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while he moved aside his beard. Pity that should be cut," he murmured; "that has not committed treason!" With which strange words, the strangest perhaps ever uttered at such a time, the lips most famous through Europe for eloquence and wisdom closed forever.

SIR FRANCIS DRAKE.

CHARLES KINGSLEY. EXTRACT.

WHO is that short, sturdy, plainly dressed man who stands, with legs a little apart and hands behind his back, looking up with keen gray eyes into the face of each speaker? His cap is in his hands, so you can see the bullet head of crisp brown hair and the wrinkled forehead, as well as the high cheek-bones, the short, square face, the broad temples, the thick lips which are yet as firm as granite. A coarse, plebeian stamp of man; yet the whole figure and attitude are that of boundless determination, self-possession, energy; and when at last he speaks a few blunt words, all eyes are turned respectfully upon him,- for his name is Francis Drake.

EPIGRAM ON FRANCIS DRAKE.

BEN JONSON.

THE stars above will make thee known

If man were silent here;

The sun himself cannot forget

His fellow-traveller.

ROBIN HOOD.

JOHN KEATS.

No! those days are gone away,
And their hours are old and gray,
And their minutes buried all
Under the downtrodden pall
Of the leaves of many years;
Many times have Winter's shears,
Frozen North, and chilling East,
Sounded tempests to the feast
Of the forest's whispering fleeces
Since men knew nor rents nor leases.

No! the bugle sounds no more,
And the twanging bow no more;
Silent is the ivory shrill,

Past the heath and up the hill;
There is no mid-forest laugh,
Whose lone echo gives the half
To some wight amazed to hear
Jesting, deep in forest drear.

On the fairest time of June
You may go, with sun or moon,
Or the seven stars to light you,
Or the polar ray to right you;
But you never may behold
Little John, or Robin bold-
Never one, of all the clan,
Thrumming on an empty can

Some old hunting ditty, while
He doth his green way beguile
To fair hostess Merriment
Down beside the pasture Trent;
For he left the merry tale,
Messenger for spicy ale.

Gone the merry morris din;
Gone the song of Gamelyn;
Gone the tough-belted outlaw
Idling in the "greené shawe"
All are gone away and past;
And if Robin should be cast
Sudden from his tufted grave,
And if Marian should have
Once again her forest days,

She would weep, and he would craze;
He would swear, for all his oaks,
Fallen beneath the dock-yard strokes,
Have rotted on the briny seas;
She would weep that her wild bees
Sang not to her-Strange! that honey
Can't be got without hard money!

So it is! yet let us sing
Honor to the old bow-string!
Honor to the bugle-horn!
Honor to the woods unshorn!
Honor to the Lincoln green!
Honor to the archer keen!
Honor to tight Little John,
And the horse he rode upon

!

Honor to bold Robin Hood,

Sleeping in the underwood!

Honor to Maid Marian

And to all the Sherwood clan!

Though their days have hurried by,
Let us two a burden try!

THE MURDER OF THOMAS À BECKET IN
CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL.

AUGUSTIN THIERRY.

SCARCELY were the archbishop's feet upon the steps of the altar, when Reginald Fitz-Urse appeared at the other end of the church completely armed, carrying in his hand his two-edged sword, crying out, "Hither! hither! loyal servants of the king." The other conspirators followed him, armed cap-a-pie, brandishing their swords. One cried out, "Where is the traitor?" Becket did not answer. "Where is the Archbishop?" "Here," replied Becket; "but there is no traitor here; what are you doing in the house of God in such armor? what is your purpose?" "To slay you!" was the answer. "I am resigned," replied the Archbishop; "you will not see me fly from your swords; but, in the name of the Almighty God, I forbid you to touch one of my companions, clergy or lay, great or small." At that moment he received from behind a blow with the flat of the sword on his shoulder, and the person who struck it, said, “Fly, or you are a dead man.' He did not

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move; the armed men undertook to drag him outside of the church, being scrupulous about killing him there; he struggled with them, declaring that he would not go out; that he would compel them to execute upon that very spot, their intentions or their orders. William de Tracy raised his sword, and at one blow cut off the hand of a Saxon monk named Edward Gryn, and wounded Becket on the head. A second blow, given by another Norman, threw him down with his face against the ground; a third clove his skull, and was given with such violence that the sword was broken against the pavement. William Mautrait then pushed the motionless body with his foot, saying, "Thus perish the traitor who has disturbed the kingdom, and caused the English to rebel !"

HENRY FIFTH ENCOURAGING HIS SOLDIERS.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

Westmoreland. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

King Henry. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland! No, my fair cousin,
If we are marked to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor;

Heaven's will! I pray thee wish not one man more. In truth I am not covetous of gold,

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

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