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And no cloud by Him is sent
That's not fleec'd with soft intent!

What though yon small house is empty,
Yonder tenement of clay!
Christ has call'd thy little Charlie,

To Himself away;
Call'd him to a nobler lot,
He who said, “Forbid them not!'
Wailing mother, if their angels,
Aye behold the 'Father's Face,'
In God's Heaven be sure that children,

Hold no joyless place;
And if this indeed be so,
Little Charlie's there, we know !
Little sisters, little brother,
Once again ye group around !
But 'tis now, to lay your Charlie

In the church-yard ground;
Ah, what sobs ! what smother'd pain !
Tears are falling thick as rain !
Yet, О children! yet fond Rachel !
Look above-beyond the grave !
And believe that Christ is mighty

All His lambs to save !
Charlie now, His praises sings,
Soaring high, on Seraph-wings!!

(Copyright-Contributed.)

A SCENE FROM THE HONEYMOON.

JOHN TOBIN.

[John Tobin was born at Salisbury, in 1770. He was brought up to the law, but, Shakspeare proving more attractive to him than Blackstone, he adopted the stage as a profession, and wrote several dramas, of which “ The Curfew' and" The Honeymoon

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are the most noteworthy : the latter, in some of the scenes, strongly resembles " The Taming of the Shrew," but it was very successful. Tobin died 1804.]

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Enter the Dukr, leading in JULIANA, L. Duke. (Brings a chair forward, C., and sits down.) You are welcome home. Jul. (Crosses, R.) Home! You are merry; this

retired spot
Would be a palace for an owl!

Duke. 'Tis ours.-
Jul. Ay, for the time we stay in it.
Duke. By Heaven, this is the noble mansion that I

spoke of ! Jul. This! You are not in earnest, though you bear it With such a sober brow.—Come, come, you jest.

Duke. Indeed I jest not; were it ours in jest,
We should have none, wife.

Jul. Are you serious, sir ?
Duke. I swear, as I'm your husband, and no duke.
Jul. No duke ?
Duke. But of my own creation, lady.

Jul. Am I betray'd–Nay, do not play the fool!
It is too keen a joke.

Duke. You'll find it true.
Jul. You are no duke, then ?
Duke. None.
Jul. Have I been cozen'd ?

[Aside. And you

have no estate, sir ? No palaces, nor houses ?

Duke. None but this :-
A small snug dwelling, and in good repair.

Jul. Nor money, nor effects ?
Duke. None that I know of.

a

Jul. And the attendants who have waited on usDuke. They were my friends; who, having done my

business, Are gone about their own.

Jul. Why, then, 'tis clear. That I was ever born !--[Aside.] What are you, sir? Duke. (Rises.) I am an honest man—that may con

tent you!
Young, nor ill-favour'd-Should not that content you?
I am your husband, and that must content you.
Jul. I will

go
home!

[Going, L. Duke. You are at home, already. [Staying her.

Jul. I'll not endure it !But remember this Duke, or no duke, I'll be a duchess, sir ! [Crosses, L.

Duke. A duchess ! You shall be a queen,—to all Who, by the courtesy, will call you so.

Jul. And I will have attendance !

Duke. So you shall, When

you

have learnt to wait upon yourself.
Jul. To wait upon myself! Must I bear this ?
I could tear out my eyes, that bade you woo me,
And bite my tongue in two, for saying yes! [Crosses, r.

Duke. And if you should, 'twould grow again.-
I think, to be an honest yeoman's wife
(For such, my would-be duchess, you will find me,)
You were cut out by nature.

Jul. You will find, then,
That education, sir, has spoilt me for it.
Why! do you think I'll work ?

Duke. I think 'twill happen, wife.

Jul. What! Rub and scrub Your noble palace clean ?

Duke. Those taper fingers Will do it daintily.

Jul. And dress (If there be any)? -Oh! I could go mad! [Crosses, L. Duke. And mend my hose, and darn my nightcaps

neatly; Wait, like an echo, till you're spoken tom

your victuals

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Jul. Or like a clock, talk only once an hour?

Duke. Or like a dial; for that quietly
Performs its work, and never speaks at all.
Jul. To feed your poultry and your hogs! Oh,

monstrous !
And when I stir abroad, on great occasions,
Carry a squeaking tithe pig to the vicar;
Or jolt with higglers' wives the market trot,
To sell your eggs and butter!

[Crosses, E.
Duke. Excellent !
How well you sum the duties of a wife !
Why, what a blessing I shall have in you !

Jul. A blessing!

Duke. When they talk of you and me,
Darby and Joan shall be no more remember'd ;-
We shall be happy!

Jul. Shall we?

Duke. Wondrous happy!
Oh, you will make an admirable wife!

Jul. I'll make a devil.
Duke. What ?
Jul. A

very

devil. Duke. Oh, no.

We'll have no devils. Jul. I'll not bear it!

father's ! Duke. Gently; you forget You are a perfect stranger to the road.

Jul. My wrongs will find a way, or make one.

Duke. Softly!
You stir not hence, except to take the air ;
And then I'll breathe it with you.

Jul. What, confine me?
Duke. 'Twould be unsafe to trust you yet abroad,
Jul. Am I a truant school-boy?

Duke. Nay, not so ;
But you must keep your bounds.

Júl. And if I break them,
Perhaps you'll beat me.-

Duke. Beat you!

I'll to my

The man that lays his hand upon a woman,
Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch
Whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward.
I'll talk to you, lady, but not beat you.

Jul. Well, if I may not travel to my father,
I may write to him, surely !-And I will
If I can meet within your spacious dukedom
Three such unhoped-for miracles at once,
As pens, and ink, and paper.

Duke. You will find them
In the next room. A word, before you go.--
You are my wife, by every tie that's sacred ;
The partner of my

fortune and

my

bed Jul. Your fortune!

Duke. Peace !--No fooling, idle woman! Beneath th' attesting eye of Heaven I've sworn To love, to honour, cherish, and protect you. No human power can part us. What remains, then ? To fret, and worry, and torment each other, And give a keener edge to our hard fate By sharp upbraidings, and perpetual jars ?Or, like a loving and a patient pair, (Waked from a dream of grandeur, to depend Upon their daily labour for support) To soothe the taste of fortune's lowliness With sweet consent, and mutual fond endearment ?Now to your chamber-write whate'er you please,

before

you

stain the spotless paper, With words that may inflame, but cannot heal !

Jul. Why, what a patient worm you take me for! Duke. I took you for a wife; and, ere I've done, I'll know you for a good one.

Jul. You shall know me For a right woman, full of her own sex; Who, when she suffers wrong, will speak her anger; Who feels her own prerogative, and scorns, By the proud reason of superior man, To be taught patience, when her swelling heart Cries out revenge!

[E.cit, R.U.E.

But pause

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