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 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN HOME, ESQ.

 
 
 from ail original Picture in rtu- posst-asion of SirO Wa 
 
 Av A- r,-n.tt>iMr I f
 
 "T I U 
 
 >J O^k") rT i 
 
 THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN HOME, ESQ. 
 
 NOW FIRST COLLECTED. 
 
 TO WHICH IS PREFIXED, 
 
 AN ACCOUNT 
 
 OP 
 
 HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY MACKENZIE, ESQ. F. R. S. E. 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH ; 
 AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. LONDON. 
 
 1822.
 
 11 O W 
 
 Printed by James BullaiUync and Co. Edinburgh,
 
 TO 
 
 THE READER. 
 
 THE reader of this Biographical Account 
 may perhaps be surprised to find it now 
 given to the public in the same form as it 
 was originally read to the Royal Society of 
 Edinburgh. In truth, there was at that 
 time no intention of publishing it, as I con- 
 ceived the life of Mr Home, the situation 
 of the friends with whom he was connect- 
 ed, and the circumstances of the time in 
 which he lived, to be so locally peculiar to 
 Scotland, that they would not interest read- 
 ers of the sister kingdom. It was afterwards, 
 VOL. i. a
 
 vi TO THE HEADER. 
 
 however, strongly urged by some friends, 
 for whose opinion I have great respect, that 
 the literature of this country had now be- 
 come so much an object of attention to our 
 southern neighbours, that any details rela- 
 ting to it, given by one who had known it 
 almost from its first dawning to the present 
 time, would interest the English nearly, if 
 not quite, as much as the Scots reader. Still, 
 however, diffident af its value in the more 
 formal shape of a book, I chose to give it to 
 the world, under the protection, as it were, 
 of the Society to which it had been read, 
 in the less assuming form in which itwas pre- 
 sented to that learned body. I have now 
 another motive for this, which is still more 
 egotistical, and for which, therefore, I am 
 not sure if I can claim the sympathy of the 
 reader. In reviewing these sheets, as they 
 were read to the Eoyal Society, I feel the 
 melancholy indulgence (natural to my period 
 of life,) of recalling the times and occasions
 
 TO THE READER. Vll 
 
 when they were originally produced; times 
 and occasions which live in my recollection, 
 associated with the tender remembrance of 
 those literary friends whom I have, alas ! 
 survived, but who remain, and, while I live, 
 will remain, hallowed in my sense of their 
 talents and their worth.
 
 ll I :.Hi!
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 ACCOUNT or THE LIFE OF Ma JOHN HOME 1 
 
 Appendix to Biographical Account of Mr John Home, consist- 
 ing of Letters to and from ,his Friends 123 
 
 DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 Dedication 185 
 
 AGIS ........ 189 
 
 DOUGLAS 287 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 SIEGE OF AQUILEIA 1 
 
 THE FATAL DISCOVERY 89 
 
 ALONZO 179 
 
 ALFRED 27 A 
 
 HISTORY OF THE REBELLION, 1745. 
 
 Dedication 375 
 
 Preface 377 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Subject. Introduction. Extent and Limits of the High- 
 lands of Scotland. Manners of the Highlanders. Clanship. 
 The Highlanders inferior to the Lowlanders in Arms. When 
 and how they became superior. Their Attachment to the 
 Family of Stuart. They take Arms at every Crisis of Pub- 
 lic Affairs. Measure suggested to reconcile them to Govern- 
 ment. Approved by Sir Robert Walpole. Recommended 
 by him to the Cabinet Council. Rejected by the Cabinet 
 Council. Britain declares War against Spain 384
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Conspiracy to restore the Family of Stuart Engagement to 
 take Arms Sent to the Old Pretender Transmitted by 
 him to Cardinal Fleury. War at the Death of Charles VI. 
 Emperor of Germany. The House of Austria attacked 
 Assisted by Great Britain. Cardinal Fleury sends an Agent 
 to Edinburgh. Plan of Invasion. Death of Cardinal Fleury. 
 Succeeded by Cardinal de Tencin. Charles Stuart arrives at 
 Paris Goes to Dunkirk. The Troops begin to embark. 
 Design of Invasion frustrated by a Storm. Charles embarks 
 for Scotland Lands in the Highlands 409 
 
 VOLUME III. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Charles at Boradale His Interview with Lochiel Resolves 
 to erect his Standard. Commencement of Hostilities. Sir 
 John Cope His Correspondence with the Secretary of State 
 Marches towards Fort Augustus. The Rebels take post 
 on his way to the Fort. Sir John changes his Route. The 
 Rebels advance to the Southward. Alarm at Edinburgh 
 Condition of the City. The Rebels take possession of Perth. 
 Petition of the Citizens of Edinburgh for Leave to take 
 Arms The Petition granted. Observations 3 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Preparations to defend the City. Transports sent for General 
 Cope's Army. Notice that the Rebels had left Perth 
 Their March. Conduct of the Volunteers. The Highland- 
 ers advance towards Edinburgh. Retreat of the Dragoons. 
 Consternation in the City. Meeting of the Magistrates and 
 Citizens Proceedings of the Meeting. Deputation sent to 
 Charles. Notice that the Transports are off Dunbar. Re- 
 turn of the Deputies. Another Deputation sent out. The 
 Deputies ordered to be gone. The Rebels get Possession of 
 the City 38
 
 CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Charles comes to Holyrood House. His Father proclaimed. 
 The Dragoons join Sir John Cope His march towards 
 Edinburgh Receives Information of the Rebels advancing 
 to meet him Forms his Army to receive the Enemy The 
 Rebels come in sight. A Morass between the Armies. Va- 
 rious Movements till Night. The Rebels pass the Morass. 
 The Battle of Preston TO 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Charles at Holyrood House Resolutions of his Council. Con- 
 test with General Guest in the Castle. The Rebels reinfor- 
 ced. Some Ships arrive from France. Correspondence of 
 Charles with the Chiefs. Of the Chiefs with one another. 
 Their Engagements to join the Rebel Army. Message by 
 Lord Lovat's Secretary. Embarrassment of Charles and his 
 Council. Resolution and Preparations to March into Eng- 
 land. Number of the Rebels when they left Edinburgh . 98 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 March of the Rebels towards Carlisle. Carlisle invested. Ge- 
 neral Wade at Newcastle. Charles marches to Brampton. 
 The Duke of Perth sent back to' besiege Carlisle. The 
 Mayor capitulates. The Rebels take possession of the City. 
 Dissension in their Army. Cause of Dissension. The Cause 
 removed. A Council of War. Order sent to Lord Strath- 
 allan. March of the Rebels from Carlisle. They arrive at 
 Derby. Council held at Derby. Resolution of the Council 
 to march back. The Retreat begins. The Duke of Cum- 
 berland pursues. Skirmish, at Clifton. The Rebels con- 
 tinue their march. Cross the Esk, and return to Scotland 117 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 State of Scotland while the Rebel Army was in England. 
 Preparations for War. Head-Quarters of both Armies 
 Skirmish at Inverury. Number of the Rebels Contention 
 and Animosity amongst them. Charles marches to Stirling 
 The Town surrenders. The Rebels besiege the Castle. 
 General Hawley marches to raise the Siege. The two Annies
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 FA 01. 
 
 meet at Falkirk. The King's Array defeated. The Rebels 
 take possession of Falkirk Tumult and Mutiny in their 
 Army. The Duke of Cumberland arrives at Edinburgh 
 Marches to attack the Rebels They retreat to the High- 
 lands. Escape, from the Castle of Downe, of the Volunteers 
 taken Prisoners after the Battle of Falkirk 132 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Duke of Cumberland pursues the Rebels Halts at Perth 
 Sends several Detachments of his Army to different 
 Places. The Prince of Hesse, with a Body of his Troops, 
 escorted by Ships of War, arrives in the Frith of Forth. 
 The Duke of Cumberland comes from Perth to visit the 
 Prince of Hesse. A Council of War at Edinburgh. The 
 Duke of Cumberland returns to Perth Sends several Regi- 
 ments to Dundee Marches himself with the main Body of 
 his Army to Aberdeen Halts there some time. Charles 
 with a few Men at Moy, near Inverness. An attempt made 
 by Lord London to seize him. The attempt defeated. 
 Charles assembles his Men Marches to Inverness. Lord 
 Loudon retreats to Ross-shire. Charles besieges the Castle 
 of Inverness. The Castle surrenders. Various Expeditions 
 of the Rebels while the Duke's Army lay at Aberdeen. Ac- 
 count of these Expeditions. An Order from Charles to the 
 Commanding Officers to desist from them, and join him at 
 Inverness 176 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The Duke of Cumberland at Aberdeen. His Army leaves 
 Aberdeen Proceeds towards Inverness. Skirmish at the 
 Bridge of Nairne. The Rear-guard of the Rebels retreats 
 The Van-guard of the Duke's Army pursues. Charles 
 comes up with a Body of his Troops. The Van-guard of 
 the Duke's Army retreats Joins their main Body. Design 
 of a Night Attack. Night March of the Rebels. The De- 
 sign frustrated. The Rebels retreat to Culloden. March 
 of the Duke of Cumberland to attack them. Defeat and 
 Dispersion of the Rebel Army. . . 187
 
 CONTENTS. IX 
 
 PA.OS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Circumstances and Incidents at the Battle of Culloden. Num- 
 ber of the Slain in both Armies. Fate of the Chiefs who 
 commanded the Highland Regiments that attacked the 
 King's Army. Route of Charles when he left the Field 
 Crosses the River of Nairn Halts there some time Goes 
 to Gorthleek Sees Lord Lovat Travels through the High- 
 lands to Boradale Embarks for the Long Island His 
 Danger and Distress there Returns to the Main-land 
 His Distress does not abate Joins Lochiel and Cluny 
 Lives with them in the Great Mountain Senalder. Notice 
 comes that two French Frigates are arrived at Boradale. 
 He travels to Boradale Embarks, and lands in France 222 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. Letter from the Old Pretender, addressed to Mr Johnstone, 
 'junior, that is, Young Lochiel. April llth, 1727 . . . 253 
 
 II. Letter from Allan Cameron to his Nephew, Young 
 Lochiel. Albano, October 3d, 1729 . 254 
 
 III. Letter from the Old Pretender to one of his Adherents in 
 Scotland. March llth, 1743 259 
 
 IV. Answers to some Queries sent to a Person in Scotland, by 
 the Pretender, or some of the people about him. Edinburgh, 
 January 8th, 1736 262 
 
 Correspondence between the Marquis of Tweedale, Secretary of 
 State, and Lord Milton, Justice Clerk, from the first surmise of 
 a Rebellion. 
 
 V. Letter from the Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton, 
 Whitehall, July 30th, 1745 265 
 
 VI. Lord Milton's Answer. Roseneath, August 4th, 1745 .269 
 
 VII. Letter Lord Milton to the Marquis of Tweedale. Rose- 
 neath, August 7th, 1745 269 
 
 VIII. Letter Lord Milton to the Marquis of Tweedale. 
 Roseneath, August 10th, 1745 270 
 
 IX. Letter Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton. White- 
 hall, August 13th, 1745 272
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 X. Letter Lord Milton to the Marquis of Tweedale Brun- 
 stane, August 20th, 1745 274 
 
 XI. Letter from the Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton. 
 Whitehall, August 22d, 1745 275 
 
 XII. Letter Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton. Whitehall, 
 24th August, 1745 276 
 
 XIII. Letter Lord Milton to the Marquis of Tweedale. Brun- 
 stane, 29th August, 1745 278 
 
 XIV. Letter Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton. White- 
 hall, 29th August, 1745 280 
 
 XV. Letter from the Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton. 
 Whitehall, 3d September, 1745 1 281 
 
 XVI. Letter Lord Milton to the Marquis of Tweedale. Edin- 
 burgh, 6th September, 1745 282 
 
 XVII. Letter Lord Milton to the Marquis of Tweedale. 
 Edinburgh, 7th September, 1745 284 
 
 XVIII. Letter Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton. White- 
 hall, 12th September, 1745 286 
 
 XIX. Letter Lord Milton to the Marquis of Tweedale. 
 Edinburgh, 16th September, 1745 289 
 
 XX. Letter from the Marquis of Tweedale to Lord Milton. 
 Whitehall, 21st September, 1745 296 
 
 XXI. Letter from the Lord President to Sir Alexander Mac- 
 donald. Culloden, 19th August, 19th August, 1745 . . . 298 
 
 XXII. Letter from the Lord President to Sir John Cope. Cul- 
 loden, 20th August, 1745 301 
 
 XXIII. Letter Sir John Cope to Lord Milton. From the 
 Camp at Inverness, 31st August, 1745 305 
 
 XXIV. Letter Lord Milton to Mr Maule, afterwards Baron 
 Maule. Edinburgh, Sept. 6th, 1745 308 
 
 XXV. Letter General Guest to Lord Milton. Thursday 
 Morning 307 
 
 XXVI. Letter Lord Milton to Sir John Cope. Edinburgh, 
 5th September, 1745 '307 
 
 XXVII. Letter concerning the Arms of the Highlanders, 
 dated Kilmuir, in the Isle of Skye 309 
 
 XXVIII. Instructions for Mr Alexander Macleod, Advocate . 310 
 
 XXIX. Letter from Eraser of Foyers to the Duke of Athole. 
 October 9th, 1745 313
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 XXX. Queries sent to Mr Patullo, with his Answers. Patullo 
 had been Muster-master of the Rebel army, in the Year 
 1745, and had lived in Exile at Paris many years . . . 314 
 
 XXXI. Letter from Lord Milton to the Duke of Argyll, at 
 London. Edinburgh, 21st November, 1745 318 
 
 XXXII. John Hay's Account of the Retreat of the Rebels from 
 Derby , 321 
 
 XXXIII. Queries sent to Charles at Rome, called there the 
 Count of Albany, with his Answer 228 
 
 XXXIV. Letter from Macpherson of Cluny to one of his 
 Friends in Scotland. Carlisle, 20th December, 1745 . . 325 
 
 XXXV. Letter Lord John Drummond to Lord Fortrose. 
 Perth, 6th December, 1745 327 
 
 XXXVI. Letter from the Duke of Newcastle to Lord Milton. 
 Whitehall, 14th December, 1745 829 
 
 XXXVII. Letter from the Duke of Newcastle to the Lord 
 President. Whitehall, llth January, 1746 ...... .332 
 
 XXXVIII. Letter Lord Milton to General Hawley. Edin- 
 burgh, Jan. eeth, 1746 334 
 
 XXXIX. Address from the Chiefs to Charles, after the Bat- 
 tle of Falkirk, advising a Retreat to the North. Falkirk, 29th 
 January, 1746 335 
 
 XL. John Hay's Account of the Retreat from Stirling . . 338 
 
 XLI. Letter Secretary Murray to Cameron of Lochiel. Fort 
 Augustus, 14th March, 1746 839 
 
 XLII. Copy Letter Lord George Murray, calling himself De 
 Vallignie, to Mr William Hamilton, Esq. of Bangour. Em- 
 merick, 5th August, 1749 342 
 
 XLI 1 1. John Hay's Account of the Retreat after the Night 
 March to attack the Duke's Army at Nairn 355 
 
 XLIV. Answer by Charles, called the Count of Albany, at 
 Rome 357 
 
 XLV. Narrative of Flora Macdonald, giving an Account of 
 her Interviews with Charles, in the Long Island, and the 
 Manner in which she conducted him to the Isle of Skye . 358 
 
 XLVI. Cluny's Account of Lochiel and himself, after the 
 Battle of Culloden ; of their meeting with Charles ; and the 
 extraordinary Habitation called the Cage, where Charles
 
 XII CONTKNT8. 
 
