which is south; his power a beggar's dog would bark at, and the beggar himself would not bow to his greatness. And yet how often are we puffed up with these false attributes! Well, in losing the monarch I have found the man. But, hark! somebody sure is near. What shall I do? Will my majesty protect me? No. Throw majesty aside, then, and let manhood do it. Enter the Miller. Miller. I believe I hear the rogue. Who's there? King. No rogue, I assure you. Miller. Little better, friend, I believe. Who fired that gun? King. Not I, indeed. Miller. You lie, I believe. King. (Aside.) Lie, lie! how strange it seems to me to be talked to in this style. (Aloud.) Upon my word, I don't, sir. Miller. Come, come, sir, confess you have shot one of the king's deer, haven't you? King. No, indeed; I owe the king more respect. I heard the report of a gun, to-be-sure, and was afraid some robbers were near. Miller. I am not bound to believe this, friend. Pray, who are you? What's your name? King. Name? Miller. Name! ay, name. Where do you come from? King. These are quest man. You have a name, haven't you? What is your business here? have not been used to, honest Miller. May-be so; but they are questions no honest man would be afraid to answer. So, if you can give no better account of yourself, I shall make bold to take you along with me, if you please. King. With you! What authority have you to Miller. The king's authority, if I must give you an account. Sir, I am John Cockle, the miller of Mansfield, one of his Majesty's keepers in the forest of Sherwood; and I will let no suspicious fellow pass this way, unless he can give a better account of himself than you have done, I promise you. King. Very well, sir: I am very glad to hear the king has so good an officer; and, since I find you have his authority, I will give you a better account of myself, if you will do me the favor to hear it. Miller. You don't deserve it, I believe; but let me hear what you can say for yourself. King. I have the honor to belong to the king as well as you, and perhaps should be as unwilling to see any wrong done him. I came down with him to hunt in this forest, and, the chase leading us to-day a great way from home, I am benighted in this wood, and have lost my way. Miller. This does not sound well: if you have been hunting, pray, where is your horse? King. I tired my horse so that he lay down under me, and I was obliged to leave him. Miller. If I thought I might believe this, now. King. I do not lie, honest man. Miller. What, do you live at court, and not lie? That's a likely story, indeed! King. Be that as it may, I speak truth now, I assure you; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, or give me a night's lodging in your house, here is something to pay you for your trouble, (offering money;) and, if that is not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the morning to your utmost desire. Miller. Ay, now I am convinced you are a courtier: he is a little bribe for to-day and a large promise for to-morrow, both in a breath. Here, take it again; John Cockle is no courtier. He can do what he ought without a bribe. King. Thou art a very extraordinary man, I must acknowledge; and I should be glad, methinks, to be further acquainted with thee. Miller. I pray thee, don't thee and thou me at this rate. I suppose I am as good a man as yourself, at least. King. Sir, I beg pardon. Miller. Nay, I am not ang end; only I don't like to be too familiar with you until I am satisfied as to your honesty.. King. You are right. But what am I to do? Miller. You may do what you please. You are twelve miles from Nottingham, and all the way through this thick wood; but, if you are resolved upon going thither to-night, I will put you in the road and direct you the best I can; or, if you will accept of such poor entertainment as a miller can give, you shall be welcome to stay all night, and in the morning I will go with you myself. King. And cannot you go with me to-night? Miller. I would not go with you to-night if you were the king himself. King. Then I must go with you, I think. (Enter a courtier in haste.) Courtier. Ah! is your Majesty safe? We have hunted the forest over to find you. Miller. How! Are you the king? (Kneels.) Your Majesty will pardon the ill usage you have received. (The king draws his sword.) His Majesty surely will not kill a servant for doing his duty too faithfully! King. No, my good fellow. So far from having any thing to pardon, I am much your debtor. I cannot think but so good and honest a man will make a worthy and honorable knight. Rise, Sir John Cockle, and receive this sword as a badge of knighthood and a pledge of my protection; and, to support your nobility, and in some measure requite you for the pleasure you have done us, a thousand crowns a year shall be your revenue! LESSON CXIV. MACLAINE'S CHILD. BY CHARLES MACKAY. 1. (pf) "MACLAINE! you've scourged me like a hound': 2. (pf) "You should have crushed me into death'; That, for this wrong which you have done', 3. (pf) "On him', and you', and all your race'!" 4. 5. 6. A smiling infant, three years old'. And, starting like a hunted stag, And, leaning o'er its topmost ledge, With flashing eye and burning brow', 7. But, midway up the rugged steep', 8. (pf) "Oh, spare my child', my joy', my pride'! 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. (p5f5) "My child'! my child'!" with sobs and tears, "Come', Evan'," said the trembling chief, And, as he spoke, he raised the child', The lady's cheek grew pale with ire, "I might have slain my babe instead. "Wrong unavenged I've never borne'," The lady stood in mute despair, She could not look upon her lord'. 17. He saw the quivering of her eye, Pale lips, and speechless agony, And, doing battle with his pride, "Give back the boy: I yield," he cried. 18. A storm of passion shook his mind',— Anger, and shame', and love combined'; But love prevail'd', and, bending low', He bared his shoulders to the blow'. 19. "I smite you," said the clansman true'; 'Forgive me', chief', the deed I do'! For, by yon heaven that hears me speak', 20. But Evan's face beam'd hate and joy'; 21. Ere hand could stir with sudden shock, 22. They found their bodies in the tide; Was that sad mother known to smile,- 23. They dragg'd false Evan from the sea, |