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And knew not, all the time they lived together,
“What a poor doll she was. 'Tis very strange ;
“For she had never sense to see his worth,
And yet she loved him too, after a sort ;
“ And she was proud of him-yet knew not why-"
Well; they were happy.- Why should Madeleine
Be wretched, if her husband is a fool ?
I would not have her wretched-not quite wretched.
But she must wed the heir of rich Laird Small.
“Oh! she will love him,-perhaps,

,-as Barton did My silly niece, her cousin. Well, I hope so."

Enter LAIRD SMALL, R. Laird. Give ye good day, Sir Adam.

Sir A. Welcome, Sir,
Welcome to Laichmont Grange.

Laird. A dirty day,
Gadso—a dirty day—and a false mare.

Sir A. I hope no ill has happ'd.

Laird. A dirty day,
I tell you. As I came by Whitstone mill,
I lost the path : and—I must sell the mare,
She's a false gipsy-and walked into the ditch,
And never minded how I tugged and pulled-
She knelt down on her knees, to drink the faster,
And o'er her head—a false deceitful jade-
And into the ditch—I'll sell her for ten pounds.

Sir A. Done. I will buy her of you; fret no more.
Laird. English--the pounds were English !

Sir A. Be it so.
You're not much hurt ?

Laird. No, no—not hurt; but spoilt,
My doublet splashed, and all my new white feather
Clean løst. My bonnet's like a bantam cock
Without the tail.

Sir A. I'm glad to see you here,
And have been thinking over what we said,
When last we spoke upon a certain matter
Touching us both.

Laird. Gadso! and so have I.
Sir A. You see this pictured plan, friend Small; 'tis
By a cunning artist. 'Tis our two estates,
The boundaries, the measurements ; each field,
Each tree, each ditch.


Laird. It is not possible !
Gadso? I had a friend who_let it pass-
I have forgotten--but he held the pencil,
And drew

and drew-'twas marvellous how he drew. And this is yours and mine ? Gadso! gadso!-

I see.


Sir A. You see where, to the right, it bendsLaird. Ay, 'tis the Langstone Knowe-I know it

well. “ I have a flock there-thirty-five white sheep“A goodly flock.

Sir A. And here the river runs !

Laird. It is the Bourtree burn-the bonny burn! “Gadso! he's a rare hand, the planner on't.”

Sir A. If the estates were joined, and one sole man Could ride round both, and call them all his own, Here following up the river to the north, “ The hill along the east, and to the south “And west the king's high-road”—what say you, friend ?

Laird. Gadso ! 'twere a most pleasant ride. Gadso! *Twould be a square. I would it could be done.

Sir A. It may be done.

Laird. I cannot sell the lands Moss-Holm is fast entailed

Sir A. Upon your son,

Laird. Hoo! Gadso! he's a youth! I say, a youth. I'll say no more: there was a friend of mine Looked on him once, and said, “Friend Small,” he said, “ Your son is such a youth !" And so he is— He's such a youth.

Sir A. I've never had the pleasure To see him yet.

Laird. Oh! he is well worth seeing ; “ A goodly youth-not tall, not very tall“ But stout-exceeding stout-and waits at court—" A courtly gentleman; the King admires him, And loves him much--a very proper man, My son, young Mungo Smail.

Sir A. I doubt it not;

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And if you're fixed on what we settled last;
I will not say you no. My girl is young
And gentle, as I think--my only heir,
Since heaven has left me to a childless age,
After such struggles--both my boys ta’en from me.

Laird, I never lost a son gadso! I never
Lost anything I cared for. Hem !--I am wrong--
I am a widower, dear Sir Adam Weir;
I lost my wife--it was a grievous loss--
Which minds me of a merry speech was made
On the occasion by a friend of mine.
He said—what was it, now !-I don't remember--
But it was shrewd, -it made us laugh so much!
A pleasant wag!

Sir A. When can I see your son ?

Laird. Oh, any time. His month of waiting ends
This very day. He'll come from Holyrood
And hurry here.

But here's a pretty maid !
This is your grandchild, as I think.

Sir A. It is.
What ails you, Madeleine ? You're pale, you're sad.