 PACK. 
 
 lived with them, till he received notice that two French Fri- 
 gates were arrived at Lochnanuagh $62 
 
 XLVII. Resolutions by the Rebel Chiefs, after the Battle of 
 Culloden. Muirlaggan, 8th May, 1746 869 
 
 X LVIII. Letter from Lochiel to Cluny. Locharkaik, 13th 
 May, 1746 . . 373 
 
 XLIX. Letter Secretary Murray to Macpherson of Cluny. 
 Invermeley, 19th May, 1746 374 
 
 L. Letter from Lochiel to some of the Chiefs, who had agreed 
 to take arms. 25th May, 1746 876 
 
 LI. Extracts from his Majesty's State Papers, relative to Scot- 
 land, in the Year 1745-6 377
 
 ACCOUNT 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME * 
 
 THE biography of literary men is generally little 
 more than a chronological account of their works, 
 with a few private anecdotes, which, except being 
 connected with, and, as it were, ennobled by their 
 works, it could not be an object to record. But 
 with that connection in their favour, the else un- 
 valued circumstances of their lives acquire an in- 
 terest with the reader proportionate to that which 
 the writings of the author have excited ; and we 
 are anxious to know every little occurrence which 
 befel him who was giving, at the period when 
 these occurrences took place, the product of his 
 mind to the public. We are anxious to know how 
 the world treated the man who was labouring for 
 its instruction or amusement, as well as the effect 
 
 * Read at the Royal Society, on Monday, 22d June 1812. 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 which his private circumstances had on his literary 
 productions, or the complexion, as one may term 
 it, which those productions borrowed from the inci- 
 dents of his life. 
 
 The above considerations afford an apology for 
 the narratives of the comparatively unimportant 
 occupations which the world peruses with so much 
 attention and interest ; they help that personifica- 
 tion of an author which the reader of his work 
 so naturally indulges ; and if they sometimes put 
 that reader right in his estimate of the influence 
 of genius or feeling upon conduct, they serve at the 
 same time as a moral lesson on the subject, and 
 mark, as it were, one of the unexpected shores or 
 islands, sometimes it may be rocks or quicksands, 
 on the chart of life. 
 
 The subject of the Memoir which I now take 
 the liberty of laying before the Society, is some- 
 what more entitled to notice than the common bio- 
 graphy of mere literary men, from the peculiar cir- 
 cumstances in which the person of whom it treats 
 was placed ; and more particularly as he began to 
 write in the dawn of that period of literary emi- 
 nence which our countrymen have so much illus- 
 trated, and was extremely intimate with most of 
 those men to whom Scotland owes so much of its 
 reputation in the world of letters. 
 
 It is on this ground chiefly that I venture to 
 submit it to the Society, not as a thing of any va-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 3 
 
 lue in itself, but as borrowing some estimation 
 from the era of which it speaks, and the names 
 which that era introduces to their notice. It is 
 only with reference to this sort of chronicle that it 
 pretends to claim your attention, and that he who 
 reads it could now pretend to make it worthy of 
 your hearing. That waning age, and often inter- 
 rupted health, which have so long delayed its pro- 
 duction, even in a very imperfect state, have blunt- 
 ed, he is well aware, those powers which the world 
 were kindly disposed to estimate, more from their 
 application and tendency than from their intrinsic 
 worth. 
 
 The first favoured lot of age is to retain its 
 powers undecayed ; the next is his who is sensible 
 of their decay, and diffident of their exertions. 
 The Society will pardon this little digression of 
 egotism in one who will never probably be heard 
 by it again in the first person, and who scarce pre- 
 sumes to expect that any partial friends will deem 
 him of importance enough to recal him to its re- 
 membrance in the third. 
 
 JOHN HOME, of whose life I am to read the fol- 
 lowing sketch, was born at Leith, on the 22d day 
 of September, 1722, O. S. He was the son of Mr 
 Alexander Home, town-clerk of Leith, and Mrs 
 Christian Hay, daughter of Mr John Hay, writer 
 in Edinburgh, of a respectable family in the north
 
 4 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 of Scotland. His father was a son of Mr Home 
 of Flass, in the county of Berwick, a lineal descend- 
 ant of Sir James Home of Cowdenknows, ancestor 
 of the present Earl of Home. 
 
 Mr Home (according to the narrative, for which 
 I am indebted to an intimate friend and relation 
 of his) was educated at the Grammar School of 
 Leith, and the University of Edinburgh. In both 
 these seminaries he prosecuted his studies with re- 
 markable diligence and success. While he attend- 
 ed the University, his talents, his progress in lite- 
 rature, and his peculiarly agreeable manners, soon 
 excited the attention, and procured him in no small 
 degree the favour, both of the professors and of his 
 fellow students. At this early period of life he en- 
 tered into strict bonds of friendship with the late 
 Drs Robertson, Blair, Drysdale, and several others, 
 of whom I shall, in a subsequent part of this Me- 
 moir, give a more particular account. 
 
 As he was educated with a view to obtain a si- 
 tuation as a minister of the Church of Scotland, 
 his studies were, of course, for some time principal- 
 ly calculated to qualify him for the performance of 
 the several duties incumbent on a clergyman. His 
 character as a zealous and accomplished student, 
 became in a few years very conspicuous. After 
 passing, with much approbation, through the va- 
 rious trials, which candidates for acquiring the sta- 
 tion of probationers for the ministry are required
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 5 
 
 to undergo, he was licensed to preach the gospel 
 by the Presbytery of Edinburgh on the 4th day of 
 April 1745, O. S. 
 
 His sincere attachment to the ecclesiastical and 
 civil constitution of his country was, with his usual 
 warmth and openness of mind, displayed in some 
 of his early appearances in the pulpit. 
 
 The progress of his professional studies and oc- 
 cupations was interrupted by the breaking out of 
 the Rebellion in 1745. This furnished an occa- 
 sion for that military ardour, that chivalrous spirit, 
 which his natural temperament and favourite course 
 of reading had produced and fostered. He took 
 the side of whiggism, as whiggism was then under- 
 stood, and freedom, as British freedom was then 
 conceived, and became a volunteer in a loyal corps, 
 which was formed in Edinburgh with the original 
 purpose of defending that city from the attack of 
 the rebels, of which he has given a full account in 
 his History of that Rebellion. In this corps he 
 served at the unfortunate battle of Falkirk, and, 
 after the defeat, was taken prisoner along with 
 some others of his fellow volunteers, and commit- 
 ted to the Castle of Doune in Perthshire, from 
 which the party contrived to escape by cutting 
 their bed-clothes into ropes, and letting themselves 
 down from the window of the room in which they 
 were confined. One of their number (Mr Bar-
 
 O ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 row,* a young English student, then in Edinburgh, 
 an early and intimate acquaintance of Mr Home's) 
 broke his leg in the descent; but Mr Home es- 
 caped unhurt, and, eluding the vigilance of the Ja- 
 cobite party, who, in truth, were neither very ac- 
 tive nor rigid in their measures of precaution or 
 of resentment, took up his residence for some time 
 with his relations at Leith, and applied himself to 
 that sort of study which his intended clerical pro- 
 fession required, but always mixed, if not interrupt- 
 ed, by the kind of reading to which his inclination 
 led, that of the historians and classics of Greece 
 and Rome. 
 
 His temper was of that warm susceptible kind 
 which is caught with the heroic and the tender, and 
 which is more fitted to delight in the world of senti- 
 ment than to succeed in the bustle of ordinary life. 
 This is a disposition of mind well suited to the poeti- 
 cal character, and, accordingly, all his earliest com- 
 panions agree that Mr Home was from his child- 
 hood delighted with the lofty and heroic ideas 
 which embody themselves in the description or nar- 
 rative of poetry. One of them, nearly a coeval of Mr 
 Home's, our respected and venerable colleague Dr. 
 A. Ferguson, says, in a letter to me, that Mr Home's 
 
 * Mr Barrow was the " Genial youth" mentioned in Col- 
 lins's Ode on the Superstitions of the Highlands.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 7 
 
 favourite model of a character, on which, indeed, his 
 own was formed, was that of Young Norval, in his 
 tragedy of Douglas, one endowed with chivalrous 
 valour and romantic generosity, eager for glory be- 
 yond every other object, and, in the contemplation 
 of future fame, entirely regardless of the present 
 objects of interest or ambition. It was upon this 
 ideal model of excellence that Mr Home's own 
 character was formed, and the same glowing com- 
 plexion of mind which gave it birth, coloured the 
 sentiments and descriptions of his ordinary dis- 
 course ; he had a very retentive memory, and was 
 fond of recalling the incidents of past times, and of 
 dramatizing his stories by introducing the names 
 and characters of the persons concerned in them. 
 The same turn of mind threw a certain degree of 
 elevation into his language, and heightened the 
 narrative in which that language was employed ; 
 he spoke of himself with a frankness which a man 
 of that disposition is apt to indulge, but with which 
 he sometimes forgot that his audience was not al- 
 ways inclined to sympathize, and thence he was 
 accused of more vanity than in truth belonged to 
 his character. The same warm colouring was em- 
 ployed in the delineation of his friends, to whom, 
 in his estimation, he assigned a rank which others 
 did not always allow. So far did he carry this 
 propensity, that, as Dr Robertson used jokingly to 
 say, he invested them with a sort of supernatural
 
 8 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 privilege above the ordinary humiliating circum- 
 stances of mortality. " He never (said the Doc- 
 tor) would allow that a friend was sick till he heard 
 of his death." To the same source might be tra- 
 ced the warm eulogium which he was accustomed to 
 bestow on them. " He delighted in bestowing as 
 well as in receiving what is generally termed flattery, 
 (says another of his intimates,) but with him it had 
 all the openness and warmth of truth. He flatter- 
 ed all of us from whom his flattery could gain no 
 favour, fully as much, or, indeed, more willingly, 
 than he did those men of the first consequence and 
 rank with whom the circumstances of his future 
 life associated him, and he received any praise from 
 us with the same genuine feelings of friendship and 
 attachment." There was no false coinage in this 
 currency which he used in his friendly intercourse ; 
 whether given or received, it had with him the 
 stamp of perfect candour and sincerity. 
 
 Those companions at this early period of his youth 
 were chiefly found among young men employed in 
 the same studies, and destined for the same^profes- 
 sion with himself, that of the Church of Scotland. 
 
