And, bid them mark, that he who will not spare
His brother when he errs, expects obedience,
Silent obedience, from his followers.

Malek Adhel-Now, Saladin,

[Exit attendant.]

The word is given; I have nothing more
To fear from thee, my brother. I am not
About to crave a miserable life.

Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem,
Life were a burden to me. Think not, either,
The justness of thy sentence I would question.
But one request now trembles on my tongue,
One wish still clinging round the heart; which soon
Not even that shall torture. Will it, then,
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

Thy harshness made him carry to the grave?
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;

This is our last farewell; the king is satisfied;
The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence.
None sees, none hears, save that Omniscient Power,
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon
Two brothers part like such. When, in the face
Of forces once my own, I'm led to death,
Then be thine eye unmoistened; let thy voice
Then speak my doom untrembling; then,
Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse.
But now I ask,-nay, turn not, Saladin !—
I ask one single pressure of thy hand;

From that stern eye, one solitary tear,—

O torturing recollection !-one kind word

From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindness.

Still silent? Brother! friend! beloved companion
Of all my youthful sports!-are they forgotten?-
Strike me with deafness, make me blind, O Heaven!
Let me not see this unforgiving man

Smile at my agonies! nor hear that voice
Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word,
One little word, whose cherished memory
Would soothe the struggles of departing life!
Yet, yet thou wilt! O, turn thee, Saladin!
Look on my face,-thou canst not spurn me then;
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel

For the last time, and call him

Saladin (Seizing his hand)—Brother! brother! Malek Adhel-(Breaking away)-Now call thy fol lowers;

Death has not now

A single pang in store. Proceed! I'm ready.

Saladin-O, 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
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave.
No, Emperor, the loss of Cesarea

Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel.
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost
What cost them many a weary hour to gain,
Should expiate his offences with his life.

Lo! even now they crowd to view my death,
Thy just impartiality. I go,

Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf

To thy proud wreath of glory.

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. The mutes have fled; the very guards rebel. Nor think I, in this city's spacious round, Can e'er be found a hand to do the office.

Malek Adhel-O faithful friends!-(To attendant)Thine shalt.

Attendant-Mine? Never!

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,
That ere their opposition reached our ears,
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel.

Attendant-O joyful news!

I haste to gladden many a gallant heart,
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek,
Unused to such a visitor.

Saladin-These men, the meanest in society,
The outcasts of the earth,-by war, by nature,
Hardened, and rendered callous,-these who claim
No kindred with thee,-who have never heard
The accents of affection from thy lips,-
O, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance,
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives,
To save thee from destruction. While I,
I, who can not, in all my memory,

Call back one danger which thou hast not shared,
One day of grief, one night of revelry,

Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed,

[Exit.]

Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter,-
I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field,
When death seemed certain, only uttered-" Brother!"
And seen that form, like lightning, rush between
Saladin and his foes, and that brave breast
Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow
Intended for my own,-I could forget
That 't was to thee I owed the very breath
Which sentenced thee to perish! O, 'tis shameful!
Thou canst not pardon me!

Malek Adhei-By these tears, I can!

O brother! from this very hour, a new,
A glorious life commences! I am all thine!
Again the day of gladness or of anguish
Shall Malek Adhel share; and oft again
May this sword fence thee in the bloody field.
Henceforth, Saladin,

My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever!

THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP.

SCENE-Parlor, with wedding party, consisting of Judge OTIS; MARION, his daughter, the bride; HARRY WOOD, the bridegroom; a few relatives and friends; all gathered around the center table, on which are decanters and wine-glasses.

ONE OF THE COMPANY-Let us drink the health

of the newly-wedded pair. (Turns to Harry.) Shall it be in wine? (turns to Marion,) or in sparkling cold water? Harry-Pledge in wine, if it be the choice of the com

pany.

Several voices-Pledge in wine, to be sure.

Marion-(With great earnestness.)-O no! Harry; not with wine, I pray you.

Judge Otis-Yes, Marion, my daughter; lay aside

your foolish prejudices for this once; the company expect it, and you should not so seriously infringe upon the rules of etiquette. In your own house you may act as you please; but in mine, which you are about to leave, for this once please me, by complying with my wishes in this matter.

[A glass of wine is handed to MARION, which sho slowly and reluctantly raises to her lips, but just as it reaches them she exclaims, excitedly, holding out the glass at arm's length, and staring at it,] Marion-Oh! how terrible!

Several voices (Eagerly)—What is it? What do you see?

Marion-Wait-wait, and I will tell you. I see (pointing to the glass with her finger) a sight that beggars all description; and yet listen, and I will paint it for you, if I can. It is a lonely spot; tall mountains, crowned with verdure, rise in awful sublimity around; a river runs through, and bright flowers in wild profusion grow to the water's edge. There is a thick, warm mist, that the sun vainly seeks to pierce; trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion of the birds; and beneath them a group of Indians gather. They move to and fro with something like sorrow upon their dark brows; for in their midst lies a manly form, whose cheek is deathly pale, and whose eye is wild with the fitful fire of fever. One of his own white race stands, or rather kneels, beside him, pillowing the poor sufferer's head upon his breast with all a brother's tenderness. Look! (she speaks with renewed energy,) how he starts up, throws the damp curls back from his high and noble brow, and clasps his hands in agony of despair; hear his terrible shrieks for life; mark how he clutches at the form of his companion,