son, protect the ladies. Arm yourself, and follow me; your presence may be important. [Exit. Dom. (Taking down a gun and sword from the wall.) Young ladies, follow me and fear not. Lo! I have armed myself, and will smite lustily in the cause of little Harry. (The gun goes off.) Pro-o-o-digious! [Exeunt Lucy and Julia, running, Dominie after them, dragging the gun, and awkwardly shouldering the sword. SCENE III.-The Cavern near the Tower of Derncleugh a broken and lofty entrance at the top, near the back, from which des ends a rugged path- a dark and narrow passage hewn in the rock below. DIRK HATTERAICK discovered walking up and down in the vault, near the embers of a fire. Enter GILBERT GLOSSIN from the top cautiously with a dark lantern. Glo. Hist! hist! Hat. Is it you? Glo. Are you in the dark, my dear Dirk? Hat. Dark? Dark as the devil's mouth, and my fire is out. Glo. We'll repair it in a trice. (Gathering up some dry sticks, and repairing the fire, which burns up briskly.) It is a cold place, to be sure. Hat. (Eagerly warming himself.) Cold! snowwater, and hail! It is perdition! And I could only keep myself alive, by walking up and down this infernal hole, and thinking on the merry rouses we have had in it. Glo. And shall again, boy. (Producing a flask.) See, here's something to warm your heart as well as your limbs. Hat. Give it to me, give it to me! (Drinks.) Ah! this lights the fire within. I have dreamt of nothing but that damned dead fellow, Kennedy, ever since I've been here. Glo. Come, come, the cold's at your heart still! take another pull. I left that bull-headed brute of a farmer, refreshing, as he calls it, with the soldiers, and the youngster crosses the heath alone; so, there's an easy trick to be won. Hat. No, I'd rather fight for it; a few good blows puts a colour upon such a business,-besides, I should like my revenge on that Liddesdale bully for the hard knocks he gave me. MEG MERRILIES appears through the dark narrow passage, attended by HENRY BERTRAM and DANDIE DINMONT. Meg. (In a deep whisper to Bertram.) Will you believe me now? You shall hear them attest all I have said-but do not stir till I give the sign. [They retire back. Hat. (Who has been warming himself.) Is Sebastian true, think you? Glo. True as steel! I fear none of them but old Meg. Meg. (Stepping forward.) And what d'ye fear from her? Glo. (Aside.) What fury has brought this hag hither? (To Meg.) Nay, nothing, nothing, my good mother; I was only fearing you might not come here to see our friend, Dirk Hatteraick, before he left us. Meg. What brings him back with the blood of the Kennedy upon his hands? Hat. It has dried up, you hag! It has dried up twenty years ago. Meg. It has not! the bottom of this It cries, night and day, from dungeon to the blue arch of heaven, and never so loudly as at this moment! And, yet, you proceed, at if your hands were whiter than the lily. Hat. Peace, you foul witch! or I'll make you quiet. Glo. No violence, no violence against honest Meg! I will show her such good reasons for what we have further to do -you know our purpose, I suppose? Meg. Yes!-Tomurder an unoffending youth, the heir of Ellangowan. And you, you treacherous cur! that bit the charitable hand that fed you! Will you again be helping to kidnap your master's son? Beware! I always told ye, evil would come on ye, and in this very cave. Glo. Hark ye, Meg! we must speak plain to you! My friend, Dick Hatteraick, and I, have made up nothing talking, unless you have a mind to share our minds about this youngster, and it signifies his fate. You were as deep as we in the whole business. Meg. 