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And, in my dying hour,
When riches, fame, and honor have no power

To bear the spirit up,
Or from my lips to turn aside the cup

That all must drink at last,
O, let me draw refreshment from the past !

Then let my soul run back,
With peace and joy, along my earthly track,

And see that all the seeds
That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds,

Have sprung up and have given
Already fruits of which to taste is Heaven!

VI.

And, though no grassy mound
Or granite pile say 'tis heroic ground

Where my remains repose,
Still will I hope—vain hope, perhaps !-that those

Whom I have striven to bless,
The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless,

May stand around my grave
With the poor prisoner, and the poorer slave,

And breathe a humble prayer,
That they may die like him whose bones are moldering

there.

EXERCISE LXIV.

Joan Tobin was born in Salisbury, England, in the year 1770. He dies lo 1304. “He passed,” says Mrs. Inchbald, “many years in the anxious labor of writing plays, which were rejected by the managers; and no sooner had they accepted · The Honey-Moon,' than he died, and never enjoyed the recompense of seeing it performed.” The Honey-Moon, however, from which we take the following dialogue, proved a splendid success. The scene is laid in Spain. The Duke of Aranza, after marrying Juliana, the proud and pretty daughter of an humble artist, takes her to a cottage in the country,

pretending that he himself is but a poor peasant, though he had w goed her in the character of a duke. The proud Juliana, after a struggle, yields, and the husband having gained his object, which was to tame her haughty spirito discloses his true rank, and conducts his bride to his palace.

SCENE FROM THE HONEY-MOON.

JOEN TOBIN.

BALTHAZAR, and VOLANTE, sister of JULIANA.
Balthazar. Not yet appareled ?

Volunte. 'Tis her wedding day, sir ;
On such occasions women claim some grace.

Bal. How bears she
The coming of her greatness ?

Vol. Bravely, sir.
Instead of the high honors that await her,
I think that, were she now to be enthroned,
She would become her coronation ;
For, when she has adjusted some stray lock,
Or fixed, at last, some sparkling ornament,
She views her beauty with collected pride,
Musters her whole soul in her eyes, and says,-
“ Look I not like an empress ?”—But she comes.

Enter Juliana, in her wedding dress.
Juliana. Well, sir, what think you? Do I to the life
Appear a duchess, or will people say,
She does but poorly play a part which nature
Never designed her for ?—But, where's the duke?

Bal. Not come yet.
Jul. How? not come ?—the duke not come?

Vol. Patience, sweet sister; oft, without a murmur,
It has been his delight to wait for you.

Jul. It was his duty.—Man was born to wait
On woman, and attend her sovereign pleasure !
This tardiness upon his wedding-day
Is but a sorry sample of obedience

Bal. Obedience, girl ?
Jul. Ay, sir, obedience !

Vol. Why, what a wire-drawn puppet you will make
The man you marry !-I suppose, ere long,
You'll choose how often he shall walk abroad
For recreation ; fix his diet for him;
Bespeak his clothes, and say on what occasions
He may put on his finest suit,

Jul. Proceed.

Vol. Keep all the keys, and, when he bids his friends, Mete out a modicum of wine to each. Had you not better put him in a livery At once, and let him stand behind your chair? Why, I would rather wed a man of dough, Such as some school-girl, when the pie is made, To amuse her childish fancy, kneads at hazard Out of the remnant paste,-a paper man, Cut by a baby! Heaven preserve me ever From that dull blessing-an obedient husband !

Jul. And make you an obedient wife !-A thing
For lordly man to vent his humors on;
A dull domestic drudge, to be abused.
“If you think so, my dear;” and, “ As you please;"
And, “You know best;" —even when he nothing knows.
I have no patience—that a free-born woman
Should sink the high tone of her noble nature
Down to a slavish whisper, for that compound
Of frail mortality, they call a man,
And give her charter up to make a tyrant!

Bal. You talk it most heroically. Pride
May be a proper bait to catch a lover,
But, trust me, daughter, 'twill not hold a husband.

Jul. Leave that to me ;-and what should I have caught,
If I had fished with your humility ?
Some pert apprentice, or rich citizen,
Who would have bought me; some poor gentleman,
Whose high patrician blood would have descended
To wed a painter's daughter and-her ducats !
I felt my value, and still kept aloof;

Nor stopped my eye till I had met the man,
Picked from all Spain, to be my husband, girl;
And him I have so managed, that he feels
I have conferred an honor on his house,
By coyly condescending to be his.

Bal. He comes.
Vol. Smooth your brow, sister.

Jul. For a man !
He must be one not made of mortal clay, then.

Enter the DUKE.
0! you are come, sir? I have waited for you !
Is this your gallantry ? at such a time, too?

Duke. I do entreat your pardon ;-if you knew
The pressing cause-

Vol. Let me entreat for him.
Bal. Come, girl, be kind !
Jul. Well, sir, you are forgiven.
Duke. You are all goodness; let me on this hand-

. [Taking her hand, which she withdraws
Jul. Not yet, sir !—'tis a virgin hand as yet,
And my own property ;-—forbear awhile,
And, with this humble person, 'twill be yours.

Duke. Exquisite modesty !-Come, let us on!
All things are waiting for the ceremony;
And, till you grace it, Hymen's wasting torch
Burns dim and sickly. Come, my Juliana.

[Scene after the marriage.- Enter the DUKE, leading in JULIANA.] Duke. [Brings a chair forward, and sits down.] You are

welcome home.
Juliana. 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. Madam,
this is the noble mansion that I spoke of !

Jul. This !-You are not in earnest, though you l'ear 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. As true, as I'm your husband, and no duke
Jul. No duke ?
Duke. But of my own creation, lady.

Jul. Am I betrayed ?-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 cozened ?
And have you 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.
Jul. And the attendants who have waited on us-

Duke. They were my friends ; who, having done my business, Are gone about their own.

Jul. Why, then, 'tis clear.
That I was ever born ! What are you, sir?

Duke. [Rises.] I am an honest man,—that may content you.
Young, nor ill-favored,-should not that content you?
I am your husband, and that must content you.
Jul. I will go home!

[Going 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 !

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 learned to wait upon yourself.

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