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be mistress of Ellangowan Castle and your paternal | state-had you listened to my

Lucy. Sir, I understand your meaning, and will save you the pain of speaking it more explicitly. When you formerly addressed the daughter of your patron, then with all the advantages of high birth and supposed fortune, I rejected your intrusion, but it was without reproving your audacity; but, sir, when you insult the poverty of the daughter of Ellangowan, by inviting her to share the spoils of her own house, so dishonestly acquired, she turns from you with loathing and contempt!

Dom. Prodigious!

Glo. (Fiercely.) Come, come, madam, you may repent this!

Dom. (Who has by degrees become agitated, comes fiercely up.) Avoid thee, thou evil one! thou hast slain and taken possession

Glo. Come, Mr. Dominie Sampson, we'll have no preaching here.

Lucy. Mrs. M'Candlish, is this intrusion on an unprotected female

Col. (Coming suddenly up between Glossin and Lucy.) Not unprotected, Miss Bertram, while the obliged and grateful friend of Sir Godfrey, your father, can defend you! (To Glossin.) Sir, your company is unpleasant-your absence desired. There's the door, and you will obiige particularly by leaving the room this instant.

Glo. (In a bullying tone.) I don't know who yon are, sir-but I know the law, and I know I can split a pistol-bullet against a pen-knife, and I shall suffer no man to use such damned freedom with me.

Col. (Coming close up to him.) Look you, Mr. Glossin; it will avail you nothing here, to act either the rogue or the ruffian, the bully, or the attorney;-that you do not know me matters not; I know you, and if you do not instantly descend those stairs, by the heaven above us, you shall take but one step from the top to the bottom.

Dom. Prodigious!

Glo. (Retiring.) I-I-I don't choose to brawl here, sir, sir, before a lady, but you shall hear more of me, sir.

Col. When I do, sir, I shall treat the information as it deserves.

Mrs. M'C. This way, Mr. Glossin, if you please; I'll attend you, sir. I never showed any one down stairs with greater pleasure in all my life. [Exeunt Mrs M'Candlish and Glossin. Dom. Jubilate! the evil one is discomfited and fled!-Jubilate !

Col. I beg pardon, Miss Bertram; my temper is naturally impetuous, and I have alarmed you; hear my apology at once. Though personally unknown to you, you, perhaps, have heard the name of Mannering-Guy Mannering.

(Dominie Sampson comes forward.) Lucy. I think I have heard my father mention it, sir; but, at this moment

Col. Hear me, then, briefly.-The son of an ancient family, I came at fourteen years old, with my widowed mother, to your northern capital. We were distressed then, as you are now; a circumstance drew on me the notice of your father, -he became our friend and his interest procured me a military appointment in India, where I have been successful beyond my wishes. Paternal estates, also, have since opened to me in England-but my attachment was here. I wrote to a friend, to purchase property in this neighbourhood, and learned, on my landing in Britain, I was proprietor of Woodburne-Surmises of distress in Sir Godfrey's

family also reached me, and I hurried down to pay my debt of gratitude. I came, alas! too late to offer it to my generous benefactor; let me have the satisfaction of finding I may be useful to his daughter.

Dom. I have scanned him well, and believe him to be the very Guy Mannering who was the inmate of your father's house some sixteen years ago. And for his military propensities I will avouch, inasmuch as he was wont to put gunpowder into my tobacco-pipe, and amuse himself with the explosion thereof.

Lucy. Colonel Mannering, your generosity, and still more, your affection for my dear father, entitle you to my kindest thanks, I will add, my confidence,-but distress must excuse caution, and -.

Col. I Will presume no farther; my sister, whose carriage I have outrode by nearly an hour, will soon be here, and to her intercession I shall leave my suit.

Dom. I do myself prefer the equestrian to the vehicular mode of conveyance, but, to say sooth, I am much accustomed unto the pedestri: n.

