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SCHWEIT. Me, me! Let me kneel, fall down before thee! Grant me the delight of grinding him to pap! [MONK shrieks. R. MOOR. Away from him! Let no one dare to touch him!— (To MONK, drawing his sword.) Look you, sir monk! here stand nine-and-seventy, whose captain I am, and of whom none know how to move at the sign and the command, or to dance after cannon-music; and without there stand seventeen hundred, grown grey under arms.-But hear now! thus speaks Moor, the murdering captain. It is true, I have slain the Count, I have burned and plundered the church, I have cast firebrands into your bigoted town, and thrown down the powder-magazine upon the heads of good Christians; but that is not all. I have done yet more. (Stretching out his right hand,) Mark you these four costly rings that I bear on each finger. Go thou away, and tell word for word to the lord of the tribunal over life and death, what thou hast seen and heard.-This ruby I drew from the finger of a minister, whom I cast down, while hunting, at the feet of his prince. He had flattered himself up from the mob to a first favourite; the fall of his neighbour was his ladder to rank-the tears of orphans raised him up.-This diamond I drew from a minister of finance, who sold offices and seats of honour to the highest bidder, and thrust the mourning patriots from his door. This agate I took from a priest, to the honour of thy sort, as he regretted in the open chancel, that the Inquisition was falling. I could tell thee more tales of my rings, if I did not already repent the few words that I have wasted upon thee.

MONK. Oh! Pharaoh, Pharaoh !

R. MOOR. Do you hear him? Did you mark that sigh? Doth he not stand there as if he would pray down fire from heaven upon this troop of Korah, judge with a shrug of his shoulder, and damn with a christian "Alas!" Can a man, then, be so blind? He hath the hundred eyes of Argus to spy out the faults of his brother; can he be so blind towards himself? They thunder out of their clouds about gentleness and patience, and bring to God human sacrifices, as to a fiery-armed Moloch.They preach love to their neighbours, and curse the aged blind from their doors-storm against ambition, and have for their golden clasps laid waste Peru, and yoked the heathen to their chariots like beasts of burden. They rack their brains, how it was possible that nature could have created an Iscariot, and not the worst among them would betray the triune God for ten pieces of silver. Oh! ye pharisees! ye falsifiers of the truth! Ye tremble

not to kneel before the cross and the altar, flay your backs with scourges, and torment your flesh with fasts; ye think with these pitiful jugglings to raise a blue mist before Him whom yet ye fools call Omniscient, just as we the most bitterly mock the great, when we flatter them that they hate flattery; ye boast of nobility and exemplary conduct, and the God who sees through your hearts, would rage against the Creator, if it were not even he who had made the monster of the Nile.-Take him from my eyes. MONK. Can a villain be so proud!

R. MOOR. Not enough. Now will I speak proudly. Go, and say to the reverend tribunal that rules over life and death-I am no thief who hath conspired with sleep and midnight, and who doth great things on the ladder. What I have done I shall, without doubt, one day read in the book of heaven, but on its pitiful ministers will I waste no more words. Tell them my work is recompense-vengeance is my business. [He turns his back on him. MONK. Then thou wilt not have forbearance and mercy? Good -with thee I have done. (Turns to the band.) Hear ye, then, what justice informs you by me. Deliver up bound this condemned miscreant, and the punishment of your wickedness shall be left to the last account; the holy church will receive you as lost sheep into her motherly lap, with renewed love, and the road to honour shall stand open to you all. (With a triumphant laugh,) Now, now! How likes your majesty that? Quick, then! Bind him, and be free.

in doubt?

He

sends ye life,

He offers ye

R. MOOR. Do you hear? do hear? are ye you offers ye freedom, and ye are really prisoners. He and that is no vain prattle, for ye are truly judged. honour and place, and what can your fate be, even if ye conquer, but shame, and curses, and persecution? He tells ye of reconciliation with Heaven, and ye are truly damned; there is not a hair on one of you that goes not down to hell. Do ye still ponder? Do ye still waver? Is it so hard to choose betwixt heaven and hell? Help them, sir monk!

MONK. (aside.) Is the fellow mad?-Do you fear that this is a trick to take you alive? Read yourselves; here is the general pardon, signed. Can you yet doubt?

R. MOOR. Look, look! What more can ye desire?-signed with his own hand. It is mercy beyond all bounds.-Or do you fear that they will break their word, as ye have heard men keep not their word with traitors?-Oh, be without fear! Policy would constrain them to keep their word, even if they had given it to Satan. Who would in future believe them? How could

they ever make a second use of it? I will swear they mean it truly. They know that it is I who have roused and embittered you, and they count you guiltless. Me alone they would have: I alone must pay the penalty. Is it not so, sir monk?

MONK. (aside.) Is it the devil that speaks in him? Yes, truly, truly, it is so-the fellow makes me tremble.

