Tyke. Brandy! brandy! Ld. A. Compose yourself-follow me-(Crosses L.) -you want sleep. Tyke. Sleep! ha! ha! under the sod I may. [Points down, and groans heavily. Exit, following LORD AVONDALE, L. Inside of Cottage.—Table, and a candle burning on it.— OLD MAN seated R., looking on a purse.-TYKE sitting, L. O. Man. Pray, sir, who is that generous youth? Tyke. Why, he's a kind of a foreman like to Lord Avondale, my friend. O. Man. Are you the friend of that worthy noble man? Tyke. Yes; between ourselves-I have him under my thumb; but I say that out of confidence--you understand. That's a smartish purse you've got there; but, I tell you what, I don't think it's very safe, just now. O. Man. Indeed, sir! You alarm me! Tyke. I tell you what-I'll take care of this for (Takes the purse.) you. O. Man. Well, sir, you are very kind. You live at the castle? Tyke. Yes, yes! O. Man. Then, perhaps, you could aid a petition I have presented to his lordship-my name isTyke. Well, well, let's hear your name. O. Man. Robert Tyke. Tyke. Eh!-what !-speak !-no, don't! Tyke. (Trembling violently, rushes to the table, brings down the candle, looks at the OLD MAN, dashes candle and purse on the ground, and tears his hair in agony.) 0, villain!-villain ! O. Man. What's the matter? you know me? O. Man. No, sir. Tyke. I'm glad on't-I'm glad on't-Ruin my own father! O. Man. Ah! did I hear rightly? Father!-what! Oh! let me see— -let me see! (TYKE, with a countenance strongly impressed with shame and sorrow, turns round.) Ah! it's my son-my long-lost, dear profligate boy! Heaven be thanked!-Heaven be thanked! Tyke. (Groaning, strikes his breast.) Oh ! burst, burst, and ease me! Eh!-but he's alive-father's alive! ha! ha! (Laughs hysterically.) O. Man. You terrify me! Robert, Robert, hear me. Take my forgiveness-take my blessing! Tyke. What!-forgive-bless-such a rogue as(Bursts into a flood of tears.) O. Man. Be composed. Tyke. Let me cry; it does me good, father-it does me good. O. Man. Oh! if there be holy water, it surely is the sinner's tears. Tyke. But he's alive. (Rushes into his arms.) O. Man. Ay! alive to comfort and pardon thee, my poor prodigal, and Heaven will pardon thee! Tyke. No, don't say that, father, because it can't. Tyke. Yes, I know it is. I know it would if it could, but not me! No, no! O. Man. Kneel down, and ask its mercy. Tyke. I dare not, father—I dare not! Oh, if I durst but just thank it for thy life! O. Man. Angels will sing for joy. Tyke. What-may I, think you? May I-may I? [By degrees he tremblingly falls on his knees, and clasps his hands with energetic devotion. Scene Closes. 79 THE LAST MAN. THOMAS CAMPBELL. ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, Its immortality! I saw a vision in my sleep That gave my spirit strength to sweep I saw the last of human mould, The sun's eye had a sickly glare, Some had expired in fight,—the brands Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, Saying, We are twins in death, proud sun, 'Tis mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, The vassals of his will; Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Its piteous pageants bring not back, Even I am weary in yon skies My lips that speak thy dirge of death- This spirit shall return to Him Who gave its heavenly spark; Who robb'd the grave of victory,— Go, sun, while mercy holds me up To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste- TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS. FREDERICK LOCKER. PAPA was deep in weekly bills, Of woe; said she, "I do declare "Confound it!" quoth papa. Perhaps Besides, 'tis badness to suppose The butcher's book-that unctuous diary— So quite in spite he flung it down, |