 The clergy of Scotland were at that time one of 
 the most respectable as well as happy orders of the 
 people. With the advantages always of a classical, 
 and sometimes of a polite education, their know- 
 ledge was equal or superior to that of any man in 
 their parish. Their influence in those times, be-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 9 
 
 fore a number of different sectaries had withdrawn 
 themselves from the established church, was great 
 and universal, and their incomes, taken with refer- 
 ence to the value of money, the state of manners, 
 and style of living at that period, were much more 
 adequate to all the purposes of comfort and decent 
 appearance than their stipends of the present day, 
 after all the augmentations which have been grant- 
 ed them. At that period, when the value of land 
 was low, when the proprietors of a parish lived 
 more at home, when there were fewer outlets for 
 their younger sons, and when those younger sons 
 did not so often as they now do bring back great 
 wealth, its attendant pretensions and its attendant 
 luxuries, to their native districts, the clergyman of 
 the parish stood high in the scale of rank among 
 his parishioners, and, as I well remember, was able 
 to maintain a certain style of plain and cordial hos- 
 pitality, which gave him all the advantages of ra- 
 tional gentleman-like society. The General As- 
 sembly of the Church of Scotland gave its clergy 
 an opportunity of occasional visits to the metropo- 
 lis, and of a situation in that truly popular assem- 
 bly which brought them to a level, and mixed them 
 for a time, with gentlemen of the first rank and re- 
 spectability in the country. In point of weight and 
 consideration, and, indeed, in the exertion of ta- 
 lent, particularly in that of oratory, they had this 
 obvious advantage over the lay members of that
 
 10 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 assembly, that the subjects were chiefly clerical^ ly- 
 ing more within the range of their accustomed 
 studies, as well as more within the reach of their 
 particular information, than could be the case with 
 the laymen who sat there along with them. The 
 clergy of Edinburgh, coming thither thus prepared 
 by education and habit, for filling a respectable place 
 in society, found in that city a circle well adapt- 
 ed to perfect their knowledge, to enlarge their 
 minds, and to foster their genius. They mixed 
 more than, I think, they have done at any subse- 
 quent period, with the first and most distinguished 
 persons of the place, distinguished, whether for 
 science, literature, or polite manners, and even, as 
 far as the clerical character might innocently allow, 
 with the men of fashion conspicuous for wit and 
 gaiety. In the inexpensive style of the Edinburgh 
 society, at the period to which I allude, when tea 
 was the meal of ceremony for general acquaintance, 
 and a supper of a very moderate number that of 
 more intimate society, there was much more in- 
 tercourse of mind than in the large parties of mo- 
 dern times, which form, in truth, a sort of public 
 place in a private house. In such places of nu- 
 merous resort, even if other circumstances allowed, 
 the clergy cannot so easily mix with those who are 
 styled people of fashion. I regret the want of 
 mixture of clerical and lay society for the sake of 
 both parties. To the one it tended to add the
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 11 
 
 graces of manner to the solid talents which at all 
 times so many of them possess. To the other it 
 tended to give that very solidity, soberness, and 
 modesty of demeanour, so useful and so amiable 
 in the young of either sex. It tended to give to 
 wealth and rank, instead of the insolence and fri- 
 volity which often accompany them, the urbanity, 
 the condescension, the chastened wit, the decent 
 deportment, which are the great sweeteners, as 
 well as ennoblers, of social life. It added respect 
 and dignity to both parties, and mixed into a closer 
 and more advantageous union, the different classes 
 of men. It checked the petulance of the young, and 
 smoothed the severity of the old ; it added senti- 
 ment to the gaieties, and gave more winning fea- 
 tures to the serious duties, of life. 
 
 There was, indeed, a high Calvinistic party in 
 the church, whose rigid ideas of the clerical func- 
 tion were somewhat unfriendly to social inter- 
 course, or the ease of social enjoyment. But they 
 were often men of great learning and talents, and 
 they had their reward in the authority and popu- 
 lar weight which they obtained among the bulk of 
 their parishioners. The party opposite to them, 
 who were less rigid and severe in their ideas of cle- 
 rical manners and character, owed, perhaps, to that 
 very distinction a politeness and suavity of deport- 
 ment, and an attention to accomplishment and ele- 
 gance in their studies, to which otherwise their si-
 
 12 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 tuation might not have led. They cultivated clas- 
 sical literature, and began that study of refined 
 composition which some of them afterwards carried 
 to such a degree of excellence in this country. 
 
 Of this party was Mr John Home, who was ear- 
 ly associated with his coevals destined for the church, 
 of similar inclinations and dispositions. Besides 
 the eminent persons above-mentioned, Robertson, 
 Hugh Blair, and Drysdale, he became intimately 
 associated with others of his fellow-churchmen, 
 whose disposition, as well as talents, were calcula- 
 ted to combine with and to foster his own. Among 
 these were Drs Cleghorn, Carlyle, Adam Fergu- 
 son, Ballantyne, and Logan.* The last of these 
 was peculiarly distinguished for learning and acute- 
 ness, and was generally allowed to be the first me- 
 taphysician of his time. This quality tended to 
 draw upon him a certain suspicion of heterodoxy ; 
 and Dr Carlyle used to mention, that once having 
 lent Dr Logan a sermon, when he was unexpect- 
 edly called to preach before the Presbytery of 
 Dalkeith, that reverend body believing it to be 
 Logan's own, found, or conceived themselves to 
 find, so much sceptical metaphysics in it, as to be 
 
 * Not the clergyman of that name, the poet of a later time, 
 but another clergyman, coeval with Mr Home, who died be- 
 fore the younger Logan was known as an author.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 13 
 
 with difficulty prevented from instituting a prose- 
 cution against the preacher. 
 
 I have prepared the Society for this paper being 
 a paper of parentheses a sort of literary gossip's 
 story. Will they indulge me in a somewhat long, 
 and, perhaps, it may be thought still more tedious 
 than long, parenthesis on the situation and cha- 
 racter of some of Mr Home's early companions, 
 whose names and memories they may not be un- 
 willing, however, to recal, as the fathers and fos- 
 terers of that literary and philosophical spirit to 
 which this Society owes its origin and station ? 
 
 It were impertinent in me to do any more than 
 merely to name those illustrious men whose bio- 
 graphy has been already in much abler hands, Drs 
 Robertson and Blair, and David Hume, nor need 
 I speak of our venerable colleague, Dr A. Fergu- 
 son, whose life, as well as his works, are so well 
 known to the world. Others there were of less 
 note, who have not been handed down by their li- 
 terary labours to posterity, but who were, perhaps, 
 little inferior either in genius or learning to their 
 more celebrated companions, and to whom those 
 companions were indebted, not only for a great 
 part of the happiness of their lives, but more, per- 
 haps, than can ever be known, for many sugges- 
 tions, for the original germ of many ideas, which 
 they afterwards expanded or adorned in the vo- 
 lumes which they gave to the world. At that
 
 14 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 time the press was a vehicle not so immediately re- 
 sorted to for the communication of opinion or of 
 theory as it now is. Men were then shyer of 
 coming forth to public notice as authors, and were 
 apt to content themselves with the conscious pos- 
 session of talents or of learning, or the participa- 
 tion of those endowments with the circle of such 
 of their friends as were qualified to appreciate 
 them. 
 
 Among these were the clergymen Ballantyne, 
 Logan, Carlyle, and Drysdale, whom I have men- 
 tioned ahove; and, at a later period, General 
 Fletcher, who was one of Mr Home's most inti- 
 mate and constant companions, a man of a very 
 elegant appearance, and a scholar more deeply 
 read than men in his situation commonly are. 
 Mr John Jardine, one of the ministers of Edin- 
 burgh, was another of that circle, the coeval and 
 intimate companion of Mr Home, a man of infi- 
 nite pleasantry as well as great talents, whose con- 
 versation, perhaps, beyond that of any other of the 
 set, possessed the charm of easy natural attractive 
 humour. His playful vivacity often amused itself 
 in a sort of mock contest with the infantile (if I may 
 use such a phrase when speaking of such a man) 
 simplicity of David Hume, who himself enjoy- 
 ed the discovery of the joke which had before 
 excited the laugh of his companions around him. 
 Another member of that society, while he lived in
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 15 
 
 the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, was Wilkie, 
 author of the Epigoniad, a poem now but little 
 read or known, yet certainly of great merit, not 
 only as possessing much of the spirit and manner 
 of Homer, of whom its author was an enthusiastic 
 admirer, but also a manly and vigorous style of 
 poetry, rarely found in modern compositions of the 
 kind. Of Wilkie all the party spoke as superior 
 in original genius to any man of his time, but 
 rough and unpolished in his manners, and still less 
 accommodating to the decorum of society in the 
 ordinary habits of his life. Charles Townsend, 
 a very competent judge of men, and who, both as 
 a politician and a man of the world, was fond of 
 judging them, said, after being introduced to 
 Wilkie, and spending a day with him at Dr Car- 
 lyle's, that he had never met with a man who ap- 
 proached so near to the two extremes of a god and 
 a brute as Dr Wilkie. 
 
 It might surprise us to find how much Wilkie, 
 with all his vigour of mind, his powers of expression, 
 and shrewdness of observation, has failed in the 
 Moral Fables which he published some time after 
 his Epigoniad, did we not know how much poetry 
 requires feeling, as well as knowledge and fancy, 
 a quality which Wilkie did not much possess. To 
 poetical excellence, perhaps, even a degree of ner- 
 vous sensibility, bordering on weakness, is often 
 favourable ; the poetical talent is favoured, at
 
 16 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 least, by that pliability of imagination which iden- 
 tifies itself with the character, with the passion, 
 with the scene, which it delineates ; it goes out of 
 the man's self, as it were, to assume such character 
 and passion, to lose its own actual situation in such 
 a scene. Hence, too, one can easily account for 
 what has appeared strange to some, (and the won- 
 der is, perhaps, a compliment to those who think 
 it strange,) namely, the highly virtuous poetry, or 
 works of imagination akin to poetry, of men whose 
 conduct was so little actuated by virtue. 
 
 It is, perhaps, to a want of this poetical sensibi- 
 lity that we may chiefly impute the inferior degree 
 of interest excited by Wilkie's Epigoniad, to that 
 which its merits in other respects might excite. 
 Perhaps it suffers also from its author having the 
 Homeric imitation constantly in view, in which, 
 however, he must be allowed, I think, to have been 
 very successful, so successful that a person, igno- 
 rant of Greek, will, I believe, better conceive what 
 Homer is in the original by perusing the Epigo- 
 niad, than by reading even the excellent transla- 
 tion of Pope. 
 
 Of this groupe of men, with whom, as I have said, 
 Mr John Home was associated, was Dr Wallace, 
 another minister of Edinburgh, known as an author 
 by his Treatise on the Numbers of Mankind, who 
 cultivated the science of political economy before it 
 
 had begun to be studied here under those great 
 
 10
 
 LIFE OF Mil JOHN HOME. 17 
 
 masters, David Hume, and his friend, Adam Smith. 
 Dr Wallace, with the most perfect correctness of 
 clerical character, was a man of the world in that 
 better sense of the term, which implies a know- 
 ledge of whatever human science or learning has 
 done to enlighten mankind ; and he even extend- 
 ed his reading to its innocent though lighter accom- 
 plishments. He wrote Notes, as his son informs 
 us, on " Gallini's Treatise on Dancing." I sat with 
 my father's family in the Little Church, (called 
 Haddo's Hold, from its having been once used as 
 a prison for Lord Haddo, in the days of civil con- 
 tention in Scotland,) where Dr Wallace was mi- 
 nister ; and I perfectly remember his introducing 
 in a sermon, comparing modern morals, manners, 
 and attainments, with those of the ancients, a high 
 encomium on " Gray's Elegy on a Country Church 
 Yard," which had been published a short while be- 
 fore, which he said he would venture to compare 
 with the most celebrated specimens of ancient classic 
 poetry. * 
 
 * " An anecdote, told by the late Professor Robison, (as 
 mentioned in his Life, read by the late Professor Playfair to 
 this Society,) deserves well to be remembered. Professor 
 Robison, then employed as an engineer in the army com- 
 manded by General Wolfe, happened to be on duty in the 
 boat in which the General went to visit some of his posts, the 
 night before the battle, which was expected to be decisive of 
 the fate of the campaign. The evening was fine, and the 
 scene, considering the work they were engaged in, and the 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 The opposite party in church politics had also 
 their economist and arithmetician, Dr Alexander 
 Webster, who, from his talents in those depart- 
 ments, arranged, if not originated, the Corpora- 
 tion of the Widows' Fund, destined to support the 
 widows and orphans of the Scots clergy, an insti- 
 tution the most useful as well as prosperous of any 
 of the kind in Europe. Drs Dick and Peter Gum- 
 ming were likewise very eminent among that par- 
 ty for talents and learning. Dick was of that high 
 unbending mind, which was better fitted for pub- 
 lic exhibitions of eloquence than for the level of 
 ordinary conversation ; but Dr Webster and P. 
 Gumming possessed a degree of natural humour 
 and pleasantry equal to those of any men with 
 whom my youthful days had the pleasure of being 
 associated. 
 
 Of George Wishart, minister of Edinburgh, and 
 another of what was termed the moderate party, 
 the figure is before me at this moment* It is pos- 
 sible some of the Society who hear me may remem- 
 ber him. Without the advantage of that circum- 
 
 morning to which they were looking forward, sufficiently im- 
 pressive. As they rowed along, the General, with much feel- 
 ing, repeated nearly the whole of Gray's Elegy (which had 
 appeared not long before, and was yet but little known) to 
 an officer who sat with him in the stern of the boat ; adding, 
 as he concluded, that ' he would prefer being the author of 
 that poem to the glory of beating the French to-morrow.' " 
 Playfair's Works, Life of Robison, vol. IV. p. 126-7-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 19 
 
 stance, 1 can faintly describe his sainted counte- 
 nance that physiognomy so truly expressive of 
 Christian meekness, yet, in the pulpit, often light- 
 ed up with the warmest devotional feeling. In the 
 midst of his family society a numerous and ami- 
 able one it beamed with so much patriarchal af- 
 fection and benignity, so much of native politeness, 
 graced with those manners which improve its form, 
 without weakening its substance, that I think a 
 painter of the *Apostolic School couldhave nowhere 
 found a more perfect model. 
 
 The lay members of this circle, with whom Mr 
 Home spent much of his time, were not less emi- 
 nent for talents than amiable in manners ; Lord 
 Elibank, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Mr Wedderburn, af- 
 terwards Lord Loughborough, Mr Baron Mure, 
 and Mr Johnston, afterwards Sir William Pulteney. 
 Lord Elibank was, in conversation, much beyond 
 any of those his companions. His wit was of the 
 most brilliant, yet, at the same time, of the most 
 natural kind. His knowledge of books was various 
 and extensive, and his memory of what he read 
 surprisingly accurate as well as retentive. His re- 
 marks both on books and men were not less con- 
 spicuous for originality than discernment. 
 