Lucy, Colonel Mannering then will exci se me for the present, nor think that my hesitation arises from anything, but a wish that the acceptance of his friendship should be as proper as the offer is kind. [Exit.

Col. Mr. Sampson, you must forgive me my boyish tricks; I did not know the worth I teased. I was then a spoilt urchin-spoilt by your patron and mine; but fortune has cured me.

Dom. And fortune, sir, (as the heathens call her I should rather say Providence,) has been kinder to me; for, for thirty years, I have never had to seek a home or a table, until this present moment of time.

Col. And you never shall have to seek either, Mr Sampson, if you will accept the shelter of my roof. Your learning and patience will bring a blessing with them

Dom. Of learning, sir, it doth not become me to speak,-albeit, I know most ancient and modern tongues. And of patience I have had but little exercise, since five-and-thirty years ago, when I was boarded for twenty pence a week at Luckie Sour-kails in the High-street of St. Andrew's. And there, though I hungered somewhat, I was nothing a-thirst, being near the principal fountain or pump of that town, so that I might drink daily, and no one say, Sampson, thou exceedest in thy potations. But hath your honour no son, whom I might train up in polite letters, and elegant accomplishments, as a requital for my daily bread?

Col. I have only a sister, Mr. Sampson, about ten years younger than myself; how far she may profit by your instructions

Dom. (Assuming great confidence.) She may she will-she shall! I will teach her the Hebrew language-or I should rather say, the Chaldaic, since your honour is aware that the generic Hebrew hath been lost from the time the ten tribes were led into captivity by Tigleth Peleazer.

Col. I believe, sir, you will have an instant opportunity of consulting her own taste upon the matter, for here she comes.

Enter JULIA MANNERING, dressed in a fashionable travelling habit.

Julia. (Running immediately up to Colonel Mannering.) My dear brother, how fast you must have ridden.

Col. Rather, how slowly you must have followed,

my dear sister;-but I am glad you are here, for
I need your assistance most particularly and im-
Julia. Well, well, you shall have it, but don't be
impatient! I must attend to my own affairs first.
Where's the landlady?


Mrs. M'C. (Curtseying low.) Here, my lady, at your service.

Julia. Oh! do me the favour to tell me if there be a young woman here, who has enquired after Miss Mannering.

Mrs. MC. (Presenting Flora.) This is the person,
I believe, my lady.

Col. Landlady, let me speak a word with you.
Mrs. MC. Directly, your honour.

She goes to the Colonel, and after receiving his di-
rections, goes off.-Dominie, during the conver-
tion of Julia with Flora, circles round Julia, as
if about to address her, with characteristic for-
mality and awkwardness-he starts back when
she looks, which she does with some surprise, as
if amused at his strange figure.

consent to go to the mansion of the great man o battle!-Exultemus! Venite! Exultemus!-I will rejoice-I will uplift a stave of joy-yea, I will sing! I do remember me of a catch, which I was wont to sing twice a-year, when a bursar of St. Leonard's College, St. Andrew's, with good appro-ba-ti-on. (He makes many contortions and efforts, like one who first forgets word then tune, at length breaks out with absurd bashfulness, at which they laugh.)

"The fox jump'd over the parson's gate.

Fal la loo! fo lero, lero loo!"

Bear with me, my friends; it is but seldom I am thus jocose. I will again essay, and with more audacity, for my own voice did somewhat abash me! -(Singing.)

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Dom. Yes; cantate with me.

Mrs. M'C. Heaven help you! I never sung in all my life!-But there's two of our honest neighbours in the next room, who hate Glossin, and all such Julia. (To Flora.) You served a young lady of oppressors, will be glad enough to cantitate with this country, I am told.

Flora. Yes, ma'am.

[Curtsies at the several breaks in Julia's speech. Julia. A Miss-Miss-Miss Bertram, I think; I never heard the name before.

Dom. Prodigious!

