Who dare opine thou hither plod'st on foot?
Trim sits thy cloak, unruffled is thy band,
And not a speck upon thine outward man,
Bewrays the labours of thy weary sole.

[Touches his shoe, and smiles complacently.
Quaint was that jest and pleasant!-Now will I
Approach and hail the dwellers of this fort;
But specially sweet Flora Devorgoil,

Ere her proud sire return. He loves me not,
Mocketh my lineage, flouts at mine advancement—
Sour as the fruit the crab-tree furnishes,
And hard as is the cudgel it supplies;
But Flora-she's a lily on the lake,

And I must reach her, though I risk a ducking.

[AS GULLCRAMMER moves towards the drawbridge, BAULDIE DURWARD enters, and interposes himself betwixt him and the Castle. GULLCRAMMER stops and speaks. Whom have we here?-that ancient fortune-teller, Papist and sorcerer, and sturdy beggar,

Old Bauldie Durward! Would I were well past him! [DURWARD advances, partly in the dress of a palmer, partly in that of an old Scottish mendicant, having coarse blue cloak and badge, white beard, etc.

Dur. The blessing of the evening on your worship, And on your taff'ty doublet. Much I marvel [pests Your wisdom chooseth such trim garb,' when temAre gathering to the bursting.

Gull. (looks to his dress, and then to the sky with some apprehension). Surely, Bauldie, Thou dost belie the evening-in the west The light sinks down as lovely as this band Drops o'er this mantle-Tush, man! 'twill be fair. Dur. Ay, but the storm I bode is big with blows, Horsewhips for hailstones, clubs for thunderbolts; And for the wailing of the midnight wind, The unpitied howling of a cudgell'd coxcomb. Come, come, I know thou seek'st fair Flora DevorGull. And if I did, I do the damsel grace. Her mother thinks so, and she has accepted At these poor hands gifts of some consequence, And curious dainties for the evening cheer, To which I am invited-She respects me.

[goil.

Dur. But not so doth her father, haughty Oswald. Bethink thee, he's a baron-

Gull.
And a bare one;
Construe me that, old man!-The crofts of Muckle-
whame-

Destined for mine so soon as heaven and earth
Have shared my uncle's soul and bones between them—
The crofts of Mucklewhame, old man, which nourish
Three scores of sheep, three cows, with each her fol-
A female palfrey eke-I will be candid, [lower,
She is of that meek tribe whom, in derision,
Our wealthy southern neighbours nickname don-
keys-
[there.

Dur. She hath her follower too,-when thou art
Gull. I say to thee, these crofts of Mucklewhame,

In the mere tything of their stock and produce,
Outvie whatever patch of land remains
To this old rugged castle and its owner.
Well, therefore, may Melchisedek Gullcrammer,
Younger of Mucklewhame, for such I write me,
Master of Arts, by grace of good Saint Andrew,
Preacher, in brief expectance of a kirk,
Endow'd with ten score Scottish pounds per annum,
Being eight pounds seventeen eight in sterling coin-
Well then, I say, may this Melchisedek,

Thus highly graced by fortune-and by nature
E'en gifted as thou seest-aspire to woo
The daughter of the beggar'd Devorgoil.

Dur. Credit an old man's word, kind Master Gull-
crammer,

You will not find it so.-Come, sir, I've known
The hospitality of Mucklewhame;

It reach'd not to profuseness-yet, in gratitude
For the pure water of its living well,
And for the barley loaves of its fair fields,
Wherein chopp'd straw contended with the grain
Which best should satisfy the appetite,

I would not see the hopeful heir of Mucklewhame
Thus fling himself on danger.
[ old Oswald
Gull. Danger! what danger?-Know'st thou not,
This day attends the muster of the shire,
Where the crown-vassals meet to show their arms,
And their best horse of service ?-'Twas good sport
(An if a man had dared but laugh at it)

To see old Oswald with his rusty morion,
And huge two-handed sword, that might have seen
The field of Bannockburn or Chevy-Chase,
Without a squire or vassal, page or groom,
Or e'en a single pikeman at his heels,
Mix with the proudest nobles of the county,
And claim precedence for his tatter'd person
O'er armours double gilt and ostrich-plumage.
Dur. Ay! 'twas the jest at which fools laugh the
The downfall of our old nobility—
Which may forerun the ruin of a kingdom.
I've seen an idiot clap his hands, and shout

[loudest,

To see a tower like yon (points to a part of the Castle)

stoop to its base,

In headlong ruin; while the wise look'd round,
And fearful sought a distant stance to watch
What fragment of the fabric next should follow;
For when the turrets fall, the walls are tottering.
Gull. (after pondering). If that means aught, it means
thou saw'st old Oswald
Expell'd from the assembly.