'Tis false; You forced me to consent that you should hurry him away, kidnap him, plunder bim; but to murder him was your own device!yours! And it has thriven with you well. Hat. The old hag has croaked nothing but evil bodings these twenty years. She has been a rocka-head to me all my life. Meg. I, a rock-a-head! The gallows is your rocka-head. Hat. Gallows! Ye hag of Satan! the hemp is not sown that shall hang me. Meg. It is sown, and it is grown, and hackled and twisted. Did I not tell you, that the boy would return in spite of you? Did I not say, the old fire would burn down to a spark, and then blaze up again? [The party appear on the watch in the narrow passage. Hat. You did; but all is lost, unless he's now made sure. Ask Glossin else. Meg. I do; and in the name of heaven, demand, if he will yet forego his foul design against his master's son ? Glo. What! and give up all to this Brown, or Bertram-this infernal heir-male, that's come back? Never! Meg. Bear witness, heaven and earth! They have confessed the past deed, and proclaimed their present purpose. [She throws a little flax, dipped in spirits of wine, on the fire, which blazes up-at this signal Henry Bertram rushes upon Glossin-Dandie Dinmont upon Dirk Hatterick, and masters his swordHatteraick suddenly fires a pistol at Meg, who falls, with a loud scream, into the arms of Dinmont-he then rushes up to the entrance of the cavern, he is met by COLONEL MANNERING and Soldiers, who instantly secure him and Glossin-Servants follow with lights. Col. (To the Soldiers.) Carry off these villains! we have heard their own tongues seal their guilt, Justice shall do the rest. (Exeunt Soldiers with Glossin and Hatteraick, through the passage.) And look to this unfortunate woman. Hasten, some one, for proper assistance. Meg. Heed me not-I knew it would be this way, and it hath ended as it ought-Bear me up-let me but see my master's son, let me but behold Henry Bertram, and bear witness to him, and the gipsy vagrant has nothing more to do with life. Dominie, (Without.) This way, Miss Lucy-this way! Where-where is little Harry Bertram? I must behold the infant, the dear child! Enter DOMINIE SAMPSON at the passage, followed by LUCY, JULIA, aud Country People, who range at the back-Dominie rushes forward impatiently. Dom. (Gazing on Bertram.) Beatissime! It is his father alive! It is, indeed, Harry, little Harry Bertram-look at me, my child! do you not remember me, Abel Sampson? Ber. A light breaks in upon me-Yes, that was, indeed, my name, and that-that is the voice and figure of my kind old master. Dom. Miss Lucy Bertram, look!-lo! behold!is he not your father's image? Embrace him, and let fall your tears upon a brother's cheek. Lucy. My brother! my long lost brother restored to his rights! Welcome !-oh! welcome to a sister's love! owned! he's owned!-There's a living witness, and Meg. (Suddenly raising herself.) Hear ye that! He's here here is one, who will soon speak no more. Hear her last words! There stands Harry Ber. tram-Shout! shout! and acknowledge him Lord of Ellangowan! (The people shout.) My ears grow dull-stand from the light, and let me gaze upon him-no, the darkness is my own eyes. (Sinks into the arms of Dinmont. Col. Come hither, some of you-bear her to Woodburne House-let all care be taken of hersupport and bear her gently away, she may yet recover. [Exit Dinmont and Attendants, bearing off Meg.] And now, Mr. Bertram, I hope no misunderstanding will prevent your accepting what I most sincerely offer, my friendship and congratulations, upon your restoration to birth and fortune. Ber. Colonel Mannering, I accept them most gladly; and if I am not deceived, the wishes of both our hearts may make us not only friends, but brothers. What say you, sister, am I right? Julia. Oh, she can't speak, so I will. Give Miss Bertram your arm, brother, and here, Henry, is mine; and now, let us go in before we talk more upon the subject. Re-enter DANLIE DINMONT. Ber. My hearty friend and brave defender, come! we cannot part with you yet. Din. I beg pardon of your honour, and these young ladies; but I haven't got my Sunday's suit on, and this coat is rather the worse for the two or three tussles we have had to-day. Ber. And can that be an objection to him, in whose cause it suffered? You may thank Mr. Dinmont's courage, ladies, for my life and safety. Lucy. Thank him! aye, that we do, and bless him for it. Din. Eh! and heaven bless you, my bonnie lass, wi' all my heart. Dom. (He