Saladin-That were an end Too noble for a traitor! The bowstring is A more appropriate finish! Thou shalt die! Malek Adhel-And death were welcome at another's mandate! If that in all thy armies can be found Saladin-O, doubt it not! They're eager for the office. Perfidy, So black as thine, effaces from their minds All memory of thy former excellence. Malek Adhel-Defer not, then, their wishes. Saladin, If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight, This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, accede Saladin-This very hour! [Aside]—For, O, the more I look upon that face, In all the brother's weakness; yet such guilt,- And vengeance it shall have! What, ho! who waits there? Attendant-Did your Highness call? My forces in the cour*. Tell them they come And, bid them mark, that he who will not spare Malek Adhel-Now, Saladin, [Enter attendant.] Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter, Thy waking thoughts more pleasing to reflect, That when thy voice had doomed a brother's death, The last request which e'er was his to utter Tuy harshness made him carry to the grave? [Exit attendant.] Saladin-Speak, then, but ask thyself if thou hast reason To look for much indulgence here. Malek Adhel-I have not! Yet will I ask for it. We part forever; O, torturing recollection !-one kind word From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindness. Of all my youthful sports!—are they forgotten ?— Strike me with deafness, make me blind, O Heaven! Smile at my agonies! nor hear that voice Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word, Look on my face,-thou canst not spurn me then; For the last time, and call him— Saladin (Seizing his hand,-Brother! brother! Malek Adhel--(Breaking away)—Now call thy followers; Death has not now A single pang in store. Proceed! I'm ready. Saladin-, art thou ready to forgive, my brother? To pardon him who found one single error, One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng Of glorious qualities Malek Adhel-O, stay thee, Saladin! I did not ask for life. I only wished Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel. Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf Saladin--Thou shalt not. [Going.] [Enter attendant.] Attendant-My lord, the troops assembled by your order Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death Not one of them but vows he will not suffer. Malek Adhel-O faithful friends!—( To attendant)—Thine shalt The other first shall lop it from the body. Saladin-They teach the Emperor his duty well. Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too, Attendant-O joyful news! I haste to gladden many a gallant heart, Saladin These men, the meanest in society, O, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance, Call back one danger which thou hast not shared, Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter,— I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field, When death seemed certain, only uttered-" Brother!" That 't was to thee I owed the very breath Which sentenced thee to perish! O, 't is shameful! Malek Adhel-By these tears, I can! I am all thine! Again the day of gladness or of anguish Shall Malek Adhel share; and oft again My heart, my soul, my sword, hine forever! [Exit.] THE HARVEST OF RUM. [See Apostrophe to Cold Water for an incident in the life of the eloquent Paul Denton, author of the following stirring lines.] In Streaming down the ages, blighting the rosebuds, shriveling the grasses, scorching the heart and blistering the soul, has come a lurid tongue of flame which, heated by the madness of hell, has hissed out the terrors of death and dropped over the earth a sea of unutterable woe. the darkness of midnight it has gathered intensity of brightness, and glared about the hearthstones, wet with the weeping of wives, mothers, and children, and bronzed the beauty of earth with the horrid cast of hell. Twisting around the altar of the church, it has wreathed the sweetest flowers that ever attempted to bloom for the adornment of heaven, and has fed death from the very waters of life; at the very door of heaven itself it has glowed with appalling madness and been almost an impassable wall of flame between misery and bliss. Dripping burning drops of agony into the tenderest depths of writhing souls, they have wailed and wept and hissed unutterable despair, and pleaded with God to blot them from existence forever. This blighting, glowing, burning, damning curse of the world is the demon Intemperance. Language has never been made that can depict it in all its hideousness. Look on that stack of skeletons that rears its ghastly form-an insult to God-high in the clouds, and shapes the whistling winds into an utterance of withering denunciation of the fiery monster that gnawed and scalded and burned and tore the mangled, bleeding flesh from those bones and tossed them into that revolting pile! Come, ye writhing, pleading, suffering souls that were robbed of heaven by this sparkling tempter, and cast the black shadow of your wretchedness upon the faces of the living! Oh, graves, give up your bloated, festering millions, and stretch them, in all their rum-scorched ghastliness, over the plains and mountain-tops! Come forth, ye torn, haggard, and bleeding souls, from the time of Noah until to-night! Hold up your bony, withered, skeleton hands, ye countless millions of starved and starving women and children! Come, all the floods of agonizing tears that scorched as the lurid fires of hell where'er they touched, and boil, and blubber, and foam, and hiss in one vast steaming, seething ocean! Come, death, and hell, and agony, with your harvest, garnered from the still and the brewery, and let us mass them in one black, horrifying portraiture of the damned. And let it tell to the shuddering, trembling souls what language never can. PAUL DENTON. THE GLADIATOR. [Endeavor to give this thrilling sketch in a natural manner, with clearness, force and energy. Strive to make your hearers feel as well as understand.] Stillness reigned in the vast amphitheatre, and from the countless thousands that thronged the spacious inclosure not a breath was heard. Every tongue was mute with suspense, and every eye strained with anxiety toward the gloomy portal where the gladiator was momentarily expected to enter. At length the trumpet sounded, and they led him forth into the broad arena. There was no mark of fear upon his manly countenance, as with majestic step and fearless eye he entered. He stood there, like another Apollo, firm and unbending as the rigid oak. His fine proportioned form was matchless, and his turgid muscles spoke his giant strength. "I am here"" he cried, as his proud lip curled in scorn, "to glut the savage eyes of Rome's proud populace. Aye, like a dog you throw me to a beast; and what is my offence? Why, forsooth! I am a Christian. But know, ye cannot fright my soul, for it is based upon a foundation stronger than the adamantine rock. Know ye, whose hearts are harder than the flinty stone, my heart quakes not with fear; and here I aver, I would not change conditions with the blood-stained Nero, crowned though he be, not for the wealth of Rome. Blow ye your trumpet-— I am ready." The trumpet sounded, and a long, low growl was heard |