 * I am aware that there is no such school technically so 
 called ; but I shall be easily understood to mean that class of 
 painters whose subjects led them so often to exhibit the saint- 
 ed countenances of our Saviour and his disciples.
 
 20 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 But the most illustrious of that circle was David 
 Hume, who had a sincere affection for his poetical 
 namesake, an affection which was never ahated 
 during the life of that celebrated man. The un- 
 fortunate nature of his opinions with regard to the 
 theoretical principles of moral and religious 'truth, 
 never influenced his regard for men who held very 
 opposite sentiments on those subjects subjects 
 which he never, like some vain and shallow scep- 
 tics, introduced into social discourse ; on the con- 
 trary, when at any time the conversation tended 
 that way, he was desirous rather of avoiding any 
 serious discussion on matters which he wished to 
 confine to the graver and less dangerous consider- 
 ation of cool philosophy. He had, it might be 
 said, in the language which the Grecian historian 
 applies to an illustrious Roman, two minds ; one 
 which indulged in the metaphysical scepticism 
 which his genius could invent, but which it could 
 not always disentangle ; another, simple, natural, 
 and playful, which made his conversation delight- 
 ful to his friends, and even frequently conciliated 
 men whose principles of belief his philosophical 
 doubts, if they had not power to shake, had grie- 
 ved and offended. During the latter period of his 
 life I was frequently in his company amidst per- 
 sons of genuine piety, and I never heard him ven- 
 ture a remark at which such men, or ladies still 
 more susceptible than men could take offence.
 
 LIFE OF ME JOHN HOME. 21 
 
 His good nature and benevolence prevented such 
 an injury to his hearers ; it was unfortunate that 
 he often forgot what injury some of his writings 
 might do to his readers. The sentiments which 
 such good nature and benevolence might suggest, 
 I ventured to embody, in a sort of dramatic form, 
 in the story of La Roche in the Mirror, in which 
 Mr Hume is made to say, " That there were times 
 when, recollecting that venerable pastor and his 
 lovely daughter, he forgot the pride of literary 
 fame, and wished that he had never doubted." 
 It will not, I hope, be an offensive egotism, if I in- 
 form the Society, that, when I wrote that story, 
 being anxious there should not be a single expres- 
 sion in it that could give offence or uneasiness to 
 any friend of Mr Hume's, I read it to Dr Adam 
 Smith, and begged that he would tell me if any 
 thing should be left out or altered. He heard it 
 attentively, and declared he did not find a syllable 
 to object to; but added, with his characteristic 
 absence of mind, that he was surprised he had never 
 heard of the anecdote before. 
 
 In the same bonkommie, Mr Hume bore with 
 perfect good nature the pleasantries which hu- 
 morous deductions from his theoretical scepticism 
 sometimes produced. Once, I have been told, he 
 was in a small degree ruffled by a witticism of Mr 
 John Home's, who, though always pleasant, and 
 often lively, seldom produced what might be term-
 
 22 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 ed or repeated as wit. The clerk of an eminent 
 banker in Edinburgh, a young man of irreproach- 
 able conduct, and much in the confidence of his 
 master, eloped with a considerable sum with which 
 he had been entrusted. The circumstance was 
 mentioned at a dinner where the two Humes, the 
 historian and the poet, and several of their usual 
 friendly circle, were present. David Hume spoke 
 of it as a kind of moral problem, and wondered 
 what could induce a man of such character and 
 habits as this clerk was said to possess, thus to in- 
 cur, for an inconsiderable sum, the guilt and the 
 infamy of such a transaction. " I can easily ac- 
 count for it," said his friend John Home, " from 
 the nature of his studies, and the kind of books 
 which he was in the habit of reading." " What 
 were they ?" said the philosopher. " Boston's Four- 
 fold State," rejoined the poet, " and Hume's Es- 
 says." David was more hurt by the joke than was 
 usual with him, probably from the singular con- 
 junction of the two works, which formed, according 
 to his friend's account, the library of the unfortu- 
 nate young man. 
 
 Such was the free and cordial communication of 
 sentiments, the natural play of fancy and good 
 humour, which prevailed among the circle of men 
 whom I have described. It was very different 
 from that display of learning that prize-fighting 
 of wit, which distinguished a literary circle of our
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 23 
 
 sister country, of which we have some authentic and 
 curious records. There all ease of intercourse was 
 changed for the pride of victory ; and the victors, 
 like some savage combatants, gave no quarter to 
 the vanquished This may, perhaps, be accounted 
 for more from the situation than the dispositions of 
 the principal members of that society. The lite- 
 rary circle of London was a sort of sect, a caste 
 separate from the ordinary professions and habits of 
 common life. They were traders in talent and 
 learning, and brought, like other traders, samples 
 of their goods into company, with a jealousy of com- 
 petition which prevented their enjoying, as much 
 as otherwise they might, any excellence in their 
 competitors. 
 
 The learned and ingenious men whom I have 
 just mentioned, were the principal founders of the 
 society established in Edinburgh under the deno- 
 mination of the Select Society., of which Mr Stewart 
 has given a list in his Life of Dr Robertson. That 
 list, according to the information of a member, is 
 not quite complete. Among other names omitted, 
 may be mentioned those of the Duke of Hamil- 
 ton, a man, not only of elegant manners, but of 
 classical acquirements ; but careless and dissipated 
 in the highest degree ; Lord Dalmeny, cut off, like 
 the duke, in the prime of life, though very differ- 
 ent in the temperance of its habits. Mr Robert 
 Alexander was also a zealous member of that so-
 
 24 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 ciety ; a very worthy, intelligent, and accomplished 
 man, but plain and awkward in his person, and de- 
 void of that readiness of thought and command of 
 expression which might qualify him for a speaker. 
 " But his suppers," says my authority, " were de- 
 lightful, formed on the model of Paris, where Mr 
 A. had occasion frequently to be ; they were ele- 
 gant and enj cue's, frequented by all the literary, 
 and most of the fashionable, persons of the time. 
 By those meetings (continued he) some of the most 
 distinguished members of the Select Society were 
 more improved than by the debates at its sittings. 
 Those meetings of easy but improving sociality 
 rubbed off the corners of mere learning and science, 
 and thus made the literati of Edinburgh less cap- 
 tious and less pedantic than those of any other 
 place." 
 
 About this time (1755) was produced a periodi- 
 cal publication, which attracted less notice at the 
 time than it has since excited, when its principal 
 authors had attained such celebrity as to make the 
 world anxious to know the smallest of their pro- 
 ductions, I mean the Original Edinburgh Re- 
 view, of which only two numbers were published ; 
 the article by Adam Smith, a Criticism on John- 
 son's Dictionary, was very conspicuous. 
 
 David Hume was not among the number of the 
 writers of the Review, though we should have 
 thought he would have been the first person whose
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 25 
 
 co-operation they would have sought. But I think 
 I have heard that they were afraid both of his ex- 
 treme good nature, and his extreme artlessness ; 
 that, from the one, their criticisms would have been 
 weakened, or suppressed, and, from the other, their 
 secret discovered. The merits of the work strong- 
 ly attracted his attention, and he expressed his sur- 
 prise, to some of the gentlemen concerned in it, 
 with whom he was daily in the habit of meeting, 
 at the excellence of a performance written, as he 
 presumed, from his ignorance on the subject, by 
 some persons out of their own literary circle. It 
 was agreed to communicate the secret to him at a 
 dinner, which was shortly after given by one of 
 their number. At that dinner he repeated his won- 
 der on the subject of the Edinburgh Review. One 
 of the company said he knew the authors, and would 
 tell them to Mr Hume upon his giving an oath of 
 secrecy. " How is the oath to be taken," said Da- 
 vid, with his usual pleasantry, " of a man accused 
 of so much scepticism as I am ? You would not 
 trust my Bible Oath ; but I will swear by the TO 
 xaAoi/ and the TO TC^TFOV never to reveal your secret." 
 He was then told the names of the authors and the 
 plan of the work, but it was not continued long 
 enough to allow of his contributing any articles. 
 Of another work, and one of much humour, written 
 by Adam Ferguson, in ridicule of the opposers of 
 a Scots militia, " The History of Sister Peg," Da-
 
 26 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 vid Hume was also kept in ignorance, from similar 
 motives, by his literary friends. By way of a plea- 
 sant revenge for their want of confidence, David 
 Hume wrote a letter to the publisher, assuming the 
 work to himself, and accounting for his having till 
 that time declined avowing it. I have seen this let- 
 ter, and it is written in such a style, as, to a man 
 not informed of the real circumstances of the case, 
 would leave no doubt of Mr Hume's being the au- 
 thor of the book. I could not read this letter with- 
 out being confirmed in an observation which I have 
 often ventured to make, on the uncertainty of the 
 evidence arising from letters., when the writers are 
 dead, and the motives of their correspondence can- 
 not be known. 
 
 The mention of Sister Peg leads me to take no- 
 tice of another literary association, considerably 
 later than the Select Society, established under the 
 auspices of some of Mr Home's above-mentioned 
 companions, and in conformity to his own sanguine 
 ideas of national pride and heroism ; this was the 
 Poker Club, instituted in 1762, at a time when 
 Scotland was refused a militia, and thought herself 
 affronted by the refusal ; a refusal which many sen- 
 sible and moderate men thought for her advantage, 
 as she was just then beginning that course of im- 
 provement in industry, and particularly in agricul- 
 ture, which she has since so successfully prosecuted ; 
 but, perhaps, chiefly caused by that jealousy, which
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 27 
 
 fifteen years had not yet extinguished, of a disaf- 
 fected spirit of Jacobitism, which made it unsafe to 
 trust the people of Scotland, or at least a great part 
 of them, with arms. The name of this club, the 
 Poker ', was chosen from a quaint sort of allusion 
 to the principles it was originally meant to excite, 
 as a club to stir up the fire and spirit of the coun- 
 try. It was afterwards extended as to members, 
 though less definite in its objects, by the admission 
 of a number of gentlemen of this country, and 
 chiefly resident in Edinburgh, considerable either 
 in rank and station, or eminent for talents. At its 
 first institution, Mr Johnston, afterwards Sir Wil- 
 liam Pulteney, was chosen Secretary, with two as- 
 sistants, for the revisal of any publications that 
 might be thought necessary ; and, in a playful 
 moment, Mr Andrew Crosbie, the celebrated bar- 
 rister, (one of the most zealous advocates for the 
 people, and one of the warmest asserters of their 
 freedom, but the best-natured and gentlest man 
 possible in private life,) was chosen Assassin, in 
 case that office should be found necessary, with 
 another more celebrated man, equally remarkable 
 for the mildness of his disposition, Mr David 
 Hume, for his assistant. I see among these care- 
 less scraps of his earlier writings, which Mr Hume 
 had preserved, the beginning of a warm paper ad- 
 dressed to the landed gentlemen of Scotland, on the 
 subject of the militia, ascribing to the want of it
 
 28 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 the early misfortunes of the Seven Years' War, to 
 which the subsequent successes, unparalleled in 
 British history, afforded a sufficient answer. The 
 club flourished till 1784, when its members, accord- 
 ing to a list I have seen, were in number sixty- 
 six, consisting, among other literary men, of several 
 whom I have mentioned above, of Patrick Lord 
 Elibank, Sir John Dalrymple, Sir James Stewart, 
 Dr Adam Smith, Drs Cullen, Black, and Gregory, 
 and Professor James Russel. Of men that were af- 
 terwards eminent in public life, were Lord Melville, 
 Sir Gilbert Elliot, his brother Admiral Elliot, and 
 Sir Robert Murray Keith. Of men of fashion, who, 
 in those days, were proud of connection and ac- 
 quaintance with men of letters, were the Duke of 
 Buccleuch, the Marquis of Grahame, afterwards 
 Duke of Montrose, Lord Mountstewart, after- 
 wards Earl of Bute, the Earls of Haddington, 
 Glencairn, and Glasgow, Lord Binning, Sir Adam 
 Ferguson, and Sir John Halkett. 
 
 Excellent as, from the above enumeration, the 
 Society of Edinburgh will be allowed, at that pe- 
 riod, to have been, yet old Ambassador Keith, who 
 returned to his native city after an absence of twen- 
 ty-two years, complained (perhaps with an old man's 
 partiality) that it had lost some of that high po- 
 lish and general information of which he remem- 
 bered it possessed. In his younger days, he said,
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 29 
 
 every Scots gentleman, of L.300 a-year, made it 
 a necessary part of education to travel for two or 
 three years abroad, when, having previously acqui- 
 red sufficient learning and information to point out 
 their objects of inquiry, and to lay the foundation 
 for future acquirements, and not being rich enough 
 for the indulgence of the idleness, the follies, or 
 the profligacy which are often produced or fostered 
 by wealth, the gentlemen of Scotland improved in 
 manners and in fashion, and gained that knowledge 
 of the world and enlargement of mind, which made 
 their society afterwards so delightful at home. 
 " They were qualified," says my authority, " for 
 conversation and study, while they cultivated their 
 paternal fields. Sportsmen and farmers, without 
 being able to talk of nothing else than the pedi- 
 gree of horses, the breed of bullocks, or the quali- 
 ties of manure." The elder Keith, whose opinion 
 I have just quoted, became, at that advanced age, 
 a member of the Poker Club, with which he fre- 
 quently associated. Lord Elliock was a constant 
 attendant ; an excellent scholar, of the most singu- 
 larly retentive memory, particularly for anecdotes, 
 with a great store of which his long residence abroad 
 had furnished him. When in Holland, he had the 
 good fortune to be intimately known, and often in 
 the society of Frederick the Great, whom the jea- 
 lousy of his father, then King of Prussia, had ba- 
 nished at that time from his native country.
 
