damage. DIRK VOLKERSZOON COORNHERT. COORNHERT, DIRK VOLKERSZOON, Dutch poet; born at Amsterdam, 1551; died at Gouda in 1590. He is said to have established, in his prose writings, at least, the literary language of Holland. His works have been collected into three large folio volumes. Among his poetical works are, "The Death of Abraham" and the "Comedy of the Blind Man of Jericho." THE LIGHT OF LOVE. (Translated by Sir John Bowring.) MAIDEN! Sweet maiden! when thou art near, Nought! with his master's bonds he stands More privileged, more great, Than many a golden-fettered fool With outward pomp elate; For chains grace virtue, while they bring Deep shame on tyranny. 3028 FRANÇOIS ÉDOUARD JOACHIM COPPÉE. COPPÉE, FRANÇOIS ÉDOUARD JOACHIM, French poet; born at Paris, January 12, 1842. As early as 1866 he gained repute in the great throng of youthful French poets which, about the middle of the second empire, had become known as Parnassiens. Their name was from Le Parnasse Contemporain, a large collection of poems illustrative of their principles. Coppée after some years became wearied of a worship so self-destructive, and took his place as one of the most popular French contemporary poets. He achieved success also in dramatic authorship. His first volume of poems was "Le Reliquaire" (1866), followed by "Intimités." Among his later poems are "Les Humbles " (1872); "L'Exilée" (1876); "Les Moix" (1877); "La Marchande de Journaux" (1880); "Contes en vers et poésies diverses" (1881); "L'Enfant de la Balle" (1883); "Arrière Saison" (1887). In drama he produced "Le Passant " (1869); "L'Abandonnée" and "Fais ce que dois (1871); "Le Bijou de la Délivrance" (1872); "Le Luthier de Crémone" his most popular play (at the Théâtre Français, 1877); "Madame de Maintenon" (1881); "Servero Torelli" (1883); "Les Jacobites" (1885). Among his stories are "Contes en Prose" (1882); "Contes Rapides" (1883); "Toute une Jeunesse" (1890); "Ten Simple Tales" (1891); "True Riches" (1893). Publication of his collected works was begun 1885. For several years he was employed in the library of the Senate-house; in 1878 he was appointed keeper of records at the "Comédie Française." In 1884 he was made member of the "Académie Française ;" and in 1888 officer of the Legion of Honor. THE PARRICIDE. The scene represents a rocky plateau in the Balkans. In the background and centre of the stage, a ruined Roman triumphal arch. A huge signal-pyre is prepared for firing, near the path. Beside it burns a torch, stuck into the rock. On all sides are pinetrees and crags. In the distance are the Balkans, with snowy summits. It is the middle of a fine starlight night. MICHAEL BRANCOMIR, solus: I HAVE promised — have sworn. 'Tis the moment, the placeMichael, naught is left but to hold to thy oath. What calm! Far below there, the torrent scarce drips - On the old Roman high-road the tramp of the horse; Yes, thy hand have I kissed, pointing out shame's abyss; Enmeshed in the night of thy locks, I have sworn That in place of the Turk, should the Prince of the Pit This crown I desire, all with hell-fires aglow, To thee, Basilide, my seared hand should it bring! [Perceiving his son CONSTANTINE suddenly approaching over the rocks at the right hand, exclaims, loud and harshly:-] Do I dream? Near the crag there's a man! What's there? Ho, prowler! stand off, 't is forbid to approach! Further back, and at once! The command is most strict. CONSTANTINE. [drawing nearer.] Fear not, father! 'Tis I. CONSTANTINE. MICHAEL. Yes. What brings thee here, say, To this waste at this hour of the night? Tell me, too, CONSTANTINE. Say, rather, what doest thou here? MICHAEL. First, my answer! My patience thou bring'st to an end! Say, what brings thee thus here? CONSTANTINE. Duty, father. I know. That the clamor of arms MICHAEL. [starting back.] What "knowest" thou, boy? CONSTANTINE. In the Balkans will rise the Turk comes Has beside it this moment no warder of faith that yon pyre That this night, if all Christendom's world shall be saved, I shall fire yonder signal, in spite even of you! MICHAEL. [aside.] Just God! To a demon defiance I cast And the spirit of hell takes the shape of my son! [Aloud.] What madness inspires thee? What folly, what dream? CONSTANTINE. Nay, spare thyself, father, the shame of a lie. |