There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three, "There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide; [Chorus. [Chorus. "Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks, Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,— [Chorus. He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown, [Chorus. TH FLORA MAC-IVOR'S SONG From Waverley' HERE is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, It has frozen each heart and benumbed every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse, But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze. O high-minded Moray! the exiled, the dear! In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear! Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break, O sprung from the kings who in Islay kept state, True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel! Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, Let the clan of Gray Fingon, whose offspring has given To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar! How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar, Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, AUGUSTIN EUGENE SCRIBE (1791-1861) FTER the spirited comedy of Beaumarchais came a lull in dramatic production in France. The public yawned over long dull plays, or applauded mediocre work for its cheap reflection of popular sentiment. Then Eugène Scribe came to the rescue, having gradually found out what the public taste craved. He had learned this through perhaps a dozen failures, when his shrewd instinct guided him to seize upon vaudeville, and dignify it to the rank of laugh-provoking comedy. His plot, as ingeniously contrived as a Chinese puzzle, was a frame upon which he hung clever dialogue, catchy songs, puns, popular allusions, and manifold witticisms. His first successful vaudeville, Une Nuit du Garde National,' in one act, written in collaboration with Poirson, another young author, was played at the Gymnase in 1816, and was the beginning of Scribe's astonishing popularity. EUGENE SCRIBE For about forty years he was the master playwright of France. He grew more and more cunning in estimating his audience, flattering their foibles, and reflecting contemporary interests. He was strictly unmoral, and offered no problems. His light frothy humor required no mental effort; he diverted without fatiguing. So Paris loved Scribe, paid him a fortune, made him a great social as well as literary light, and in 1836 admitted him to the Academy. From his father, a prosperous silk merchant in Paris, where he himself was born in 1791, he inherited decided business talent. Perhaps no author has ever received fuller measure of pecuniary success. Wonderful tales are told of his intuitive comprehension of dramatic possibilities. One day 'La Chanoinesse,' a dull five-act tragedy, was read to him. Before the end had been reached, his mind had the plot transformed into a witty one-act burlesque. He was less inventive than skillful at adaptation, so he often borrowed ideas from more fertile and less executive brains. For these, Scribe, always the honorable business man, gave due credit. So it is said that many a poverty-stricken writer was surprised to be claimed as collaborator by the great M. Scribe, and to receive generous payment for ideas which in their changed form he could hardly recognize as his own. After 1840 Scribe partially deserted the clever buffoonery of his vaudeville, and attempted serious five-act dramas. Of these, two of the best 'Adrienne Lecouvreur' and 'La Bataille des Dames' (The Ladies' Battle) were written with Legouvé; and in translation are familiar to American playgoers. Scribe turned his hand to most kinds of composition. He wrote several volumes of charming tales. He was especially skillful in the composition of librettos for the operas of Verdi, Auber, Meyerbeer, and other composers. He was remarkably prolific, and about four hundred pieces are included in the published list of his works; from which, however, many waifs and strays of his talent are omitted. Although most of his plays, once so cordially liked, are now obsolete, Scribe has a lasting claim to remembrance in that his mastery of stage technique guided greater dramatists than himself to more effective expression. Perhaps no one ever lived with a stronger sense of scenic requirements. His plays could not drag. Although often superficial in his effort to sketch lightly contemporary life, and in his preoccupation with every-day general human interests, Scribe anticipated the drama of realism. Ο MERLIN'S PET FAIRY NE night, Merlin, sad and dreamy, was gazing over the immensity of heaven. He thought he heard a light sound. below him. A frightful tempest was upheaving the ocean. The waves, piled mountain high, scattered salt water to the skies. Merlin went higher to avoid a wetting; and by the light of the stars he saw, like an imperceptible point on the summit of the waves, a vessel about to sink. There was service to render, suffering to relieve. Merlin forgot his dreams and darted forth, but too late. Pitiless fate anticipated him; and the ship, dashed against the cliffs, was flying in a thousand pieces. All the passengers had perished except one woman, who was still struggling. She held a little daughter in her arms whom she tried to save. "Protecting angels," she cried, "save her! watch over her!" When her strength deserted her she disappeared, just as Merlin descended from the clouds and touched the surface of the water. He heard the poor mother's last words, caught up her child, and bore it back to the skies. He warmed the little creature's chilled limbs in his hands. Was she still breathing? In doubt, he recalled her to life or gave her a new one by means of his magic power, with a ray of dawn' and a drop of dew. Then Merlin gazed at the poor child with delighted eyes. "You shall be a fairy," he said to her. "You shall be my pet fairy. The misfortune and death which presided over your birth can never thenceforth touch you." The baby opened her eyes and smiled at him, and Merlin carried his treasure to his crystal and flowery palace in the clouds. The young fairy was charming, and Merlin wished to endow her with all gifts, all talents, all virtues. He gave her the heart which loves and is loved; the mind which pleases and amuses others, and the grace which always charms. He gave her his own power (without making her his equal, however), with only one condition: that she should love him, and prefer him to all the sylphs and heavenly spirits, however beautiful, who shone in Ginnistan. Mighty Alaciel, the supreme genie presiding over this empire, loved the enchanter Merlin, and consented to all his desires. All that he asked for the young fairy was granted and immutably ratified by destiny. Never had Merlin been more happy than while pretty Vivian was growing up under his eyes. That was the name he had given her, the name which was to make her immortal; for never has love been more celebrated than that of the enchanter Merlin for the fairy Vivian. All legends tell of it, all chronicles attest it, and traces of it are still preserved on the walls of old monuments. Merlin had no other delight than in Vivian; and she knew no joy apart from her benefactor. Although still very young, the wit and intelligence with which she was endowed soon taught her to appreciate his worth and all that she owed to him. Full of gratitude for his goodness and admiration for his talents, she listened to his lessons with an avidity and pleasure which flattered the scholar's self-love; while, gracious and attentive, her cares for. him delighted the old man's heart. So she could not be separated from him, but accompanied him in all his journeys and investigations, and shared all his |