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VOL. 2. From Authur’s Home Gazette. Think Twice. “Did Horner know the bill f” enquired Mr. Gilbert of his clerk, who had just come in. The young man shook his head. ‘Didn’t pay it?’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘What answer did he give V ‘He was angry, and said that he wished you wouldn't send alter the bill any more ; that, w lien he was ready, he would bring you the money, and not before ‘He aid that did he ?’ Mr. Gilbert spoke with considerable excitement of manner. ‘Yes, sir. I have never called on him that he didn’t get out of patience, and say something unpleasant.’ ‘Very well,’ replied Mr. Gilbert, in a menac ing tone ; ‘give me the bill. I’ll collect it.’ ‘And, taking up his hat, he left the store. Within two or three blocks was the office of an Alderman; and thither his steps were turned ‘Thank fortune ! there’s a short way to deal with men in these cases.’ Thus Mr. Gilbert talked to himself, as he moved rapidly along. ‘Not send my bill, indeed ! Why doesn’t he come and pay it, if he is so nice in these mat ters\ ? He doesn’t mean to pay; that’s the true reason. Hut, he is dealing with the wrong man, and lie will find this out before he’s twen ty-four hours older. He can bluff off a clerk, but he will find a city bailiff a different sort of a cus tomer.’ Such was the state of Gilbert’s mind, as he hurried on his way to the Alderman’s office. Horner, the offender in this case, was a poor tailor, who had become indebted to Gilbert for groceries. The amount of his bill was sixty-six dollars—a very large sum for him, and far ex ceeding what he had supposed it would be.— Sickness, and the loss of a child, had, some months previously, lessened his income, and also burdened him with unusual expenses. But for this, he would not have become indebted. Hon est and sensitive, the debt worried him. In stead, however, of going to Mr. G. and asking him to let the obligation stand for a short time until he could pay it off gradually,he kept away from him, and fretted himself with thinking over the unpleasant relation he bore to the gro cery. As was to have been expected, the bill came in. The clerk by whose hands it was sent, made his demand in a style that Hornor thought rude, if not insulting. This was more in imagination than in reality. ‘Can’t pay this now,’ was the tailor’s brief an swer. He spoke with a troubled voice and coun tenance. The clerk interpreted his manner by the word ‘anger.’ ‘When will you settle it?’ he enquired, with something peremptory in voice. ‘I can’t tell,” said Horner, in a short, quick tone of voice. The clerk bowed and went away. His report did not please the grocer, who, in a few days, sent again for the money. Thesecend demand came upon Horner while he was thinking of the bill, and hopelessly casting about in his mind for some means of paying it. Not possessing a great deal of -'elf-control, ho unwisely uttered an expression of impatience the moment he saw the clerk of Gilbert. ‘Well, sir; what about that bill?’ said the clerk. ‘lt’s no use to keep calling on me,’ replied Horner. ‘As soon as I hsive the money I will see Mr. Gilbert.’ A third time the clerk called. Poor Horner was in a very unhappy state of mind. He had been thinking of but little else besides the gro cer’s bill all the morning ; while in his mind, was a nervous presentiment that he should have a visit that day from the collector. He was not in error. Even as the thought troubled him, open swung bis door, and the messen ger of Gilbert entered. ‘See here, young man ?’ exclaimed Horner, beforo the other had time to speak; just tell Gilbert nut to send that bill here again. It won’t bring the money an hour sooner. When lam ready, I will pay it, and not before.’ The clerk turned off and left the shop with out a word ofreply. ‘That wasn’t right, John,’ said the tailor’s wife, in a tone of gentle reproof, after the lapse of five minutes. She wisely forbore to speak until time enough had elapsed for her irritable husband to regain a degree of self-composure. ‘1 know it wasn’t’ answered Horner, pausing in his work and giving vent to his feelings in a heavy sigh. I know it wasn’t. But, this con stant dunning is hard to bear. He knows, as well as 1 do, that he will get his money as soon as lean possibly earn it.* ‘No, John; not as well as you do,’ said the wife, mildly. ‘He cannot see your thoughts.’ There was a brief silence. ‘Have you even seen Mr. Gilbert, John ?’ en quired Mrs. Horner. ‘No. But— ’ The tailor hesitated. Ho sa\i''that wa3 in the mind of his wife, and felt it,*. wpe. ‘Don't you think it would ,Gv better to Fee him, and explain just how it is with you ? I don’t believe he would give you any trouble, if you were do so. There is no telling what kind of messages his clerk takes to him. If he gives simply vour words to-day, Mr. Gilbert will be angry ; and there is no knowing what he might be tempted to do.’ ‘I don’t wan't to see him,’ replied Horner. ‘I can’t bear to look into a man’s face if I owe him money.’ The wife sighed; but did not answer. Both remained silence for some time. Horner's own mind soon suggested all that his wife wished, but hesitated, to say. It was but right f*r him to see the grocer, explain to him fully his posi tion, and after assuring him of his intention to pay every dollar of the debt, ask of him a lib eral extension of time. ‘l’ll see him.’ said he, at length, pausing sud denly in his work, and getting down from his shop-board. In a little while he was ready to go out, when he started forth to see his credit or. - . •? the meantime, Gilbert bad kept on his way toward the Alderman’s, fully resolved to hand his debtor over to the tender mercies of the law. H e was within a few doors of the office “hen he met a friend. hat’s the matter? 1 enquired this individual. iou look as if you were going to sue soraebo dust what lam about doing,’ replied thegro- Ah, -indeed ! \V ho is the hard case that Squires such a stringent rneawre.’ ‘Horner, tho tailor. You know him I be lieve V . . ...^g T . t | ‘Yes; very well. But you are not going to sue him ?’ ‘lndeed I am.’ ‘How much does he owe you ?’ ‘Sixty odd dollars.’ ‘l’d think twice before I troubled poor Hor ner,’ said the other, shaking his head. ‘He sends me only insulting answers,’replied Gilbert. ‘l’ve dunned him until I’m tired.’ ‘Perhaps you've dunned him too hard. He is sensitive and irritable.’ ‘No; I’ve only sent three or four times. This morning he returned for answer that he would pay when he was ready, and not before.’ And, on the spur of the moment, you have determined to put the account into an Aider man's hands. ‘I have.’ ‘Too hasty, friend Gilbert. In all matters of this kind it is better to think twice. Remem ber, that Horner has had sickness and death in his family. These, I know, have thrown him back. Here lies the cause of his slowness in paying. But surely, these things entitle him to consideration. He is honest. lam certain of this.’ ‘I didn’t think about his sickness and the loss of his child,’ said Gilbert, in a modified tone. ‘But this is no justification for the rude, unsat isfactory answers he sent to my applications for money.’ Os course not. But, every man cannot, at all times, control his feelings. An honest mir.d often feels a quick sense of indignation when a demand is made for a debt where present ina bility to pay exists. This is, no doubt, the case with Horner. Honest in his intentions, he felt your repeated applications as questioning that honesty ; and lie could not bear the imputa tion with becoming patience.’ The two men separated. Gilbert had thought twice; and, instead of going to the Magistrate’s office, returned to his store. There, a little to his surprise, lie found the tailor awaiting him. They met with some reserve and embarrass ment. But Horner said, in a moment or two, and in a subdued voice— ‘l am sorry, Mr. Gilbert, to have kept you out of your money so long; nothing has pre vented my paying you but inability. I have had sickness and trouble;or it would not now be with me as it is. I felt worried when your clerk call ed to-day, and sent you an improper message. Let me recall that. And, now, I will tell you tile best I can do. If you will take from me five dollars a month, until the whole bill is settled, I will faithfully pay you that much; and more if it is possible.’ ‘Perfectly satisfactory,’ replied Gilbert, in a voice so cordial that it sent the blood bounding through the veins of the unhappy tailor. ‘lf you had only made this proposition before, it would-have been cheerfully accepted.’ W hen the two men separated each was wiser, and each felt happier. The tailor kept his en gagement, and the grocer not only received his’ money but retained a goo< ; , customer. imfSe for sober second thoughts. ’-*-X Have a Trade. —By all means have a trade. Don’t go up and down in the world, and find nothing you can put your hand to. No matter ifyou don’t have to work for a living. You may not always be prosper ous as you are now. This is a mutable planet. The .nan that is up to day may be down to morrow.