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I give up ev'ry claim to these domains
Alas! the pinions of my soul are lam'd;
Greatness entices me no more: your point
Is gained; I am but Mary's shadow now
My noble spirit is at last broke down

By long captivity: - you've done your worst
On me; you have destroy'd me in my bloom!
Now, end your work, my sister;-speak at length
The word, which to pronounce has brought you hither;
For I will ne'er believe that you are come

To mock unfeelingly your hapless victim.
Pronounce this word; -say, "Mary, you are free:
You have already felt my pow'r,
- learn now

To honor too my generosity."

Say this, and I will take my life, will take My freedom, as a present from your hands. One word makes all undone; I wait for it; O, let it not be needlessly delay'd. Woe to you, if you end not with this word! For should you not, like some divinity, Dispensing noble blessings, quit me now, Then, sister, not for all this island's wealth, For all the realms encircled by the deep, Would I exchange my present lot for yours. ELIZ. And you confess, at last, that you are conquer'd: Are all your schemes run out? No more assassins Now on the road? Will no adventurer

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Attempt again, for you, the sad achievement?
Yes, madam, it is over: You'll seduce
No mortal more. The world has other cares;
None is ambitious of the dang'rous honor
Of being your fourth husband.

MARY (starting angrily).

Sister, sister!

Grant me forbearance, all ye pow'rs of heaven! ELIZ. (regards her long, with a look of proud contempt). These, then, are the charms

MARY.

Which no man with impunity can view,
Near which no woman dare attempt to stand?
In sooth, this honor has been cheaply gain'd.
This is too much!

ELIZ. (laughing insultingly).

You show us now, indeed,

Your real face; till now 'twas but the mask.

MARY (burning with rage, yet dignified and noble).
My sins were human, and the faults of youth;
Superior force misled me. I have never
Denied or sought to hide it: I despis'd
All false appearance, as became a Queen.
The worst of me is known, and I can say,
That I am better than the fame I bear.
Woe to you! when, in time to come, the world
Shall draw the robe of honor from your deeds,
With which thy arch-hypocrisy has veil'd
The raging flames of lawless secret lust.
Virtue was not your portion from your mother;
Well know we what it was which brought the head
Of Anna Boleyn to the fatal block.

MARY.

I've supported

What human nature can support: farewell,
Lamb-hearted resignation, passive patience,
Fly to thy native heaven; burst at length
Thy bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave,
In all thy fury, long-suppressèd rancor!
And thou, who to the anger'd basilisk

Impart'st the murd'rous glance, O, arm my tongue
With poison'd darts!

(raising her voice).

A pretender
Profanes the English throne! The gen'rous Britons
Are cheated by a juggler, [whose whole figure
Is false and painted, heart as well as face!]
If right prevail'd, you now would in the dust
Refore me lie, for I'm your rightful monarch!
[ELIZABETH hastily retires.
At last, at last,
After whole years of sorrow and abasement,
One moment of victorious revenge!

SCHILLER.

A CHRISTMAS ELEGY.

THE holidays advance, with measured tread,
The snow-clouds drift athwart the sombre skies,
The average youngster daily goes to bed

To dream of Santa Claus and pumpkin pies.

The baker kneads his dough with swifter ease,

And moulds his wares in figures rare and quaint;
The kind confectioner, in hope to please,

Tips off his candies with fresh coats of paint.

Full many a colic-cramp and mortal throe

The dark, unfathomed depths of mince-meat bear,
Full many a soul the candy, white as snow,
Has hastened homeward up the golden stair.

CONVERSION OF COLONEL QUAGG.

COLONEL QUAGG and his anvil were, one April evening, in fierce dispute about a red-hot horseshoe. The fire roared, the sparks flew up the chimney, and the bellows blew fiercely. The colonel had the advantage of a hammer that Tubal Cain might have wielded when he fashioned the first ploughshare; but the anvil was used to hard knocks, and stood out against the blacksmith bravely. Indeed, if a certain metallic vibration was to be taken into account, the anvil had the best of it; for it had the last word. Only the unfortunate horsehoe came to grief; and, like the man between two stools who came to the ground, was battered into all sorts of shapes between the two disputants. Suddenly, 'Zeek, the bellows-blower, ceased for a moment in his occupation, and remarked,

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"One o' them, colonel, top o' the hill. On a hoss. Legs as long as a coulter."

