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O R, THE GIPSY'S PROPHECY.

A MUSICAL PLAY, IN

THREE ACTS.-BY DANIEL TERRY.

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Mrs. Mc. A merry, social glee, and well sung, Mrs. MC. (Looking at him.) Not much of the rider, good neighbours.

either. First F. Then, here's your good health, landlady, Jock. I'll tell you what, mistress; he's got as in the parting glass! for we must away up to pretty a piece of horseflesh as ever stood in your West-green to-night, to be ready for the fair on stable. I'm a judge, I reckon, by this time, and one Monday.

may always know a gentleman by his horse. Mrs. M'C. Well then, good evening, and a good sale to you, farmer. I wonder I haven't seen your

[Exit old friend, Andrew Dinmont, on his way there; he Col. (Seating himself near the fire.) It's lucky the generally leaves his little horse, Dumpling, here at old inn was at hand to shelter me in this sudden fair time.

storm ; but great changes, I percieve, have taken Second F. You'll see him, never fear; there'd be place since I saw it. I wish I may find my kind no cattle worth the handling, and no cudgelling friend at the castle well; but he'll scarcely recollect worth a broken head, without Dandie Dinmont at me, I dare say. Sixteen years' hard military service the fair. - Butcome along, neighbours; the evening in India is apt to rub a young man's features a little wears, and we must be jogging. Good night t'ye, out of memory.

[Pulls off his great coat. mistress.

[Ereunt Farmers. Mrs. M'C. (Approaching and receiving it.) I beg Mrs. M'C. He's as kind a heart, and as strong an your honour's pardon; would your honour choose arm, that Dinmont, as any for forty miles round any refreshment after your ride? the country.

Col. (Stating himself.) If you please, my good Bai. And of good worldly substance, they say, lady. Mrs. M'Caudlish, considering the instability of Bai. (Asirle.) Your honour to a Manchester rider! human affairs.

Psha! (Apart 10 Mrs. M.Cardlish, after eyeing the Mrs. M'C. He's e'en as good as yourself, Baillie, Colonel.) I'll soon find out what he is. (Crosses to the and would I were no worse; but I need not com- Colonel, draws a chair, and sits facing him.) Any plain, for who would have thought, when I was news of trade, friend? How's cotton in the market housekeeper at Ellangowan Castle, and Sir Godfrey now? Bertram member for the county, that I should sit Col. (Drily.) Cotton! really, sir, I do not know. here this night, landlady of the Gordon Arms in Bai. Aye, you don't know-humph! (Apart to Mrs. Kippletringan, expecting his only child to come to M.Candlish.) He's in the hard-ware line. (To the this poor house of mine, to pay off all his servants, Colonel.) You'll be dealing in the steel article, I without knowing, poor girl, where she's to go next. fancy.

Bai. Aye, aye, the instability of human concerns. Col. (Smiling.) Steel! why, sir, you are a little

And who would have thought that Gibbie nearer the mark. Glossin, the attorney, (whom I, Robin Mucklethrift, Bai. I thought so. Pray, do you Birmingham the bardware-man, remember to have refused folk find the patent never-spilling coal-scuttle credit for a sixpenny penknife,) should have been answer in the trade? They go off pretty_bobbishly giving a grand dinner, and claret, in your house here, when they are double japanned ; I sent five this very day, on purchasing the estate of bis afore- to Ellangowan Castle last week. said benefactor, and turning that only child out of Col. Ellangowan Castle, sir! I was on my road doors; and he'll pay the bill, ready money, doubt-thither. less, Mrs. M.Candlish ?