— Tliank heaven, we live in no land of primogeniture, hereditary succession. Each man is morally bound to labor. Have a trade, we repeat. Educate your hands. Have somethhing you can turn your energies to when times pinch. It will be an everlasting resource. We never knew a man who. with a good trade, could not get a good living, and much more with a right applica tion. What though you are going to college, or into a profession? The case is not altered. You need it just as much. It will come in play every day of your life. It is so much the better. Discipline of the hand should always go before that of the head. We never knew a college boy who wasn't better fora substantial trade. He always graduates with the highest honors. lie is sure to make a scholar. The fact is, he knows how to work—to pure---to conquer. He but transters himself from the shop to the study Young man, decide at once to learn a trade. Apply yourself with all your mind and heart, and be its master. And when you graduate and ask your diploma, if you do not want, or are not obliged to work at it. you have laid by so much and such a kind of wealth can never be lost—never be taken from you. Interesting Incident. —The New Y'ork cor respondent of the Philadelphia Enquirer, in one of his letters, mentions the following interesting incident: Some fourteen years ago, Mr. C., a young merchant of this city, who was possessed of a handsome fortune, entered very largely into speculations in real estate, and became, as was generally supposed,immensely wealthy. A great revulsion in the business of the country happen ed,as many persons have ample reason to remem ber, and Mr. C., instead of remaining a million aire, suddenly became a bankrupt. Mrs. C., upon the happening of this untoward event, im mediately retired from the fashionable arena, reduced her personal and family expenditure to suit the alteration of her pecuniary circum stances. At the time of the failure of Mr. C., in business, it happened that Mrs. C. was indebted to Messrs. A. T. Stewart and <fe Cos., for goods furnished for her personal use to the amount of about two hundred dollars. This debt she was, for the time, entirely unable to pay, but the mor al obligation to discharge it was not forgotten. Years rolled on; Mr. C., continued insolvent, the debt became barred by the statute of limi tations, the legal liability to pay it was extin guished; twelve years had elapsed, and the creditors considered the amount as lost. The circumstances of Mr. C., have for several years past been gradually improving, and a few days ago, his wife, finding herself once more able to procure the means, carefully calculated the in terest on herd bt of twelve years standing, ad ded that to the principal, and enclosed tho whole in a note addressed to Stewart A Cos. Messrs. Stewart A Cos., upou the receipt of the note and monev, addressed a note in reply to Mrs, C., in which they requested her accep tance of the accompanying gift as a slight testi monial of their appreciation of an act so honor able and so rare as to call forth unqualfied ad miration. With this note was sent a superb brocade silk dress, and some laces of exquisite texture and of great value. Such a woman is a credit, not only to her own sex, but to human natqre, A Western editor lately offered his old hat as a prize for the best essay on independence. The following obtained the prize : “National inde pendence is easier imagined than described ; personal independence consists emphatically in being situated “ ‘.MejiniiiFiit in nil tilings —Jimitral in notjjiiig:* MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY” MORNING, JUNE 7, 1851. in a clean shirt, drawers, socks, and nicely blacked boots, with at least a dollar and a half, and a clean cambric in your pocket—ail on Sunday morning with your wife on one arm and your own babe on the other, taking your own course towards your own church, to sit under the ministry of your own preacher, in blissful expectation of doing your own snoozing in your own pew, wherein no ouedare venture to nudge you with his elbow or tickle yo ur nose with a straw.” A Rare Patrimony. — A young man of Nureinburg who had no fortune, requested a lawyer, a friend of his, to recommend him to a family where he was a daily visitor, and where there was a handsome daughter, who was to have a large fortune. The lawyer said be did not exactly know, but he would inquire. The next time he saw his young friend, he asked him if he had any property at all. ‘No,’ replied he. ‘Well,’ said the lawyer, ‘would you suffer any one to cut off your nose, if he would give you twenty thousand dollars for it ?’ (What an idea!) ‘Not for the world!’ ‘’Tis well,’ ‘replied the lawyer,’ I had a reason for asking. The next time he saw the girl's father, he said : ‘I have inquired about the young man’s cir cumstances. He has, indeed, no ready mon ey, but he has a jewel, for which, to my knowl edge, he has been offered and refused twenty thousand dollars. This induced the old father to consent to the marriage, which accordingly took place ; though it is said that in the sequel he often shook his head when he thought of that jewel!