of exemption from running the risk of getting decorated with a bloody coxcomb. No such jeremiade is chanted by Titanic Francis. “By my troth,” gallantly swears that lion-like soul,—“by my troth, _I_ care not!” _He_, the tailor, cares not! neither subterfuge, lie, nor excuse will _he_ condescend to! Moreover, he is not only courageous, but Christian-like and philosophical; as, for example:—“A man can die but once;—we owe God a death. I’ll ne’er bear a base mind; an it be my destiny, so; an it be not, so; no man’s too good to serve his prince; and, let it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next.” This was not a man to march with whom through Coventry a captain need to be ashamed. So valiant, and yet so modest! So conscious of peril, and yet so bold in the encountering of it! So clear in his logic, so profound in his philosophy, so loyal of heart, and so prepared in the latter to entertain any fate, whatever might be its aspect, or the hour of its coming! Surely, if the prompter’s book be correct, the _exit_ of this tailor must be directed to be marked with music, to the air of ‘_A man’s a man for a’ that_.’ Anything less appropriate would fail to do justice to the situation. In Francis Feeble then the spirit of the tailor is immortalized. Compared with him, Starveling, in the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ is simply tender-hearted. He is one of the actors in the play of ‘Pyramus and Thisbe,’ and he is the most ready to second the motion that the sword of Pyramus should not be drawn, nor the lion be permitted to roar, lest the ladies, dear souls, should be affrighted. Starveling is more of the carpet knight than Feeble. The one is gallant in stricken fields, the other airs his gallantry in ladies’ bower.