"And yet his fashion of wooing would be a little peremptory for the nineteenth century."
"There are no Montroses in the nineteenth century."
"They are out of date, like many a good thing besides. Not long ago, I saw some verses in a magazine—a kind of ballad on Montrose's execution."
"Can you repeat it?"
"I cannot compete with you; but I think I can give you a stanza or two:—
| "'The morning dawned full darkly, The rain came flashing down, And the jagged streak of the levin bolt Lit up the gloomy town: The thunder crashed across the heaven, The fatal hour was come; And ay broke in, with muffled beat, The 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below, And anger in the sky, And young and old, and rich and poor, Came forth to see him die. "'But when he came, though pale and wan, He looked so great and high, So noble was his manly front, So calm his steadfast eye,— The rabble rout forbore to shout, And each man held his breath, For well they knew the hero's soul Was face to face with death.'" |
Fanny Euston's eye kindled, as if at a strain of warlike music.
"Go on."
"I have forgotten the rest."
"Then pray find the verses and send them to me. Why is it that, as you say, such men are out of date?"