Squire. O! I beg your pardon. I didn't perceive the distinction. Can you shoot? Horace. I can kill eleven birds out of twelve, at thirty yards; for further particulars inquire at the Red House, Battersea. Squire. Is that true? Horace. I never tell a lie; it's ungentlemanly. Squire. [Aside.] He's a strange animal; but there is good about the fellow!-[Aloud.] Now, sir, one thing more, and I have done with you for the present. You are short of cash, I understand. Horace. Excruciatingly! Squire. I want to make a purchase of you. pounds, may I take my choice of any article you Horace. Most willingly! If I give you fifty have got about you? Squire. Enough! [Taking out pocket book.] George! I lodge the money with you; when the goods are delivered, pay the vender. George. But what is the purchase, sir? Horace. Ay, what is the purchase? Squire. The growing crop of hair upon your face; with liberty to mow, whenever I please. [GEORGE laughs-HORACE looks astonished.] Horace. My whiskers and mustaches! Squire. Even so! Come, a bargain is a bargain; away to your room. Shave them off clean! And don't let me see your face again until, until-in short-I can see it. [Goes up to table and rings bell; HORACE is going.] George. Horace! Horace. [ [Turning.] What? George. [Laughs and imitates shaving.] I say— Horace. Now be quiet! [Going.] George. Horace! Horace. [Peevishly, turning again.] Well! What do you want? George. Look here, old man! [Holding up note.] Horace. grow again! Well-to be sure-a fifty is two ponies; and the hair will From "The Country Squire." [Exit. THE SERENADE. LONGFELLOW. A Street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by musicians, with a bag pipe, guitars, and other instruments. Chispa. Abernuncio Satanas! and a plague on all lovers who ramble about at night, drinking the elements, instead of sleeping quietly in .their beds. Every dead man to his cemetery, say I; and every friar to his monastery. Now, here's my master, Victorian, yesterday a cowkeeper, and to-day a gentleman; yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; and I must be up later than the nightingale, for as the abbot sings so must the sacristan respond. God grant he may soon be married, for then shall all this serenading cease. [To the musicians.] And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum! as the ass said to the cabbages. Pray, walk this way; and don't hang down your heads. It is no disgrace to have an old father and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, you are gentlemen who lead the life of crickets; you enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pathetic; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the Moon. Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. Pray, how may I call thy name, friend? 1st Musician. Geronimo Gil, at your service. Chispa. Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, Geronimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? 1st Mus. Why so? Chispa. Because I have heard it said that Saturday is an unpleasant day with those who have but one shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee at the tavern, and if thou canst run as fast as thou canst drink, I should like to hunt hares with thee. What instrument is that? 1st Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe. Chispa. Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a maravedi for playing, and ten for leaving off? 1st Mus. No, your honor. Chispa. I am glad of it. What other instruments have we? 2d and 3d Mus. We play the bandurria. Chispa. A pleasing instrument. And thou? 4th Mus. The fife. Chispa. I like it; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my lady's window like the song of a swallow. And you others? Other Mus. We are the singers, please your honor. Chispa. You are too many. Do you think we are going to sing mass in the cathedral of Cordova? Four men can make but little use of one shoe, and I see not how you can all sing in one song. But follow me along the garden wall. That is the way my master climbs to the lady's window. It is by the Vicar's skirts that the devil climbs into the belfry. Come, follow me, and make no noise. [Exeunt. Preciosa (at an open window). How slowly through the lilacscented air Descends the tranquil moon! Like thistle-down The vapory clouds float in the peaceful sky; And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade Alexander. Thy hand, Hephestion: clap him to thy heart, And wear him ever near thee. Parisatis Shall now be his who serves me best in war. Neither reply, but mark the charge I give; Live, live as friends-you will, you must, you shall: 'Tis a god gives you life. Clytus. Oh, monstrous vanity! Alex. Ha! what says Clytus? who am I? Clyt. The son of good king Philip. Alex. By my kindred gods 'Tis false. Great Ammon gave me birth. Clyt. I've done. Alex. Clytus, what means that dress? Give him a robe, there. Take it and wear it. Clyt. Sir, the wine, the weather, Has heated me: besides, you know my humor. Alex. Oh, 'tis not well! I'd rather perish, burn, Than be so singular and froward. Clyt. So would I—— Burn, hang, drown, but in a better cause. I'll drink or fight for sacred majesty With any here. Fill me another bowl. Will you excuse me? Alex. You will be excused: But let him have his humor; he is old. Clyt. So was your father, sir; this to his memory: Sound all the trumpets there. Alex. They shall not sound Till the king drinks. Sure I was born to wage Eternal war. All are my enemies, Whom I could tame-But let the sports go on. Lysimachus. Nay, Clytus, you that could advise so well— Alex. Let him persist, be positive, and proud, Envious and sullen, 'mongst the nobler souls. Like an infernal spirit that hath stole From hell, and mingled with the mirth of gods. Clyt. When gods grow hot, no difference I know "Twixt them and devils-Fill me Greek wine-yetYet fuller-I want spirits. Clyt. Music for boys-Clytus would hear the groans Or, if I must be pestered with shrill sounds, Hephestion. Let us, Lysimachus, awake the king; A heavy gloom is gathering on his brow. Alex. Sound, sound, that all the universe may hear. Oh, for the voice of Jove! the world should know The kindness of my people-Rise! oh rise! My hands, my arms, my heart, are ever yours. Clyt. I did not kiss the earth, nor must your hand I am unworthy, sir. Alex. I know thou art: Thou enviest the great honor of thy master. Heph. A chief so great, so fortunately brave, The radiant sun, since first his beams gave light, Lys. Such was not Cyrus, or the famed Alcides, Alex. Oh, you flatter me! Clyt. They do, indeed, and yet you love them for't, But hate old Clytus for his hardy virtue. Come, shall I speak a man with equal bravery, A better general, and experter soldier? Alex. I should be glad to learn: instruct me, sir. Clyt. Your father, Philip-I have seen him march, And fought beneath his dreadful banner, where The boldest at this table would have trembled. Nay, frown not, sir, you cannot look me dead. When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war! The laboured battle sweat, and conquest bled. Why should I fear to speak a bolder truth Than e'er the lying priests of Ammon told you? Philip fought men-but Alexander women. Alex. All envy, spite and envy, by the gods! To conquer women! Nay, he said the stoutest, |