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XXXII. “Now yield theo, or, by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade !" “ Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy! Let recreant yield who fears to die." Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung, Received, but recked not of a wound, And locked his arms his foeman round.
XXXIII. Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel Through bars of brass and triple steel! They tug, they strain ;-down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed, His knee was planted on his breast; His clotted locks he backward threw, Across his brow his hand he drew, From blood and mist to clear his sight, Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright!
But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game; For, while the dagger gleamed on high, Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye; Down came the blow! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath. Unwounded from the dreadful close, But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.
WILLIAM DOOGLAS JERROLD was born in London, January 30, 1803, and died there January 8th, 1857. At the age of ten he got a midshipman's commiswon, and went to sea. In that service he spent two years. He then entered a printing-office, as an apprentice. His leisure hours, during the apprenticeship, were devoted to reading and study. His first literary effort was a comedy called “More Frightened than Hurt." Though written when he was but fifteen years old, it turned out to be a great success. After this he came to be a regular writer of dramatic pieces, chiefly humorous, for the stage. His reputation for ability, in this line, was a source of great profit. His articles in the magazines tended still further to increase his popularity Those that he contributed to “ Blackwood” and the “ New Monthly,” afterwards appeared together in a volume under the title of “ Men of Character." The “Caudle Lectures,” whence the following extract, appeared originally in the London “Punch.” His writings, in the matter of wit, humor, ready retort, and keen satire, are said to be but a fair representation of the style and character of the man in ordinary conversation.
THE BORROWED UMBRELLA.
DOUGLAS JERROLD. 1. Bah! that's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. What were you to do? Why, let him go home in the rain, to be sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him that could spoil! Take cold, indeed! He doesn't look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd have better taken cold, than taken our umbrella. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear the rain ? Do you hear it against the windows ? Nonsense : you don't impose upon me; you can't be asleep with such a shower as that! Do you hear it, I say? Oh! you do hear it! Well, that's a pretty flood, I think, to last for six weeks; and no stirring all the time out of the house. Pooh! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle; don't insult me; he return the umbrella ? Anybody would think you were born yesterday. As if anybody ever did return an umbrella !
2. There: do you hear it? Worse and worse. Cats and dogs! and for six weeks; always six weeks; and no umbrella ! I should like to know how the children are to go to school tomorrow. They sha'n't go through such weather; I am deter. mined. No; they shall stop at home and never learn anything, (the blessed creatures :) sooner than go and get wet! And when they grow up, I wouder whom they 'll have to thank for
knowing nothing; whom, indeed, but their father? People who can't feel for their own children, ought never to be fathers.
3. But I know why you lent the umbrella : oh, yes, I know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow : you knew that, and you did it on purpose. Don't tell me; you hate to have me to go there, and take every mean advantage to hinder me. But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle; no, sir; if it comes down in buckets full, I'll go all the more. No; and I'll not have a cab! Where do you think the money 's to come from ? Youve got nice, high notions at that club of yours. A cab, indeed! Cost me sixteen-pence, at least; sixteen-pence! two-and-eight-pence; for there's back again. Cabs, indeed! I should like to know who's to pay for 'em; for I am sure you can't, if you go on as you do, throwing away your property, and beggaring your children, buying umbrellas !
4. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear it? But I don't care; I'll go to mother's to-morrow; I will; and what's more I'll walk every step of the way; and you know that will give me my death. Don't call me a foolish woman; 'tis you that's the foolish man. You know I can't wear clogs; and, with no umbrella, the wet's sure to give me a cold : it always does : but what do you care for that? Nothing at all. I may be laid up for what you care, as I dare say I shall; and a pretty doctor's bill there 'll be.. I hope there will. It will teach you to lend your umbrellas again. I shouldn't wonder if I caught my death : yes, and that's what you lent the umbrella for. Of course!
5. Nice clothes I get, too, tramping through weather like this. My gown and bonnet will be spoiled quite. Needn't I wear 'em then? Indeed, Mr. Caudle, I shall wear 'em. No, sir; I'm not going out a dowdy to please you or anybody else. Gracious knows! it isn't often that I step over the threshold; indeed, I might as well be a slave at once : better, I should say; but when I do go out, Mr. Caudle, I choose to go as a lady, Oh! that rain! if it isn't enough to break in the windows. Ugh! I look forward with dread for to-morrow! How I am to go to mother's, I'm sure I can't tell, but if I die, I'll do it Na
nir; I'll not borrow an umbrella : no; and you sha'n't buy one. Mr. Caudle, if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it in the street.
6. Ha! And it was only last week I had a new nozzle put on that umbrella. I'm sure if I'd known as much as I do now, it might have gone without one. Paying for new nozzles for other people to laugh at you! Oh! 'tis all very well for you. You've no thought of your poor, patient wife, and your own dear children; you think of nothing but lending umbrellas! Men, indced ! call themselves lords of the creation ! pretty lords, when they can't even take care of an umbrella!
7. I know that walk to-morrow will be the death of me, but that's what you want: then you may go to your club, and do as you like; and then, nicely my poor, dear children will be used; but then, sir, then you 'll be happy. Oh! don't tell me! I know you will : else you 'd never have lent the umbrella! You have to go on Thursday about that summons; and, of course, you can't go. No, indeed : you don't go without the umbrella. You may lose the debt for what I care ; 'tis not so bad as spoiling your clothes ; better lose it; people deserve to lose debts who lend umbrellas!
8. And I should like to know how I'm to go to mother's with. out the umbrella. Oh! dou't tell me that I said I would go; . that's nothing to do with it: nothing at all. She'll think I'm neglecting her; and the little money we're to have, we sha'n't have at all: because we've no unibrella. The children too! (dear things !) they'll be sopping wet; for they sha’n’t stay at home; they sha'n't lose their learning; 'tis all their father will leave them, I'm sure. But they shall go to school. Don't tell me they should'nt (you are so aggravating, Caudle, you'd spoil the temper of an angel); they shall go to school; mark that; and if they get their deatlis of cold, 'tis not my fault; I lidn't lend the umbrella,
SKETCH OF ADDISON.*
NEW AM. CYCLOPÆITA. 1. The life of Addison may be divided into three periods : the first, that of a student, during which he acquired a high reputation for learning and facility in composition, both Latin and English, while a resident graduate and fellow at Oxford ; the second, a long and, on the whole, fortunate official career as an employé † of the government; and the third, an interrupted, yet congenial and prosperous course of authorship. These several phases of a life, memorable for its dignified and urbane tenor, were sometimes interwoven and coïncident; but, together, they represent the sum of Addison's public labors.
2. The integrity, good taste, and amiable feeling which charActerized the man, both in office and authorship, as a representative of political authority and a devotee of letters, endeared him to his friends, when living, and have hallowed his memory and writings to succeeding generations. The example of kindly humor, in an age of sarcastic wit, of friendly association, in one of political animosity, of purity of sentiment and correctness of diction, in one of coarse and careless expression, was invaluable, and, with the modest and benevolent traits of Addison and his delightful conversation, adequately explain the remarkable esteem · and affection in which he was held.
3. For maly years his circumstances were dependent on that Auctuating element, called “the state of parties ;” but he escaped the more painful drudgery which cramped the genius of an earlier race of English authors; and carried on the literary fame of his country from the death of Dryden to the days of Johnson and Goldsmith. Few names are more cherished on that noble roll, and few writings have exercised a more prominent and pleasing influence on taste and social character than those of Addison.
* See Note on Exercise II.