Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done, (169.) GLENARA. Thomas Campbell, poet, b. in Glasgow, 1777, d. at Boulogne, 1844. Educated at Glasgow University, of which he was twice elected Lord Rector. His body rests in Westminster Abbey Oh, heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? 'tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; and her sire and the people are called to her bier. Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud; her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud; their plaids all their bosom were folded around; they marched all in silence,—they looked on the ground. In silence they reached over mountain and moor, to a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar, "Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn-why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern. "And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, why fold ye your mantles,-why cloud ye your brows?" So spake the rude chieftain. no answer is made, but each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed. "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,” cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud, "and empty that shroud and that coffin did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, when the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen; when a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn. "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief; on a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, and the desert revealed where his lady was found. From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne-now joy to the house of fair Helen of Lorn! (170.) A STRANGE PROPOSAL. " Charles Mathews, comedian and dramatist, born 1803, died 1880. He commenced life as an architect,-his father, "a very popular comedian," saying that he meant his son to "draw houses as his father had done before him. Charles, after residing for some years with Count D'Orsay and the Lady Blessington, took to the stage, on which he became one of the most finished of its artistes. [The dialogue is taken from the comedy of "Used Up," an English version by the late Charles Mathews of "L'Homme Blasé." Sir Charles Coldstream, who has become so satiated with the pleasures of the world that he can take no interest in anything, agrees to a proposition made by his friends to propose to the first lady he meets. This scene is supposed to take place in the drawing-room of Sir Charles Coldstream.] Enter a SERVANT. Servant. Lady Clutterbuck, Sir Charles, wishes to see you. Servant. I don't know, Sir Charles! Sir C. Very well, then. If she's a widow, show her in; if she's married, show her out. Servant. Very well, Sir Charles. [Exit Servant, who immediately returns showing in LADY CLUTTERBUCK.] Lady C. Sir Charles Coldstream, I presume. I have not the pleasure of knowing you, and I believe you have not the honour of knowing me. Sir C. [Aside.] A good beginning.-[Aloud.] May I take the liberty of enquiring, madam-but pardon me-first, I believe, you are a widow? Lady C. Yes, sir.-[Aside.] How very odd! Sir C. Then permit me to offer you a chair.—[Aside.] I can't propose so abruptly as that. [They sit. Lady C. Sir Charles, we will proceed to business. Sir C. [Feeling his pulse.] No sensation as yet; my pulse is calm! Lady C. I ventured to intrude upon your generosity, Sir Charles, in favour of our infant school; the girls are sadly in want of blue mittens, and the boys of corduroy-a-a-corduroys-any subscription most gratefully acknowledged in the Morning Post. Sir C. [With his hand on his pulse.] No, not the slightest effect. Lady C. I beg you won't say that, Sir Charles. Sir C. Might I ask, madam-we are neighbours, I believe? Lady C. My house is close to yours-a mere cottage, but I remain there with pleasure, as it was there I lost my poor husband. Sir C. I understand, the pleasures of memory;-and have we bachelors suffered for any length of time the disgrace of your widowhood? Lady C. Sir? Sir C. I say, madam, is it long that you have enjoyed your misfortune? Lady C. Oh, a considerable period. Sir C. A good match, the lamented Clutterbuck? Lady C. Ah-h, sir, I have been wedded twice. My first, poor Ironbrace, wooed me from a flourishing business in town. Sir C. Musical? Lady C. No, millinery; he was an ironfounder,--not handsome, but Sir C. Good? Lady C. No, sir, wealthy, while I had nothing to offer him, as dowry, but my virtue. Sir C. Ah! little enough! Lady C. Sir! Sir C. I simply remarked, that in this money-making age, mere virtue-unfortunately-but pray proceed. Lady C. Three months after marriage, news reached me of his death. I immediately quitted London with what fortune I possessed, to hide my tears at a watering-place, where I met Sir Stephen Clutterbuck, a little wizen old gentleman, who wore powder, but one couldn't