Dur.
Thy sharp wit
Hath glanced unwittingly right nigh the truth.
Expell'd he was not, but his claim denied
At some contested point of ceremony.
He left the weaponshaw in high displeasure,
And hither comes-his wonted bitter temper
Scarce sweeten'd by the chances of the day.
"Twere much like rashness should you wait his coming,

And thither tends my counsel.
Gul.
And I'll take it;
Good Bauldie Durward, I will take thy counsel,
And will requite it with this minted farthing,
That bears our sovereign's head in purest copper.
Dur. Thanks to thy bounty-Haste thee, good young
master;

Oswald, besides the old two-handed sword,
Bears in his hand a staff of potency,
To charm intruders from his castle purlieus.
Gull. I do abhor all charms, nor will abide
To hear or see, far less to feel their use.
Behold, I have departed.

Manet DURWARD.

[Exit hastily.

Dur. Thus do I play the idle part of one
Who seeks to save the moth from scorching him
In the bright taper's flame-And Flora's beauty'
Must, not unlike that taper, waste away,
Gilding the rugged walls that saw it kindled.
This was a shard-born beetle, heavy, drossy,'
Though boasting his dull drone and gilded wing.
Here comes a flutterer of another stamp,
Whom the same ray is charming to his ruin.

Enter LEONARD, dressed as a huntsman; he pauses before the Tower, and whistles a note or two at intervals— drawing back, as if fearful of observation—yet waiting, as if expecting some reply. DURWARD, whom he had not observed, moves round, so as to front LEONARD unexpectedly.

Leo. I am too late-it was no easy task
To rid myself from yonder noisy revellers.
Flora!-I fear she's angry-Flora-Flora! 3

SONG.

Admire not that I gain'd the prize
From all the village crew;

How could I fail with hand or eyes,
When heart and faith were true?

And when in floods of rosy wine

My comrades drown'd their cares,

I thought but that thy heart was mine,
My own leapt light as theirs.

My brief delay then do not blame,
Nor deem your swain untrue;
My form but linger'd at the game,

My soul was still with you.

She hears not!

Dur. But a friend hath heard-Leonard, I pity thee. Leo. (starts, but recovers himself.) Pity, good father, is for those in want,

In age, in sorrow, in distress of mind,
Or agony of body. I'm in health-

Can match my limbs against the stag in chase,
Have means enough to meet my simple wants,
And am so free of soul that I can carol

| To woodland and to wild in notes as lively
As are my jolly bugle's.

Dur. Even therefore dost thou need my pity, LeoAnd therefore I bestow it, paying thee, [nard, Before thou feel'st the need, my mite of pity. Leonard, thou lovest; and in that little word There lies enough to claim the sympathy Of men who wear such hoary locks as mine, And know what misplaced love is sure to end in. 4 Leo. Good father, thou art old, and even thy youth, As thou hast told me, spent in cloister'd cells, Fits thee but ill to judge the passions, Which are the joy and charm of social life.

Press me no farther, then, nor waste those moments Whose worth thou canst not estimate,

"Tis seldom that a beggar claims a debt;
Yet I bethink me of a gay young stripling,
That owes to these white locks and hoary beard
Something of reverence and of gratitude
More than he wills to pay.

Leo. Forgive me, father. Often hast thou told me,
That in the ruin of my father's house
You saved the orphan Leonard in his cradle;
And well I know, that to thy care alone-
Care seconded by means beyond thy seeming-
I owe whate'er of nurture I can boast.
Dur. Then for thy life preserved,

And for the meaus of knowledge I have furnish'd,
(Which lacking, man is levell'd with the brutes,)
Grant me this boon :-Avoid these fated walls!
A curse is on them, bitter, deep, and heavy,
Of power to split the massiest tower they boast
From pinnacle to dungeon vault. It rose
Upon the gay horizon of proud Devorgoil,
As unregarded as the fleecy cloud,

The first forerunner of the hurricane,

Scarce seen amid the welkin's shadeless blue.

Dark grew it, and more dark, and still the fortunes
Of this doom'd family have darken'd with it.
It hid their sovereign's favour, and obscured
The lustre of their service, gender'd hate
Betwixt them and the mighty of the land;
Till by degrees the waxing tempest rose,
And stripp'd the goodly tree of fruit and flowers,

Illumes the cloud of night—if 1 seek these,
Are they not all with Flora? Number me
The list of female virtues one by one,

And I will answer all with Flora Devorgoll.

Dur. This is the wonted pitch of youthful passion;
And every woman who hath had a lover,
However now deem'd crabbed, cross, and cankered,
And crooked both in temper and in shape,

Has In her day been thought the purest, wisest,
Gentlest, and best condition'd-and o'er all
Fairest and liveliest of Eve's numerous daughters.
"Leo. Good father, thou art old," etc. ]

That easily accepted such a present.

