[The annexed extract from "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" embodies in fitting language the patriotic thoughts that should pervade every manly heart at thought of fatherland. They should be recited with enthusiastic fire.]

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf.
The wretch, concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood.
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,

That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still, as I view each well-known scene,

Think what is now, and what hath been,

Seems as, to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;

And thus I love them better still,

Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,

Though none should guide my

feeble way;

Still feel the breeze down Ettricke break,
Although it chill my withered cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The Bard may draw his parting groan.

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GEORGE, Duke of Clarence,

BRACKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower.

[The plot of this play is mainly used as a means of developing the strides by which Gloster, afterwards Richard III., reached the throne-by the most heartless acts and bloody crimes. The annexed extract is from the powerful scene which ends by Clarence's murder, by immersion in a butt of his favorite wine-Malmsey. In reciting this piece the speaker should as forcibly as possible depict, both in looks and language, the terrific effects produced upon Clarence by his frightful dream.

COSTUMES.-Clarence should be attired in rich clothes; a close-fitting shape of fine cloth or velvet, with light close hose, a short mantle, depending from his shoulders. Brackenbury a dress of same style, but more rough and soldierly.!

SCENE-A Room in the Tower.


BRAK. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?
CLAR. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That, as I am a christian faithful man,

I would not spend another such a night,

Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

BRAK. What was your dream my lord? I pray you tell


CLAR. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy,

And, in my company, my brother Gloster:
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches, thence we look'd toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befallen us. As we paced along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methough, that Gloster stumbled; and in falling,

Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought, I saw a thousand tearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon:
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea:

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
BRAK. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

CLAR, Methought I had, and often did I strive
To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

BRACK. Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLAR. O, no, my dream was lengthen❜d after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul!

I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cried aloud,- What scourge for perjury
(an this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?
And so he vanish'd: Then came wandr'ing by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,—
Clarence is come,—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,→
That stabb'd me in the field of Tewksbury;—
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !—
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Eviron'd me, and howl'd in mine ears

Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made my dream.

BRAK. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you,

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

CLAR. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things,—

That now give evidence against my soul,

For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites me!—
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:

O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!—

I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;

My oul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

BRAK. I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! (CLARENCE reposes himself on a chair),

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,

Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.
Princes have but their titles for their glories,

An outward honor for an inward toil;

And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of restless cares:
So that, between their titles, and low name,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.




[The following inimitable and most spirited descriptive piece, is from the "Great Unknown's "beautiful poem, "The Lady of the Lake." No repetition ever dulls the eager attention with which this is listened to-so full is it of the very essence of dramatic vigor. While the mere descriptive portion should be given in a full round distinct tone, the fierce dialogue between Fitz-James and Roderick should be imbued with all the heroic fire that fills the breasts of the warriors. A perceptible difference should be made in the tone and accent of the two: Fitz-James's manner of delivery ought to be somewhat less harsh and fieree than the rough style of the Scottish Chieftain. Our extract commences where Fitz-James, having placed himself in the power of Roderick Dhu while on a hunting expedition, is promised safe guidance by that chief-who, however, is personally unknown to his companion. Fitz-James expresses a desire to meet the rebel Highlander.]

"WELL, let it pass; nor will I now
Fresh cause of enmity avow,

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.
Enough, I am by promise tied

To match me with this man of pride;
Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen

In peace: but when I come agen
I come with banner brand, and bow,
As leader seeks his mortal foe,
For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower,
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour,
As I, until before me stand

This rebel Chieftain and his band."

"Have, then, thy wish!"-he whistled shrill,
And he was answered from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlieu,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
Instant, through copse and heath arose
Bonnets and spears, and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The braken bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterraneous host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood and still.

Like the loose crags whose threatening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,

As if an infant's touch could urge

Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,

Upon the mountain-side they hung.

The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,

Then fixed his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James-" How say'st thou now?" These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true,

And, Saxon,-1 am Roderick Dhu!"

Fitz-James was brave :-Though to his heart
The life-blood thrilled with sudden start,
He mann'd himself with dauntless air,
Returned the chief his haughty stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot before :-
"Come one, come all! this rock shall fly

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