But secret path marks secret foe.

James. 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 again,
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.

Rod. Have then thy wish. [He whistles, and soldiers rush in on all sides.] How sayest thou now?

These are Clan Alpine's warriors true;

And, Saxon, I AM RODERIC Dhu.

[King James starts back a little, then

draws his sword and places his back against the rock.] James. Come one, come all! this rock shall fly

From its firm base, as soon as I.

[Roderic waves his hand, and the soldiers

Rod. Fear not, nay, that I need not say,

But doubt not aught from mine array.
Thou art my guest, I pledged my word
As far as Coilantogle ford.

So move we on: I only meant

To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue
Without a pass from Roderic Dhu.
Bold Saxon! to his promise just,
Vich Alpine shall discharge his trust.

This murderous chief, this ruthless man,

This head of a rebellious clan,

Will lead thee safe through watch and ward

Far past Clan Alpine's outmost guard;
Then man to man, and steel to steel,

A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.
James. I ne'er delayed

When foeman bade me draw my blade;
Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death:
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,
And my deep debt for life preserved,
A better meed have well deserved:

18

[retire.

Can naught but blood our feud atone?

Are there no means?

Rod. No, stranger, none!

James. Nay, first to James at Stirling go.
When, if thou wilt be still his foe,
Or if the king shall not agree

To grant thee grace and favor free,
I plight mine honor, oath, and word,
That to thy native holds restored,
With each advantage shalt thou stand,
That aids thee now to guard thy land.

Rod. Thy rash presumption now shall rue

The homage named to Roderic Dhu.
He yields not, he, to man nor fate—
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate!
My clansmen's wrongs demand revenge
Not yet prepared! by Heaven! I change
My thought, and hold thy valor light
As that of some vain carpet knight,

Who ill deserved my courteous care,

And whose best boast is but to wear

A braid of his fair lady's hair. [Pointing to a braid on James' breast.]

James. I thank thee, Roderic, for the word:

It nerves my heart, it steels my sword.

I had it from a frantic maid,

By thee dishonored and betrayed;
And I have sworn the braid to stain
In the best blood that warms thy vein.
Now, truce, farewell! and ruth, begone!
I heed not that my strength is worn-
Thy word's restor'd; and if thou wilt,
We try this quarrel, hilt to hilt.

CCX.-NOTHING IN IT.

CHARLES MATTHEWS.

Leech. But you don't laugh, Coldstream! Come, man, be amused, for once in your life!-you don't laugh.

Sir Charles. O, yes, I do. You mistake: I laughed twice, distinctly,-only, the fact is, I'm bored to death!

Leech. Bored? What! after such a feast as that you

have given us? Look at me,-I'm inspired! I'm a King at this moment, and all the world is at my feet!

Sir C. My dear Leech, you began life late. You are a young fellow,-forty-five,-and have the world yet before. you. I started at thirteen, lived quick, and exhausted the whole round of pleasure before I was thirty. I tried every thing, heard every thing, done every thing, know every thing; and here I am, a man of thirty-three, literally used up-completely blasé !

Leech. Nonsense, man!-used up, indeed!-with your wealth, with your twenty estates in the sunniest spots in England, not to mention that Utopia, within four walls, in the Rue de Provence, in Paris.

Sir C. I am dead with ennui !

Leech. Ennui! poor Croesus!

Sir C. Croesus!-no, I'm no Croesus!

My father,

you've seen his portrait, good old fellow !-he certainly did leave me a little matter of twelve thousand pounds a year; but, after all

Sir C. O, no: there are some people who can manage to do on less,-on credit.

Leech. I know several. My dear Coldstream, you should try change of scene.

Sir C. I have tried it ;-what's the use?
Leech. But I'd gallop all over Europe.

Sir C. I have;-there's nothing in it.
Leech. Nothing in all Europe?

Sir C. Nothing !-O, dear, yes! I remember, at one time, I did, somehow, go about a good deal.

Leech. You should go to Switzerland.

Sir C. I have been. Nothing there,-people say so much about every thing. There certainly were a few glaciers, some monks, and large dogs, and thick ankles, and bad wine, and Mont Blanc: yes, and there was ice on the

top, too; but I prefer the ice at Gunter's,-less trouble, and more in it.

Leech. Then, if Switzerland wouldn't do, I'd try Italy. Sir C. My dear Leech, I've tried it over and over again, and what then?

Leech. Did not Rome inspire you?

Sir C. O, believe me, Tom, a most horrible hole! People talk so much about these things. There's the Coloseum now;-round, very round,-a goodish ruin enough; but I was diappointed with it. Capitol,-tolerable high; and St. Peter's,-marble, and mosaics, and fountains, dome certainly not badly scooped; but there was nothing in it.

Leech. Come, Coldstream, you must admit we have nothing like St. Peter's in London.

Sir C. No, because we don't want it; but, if we wanted such a thing, of course we should have it. A dozen gentlemen meet, pass resolutions, institute, and in twelve - months it would be run up: nay, if that were all, we'd buy St. Peter's itself, and have it sent over.

Leech. Ha, ha! well said,—you're quite right. What say you to beautiful Naples ?

Sir C. Not bad,-excellent watermelons, and goodish opera: they took me up Vesuvius,-a horrid bore! It smoked a good deal, certainly, but altogether a wretched mountain;—saw the crater-looked down, but there was nothing in it.

Leech. But the bay?

Sir C. Inferior to Dublin!
Leech. The Campagna ?

Sir C. A swamp!

Leech. Greece?

Sir C. A morass!

Leech. Athens ?

Sir C. A bad Edinburgh!

Leech. Egypt?

Sir C. A desert!

Leech. The Pyramids ?

You

Sir C. Humbugs!-nothing in any of them! bore me. Is it possible that you cannot invent something that would make my blood boil in my veins,-my hair stand on end,-my heart beat,-my pulse rise; that would produce an excitement—an emotion—a sensation—a palpitation-but, no!—

Leech. I've an idea!

Sir C. You? What is it?

Leech. Marry!

Sir C. Hum!-well, not bad.

There's novelty about

the notion: it never did strike me to-O, but, no: I should be bored with the exertion of choosing. If a wife, now, could be had like a dinner-for ordering.

Leech. She can, by you. Take the first woman that comes: on my life, she'll not refuse twelve thousand pounds a year.

Sir C. Come, I don't dislike the project: I almost feel something like a sensation coming. I haven't felt so excited for some time: it's a novel enjoyment-a surprise. I'll try it.

CCXI. THE WEATHERCOCK.

J. T. ALLINGHAM.

Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit can accrue to you from such conduct as yours? One moment you tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in the world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers.

sir.

Tristram Fickle. I am clear out of that scrape now,

Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into a philosopher; and, for the noise of drums, trumpets and hautboys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible than was ever heard at the tower of Babel.

Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philosophy is folly so I have cut the philosophers of all sects,