— Ex. Pa per. A Pretty little Fable for the Chil dren- A little boy and girl were once seated on a flowery bank, and talking proudly about iheir dress, “See,” said the boy. “what a beautiful new hat I have ; what a fine blue jacket and trou sers, and what a nice pair of shoes; it is not not every one who is dressed so finely as I am !” “ Indeed, sir,” said the little girl, “I think I am dressed finer than you, for I have on a silk hat and a pelisse, and a fine feather in my hat ; I know that my dress cost a great deal of money.” “ Not so much as mine,’ - said the boy, “1 know.” “ Hold your peace,” said a caterpillar, crawl ing near the hedge, “you have neither of you any reason to he so proud of your clothes, for they are only second hand, and have all been worn by some creature or other, of which you think but meanly, before they were put upon you—Why, that silk hat first wrapped up such a worm as I am.” “There.,Miss, what do you say to that ?’ said tho. boy. . - 1 the fea'her,” exclaimed a bird, perch- I u upon a tree, “was stolen from, or cast oft’by, one of my race.” “What do you say to that, Miss ?” repeated the boy. “Well my clothes were neither worn by birds nor worms.” *• True,” said a sheep, grazing close by, but ihey were worn on the back of some ol my family before they were yours; and as for your hat, I know that the beavers have sup plied tho fur for that article ; and my friends, the calves and oxen, in that field, were killed not merely to get there flesh to eat, but also to get their skins to make your shoes.” See the folly of being proud of your clothes, since we are indebted to the meanest creatures for them! and even then we could not use them, i( God did not give us the wisdom to contrive the best way of making them fit to wear, and the means of procuring them for our comfort.— Cobin. HOAV TO BE USEFUL. “ It is all very well for you, dear papa, to talk about being useful—you are so much older and wiser than I; but what can Ido ?” said little Sarah, a child of eleven or twelve years old, to her father. “ I will tell you what you can do,” he re plied; “or rather, I will tell you what I saw to day; and I think you can answer your own ques tion.” “ Oh ! papa is going to tell a story,” said little Molly, and climbed upon his knee, while the other children all collected around him. “ 1 went to see Miss C., who, you know, is ve ry sick of consumption; and who, young as she is, has been shut up in her chamber now for months. I found her holding in her hand a wine-glass, with a little bunch ot early violets in it. “ Y”ou cannot tell how delighted I have been, she said. ‘ These violets were left at the door by a little girl that l never saw, the daughter, it seems, of a poor washerwoman, who lives down the neighboring alley. She said she heard that I was sick, and udshed that l would take them.’ “ The sick young lady placed the flowers in the open window. She could see, as she re clined on her couch, the top of a neighboring tree, whose green leaves scarcely stirred in the warm air, and the thin cloud which now and then glifted across the sky. But the fields which she loved, and the gardens and the birds, she knew she would never see again. These fresh violets spoke to her of the green meadows, and happy hours spent there with dear friends. As she turned them round and looked at them l saw a tear swell upon her eyelid; and she fell back, as if weary and sad. upon her couch. The day was still; and suddenly—not as if it had been lost in a great city, but rather as if it had come as a blessed messenger from ihe gardens aud flowers—a humming-bird flew in, and buzzing around, full of life, thrust his bill into the fragrant violets, and, lingering a few moments, again flew away. “ For some days in succession, I havo visi ted her, and have still found the flowers care fully preserved ; and to-day they were yet in iheir accustomed place.” “Oh ! how §b e 11)1181 have loved them!” said little MoHy. “ Yes, she did ,” replied her father; “ and it probably gave her more pleasure in her sick chamber than the discovery of a mine of gold. Would you not think that the person who gave her the flowers had done what was use ful r The children all replied that they did. “I thought so,” said the father; “ and to-day I went to see the mother of the thoughtful lit tle girl. She was very poor; and you would have imagined that she and her children would have had no power tq be useful to others. By means of some inquiries, I discovered the his ory of the violets. Her chi Id had accompani ed a Sunday-School on an excursion into the coun try, and during the day had gathered them. On her return, she had hardly shown them to her mother, before she said, ‘I know what I shall