of the royal palace at Burgos. King Fernando
descends from his chamber; Ximene, with
hair dishevelled, stands at the open door;
Don Diego, attended by three hundred of his
retainers, advances to pay his duty to the
sovereign. He and his followers are mounted
on mules, the Cid alone bestrides his war-
horse; all the others wear gloves of ceremony ,
he alone wears knightly gauntlets;
they are all dressed in gold and silk, he alone
appears in burnished arms. The people
receive with great acclamations the conqueror
of the proud Don Gormaz. Don Diego springs
from his horse to make obeisance, and orders
Rodrigo likewise to dismount and do homage
to the king.

    With her mourning veil disparted,
    To the king now spake Ximene;
    Tears within her eyes were swelling,
        Oh, how lovely in her tears!

    Lovely as the dewy rosebud,
    Shone she while her tears were falling;
    Lovelier still her cheeks were glowing
        In her justly kindled wrath.

    Bards may sing the words she utter'd,
    Not her sighs, nor yet her glances:—
    "Monarch!" said she, "noble monarch!
        Render justice unto me!

    He's the slayer of my father;
    He's the slayer, hateful serpent,
    Of my father, who was ever
        Guardian of thy throne, oh king!

    Of my father, last descendant
    Of the noble chiefs who followed
    Don Pelayo with their banners,
        First of all the Christian kings!

    Justice now I claim, not pity—
    Justice must support the powerless;
    Unjust kings claim love nor honour,
        Nobles' trust, nor queen's embrace.

    And thou! —thou wild beast, Don Rodrigo,
    Up! transfix this bosom also,
    Which in deepest woe I open.
        Murderer! come and slay me, too!

    Wherefore pause to slay the daughter,
    When you've robb'd her of her father!
    Slay thy foe, who cries for ever
        To earth and Heaven for revenge!"

    Not a word said Don Rodrigo,
    But rode slowly past the warriors,
    Waiting if some knight would follow;
        But no knight rode after him.

    When Ximene saw his purpose,
    High she raised her voice and higher,
    "Vengeance, warriors! bloodiest vengeance!
        I shall be the victor's prize!"

We have not time on the present occasion to
show how the course of love, which certainly
did not run smooth at first, took a different
direction, and ended in a marriage between
Ximene and the Cid. It will be sufficient
for the present to give a description of a
dandy in the year 1060 on his way to be
married; from which it will be seen that
there were Brummells before George the
Third, who have hitherto been lost to fame
only for want of a biographer.

    Brilliant on the wedding morning
    Rose the sun, while Don Rodrigo,
    Casting off his glancing armour,
        Donn'd his holiday attire.

    Pantaloons of Antwerp's weaving,
    Scarlet shoes of broider'd leather;
    Double points confined them closely
        To the small and handsome foot.

    Then the closely-fitting waistcoat,
    Then the dark-hued satin jacket
    (For short time his sire had worn it),
        Well stuff'd out, with flowing arms.

    Far adown the dark-hued satin
    Lay the collar, rich embroider'd,
    Broad and deep, of finest leather,
        Falling down his lordly back.

    And a net with threads all golden,
    Work'd in silk of greenest colour,
    Kept his hair in. In his bonnet
        Made of Courtray's finest cloth,

    Bore he a cock's feather, lofty,
    Wonderful and red to look on.
    Richly fringed down to the waistband
    Reached his Algerine; white ermine
        O'er his manly shoulders hung.

    Next, his sword, unmatch'd, untiring,—
    And its name was Tisonada;
    To the Moors a name of terror—
        Rested at his velvet band.

    Rich embroider'd, trimm'd with silver,
    Was the band his waist which girded;
    And a fine-thread pocket-kerchief
        Neatly folded from it hung.

    Thus bedeck'd advanced the noble
    Cid, by all his kin attended,
    Onward to the church's portal
    Where the king and the good bishop
    Waited him with fair Ximene,
        With Ximene, blushing bride!

CITIES IN PLAIN CLOTHES.

THERE is a class of thinkers, who, right or
wrong, are never satisfied with the bare
assurance that every medal has its reverse, and
every shield a gold as well as a silver side,
but are continually striving to make
themselves acquainted with the side opposite to
that ordinarily presented to them. In so
doing, they ask obtrusive questions, take
liberties with established cobwebs, and
overturn received and accepted ghosts in order to
inquire into the physical peculiarities of the
turnips, broom handles, and calico sheets of
which those ghosts are sometimes composed.
Not satisfied with Philip sober, they have the
impertinence to scrutinise Philip drunk; not
content with the due execution of justice