 30 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 I hope I have not trespassed too far on the pa- 
 tience of the Society, in this account of Mr Home's 
 companions and associates. Young men speak 
 from feeling, old men from memory. I am aware 
 that the memory of old men is apt to be tiresome, 
 from the length and minuteness of its details ; it is 
 only interesting to others, in proportion as it tra- 
 vels over important events, or among eminent men. 
 I know also, that the narrator is often deceived as 
 to the interest of his narrative. The sun-set of 
 life, like that of the natural day, throws a golden 
 gleam on the objects of our recollection, which 
 brightens them to our view much beyond the ap- 
 pearance which they wear when clothed in soberer 
 colours; but the narrative, like the landscape, 
 draws some advantage, with susceptible minds, from 
 the tint which is thus thrown upon it, though they 
 may be aware that it is illumined somewhat be- 
 yond the colouring of truth. 
 
 Such companions and associates as I have men- 
 tioned naturally encouraged Mr Home's love of 
 letters, and his ardour for poetry. But, besides this 
 excitement, he had from nature, or a very early 
 education, received a turn of mind, or imbibed sen- 
 timents and habits, very favourable to the poetical 
 spirit. Notice has been already taken of that ad- 
 miration of the chivalrous character, of ardent va- 
 lour, and of military fame, which Mr Ferguson 
 states as one of his marked early propensities, per-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 31 
 
 sonified in his character of Young Douglas. His 
 favourite reading was of a kind to inflame the ima- 
 gination, and to dramatize, as it were, the passions. 
 Plutarch was the author constantly in his hands. 
 The spirit with which he read this historian may 
 be judged by the opening of an Essay he had be- 
 gun to write on the character of the Gracchi. " I 
 hope," says he, in detailing his motives for writing 
 it, " that the freemen of Great Britain will read 
 Plutarch, and my reflections upon his narrative, 
 with the same passion and pleasure that I think and 
 write ; and while they contemplate and admire the 
 actions of those great men, be inspired with that 
 spirit of liberty which was so strong in them." 
 
 Mr Home's favourite amusement was angling 
 one that seems to me peculiarly adapted to nourish 
 poetical feeling, and to inspire poetical enthusiasm. 
 The romantic scenery which surrounds the angler 
 the quiet and solitude to which his art neces- 
 sarily leads the pauses which the contemplative 
 angler (as Walton calls him) frequently indulges 
 that repose of the soul which Rousseau has so en- 
 chantingly described, which lets sleep the severer 
 faculties and powers, but wakes the fancy and the 
 heart ; all these concomitants of this amusement 
 are the natural food of poetry. From the usual 
 scenes of this diversion Mr Home has borrowed 
 an expression, which, though somewhat bold, and 
 therefore made a subject of ridicule to the soberer
 
 32 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 critic, any man who has listened to the rippling of 
 a brook, in the stillness of noon, or in the silence 
 of a summer evening, will immediately acknow- 
 ledge to be just : 
 
 " The river, coursing o'er its pebbly bed, 
 Imposes silence with a stilly sound." 
 
 Mr Home's classical reading was such as to bend 
 his mind to that heroic sentiment of which I have 
 taken notice above, the swell of which is one of 
 the nurses of poetry. He had written an Essay, 
 of which I have seen considerable detached pieces, 
 on the Character of Cornelius and Sempronius 
 Gracchus, of Cleomenes and Agis, and the Repub- 
 lican Form of Government, of which, like most 
 young men of ardent minds, he was at that time a 
 great admirer. From the perusal of Plutarch, he 
 had early conceived the idea of writing a tragedy 
 on the subject of the death of Agis, as related by 
 that biographer, and had completed the first copy of 
 it soon after he was settled as minister of Athel- 
 staneford, in East Lothian, which was in the year 
 1746. To that church he was presented by the 
 patron, Mr Kinloch, afterwards Sir David Kin- 
 loch of Gilmerton, and was the immediate succes- 
 sor of another poetical incumbent, author of a very 
 popular poem,* The Grave. Mr Kinloch did him 
 
 This gentleman may be mentioned with another dis- 
 
 3
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 33 
 
 another favour, which had a material influence on 
 his future life ; he introduced him to his relation, 
 Lord Milton, then Sous-Ministre for Scotland, 
 under Archibald Duke of Argyle, who conceived a 
 very great kindness for him. In a conversation 
 soon after this introduction, the Duke said, " Mr 
 Home, I am now too old to hope for an opportunity 
 of doing you any material service myself; but I 
 will do you the greatest favour in my power, by 
 presenting you to my nephew, the Earl of Bute." 
 Amidst his classical and poetical reading, however, 
 Mr Home occupied himself not only in the studies 
 of Ethics and Divinity, but also in the composi- 
 tion of Sermons. But even at these moments, it 
 would seem as if his mind was constrained, not 
 changed, from its favourite bent ; for, on the backs, 
 or blank interstices of the papers containing some of 
 his earliest composed sermons, there are passages of 
 poetry, written in a more or less perfect state, as 
 the inspiration or leisure of the moment prompted 
 or allowed. But his clerical duties, of every kind, 
 were always attended to, and so great a favourite 
 was he with the parishioners of Athelstaneford, 
 
 tinction, though he did not live to reap the pleasure it must 
 have conferred ; he was the Father of the late Robert Blair, 
 President of the Court of Session, a name which will be long 
 remembered with reverence and admiration by the Bar of 
 Scotland. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 34 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 that, as Dr Carlyle was informed by a gentleman 
 who heard him preach his farewell sermon at that 
 church, there was not a dry eye among his audience ; 
 and, at a subsequent period, when he retired from 
 active life, and built a house in East-Lothian, near 
 the parish where he had once been minister, his for- 
 mer parishioners, as Lord Haddington informed me, 
 insisted on leading the stones for the building, and 
 would not yield' to his earnest importunity to pay 
 them any compensation for their labour. 
 
 1 have in my possession part of a scroll of an- 
 swers to the observations of some friendly critic, on 
 the play of Agis, the first production of Mr Home's 
 tragic muse, but it is so mutilated, that it is impos- 
 sible to trace its date, or the person to whom it is 
 addressed ; but, from the fragment which remains, 
 Mr Home seems to have availed himself of the re- 
 marks of his friend, in several particulars. The ori- 
 ginal plan of the tragedy, I have understood, was 
 to have constructed the fable solely on the distress- 
 es and death of Agis; as a patriot king ; but fear- 
 ing that this subject was too barren of incident and 
 passion, to suit the prevailing dramatic taste, he af- 
 terwards added the love part of the plot, by the in- 
 troduction of the Athenian maid Euanthe, betro- 
 thed to the hero of the piece, Lysander, the friend 
 and avenger of Agis. 
 
 Conceiving that, thus improved in its interest, 
 the play was now fit for the stage, he went to Lon-
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 35 
 
 don about the end of the year 1749, and offered it 
 to Mr Garrick, for representation at Drury-Lane, 
 of which that great actor had recently become ma- 
 nager. But that gentleman did not think it well 
 adapted to the stage, and declined bringing it on, 
 much to the mortification of its author, who, with 
 the feeling natural to such a situation, wrote the 
 following verses on the tomb of Shakespeare, in 
 Westminster- Abbey : 
 
 Verses written ly Mr Home, with a Pencil, on Shakespeare's 
 Monument in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Image of Shakespeare ! To this place I come 
 To ease my bursting bosom at thy tomb ; 
 For neither Greek nor Roman poet fired 
 My fancy first, thee chiefly I admired ; 
 And day and night revolving still thy page, 
 I hoped, like thee, to shake the British stage ; 
 But cold neglect is now my only mead, 
 And heavy falls it on so proud a head. 
 If powers above now listen to thy lyre, 
 Charm them to grant, indulgent, my desire ; 
 Let petrefaction stop this falling tear, 
 And fix my form for ever marble here. 
 
 After this unsuccessful expedition to London, 
 he turned his mind to the composition of the tra- 
 gedy of Douglas, of which he had, as his friends 
 believed, sketched the plan some time before. 
 
 From certain notes and hints, relating to this 
 tragedy, in my possession, it appears to have un-
 
 36 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 dergone material alteration from the original de- 
 sign, or rather, indeed, composition *, for the plot, 
 which was suggested to the author by the old po- 
 pular hallad of Gil Morice, seems not to have been 
 materially altered. The names of the persons of 
 the drama appear to have been changed during the 
 time in which the author perfected his piece. That 
 of Norval in those fragments is Norman. Even 
 after the first representations, the name Randolph 
 was substituted for Barnet, the name in the old 
 ballad, which had struck some of the English part 
 of the audience as producing a bad effect, from its 
 being the same with that of the village near Lon- 
 don. 
 
 With the tragedy of Douglas in his pocket, Mr 
 Home set off on horseback for London, from his 
 house in East-Lothian, in February 1755. The 
 ideas of his friends as to its excellence and success 
 were very sanguine indeed, as appears from the 
 warm expressions used by Dr Carlyle in describing 
 some incidents at the beginning of the author's jour- 
 ney, who was accompanied, to a certain distance 
 on his way, by some of his most intimate friends, 
 of whom Dr Carlyle was one. The habitual care- 
 lessness of Mr Home (another quality, I am afraid 
 I must say failing, which I might, perhaps, have 
 enumerated among those allied to the poetical cha- 
 racter,) was strongly shewn by his having thought 
 of no better conveyance for this MS., by which he
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 37 
 
 was to acquire all that fame and future success of 
 which his friends were so confident, than the pocket 
 of the great-coat in which he rode. Dr Carlyle and 
 his other friends trembled for the safety of this 
 drama, their admiration of which he describes as 
 approaching to idolatry, and turned a little out of 
 their road to procure from a clergyman of their ac- 
 quaintance the loan of a pair of saddle-bags, in 
 which to deposit the MS. Having thus, by the 
 provident care of his friends, secured it from the 
 accidents of the weather, he rode on to London, 
 full of those sanguine hopes which every man in his 
 situation indulges, and presented his play to Gar- 
 rick, to whom he had procured an introduction ; 
 but Garrick did not see those merits which have 
 since rendered Douglas so popular, and returned it 
 to the author, with the mortifying declaration, that 
 it was totally unfit for the stage. Neither Mi- 
 Home nor his friends were at all satisfied with this 
 decision, and immediately conceived the plan of 
 bringing it out at the Edinburgh Theatre, then 
 under the management of Digges, an actor of very 
 great powers, (though with many defects,) and of 
 great popularity in Scotland. Its rehearsals were 
 attended by that literary party who were the con- 
 stant companions of the author, and then the chief 
 arbiters of taste and literature in Edinburgh 
 Lord Elibank, David Hume, Mr Wedderbura,
 
 38 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Dr Adam Ferguson, and others. Dr Carlyle, who 
 sometimes witnessed those rehearsals, expresses, in 
 his Memoirs, his surprise and admiration at the 
 acting of Mrs Ward, who performed Lady Ran- 
 dolph. Digges was the Douglas of the piece, his 
 supposed father was played by Hayman, and Glen- 
 alvon, hy Love ; actors of very considerable merit, 
 and afterwards of established reputation on the 
 London stage. But Mrs Ward's beauty (for she 
 was very beautiful,) and feeling, tutored with the 
 most zealous anxiety by the author and his friends, 
 charmed and affected the audience as much, per- 
 haps, as has ever been accomplished by the very su- 
 perior actresses of after times. I was then a boy, 
 but of an age to be sometimes admitted as a sort of 
 page to the tea-drinking parties of Edinburgh. I 
 have a perfect recollection of the strong sensation 
 which Douglas excited among its inhabitants. The 
 men talked of the rehearsals ; the ladies repeated 
 what they had heard of the story ; some had pro- 
 cured, as a great favour, copies of the most striking 
 passages, which they recited at the earnest request 
 of the company. I was present at the representa- 
 tion ; the applause was enthusiastic ; but a better 
 criterion of its merits was the tears of the audience, 
 which the tender part of the drama drew forth un- 
 sparingly. " The town," says Dr Carlyle, (and I 
 can vouch how truly,) " was in an uproar of exulta-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 39 
 
 tion, that a Scotsman should write a tragedy of the 
 first rate, and that its merits were first submitted 
 to them." 
 
