FROM NATHAN THE WISE

Than thou dost thine? Or on the other
hand,

Can ask of thee to say thy fathers lied,
In order not to contradict my own?
The same is true of Christians-is it not?

Saladin [aside]—

Nathan

Saladin

Nathan

Now by the living God, the man is right,
And I'm struck dumb.

Now to our rings let us
Return. As I have said, the sons brought

suit

Against each other, and before the judge Each truly swore that he'd received the ring

Directly from his father's hand, and

swore

Not the less true that also long before
He had by him been solemnly assured
That he one day the ring's prerogative
Should certainly enjoy. And each de-
clared

The father ne'er could have been false to
him.

Ere such a loving father he'd suspect,
He'd sooner charge his brothers with foul
play,

Though hitherto of them the very best
He always had been ready to believe;
And now he wished to find the traitors out,
That he might on them be avenged.

And now
The judge? I long to hear what thou

wilt make

The judge reply. Relate!

The judge spoke thus:"If you the father cannot soon produce, Then I dismiss you from my judgment

seat.

Think you that to solve riddles I sit here? Or wait you till the right ring opens its mouth?

Yet stay! I hear the right ring doth pos

sess

The magic power of making one beloved, To God and man well pleasing. That alone

Must now decide. For surely the false

rings

Will fail in that. Now whom love two of

you

The most? Make haste and speak! Why are you mute?

It's only inward that the rings do work, Not outward? Does each one love himself the most?

Deceived deceivers are you then all three!
And of your rings all three are not the
true.

Presumably the true ring being lost,
The father to conceal or to repair

The loss had three rings made for one."
Saladin-
Grand! grand!
Nathan-And thereupon the judge went on to say:
"If you'll, instead of sentence, take ad-

vice,

This is my counsel: Let the matter rest
Just as it lies. If each of you has had
A ring presented by his father, then
Let each believe his own the genuine ring.
'Tis possible the father did not wish
To suffer any longer in his house
The one ring's tyranny! And certainly,
As he all three did love, and all alike,
He would not willingly oppress the two
To favor one. Well, then! Let each one
strive

FROM NATHAN THE WISE

To imitate that love, so pure and free From prejudice! Let each one vie with each

In showing forth the virtue of the stone That's in his ring! Let him assist its might

With gentleness, forbearance, love of

peace,

And with sincere submission to his God! And if the virtues of the stones remain, And in your children's children prove their power,

After a thousand years have passed

Let them appear again before this seat.
A wiser man than I will then sit here
And speak. Depart!" Thus said the
modest judge.

CHARLES JAMES LEVER

CHARLES JAMES LEVER, a popular Irish novelist, was born at Dublin, in 1806; died near Trieste in 1872. He studied medicine in Germany and practised for some time. Later he was connected with the British Embassy at Brussells. "Confessions of

Harry Lorrequer "made him famous, and he devoted his life henceforth to literature. His stories are full of sparkling wit; his characters well drawn. His novels were mostly historical and full of dash and adventure. Among the best are: The Knight of Gwynne," "Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dragoon," "Gerald Fitzgerald 66 and A Rent in the Clouds."

LARRY MCHALE

66

OH, Larry McHale he had little to fear,

And never could want when the crops didn't

fail,

He'd a house and demesne and eight hundred a

year,

And the heart for to spend it, had Larry McHale. The soul of a party, the life of a feast,

And an illigant song he could sing, I'll be bail; He would ride with the rector, and drink with the priest,

Oh, the broth of a boy was old Larry McHale.

It's little he cared for the judge or recorder;
His house was as big and as strong as a jail;
With a cruel four-pounder he kept all in great
order,-

He'd murder the country, would Larry McHale.

THE WIDOW MALONE

He'd a blunderbuss, too; of horse-pistols a pair;
But his favorite weapon was always a flail:
I wish you could see how he'd empty a fair,
For he handled it neatly, did Larry McHale.

His ancestors were kings before Moses was born, His mother descended from great Grana Uaile; He laughed all the Blakes and the Frenches to

scorn;

They were mushrooms compared to old Larry McHale.

He sat down every day to a beautiful dinner,

With cousins and uncles enough for a tail;

And, though loaded with debt, oh, the devil a thin

ner

Could law or the sheriff make Larry McHale.

With a larder supplied and a cellar well stored, None lived half so well, from Fair-Head to Kinsale,

And he piously said, "I've a plentiful board,

And the Lord he is good to old Larry McHale." So fill up your glass, and a high bumper give him, It's little we'd care for the tithe or repale, For our Erin would be a fine country to live in, If we only had plenty like Larry McHale.