Julia. However, I understand she's an excellent young lady, and her character of you is quite satisfactory. (Sampson seems pleased.) I believe Miss Bertram dressed her own hair?-That won't quite suit me. I shall wish you to study a little under my brother's valet de chambre; that you may be able to arrange my hair a-la-Chinois, to dispose my aigrette, and circassian turban, so as to throw l'air imposant over my figure.

Dom. (Shaking his head.) This is harder that Chaldaic-yea-than Hebrew;-Tigleth Peleazer himself would have been puzzled at it. I dubitate whether this damsel will fructify by my learned endeavours.

Re-enter MRS. M-CANDLISH, showing in LUCY BERTRAM, whom the Colonel instantly presents to his sister.

Col. Julia, let me solicit your sisterly intercession with this young lady, the daughter of Sir Godfrey Bertram, the friend by whom your brother's fortunes were entirely promoted, and for whose recent loss, I grieve to say, she now suffers. It is my wish she should honour Woodburne with her presence, and find in it a retreat suited to her present feelings. Miss Bertram, let me introduce to your friendship a soldier's sister-rather a hairbrained girl, but well-deserving the kindest regards, I assure you.

you, I warrant.

Dom. Then announce the gladsome tidings unto them, and bid them hither. [Exit Mrs. M'Candlish In the meantime will I preludize.






Enter two Neighbours during the symphony.
"The fox jump'd over the parson's gate,
And stole his poultry from under his nose
Aha! quoth the parson, who popp'd out his


'A good fat hen, and away she goes!'" [Leading Lucy forward.]

Calm, lady! calm your troubled breast!
Beneath our roof of friendship rest;

There say what most may soothe your woes➡ "A good fat hen and away she goes!"

Friendship, thou can'st balm impart
To the wounded, suffering heart!

A mourner, to thy generous roof I fly!
And, then, should silent tears intrude,
The gleam of glistening gratitude,
Shall light the pendent drops in sorrow's eye.

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Away with old care, let the dullard go drown, Mirth and pleasure, life's short, rosy moments should crown,

For what gain or what good e'er from sorro


[They retire up and converse-Dominie listens to Dom. "A good fat hen, and away she goes !" their discourse.

Mrs. M'C. (Coming forward.) I'm as glad as if any one had ordered a rump and dozen, or the commissioners bespoke a county dinner. I hope they may persuade Miss Bertram-who knows what may happen if they do?-The great Colonel Mannering, with sacks full of diamonds, from the India wars, and who was loved by her father too! -If it should happen, there'll be fine doings in the Gordon Arms that day, I'll warrant.

Dom. (Jumping forward from the party.) She will







Let's rejoice!

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ACT II. SCENE 1-Julia's Boudoir, in the house at Woodburne-a door, another, leading into Julia's apartment-large folding doors, through which is seen the library-Venetian windows, opening on a balcony, with steps leading to the lake beneath. The moonlight gleaming upon it, with strong, clear and, distinct illumination- the apartment is decorated with Indian curiosities, horns, skins of tigers, &c., dresses of Indian tribes-book-stands-dressing and work tables three chairs-four lights on the table -a harp, &c.


Julia. Upon my word, brother, it is quite time to send you about your business. Formerly, I had to beg for your society. I admit there was little temptation in those days.

Col. Pardon, Julia; but now you will allow it is doubled.

Julia. Aye, as you double a cypher, by placing a figure before it, and render its value tenfold.

(Points to Lucy.) Col. Julia, pray prevail upon Miss Bertram to sing that lovely air she was beginning when the servant interrupted us-it was a most beautiful thing! wild, yet so pathetic.

Lucy. It has borrowed its tone of feeling, Colonel Mannering, from the situation of the singer. It is said, from a very ancient period to have been sung in our family to soothe the slumbers of the

infant heir.

Julia. Oh! pray sing it.

Lucy. It is not worth refusing.

AIR.-LUCY BERTRAM. Oh! slumber, my darling,

Thy sire is a knight;

Thy mother a lady,

So lovely and bright.

The hills and the dales,

From the towers which we see,

They all shall belong,

My dear infant, to thee.