do with thPm. I shall carry them to the sick la dy, where the doctor’s chaise stops every day. I know she will love them. ‘ But,’ said her mother, ‘she was always a dear, kind thought ful child, and always trying to make those a round her happier.” ‘‘l wish I knew her,” said Sarah. “I know now what you mean by every one’s being use ful. I suppose you think I should be useful though I did not do qny great thing, if I tried to make those ar- jnd me happier. When I feel as if I could doJyjo good, I will think of the washerw'AinaU’sJ r (tie girl, and of how much happiness she cornu give through a bunch of flowers and a kind heart.” “Mr. Snow, I wants to ax you one question.” “Propel it,**den.” “ Why am a grog-shop like a counterfeit dol lar?” “Wall, Ginger, I gibs dat right up,” ‘‘ Does you gib it up?—Kase you cant pass it.” “ Y ah? yah! nigger, you talks so much ’bout your counterfeit dollars, jus succeed to deform me why a counterfeit dollar is like an apple pie. “Oh, I drops the subject, and doesn’t know nothin bout it.” “Kase it isn’t current.” “ Oh do Lord, what a nigger! why am your head like a bag of dollars? “Go ’way from me—why am it?’’ “Kase dere’s no sense (cents) in it*” “Well you was always de blackest nigger I never see—you always will hab the last word.” GEMS OF THOUGHT. Persons who talk constantly must often say ihings useless and common-place. The progress of some men is so rapid that they keep ahead of common sense. Be careful how you choose your associates, and let no consideration ever lead you into doubtful company. Talents, merit, beauty, rank, fortune,are res ponsibilities sufficient, without adding to them ostentation. A man with an irritable temper is more to be pitied, than one bowed down to the earth by poverty. How humbling to human pride is the reflec tion that man is the only species of the animal creation that wars upon its kind. All the performances of human art at which we look with praise or wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance. It is every way credi v E to handle the yardm'yk and to mea 1 the only dis cred„etice!sisis in hawwhose range ot thought is as short as arid narrow as the tape. f-/W\ Brutus may have beeV. in de nouncing his own sons; but rn doing so he inflicted moral torture on every heait that throb bed around him. Do not indulge in that insipid and unmean ing admiration which many people express for things only tolerable. This sentiment is inten. ded for beautiful things. Let the young man remember, there is noth ing derogatory in any employment which ministers to the well-being of the race. It is the spirit that is carried into employment that elevates or degrades it. It has been the error of some devout men in every age, to conceive that religion is so exclu sively occupied with the great intrests of our eternal being that the body, which is destined so soon to perish, is hardly an object of its pious care. Silence is a privilege ofthe grave, a right of the departed ; let him, therefore, who infringes that right by speaking publicly of, for, or against those who cannot speak for themselves, take heed that he open not his mouth \vi*h a suffi cient sanction. The time is soon coming, when, by the common consent of mankind, it will be esteem ed more honorable to have been John Pounds putting new and beautiful souls into the ragged children of the neighborhood, while he mend ed their father’s shoes, than to have sat on the British throne. 1 here is no glory in the act affixing a signa ture by which the treasures of commerce are transferred, or treaties between nations are ratified; the glory consists in the rectitude ofthe purpose that approves the one, and tho grand eur of the philanthropy that sanctifies the other. Fortitude is so becoming in human nature, that he who wants it scarce deserves the name of a man. Tho most benevolent intentions and the most beneficent actions,lose a great part of iheir merit, if they are void of delicacy. Resentment is the very bane of society, smiting not only its object but he who resents, whilst forgiveness is its inspiring cordial, elixer of happiness to both alike. Religion recommends no frivolous or excess ive care of ornaments, which are always the indications ol a vain and unchaste mind ; but it is equally remote from that grossness of senti ment which disgusts by its negleet. Ylany pious men in the’ humble stations of life,have imagined that, if we possess the sub stantial virtues ofthe gospel—its integrity and truth-—its penitence and faith—the more amia ble and ornamental graces of refined manners are hardly to be desired. This persuasion ot these good men, so contrary to the order of nature, is not less opposed to the evangelic or der. For the holy apostle, a man the most ab stracted from the vanities ofthe w'orld,enjoins, with peculiar emphasis, the cultivation of “whatsoever things are lovely.” Moke Candid than Civil.