mrade, when who appears but
King Louis, his plumes torn, his sword hacked, his shield dented with
a thousand blows which he has received and delivered during the day's
battle. Ha! who is this? The guilty monarch would turn away (perhaps
Macbeth may have done so before), but Carpezan is on him. All his
softness is gone. He rages like a fury. "An equal fight!" he roars. "A
traitor against a traitor! Stand, King Louis! False King, false knight,
false friend--by this glove in my helmet, I challenge you!" And he tears
the guilty token out of his cap, and flings it at the King.

Of course they set to, and the monarch falls under the terrible arm of
the man whom he has injured. He dies, uttering a few incoherent words
of repentance, and Carpezan, leaning upon his murderous mace, utters a
heartbroken soliloquy over the royal corpse. The Turkish warriors have
gathered meanwhile: the dreadful day is their own. Yonder stands the
dark Vizier, surrounded by his Janissaries, whose bows and swords are
tired of drinking death. He surveys the renegade standing over the
corpse of the King.

"Christian renegade!" he says, "Allah has given us a great victory. The
arms of the Sublime Emperor are everywhere triumphant. The Christian
King is slain by you."

"Peace to his soul! He died like a good knight," gasps Ulric, himself
dying on the field.

"In this day's battle," the grim Vizier continues, "no man hath
comported himself more bravely than you. You are made Bassa of
Transylvania! Advance bowmen--Fire!"

An arrow quivers in the breast of Carpezan.

"Bassa of Transylvania, you were a traitor to your King, who lies
murdered by your hand!" continues grim Vizier. "You contributed more
than any soldier to this day's great victory. 'Tis thus my sublime
Emperor meetly rewards you. Sound trumpets! We march for Vienna
to-night!"

And the curtain drops as Carpezan, crawling towards his dying comrade,
kisses his hands, and gasps--

"Forgive me, Ulric!"

When Mr. Warrington has finished reading his tragedy, he turns round to
Mr. Johnson, modestly, and asks,--

"What say you, sir? Is there any chance for me?"

But the opinion of this most eminent critic is scarce to be given, for
Mr. Johnson had been asleep for some time, and frankly owned that he had
lost the latter part of the play.

The little auditory begins to hum and stir as the noise of the speaker
ceased. George may have been very nervous when he first commenced to
read; but