He question'd me; among the rest, demanded
My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
Out of my grief and my impatience

To be so pester'd with a popinjay,

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what,

He should, or he should not; for 't made me mad

To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet,

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman

Of guns and drums and wounds,—God save the mark!-And telling me the sovereign'st thing on Earth

Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;

And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And I beseech you, let not his report

Come current for an accusation

Betwixt my love and your high Majesty.

Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,

Whatever Harry Percy then had said

To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest re-told,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.

King. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,

But with proviso and exception,

That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;

Who, on my soul, hath willfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower.
Shall our coffers, then,

Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve;
For I shall never hold that man my friend

Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

Hot. Revolted Mortimer!

He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
But by the chance of war: to prove that true
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
Those mouthèd wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,

In single opposition, hand to hand,

He did confound the best part of an hour

In changing hardiment with great Glendower.

Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink,
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;

Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank
Blood-stainèd with these valiant combatants.
Never did base and rotten policy

Color her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly:

Then let him not be slander'd with revolt.

King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him; He never did encounter with Glendower:

I tell thee,

He durst as well have met the Devil alone

As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, from henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:

Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me

As will displease you.-My Lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son.

Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.

[Exeunt King HENRY, BLUNT, and train.

Hot. An if the Devil come and roar for them,

I will not send them: I will after straight,

And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,

Although it be with hazard of my head.

North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile: Here comes your uncle.

Re-enter WORCESTER.

Hot.

Speak of Mortimer!

Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him:

Yea, on his part I 'll empty all these veins,

And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer

As high i' the air as this unthankful King,
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone?
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
And when I urged the ransom once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

Wor.

Peace, cousin, say no more:

And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontent
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous;
As full of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'er -walk a current roaring loud
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

Hot. If we fall in, good night, or sink or swim!
Send danger from the east unto the west,

So honor cross it from the north to south,

And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,

To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced Moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground;
And pluck up drownèd honor by the locks;

But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

Wor. Good cousin, give me audience for awhile.
Hot. I cry you mercy.

By Heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them;
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:
I'll keep them, by this hand.

Wor.

And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shall keep;-

You start away,

Hot.

Nay, I will; that 's flat.

He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I 'll holla Mortimer!

Nay,

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.

William Shakespeare.

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances!
Honor'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine!
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap anew,

Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow,
While every Highland glen

Sends back our shout again,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming in Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the mountain,

The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade.

Moor'd in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
Echo his praise agen,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin,
Ard Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied;
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin,
And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side.

Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our raid,

Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe;
Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine!
O that the rosebud that graces yon islands,

Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem,

Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"'

Sir Walter Scott.

THE TRIAL OF BEN THOMAS.

As

It was a sultry noon and Jeffersonville was brisk. Jeffersonville is brisk only during court week, it may be inferred that court was in session.

About the large square building little groups of farmers were gathered. Within were the usual courthouse habitués,-jurors who hope in vain to "get off," and citizens of limited income who yet hope to "get on.

Apparently, there was nothing exciting on hand just then, though a murder trial had been interrupted by a temporary adjournment. But the defendant was a negro, and a murder by a negro was not a novelty. While the court was assembling, the curious might have noted the prisoner's points. His face, if it had any marked characteristic, was noted chiefly for its inexpressive lines, and its appearance was one of supreme indifference. His stout, heavy frame was clad in a common jean suit stained with months of wear, and his kinky hair was sprinkled with gray. He sat quietly, allowing his eyes to roam from face to face as the genial conversation drifted about in the groups around him. He was evidently not impressed by any sense of peril, though, when the court had adjourned,