look upon that as a physical objection, you know, sir— Sir C. On the contrary, madam. Lady C. He offered me his hand and heart-a heart of five-andfifty is rather— Sir C. Tough! Lady C. A hand of half a century seemed to me a— Sir C. A paw-I catch the idea! well, you sighed, thought of your unprotected state, and took the heart and the Lady C. Exactly; besides, he kept his carriage, and his family was good-his name a pretty one-you think Clutterbuck a pretty one, don't you, sir? Sir C. Distingue, madam. Lady C. When, what, sir, do you think I discovered a week after our marriage? That he hadn't a sixpence. Sir C. Just now, you said he had a carriage. Lady C. So he had, but no horses-'twas only jobbed. Sir C. Oh, Corpo di Bacco,—then 'twas a swindle! Lady C. He soothed my indiguation—for he had a good heart withal-by making me the only atonement in his power. Sir C. I see he left the country. Lady C. No, he died. Sir C. That was rather handsome of him. Lady C. Yes. However, notwithstanding his behaviour, I mourned him the regular time. Sir C. It does honour to your head and heart, madam. Lady C. [She rises.] But in your delightful conversation I forgot the object of my visit. Sir C. [Puts chairs up.] Your pardon: my steward will give you a check for twenty guineas. Lady C. You are generosity itself. Sir C. Not at all. Lady C. Good morning, Sir Charles. Sir C. Permit me; delighted to have made the acquaintance of so lovely a neighbour-farewell. [Exit Lady Clutterbuck.] Rather an odd woman, that, and rather amusing for a short time—but stay— dear me, I forgot to propose to her. Hollo!--[Calls.] I beg pardon, madam-yes-you-madam!—one moment if you please-She's coming-positively, she amused me so, that she drove the idea of marriage out of my head. Re-enter LADY CLUTTERBUCK. Lady C. Sir Charles. Sir C. I beg ten thousand pardons. If you'll allow me I'll close the door. I omitted to mention a small matter-a-a-you-you-are positively very good-looking still! [Hands chair. They sit. Lady C. [Looks astonished.] Oh, Sir Charles. Sir C. I never pay compliments; but of all the women I ever adored (that is, the days when I did adore), out of about two hundred, I may say, who have possessed my heart, there were several who could not in justice compare with you. Lady C. You are very polite, I'm sure, Sir Charles. Sir C. Do me the favour to look at me-observe me criticallyhow old am I? Lady C. Dear me, how odd!—I should say about seven or eight and twenty. Sir C. Lady Clutterbuck, do you remember the comet of 1811? Lady C. The comet! Sir C. You cannot be old enough,-don't answer; perhaps the question is indelicate;—but if that comet still existed, we should be precisely of the same age. Lady C. You and I, Sir Charles? Sir C. No, madam, I and the comet. Lady C. Let me see. [Counts fingers.] 1811, 1812, 1813, 1814— Sir C. Don't trouble yourself, I am thirty-three. Lady C. Is this what you called me back to tell me, Sir Charles? Sir C. It was, madam. Lady C. Oh! Sir C. Madam, I am by nature melancholy. Lady C. You? Why you have been saying all manner of funny things to me this half hour. Sir C. You are mistaken: they were melancholy truths, positively. Why, 'twas only last week I made my will, left all my property amongst some friends, who are now on a visit here, before I carried out a fancy I had entertained for some time of hanging myself on a tree! Lady C. Hanging yourself on a tree! Sir C. Or throwing myself into the river: I've a window here convenient-the water flows to the wall. Lady C. Oh, you are joking! Sir C. But since I have seen you my mind is changed: I have taken up another fancy, one in which you can assist me. Lady C. [Aside.] What does he mean?-me! Sir C. You! listen: I have a house in town-estates in the three kingdoms, and one for a freak in the Isle of Man-I've a shooting box on the banks of the Mississippi; three carriages—a—with horses -£12,000 a year, and I offer you my hand. Lady C. Your hand to me! Sir C. I am, as I have told you, only thirty-three; and according to the highest female authorities, this cannot be designated a paw— [Holds out his hand]-will you accept it. Lady C. Sir Charles, you amaze me! is this intended for a declaration of love? Sir C. Quite the contrary-it is a proposal of marriage. Lady C. But Sir C. Excuse me, I have had so much love-making in my time, I am sick of it—[gradually goes to sleep]—there's nothing in it-the same thing over and over again-I prefer coming to the point at once will you have me, you will do me a favour, and I shall be able to say, I have a charming wife; if you refuse me it will be precisely the—I shall then simply say, I have a charming neighbour.-Turn it over in your mind, my dear lady-excuse my memory, give it your serious reflection; pardon my going to sleep for a few minutes, and pray don't allow my violent arguments to alarm you into matri mony. |