"You have no other title, and you dare
interfere?"

"Gratitude does not reckon difficulties. The
family of Miss Maria is in danger."

"Very fine sentiments, no doubt; but have
the goodness not to mix up my name in this
affair."

Will redoubles his entreaties, and goes off
into an extravagant eulogy on the charms of
Miss Maria, declaring his firm conviction that
no one can be cruel enough to injure the uncle
of so much perfection.

"A young man, without name or birth," says
the astonished courtier, "to dare to raise his
eyes to the niece of his benefactor!"

Will declares that gratitude alone—gratitude
and justice— impel him to rush to the palace of
St. James, accuse himself as the author of all
the mischief, and demand to expiate his offences
in the Tower of London.

"Tower of London! What ambition!" says
Strafford. " Do you not know that the Tower
is for nobles and statesmen? They will send you
to Newgate or Bedlam."

"I will throw myself on my knees to our
sovereign. Elizabeth is a woman—she will
pardon."

"Elizabeth is a queen—she will punish."
"i will say to her ' Madam, I have never
known my family—I was deprived of my father
in my infancy.'"

"What is that? What do you say? Who
was your father?"

" I do not know. I will say, ' You see at
your knees the son of an exile.'"

"Of an exile? How came you here? How
long have you known Lord Morden?"

"Since yesterday. I saved the life of my
lady, at the hunt in Hyde Park."

"You seem to have been well educated. Who
had charge of your infancy?"

"A poor farmer in the county of Kent."

"What do I hear? And before you came
here, what were you?"

"I studied at the University of Oxford."

"A poor farmer—University of Oxford—
what is your name?"

"Will."

"Heavens! all my doubts are removed. Unhappy
boy, why have you left the university?"

"My studies were completed —they dismissed
me."

Strafford tries in vain to dissuade him from
his project of going to the queen in behalf of
Lord Morden. He orders him to stop. Will
does not much respect his orders. He implores
him to regard his own interests. Will does not
see the necessity. He is compelled to declare
himself his uncle. Will is glad, doubtless, to
have found his family; to know that lie is the
nephew of a great lord, and in a position to
claim the hand of Maria but he has written
that letter to Essex, and must await the consequences.
Lord Strafford, his caution overcome
by natural affection, is going himself to the
queen.

A letter arrives from the court for Will, by
a special courier from St. James's to Lombard-
street. It bears the arms of the Count of
Essex. Will opens and reads aloud: "Mr.
Will, I have read your letter with attention, and
I approve the sentiments you manifest toward
your protector, Morden. I was disposed to forget
his libel, but since it is you who are its
author, as well as of the caricature, it is you
only whom I must pardon. Have, therefore, no
anxiety, and say, moreover, to Lord Morden,
that if we find at court men always disposed to
injure, there are also generous hearts always
ready to pardon, even while they have the
power of vengeance."

Lord Morden is grateful; Lord Strafford demands
the hand of Maria for his nephew; Lady
Morden accepts Lord Strafford for her husband;
all ends happily, and Lombard-street is in a blaze
of glory.

Such is the comedy of the Student of Oxford.
It is droll in its localities and French renderings
of English character, but it is not without a
good degree of dramatic interest, and never for
an instant offends the nicest sense of propriety,
which, of itself, is rather a rare virtue in a
French comedy.

THE SIEGE OF RAVENNA.

IN woful plight, a piteous sight,
The Exarch was that day:
We Venice men sat round to hear
The tale he came to say.

"The Greek hath lost, with little cost
The Lombard he hath won
To the iron crown, the stoutest town
That ever was built of stone:

"For, while the old wolf Luitprand
"Was fighting for the Franks,
His wily nephew Hildebrand
(Among whose robber ranks

"Vicenza's Duke rode unabasht)
Hath seized Ravenna town,
And from the Imperial city dasht
The Imperial standard down."

A joyful man the Exarch was
The morrow of that day:
We Venice men set sail again
To seize the Lombard's prey.

At shut of day, Ravenna lay
Before us on the height:
We dropp'd adown beneath the town
After the fall of night:

At fall of night there was no light
In heaven above the masts:
Without a sound, we ran aground,
And fix'd our arbelasts:

At mid of night was sound and light
Thro' all Ravenna town;
Loud rang the bells above the yells
Of thousands trampled down.

At ope of day in fetters lay
The Lombard Hildebrand:
The town was ours; about the towers
We roam'd, a merry band.