Oh! rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, sleep on till day! Oh! rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, sleep while you may.

Oh! rest thee, my darling,
The time it shall come,
When thy sleep shall be broken
By trumpet and drum.
Then, rest thee, my darling,
Oh! sleep while you may;
For war comes with manhood,
As light comes with day.

Oh! rest thee, babe, &c.

Julia. And was this really made for your own family?

Lucy. Oh, yes,-and a hundred more such ditties. While my only brother, little Harry, was spared to my parents, it was sung to him every night, by an old gipsy nurse; and I have heard, though so young, he could sing it quite well. There is not a milk-maid on the estate once ours, but can chaunt it, and knows its history; and, I have heardthough it hardly deserves mentioning that the person now in possession,-this Glossin, has, as far as he can, forbid them to sing it, which makes it doubly a favourite with me.

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Flora. Oh, yes, ma'am; (Significantly.) she told me your lady ship might have some occasion for my services in a very confidential way; that there was a gentleman, of whose addresses Colonel Mannnering disapproved rather, ma'am.

Julia. But she should have added also, that my brother could find no possible objection to him, but, in his own prejudices against a man of unknown birth, who could bring no Mac Dingawaies nor Donagilds to back his suit. Now, though I cannot sympathise in such prejudices, I have, since the unhappy duel between them, in which my lover was wounded, endeavoured to avoid all communication with him; yet, I fear, he is at this moment perhaps too near me.

Flora. What, here, madam?

Julia. Twice have I heard about this hour on the lake a flute, playing an Indian air, which, in happier hours, we used to sing together.

Flora. Ay, madam, it's he, I warrant; no one but a lover, or a madman, would come fluting on a lake, at moonlight, in a cold winter-night. (A flute heard playing without.) Hark, madam! as I live, I think I hear it now!

Julia. Hush! (A flute is heard to play the symphony of an Indian air, under the window.) Is it earthly music?-I'm in the land of superstition, and begin to share its influence, I think.

Flora. Wait a little, ma'am; you'll find the fluting gentleman no ghost, I warrant.

Julia. It is, indeed, the very air he taught me; I'll sing it - if it should be he, he will answer it.


Oh, tell me, love, the dearest hour
The parted anxious lover knows,
When passion, with enchanter's pow'r
Across his faithful memory throws
Its s flest brightest flame.

Bertram. (Without.)

'Tis when he sings on some lone shore,
Where echo's vocal spirits throng;
Whose aery voices, o'er and o'er,

On still and moonlight lake prolong
One dear-loved, thrilling name.

Enter HENRY BERTRAM, rushing up the balcony

steps, from the lake.

Ber. Julia! beloved Julia!

Julia. 'Tis he himself! Begone! begone! What will this end in? (Turns away from him.

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Flora. A ring, a parson, and a cradle; I warrant, Enter DOMINIE SAMPSON from the library, with [Retires.


Ber. Will you refuse me even the privilege of a friend, Julia?

Julia. You deserve not the name. Thus to seek a stolen interview, which I am forced to endure, because my giving any alarm would again involve you in a quarrel with my brother, and bring your life once more in danger.

Ber. Do you then blame me, Julia, for what was forced upon me by his caprice, his injustice? Oh, let me now enforce you to fulfil the hopes you once gave me, and trust to time to reconcile your proud brother!


Be mine, dear maid, my faithful heart
Can never prove untrue;

'Twere easier far from life to part,
Than cease to live with you.

My soul, gone forth from this lone breast,
Lives only, love, in thine;

There is its holy home of rest,
Its dear, its chosen shrine.

Then turn thee not away, my dear,
Oh! trn thee not away lo e,
For by the light of truth, I swear
To love thee night and day, lore.

'Tis not mine eye thy beauty loves,

Mine ear thy tuneful voice,
But 'tis my heart thy heart approve",
A life-enduring choice.

The lark shall first forget to sing,
When morn unfolds the east,

E'er 1 by change or coldness wring

Thy fond confiding breast.

