That glances in the tower.

Auch. Let us withdraw-for should he spy us sudHe may suspect us, and alarm the family. [denly, Phil. Fear not, MacLellan has his trust and confidence,

Bought with a few sweet words and welcomes home.
Auch. But think you that the Ranger may be trusted?
Phil. I'll answer for him.-Let's go float the shallop.
[They go off, and as they leave the Stage, MAC-
LELLAN is seen descending from the Tower
with QUENTIN. The former bears a dark lan-
tern. They come upon the Stage.
Mac. (showing the light.) So-bravely done-that's
the last ledge of rocks,

And we are on the sands.-I have broke your slumbers
Somewhat untimely.
Quen.
Do not think so, friend.
These six years past I have been used to stir
When the reveille rung; and that, believe me,
Chooses the hours for rousing me at random,
And, having given its summons, yields no license
To indulge a second slumber. Nay, more, I'll tell thee,
That, like a pleased child, I was e'en too happy
For sound repose.

Mac.
The greater fool were you.
Men should enjoy the moments given to slumber :
For who can tell how soon may be the waking,
Or where we shall have leave to sleep again?

Quen. The God of Slumber comes not at command. Last night the blood danced merry through my veins. Instead of finding this our land of Carrick The dreary waste my fears had apprehended, I saw thy wife, MacLellan, and thy daughter, And had a brother's welcome;-saw thee, too. Renew'd my early friendship with you both, And felt once more that I had friends and country. So keen the joy that tingled through my system, Join'd with the searching powers of yonder wine, That I am glad to leave my feverish lair, Although my hostess smooth'd my couch herself, To cool my brow upon this moonlight beach, Gaze on the moonlight dancing on the waves. Such scenes are wont to sooth me into melancholy; But such the hurry of my spirits now, That every thing I look on makes me laugh.

Mac. I've seen but few so gamesome, Master Quentin, Being roused from sleep so suddenly as you were. Quen. Why, there's the jest on't. Your old castle's haunted.

In vain the host-in vain the lovely hostess,
In kind addition to all means of rest,
Add their best wishes for our sound repose,
When some hobgoblin brings a pressing message :
Montgomery presently must see his sergeant,
And up gets Hildebrand, and off he trudges.
I can't but laugh to think upon the grin
With which he doff'd the kerchief he had twisted
Around his brows, and put his morion on-
Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Mac.
I'm glad to see you merry, Quentin.
Quen. Why, faith, my spirits are but transitory,
And you may live with me a month or more,

And never see me smile. Then some such trifle
As yonder little maid of yours would laugh at,
Will serve me for a theme of merriment-
Even now, I scarce can keep my gravity;
We were so snugly settled in our quarters,
With full intent to let the sun be high
Ere we should leave our beds-and first the one
And then the other's summon'd briefly forth,
To the old tune, "Black Bandsmen, up and march!"
Mac. Well! you shall sleep anon-rely upon it—
And make up time misspent. Meantime, methinks,
You are so merry on your broken slumbers,
You ask not why I call'd you.
Quen.
You lack my aid to search the weir for seals,
You lack my company to stalk a deer.
Think you I have forgot your silvan tasks,
Which oft you have permitted me to share,
Till days that we were rivals?
Mac.

Of that too?

Quen.

I can guess;

You have memory

Like the memory of a dream, Delusion far too exquisite to last.

Mac. You guess not then for what I call It was to meet a friend

you forth.

Quen. What friend? Thyself excepted,
The good old man who's gone to see Montgomery,
And one to whom I once gave dearer title,

I know not in wide Scotland man or woman
Whom I could name a friend.

Mac.
Thou art mistaken.
There is a Baron, and a powerful one-

Quen. There flies my fit of mirth. You have a grave And alter'd man before you.

Mac. Compose yourself, there is no cause for fear,He will and must speak with you.

Quen. Spare me the meeting, Niel. I cannot see him. Say, I'm just landed on my native earth; Say, that I will not cumber it a day; Say, that my wretched thread of poor existence Shall be drawn out in solitude and exile, Where never memory of so mean a thing Again shall cross his path-but do not ask me To see or speak again with that dark man!

