Smooth as a seraph's song from Satan's mouth;
So well compacted, that the o'erthronged court
Disturbed cool Justice in her judgment-seat,
By shouting "Innocence !" ere I had finished.
The court enlarged me; and the giddy rabble
Bore me, in triumph, home. Ay!-look upon me.
I know thy sight aches at me.

Wilf. Heaven forgive you! It may be wrong
Indeed I pity you.

Sir E.

I disdain all pity.—
I ask no consolation. Idle boy!

Think'st thou that this compulsive confidence
Was given to move thy pity?-Love of fame
(For still I cling to it) has urged me, thus
To quash thy curious mischief in its birth.
Hurt honour, in an evil, cursed hour,
Drove me to murder-lying:-'twould again!
My honesty, sweet peace of mind,—all, all,
Are bartered for a name. I will maintain it.-
Should Slander whisper o'er my sepulchre,
And my soul's agency survive in death,
I could embody it with heaven's lightning,
And the hot shaft of my insulted spirit
Should strike the blaster of my memory

Dead, in the churchyard. Boy, I would not kill thee; Thy rashness and discernment threatened danger!

To check them, there was no way left but this

Save one-your death :-you shall not be

my

victim. Wilf. My death! What, take my life?-My life!

to prop

This empty honour?

Sir E.

Empty? Grovelling fool!

Wilf. I am your servant, Sir, child of your bounty, And know my obligation. I have been

Too curious, haply: 'tis the fault of youth-
I ne'er meant injury: if it would serve you,
I would lay down my life; I'd give it freely:
Could you
then have the heart to rob me of it?
You could not-should not.

Wilf. Some hours ago, you durst not. Passion moved you,

Reflection interposed, and held your arm.

But, should reflection prompt you to attempt it,
My innocence would give me strength to struggle,
And wrest the murderous weapon from your hand.
How would you look to find a peasant boy
Return the knife you levelled at his heart;
And ask you which in heaven would show the best,
A rich man's honour, or a poor man's honesty?

THE FAT ACTOR AND THE RUSTIC.

HORACE SMITH.

CARDINAL WOLSEY was a man

"Of an unbounded stomach," Shakspeare says,
Meaning (in metaphor) for ever puffing
To swell beyond his size and span.

But had he seen a player of our days,
Enacting Falstaff without stuffing,

He would have owned that Wolsey's bulk ideal
Equalled not that within the bounds
This actor's belt surrounds,

Which is, moreover, all alive and real.

This player, when the peace enabled shoals

Of our odd fishes

To visit every clime between the poles,
Swam with the stream, a histrionic kraken,
Although his wishes

Must not in this proceeding be mistaken;
For he went out professionally bent

To see how money might be made, not spent.

In this most laudable employ

He found himself at Lille one afternoon,
And that he might the breeze enjoy,

And catch a peep at the ascending moon,
Out of the town he took a stroll,
Refreshing in the fields his soul

With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces,
And thoughts of crowded houses and new pieces.

When we are pleasantly employed, time flies:
He counted up his profits in the skies,
Until the moon began to shine,

On which he gazed awhile, and then

Pulled out his watch, and cried, “Past nine!
Why, zounds, they shut the gates at ten!"
Backward he turned his steps instanter,
Stumping along with might and main;
And though 'tis plain

He couldn't gallop, trot, or canter

(Those who had seen him would confess it), he Marched well for one of such obesity.

Eyeing his watch, and now his forehead mopping,

He puffed and blew along the road,

Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping;

When in his path he met a clown

Returning from the town:

"Tell me," he panted in a thawing state,

"Dost think I can get in, friend, at the gate?" "Get in," replied the hesitating loon, Measuring with his eye our bulky wight— "Why-yes, sir-I should think you might, A load of hay went in this afternoon."

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

NELSON having despatched his business at Portsmouth, endeavoured to elude the populace by taking a by-way

to the beach; but a crowd collected in his train, pressing forward, to obtain a sight of his face; many were in tears, and many knelt down before him, and blessed him as he passed. England has had many heroes, but never one who so entirely possessed the love of his fellow-countrymen as Nelson. All men knew that his heart was as humane as it was fearless; that there was not in his nature the slightest alloy of selfishness or cupidity; but that, with perfect and entire devotion, he served his country with all his heart, and with all his soul, and with all his strength; and, therefore, they loved him as truly and as fervently as he loved England. They pressed upon the parapet to gaze after him when his barge pushed off, and he was returning their cheers by waving his hat. The sentinels, who endeavoured to prevent them from trespassing upon this ground, were wedged among the crowd; and an officer who, not very prudently upon such an occasion, ordered them to drive the people down with their bayonets, was compelled speedily to retreat; for the people would not be debarred from gazing, till the last moment, upon the hero-the darling hero of England!

It had been part of Nelson's prayer, that the British fleet might be distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing on the Redoubtable, supposing that she had struck, because her guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball, fired from her mizen-top, which, in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men raising him

up. "They have done for me at last, Hardy," said he. "I hope not," cried Hardy. "Yes!" he replied; "my back-bone is shot through." Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately: then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed these badges of honour from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be useful; for," said he, "you can do nothing for me." All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the Victory hurraed; and at every hurra a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes. and marked the countenance of the dying hero. he became impatient to see Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried: "Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely dead!" An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time Nelson received his wound, before Hardy could come to him. They

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