ch I
have heard some persons say, is all a man can arrive at in this world. But
I must bid you good day, sir; for I have three miles to walk before noon,
to inform some boarding-school young ladies whether their husbands are to
be peers of the realm or captains in the army; a question which I promised
to answer them by that time."

Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket; but Virtue bade him to
consider on whom he was going to bestow it. Virtue held back his arm; but
a milder form, a younger sister of Virtue's, not so severe as Virtue, nor
so serious as Pity, smiled upon him; his fingers lost their compression;
nor did Virtue appear to catch the money as it fell. It had no sooner
reached the ground than the watchful cur (a trick he had been taught)
snapped it up; and, contrary to the most approved method of stewardship,
delivered it immediately into the hands of his master.

LVI. RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. (221)

Mary Russell Mitford, 1786-1855. She was the daughter of a physician, and
was born in Hampshire, England. At twenty years of age, she published
three volumes of poems; and soon after entered upon literature as a
lifelong occupation. She wrote tales, sketches, poems, and dramas. "Our
Village" is the best known of her prose works; the book describes the
daily life of a rural people, is simple but finished in style, and is
marked by mingled humor and pathos. Her most noted drama is "Rienzi." Miss
Mitford passed the last forty years of her life in a little cottage in
Berkshire, among a simple, country people, to whom she was greatly
endeared by her kindness and social virtues.
###

I come not here to talk. You know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beams
Fall on a slave; not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror led
To crimson glory and undying fame;
But base, ignoble slaves; slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages;
Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great
In that strange spell,--a name.

Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cries out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor,--there he stands,--
Was struck--struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in ser