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would, they have made me the thing I am. Should my sweetheart see me thus, I should expire with shame.

Wait.- Wom. Fair and softly-I shall catch him-but-
Coach. (Perceiving the Waiting-Woman).

that?

Queen. Coachman, don't be childish.

Coach. What! when my life's in danger?

Queen. Your life!-How so?

Hu! what cursed scent is

Coach. That creature's on the watch to eat me. But let her come onI'll not die unrevenged-" I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked." Queen. What, afraid of that pretty girl!-One of these days she will be your wife.

Coach. Ay, That I may be found eaten up next morning. 'Tis a cat, I say. The Devil take her beauty. 'Tis well that she deceives the mice; but we rats know better; we see at a glance the destructive tendencies of such a St Simonian as that!

Queen. She looks at you so mildly-so melancholy.
Coach. Mild, forsooth! To entice me close to her.

Melancholy-Ay, truly, that I won't come. She murdered my father, the brave old veteran ; yet not satisfied with that, she would have the life of the son.

Queen. You rave, Coachman.

Coach. If I did, I have cause to do so. 'Twas but the other day she bit off my beloved's fourth leg! 'Twas but yesterday I had to fight with her for life and death in the granary! Myself, my beloved, and a few friends had dropt in to eat a grain or two of corn and talk a little; we finished the evening with a social dance which made a little noise; that creature heard us, came sneaking in, sprang upon my neck, fixed her claws in my head. I in my agony fastened upon her ear-look, you will see the mark on her still; and nothing but her first fright at my determined resistance saved our lives.

Wait.-Maid. (To the Coach). You are deceived, my dear, in the person,— come let me embrace you-far from the envious world let us sport, and play on the green meadows.

(Coach. draws back in consternation).

Queen. My son !

Coach. (Contemptuously). Not so bad as that neither!
Queen. Coachman, be calm; and whatsoe'er it be,
Like a good Christian meet thy destiny.

Coach. I'd rather live and die upon a dunghill.
Queen. Monster, has Paradise no charms for thee?
Coach. I'll never enter Paradise of yours,

Let the rats' heaven be mine; that paradise
Where men, and traps, and cats and dogs are not,
Nor ratcatchers: where I may see again
My murdered father, and my children twelve,
Whom I through love devoured, and hope to eat
Once more in these blest realms; where every rat—
The more that he has robbed, the more rewarded,-
On bacon, lard, or paper, feeds for ever-
Where the Rat-king with sixty thousand tails,
As long and bald as Platen's trimeters,

Sits on his throne.

Queen. (To the Coachman). Break off! go, mount the box,
Conduct Olympia and her attendant

Unto the royal court. (Addressing OLYMPIA).

Olympia, the world is now before you,
Adieu to sorrow-hail your coming hopes.

Olymp. Farewell, ye walls, and chairs, and portraits of

My ancestors, my sorrow's confidants.

(She throws herself into the chair, and presses her lips upon the arm).

How many hours of sorrow spent beside ye,

Have bound me to you-and endear you now."

1837.1

The sensation produced at the ball by the arrival of the new beauty, accompanied by the Fairy Queen, is immense. The Baron, however, who has been amusing himself at a side table in the refreshment-room, with a

few glasses of wine, is much more
struck by the appearance of the rat
coachman, on whom he continues
gazing with a look of profound cu-
riosity and astonishment.

"Baron. By the element, what a physiognomy! No doubt that strange lady's coachman; such a coachman saw I never.

Coach. (Springing about). Light-every where light. They will see me I am lost.

Baron. What a livery! Is it Christian? Black behind, and ash-gray before-ash-gray boots, too! Where in the name of wonder does he buy his blacking ?

Coach. Will that man seize me? how he glares on me! The devil, 'tis the Baron in whose house I committed my last robbery! I'm a gone rat if he recognise me.

Baron (Still gazing). His tie, too, longer than the man himself; and thick as a lion's tail: and, by Heaven, if my eyes deceive me not, he makes it wag too! That enormous whip in his hand looks as if it grew out of it: and how does he manage to point his eyes in that way always at me?

Coach. I could creep up the wall for fear.

His

Baron. What is the creature doing clambering up the wall? Not a vestige of chin has he, but to make amends for that, a snout like a stork's bill. The face mouth must be cool and airy under the shadow of such mustachios. What tusks-like Damascus blades-I must ash-gray too, like the boots.

make his acquaintance. So ho! good fellow. Coach. The hour is come.

Courage to the field

(Springs upon the Baron, and is about to bite him).

Baron. Back, monster.

Coach. Animal only, not monster.

Baron. Come, sir, this is carrying originality too far.

with me.

Coach. Drink! I am horribly athirst.

Baron. Red or white wine.

Coach. Wretched trash!-No! water or paper.

Baron. Paper?

Will you drink

Coach. Yes, paper-that volume of Kenilworth would do. Paper allays our thirst.

Baron (Aside). 'Tis he himself the Great Unknown!-'tis he who has assumed this masquerade to hear what was going forward in the coach.

A glass of water!

Coach. A bason full!

(To the Servant.

(A bason of water is brought to him, which he swallows. An old Gentleman and a young Dandy enter.