 But the most remarkable circumstance attend- 
 ing its representation, was the clerical contest which 
 it excited, and the proceedings of the Church of 
 Scotland with regard to it. Religious zeal, and a 
 jealousy of any infringement on the established 
 doctrines of the Presbyterian Kirk, seem to have 
 been more than usually predominant at the time 
 of the appearance of Douglas. About this time 
 was published, " England's Alarm," a complaint of 
 the gross impiety and atheism of the times, appli- 
 cable to Great Britain in general, but particularly 
 referring to the corruptions of religion in Scotland ; 
 among which were specified the breach of the Na- 
 tional Covenant, the subsistence of Episcopacy, and 
 the adoption of Episcopal forms of worship, which 
 the author severely condemns, such as kneeling at 
 receiving the sacrament, ecclesiastical habits, (not 
 moral habits, but the dress and costume of the 
 church,) the Liturgy, &c. On the other hand, 
 Lord Kames had just published a small metaphy- 
 sical treatise, entitled, " Essays on the Principles 
 of Morality and Natural Religion." This was sup- 
 posed by some of the clergy to contain principles 
 and positions derogatory to the Christain faith, and 
 the rules of morality contained in the Gospel. A 
 zealous clergyman, Mr George Anderson, minister
 
 40 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 of Chirnside, gave in a complaint against the book, 
 (its author was then unknown,) and the bookseller 
 by whom it was published, to the Presbytery of 
 Edinburgh, praying that reverend judicature to 
 call before them the bookseller, in order to his gi- 
 ving up the author, that the Presbytery might pro- 
 nounce against him such censure as the writing and 
 publishing so wicked a book might seem to deserve. 
 Very able legal answers were given in to this com- 
 plaint by the counsel for the bookseller, Mr, after- 
 wards Sir John, Dalrymple, and Mr Ferguson of 
 Pitfour ; and a pamphlet was written in the au- 
 thor's defence, and in his name, but generally sup- 
 posed to be the production of Dr Hugh Blair. In 
 both, the natural tendency of Lord Kames's work 
 was contended to be altogether the reverse of what 
 the complaint supposed ; and for the particular doc- 
 trines laid down in the tract, the counsel for the 
 bookseller, and the writer of the pamphlet in be- 
 half of the author, produced very high authority, 
 in numberless quotations from the fathers of the 
 church, and the most eminent as well as orthodox 
 divines. To these defences, Mr Anderson gave in 
 a reply, under the title of " The Complaint Veri- 
 fied." On the 28th January, 1757, the Presbytery 
 pronounced its sentence in the following terms : 
 " The Presbytery, having resumed the considera- 
 tion of Mr Anderson's complaint, the majority 
 came to the resolution of dismissing it, on the
 
 LIFE OF MU JOHN HOME. 41 
 
 ground of the author's having, in his explanatory 
 pamphlet, explained and accounted for the un- 
 guarded expressions in his Essays, and expressed his 
 regard for religion ; and to prevent the Presbytery's 
 entering into so abstruse and metaphysical a ques- 
 tion." 
 
 It is a singular enough coincidence with some 
 church proceedings, about fifty years after, that Dr 
 Blair, in defence of his friend's Essays, expressly 
 states, that one purpose of those Essays was to con- 
 trovert what appeared to him to be a very danger- 
 ous doctrine, held by the author of certain other 
 Essays, then recently published, (Mr David Hume,) 
 that, by no principle in human nature, can we dis- 
 cover any real connexion between cause and effect* 
 According to Dr Blair, the object of one of Lord 
 Kames's Essays is to shew, that though such con- 
 nexion is not discoverable by reason, and by a pro- 
 cess of argumentative induction, there is, neverthe- 
 less, a real and obvious connexion which every one 
 intuitively perceives between an effect and its cause. 
 We feel and acknowledge, that every effect implies 
 a cause ; that nothing can begin to exist without a 
 cause of its existence. " We are not left," says the 
 author of the Vindication, *' to gather our belief of 
 a Deity, from inferences and conclusions deduced 
 through intermediate steps, many or few. How 
 unhappy would it be, for the great bulk of man- 
 kind, if this were necessary ! The Deity has dis-
 
 42 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 played himself to all men by an internal sense 
 common to all, the ignorant as well as the learned ; 
 we have the same intuitive perception of Him that 
 we have of our own existence." 
 
 In such a temper of the public mind, it was not 
 wonderful if the appearance of a tragedy, written by 
 a Presbyterian clergyman, should scandalize and 
 provoke the Church of Scotland. That party, op- 
 posed to Mr Home and his friends, were excited to 
 the severity of their proceedings on this occasion, 
 not only by the conscientious objections which they 
 entertained to such compositions, but perhaps a 
 little by the opposition which then prevailed so 
 keenly between the different parties in the church, 
 and in the supreme judicature of the church, the 
 General Assembly. 
 
 The Presbytery of Edinburgh published a so- 
 lemn admonition on the subject, beginning with 
 expressions of deep regret at the growing irreligion 
 of the times, particularly the neglect of the Sab- 
 bath ;* but calculated chiefly to warn all persons 
 
 * Yet at that time in Edinburgh there was much more 
 regard to the sacredness of Sunday than now. I was then 
 a boy, and I well remember the reverential silence of the 
 streets, and the tip-toe kind of fear with which, when any 
 accident prevented my attendance on church, I used to pass 
 through them. What would the Presbytery have said now, 
 when, in the time of public worship on a Sunday, not only 
 are the public walks crowded, but idle and blackguard boys
 
 LIFE OF MU JOHN HOME. 43 
 
 within their bounds, especially the young, and those 
 who had the charge of youth, against the danger 
 of frequenting stage-plays and theatrical enter- 
 tainments, of which the Presbytery set forth the 
 immoral and pernicious tendency, at considerable 
 length. 
 
 This step of the Presbytery, like all other over- 
 strained proceedings of that nature, provoked re- 
 sistance and ridicule on the part of the public. The 
 wags poured forth parodies, epigrams, and songs. 
 These were, in general, not remarkable for their 
 wit or pleasantry, though some of them were the 
 productions of young men, afterwards eminent in 
 letters or in station. 
 
 While the Church was taking public general 
 measures on this occasion, it did not neglect to 
 notice what it conceived to be an outrage against 
 its purity and dignity, by instituting proceedings 
 against the individuals of its own body, who had 
 witnessed or countenanced the representation of 
 Douglas. Mr Home himself escaped the censure 
 and punishment, which would certainly have reach- 
 ed him, by an abdication of the ministerial func- 
 tion, having resigned his living at Athelstaneford, 
 
 bawl through the streets, and splash us with their games 
 there? an indecency of which, though no friend to purita- 
 nical preciseness, and still less to religious persecution, I ra- 
 ther think the police ought to take cognizance.
 
 44 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 in June, 1757. Mr Home's intimate friends and 
 acquaintance, who had been present at the repre- 
 sentation of his tragedy, were censured or punished, 
 according to the degree of their supposed miscon- 
 duct. Mr White, the minister of Libberton, was 
 suspended for a month, a mitigated sentence, in 
 consideration of his apology for a conduct into 
 which he had been unwarily led ; " that he attend- 
 ed the representation only once, and endeavoured 
 to conceal himself in a corner, to avoid giving of- 
 fence." Messrs Carlyle, Home of Polwarth, Scott 
 at Westruther, Cupples at Swinton, and Steel at 
 Stairs, underwent different degrees of censure ; and 
 several other Presbyteries adopted and enforced the 
 language of that of Edinburgh, with regard to the 
 baneful and immoral effects of stage-plays, perni- 
 cious at all times, but doubly improper and sinful 
 at a period of great dearth and distress among the 
 poor, and of national degradation and calamity. 
 This was at the commencement of the Seven Years' 
 War, when Byng had failed of relieving Minorca, 
 and Braddock had been defeated in America. 
 
 Such was then the prevailing opinion of the 
 Church of Scotland, with regard to the improprie- 
 ty and immorality of attending theatrical represen- 
 tations, especially by clergymen, though, indeed, 
 the overture of one Synod, and the language of 
 most of them, expressed that opinion with regard 
 to all persons whatsoever. The difference between
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 45 
 
 the opinions of the two Churches of England and 
 Scotland, in this matter, was strongly set forth in 
 some of the writings on the subject ; and the Pres- 
 bytery of Dunse, in answer to a representation 
 made to them by that of Edinburgh, used the fol- 
 lowing expression : " We cannot allow ourselves 
 to think that a thing, really criminal in itself, can 
 be innocent or indifferent on the other side of the 
 Tweed." Something, however, must be allowed to 
 custom, in considering the lesser moralities of man- 
 ners and deportment. The nakedness of an Ame- 
 rican, or a, Hindoo, is no breach of modesty or de- 
 corum ; but that of an inhabitant of London or 
 Edinburgh, would be a flagrant offence against 
 both. In the question about theatrical exhibitions, 
 as far as concerned the tragedy of Douglas, and 
 the propriety or impropriety of the ecclesiastical 
 opinions and proceedings to which it gave rise, it 
 can only be fairly said, even by the advocates for 
 the moral or innocent effects of dramatic enter- 
 tainments, that Scotland, at the period of these 
 proceedings, had not attained the refinement or li- 
 berality of the church of her sister kingdom. To 
 the many excellent persons, of different ranks and 
 persuasions, who have held, or still hold, dramatic 
 entertainments to be of such baneful effect on the 
 moral and religious principles of a people, I can 
 only reply, that viewing their scruples with that 
 indulgence and respect to which the purity of their
 
 46 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 intentions, and the respectability of their charac- 
 ters are entitled, I should, were I to allow the jus- 
 tice of their fears* be obliged to regret that a de- 
 partment of literary composition, which affords the 
 amplest field to the talents of the writer, and the 
 feelings of the reader of poetry, should be liable to 
 the imputation of such hurtful consequences ; I 
 should remind them how much of life is spent, and 
 must be spent, in amusements ; and that, to draw 
 the young and the gay into innocent fields of amuse- 
 ment, is to gain or to save a great deal of their time 
 from hurtful dissipation. But, in truth, the plea 
 on behalf of theatrical exhibitions rests on higher 
 and more certain grounds ; for it is proved by re- 
 peated experience, marked in the accurate and im- 
 partial registers of officers of police, that in several 
 great cities, when, from any accident, such exhibi- 
 tions are suspended, every kind of wickedness and 
 crime, even those which trench on the public safe- 
 ty, (without taking into account any advantage of 
 improvement in manners,) has always increased in 
 a very great degree. " The truth seems to be," as 
 our venerable colleague Dr Adam Ferguson ex- 
 presses it, in a letter to me on the subject of Mr 
 Home's dramatic writings, " that theatrical com- 
 positions, like every other human production, are, 
 in the abstract, not more laudable or censurable 
 than any other species of composition, but are either 
 good or bad, moral or immoral, according to the
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 47 
 
 management or the effect of the individual tragedy 
 or comedy we are to see represented, or to peruse." 
 On this ground, certainly the tragedy of Douglas 
 may confidently put itself on its trial ; both the 
 sentiments and the feelings expressed in it being 
 of the most laudable and virtuous kind, parental 
 tenderness, and aspiring virtue. 
 
 The elder Sheridan, then manager of the Thea- 
 tre at Dublin, sent Mr Home a gold medal, in tes- 
 timony of his admiration of Douglas ; and his wife, 
 a woman not less respectable for her virtues than 
 for genius and accomplishments, drew the idea of 
 her admired novel of Sydney Biddulph, (as her in- 
 troduction bears,) from the genuine moral effect of 
 that excellent tragedy. 
 
 Amidst the censures of the Church, the public 
 suffrage was strong in its favour, and the houses 
 were crowded every night of its representation. 
 Perhaps the success of the play excited the envy of 
 some as much as the nature and species of its com- 
 position, and the situation of its author, produced 
 the censure of others ; for, among \hejeux d'esprit 
 produced on the occasion, were some written by 
 men themselves poets, and not at all remarkable for 
 religious strictness or severe morality. Its defend- 
 ers were found among all ranks and professions. 
 Mr Wedderburn, afterwards Lord Loughborough, 
 wrote some of its lighter defences. Mr Adam Fer- 
 guson published a serious pamphlet, in defence of
 
 48 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 the morality of dramatic composition, deduced from 
 Scripture, particularly exemplified in the story of 
 Joseph and his Brethren ; Dr Carlyle, an ironical 
 pamphlet, under the title of, " Reasons why the 
 Tragedy of Douglas should be Burnt by the hands 
 of the Common Hangman ;" and afterwards he 
 wrote a paper, calculated for the lower ranks, which 
 was hawked about the streets, " History of the 
 Bloody Tragedy of Douglas, as it is now performing 
 at the Theatre in the Canongate." This paper had 
 such an effect as to add two more nights to the al- 
 ready unprecedented run of the play. 
 
 Against Dr Carlyle, the prosecution of the 
 Presbytery was carried on for a considerable time, 
 till at last it terminated in the brutumfulmen of 
 a censure and admonition. The learned Dr Wal- 
 lace, of whom I have made mention in a former part 
 of this Memoir, wrote an anonymous letter to Dr 
 Carlyle, full of the soundest advice, and assuring 
 him of his support in the proceedings before the 
 Presbytery. 
 
 The Synod of Mid-Lothian and Tweeddale, a 
 body free from the partialities and prejudices of the 
 Presbytery of Edinburgh, pronounced a much more 
 moderate sentence than this last-mentioned judica- 
 ture had done on the matter of Douglas, and of 
 Mr Home's conduct as a dramatic author ; and the 
 sentence of the Synod was affirmed in the General 
 Assembly, by 117 votes to 34. Yet next day, on 
 
 9
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 49 
 
 the motion of a gentleman, whom one would not 
 have supposed likely to be the advocate of severe 
 or illiberal proceedings, Mr George Dempster, the 
 Assembly passed a declaratory act, prohibiting the 
 clergy from being concerned in, or countenancing, 
 theatrical representations. But the manners over- 
 came the law of the Church ; and country clergy- 
 men, when in Edinburgh, frequented the theatre 
 when any eminent actor or actress performed there. 
 During the first visit of Mrs Siddons to this city, 
 in 1784, while the General Assembly was sitting, 
 there was, I have been told, great difficulty in pro- 
 curing a full attendance of its members, on those 
 evenings when she was to perform. A distinction 
 was justly allowed between exhibitions, in which 
 that great actress gave new force and impression to 
 the noblest tragic sentiments, and those more ex- 
 ceptionable representations, which our comic stage, 
 even in its present reformed state, sometimes ex- 
 hibits. The persecution, however, which Mr Home 
 and his tragedy endured, was of use to both. Lord 
 Bute, to whom I have mentioned his introduction 
 by the Duke of Argyle, now warmly patronized an 
 author, whose sufferings, as well as genius, recom- 
 mended him to his benevolence and favour. Mr 
 Home went to London, soon after the publication 
 of his tragedy, in March 1757, when it was brought 
 out at Covent-Garden, with much success. Gar- 
 rick at that time maintained his resolution of not 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 LIFE OF MK JOHN HOME. 
 
 bringing it out at Drury-Lane, but afterwards 
 made up for his former neglect, by the warmest pa- 
 tronage of Mr Home's subsequent tragedies ; which 
 I am sorry to be obliged to impute to that respect 
 for great men for which that celebrated actor was 
 remarkable, Lord Bute's fayour being a surer pass- 
 port to his theatre than the merit even of Douglas. 
 