Mac. Your fears are now as foolish as your mirth— What should the powerful Knight of Auchindrane In common have with such a man as thou?

Quen. No matter what-Enough, I will not see him. Mac. He is thy master, and he claims obedience. Quen. My master? Ay, my task-master-Ever since I could write, man, his hand hath been upon me; No step I've made but cumber'd with his chain, And I am weary on't-I will not see him.

Mac. You must and shall—there is no remedy. Quen. Take heed that you compel me not to find one, I've seen the wars since we had strife together; To put my late experience to the test Were something dangerous-Ha, I am betray'd!

[While the latter part of this dialogue is passing, AUCHINDRANE and PHILIP enter on the Stage from behind, and suddenly present themselves.

For bidding me go forth with yonder traitor.
Off. Assure yourself 'twas a concerted stratagem.
Montgomery's been at Holyrood for months,
And can have sent no letter-'twas a plan
On you and on your dollars, and a base one,
To which this Ranger was most likely privy;
Such men as he hang on our fiercer barons,
The ready agents of their lawless will;

Boys of the belt, who aid their master's pleasures,
And in his moods ne'er scruple his injunctions.
But haste, for now we must unkennel Quentin;
I've strictest charge concerning him.

Ser. Go up, then, to the tower. You've younger limbs than mine-there shall you find Lounging and snoring, like a lazy cur [him Before a stable door; it is his practice.

[The OFFICER goes up to the Tower, and after knocking without receiving an answer, turns the key which MARION had left in the lock, and enters; ISABEL, dressed as if for her dance, runs out and descends to the Stage; the OFFICER follows.

Offi. There's no one in the house, this little maid Excepted-

Is.
And for me, I'm there no longer,
And will not be again for three hours good:
I'm gone to join my playmates on the sands.

It was the water-spirit, sure, which promised
Mercy to boat and fisherman, if we
Perform'd to-day's rites duly. Let me go-
I am to lead the ring.

[more;
Offi. (to Ser.) Detain her not. She cannot tell us
To give her liberty is the sure way
[men,
To lure her parents homeward.—Strahan, take two
And should the father or the mother come,
Arrest them both, or either. Auchindrane
May come upon the beach; arrest him also,
But do not state a cause. I'll back again,
And take directions from my Lord Dunbar.
Keep you upon the beach, and have an eye
To all that passes there.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt separately.

to me distinctly

[night,

Is. After you went last night, my father Grew moody, and refused to doff his clothes, Or go to bed, as sometimes he will do When there is aught to chafe him. Until past midHe wander'd to and fro, then call'd the stranger, The gay young man, that sung such merry songs, Yet ever look'd most sadly whilst he sung them, And forth they went together. Offi.

And you've seen Or heard nought of them since?

Is. Seen surely nothing, and I cannot think
That they have lot or share in what I heard.

I heard my mother praying, for the corpse-lights
Were dancing on the waves; and at one o'clock,
Just as the Abbey steeple toll'd the knell,
There was a heavy plunge upon the waters,
And some one cried aloud for mercy!—mercy!

And I have lost the battle. I would give

A thousand crowns to hear a mortal steel Ring on a mortal harness.

[turn

Auch. How now!-Art mad, or hast thou done the The turn we came for, and must live or die by? Phil. 'Tis done, if man can do it; but I doubt If this unhappy wretch have Heaven's permission To die by mortal hands.

Auch. Where is he?—where's MacLellan ? Phil. In the deepBoth in the deep, and what's immortal of them Gone to the judgment-seat, where we must meet them. Auch. MacLellan dead, and Quentin too?-So be it To all that menace ill to Auchindrane, Or have the power to injure him!-Thy words Are full of comfort, but thine eye and look Have in this pallid gloom a ghastliness, Which contradicts the tidings of thy tongue. '—

Phil. Hear me, old man-There is a heaven above us, As you have heard old Knox and Wishart preach, Though little to your boot. The dreaded witness Is slain, and silent. But his misused body Comes right ashore, as if to cry for vengeance; It rides the waters like a living thing, Erect, as if he trode the waves which bear him. Auch. Thou speakest frenzy, when sense is most required.

