But fevers me with an insane delight;
As one of old, who on the mountain crags
Caught madness from a Mænad's haunting eyes.
Were you, my lord,-whose path imperial power,
And the grave cares of reverend wisdom, guard
From all that tempts to folly meaner men,—
Were you accursed with that which you inflicted-
By bed and board, dogg'd by one ghastly spectre-
The while within you youth beat high, and life
Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of death-
The heart no bud, nor fruit-save in those seeds
Most worthless, which spring up, bloom, bear, and
wither

In the same hour-Were this your fate, perchance
You would have err'd like me!

Rich.

I might, like you,

Have been a brawler and a reveller ;-not,

Like you, a trickster and a thief.

De Mau. [Advancing threateningly.] Lord Cardinal! Unsay those words!—

[HUGUET deliberately raises the carbine. Rich. [Waving his hand.] Not quite so quick, friend Huguet ;

Messire de Mauprat is a patient man,

And he can wait!

You have outrun your fortune ;—

I blame you not, that you would be a beggar—
Each to his taste!-But I do charge you, sir,
That, being beggar'd, you would coin false moneys
Out of that crucible, called DEBT.-To live

On means not yours-to be brave in silks and laces,
Gallant in steeds—splendid in banquets ;—all

Not yours-ungiven-uninherited-unpaid for ;-
This is to be a trickster; and to filch

Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth,
Life, daily bread,—quitting all scores with-" Friend,
You're troublesome!"-Why this, forgive me,

Is what-when done with a less dainty grace—
Plain folks call "Theft!" You owe eight thousand
pistoles,

Minus one crown, two liards!

De Mau. [Aside.]

The old conjuror!

'Sdeath, he'll inform me next how many cups

I drank at dinner!

Rich.

This is scandalous,

Shaming your birth and blood. I tell you, sir,
That you must pay your debts.

De Mau.

With all my heart,

My lord. Where shall I borrow, then, the money? Rich. [Aside and laughing.] A humorous daredevil!-The very man

To suit my purpose-ready, frank, and bold!

[Rising, and earnestly. Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel ;I am not ;-I am just !-I found France rent asunder,The rich men despots, and the poor banditti ;Sloth in the mart, and schism in the temple; Brawls festering to rebellion; and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. I have re-created France; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, Civilization on her luminous wings

Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove! What was my art? Genius, some say,-some, fortune,-witchcraft, some.

Not so ;-my art was JUSTICE! Force and fraud
Misname it cruelty-you shall confute them!
My champion YOU? You met me as your foe;
Depart my friend-You shall not die,-France needs
you.

You shall wipe off all stains,-be rich, be honour'd,
Be great.-

[DE MAUPRAT falls on his knee-RICHELIEU raises him.

I ask, sir, in return, this hand, To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match, Yet not exceed, her beauty.

De Mau.

I have no wish to marry.

Rich.

To die were worse.

De Mau.

I, my lord,-[hesitating]

Surely, sir,

Scarcely; the poorest coward

Must die; but knowingly to march to marriage,
My lord; it asks the courage of a lion!

Rich. Traitor, thou triflest with me! I know all! Thou hast dared to love my ward-my charge.

De Mau.

As rivers

May love the sunlight-basking in the beams,
And hurrying on!

Rich.

Thou hast told her of thy love? De Mau. My lord, if I had dared to love a maid, Lowliest in France, I would not so have wronged her, As bid her link rich life and virgin hope

With one the deathman's gripe might, from her

side,

Pluck at the nuptial altar.

Rich.

I believe thee;

K

Yet, since she knows not of thy love, renounce her; Take life and fortune with another!-Silent?

De Mau. Your fate has been one triumph-you know not

How blest a thing it was in my dark hour

To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish.
Love hath no need of words; nor less within

That holiest temple-the Heaven-builded soul-
Breathes the recorded vow. Base knight, false lover
Were he, who barter'd all that brighten'd grief,
Or sanctified despair, for life and gold.

Revoke your mercy; I prefer the fate

I look'd for!

Rich.

Huguet! to the tapestry chamber

Conduct your prisoner. [To MAUPRAT.]

You will there behold

The executioner :-your doom be private

And Heaven have mercy on you!

SCENE FROM "THE LADY OF LYONS."

BY LORD LYTTON.

CLAUDE MELNOTTE. PAULINE DESCHAPELLES.

Pauline. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendours since thou didst swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. Melnotte. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint

The home to which, could Love fulfil its prayers,
This hand would lead thee, listen!-A deep vale
Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world;
Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold
And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies,
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows,
As I would have thy fate!

Pau. My own dear love!

Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage musical with birds, Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder Why earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends