For all are mindful of the glorious rule Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then, Art. They may remember it-and, Van den Bosch, To which this people brought my noble father? With too much fatness, they tore up the root From which their common weal had sprung and flourished. How long he fought, how falsely came like friends Who slew my father—yea, who slew their own (For like one had he ruled the parricides), Even such a multitude thou'dst have me govern. Van den B. Why, what if Jacques Artevelde was killed? He had his reign, and that for many a year, And a great glory did he gain thereby. And as for Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, If you be as stout-hearted as your father, And mindful of the villanous trick they played him, Art. They cannot render back The golden bowel that's broken at the fountain, HENRY TAYLOR. Is their whole wherewithal to pay their debt. And it were well to wring the payment from them Van den B. Then will I call the people to the square, Art. Not so fast. Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm: And you would make a jury-mast of me, Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ? 495 Van den B. I pray you, speak it in the Burghers' tongue : I ack the scholarship to talk in tropes. Art. The question, to be plain, is briefly this: Shall I, who, chary of tranquillity, Not busy in this factious city's broils, Nor frequent in the market-place, eschewed The even battle,-shall I join the rout? Van der B. Times are sore changed, I see; there's none in Ghent That answers to the name of Artevelde. Thy father did not carp nor question thus When Ghent invoked his aid. The days have been When not a citizen drew breath in Ghent But freely would have died in Freedom's cause. Art. The cause, I grant thee, Van den Bosch, is good: And were I linked to earth no otherwise But that my whole heart centered in myself, I could have tossed you this poor life to play with, Taking no second thought. But as things are, I will revolve the matter warily, And send thee word betimes of my conclusion. Van den B. Betimes it must be, for the White-Hood chiefs Meet two hours hence, and ere we separate Our course must be determined. Art. In two hours, If I be for you, I will send this ring In token I have so resolved. Farewell! Van den B. Philip Van Artevelde, a greater man Than ever Ghent beheld, we'll make of thee, If thou be bold enough to try this venture. Fare thee well. [Exit VAN DEN BOSCH. Art. (after a long pause). Is it vain glory that thus whis pers me, That 'tis ignoble to have led my life In idle meditations-that the times Demand me, that they call my father's name? HENRY TAYLOR 21. TELL AND HIS COUNTRYMEN. Tell, Erni, Verner, Furst. SCENE-A Lake and Mountains. Tell. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! To show they still are free. Methinks I hear And bid your tenant welcome to his home Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again! I call to you To show they still are free. I rush to you Erni (without). William! William ! J. S. KNOWLES. 497 (Erni enters.) Erni. You're sure to keep the time That comes before the hour. Tell. The hour Will soon be here. Oh, when will liberty Be here, my Erni ? That's my thought, which still I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow O'er the abyss-his broad-expanded wings Of measuring the ample range beneath, The death that threatened him.-I could not shoot! And let him soar away! (Enter Verner and Furst.) Tell. Here, friends !-Well met !-Do we go on? Verner. We do. Tell. Then you can count upon the friends you named? Furst. And I on mine. Erni. Not one I sounded, but doth count his blood As water in the cause! Then fix the day Before we part. Verner. No, Erni; rather wait For some new outrage to amaze and rouse The common mind, which does not brood so much On wrongs gone by, as it doth quiver with The sense of present ones. Tell (to Verner). I wish with Erni, But think with thee. Yet when I ask myself On whom the wrongs shall light for which we wait— Whose vineyard they'll uproot-whose flocks they'll ravage— Whose threshold they'll profane-whose hearth pollute Whose roof they'll fire?—when this I ask myself, And think upon the blood of pious sons, The tears of venerable fathers, and The shrieks of mothers, fluttering round their spoiled Of generous indignation, that doth blush At such expense to wait on sober prudence. Tell. On that we're all agreed ! Who fears the issue when the day shall come? Verner. Not I! Furst. Nor I! Erni. Nor I! Tell. I'm not the man To mar this harmony. Nor I, no more As time may press, is word enough: the others When next we meet upon this theme, All Switzerland shall witness what we do! J. S. KNOWLES. 22. THE FRENCHMAN'S LESSON IN ENGLISH. Frenchman. Ha, my friend! I have met one very strange word in my lesson. Vat you call h-o-u-g-h, eh ? Tutor. Huff. Fr. Tres bien, huff; and snuff you spell s-n-o-u-g-h, eh? Tu. Oh no, no! snuff is spelled s-n-u-ff. In fact, words in ough are a little irregular. Fr. Ah, very good! 'tis beautiful language! H-o-u-g-h is huff. I will remember; and of course c-o-u-g-h is cuff; I have one very bad cuff, ha? Tu. No, that is wrong; we say kauff, not cuff. Fr. Kauff, eh? Huff and Kauff, and, pardonnez moi, how you call d-o-u-g-h-duff, eh? is it duff? Tu. No, not duff. Fr. Not duff! Ah, oui; I understand, it is dauff, ha? Fr. Doe! It is very fine! wonderful language! it is doe; and t-o-u-g-h is toe, certainement. My beef-steak is very toe. Tu. Oh no, no! you should say tuff. Fr. Tuff? Le Satan! and the thing the farmer uses, how you |