Old Gent. These ladies who have just arrived are wonderfully beautiful. Young Dand. Ah! if I were not so deeply engaged with Elize, I should As it is, I'll have one turn of a waltz with them. pay my court to them. There, be good enough to adjust my shirt-pin. Thank you.

Baron. (Addressing them). Allow me to introduce to you Sir Walter Scott. Sir Walter Scott, Count Dürish, and Herr Von Axten.

(They take their seats.
uneasiness.)

Coachman also sits down, but with evident

Young Dand. You are then the Great

Coach. (Looking towards a hole in the flooring). Would I were less.
Baron. Modesty is always the characteristic of genius.

Old Gent. Let us not wound it then by asking after matters which he is disposed to conceal. We may derive the most interesting instruction from him, without annoying him on the subject of his own works. Do you take any interest, Sir Walter, in our meagre German literature?

Coach. Meagre! It is the thickest I am acquainted with.

Old G. Ah! you occupy yourself with it?

Coach. I devour it.

Old G. The claims of German literature begin to be at last recognised. We shall by and by become of some value among ourselves-Our gold ingots will be duly stamped, and returned to us from other countries as current coin: Schiller, by Benjamin Constant, and Goëthe, by Carlyle. What are your particular favourites?

Coach. Folios on the Peace of Westphalia, Zepernickü Repertorium Juris Trash like Feudalis, Muller's Promptuarium Juris, and works of that class. this in octavo or duodecimo I swallow thus-(Swallows the volume of Kenilworth)—from necessity merely. They are too small-there is no substance in them.

Young D. Mort de ma vie! That biscuit looked very like a book.

Baron. By the by, now I think on't, 'tis odd Zepernick, and the Peace of Westphalia, have just disappeared from my shelves.

Coach. Have you observed it? (Attempting to make off").

Baron. Don't go. Don't let my vexation at the loss of these old lumber drive you away. They stood there not to be read, but to be looked at. Coach. (Remaining). So.

Baron. Gentlemen, I propose the health of the author of Kenilworth and Walladmor!"

The conversation is interrupted, however, by the entry of the other guests mean time into the ball-room. The King and Olympia have met, and realizing the picture of Celia's passion for Oliver, no sooner met but they looked-no sooner looked but they loved-no sooner loved but they sighed -no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason-no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy." The King has found what he sought, a beautiful and amiable being, who loves him for his own sake, for he still appears under the humble garb of chamberlain, while Rüpel, in that yellow suit with blue spots, which he had wrung from the hard hands of the indignant tailor, has been flirting alternately with Clorinda and Louison, and leading each in turn to believe herself the favoured woman. The King now thinks it time that the farce should end, and addressing Olympia suddenly, intimates to her that the King proposes for her hand, and asks her consent. He forgets, however, that as Olympia is ignorant of his true rank, and sees nothing in the supposed King but a hunchbacked buffoon, who had evidently been trifling with both her sisters, this proposed match is likely to be any thing but an agreeable surprise. To poor Olympia it comes like a thunderbolt. She thinks herself deceived, and in her confusion flies out without waiting for explanation, leaving her heart and shoe behind her, and, under the auspices of Sir Walter Scott and Muscipula, is borne off in the en

chanted car as if on the wings of the wind.

The King, of course, is in despair at his own rashness. Only one way of recovering the unknown fair one to whom his vows are plighted occurs to him, namely, to advertise that the king is to marry the lady whom the lost shoe is found to fit. We must say we think this was rather a hazardous speculation.

Ex pede Herculem may be

a very safe maxim for any thing we know; but ex pede Venerem we greatly doubt. Why the result might have been, that the King might have met with a wife with a foot like the Venus de Medici, but with a nose like the stranger's of Strasburg, and a mouth like Garagantua's! Or again, on the side of the morale, was there not too much likelihood that he might have hit upon a lady the length of whose tongue was in the inverse ratio to that of her foot, or whose virtue sat as loose upon her as her slipper? The only instance in which we recollect a similar experiment being tried was not likely to encourage favourable hopes as to the success of the project. Old Ælian, if he has writ his annals true, relates, we think, that Psammiticus, King of Egypt, a decided admirer of the pied bien chaussé, was so captivated with the sight of a slipper which an eagle one day accidentally dropt at his feet, that in an unguarded moment he proclaimed that he would wed the fair proprietor of the slipper. And who, think you,, was the claimant of the slipper, the fortunate holder of the capital prize? Why, Rhodope, a

young lady of easy virtue, pretty well known in Memphis and the parts adjacent. Still there was no escape for Psammiticus: nothing had been said about virtue in the royal proclamation. "She could not find it 'twas not in the bond:" and so, as the laws of Egypt are as unalterable as those of the Medes and Persians, the monarch submitted with the best grace he could to his fate.