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Twankeydillo! twankeydillo!" sung out Colonel Quagg, in great exultation. "Ile, 'Zeek, and plenty of it; for Jack Strap, the crittur, is getting tarnation rusty.”

The fatal strap being "iled" rather more liberally than usual, the colonel grasped it in his mighty hand, and passed out at the smithy door.

He saw, coming towards him down the hill, a long-legged, yellow-faced man in black, with a white neckcloth and a broad-brimmed hat. He bestrode a solemn-looking white horse, with a long tail. He had but one spur (the rider), but it was a very long and rusty spur. In his hand he carried a little dog's-eared book; but, as he rode, he sung quite softly a little hymn.

Colonel Quagg waited till the verse of the hymn was quite finished, and the horseman had got to within a couple of yards of his door, when he called out in a terrible voice,

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Hold hard!"

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Brother," said the man on the horse, good evening, and peace."

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For the matter of that," responded Colonel Quagg, "rot! Hold hard, and git out of that hoss."

"Brother?" the other interrogated, as if not quite understanding the command.

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Git out, I tell you," cried the blacksmith; "legs and feet. Git out, you long-tailed blackbird. Git out, for I'm riz, and snakes will wake! I want to talk to you."

The long man slid rather than got off his horse. It was indeed Brother Zephaniah Sockdolloger; for his face was quincier than ever, and, as he descended from his steed, he shut one eye and expectorated.

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Now," said the blacksmith, seating himself on the horseblock in front of his dwelling, and giving a blow on the ground with his strap that made the pebbles dance, “where do you hail from?".

"From Punkington City, brother," answered the Reverend Zephaniah.

"And whar are you a goin' tu? "

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To Rapparoarer City.'

And what may you be goin' for to du in that location?” 66 'Goin' on circuit."

Colonel Quagg shook out the strap to its full length, and passed it through his horny hand.

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There was a brother of yours," he said sententiously, "that went to Rapparoarer City last fall. He passed this edifice, he did. He met this strap close by here. And this strap made him see comets, and dance like a shaking Quaker, and feel uncommon like a bob-tailed bull in flytime. And I du hope," the colonel continued, “that you, brother, aren't of the same religion as this babe of grace was as met the strap as he was riding. That religion was the Grace-Walking religion, and that religion I always lick."

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Lick, brother?"

"Lick. With the strap. Dreadful."

"Colonel Goliah Quagg," said the minister, "for such, I

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know, is your name in the flesh, I am a preacher of the Grace-Walking connection. Humble, but faithful, I hope." Then," returned Colonel Quagg, making an ironical bow, "this is the strap with which I am going to lick you into sarse.

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Brother, brother," the other cried, shaking his head, "cast that cruel strap from out of thine hand. Close thine hand, if thou wilt, upon the hammer of thy trade, the coulter of thy plough, upon a pen, the rudder of a ship, the handle of a lantern to light men to peace, and love, and good-will; but close it not upon sword of iron, or bludgeon of wood, or strap of leathern hide. For, from the uplifting and downfalling of those wicked instruments came never good; but rather boiling tears, and bruises and blood, and misery, and death."

"Now look you here," the blacksmith cried, impatiently. "Talk as long as you like; but talk while I am a-licking of you. For time is precious, and must not be thrown away nohow. Lick you I must, and lick you I will hard."

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"Rot!" exclaimed the colonel. "Straps is waiting. Stubs and fences! I'll knock you into horseshoes and then into horsenails, if you keep me waiting."

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'Have you no merciful feelings?" asked Zephaniah, as if sorely troubled.

"Not a cent of 'm. Air you ready? Will you take it fighting, or will you take it lying down? Some takes it fighting; some takes it like lambs, lying down. Only make haste."

"Goliah Quagg," the minister responded, "I am a man of peace, and not one that goes about raging with sword and buckler, like unto Apollyon, or a corporal of the Boston Tigers; and I would rather not take it at all."

"You must," the colonel roared, now fairly infuriated. "Pickled alligators! you must. Hold hard, you coon! Hold hard! for I'm a goin' to begin. Now, once more; is it fighting, or is it quiet, you mean for to take it?"

"Well," said Brother Zephaniah, "you are hard upon me, colonel, and that's true. It's fighting or lying down, isn't it?"

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Ay," returned the colonel, brandishing his strap.

"Then, I'll take it fighting," the man of peace said quietly. Colonel Quagg halted for a moment, as if amazed at the

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