Bai. You need not trouble yourself, sir; I furMrs. M'C. That he does, or the devil a drop of dish them with all articles in your line, at the wine shall go down his throat in this house. I lowest Birmingham prices. wish I had the tying a halt---[A bell rings violently Col. Sir! without.] But, there, I must be waiting on them; Bai. (Consequentially.) Yes, sir, in tb hard-ware they'll be wanting another magnum of claret. line, and I shall suffer no interlopers! [Takes up a large bottle, and is going, but stops.] No, Col. Sir, you're an impertinent little fellow! take it you, Grizzy, and say I'm gone to bed (Raising his cane.) Perhaps this is harder ware than [Grizzy comes from the bar, takes the bottle from her, you would like to deal in. crosses, and exits.] I have not the heart to look at Mrs. M'C. (Interposing.) Our Bailie, sir, is an honest them, making merry on the orphan's substance! little body, but he's apt to mistake. You were the property that should, by right, belong to poor asking after Ellangowan, sir. Was it the old Miss Bertram! If it were not that we victuallers family, or the present, that you came to visit, must keep open doors to all cattle, I'd soon clear sir? the house of them. I trust, Miss Bertram will not Col. I mean Sir Godfrey Bertram, of Ellancome up till to-morrow; I would not for a silver gowan. pound she found them ranting and rioting here. Mrs. M.C. Alas! you came too late for him, poor (Knocking heard without.] And there she is, I gentleman; he died last week, sir, under sad cirdoubt.

cumstances. Enter JOCK JABOS (the Ostler.)

Col. Sir Godfrey Bertram dead ?

Bai. A melancholy instance of the niutability of Well, Jock, is it miss Bertram ?

worldly matters-fallen from all his greatness, and Jock. No, it's only a single rider, mistress. twenty-seven pounds six shillings and eightpence

Mrs. M'C. A single rider! some Manchester lad halfpenny in my books. in the cotton line. Well, he must just come in here. Col. Dead! good heaven! I owed him much.

[Exit Jock.

Bai. If you please to make me payment of the

aforesaid sum, sir, I will give you a receipt of so Enter COLONEL MANNERING, wrapped up in a much of your debt. great coat, as from horseback, ushered in by JOČK. Col. Has he no child ? Col. Let e disturb nobody, landlady: your house

Mrs. M'C. An only daughter, sir,-thought to be is full, I understand; I can sit very well here.

an only child.

Bai, My receipt will be exactly the same as (Crosses to the fire place.) hers,

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Col. A tall, stiff, silent man, is he not? Bai. The same, sir, half crazed with his learning, poor silly man, and knows nothing of business.

Mrs. M'C. He's a little absent indeed, poor man; but very affectionate, and as simple as any child. Well, sir, this Dominie Sampson, and little Henry Bertram, were walking in the wood, and by came my husband from looking down the coast, and offered to give the boy a ride on his horse, and bring him back to dinner to the castle in an hour; but, lack-a-day! lack-a-day! that hour never came, for poor Duncan was found weltering in his blood! Col. And was the child murdered, too?

Bai. That no man can tell, sir, for he was never found.

Mrs. M'C. There was an old gipsy-woman (that then lived on the estate, and used to nurse the infant), was suspected of stealing him, out of revenge for Sir Godfrey's transporting one of her sons for poaching.

Col. And has nothing ever been heard of him since?

Mrs. MC. Nothing, sir; but from that day, the old gentleman, Sir Godfrey Bertram, who was never over careful, became worse and worse, and wasted and wanted, and wanted and wasted, and trusted and trusted

Bai. Till he trusted an attorney.

Mrs. MC. And then, sir, distresses broke his heart, and he died, leaving his poor daughter penniless and unprotected on the wide world.

Bai. His affairs in utter disorder, and twentyseven pounds six shillings and eightpence halfpenny in my books.

Mrs. MC. But, the worst of it, Baillie, was the advantage it gave that rogue of an attorney.

Bai. Yes, sir; for, if the boy had lived, the old gentleman could not have burdened, or parted with an acre, it was all so strictly settled on heirs male. But Glossin contrived, they say, while his mind was so distressed, to wheedle him out of some rash deed.

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Mrs. M'C. But it will never prosper; if he has cheated the helpless, and oppressed the fatherless, he'll die-mark my words, Baillie-a good-fornothing beggar, yet..

Bai. Why, I hope the young heir may cast up; the mutability of human affairs is great, and there's news of Dirk Hatteraick's running a cargo on these shores again, for the first time since the business;

if so, the gipsy's wife, if she's alive, won't be far off, I dare say.