kisses Lucy, who, alarmed at his boldness, runs back confused. Prodigious! Din. Lord's sake forgive me! I ask your pardon, I am sure; I forgot but ye'd been a bairn of my own. The captain here's so homely like! he just makes one forget one's self-and I'm so overjoyed and if the heir of Ellangowan be welcomed here like, at his good fortuneDom. So are we all; (Advancing to the Audience.) too, our joy will be-Prodigious!!! FINALE AND CHORUS. Julia. Oh! let your hands assure the youth, For his return is little worth Unless he's welcomed here. For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in this house, Chorus. For there's nae luck, &c. If you deny him your support, A TRAGEDY, IN THREE ACTS-BY GEORGE LILLO. Young W.-"THE WEIGHT OF THIS, TO ME IS SOME INCUMBRANCE."-Act ii, scene 3. Ridiculously sad Enter RANDAL. Where hast been, Randal? Rand. Not out of Penryn, sir; but to the strand, To hear what news from Falmouth since the storm Of wind last night. Old W. It was a dreadful one. India, For such ungrateful wretches, to be crush'd That you, more good than wise, refus'd to leave me. Rand. May I beseech you, sir Old W. With my distress, In perfect contradiction to the world, Thy love, respect, and diligence, increas'd. A noble ship from Is to discharge thee, Randal, from my hard, Ent'ring the harbour, run upon a rock, Old W. What came of those on board her? Rand. Some few are sav'd; but much the greater part, 'Tis thought are perish'd. Old W. They are past the fear Of future tempests, or a wreck on shore: Rand. I saw her pass the High-street, t'wards the Old W. She's gone to visit Charlotte. She doth In the soft bosom of that gentle maid, Unprofitable service. Rand. Heaven forbid! Shall I forsake you in your worst necessity? Old W. What! canst thou feed on air? I have not left wherewith to purchase food Rand. Rather than leave you thus, Old W. Down, down, my swelling heart, Rand. 'Tis true, I'm young, And never try'd my fortune, or my genius, Whom more than life she loves! How shun for As yet unthought of, to supply your wants. Whom we shall ne'er see more, the rich and him, Who own her charms, and sigh to make her Since our misfortunes we have found no friend, And blast her youth with our prodigious woe! How long hast thou been with me? Rand. Fifteen years. I was a very child when first ye took me Old W. That cannot be reviv'd Which never died. Rand. The whole of my intent Was to confess your bounty, that supplied The object of your charitable care. Old W. No more of that: thou'st served me Without reward; so that account is balanced, Within these walls, and all my other servants, Old W. Thou tortur'st me! I hate all obliga- Which I can ne'er return. And who art thou, Old W. Farewell! Stay; (Going.) As thou art yet a stranger to the world, Is this the man I thought so wise and just? Becomes the loathsome shelter and abode Of lurking serpents, toads, and beasts of prey; Where wisdom taught, and music charm'd before. Char. (Finds a letter.) What's this? A letter superscrib'd to me; None could convey it here but you, Maria. Mar. Why should it break your peace to hear the sighs Of honourable love? This letter is- Char. No matter whence: return it back unopen'd: I have no love, no charms, but for my Wilmot, Mar. Alas! Wilmot's dead! Or, living, dead to you. Char. I'll not despair: patience shall cherish hope; Nor wrong his honour by unjust suspicion. Can witness, they were made without reserve. By accident or absence, time or death. Mar. And did your vows oblige you to support His haughty parents, to your utter ruin? Well may you weep to think on what you've done. Char. I weep to think that I can do no morə For their support. What will become of them? The hoary, helpless, miserable pair! Mar. What I can't praise, you force me to admire, And mourn for you, as you lament for them. Char. So pride would tell me, And vain self-love, but I believe them not: Mar. You have the heavenly art still to improve Your mind by all events. But here comes one, Whose pride seems to increase with her misfor tunes. |