THE MENAGERIE.-J. HONEYWELL. Did you ever! No, I never! Children! don't you go so near! Goodness! there's the Afric cowses. There's the lion!-see his tail! How he drags it on the floor! 'Sakes alive! I'm awful scared To hear the horrid creatures roar! Here's the monkeys in their cage, Wide awake you are to see 'em; Funny, ain't it? How would you Like to have a tail and be 'em? Johnny, darling, that's the bear That tore the naughty boys to pieces; How the dreadful camel wheezes! Who stoops to hear the morning lark! Here's the crane,-the awkward bird! As ever met one from the tailor's. There's the bell! the birds and beasts So, my little darlings, come, "Mother, 'tisn't nine o'clock ! Want to see the monkeys more!" Dim the lights!-there, that will do: Bring your little sisters too." Exit children, blubbering still, 'Want to see the monkeys more!" A SISTER PLEADS FOR A BROTHER'S LIFE. SHAKSPEARE. Isabella. I am a woful suitor to your honor, Please but your honor hear me. Angelo. Well; what's your suit? Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war 'twixt will and will not. Ang. Well; the matter? Isab. I have a brother is condemned to die : I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother. Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it! Why, every fault's condemned, ere it be done: Mine were the very cipher of a function, To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor. Isab. Oh just, but severe law! Must he needs die? Ang. Maiden, no remedy. Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. Isab. But can you if you would? Ang. Look! what I will not, that I cannot do. Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touched with that remorse As mine is to him? Ang. He's sentenced; 'tis too late. Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words. Isab. Alas! alas! Why all the souls that were were forfeit once; Ang. Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I, condemns your brother: Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him;-he must die to-morrow. Isab. To-morrow? Oh, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him! He's not prepared for death! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves! Good, good, my lord, bethink you: There's many have committed it. Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept; Those many had not dared to do that evil, If the first man that did the edict infringe Isab. Yet show some pity! Ang. I show it most of all when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismissed offence would after gall; And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied: Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sentence, And he, that suffers! Oh, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.-Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle:-But man, proud man. Most ignorant of what he's most assured,! His glassy essence,--like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them, That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself. Go to your bosom : Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know That's like my brother's fault; if it confess A natural guiltiness, such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Against my brother's life. Ang. [Aside.] She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, my sense breeds with it. [To her.] Fare you well. Isab. Gentle, my lord, turn back. Ang. I will bethink me.-Come again to-morrow. Isab. Hark how I'll bribe you! Good, my lord, turn back. Ang. How! bribe me? Isab. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor, Ang. Well; come to me To-morrow. Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe! TROUBLE YOUR HEAD WITH YOUR OWN AFFAIRS. ELIZA COOK. You all know the burden that hangs to my song, For Apollo has now set up national schools. Oh! mine is a theme you can chant when you may, Fit for every age and for every day; And if rich folks say, "Poor folks, don't give yourselves airs !" Oh! how hard it appears to leave others alone, What missiles we scatter wherever we pass, Though our own walls are formed of most delicate glass! Let the wise one in "nature's walk," pause ere he shoot At scampering folly in harlequin suit; He'd find “motley," no doubt, in what he himself wears, Our acquaintance stand up with reproving advice, The "Browns" spend the bettermost part of the day Mr. Figgins, the grocer, with sapient frown, He discusses the church, constitution, and state, And a plum of rich color is lost to his heirs Through not "troubling his head with his own affairs." Let a symptom of wooing and wedding be found, |