Mrs. M'C. The murderous wretches! if I catch them, I'll bring them to justice, if I sell the very sign over my door. (A noise heard without.) Gracious heaven! I hope that's not Miss Bertram come just now, before the house is clear of those drunken- and if it is, what shall I do?-for their room's close to the only one I have to show her into. (Goes and listens.)

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Mrs. M'C. Who, Jock?

Jock. The great Colonel Mannering!

Mrs. M'C. What? for whom the Woodbourne estate was bought?

Jock. The very same.

Mrs. M'C.) & Bai.

No, sure!

$

Jock. Ay, as sure as boots are not brogues-he was daily expected, you know. There's his servant, just rode in-a genteel lad like myself, and a good judge of horses; and there's his sister, and the devil and all, following as fast as they canthere's news for ye, mistress. [Exit. Mrs. M'C. He shall see Miss Bertram; he may be a good friend to the poor young lady. (Crossing to the Colonel.) Your honour will excuse me, I must attend to Miss Bertram, who is just arrived, sir.

Col. If you would take an opportunity of informing her, a friend of her late father is anxious to be acquainted with her, you will greatly oblige me.

Mrs. M'C. That will I, sir, and gladly; for I am quite fearful of that Glossin's riotous party up stairs; perhaps some of 'em may intrude on her, and your presence may be a protection to her. I am but a poor double widow, sir! and as for the Dominie, worthy soul! he's just nobody at allYour servant, sir.

[Exit,-The Baillie, who has found his advertisement, struts up to the Colonel and presents

it.

Bai. Colonel Mannering, sir!-If, on your settlement in a strange land, you should have occasion for fire-grates, tongs, pokers, shovels, coal-scuttles plain or patent, candlesticks, snuffers, extinguishers, savealls, &c., &c., &c. You may be supplied as far as an extensive stock

Col. And the mutability of human affairs-
Bai. True, sir,-will permit-and that at the sign

of the Three Trouts and the Frying-pan, kept by | Enter DOMINIE SAMPSON, with an immensely your humble servant, Robin Mucklethrift, ironmon- large book under his arm, in old fashioned binding, ger and brazier, of Kippletringan in Scotland. and brass clasps, his appearance puritanical, ragged

[Exit. black clothes, blue worsted stockings, pewter headed Col. The honest, and worshipful magistrate, I long cane, &c. perceive, musn't lose sight of the main chance, in the uncertainty of affairs. (Looking off. R.) But

Mrs. Mc. You're welcome to Kippletringan, yonder goes Miss Bertram-poor girl how pale Mr. Sampson; how have you been this long and melancholy, and yet how engaging!

Well. time? the daughter of my earliest, and best friend, shall Dom. Thanks, worthy, madam. And how is not be left without a protector, to sbield her sor- your husband, Mr. Kennedy? (Observing her rows from injustice and oppression,

[Erit. surprise)

Eh eh! out upon my tongue, he's

dead!-I mean honest Provost M'Candlish. SCENE IT.- Another Room in the Inn-Targe doors, Fora. (Pulling him by the sleeve.) Why, Dominie

-a table, two chairs and two lighted candles, are Sampson, what are you about? he's dead too. brought on and placed.

Would you bring both the poor woman's husbands

alive one after the other?
Enter LUCY BERTRAM.

Dom. Prodigious !
AIR.

(He is confounded and silent, and retires.) Ye dear paternal scenes, farewell!

Flora. Come, Mistress M'Candlish, don't take it T'he home where early fortune smild!

amiss; the poor Dominie, you know, is apt to make No longer there must Lucy dwell

mistakes. Of fortune robb'd, from home exil'd,

Mrs. M°C. 'Twas kindly meant in Mr. Sampson, A wretched orphan child

I dare say; but both my dear, departed husbands, Now weeps her last farewell,

to be called to mind at once!-Oh! 'twas too disFarewell!

tressing! Tho' doom'd to vander far and wide,

Flora. 'Twas indeed-too much for any woman
A maiden, friendless, desolate,

to bear.
With Heaven my innocence to guide,
I fear not, tho' I mourn my jate;

[Exit Mrs. M'Candlish.--Dominie by this But all that it ordains await.

time has opened his great book and sat down And weep my last farewell!

to read upon some band boxes, which give Farewell!

way under him. Enter MRS. M'CANDLISH, with a lighted candle, had twenty husbands

Flora. Oh! my best bonnet! I had rather have

at once than had it which she places on the table, FLORA, and a Man Servant, bringing in boxes and various light

spoiled. luggage.

