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Dav. Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing them is to keep as long as you can out of their company. Lookye now, master, to go them in such haste-with an ounce of lead in your brains-1 should think it might as well be let alone. Our ancestors are very good kind of folks; but they are the last people I should choose to have a visiting acquaintance with.
Acr. But, David, now, you don't think there is such very, very, very great danger, hey? Odds life! people often fight without any mischief done!
Dav. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one against you. Oons! here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I warrant, with his villanous double-barrelled swords and cut-and-thrust pistols ! Oh bless us! it makes me tremble to think o't; those be such desperate bloody-minded weapons! well, 1 never could abide them; from a child I never could fancy them! I suppose there an't been so merciless a beast in the world as your loaded pistol!
Acr. Zounds! I wont be afraid; odds fire and fury! you sha'n't make me afraid. Here is the challenge, and I have sent for my dear friend, Jack Absolute, to carry it for me.
Dav. Ay, i' the name of mischief, let him be the messenger. For my part, I wouldn't lend a hand to it for the best horse in your stable. By the mass! it don't look like another letter! it is, as I may say, a designing and malicious-looking letter! and I warrant smells of gunpowder, like a soldier's pouch! Oons! I wouldn't swear it mayn't go off!
Acr. Out, you poltroon! you ha'n't the valour of a grasshopper.
Dav. Well, I say no more: 'twill be sad news, to be sure, at Clod Hall! but I ha' done. Good bye, master. Acr. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking raven!
EXTRACT FROM THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW.
WE of America have here an advantage over our English brethren, in that keen enthusiasm which we feel for the famous spots and abodes, that are consecrated to both
alike, by the great names associated with them. To them the constant presence and familiarity of the scene blunt the edge of the feelings it excites in us, and Westminster Abbey and Stratford on Avon, awaken an enthusiasm in an American fancy, which the Englishman smiles at, as a sort of provincial rawness. Instead of assenting to those on both sides of the water, who have spoken of America as unfortunate in the want of ancient associations, as condemned to a kind of matter-of-fact, unpoetical newness of national character, we maintain that never nation, since the world began, had so rich a treasure of traditional glory. Is it nothing to be born, as it were, with the birthright of two native lands; to sail across the world of waters, and be hailed beyond it by the sound of your native tongue ? Is it nothing to find in another hemisphere the names, the customs, and the dress of your own; to be able to trace your ancestry back, not to the ranks of a semi-barbarous conqueror, or the poor mythology of vagrants and fugitives of fabulous days, but to noble, high-minded men in an age of glory, than which a brighter never dawned on the world? Is it nothing to be able, as you set your foot on the English soil, and with a heart going back to all the proud emotions which bind you at the moment to the happy home you have left, to be able still, nevertheless, to exclaim, with more than poetical, with literal natural truth,
Salve! magna Parens
Frugum, Saturnia tellus, magna, virûm!
If there be any feeling, merely national, which can compare with this, it should be that which corresponds to it; the complacency, with which it were to be hoped the wise and good friends of British glory in England would regard this flourishing off-set of their own native stock; the pride with which they should witness the progress of their language, their manners, their laws, and their literature, over regions wider than the conquests of Alexander; and that not by a forced and military imposition on a conquered land, but by fair and natural inheritance, and still more by voluntary adoption and choice; the joy, with which they should reflect, that not a note is struck at the centre of thought and opinion in the British capital, but is heard and propagated by our presses, to the valley of the Missouri; and that if the day should come in the progress of national decline, when England shall be gathered with the empires that have been, when her thousand ships shall have disappeared from
the ocean, and the mighty chain of her wealth shall be broken, with which she has so long bound the European world to her chariot-wheels, and mustered the nations, from the banks of the Tagus to the banks of the Don, to march beneath the banner of her coalitions, that then there will be no unworthy descendant to catch her mantle; and that the rich treasure of her institutions and character, instead of becoming the unrescued prey of Huns and Vandals, and whatever uncouth name of barbarism laid waste of old the refinements of the world, will be preserved, upheld, and perfected in the western world of promise.
WALLENSTEIN-COUNT TERTSKY.....S. T. Coleridge.
Wallenstein. If there were yet a choice! if yet some milder
Such a way
Way of escape were possible-I still
Hence to the Emperor-kneel before the throne;
Thou did'st but wish to prove thy fealty;
Thy whole intention but to dupe the Swede.
Wal. For that too 'tis too late. They know too much
I should but bear my own head to the block.
Count. Art thou in earnest? I entreat thee! Canst thou
That asks no stretch of patience, a light evil :
Wal. Show me a way out of this stifling crowd,
As I am capable of going. I
Am no tongue-hero, no fine virtue-prattler;
With hate and dread; and Friedland be redemption
Have ventured even this; ay, and performed it.
That doth not all his living faculties
Put forth in preservation of his life?
And desperation will not sanctify?
Wal. Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me : He loved me; he esteemed me; I was placed The nearest to his heart. Full many a time
We, like familiar friends, both at one table
Have banqueted together. And is't come to this?
Count. So faithfully preserv'st thou each small favour, And hast no memory for contumelies?
Must I remind thee, how at Regenspurg
Thou hadst wronged, to make him great,―hadst loaded on thee,
On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world.
Clung Friedland in that storm which gathered round him,
The law of hard necessity replaced thee,
Which they had fain opposed, but that they could not.
Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted
I shall therein abuse no confidence.
Count. Affection! confidence!—They needed thee.
Who not with empty names, or shows of proxy,
And at the rudder places him, e'en though
She had been forced to take him from the rabble-
In this high office; it was she that gave thee
Thy letters patent of inauguration.
For, to the uttermost moment that they can,
Wa 'Tis true! they saw me always as I am