 Mr Home now lived very much with that noble- 
 man, and was in such habits of intimacy with his 
 young pupil, the Prince of Wales, as seldom falls 
 to the share of any individual of his rank and si- 
 tuation in life. Lord Bute was a man of some 
 learning, and considerable science, and of not less 
 virtue than either ; but his virtue was of an austere 
 unbending sort, and his natural shyness and reserve 
 did not, any more than his better qualities, accom- 
 modate themselves to the circle around him, which 
 a minister of England must necessarily cultivate, if 
 he does not happen to possess those splendid and 
 commanding talents which make some men, but 
 those very rare, independent of any other support. 
 
 From this disposition, which his original station 
 of preceptor to the Prince did not tend to over- 
 come, Lord Bute was, more than any other mini- 
 ster, inclined to relax from the constraints of form, 
 and the severity of business, in the society of a few 
 familiar friends, with whom he found himself at 
 perfect ease. This is natural to the situation, be- 
 cause the mind, like the body, feels a relief in the
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 51 
 
 change of posture ; to Lord Bute it was more than 
 usually grateful, both from that monkish sort of 
 austerity and reserve of which I have just taken 
 notice, and from a tincture of family pride, which 
 inclines a man to lean upon inferiors, rather than 
 to hold himself in the attitude of equality. His 
 original patronage of Mr Home was meritorious, 
 from its benevolence and attention to the encou- 
 ragement of letters. He was then the patron of 
 the poet ; it was afterwards somewhat of a more 
 selfish cast, from the indulgence which he found in 
 the society of the man an indulgence which he 
 sometimes gratified at the expence of persons of 
 high rank., and great political influence, who saw, 
 with indignation, those private interviews which 
 were refused to them, granted to this obscure man 
 of letters. 
 
 There was, I have been informed, the same sort of 
 imprudence in the private life of the great Earl of 
 Chatham, who, in the intervals of those paroxysms 
 of the gout to which he was subject, was frequent- 
 ly peevish and inaccessible to men of high rank and 
 high office, but indulged himself in the familiar 
 society of very inferior dependents, much less re- 
 commended by talent or agreeable conversation than 
 Mr Home ; but, in Lord Chatham, these little in- 
 fringements of politeness or etiquette were not felt 
 nor resented. Amidst the splendour of his tri-
 
 53 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 umphant administration, those specks of a private 
 kind were unnoticed or forgotten. 
 
 Mr Home has sometimes been accused of al- 
 lowing his vanity of Lord Bute's friendship and fa- 
 miliarity to get the better of his prudence, or of 
 the reserve which he ought to have maintained on 
 account of his patron ; and that he increased the 
 unpopularity of the minister by displaying his dis- 
 proportionate favour and familiarity to himself. If 
 he shewed a certain degree of weakness and want 
 of discretion in the vanity which he indulged from 
 the favour and intimacy of the first Lord of the 
 Treasury, he exhibited a degree of purity of mind 
 and disinterestedness, much less common, in never 
 turning this favour and intimacy to his own pri- 
 vate advantage. He never asked, (and I cannot 
 mention it without feeling equal surprise and dis- 
 pleasure,) he was never offered, any office or ap- 
 pointment, so many of which Lord Bute had in 
 his power to bestow. It was solely at the sug- 
 gestion of some of his friends, without the most 
 distant hint from himself, that Lord Bute at last 
 bestowed on him the office of Conservator of Scots 
 Privileges at Campvere, which Mr Home enjoyed 
 for several years, till he resigned it in 1770, (re- 
 taining, I believe, the salary,) to Mr Crawford, of 
 Rotterdam ; to whom, as a merchant in Holland, 
 it was important, from that sort of rank and station 
 which in that country it conferred.
 
 LIFE OF Mil JOHN HOME. 53 
 
 But though his self-love never took advantage of 
 this intimacy to benefit himself, the warmth of his 
 friendship sometimes exerted itself in recommend- 
 ing others to favourable situations, which, how- 
 ever, I believe were what their merits might have 
 fairly claimed, though such, as without his com- 
 mendation, they might have failed to obtain. 
 
 Had he been selfishly disposed, he had a golden 
 opportunity of enriching himself. At the peace of 
 Paris, in 1763, Mr Home was then living with 
 Lord Bute in London, and in the intimate know- 
 ledge of the diplomatic proceedings which were car- 
 ried on by our Ambassador in France. I believe 
 there were not wanting men who were willing to 
 suggest to him, as well as to share, the obvious ad- 
 vantage which such opportunities of intelligence, 
 or even conjecture, might afford in the then fluc- 
 tuating state of public expectation, and the conse- 
 quent variations in the state of the funds. But Mr 
 Home had a sense of honour and delicacy much 
 above even the harbouring of any such thoughts of 
 private emolument. His mind, indeed, had that 
 heroic cast which I have formerly mentioned, as far 
 removed as possible from avarice, or the love of gain. 
 His inattention to money-matters went perhaps a 
 blameable length, or at least was carried to a de- 
 gree which his friends allowed to be imprudent. I 
 well remember a saying of the witty Lord Elibank, 
 when he was told that Dr Adam Ferguson had got
 
 54 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 a pension. " It is a very laudable grant," said he, 
 " and I rejoice at it ; but it is no more in the power 
 of the King to make Adam Ferguson, or John 
 Home rich, than to make me poor," alluding to 
 the well-known economy, or parsimony, as it might 
 fairly be termed, of his own disposition. 
 
 I am aware that I have trespassed both in point 
 of diffuseness, and somewhat also against chrono- 
 logical arrangement, in thus giving alt the parti- 
 culars of Mr Home's life which stand in connex- 
 ion with Lord Bute, instead of exactly following 
 the order of events. But I was induced to give 
 the above sketch of Mr Home's connexion with 
 Lord Bute, and its results, as it marked the lead- 
 ing features of both their minds, and was much 
 more honourable to Mr Home, than those who 
 sometimes heard him talk of their familiarity were 
 led to suppose. Among his weaknesses, (and it 
 is one of that unpopular sort which men are apt to 
 remark and to remember,) was a desire of egotism, 
 which he was apt to indulge in recounting anec- 
 dotes of past times, and of eminent men. He had 
 lived in a society of an excellence, and also of a 
 rank, with which, from peculiar circumstances, he 
 had been associated beyond what men in his situ- 
 ation of life commonly are. This (as is altogether 
 in nature,) made that society a more leading object 
 in his mind and his discourse, than in that of men 
 whose original rank or situation entitles them to
 
 LIFE OF Mil JOHN HOME. 55 
 
 enjoy it. I have mentioned above, his remarkable 
 memory for anecdotes, and his happy manner of re- 
 lating them ; those little narratives became natu- 
 rally the chief materials of his conversation, and 
 the openness and warmth of his temper never kept 
 back his own share in the occurrences he was rela- 
 ting. In truth, a man never actually forgets him- 
 self in recounting such anecdotes ; it is the reserve 
 of politeness only that makes him forbear talking 
 in the first person ; and reserve was a quality which, 
 of all men, Mr Home possessed the least. This 
 style of conversation is, however, very unpopular, 
 except when sparingly introduced : Its hearers, 
 who have not participated in such scenes or adven- 
 tures, feel the details of them a sort of foreign lan- 
 guage, by which they are cut off from a share in the 
 conversation. Proud men feel resentment, humble 
 ones an awkwardness, in being mere auditors on 
 such occasions, and are apt to impute altogether to 
 vanity or conceit, what the speaker is often in truth 
 telling for their entertainment. 
 
 On this ground, there was a most intimate friend 
 of our author's, who might have been a pattern for 
 his imitation. I never knew a man of such plea- 
 sing talents for conversation as Dr Robertson: He 
 spoke, as became him, a good deal ; but there was 
 nothing assuming or authoritative either in the 
 manner or the matter of his discourse. He took
 
 56 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 every opportunity of calling on his heaters for their 
 share of the dialogue, of asking their opinion or 
 information on the subject of it, and introduced 
 such topics as gave opportunities for his asking 
 such information or opinions. I had often occasion 
 to be with him along with strangers at their first 
 introduction, not unfrequently to introduce them 
 myself. When we left his house, they always ex- 
 pressed their admiration of his general knowledge, 
 as well as of his politeness. The Doctor's gene- 
 ral knowledge enabled him to transport himself, as 
 it were, into the country of the stranger ; and to 
 speak of that country with the deference of an in- 
 quirer a manner which is always flattering to the 
 person we address, because it seems to call for the 
 favour of his information. 
 
 The agreeableness of Mr Home's manners and 
 conversation, as much as the notice of Lord Bute, 
 introduced him into a society in London of the 
 most respectable and pleasing kind. Lord Lough- 
 borough, (then Mr Wedderbum,) his brother-in- 
 law, Sir Harry Erskine, Mr Robert Adams, Mr 
 Garrick, Mr Douglas, afterwards Bishop of Salis- 
 bury, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Mr Ross Mackie, Drs 
 Armstrong, Smollett, Pitcairn, and William Hunt- 
 er, were his daily companions. They formed a club 
 at the British Coffee-house, of which the then mis- 
 tress was a woman of uncommon talents, and the 
 
 5
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 57 
 
 most agreeable conversation, Mrs Anderson, sister 
 of Dr Douglas. 
 
 Garrick, at whose theatre Douglas was now oc- 
 casionally performed, and always with the greatest 
 applause, brought out Mr Home's tragedy of Agis, 
 (the second in order of representation, though the 
 first in order of composition,) in 1758, and played 
 himself Lysander to Mrs Gibber's Euanthe. I 
 have in my possession an original note of Garrick's, 
 written on the morning after the first representa- 
 tion, which is conceived in the following terms : 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, 
 " Joy, joy, joy to you ! 
 
 " My anxiety yesterday gave me a small touch 
 of the gravel,* which, with a purging, weakened me 
 prodigiously ; but our success has stopped the one 
 and cured the other. I am very happy, because I 
 think you are so. The Ode, as I foretold, is cer- 
 tainly too long. There were other little mistakes, 
 but all shall be set right to-morrow. Ever most 
 affectionately, 
 
 " My Genius, 
 
 " D. GARRICK. 
 " Pray, let me see you at twelve to-morrow." 
 
 * A complaint which he laboured under all his life, which 
 was often occasioned by the violent exertions of his acting, 
 and of which he died at last.
 
 58 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 In London, or at Lord Bute's house, at Luton, 
 in Bedfordshire, Mr Home passed much of his 
 time from this period, for several years. He was 
 in Scotland, however, when his Siege of Aquileia 
 was brought out at Drury-Lane, in 1760, Garrick 
 playing, as usual, the principal part, Emilius, to 
 Mrs Gibber's Cornelia. I remember to have heard 
 from Dr Robertson, that in a letter written by 
 Garrick to Mr Home, after reading this tragedy 
 to Mrs Garrick, and a young lady then living with 
 them, of whose taste he had a high opinion, he ex- 
 pressed the greatest admiration of the play, and pre- 
 dicted the most brilliant success in its representa- 
 tion. But his prediction was not fulfilled ; not- 
 withstanding all his skill in scenic effect, he had not 
 been aware of one objection to the conduct of this 
 drama, namely, that most, or indeed almost all the 
 incidents, are told to, not witnessed by, the specta- 
 tors, who in England, beyond any other country, are 
 swayed by the Horatian maxim, and feel very im- 
 perfectly those incidents which are not " oculis sub- 
 jectajidelibus" It rather languished, therefore, in 
 the representation, though supported by such ad- 
 mirable acting, and did not run so many nights as 
 the manager confidently expected. 
 
 In this year, 1 760, he published those three tra- 
 gedies of Douglas, Agis, and the Siege of Aqui- 
 leia, in one volume, dedicated to the Prince of 
 Wales, who in that very year having succeeded to
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 59 
 
 the crown, showed an immediate additional mark 
 of favour to Mr Home, by settling on him a pen- 
 sion of L.300 per annum, from his privy purse. 
 
 In 1763, he had obtained, as I have mentioned 
 above, the office of Conservator of Scots Privileges 
 at Campvere. The salary of this office was L.300 
 per annum, which, with his former pension from 
 the crown, gave him independence, to him it might 
 be called wealth. This wealth he used as he did 
 every thing else ; he made it an offering to friend- 
 ship. " His house," said Dr Adam Ferguson, 
 " was always as full of his friends as it could hold, 
 fuller than, in modern manners, it could be made 
 to hold." David Hume told Mr Ferguson he 
 should lecture his friend on his want of attention 
 to money-matters. " I am afraid I should do so 
 with little effect," answered Dr Ferguson ; " and, 
 to tell you the truth, I am not sure if I don't like 
 him the better for this foible." 
 