Dom. Prodigious! “Ubi lapsus? Quid feci?"

Flora. Fecey! What's your fecey to my bonMrs. M'C. Dear Miss Bertram, I ask pardon-Inet? Your head's too learned for the rest of your never was so sorry in my life-my house quite full, body, Mr. Sampson, and leads it into sad errors. and a noisy party of gentlemen in the best room. What do you do with that great lumbering book I have not another place but this to show your now? ladyship into, and this is but a public sort of a Dom. Josephus's history-light reading, Mistress room neither, and I didn't expect your ladyship till Flora, for travellers. to-morrow

(Goes to the table.) Lucy. Do not disturb yourself; I shall be but a few minutes in any one's way. I will but dismiss

Lucy. (Calling.) Flora.

Flora. Yes, ma'am. (Looking at Dominie, who my servants, and retire to my bed-room. Mrs. M C.' And here is Dominie-Sampson, your

has put his hat upon one of the lighted candles.) ladyship's old tutor stalking up stairs out of your

Mercy on me. carriage.

(Goes to Lucy.) Lucy. Do not suffer your people, my good dame,

Lucy. Before I part with you, my good girl, I to exercise their merriment at the expense of that

must thank you for the affectionate attention worthy man.

you have shown to me under my misfortunes. Mrs. M'C. Not for the world, my dear lady.

In this purse you will find an additional rememLucy. His person, his retired habits, and great brance of your kindness; it is indetd but a trifle, absence of mind are, at times, I own, calculated to

yetexcite somewhat more than a smile; but when the

Flora. (Half crying.) Don't mention it, madam, impulse of his excellent heart breaks forth, he I shall never find such another mistress, I'm rather forces a tear from the eye of sentiment, than

sure. & laugh from the lungs of ribaldry. Mrs. M'C. Very true, indeed. But I beg pardon, kind a mistress in the English young lady, Miss

Lucy. Not so; I hope you will find, at least, as Miss Bertram, there is a stranger, a gentleman now Mannering. in the house, a particular friend, he says, of my

Flora. I hope I may, ma'am; but I shall never late honoured master, who wishes to be permitted cease to think of you and all your goodness-and to speak with you. Lucy. If he has business, I suppose I must see

poor Mr. Sampson, though he has spoilt my bonnet, him; but do no not let me be unnecessarily poor dear, good man!—what will become of him

? troubled.

Lucy. That, indeed, is a grievous question. He [She retires, pays, and dismisses the Man was the tutor of my youth, my dear father's last

Servant - Mrs. M'Candlish turns to go and only friend; it is like a second separation from out.

him; but it is part of the severity of my fate, and

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Flora. Only see now; the poor dear man thinks himself in the parlour at Ellangowan, trimming the candles for my poor old master, to read the newspapers.-Oh! he has a rare head!

Lucy. You give yourself too much trouble, Mr. Sampson; it was not that I wanted of you: but I have a small account to settle. (Putting a little ocket-book into his hand.) Permit mo

Dom. (Looking at it.) Truly, a very small duodecimo! (Opens it, takes out the bank note, and unfolds it.) It is for the sum of fifty pounds-prodigious! Is it your pleasure that I should hie me forth to procure little notes in exchange for the same?

Lucy. No, Mr. Sampson; but, in my present circumstances, alone, almost without fortune, it is impossible-I have not indeed the means-to support a household, and that note is your own, till some other situation

Dom. (Slow at first to comprehend, he becomes agitated, and speaks with great feeling.) No! Miss Lucy, never! If your father, whom I served and loved in prosperity and adversity, should rise from the dead, and bid me leave you, it were impossible, impossible!-And that note-(Returning it.) - that note befits not me, young lady.

Lucy. I know it is inadequate. Yet trifling as the recompense is, take it-oh! take it, I beseech you.

