James.
"Falsitas," and "Rex,"
Quite common words; the adjective is "falsus,"
Thus, "falsus rex," false or deceitful king;

It's a far commoner phrase than "bonus vir."

Gowrie (walking hurriedly.) It makes me pause, ere I can give my faith

To truths in Holy Writ, that there's a power
That guides our human destiny; but rather
That we're the puppets of blind chance, to see
The government and rule of countless men
Committed to such hands as this mere thing's!

James. As I'm some years your senior, gentle cousin,

And had advantage of a schoolmaster,

Such as has seldom showed he loved the child

By such extravagance in birken rods,

I might be helpful to your Latin style-

And if ye 'll stay with me at Falkland

Gowrie.

Hush!

Your voice will move me from my fixed resolve.

James. I pray it may-I pray that it may move you— I'm in your power, I'm helpless, powerless, friendless; Your mother threatens vengeance for her wrongs;

And I take Heaven to witness—

Gowrie.

Swear it not!

Or the great arrow shot against high heaven
Will fall with its sharp point upon your head.

If I had met him in the open field,

[Paces the stage.

Ringed round by his whole court, I had not paused.
But thus-in my own hall. Why went you not
To hunt the deer on th' Ochil hills to-day?

James. I went, sweet cousin,-and I killed a buck,
Antlered as if the forest of Braemar

Had lent hira two young oaks to be his horns.
You never saw a fatter. Zookers, cousin,
His legs were like an ox's. He would weigh
Against two swine. I wish you had been there.

Gowrie. This man will make me hesitate again.

Base king, why came you into Gowrie's hall?
Why did you leave your armed companions,
And trust you in my house?

James.
I meant it well
I thought you'd like it. I meant nothing ill.
So help me! Restalrig will tell you, cousin,
I meant no harm. But pray you let me go.
My train will soon be here.

Will they take open stand, and play the men?
Are they all armed?

[Goes up to the king.

James.
Oh! not a soul of them;
They're in their hunting gear, and not a dozen,
Not half a dozen in all. They'll miss me soon,
And raise the country,-pray you let me go;
I'll never say a word of what has passed.
I'll love you like a true and loving kinsman;
As I'm a king, I give my royal word.

Gowrie. King James's word is not the royal word
That subjects trust to. If I pause me now

'Tis not to make conditions.

James.

Name them, cousin,

You'll have them all. We'll set aside the blood
Of our own son; we'll name you our true heir;
But let me go!

Gowrie.

Listen, James, king of Scots!
If there is left one touch of knightly truth,

One thought of honour, and the priceless debt
That the great sound of your ancestral name

Lays on your soul; 'tis now that you may show them.
I have you in my hands; a word of mine

Venges my father's blood, my mother's wrongs,
My country's sufferings. I may say the word,
I may incarnadine my filial sword,

And gain a nation's blessings on the blow;
I may enwrap you in a cavern's gloom,
To be exchanged, after long years of night,
For the scarce deeper or more certain darkness
Of death,-all these are in my power to do.

James. Oh! do them not, sweet cousin ; do them not!
I'll be your slave, your bondsman !

If I ope

Gowrie.
The prison doors, 'twill be to loose again
The enemy of our house; the vengeful foe
Who spares not.

James.

Oh! you wrong me, wrong me inuch.

I'll love you better than myself. You'll be

Dearer than life; trust me this once, this once!

Gowrie. I trust you not. But higher duties claim me ;

I may not do a deed, that the wild Arab

Would shudder at in his wind-shaken tent.

You are my guest; unwished, but still my guest. [To the guards.
Withdraw your watch. Leave the door free to all. [Exeunt guard.
James. Oh! cousin, you have saved me! see my tears,
Take my true thanks. I am your debtor ever.

Let me not see your mother.

But two or three of the train;

Please you, admit

they must be here.

Gowrie. You are my guest. I've said you are my guest. If I am wrong, I cannot fight with Heaven,

And Heaven is on his side, and arms his head

As with a pierceless helm, with the great name

Of guest! I go to call your followers.

