is pure.

holy,

Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart,
Feeding its flame. The element of fire
It cannot change nor hide its
nature,
But burns as brightly in a Gypsy camp
As in a palace hall. Art thou con-

vinced?

Prec. Yes, that I love thee, as the good love heaven;

But not that I am worthy of that heaven.
How shall I more deserve it?

Vict.
Loving more.
Prec. I cannot love thee more; my
heart is full.

Vict. Then let it overflow, and I will
drink it,
As in the summer-time the thirsty sands
Drink the swift waters of the Manzanares,
And still do thirst for more.

A Watchman (in the street). Ave Maria Purissima! 'T is midnight and serene ! Vict. Hear'st thou that cry? Prec. It is a hateful sound,

To scare thee from me!

Vict. As the hunter's horn Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of hounds

The moor-fowl from his mate.

Prec.

Pray, do not go ! Vict. I must away to Alcalá to

night.

Think of me when I am away.

Prec.

Fear not!

I have no thoughts that do not think

of thee.

The heart pure, and, if laid beneath the pillow,

Drives away evil dreams. But then, alas!

It was a serpent tempted Eve to sin.
Vict. What convent of barefooted
Carmelites

Taught thee so much theology?
Prec. (laying her hand upon his
mouth).
Hush hush!

I

guard thee!

Vict. Good night! good night! Thou art my guardian angel! have no other saint than thou to pray

to!

To guide me to an anchorage. Good night!

My beauteous star! My star of love, good night!

Prec. Good night!

Watchman (at a distance). Ave Maria Purissima!

SCENE IV. - An inn on the road to Alcalá. BALTASAR asleep on a bench. Enter CHISPA.

Chispa. And here we are, half-way to Alcalá, between cocks and midnight. Body o' me! what an inn this is! The lights out, and the landlord asleep. Holá! ancient Baltasar !

Bal. (waking). Here I am.

Chispa. Yes, there you are, like a oneeyed Alcalde in a town without inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me have supper.

Bal. Where is your master?

Chispa. Do not trouble yourself about him. We have stopped a moment to breathe our horses; and, if he chooses to walk up and down in the open air, looking into the sky as one who hears it rain, that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But be quick, for I am in a hurry, and every man stretches his legs according to the length of his coverlet.

What have we here?

Bal. (setting a light on the table).

Stewed rabbit.

Chispa (eating). Conscience of Portalegre! Stewed kitten, you mean! Bal. And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes, with a roasted pear in it.

Chispa (drinking). Ancient Baltasar, amigo! You know how to cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this is nothing but Vino Tinto of La Mancha, with a tang of the swine-skin.

Bal. I swear to you by Saint Simon and Judas, it is all as I say.

Chispa. And I swear to you by Saint Peter and Saint Paul, that it is no such thing. Moreover, your supper is like the hidalgo's dinner, very little meat and a great deal of tablecloth.

Bal. Ha ha ha!

Chispa. And more noise than nuts.

Bal. Ha ha ha! You must have your joke, Master Chispa. But shall I not ask Don Victorian in, to take a draught of the Pedro Ximenes ?

Chispa. No; you might as well say, "Don't-you-want- some?" to a dead

man.

Bal. Why does he go so often to Madrid?

Chispa. For the same reason that he eats no supper. He is in love. Were

you ever in love, Baltasar ?

Bal. I was never out of it, good Chispa. It has been the torment of my life.

Chispa. What are you on fire, too, old hay-stack? Why, we shall never be able to put you out.

Vict. (without). Chispa! Chispa. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crowing.

Vict. Ea Chispa! Chispa ! Chispa. Ea! Señor. Come with me, ancient Baltasar, and bring water for the horses. I will pay for the supper to

morrow.

[Exeunt.

I am the greatest sinner that doth live. I will confess the sweetest of all crimes, A maiden wooed and won.

Нур.
The same old tale
Of the old woman in the chimney-corner,
Who, while the pot boils, says, "Come
here, my child;

I'll tell thee a story of my wedding-day."
Vict. Nay, listen, for my heart is full;
so full
That I must speak.

Нур.
Alas! that heart of thine
Is like a scene in the old play; the cur-
tain

Rises to solemn music, and lo! enter The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne ! Vict. Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, thou shouldst say;

Hyp. Alas! alas! I see thou art in love.

Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.

It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard

His mass, his olla, and his Doña Luisa Thou knowest the proverb. But pray tell me, lover,

How speeds thy wooing? Is the maiden coy?

Write her a song, beginning with an Ave;
Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin
Mary,

Ave! cujus calcem clare
Nec centenni commendare
Sciret Seraph studio!

Vict. Pray, do not jest! This is no
time for it!

me,

Is there no virtue in the world?
Hyp.
Not much.
What, think'st thou, is she doing at this
moment;

Now, while we speak of her?
Vict.
She lies asleep,
And from her parted lips her gentle breath
Comes like the fragrance from the lips of
flowers.

Her tender limbs are still, and on her breast

The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep,
Rises and falls with the soft tide of
dreams,
Like a light barge safe moored.
Hyp.
Which means, in prose,
She's sleeping with her mouth a little
open!

Vict. O, would I had the old magician's

glass

To see her as she lies in childlike sleep!
Hyp. And wouldst thou venture?"
Ay, indeed I would!
Hyp. Thou art courageous. Hast thou

Vict.

e'er reflected

How much lies hidden in that one word, now?

Vict. Yes; all the awful mystery of
Life!

I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito, That could we, by some spell of magic, change

The world and its inhabitants to stone, In the same attitudes they now are in, What fearful glances downward might

we cast

Into the hollow chasms of human life!

What groups should we behold about the death-bed,

Putting to shame the group of Niobe! What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells!

What stony tears in those congealed eyes! What visible joy or anguish in those cheeks!

What bridal pomps, and what funereal shows!

What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling!

What lovers with their marble lips to gether!

Hyp. Ay, there it is! and, if I were in love,

That is the very point I most should dread.

This magic glass, these magic spells

thine,

of

| Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind! Visions of Fame! that once did visit me, Making night glorious with your smile, where are ye?

O, who shall give me, now that ye are gone,

Juices of those immortal plants that bloom Upon Olympus, making us immortal? Or teach me where that wondrous mandrake grows

Whose magic root, torn from the earth with groans,

At midnight hour, can scare the fiends away,

And make the mind prolific in its fancies? I have the wish, but want the will, to act !

Souls of great men departed! Ye whose