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'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nerviï-

Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through-
See what a rent the envious Casca made-
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed;
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!

11. This, this was the unkindest cut of all.
For, when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,
Quite vanquished him! Then burst his mighty heart,
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

(Which all the while ran blood,) great Cæsar fell.
12. O what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down;
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.-
O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity!-These are gracious drops.
Kind souls! What, weep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here!—
Here is himself-marred, as you see, by traitors.

13. Good friends! Sweet friends! Let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny!

They that have done this deed are honourable!

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,

That made them do it! They are wise and honourable,
And will, no doubt, with reason answer you.

14. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts! I am no orator, as Brutus is,

But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,

That love my friend-and that they know full well,
That gave me publick leave to speak of him;
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech,
To stir men's blood-

15. I only speak right on;

I tell you that which you yourselves do know

Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb mouths→ And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony

Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

ROLLA AND ALONZO.

Enter ROLLA, disguised as a monk.

Rolla. INFORM me, friend, is Alonzo, the Peruvian, confined in this dungeon?

Sentinel. He is.

Rol. I must speak with him.
Sent. You must not.

Rol. He is my friend.

Sent. Not if he were your brother.
Rol. What is to be his fate?

Sent. He dies at sunrise.

Rol. Ha! then I am come in time

Sent. Just to witness his death.

Rol. (Advancing towards the door.) Soldier-I must speak with him.

Sent. (Pushing him back with his gun.) Back! back! it is impossible.

Rol. I do entreat you but for one moment.

Sent. You entreat in vain-my orders are most strict. Rol. Look on this wedge of massy gold! Look on these precious gems! In thy land they will be wealth for thee and thine beyond thy hope or wish. Take them; they are thine let me but pass one moment with Alonzo.

Sent. Away! Wouldst thou corrupt me? Me, an old Castilian!- -I know my duty better.

Rol. Soldier, hast thou a wife?

Sent. I have.

Rol. Hast thou children?

Sent. Four, honest, lovely boys.

Rol. Where didst thou leave them?

Sent. In my native village, in the very cot where I was born.

Rol. Dost thou love thy wife and children?

Sent. Do I love them? God knows my heart,-I do. Rol. Soldier, imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in a strange land-What would be thy last request? Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

Rol. What if that comrade was at thy prison door, and should there be told, thy fellow-soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children, or his wretched wife, what wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the door?

Sent. How?

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child; and I am come but to receive for her, and for her poor babe, the last blessing of my friend.

Sent. Go in. (Exit sentinel.)

Rol. (Calls.) Alonzo! Alonzo!

(Enter ALONZO, speaking as he comes in.)

Alon. How! Is my hour elapsed? Well, I am ready.
Rol. Alonzo,-- -know me!

Alon. Rolla! How didst thou pass the guard?

This

Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle. It has gained me entrance to thy dungeon; now take it thou, and fly.

Alon. And Rolla

Rol. Will remain here in thy place.

Alon. And die for me! No! Rather eternal tortures rack me.

Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and thy arm may soon deliver me from prison. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted tree in the desert; nothing lives beneath my shelter. Thou art a husband and a father; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant depend upon thy life. Go, go, Alonzo; not to save thyself, but Cora and thy child.

Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend-I am prepared to die .n peace.

Rol. To die in peace; devoting her you've sworn to live for to madness, misery and death!

Alon. Merciful heavens !

Rol. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo, now mark me well. Thou know'st that Rolla never pledged his word and shrunk from its fulfilment. And here I swear, if thou art proudly obstinate, thou shalt have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side.

Alon. O Rolla! you distract me! Wear you the robe, and, though dreadful the necessity, we will strike down the guard, and force our passage.

Rol. What, the soldier on duty here?

Alon. Yes, else, seeing two, the alarm will be instant death.

Rol. For my nation's safety, I would not harm him. That soldier, mark me, is a man! All are not men that wear the human form. He refused my prayers, refused my gold, denying to admit-till his own feelings bribed him. I will not risk a hair of that man's head, to save my heart-strings from consuming fire. But haste; a moment's further pause and all is lost.

Alon. Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from honour and from right.

Rol. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend? (Throwing the friar's garment over his shoulders.) There! conceal thy face-Now God be with thee.

GENERAL WOLFE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.

I CONGRATULATE you, my brave countrymen and fellow-soldiers, on the spirit and success with which you have executed this important part of our enterprise. The formidable Heights of Abraham are now surmounted; and the city of Quebec, the object of all our toils, now stands in full view before us.

2. A perfidious enemy, who have dared to exasperate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equal ground, are now constrained to face you on the open plain, without ramparts or intrenchments to shelter them.

3. You know too well the forces which compose their army to dread their superiour numbers. A few regular troops from Old France, weakened by hunger and sickness,

who, when fresh, were unable to withstand British soldiers, are their general's chief dependence.

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4. Those numerous companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, unsteady and ill disciplined, have exercised his utmost skill to keep them together to this time; and, as soon as their irregular ardour is damped by one firm fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further trouble, but in the pursuit.

5. As for those savage tribes of Indians, whose horrid yells in the forest have struck many a bold heart with af fright, terrible as they are with the tomahawk and scalping knife to a flying and prostrate foe, you have experienced how little their ferocity is to be dreaded by resolute men upon fair and open ground. You can now only consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the unhappy fate of many slaughtered countrymen.

6. This day puts it into your power to terminate the fatigues of a siege, which has so long employed your courage and patience. Possessed with a full confidence of the certain success which British valour must gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangerous rocks; only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach.

7. The impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of men resolved to conquer or die; and, believe me, my friends, if your conquest could be bought with the blood of your general, he would most cheerfully resign a life which he has long devoted to his country.

FOSCARI, THE Unfortunate Venetian.

THE most affecting instance of the odious inflexibility of Venetian courts, appears in the case of Foscari, son of the doge of that name. This young man had, by some impru dences, given offence to the senate, and was, by their orders, confined at Treviso, when Almor Donato, one of the Council of Ten, was assassinated, on the 5th of November, 1450, as he entered his own house.

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