James. If Ramsay 's come, and the stout sixty men,

I never could be happy in my bed

Till I have punished them. I hate them all.
What right has he to set his sovereign free?
Zooks! does he think us foolish as himself,
To let occasion by for silly qualms?

I'll have their blood; gadzooks! I'll have their blood,
And forfeit them for traitors.

[Exeunt

The Independent Minister:

MRS GASKELL. [FROM the charming tale of "Cousin Phillis," published in the "Cornhili Magazine,” we extract a life-like portrait which will not suffer by a comparison with the Parson Adams of Fielding, or the Doctor Primrose of Goldsmith. Mrs Elizabeth Gaskell, the wife of a Unitarian minister of Manchester, had ample opportunities for observing the characteristic traits of the population by which she was surrounded. Her first novel, "Mary Barton," published in 1848, shows how this power of observation became the principle which distinguished her works of fiction from those produced by exercises of fancy not associated with the experiences of real life. The Editor of "Half Hours" has said of Mrs Gaskell, ("Passages of a Working Life," vol. iii.,) “In her desire to awaken our minds to the old oppressions, the ignorance, and the sufferings of the factory-workers, she exhibited a picture which would not be a faithful one if taken at the present day. In 'North and South' she has dealt more equally between the conflicting parties, and has shown how the tendencies of the age have been to bring them closer together, in mutual interest and mutual support.' The later works of Mrs Gaskell have had a wider scope. Ranging over the general aspect of society, instead of its local peculiarities, in her "Wives and Daughters" she has produced a work of fiction that will hold its place amongst the best productions of the pens of females. Unhappily her sudden death, at the end of 1865, left this, her greatest work, slightly incomplete. The Editor of the "Cornhill Magazine" has supplied a sketch of what the authoress intended to do in a concluding chapter.]

I availed myself of Mr Holdsworth's permission, and went over to Hope Farm some time in the afternoon, a little later than my last visit. I found "the curate" (the smaller side-door of the house, so called by its master, who styled the large front-doo1 "the rector") open to admit the soft September air, so tempered by the warmth of the sun, that it was warmer out of doors than in, although the wooden log lay smouldering in front of a heap of hot ashes on the hearth. The vine-leaves over the window had a tinge more yellow, their edges were here and there scorched and browned; there was no ironing about, and cousin Holman sate just outside the house, mending a shirt. Phillis was at her knitting in-doors: it seemed as if she had been at it all the week. The many-speckled fowls were pecking about in the farm-yard beyond,

and the milk-cans glittered with brightness, hung out to sweeten. The court was so full of flowers that they crept out upon the lowcovered wall and horse-mount, and were even to be found selfsown upon the turf that bordered the path to the back of the house. I fancied that my Sunday coat was scented for days afterwards by the bushes of sweetbriar and fraxinella that perfumed the air. From time to time cousin Holman put her hand into a covered basket at her feet, and threw handfuls of corn down for the pigeons that cooed and fluttered in the air around, in expectation of this treat.

I had a thorough welcome as soon as she saw me. "Now this is kind-this is right down friendly," shaking my hand warmly. "Phillis, your cousin Manning is come!"

"Call me Paul, will you?" said I; "they call me so at home, and Manning in the office."

"Well, Paul, then. Your room is all ready for you, Paul, for, as I said to the minister, 'I'll have it ready whether he comes o' Friday or not.' And the minister said he must go up to the Ashfield whether you were to come or not; but he would come home betimes to see if you were here. I'll show you to your room, and you can wash the dust off a bit."

After I came down, I think she did not quite know what to do with me; or she might think that I was dull; or she might have work to do in which I hindered her; for she called Phillis, and bade her put on her bonnet, and go with me to the Ashfield, and find father. So we set off, I in a little flutter of a desire to make myself agreeable, but wishing that my companion were not quite so tall; for she was above me in height. While I was wondering how to begin our conversation, she took up the words.

"I suppose, cousin Paul, you have to be very busy at your work all day long in general."

Yes, we have to be in the office at half-past eight; and we have an hour for dinner, and then we go at it again till eight or nine." "Then you have not much time for reading."

"No," said I, with a sudden consciousness that I did not make the most of what leisure I had.