4.09 15.-ROB ROY'S DEFENCE OF HIMSELF. SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. [Scott, the head of the novelists of the nineteenth century, was born at Edinburgh, 1771. He was educated at the High School and University of Edinburgh. His father was connected with the law, and the future novelist followed the legal profession while indulging in his literary tastes. The popularity of his poems, though great, was far eclipsed by his prose fictions, commencing with "Waverley" (1814), and ending with "Castle Dangerous' (1831). Unfortunately, Scott became involved as a partner in a publishing firm, and found himself liable for debts to the amount of one hundred thousand pounds. This vast amount he determined to liquidate by the labours of his pen, and he all but succeeded, but the effort was too great for his physical strength. A voyage to Italy failed to restore his health, and he died at Abbotsford in 1832.] You speak like a boy-like a boy, who thinks the old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young sapling. Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw, stigmatized as a traitor, a price set upon my head as if I had been a wolf, my family treated as the dam and cubs of a hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade and insult; the very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure up the devil with ? And they shall find that the name they have dared to proscribethat the name of MacGregor is a spell to raise the wild devil withal. They shall hear of my vengeance, that would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. The miserable Highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted, stripped of all, dishonoured and hunted down, because the avarice of others grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on them in an awful change. They that scoffed at the grovelling worm, and trod upon him, may cry and howl when they see the stoop of the flying and fiery-mouthed dragon. But why do I speak of all this ?-only ye may opine it frets my patience to be hunted like an otter, or a seal, or a salmon on the shallows, and that by my very friends and neighbours; and to have as many swordcuts made, and pistols flashed at me, as I had this day in the ford of Avondow, would try a saint's temper, much more a Highlander's, who are not famous for that good gift, as you may have heard. But one thing bides wi' me of what Nicol said. I'm vexed when I think of Robert and Hamish living their father's life. But let us say no more of this. * * * You must think hardly of us, and it is not natural that it should be otherwise. But remember, at least, we have not been unprovoked: we are a rude and an ignorant, and it may be, a violent and passionate, but we are not a cruel people. The land might be at peace and in law for us, did they allow us to enjoy the blessings of peaceful law. But we have been a persecuted people: and if persecution maketh wise men mad, what must it do to men like us, living as our fathers did a thousand years since, and possessing scarce more lights than they did? Can we view their bloody edicts against us their hanging, heading, hounding and hunting down an ancient and honourable name-as deserving better treatment than that which enemies give to enemies ?-Here I stand-have been in twenty frays, and never hurt man but when I was in hot blood!and yet they would betray me and hang me, like a masterless dog, at the gate of any great man that has an ill-will at me. You are a kind-hearted and an honourable youth, and understand, doubtless, that which is due to the feelings of a man of honour. But the heather that I have trod upon when living must bloom over me when I am dead-my heart would sink, and my arm would shrink and wither, like fern in the frost, were I to lose sight of my native hills; nor has the world a scene that would console me for the loss of the rocks and cairns, wild as they are, that you see around us. And Helen-what would become of her, were I to leave her the subject of new insult and atrocity ?— —or how could she bear to be removed from these scenes, where the remembrance of her wrong is aye sweetened by the recollection of her revenge? I was once so hard put at by my great enemy, as I may well call him, that I was forced e'en to give way to the tide, and removed myself, and my people, and my family, from our dwellings in our native land, and to withdraw for a time into MacCallummore's country,and Helen made a lament on our departure, as well as MacRimmon himself could have framed it; and so piteously sad and woesome, that our hearts almost brake as we listened to her; it was like the wailing of one for the mother that bore him—and I would not have the same touch of the heart-break again, no, not to have all the lands that were ever owned by MacGregor. 16.-SPEECH OF LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS, OVER THE DEAD BODY OF LUCRETIA. JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. [Mr. Payne was an American by birth, long settled in England. He wrote Brutus," a Tragedy, and several other successful dramatic pieces; among them "Clari, the Maid of Milan," in which occurs the ever popular song of "Home, sweet home." Born 1793; died 1852.] THUS, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts The mask necessity has made me wear! King, do I call him!-When the monster, Tarquin, Would you know why I have summon'd you together? The mould in which each female face was form'd- Forgot its crutch, labour its task-all ran; And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, 66 'There, there's Lucretia!" Now, look ye, where she lies, That beauteous flower-that innocent sweet rose, Torn up by ruthless violence-gone! gone! gone! Say, would ye seek instruction? Would ye ask 17.-CATO'S SOLILOQUY. JOSEPH ADDISON. [See page 117.] It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well!- Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 'Tis Heav'n herself, that points out an hereafter, Eternity!-thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! Through all her works-He must delight in virtue, [Laying his hand on his sword. Thus am I doubly arm'd. My death, my life, The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds. RECITATIONS. 1.—THE ARMADA. LORD MACAULAY. [See p. 89.] ATTEND all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise: It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day, With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes, Ho, gunners! fire a loud salute! ho, gallants! draw your blades! The fresh'ning breeze of eve unfurl'd that banner's massy fold- |