Dom. (Gently pushing back her hand.) Peradventure, Miss Lucy, you are too proud to share my pittance, and I grow wearisome unto you.

Lucy. (Greatly distressed.) Oh no! you were my father's old, his only faithful friend; I am not proud-heaven knows, I have no reason to be sobut what, what can we do?

Dom. I can teach! I can write! I can cypher! I can labour! Heaven will protect! Heaven will provide, always! if our wills and endeavours be not wanting.

Lucy. Oh! sir!

Dom. (Solemnly.) But I cannot, cannot be severed from the child of my affections! the daughter of my dear, dear master! I will be no burden-I will be, Heaven willing, an aid-I—

[Lucy turns away much affected.) Enter COLONEL MANNERING and MRS. M CANDLISH, unperceived.

Flora. (Interposing.) Dear Mr. Sampson, you only distress yourself and Miss Bertram; you had ter take the

Dom. Woman, no! It is not the lucre-it is not the lucre! but I have eaten of her father's loaf, and drank of his cup for thirty years and upwards; and to think that I would leave his daughter, and leave her now, in her distress and dolour! No, Lucy Bertram-I crave pardon, Miss Bertram, I would say-you need never opine it. You would not have put a favourite dog of your father's from your door, and will you use me worse than a hound? En-

treat me not to leave thee, I beseech thee; for while Abel Sampson liveth, he will never, never be separated from thee!

[Rests upon the table, covering his face with his hands.-Exit Flora.

Mrs. M'C. (Aside to the Colonel.) Good lord, sir! did you ever hear any thing like that, from one who scarcely speaks three words on an ordinary occasion? The man's inspired!

Col. (Aside to Mrs. M'Candlish.) 'Tis the eloquence of the heart, my good lady,-whose fervour no efforts of the imagination can equal.

Lucy. Well, then, Mr. Sampson, we will not separate! no, even though our joint labours should procure our daily bread!

Dom. Gratias! beatissime!

Lucy. Alas! for the pride of birth! Of all the rich and noble, who claimed kindred with me, an heiress of that house, which was the source of their nobility-of all who shared my father's favour and hospitality, this being alone remains attached to me, who was the too frequent object of mockery and derision. [A burst of loud and boisterous mirth is heard behind the doors.] What noise of revelry is this

Mrs. M'C. Lord preserve us! they're breaking up, and, perhaps, some of 'em will be coming through here! (To Colonel Mannering, who retires a little.) Just bide a-bit here, sir.

Lucy. Gracious heaven! I thought I heard the voice of Glossin among them.

[The noise heard again. Dom. Mrs. M'Candlish, this vicinity to hilarious drunkards beseemeth not the chamber of Miss Lucy Bertram.

[Noise and laughter again heard-the doors fly open.

Enter GILBERT GLOSSIN, flushed with wine, and singing.

Lucy. (Drawing down her mourning veil.) Glossin himself! What am I doomed to suffer!

Mrs. MC. (Running up and opposing Glossin's entrance.) You really can't come this way, sir-it's impossible! there's a lady here, Mr. Glossin-a lady who would not wish to see you, sir.

Glo. Egad! I shall indulge no such caprice, Mrs M'Candlish. I have settled my bill, ma'am, and I have a right to walk into any public room in your house, ma'am. A lady not wish to see me! Egad! perhaps that's a civil hint that I should come to see her. (Advancing to Lucy.) I beg pardon, madam, if I intrude-but my name is Glossin, madam, Gilbert Glossin of Ellangowan, at your service.

Lucy. (Raising her veil with dignity.) I know it too well, sir, and how you became so. I remember my father's death-bed, and, who embittered his last moments, by pressing his alleged rights, how acquired, I leave between heaven and your own conscience.

Glo. (Aside, disconcerted.) Sta by me, good claret. Why, Miss Bertram, there are things which may have seemed harsh to you, doubtless, or any lady; but they flow from the law! from the law!

Lucy. (Calmly.) No, sir, not from the law, but from such as pervert it to their own sinister purposes, as empirics poison their patients by the undue use of medicine.

Glo. You are severe, Miss Bertram. (Assuming an air of confident familiarity.) But I trust you will see this matter otherwise. It is yet in your power to

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