2

Phil. Hear me yet more!-I say I did the deed

[This man's brow, like to a title leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume;
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy check
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand."

24 King Henry IV. ]

[

---Walks the waters like a thing of life."] BYRON-The Corsair.

With all the coolness of a practised hunter
When dealing with a stag. I struck him overboard,
And with MacLellan's aid I held his head
Under the waters, while the Ranger tied
The weights we had provided to his feet.
We cast him loose when life and body parted,
And bid him speed for Ireland. But even then,
As in defiance of the words we spoke,
The body rose upright behind our stern,
One half in ocean, and one half in air,
And tided after as in chase of us.'

Auch. It was enchantment!-Did you strike at it?
Phil. Once and again. But blows avail'd no more
Than on a wreath of smoke, where they may break
The column for a moment, which unites
And is entire again. Thus the dead body
Sunk down before my oar, but rose unharm'd,
And dogg'd us closer still, as in defiance.

Auch. 'Twas Hell's own work!-
Phil.

MacLellan then grew restive
And desperate in his fear, blasphemed aloud,
Cursing us both as authors of his ruin.
Myself was wellnigh frantic while pursued
By this dead shape, upon whose ghastly features
The changeful moonbeam spread a grisly light;
And, baited thus, I took the nearest way '
To ensure his silence, and to quell his noise;
I used my dagger, and I flung him overboard,
And half expected his dead carcass also

Would join the chase-but he sunk down at once. Auch. He had enough of mortal sin about him,

To sink an argosy.

If Quentin's body shall be recognised;

For 'tis ashore already; and he bears

Marks of my handiwork; so does MacLellan.

Auch. The concourse thickens still-Away, away! We must avoid the multitude.

SCENE III.

[They rush out.

Scene changes to another part of the Beach. Children are seen dancing, and Villagers looking on. ISABEL seems to take the management of the Dance. Village woman. How well she queens it, the brave little maiden ! [cradle, 1st Villager. Ay, they all queen it from their very

[This passage was probably suggested by a striking one in Southey's Life of Nelson, touching the corpse of the Neapolitan Prince Caraccioli, executed on board the Foudroyant, then the great British Admiral's flag-ship, in the bay of Naples in 1799. The circumstances of Caraccioli's trial and death form, it is almost needless to observe, the most unpleasant chapter in Lord Nelson's history :

"The body," says Southey, "was carried out to a considerable distance and sunk in the bay, with three double-headed shot, weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, tied to its legs. Between two or three weeks afterwards, when the King (of Naples) was on board the Foudroyant, a Neapolitan fisherman came to the ship, and solemnly declared, that Caraccioli had risen from the bottom

[He goes to the back scene, and seems attempting

to turn the body, which has come ashore with its face downwards.

Will none of you come aid to turn the body? [man.
Is. You're cowards all.-I'll help thee, good old
[She goes to aid the SERGEANT with the body, and
presently gives a cry, and faints. HILDE-
BRAND comes forward. All crowd round him ;
he speaks with an expression of horror.
Ser. 'Tis Quentin Blane! Poor youth, his gloomy
bodings

Have been the prologue to an act of darkness;
His feet are manacled, his bosom stabb'd,
And he is foully murder'd. The proud Knight
And his dark Ranger must have done this deed,
For which no common ruffian could have motive.

of the sea, and was coming as fast as he could to Naples, swimming half out of the water. Such an account was listened to like a tale of idle credulity. The day being fair, Nelson, to please the King, stood out to sea; but the ship had not proceeded far before a body was distinctly seen, upright in the water, and approaching them. It was recognised to be, indeed, the corpse of Caraccioli, which had risen and floated, while the great weights attached to the legs kept the body in a position like that of a living man. A fact so extraordinary astonished the King, and perhaps excited some feelings of superstitious fear, akin to regret. He gave permission for the body to be taken on shore, and receive Christian burial."—Life of Nelson, chap. vi.]