Selby. Good words, gentle Kate, And not a thought irreverent of our Widow. But most uncourteous on our wedding-day, When we should show most hospitable.—Some wine. [Wine is brought. I am for sports. And now I do remember, The old Egyptians at their banquets placed A charnel sight of dead men's skulls before them, To temper their fierce joys when they grew rampant. With freer mirth the day, I shall propose, We drink the solemn "Memory of the Dead." [She drinks kneeling. Selby. 'Tis gently and discreetly said, and like My former loving Kate. Mrs. F. Does he relent? (aside). Selby. That ceremony past, we give the day To unabated sport. And, in requital Of certain stories, and quaint allegories, Which my rare Widow hath been telling to me, A Parable; and, the more to suit her taste, Mrs. F. I long to hear it.- Kath. Now comes my TRIAL. Lucy. The hour of your deliverance is at hand, If I presage right. Bear up, gentlest sister. Selby. "The Sultan Haroun"-Stay-O now I have it-"The Caliph Haroun in his orchards had A fruit-tree, bearing such delicious fruits, Mrs. F. A heavy penance for so light a fault- Of his own years, that was his bosom-friend; Selby. Pray you attend. "The Secret, like a night-hag, rid his sleeps, And took the youthful pleasures from his days, And chased the youthful smoothness from his brow, That from a rose-cheek'd boy he waned and waned And would have died, but for one lucky chance." Mrs. F. Your wife-she faints-some cordial-smell to this. Selby. Stand off. My sister best will do that office. Mrs. F. Are all his tempting speeches come to this? (aside). Selby. What ail'd my wife? Kath. A warning faintness, sir, Seized on my spirits when you came to where You said "a lucky chance." Please you go on. I am better now. Selby. The sequel shall be brief. Kath. But, brief or long, I feel my fate hangs on it (aside). Selby. One morn the Caliph, in a covert hid, And Caliph's love, the hateful truth disclosed." Selby. His sceptred hand. He forth in token of forgiveness stretch'd And clapp'd his cheeks, and courted him with gifts, Mrs. F. But for that other Selby. He dismissed him straight, From dreams of grandeur and of Caliph's love, Too near dishonour hast thou trod, dear wife, Your penance is—to dress your cheek in smiles, Sister, your hand; Your wager won, makes me a happy man; Though poorer, Heaven knows, by a thousand pounds. You shall in with us, And, if it please you, taste our nuptial fare; [In a leaf of a quarto edition of the "Lives of the Saints, written in Spanish by the learned and reverend father Alfonso Villegas, Divine of the Order of St. Dominick, set forth in English by John Heigham, Anno 1630," bought at a Catholic bookshop in Duke Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, I found, carefully inserted, a painted flower, seemingly coeval with the book itself; and did not for some time discover that it opened in the middle, and was the cover to a very humble draught of a Saint Anne, with the Virgin and Child; doubtless the performance of some poor but pious Catholic, whose meditations it assisted.] O LIFT with reverent hand that tarnish'd flower, Memorials dear to Romish piety; Dim specks, rude shapes of Saints: in fervent hour Hints, that all Heaven did to her sense reveal. That in their way approved the offerer's zeal. IN THE ALBUM OF ROTHA QUILLINAN. A PASSING glance was all I caught of thee, Though deep and hearty. The familiar name Thoughts—what the daughter of that man should be frame |