— Dr. Johnson, when asked to give his opiuion on the produc tion of a lady, who told him, “that when she had finished that, she had other irons in the fire,” replied, “Madame, put this with your oth er irons ’ A country clergyman to the use of the bass viol in church service, was overruled by tho congregation. The first sun day it was brought into use, he announced the psalm as follow’s : “To praise God, we will now fiddle and sing the 40th psaltn, second part, short metre !” * Madam,’ said old Rodger to his boarding house keeper,“ in primitive countries, beef is often the legal tender; but, madam,” said he emphatically, thrusting his fork into tho steak, all the law in Christendom could’t make this tonder.’—CArjprr Bfy, For th Georgia Citizen. LEOXI, OR THE ORPHAN OF VENICE. A TRAGEDT IN FIVE ACT3. ■ V T. H. CHIVSRS, M. • [Continued.] Dramatis Persons. MEN. Cocmt Alvar, LeomTs seducer, afterwards married to There**. Don Carlo*, Leoni, friend to Leoni, and brother to Elvira. Alvino, cousin and husband to Leoni. Don Pkdo, friend to Count Alvar, Count Rodolph, father to Theresa end one of the Duke's Council. Duke and his council. Officer end Guard. WOMEN. Leoni, Orphan of Fenice. Elvira, her friend. Theresa, wife to Count Alvar. ACT IV.—SCENE 1. An apartment in Alvino’s house—Enter Altlno and Leoni. / alvino. Now, we commence another path of thorns! Thou hast beheld the Bark, upon the With swan-like majesty, ascend the waves, And spreading out her penons to the winds, All pregnant with the glory of the storm, Plough on her journey for the destined port, But, as she rises on the billowy hills, To see the forest bristling on tho coast, When every heart beats gladly at the sight— Behold ! the breakers of an angry sea Dash on the languor of her wave-worn sides, When, shrieking to the mercy of the Storm, She bows, once more, in grandeur to the gale, And, conquered by the rudeness of the blast, Sinks down within an hour’s sail of land ? LEONI. Oh, yes—we have beheld all this in time; But the downcast sadness of thine eyes, In which there was so much of youthful joy, And love ineffable ? Tell me the cause! ALVINO. A wintry fear lies cold about my heart! LEONI. But did he not deserve to die? - ALVINO. He did— Ten thousand deaths! LEONI. Then why regret the aot ? Is there not comfort in the downy urms Os her, who prompted thee to that great deed ? And consolation in the happy thought, That she would die ten thousand deaths for tliec? ALVINO. There is, indeed. LEONI. Then rest assured thou art The great avenger of an injured girl, Whose honor has been trampled on by one Who now inherits all the misery of his guilt In Hell's deep gulf, where hope can never eoino ! ALVINO. You know that handkerchief I used to have ? I left it on the bed where Carlos sleeps! LEONI. ‘ | Not where you slept last night ? ALVINO. That very place I have been thinking that if Carios fina It there, he will be false enough to swear ’Tis mine, if he is borne to prison. LEOM, He? ALVINO. Yes lam not suspected by the Count— I never showed Count Alvar any hate— But he has, threatening him with instant death. LEONI. But if they find it there, will they not think— ALVINO. That Carlos killed the Count. LEONI. So let them think ? ALVINO. And have him suffer for an act of mine ? LEONI. No—find some cunning means to set him free. By all the golden links that bind us in The chain of everlasting love, let not An outward show of honor ruin thee now ? No, summon Pedro, if it should be so, f To go to Carlos, whon confined in chains, And bear the secrets of tho then formed plot, And tell Don Carlos, for his own soul’s sake, By promising Elvira shall be his— To instigate Don Pedro to the death Os old Count Rodolph —then contrive some means, When that is done, to set Don Carlos freo. ALVINO. Oh ! blessed woman ? Angel that thou art! Man says that thou art weaker than his sex ; But what is lost in feebleness of limb, Is made up in the cunning of thy soul *• For with one effort of thy dazling thought, In dangerous hours of fierce extreme, thy plans Can minister to his relief, when ail His own have failed him iu despair ? Then let The warrions, on the battle-field, think not To win the victory by his power alone, But seek some gentle creature, like thyself, And ere the ramparts of the enemy Appear in living lines along the field, Commune in gentle earnestness with her; Aud he will gain more glory on that day, Than ever was the lot of one proud man. / LEONI. Then listen to the voice of one that loves. ALVIMO. Weil, let it be as thou hast said.—Come on. [Exeunt. SCENE 11. The same apartment in Don Carlos’ palace.