Surely some have 'scaped the Southron,

Surely some will come again ?"

Till the oak that fell last winter
Shall uprear its shattered stem
Wives and mothers of Dunedin
Ye may look in vain for them!

Then the Provost he uprose,
And his lip was ashen white;
But a flush was on his brow,

And his eye was full of light.
"Thou hast spoken, Randolph Murray,
Like a soldier stout and true;
Thou hast done a deed of daring
Had been perilled but by few.
For thou hast not shamed to face us,
Nor to speak thy ghastly tale,
Standing - thou a knight and captain
Here, alive within thy mail!
Now, as my God shall judge me,
I hold it braver done,

Than hadst thou tarried in thy place,

And died above my son.

Thou need'st not tell it: he is dead.
God help us all this day!
But speak-how fought the citizens
Within the furious fray!

For, by the might of Mary!

'T were something still to tell That no Scottish foot went backward When the Royal Lion fell! "

"No one failed him! He is keeping Royal state and semblance still!

Knight and noble lie around him,
Cold on Flodden's fatal hill.
Of the brave and gallant hearted,
Whom ye sent with prayers away,
Not a single man departed

From his monarch yesterday.
Few there were when Surrey halted,
And his wearied host withdrew;
None but dying men around me,
When the English trumpet blew.
Then I stooped and took the banner,
As you see it, from his breast;
And I closed our hero's eyelids,
And I left him to his rest.

In the mountains growled the thunder,
As I leaped the woful wall;

And the heavy clouds were settling

Over Flodden, like a pall."

William E. Aytoun.

I

NOBILITY OF LABOR.

CALL upon those whom I address to stand up for

the nobility of labor. It is heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not that great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down ; and it has been broken down for ages. Let it then be built up again; here, if anywhere, on these shores of a new world, of a new civilization. But how, I may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do indeed toil; but they too generally do it because they must. Many submit to it as

in some sort a degrading necessity; and they desire nothing so much on earth as to escape from it. They fulfil the great law of labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit; fulfil it with the muscle, but break it with the mind. To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theatre of improvement. But so is he not impelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in his idleness. This way of thinking is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to toil, art thou? Ashamed of thy dingy workshop and dusty labor-field; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable than that of war; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which mother Nature has embroidered, midst sun and rain, midst fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity? It is treason to Nature; it is impiety to Heaven; it is breaking Heaven's great ordinance. TOIL, I repeat, toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the only true nobility. Orville Dewey.

16

KING LEAR DIVIDING HIS KINGDOM.

ACT I. SCENE I.

-

- A room of state in King Lear's palace.

Enter LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and attendants.

Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,

Gloster.

Glo. I shall, my liege.

[Exeunt Glo. and Edm.

Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there.-Know that we have divided, In three, our kingdom; and 't is our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish

Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife

May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,

Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,

Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn. And here are to be answered. Tell me, my daughters, (Since now we will divest us, both of rule,

Interest of territory, cares of state,)

Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?

That we our largest bounty may extend

Where merit doth most challenge it. Goneril,
Our eldest born, speak first.

Do love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;

Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;

No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;
As much as child e'er loved, or father found,
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Cor. What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. [Aside. Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady: To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short, That I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,

Which the most precious square of sense possesses;
And find, I am alone felicitate

In your dear highness' love.

Then poor Cordelia! [Aside.

Cor.
And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,

Than that confirm'd on Goneril. Now, our joy,
Although the last, not least; to whose young love
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interess'd; what can you say, to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
Cor. Nothing, my lord.