Then turn thee not away, &'c.

a light in his hand.

Dom. Of a verity, this is not the way to mine own apartment, neither; nay, it doth seem that of a lady.

Flora. (Whispering.) There, ma'am, did I not say he would not see us?

Dom. would I had the clue of Ariadne, for this

dwelling is a Cretan labyrinth. I will again essay
to extricate myself. (He walks forward.-Flora ad-
rances, whom he does not see till close to her.) Pro-

Flora. Why, who would have thought this of you,
Mr. Sampson, to be prying about so very near my
young lady's dressing-room, at this time of night!
I assure you I take it very strange of you!
Dom. I was erratic, Mistress Flora.

Flora. Never mistress me, man! but get away as fast as you can; lord only knows what Colonel Mannering will say, if he should know of it!

Dom. And that might, perchance, prejudice my young mistress, Miss Bertram, in his opinion. Woeful man that I am! who shall deliver me?

Flora. Pray go immediately, Mr. Sampson. Dom. I obey-I will begone swiftly-1 am beset with fears and trepidations.

(Goes towards the door of Julia's bed-room. Flora. (Running after him and pulling him back.) Worse and worse, Mr. Sampson! that's not your way. Would you burst into my young lady's bedroom? Indeed, Mr. Dominie, I begin to suspect you. Is that the way you propose to teach her Hebrew? Oh. fle! file! fle!

Dom. Prodigious!-I am confounded! (Peeping in.) Assuredly, there is a four-post bed, with crimson furniture. I will gird up my loins and flee. (He struggles out of Flora's grasp, stumb es forward, and overturns the harp, upon which he falls-as he rises he sees Bertram, and stares at him with great

[A heavy lumbering noise heard without in the surprise-Bertram retains his cross-legged position of library.

Julia. (Alarmed.) What noise is that?

Flora. (Looking out.) Only Mr. Sampson, madam, stumbling up and down the library. Never mind the good soul; with him, even seeing is not believing.

Julia. For heaven's sake, sir, begone the way you


Flora. Ay, do-here, here, sir.

Ber. (Running to the balcony.) I cannot, my boat is in possession of your brother's servants.

Julia. To what difficulty has your folly reduced


Flora. (Watching.) Mr. Sampson has blundered this way, sure enough.

[DOMINIE SAMPSON is seen through the library, in his night gown and cap, with a long

candlestick in his hand.

Julia. What's to be done?

an Indian priest, and stares at him again with great composure.) Mirifice! whom have we here?

Flora. Why, Mr. Sampson, what mischief will you do next? that you should disturb that learned Indian gentleman, just when he was occupied in teaching my young mistress the-the-the-Aside.) what shall I say? Dear, dear, where shall I find a word?

Dom. Is he a teacher? then I reverence him. In what is he profound?

Flora. Astrology.

Dom. Prodigious! Nay, then, I will uplift my voice against him. (Loudly.) The occult sciences are a snare of the enemy!-delusions of darkness! -works of the wicked one!

Julia. (Aside.) I must stop his clamours! (Aloud.) learned gentleman teaching me the Sanscrit, than Nay, Mr. Sampson, I see no more harm in the in your proposal to teach me Hebrew.

Dom. Pardon me, most honourable; I knew not, Flora. I have it, I have it! Do, ma'am, let the when I proffered my poor endeavours, that there

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Col. Come, Mr. Sampson, I fancy you had better retire, and what books you wish for shall be brought you. Barnes! Enter BARNES.

Light Mr. Sampson to his room. (Sampson gathers And, hark ye, when up what books he can carry.) you have showed him in, lock the door. I must take precautions against this extravagant thirst for information.

Barnes. This way, Mr. Sampson, if you please to follow.

Dom. I præ, Sequar! Prodigious!

[As he is going off, loaded with books, he drops them all, exclaiming, "Prodigious!". Exit, following Barnes, at the door.