R. MOOR. How, no answer yet? Think you indeed to break through them with arms? Look around you, look around you! you will think so no longer; that were now childish confidence.— Or do ye flatter yourselves to fall as heroes, because ye see that I rejoice in the tumult?-Oh, believe it not! Ye are not Moor! Ye are thieves! Wretched workmen in my great plan, contemptible as the rope in the hand of the hangman! Thieves cannot fall as heroes fall. Life is gain to a thief, for something fearful comes after. Thieves have a right to tremble before death. Hear how their horns are sounding! see how their sabres are glittering around! How! yet undetermined? are ye mad? are ye insane? It is unpardonable! I thank you not for my life. I am ashamed of your sacrifice.

MONK. (extremely astonished.) I shall go mad. I shall run away. Has one ever heard anything like it?

R. MOOR. Or do you fear that I shall stab myself, and through self-murder destroy the compact that treats only of the living? No, children! that is a vain fear. Here I cast away my dagger, and my pistols, and this phial of poison, that yet would be welcome to me. I am so wretched that I have lost the power even over my own life. What! yet undetermined? Or do you believe that I should defend myself if ye would bind me? Look! here I bind my right hand to this bough of oak; I am quite defenceless, a child might cast me down. Who is the first to leave his captain in his necessity?

ROLL. (in the greatest emotion.) Not if hell girded us round ninefold! (Waves his sword.) Who is no dog, save the captain. SCHWEIT. (tears up the pardon, and throws it in the MONK'S face.) Pardon in our bullets! Away, rascal! tell the senate that sent you, you found no traitors in Moor's band. Save, save

the captain!

ALL. (shouting.) Save, save, save the captain!

R. MOOR. (joyfully.) Now are we free,--comrades!

I feel

an army in my wrist. Death or freedom! At least they shall find none living. [They sound to the attack. Exeunt with drawn swords.

(To be continued.)

THE

KING'S COLLEGE MÅGAZINE.

NOVEMBER, 1841.

ELLERTON CASTLE;

A Romance.

BY "FITZROY PIKE."

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

CONTAINS AN ADVENTURE, IMPORTANT IN ITS RESULTS, AS WILL HEREAFTER BE MADE APPARENT -AN ANTI-PLOT ALLIANCE IS FORMED AND THE

DECEIVER IS DECEIVED.

As Edward and his men, guided by the Duke of Burgundy, were about to leave the scene of peril, not a few of the rioters, separating from the main throng, seemed inclined to become their savage escort. Meanwhile, the sounds of strife were audible from around the palace gates, and through the lurid torchlight might be discovered the partisans of Orleans vainly endeavouring to defend, against the infuriated multitude, their master's house. The broad flashes of lightning, that with loud thunder-claps still followed one another, revealed the scene with yet more terrible distinctness. Unable to close the gates once opened, the men of Orleans were yielding before the murderous pressure of the crowd, as, with wild gesture, they pushed forwards towards their prey. Some flung lighted torches into the house; but they burnt harmlessly among the stones, or, falling among the combatants themselves, did more frightful execution. Rising on his horse's stirrups, Burgundy pointed out the scene to those around him :-" Burgundy! Burgundy!" he shouted; on, men of Paris! Orleans is ours! Let not a foe escape!-Burgundy! Burgundy!" With savage exultation, he watched the effect of his words: those who had been

inclined to secede joined their fellows in a new assault, with frightful yells and shouts, that drowned even the thunder's voice.

"I can bear this no more!" cried Mat Maybird; “Edward! captain! canst thou look idly on?-To the rescue! to the rescue!" and in an instant his sword gleamed through the air, and Burgundy, by a stunning blow, was felled to earth. "Orleans! Orleans!" cried Mat Maybird. Edward and his men, equally indignant, took up the cry, and threw themselves upon the multitude, already dispirited by its leader's fall. The diminished band before the palace regained their drooping courage, and, with a successful charge, forced the panic-stricken populace from the court-yard; the massive gates were closed once more, and then the band of Englishmen, fighting their way through the slight resistance that was offered, succeeded in extricating themselves from their dangerous position.

We pause to explain. The impetuous boldness of Mat Maybird prevented the development of Burgundy's design, when first he interfered with his furious supporters in Edward's favour. Conscientious or generous motives it would be folly to assign to the assassin duke. In all probability, as, at that time, he was meditating a treacherous alliance with England against his country, for the better execution of his private resentment, he thought the murder of an English ambassador by the Burgundian mob would do but little towards advancing his designs; and considered, perhaps, that having bound Edward to his cause by a debt of gratitude, he would become a favourable instrument for advocating, at the court of King Henry, his treasonous proposals. If these were his intentions, we have seen how suddenly they were frustrated.

It was now near midnight; the steeds of the gallant band were weary with prolonged exertion, and the storm, which raged with increased fury, warned them to seek rest. But where? If, at this late hour, any inns were open, these would afford no security to the strangers; so excited were the people, that they were certain of encountering a storm within more violent even than that which now raged around them. Under these circumstances, and trusting, in a great measure, to chance for a night's protection, the little party rode slowly on through the less-frequented streets, and halted, at length, in a spacious square. Before them was a noble mansion, evidently deserted. The doors were half forced from their hinges, the windows broken; there was no light visible

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