Kat. Now, here's the game a bystander sees better Than those who play it.-My good aunt is pondering On the good cheer which Gullcrammer has sent us, And Flora thinks upon the forest venison. [Aside. El. (to Flo.) Thy father need not know on't-'tis a Comes timely, when frugality, nay, abstinence, [boon Might scarce avail us longer. I had hoped Ere now a visit from the youthful donor, That we might thank his bounty; and perhaps My Flora thought the same, when Sunday's kerchief And the best kirtle were sought out, and donn'd To grace a work-day evening.

Flo. Nay, mother, that is judging all too close! My work-day gown was torn-my kerchief sullied; And thus-But, think you, will the gallant come? El. He will, for with these dainties came a message From gentle Master Gullcrammer, to intimateFlo. (greatly disappointed.) Gullcrammer?

Proffers thee quiet, peace, and competence,
Redemption from a home, o'er which fell Fate
Stoops like a falcon.-O, if thou couldst choose
(As no such choice is given) 'twixt such a mate
And some proud noble !-Who, in sober judgment,
Would like to navigate the heady river,
Dashing in fury from its parent mountain,
More than the waters of the quiet lake?

Kat. Now can I hold no longer-Lake, good aunt? Nay, in the name of truth, say mill-pond, horse-pond; Or if there be a pond more miry,

More sluggish, mean-derived, and base than either,
Be such Gullcrammer's emblem-and his portion!
Flo. I would that he or I were in our grave,
Rather than thus his suit should goad me!-Mother,
Flora of Devorgoil, though low in fortunes,
Is still too high in mind to join her name
With such a base-born as Gullcrammer.
El. You are trim maidens both!

And cousin's like to cry for't!

El. Gullcrammer? ay, Gullcrammer-thou scorn'st not at him?

'Twere something short of wisdom in a maiden,
Who, like the poor bat in the Grecian fable,
Hovers betwixt two classes in the world,
And is disclaim'd by both the mouse and bird.
Kat.
I am the poor mouse,
And may go creep into what hole I list,
And no one heed me-Yet I'll waste a word
Of counsel on my betters.-Kind my aunt,
And you, my gentle cousin, were't not better
We thought of dressing this same gear for supper,
Than quarrelling about the worthless donor?
El. Peace, minx!
Flo.

Thou hast no feeling, cousin Katleen.

Kat. Soh! I have brought them both on my poor shoulders;

So meddling peace-makers are still rewarded:
E'en let them to't again, and fight it out.

Flo. Mother, were I disclaim'd of every class,
I would not therefore so disclaim myself,
As even a passing thought of scorn to waste
On cloddish Gullcrammer.

El. List to me, love, and let adversity
Incline thine ear to wisdom.-Look around thee-
Of the gay youths who boast a noble name,
Which will incline to wed a dowerless damsel?
And of the yeomanry, who think'st thou, Flora,
Would ask to share the labours of his farm
An high-born beggar?-This young man is mo-
dest--

Flo. Silly, good mother; sheepish, if you will it. El. E'en call it what you list-the softer temper, The fitter to endure the bitter sallies

Of one whose wit is all too sharp for mine.

Flo. Mother, you cannot mean it as you say; You cannot bid me prize conceited folly ?

[ings. El. Content thee, child-each lot has its own blessThis youth, with his plain-dealing honest suit,

Have you forgotten,
Or did you mean to call to my remembrance
Thy father chose a wife of peasant blood?
Flo. Will you speak thus to me, or think the stream
Can mock the fountain it derives its source from?
My venerated mother, in that name

Lies all on earth a child should chiefest honour;
And with that name to mix reproach or taunt,
Were only short of blasphemy to Heaven.

El. Then listen, Flora, to that mother's counsel,
Or rather profit by that mother's fate.
Your father's fortunes were but bent, not broken,
Until he listen'd to his rash affection.
Means were afforded to redeem his house,
Ample and large-the hand of a rich heiress
Awaited, almost courted, his acceptance;
He saw my beauty-such it then was call'd,
Or such at least he thought it-the wither'd bush,
Whate'er it now may seem, had blossoms then,—
And he forsook the proud and wealthy heiress,
To wed with me and ruin--

Say I, apart, the peasant maiden then,
Who might have chose a mate from her own hamlet.
El. Friends fell off,

And to his own resources, his own counsels,
Abandon'd, as they said, the thoughtless prodigal,
Who had exchanged rank, riches, pomp, and honour,
For the mean beauties of a cottage maid.

Flo. It was done like my father, Who scorn'd to sell what wealth can never buyTrue love and free affections. And he loves you! If you have suffer'd in a weary world, Your sorrows have been jointly borne, and love Has made the load sit lighter. [in't,

El. Ay, but a misplaced match hath that deep curse That can embitter e'en the purest streams Of true affection. Thou hast seen me seek, With the strict caution early habits taught me, To match our wants and means-hast seen thy father, With aristocracy's high brow of scorn, Spurn at economy, the cottage virtue,