Indeed the hazardous nature of the experiment is shown by the narrow escape which the king makes after all, even in the present case. For a dog of a Jew, a relation of cunning little Isaac, after endeavouring in vain to squeeze the slipper successively upon his five eldest daughters, without the least regard to corns, consoling them all the time with the last line of Schiller's Maid of Orleans, "Short is the pain, eternal is the joy," brings forward his youngest, a child in the nurse's arms, and insists on having the slipper tried on the child's foot the proclamation, as he maintains, being general, and extending to the whole female sex. Rüpel, who is acting as master of the ceremonies, is at first very much taken aback by this quirk of the Jew; but fortunately he had studied civil law under old Hugo at Göttingen, and remembers enough of the code to be able to meet the

Jew's plea, by showing that the proclamation spoke only of ladies, while little Rebecca being under seven years of age, was accounted a child and not a lady, according to the law of Rome. The Jew and family being thus disposed of, the trial proceeds. Clorinda, Louison, and the Baroness though already provided with a husband (an objection which the Baron declares he is quite ready to waive), make the attempt and successively fail. At last comes Olympia, conducted by her fairy protectress, slips her foot with ease into the slipper, and falls into the arms of the King which are outstretched to receive her. We pass over the explanations between father, stepmother, and sisters-suffice it to say, that on the part of Olympia, all their unkindness is forgotten. She promises them her love and her protection, pays off-(with her husband's money) the incumbrances on the Baron's estate, and is cordially disposed to lend a helping hand to the matrimonial projects of Duke Lothaire and the Prince of Serramoglia. The Queen of the Fairies now begins to see, from obvious symptoms on the part of the King and Olympia, that her presence and that of her train is no longer required. So, advancing to the happy pair, she addresses to them this parting blessing.

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"Take now our last farewell! Bright shall be your crown for ever, And your race shall vanish never!

King! should war and strife betide thee,

Victory be still beside thee.

Queen! from out thy bed shall rise

Heroes, whose high enterprise

Shall, to late posterity,

Prove that they thine offspring be!

Be your kindgom's bounds, though vast,

By your glories overpast ;

Every river, every sea
Laden with your vessels be;
Every highway, mart, and street
Echoing with your horses' feet;
Many a golden harvest meet ye,
Bending its full ears to greet ye;
Let your forests still be seen,
Even in winter, ever green;
Far from sorrow and from strife,
Like twin-stars shine on through life,

That through storm or sunny weather

Still do rise and set together.

As in life your troth was plighted,
Be in death your fates united;
So depart and when you die,

Soar like meeting flames on high."

THE ENGLISH CHURCH-RATES, AND THE SCOTCH CHURCH ESTABLISHMENT,'

THE Church-Rate question has already been treated with so much talent and learning, both in and out of Parliament, that we might well despair of success in attempting to resume the consideration of it, with reference to any of its various relations to the English Church Establishment. The speeches of Sir William Follett, of Lord Stanley, of Sir James Graham, and of Sir Robert Peel, and the discussions of the Conservative Press, leave nothing to be desired with respect to these its leading and most important features; and if the measure introduced by the Government, and sanctioned by a Popish majority of the House of Commons, must be perpetrated, it can never at least be said that this has happened from the want of able and honest counsellors.

We have no intention, therefore, of renewing this thrice-told tale of fraud, folly, and weakness. We feel that no language of ours could place in a stronger view the unparalleled effrontery of those who ask us to believe that we are not undermining, but actually strengthening the English Church, in robbing her of a part of her revenues at the bidding of men who have ever been, and must ever be, her deadly and implacable enemies. We think, however, that there are some circumstances with regard to our Scotch Church Establishment, and the conduct of our Scotch Dissenters with reference to this question, which have not yet been brought into notice, and which may serve to throw light on the nature and tendency of the principles maintained by the abolitionists, and on the views and motives in which this measure has originated; and it is to these that we propose at present to direct our attention. With a view to these subjects, it is hoped, however, that it may not be thought superfluous to

*

offer one or two preliminary observations of rather a more general character.

The abolitionists are, for obvious reasons, anxious to disconnect this question from the question as to the maintenance of a National Church.* It appears to us, however, to be selfevident, that the two parties in this discussion are directly at issue on this latter question; and that there is no other ground on which the subject can be argued so as to be even intelligible. We think, moreover, that the answer which is to be given to this question must, on the plainest principles of reasoning, be considered as decisive of the whole controversy; and it is just because our opponents feel that it must be so that they studiously avoid putting their case on this ground. They know full well that from none, save the most ignorant, the most interested, the most reckless, or the most depraved, have they any hope of success in announcing their argument in the only form in which it is in the least degree consistent even with their own views; and they thus, in the very outset of every exposition of their opinions, are involved in the difficulty of objections to the Church-rates as one of the means by which the Church is supported, without avowing their hostility to the Church itself.

This being the course of argument which prudence imposes on them, it is manifest that they at once relieve us from the task (no doubt a light and easy one) of demonstrating the vital importance of a Church Establishment to the well-being of this country; while they take upon themselves the burden of proving that there is a distinction between the Church-rates and the other branches of Church revenue-as, for instance, the TITHES -from which it can be made to appear that the latter rest on a founda

We are aware that some of the Petitions on this subject are avowedly founded on the 66 Voluntary principle." The Ministry, however (if we understand them rightly), profess to be influenced by a class of petitioners professing different views; and it is therefore with reference to these professions that we consider the question.

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