Made. Oh, sir! a thing has happ'd-a man near killed.
Laird. Gadso!
Sir A. What man ? what man ? How mean you, girl ?

Made. Malcolm and I were walking near the skirt
Of Langstone planting, when there suddenly
Rushed to us a man, resisting the assault
Of five fierce robbers-

Laird. Gad ha' mercy! Robbers !

Made. Malcolm rushed forward, and the villains fled.
But the poor man—a wayfarer he seems-
Was wounded, and he begged to rest awhile.

Sir A. He's welcome. This is past all suffering;
That robber grows more daring, day by day.
You've heard, Laird Small, of Buckie of Drumshorlan,
The reiver-
Laird. A deil's Buckie !

I can't sleep
In my own bed anights for thinking of him.
He minds me

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Sir A. Nay, don't tremble, Madeleine ;
The danger's past. I'll see the stranger's wounds
Attended to.- Go call my niece, my dear;
Let him be taken to the tapestry chamber,
In the north tower.

Exit Madeleine, L. Laird Small, will you go with me?

Laird. What, I ? and see him die ?-perhaps he'll die!
I had a friend—a soldier-ah, I know ! -
He was a gallant man, and fought at—somewhere,
No matter what 'twas called ; a cannon shot
Took off his head—and so, poor gentleman,
He died. Pray Gad, this man do not the same!
But if his head's on-yes, yes, I'll go see him

Sir A. Come, then!
Laird. Oh, after you, Sir Adam !
Sir A. Come!

Exeunt, R.



SCENE I.The Tapestry Room at Laichmont. James discovered, seated, L. C.-MADELEINE at his side. Made. How feel you, sir ?

James. Confused ;-as if in doubt Whether I live on this hard, workday soil, Or have already passed the bounds of time, And have an angel sent to solace me.

Made. My cousin will be here with drugs, ere long, Shall soothe your pain.

James. There are two deep physicians
To whom I trust my cure,—wise Doctor Time,
And his meek colleague, Patience. If, meanwhile,
My gentle nurse, you'll let me wind your

scarf Round

my shock hairs, 'twill bring such virtue with it, “ From touch of your most sweet and piteous bosom,' That it will soothe the wound more speedily Than all the marvels in her skilful hands.

[Winds the scarf around his head.

LAIRD SMALL looks cautiously in,--then enters, R. Laird. Is the man dead ?-I hope he is not deadI cannot bear to look on a dead man. Is he clean gone ? James. (To Madeleine. What scaramouch is this ? Made. 'Tis the Laird Small; the owner of Moss-Holm,

James. [Aside.] Oh, father of my wonderful new usher-A likely sire of such a learned son!

Enter Sır Adam WEIR, R. Sir A. [To the Laird.] I fear your speech may hurt the

wounded man-
[To James.] You find the noise too much, sir ?

James. Yes, the voice
Of the old Merry-Andrew is too sharp.

Sir A. Sir! you mistake-he is a gentleman.

James. Oh, cry you mercy ! I thought he was a clown,
Sent forward by some wandering mountebank.
Sir A. Hush! speak more low. You're not much hurt,

I hope ?
James. Not quite enough to mind me of a priest-
A little too much to mind me of a play.
Sir A. Oh! rest and time will set you up again.

(To the Laird. Retire you now, Laird Small,-- I'll hold some speech Apart with him, and join you by-and-by.

Laird. Gadso! it is not safe ; if he should die,
'Twould frighten you for life.-Pray you, good sir,
Don't die till we've had notice. I once knew
A man-but-well, I hope you'll join us soon.
Don't die, good stranger-come, my pretty one !

[Exeunt Laird and Madeleine, R. Sir A. Are you of Scotland, friend? James. (Rises and comes forward, L. c.] No need ask that, you

but hear the music of my voice, " And see the graceful rounding of my cheek.” Oh, yes; I'm Scotch enough!

Sir A. I saw at a glance
You were no Frenchman !

James. No, i'faith-not I;
My foot's a little too heavy ;-no, sir, nothing
But a plain Scot—and honest, as times go.

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