Par. Seen! I have served the king seven years: in that time I have seen enough to turn the softest breast to stone, to make me laugh at "virtue," "feelings," as words of a long-forgotten tongue. Seen! I have seen old men, husbands and fathers, men with venerable grey hairs, tied up, exposed, and lashed like basest beasts; scourged, whilst every stroke of the bloodbringing cat may have cut upon a scar received in honourable fight. I have seen this; and what the culprit's fault? He may have trod too much on this side, or on that; have answered in a tone too high or too low, his beardless prosecutor-no matter; the crime is mutinous, and the mariner must bleed for it. Mary. Oh, Richard! and have you look'd on scenes like this?

Par. Look'd! listen; then judge you whether the gloom upon my face is but the cast of a sickly fancy, or the shadow from a deep and settled wrong; it tears my soul to shock thy delicate spirit, yet thou must know all, that in what I henceforth may do thy mind may justify me. Dost thou hear me, Mary?

Mary. I'll strive to do so.

The

Par. "Tis now some four years since I had a friend, a sailor aboard a king's vessel; his fate was somewhat like to mine, for chance had given him an unsuccessful rival in love to be his captain and his destroyer. I knew the victim, knew him!-But to my tale. sailor was preferr'd-rare promotion for one of cultivated mind-to wait upon the steward, and do his lofty bidding. Time wore on; at length a watch was stolen; suspicion lighted on my friend; he was charged with -my heart swells, and my head swims round--with the robbery; before the assembled crew, despite his protestations and his honest scorn, he was branded with the name of thief!

Mary. Oh, heavens !

Par. Stripped and bound for brutal punishmentpicture the horror, the agony of my friend, bleeding beneath the gloating eye of his late rival in a woman's love; picture his torment and despair, to feel, whilst

the stripes fell like molten lead upon his back, that keener anguish, his rival's triumph!-Imagine what were his thoughts, what the yearnings of his swelling heart, towards his young wife, his precious babe at home.

Mary. Oh, horrible!

Par. A short time after he sought to escape: he trusted the secret of his flight to another, and was betrayed. What followed then? he was tried for desertion, condemned to death.

Mary. Gracious powers! and did they?—

Par. Oh! no; the judges were merciful.
Mary. Heaven bless them!

Par. Stay your benediction; they were merciful! they did not hang the man-'twould have been harsh, they thought; the more so as he who had stolen the watch, touched by compunetion, had confessed the theft, clearing the deserter of the crime he had been scourged for; still discipline demanded punishment; they did not hang the man, and thereby bury in his grave the remembrance of his shame; no, they mercifully sent him through the fleet.

Mary. The fleet !

Par. Listen; then wonder that men with hearts of throbbing flesh within them can look upon, much less inflict such tortures. They sent him to receive five hundred lashes, so many at the side of every vessel, whilst the thronging crews hung upon the yards and rigging to hear the wretch's cries, and look upon his opening wounds. What was the result? Why, the wretch they tied up a suffering, persecuted man, they loosed a raging tiger! From that moment revenge

took possession of my soul; I lived and breathed only, consenting to look on the day's blessed light, that I might have revenge!

Mary. You, husband!

Par. Yes, Mary Parker, I am that wronged, that striped, heart-broken, degraded man.

Mary. [Throws herself upon his neck.] Oh, Richard, Heaven have mercy on them!

Par. Amen! Mercy is Heaven's attribute, revenge is man's. Ay, look upon me, Mary; do you not blush to call me husband?

Mary. Oh, talk not so!

Par. You must, for I feel degraded-a thing o. scorn and ruthless desperation; but the time is almost ripe, and vengeance

Mary. Think not of it.

Par. Think not of it! I only live upon the hope o. coming retribution. Think not of it! Would you still embrace a striped, a branded felon ? Mary. That stain is wiped away.

Par. No, but it shall be, and in blood!
Mary. In mercy, Richard-
Par. Hear me swear!

Enter WILLIAM PARKER, the Child.

Wil. [Running up to his father.] Oh, father! dear father!

Par. Ha! be this the subject of my oath !-[Kneels, the child kneeling, with upraised hands, before his father.] May this sweet child, the fountain of my hopes, become my bitterest source of misery-may all my joys in hin be turned to mourning and disquietmay he be a reed to my old age, a laughter and a jest to my grey hairs-may he mock my dying agonies, and spit upon my grave, if, for a day, an hour, I cease to seek for a most deep, most bloody vengeance

Ada. Without.] Hollo! house, ahoy!

Par. A stranger's voice! We are disturbed. Farewell, my love! I must aboard. To-morrow you shall hear news of me. I have promised my shipmates to bring William with me; he shall return when I do.

Mary. Promise, then, to be more calm; let patience, Richard, counsel you.

Par. Farewell! [Aside.] Now my child shall see his father's wrong-doer at his foot. Arlington, I come to triumph!

SOLILOQUY OF THE KING IN HAMLET.

Oh, my offence is rank, it smells to Heav'n!
It hath the primal, eldest curse_upon't-
A brother's murder !-Pray I cannot ;
Though inclination be as sharp as 'twill,
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What, if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer but this two-fold force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,

Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up.
My fault is past.-But oh! what form of pray'r
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be, since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,-
My crown, my own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law. But 'tis not so above:
There is no shuffling; there the action lies
In its true nature, and we ourselves compell'd,
Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests ?
Try what repentance can:-what can it not?
Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched state! oh bosom black as death!
Oh limed soul, that, struggling to be free,

Art more engaged! Help, angels! make essay !
Bow, stubborn knees! and heart with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
All, all may yet be well.

THE GAUGER OF GARSTANG.

Some thirty years have flown away
Since Garstang had a gauger wise,
Who softly in his tomb is laid,

Where Death at last has closed his eyes.
Full well, I trow, the smugglers bold
He follow'd in their nightly scenes ;
And well he knew the mountain fires,
And what the musket's rattle means.

Heav'n rest his soul! whole butts of gin He'd taken from those miscreant fellows! (A drop of grog he loved himself!)

And swigg'd away, as people tell us.
But soft, my muse! he's silent now,
Dry is his tongue, now turning custy;
And, like the empty cask, I guess,
His bones are smelling rather musty.
One night he sallied forth for fun,
As he had got some information,
'A smuggler would convey some gin
Across a heath within his station.
He met the smuggler, took his gin,
With half an hour's pretended fighting;
For many other tubs of gin

The smuggler had that night for righting.

The battle o'er, he look'd around,

When lo! a fog comes quickly spreading Over the heath, and nought was seen But just the ground that he was treading; In ditch and bog he scrambled long, And, tired the tub of gin to carry, He seats himself upon its end,

And waits to see the ev'ning starry.

In vain he waits-still darker grew

The dismal night, which loud was howling;

So on the heath he took his bed,

And patient heard the tempest rolling.