Col. Once more, Julia, good night.
[Exit, at the door.
Julia. Good night, and thanks for this narrow
Go to my chamber, Flora; I'll follow

escape. [Exit, with Bertram. Dom. Where has the damsel conveyed the learned directly. Pundit? I would converse with him.

Julia. Come in, brother!

Re-enter COLONEL MANNERING, at the door.

Col. What has been the matter? I heard a heavy fall in your room-no accident I hope?

Julia You heard Mr. Sampson, brother, who has chosen this strange time of night to rummage out the Indian manuscripts in these cabinets, and has stumbled over my harp.

Col. How's this, Mr. Sampson? You should take other time and place for your oriental studies, than so close to my sister's dressing-room at midnight.

Dom. Honoured sir! I crave your forgiveness; I wandered unwittingly, and was detained by my thirst of learning. That erudite Moonshee, whom I sought to converse withal

Julia. (Alarmed, and fetching a book from the table.) This is the book you sought, I believe, sir.

Dom. (Opening a fine illuminated manuscript.) Prodigious! I profess it is an exemplar of the Shah-Nameh of the illustrious Ferdusi! (Putting it under his arm.) But, touching that Sancrit interpreter, whom

Re-enter FLORA.

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Flora. Yes, ma'am, [Exit at the door. Julia. I declare, I am frightened at my own imprudence. Should my brother discover this business, what will be the consequence? Oh, dear! I wish he would but sympathise a little more with love, and a little less with honour; but, alas!


In ancient times, in Britain's isle,
Lord Henry well was known;
No knight in all the land more famed,
Or more deserved renown.
His heart was all on honour bent,
Ile ne'er could stoop to love,
No lady in the land had power
His frozen heart to move.
Yet, in that bosom, deem'd so stern,
The kindest feelings dwelt;
Her tender tale, when pity told,
It never fail'd to melt
But, for no idle passion form'd,
His high heroic mood,
Glory's sublimer charms alone

With lover's ardour woo'd.


SCENE II.-A desolate Heath between Woodburne and Kippletringan.-The moon declining.

Flora. (Apart to Julia, while Sampson examines the Enter HENRY BERTRAM, bewildered and uncerbooks.) I have sent your Pundit safe off, and told him to wait at the village till further advice.

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Dom. I profess this is a most erudite work, and of great scarcity! I have observed it, honoured Colonel, noted in catalogues with four R's, which denoteth" raris-simus." But, worthy sir, as concerning this learned Pundit

Flora. Is this the book, sir?

Dom. It is rare;-but the Ulemat-
Julia. Or this, sir?

Dom. It is precious!-but the aforesaid Brahmin--
Flora. Oh, 'tis this, I'm sure.

Dom. It is of the last rarity!-but the MoonsheeJulia. Or this

Dom. It is curious-but the Moonshee-the Pundit-the

[They thrust books upon him, which he cannot refuse himself the pleasure of opening, until his hands and arms become embarrassed, and he begins to let them fall, one or two always escaping, as he picks up the others.

tain of his way.

Ber. Now, the devil take all glib-tongued ladies' chattering monkey, that I'd more to do than just to maids! would any one have thought to hear that follow my nose straight across the heath, to this Kip-Kap-Kapple-what the devil did she call the place? And here I am, fairly thrown out. The moon's going down, too, and I may stray further out of my way. (Shouting.) Holloa! I wish some one was within hail, friend or foe, I care not.


Enter DANDIE DINMONT, a little tipsy. Din. (Coming forward, and staggering.) Fair and softly, Dandie, my lad! Who was that holloaing, I wonder? I should like to fall in with a companion, for it's growing confounded dark-I'll be hanged if I can see my way. I wish I had got Dumpling; many people pretend to guide their horse,-now I always let my horse guide me-he'd have carried me to the next ale house, right enough, dark or light. Steady, my head's a little queerish. To think that three poor bottles of rum should have done this now, among four! (Bertram advances.) Who goes there? [He raises his whip.

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