—En ter Don Carlos, Don Fepro and Elvira. DON CARLOS. So, he that was the gardner of the flower— Who plucked the sweetest rose that ever bloomed, And left tho nectar of its ruby folds To perish in the stagnant winds of Ileaven— Has withered by the frost beforo tho flower! DON rEDRO. What! has Alvino lashed him for tho deed? DON CARLOS. I heard that he hail murdered him last night— Although no one suspects he is the man. ELVIRA. What! is it possible that he is dead ? I fear, dear Carlos, you have been too rash ! DON CARLOS. But none ever saw me, but his wife. ELVIRA. Behold ! who enters there ? • SON CARLOS. I need not doubt— ELVIRA. Alas'. Then, for your sister’s sake, dear Carlos 1 fly 1 DON CARLOS. Why should I fly ? ELVIRA. They come for thee l Away 1 Enter Ornca* and Guart- RtMfl EMM V MMOTV *’ i ui ue. 1 OFFICER. Sir, by the oath invested in this writ, lam compelled to fetter thee iu chains. ELVIRA. In chains ? Why bind the innocent in chains I OFFICER. I am compelled to do so by the law. don Carlos. [Giring’ himself up. It is your duty thus to do. ELVIRA. [Taking his hand and knteling. Alas! And shall my brother die ? We must not part! DON CARLOS. Arise, my gentle sister ! We shall meet Again. [She rises. ELVIRA. Perhaps no more on earth ! DON CARLOS. We shall. And, Pedro, parting as the best of friends, I owe thee oMligations, which shall live As long as thou shalt live to think of them. So fare-thee-well! DON PEDRO. Farewell to meet again. Exit Don Carlos, followed by Officer and Guard. ELVIRA. Oh ! Pedro ! what wili be our prospects now—- Seeing the brightest of our hopes is gone? Cun you not save him from that cruel death ? DON PEDRO. And prove that Pedro is the friend of one / Who called upon him in the hour of neetH^-^ That he w ho would not promise me thy hand, Shall have the joy of being saved by mine ? ELVIRA. lie will consent. My heart, you knoic, is thine. DON rEDRO. Elvira ! Pedro cannot lie to thee ! For he has worshiped thee in ail his dreams ! And when the chambers of the night were hung With all the silver shining lamps that deck The azure palace of the glorious sky, Like roses blooming in the fields of Heaven— He lias communed in silentness with thee ; And think that Pedro can forget thee now ? I swear, Elvira ! Carlos shall be saved ! ELVIRA. Oh! Pedro! never did my heart believe That mortal man could be so true as thee! But see ! Alvino conies! lie looks not strange ! Enter Alvino. alvino. I see, Don Pedro, Carlos is not here. / DON rEDRO. He is not here—for he is prisoner in thy steadl/ ELVIRA. S Alvino ! if thou art the man thou art, I now conjure thee to be true to him ! ALVINO. What! think yon that Alvino will be false ? The heart that urged him on to that great deed To mend the broken vessel at the fount, Which.after ministering to his delight, Was thrown iu wilful vvantouness away ; Shall be the prompter to restore his friend. Alvixo Kill be faithful to the last. ELVIRA. Then instantly release him from the chains! ALVINO. This letter shall be evidence of that. I wish it, Pedro, to be borne to him, And, after Carlos has divulged it thee, I wish an answer speedily returned. I would not trust another man on earth, And hope you will be faithful as The trust reposed in you. [Giring the leltsr. DON’ PEDRO. It shall be done. I will be with him straight. -s [ Exit Don PrrdrOj/ > ALVINO. [Aside. The work is done! ELVIRA. What was there in that letter ? ALVINO. Tedro knows— Or soon iei7f know, when it is read. ELVIRA But toil Me what was in it ? AI.VINO. Know you not our plans ? ELVIRA. I know them not. ALVINO. Then you will never know From me. ELVIRA. Perhaps it may effect his life ! ALVINO. If Pedro is the friend he seems to be, lie will divulge it all, when he returns. No woman ever kept a secret yet. [Exeunt Omnes. / SCENE HI. .4 prison— Carlos is discovered bound in chains — Enter Don Pedro. DON CARLOS. What! Pedro ?is it you ? What is the news ? Does Carlos own thy heart ? DON PEDRO. Ho does, my lord ; And he is destined— DON CARLOS. Destined ? DON PEDRO To be free. DON CARLO*. Alasthose cherished hopes were almost gone! DON PEDRO. Who can compel the spirit of the just ? The Eagle is not freer in his flight, When, to the unfenced fields of upper air, Ho roars with an illimitable joy— Than is tho soul when innocent of guilt! DON PEDRO. Amen To that! Alvino bade me hand you this.’ And wished an answer speedily returned^ DON CARLOS. [Reading the letter. Alvino ? Is he faithful to the last ? DON PEDRO. He wears the aspect on his brow full well. DON CARLOS. Alvino—Pedro! listen ! swear that thou Art harder than tho adamant of Hell, And thou shalt have the Jewel of my house! DON FEDRO. I am, to do the simplest thing for thee. v DON CARLOS, Alvino instigato mo here, to prompt You to the murder of Coapt Rodolph—go! That we may be as free as air again— And bear this unsealed letter to him straight! And should he question yon about iu truth, Then show him, when the message has been read, Thia handkerchief, he left upon my bed ! [Giving hint the handkerchief and letter. **’ ‘ - * DON PEDRO. j If this will save thy life, by risking mine, It shall be done ! J / DON CARLOS. It will—6e quick VOS PEDRO. Then swear Elvira shall be mine. DON CARLOS. By Heavens ! she shall J But go—find Rodolph at the risque of life 1 [East Pedro— Scene closes , SCENE IV. The tame apartment in Count RoDOLfu'a palncts— Enter Count Rodolph and Theresa. £ RODOLPH. The trial comes on at the hour of three. THERESA. But will he be condemned ? . COUNT RODOLPH. . As sufc as fate, But you will be required to swear that ha, Don Carlos threatened him with instant death. Leoni was the cause. THERESA. Who told you so ? COUNT RODLPH. I heard the tiling from good men’s mouths. The; mark ! The evidence against Don Carlos will Be truer than the truth, when that is known. THERESA. Why so ? COUNT RODOLPH. Because he killed bun for that girl ’ THERESA. But of Alvino married her, why did He not revenge himself upon the Count ?• COUNT RODOLrH. There is the mystery which will be cleared Os all its darkness, when the truth is known, And brought before the Council. Who comes there’ Withdraw—perhaps ho may dissolve the doubt. [Exit Theresa Enter Don Pedro. PKDRO. [Bowing, My lord l COUNT RODOLPH. Don Pedro X/ ■bON PEDRO, That's my name, my lord. COUNT RODOLPH. Who saved you, when the sentence of your death. Was registered upon the Book of Fate ? DON t’feDßO. Count Alvar did. COUNT RODOLPn. Then why forsake that man” > Why, rather than be faithful to your friend, Colleage yourself with that damned, infidel, Who, laden with the heavy chains of State, Now reads his destiny among the dead ! DON PEDRO. Because the trust reposed in me, by him, Was sacrificed to gain another’s love, COUNT RODOLPH. Who coulld be dearer to you than he was < • DON PEDRO- My love for her—Elvira’s love for mo. COUNT RODOLPH. No, thou art forging in thy cursed heart The lying words which hang upon thy lip*!- I will not suffer thee to live an hourL^-*” DON PEDRO,” Hold ! lot me show thee to thy naked eyes, That Carlos is not guilty of the deed! [Handing him the letter„ COUNT RODOLPH. [Reading it t Now toll me, at the peril of thy life, If under any circumstance of hate, Alvino wished to instigate theq, by This letter to Don Carlos, to destroy My life ? DON PEDRO. He did, my lord—he surely did; Leoni being prompter to the deed, This handkerchief was found upon his bed. [Giving him the handkerchief. COUNT RODOLPH. Ye Gods! how eloquent is this poor thing ’ My ears are sated with its silent speech !_ It says more than the clamorous tongue of man, With all his liquid fluency of words!— There is no evidence against his soul, Can speak so loudly as this drop of blood yS DON PEDRO. And then his name is on the corner there COUNT RODOLHH. ‘Alvino!’ yea, it is most true—’tis here! And though housed the cunning of his soul, Ti. keep the secret of the deed untold, Yet, lie has spoken more by this same thing, Than if he had proclaimed it to the world ! But go—tell Carlos he is free again— Alvino shall be prisoner iu bis stead— DON PEtyRO, And man may call me coward, if he will j But who would not, in such an hour as this, Lie boldly, in the very face of truth, To gain possession of that woman’s love ? Since, but to hesitate, is losing all ! Then, as my interest prompts me to the act, And as Elvira will be mine, if done, And happiness must follow, if she is, There shall be nothing to deter my power. [Exit, SCENE V. The same apartment in Alvar’s house — Enter At vino and Leoni. LEONI- So, of the handkerchief thou hast not heard f And Pedro has not yet returned ? ALVINO, He stays Anti, by that staying, brings me nearer death !• LEONI. Oh ! say not so! He may have been detained ALVINO. I must say so—there is no other hope ! LEONI. You do not think that Pedro will be falee ? ALVINO. If Carlos promise him Elvira’s hand, lie will betray to Rodolph all our plans ; And then the sentence of the law will fall Upon cs with.avenging wrath! LEONI. Most true !- Bat cannot there be something done to ward,- Away thie direful blow ? Yes, let us fly ‘ ALVINO. Leoni 1 it is best that we should stay— Fly ing would only serve to prove our guilt. And give suspicion stronger claims to proof And now remember, in this trying hour, If any portent should retard our hope*— Be strong as Ipve ia infinite! LEONI- I will; And drink the last drop of the hitter cvp. jAs freely as the first one—to thadrag*! : But when ia <?arlos to h* tried T NO; 10.