 One instance of such inattention Mr Ferguson 
 relates in a letter to me, received but a few days 
 ago. " I happened once to have occasion for L.200. 
 John Home told me he had L.200 more than he 
 had immediate use for, and he lent it me upon my 
 note of hand. Soon after, having received some 
 money, I remitted to my agent at London this 
 L.200, with the interest due upon it, with direc- 
 tions to pay it to Mr Home, in discharge of my 
 debt. My agent paid him the money, and begged
 
 60 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 to have up my note. He said he could not recol- 
 lect any thing of a note, but he would look for it 
 when he went to Scotland. The circumstance was 
 forgotten by us both for several years, when at last, 
 having married and got a family, I began to think 
 that it was possible the note might appear against 
 my children after both our deaths ; and I wrote to 
 Mr Home, requesting, that if he had not found the 
 note, he would write a letter to me, acknowledging 
 that the debt had been paid, and that the note, if 
 it appeared, should be of no avail against me or my 
 heirs. I had a letter from my friend in reply, say- 
 ing, that to talk of finding any such note among 
 his papers, was like talking of finding the lost Books 
 of Livy ; but he gave the acknowledgment in the 
 letter, in what he conceived the most proper terms, 
 though, perhaps," said Mr Ferguson, " in terms 
 too poetical to be good in law. ' If ever the note 
 appears,' said his letter, * it will be of no use, ex- 
 cept to shew what a foolish, thoughtless, inatten- 
 tive fellow I am.' " 
 
 He represented the Dutch ecclesiastical esta- 
 blishment at Campvere, in the General Assembly 
 of the Church of Scotland, to which that establish- 
 ment had long had the privilege of sending a mem- ' 
 ber. He was in use to come from London to at- 
 tend in his place in the Assembly, and took a share 
 occasionally in the debates in support of his friend 
 Dr Robertson, and his party. His speeches were
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 61 
 
 not remarkable either for force of argument or dis- 
 play of eloquence, but were delivered in an easy 
 and gentlemanlike style and manner ; though, from 
 his particular situation, an ex- churchman of the 
 Presbyterian establishment, they were not popular 
 with one side of the house, and sometimes called 
 forth severe and sarcastic replies from some of the 
 leading members sitting there. 
 
 The General Assembly had then to boast of 
 some of the best public speaking that was to be 
 heard in Britain, the House of Commons scarcely 
 excepted. The great question which divided the 
 speakers was that of patronage, (the right of no- 
 minating the minister by the proprietor of that 
 right,) the exercise of which had separated a con- 
 siderable number of the people from the Establish- 
 ed Church, under the denomination of Seceders, 
 and was not less productive of warm debates in this 
 kind of ecclesiastical parliament. On one side were 
 ranged Dr Robertson and his associates. Dr Ro- 
 bertson had a power of speaking in a manner ad- 
 mirably calculated for his situation as a leader of 
 what was called the Moderate Party of the Church, 
 temperate, conciliating, and candid ; he generally 
 wound up the debate with a concise and impartial 
 view of the opposite arguments, and frequently 
 brought the opposite parties to an amicable settle- 
 ment, by proposing some resolution which allowed 
 to both a portion of what they had contended for,
 
 62 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 and did not trench on any of the principles which 
 they considered as fixed, and not to be departed 
 from. On the other side was Dr Dick, one of the 
 most powerful speakers, in point of eloquence and 
 impression, that had ever appeared in that, or any 
 other -popular assembly ; and another man, a plain 
 country clergyman, but of infinite native humour, 
 
 Fairbairn, the minister of Dumbarton, whose 
 
 talent for enlivening a debate by pleasantry, or 
 turning the laugh against his adversary by sar- 
 casm, not rude, though keen, I have seldom heard 
 equalled by any debater whomsoever. 
 
 In 1767j Mr Home got a long lease, on very 
 favourable terms, of the farm of Kilduff, in East- 
 Lothian, from his former patron and friend, Sir 
 David Kinloch. On this farm he built a house, 
 where he lived, with only occasional interruptions, 
 for the succeeding ten or 12 years of his life. 
 
 In 1769, his tragedy of The Fatal Discovery 
 was brought out at Drury-Lane. Its original title, 
 was Rivine, from the name of the heroine of the 
 story, which was taken from one of the fragments 
 of Ossian. But Garrick, afraid of the prejudices 
 then prevalent in London against Scotsmen, and 
 Scots subjects, changed its name to that of The Fa- 
 tal Discovery ; and, in order more effectually to 
 disguise its origin, procured a young English gen- 
 tleman, a student from Oxford, to attend the re- 
 hearsals, and personate the author. But the sue-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 63 
 
 cess of the play drew its real author from his covert ; 
 and, after some nights' representation, Mr Home 
 declared himself the writer of the tragedy. The 
 event verified the fears of Garrick ; the succeeding 
 representations were but indifferently attended, and 
 the piece languished only for a few nights longer. 
 The natural vanity of an author came in aid of 
 this disappointment ; Mr Home imputed the thin- 
 ness of those houses to the circumstance of the pub- 
 lic attention being entirely engrossed by the deci- 
 sion of the celebrated Douglas cause, which hap- 
 pened at that time. 
 
 In 1770, Mr Home was married to the daugh- 
 ter of his friend and relation, Mr Home, the mi- 
 nister of Foggo, formerly of Polwarth, who, not- 
 withstanding her delicate frame, and constantly in- 
 terrupted health, has outlived her husband, who 
 watched her with a tenderness suitable to those 
 amiable dispositions which formed so prominent a 
 part of his character. 
 
 In the year 1773, his tragedy of Alonzo was 
 performed at Drury-Lane, to which his friend Gar- 
 rick contributed a justly celebrated epilogue, cer- 
 tainly one of the best which his genius, so prolific 
 in that species of composition, ever produced. This 
 play was the most popular of all Mr Home's tra- 
 gedies, Douglas excepted, and met with great suc- 
 cess in the representation. Mrs Barry's Ormisin- 
 da was one of the parts in which that celebrated
 
 4 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 actress exerted her powers, in displaying the vio- 
 lence and energy of feeling, with striking effect. 
 
 In 1776, he was called suddenly from London, 
 by accounts he received from Mr Ferguson, of the 
 dangerous state of his celebrated friend, David 
 Hume. He set off with all that warmth of affec- 
 tion which was natural to him, met his friend on 
 the road, and accompanied him in his journey to 
 London and Bath, which he took by medical ad- 
 vice, cm account of his health. I am possessed of a 
 journal of this expedition, which, as it contains 
 some interesting particulars of the great philoso- 
 pher's closing life, as well as of his confidential opi- 
 nions, I may, perhaps, if the Society inclines, read, 
 by way of appendix to this paper ; meantime, I 
 cannot resist submitting to its perusal one letter of 
 Mr Hume's, to which, I am persuaded, it will lis- 
 ten with a considerable degree of interest ; it is da- 
 ted 6th August, 1776, not many weeks before that 
 celebrated man's death : 
 
 " Edinburgh, Qth August, 1776. 
 " MY DEAR JOHN, 
 
 " I shall begin with telling you the only piece of 
 good news of the family, which is, that my nephew, 
 in no more than two days that he has staid here, 
 has recovered so surprisingly, that he is scarcely 
 knowable, or rather is perfectly knowable, for he 
 was not so on his first arrival. [This relates to Mr
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. (>5 
 
 Hume's eldest nephew, Joseph, at that time just 
 returned from abroad, in very bad health.] Such 
 are the advantages of youth ! His uncle declines, 
 if not with so great rapidity, yet pretty sensibly. 
 Sunday, ill ; half of yesterday the same ; easy at 
 present ; prepared to suffer a little to-morrow ; 
 perhaps less the day after. Dr Black says I shall 
 not die of a dropsy, as I imagined, but of inanition 
 and weakness. He cannot, however, fix, with any 
 probability, the time, otherwise he would frankly 
 tell me. 
 
 " Poor Edmonstone, [Col. Edmonstone of New- 
 ton] and I parted to-day, with a plentiful effusion 
 of tears ; all those Behebubians * have not hearts 
 of iron. I hope you met with every thing well at 
 Foggo, and receive nothing but good news from 
 Buxton. In spite of Dr Black's caution, I venture 
 to foretel that I shall be yours cordially and sin- 
 cerely till the month of October next. 
 
 (Signed) " DAVID HUME." 
 
 In the beginning of the year 1778, the tragedy 
 of Alfred was performed at Drury-Lane, but did 
 not succeed. I do not mean in this place to enter 
 
 * Colonel Edmonstone was a member of what was called 
 the Ruffian Club ; men whose hearts were milder than their 
 manners, and their principles more correct than their habits 
 of life.
 
 66 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 into any critical discussion of Mr Home's works ; 
 but I may just say, that this tragedy is undoubt- 
 edly the weakest of his productions, and it was not 
 surprising that it did not please the public. In- 
 deed, had it possessed more merit than it did, an 
 English audience could have hardly been pleased 
 to see their Alfred, the pride of their country in 
 its earliest age, the patriot and the lawgiver, melt- 
 ed down to the weakness of love, like the common- 
 place hero of an ordinary drama. 
 
 In the year 1778, he had another opportunity of 
 indulging his passion for the military character, by 
 accepting a commission in the newly-embodied re- 
 giment of Mid-Lothian Fencibles, of which the 
 Duke of Buccleuch was colonel. In this appoint- 
 ment he possessed the advantage of having for the 
 captain of the company of which he was lieutenant, 
 his particular friend Lord Binning, and for his bro- 
 ther lieutenant, Mr W. Adam, the son of that fa- 
 mily with whom he had been so long on terms of 
 the strictest intimacy. Of this corps, he attended 
 the duties with all the ardour of a young soldier, 
 till they were interrupted by an unfortunate acci- 
 dent which had a material influence on his future 
 life, a fall from his horse, by which he suffered so 
 violent a contusion on his head, as for some days 
 deprived him of sense, and nearly extinguished his 
 life. Though he recovered the accident so far as 
 his bodily health was concerned, his mind was never 
 
 13
 
 LIFE OF MU JOHN HOME. 67 
 
 restored to its former vigour, nor regained its for- 
 mer vivacity. It did not, however, abate his military 
 ardour ; and after being for a short while at home, 
 he thought himself so much re-established, as to 
 join the regiment at Aberdeen, but he found him- 
 self not strong enough to go through the duties of 
 his station, nor even to attend the mess, which he 
 was anxious to do. The friendship of Lord and 
 Lady Binning, then at Aberdeen, did every thing 
 for him that kindness or assiduous care could ac- 
 complish ; but though his health seemed sufficient- 
 ly restored, his head was not able for numerous so- 
 ciety, and he was obliged, though with great re- 
 luctance, and not without the most urgent requests 
 of his friends, to resign his commission and return 
 to Edinburgh, whence he some time after repaired 
 to Bath, at which place, a residence of some months, 
 with attention to regimen and quiet, appeared per- 
 fectly to re-establish his health, but his intellectual 
 powers were never restored to their original state. 
 He had very early projected a History of the 
 Rebellion 1745. Indeed, I can perceive from some 
 notes on his earliest papers, that he had thought of 
 such a work immediately after the conclusion of 
 the rebellion, in 1746, or 47- During his inter- 
 vals of leisure, and more particularly after the un- 
 successful performance of Alfred, when he seemed 
 to cease writing for the stage, he resumed the plan 
 of this history, and had been in use to collect mate-
 
 68 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 rials for it by correspondence and communication 
 with such persons as could afford them, and even 
 by journies or tours to the Highlands of Scotland. 
 In one of these journies, I happened to travel for 
 two or three days along with him, and had occasion 
 to hear his ideas on the subject. They were such 
 as a man of his character and tone of mind would 
 entertain, full of the mistaken zeal and ill-fated 
 gallantry of the Highlanders, the self-devoted he- 
 roism of some of their chiefs, and the ill-judged se- 
 verity, carried (by some subordinate officers,) the 
 length of great inhumanity, of the conquering par- 
 ty. A specimen of this original style of his com- 
 position, still remains in his Account of the Gal- 
 lant Lochiel. But the complexion of his history was 
 materially changed before its publication, which, at 
 one time, he had very frequently and positively de- 
 termined should not be made till after his death, 
 but which he was tempted, by that fondness for 
 our literary offspring which the weakness of age 
 produces, while it leaves less power of appreciating 
 their merits, to hasten ; and accordingly published 
 the work at London in 1802. It was dedicated to 
 the King, as a mark of his gratitude for his majes- 
 ty's former gracious attention to him; a circum- 
 stance which perhaps contributes to weaken and 
 soften down the original composition, in compliment 
 to the monarch whose uncle's memory was some- 
 what implicated in the impolitic, as well as unge-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 69 
 
 nerous use which Mr Home conceived had been 
 made of the victory of Culloden. I need not give 
 any further account of the book, which is fresh in 
 the recollection of the Society ; but I may inform 
 them, that it was read in its native state before it 
 was emasculated by his later alterations, by a very 
 competent judge, Mr Ferguson, who was interest- 
 ed and pleased with it. He said to me, however, 
 with his usual frankness, in the recent communica- 
 tion which I have mentioned above, that he him- 
 self had contributed to spoil his friend's History of 
 the Rebellion. " I had often laid down to him 
 those principles of historical composition on which 
 I afterwards wrote my Roman History ; first, that 
 the narrative should be plain and simple, without 
 embellishment ; and, secondly, that it should re- 
 late only great public events, and trace only the 
 characters of individuals connected with them, with- 
 out descending into the minuter details of biogra- 
 phy. Now these," said Dr Ferguson, " were per- 
 fectly applicable to my subject, but not at all to 
 that of my friend. The Rebellion 1745 was too 
 unimportant in itself to make a history, without 
 borrowing such ornament from style, and such in- 
 terest from anecdote, as Voltaire has given to what 
 may be called his Historical Romance of the Ex- 
 pedition of Charles Edward Stuart." 
 
 In the year 1779, Mr Home left Kilduff, and 
 fixed his residence in Edinburgh, where, with the
 
 70 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 exception of some joumies to London, and particu- 
 larly that made for the unfortunate purpose of pub- 
 lishing his History of the Rebellion, he resided till 
 his death, which happened on the 5th September, 
 1 808, in the 86th year of his age. 
 
 For some time before that event, he had gradu- 
 ally sunk into a state of bodily and mental weak- 
 ness, which makes death a desirable event, both for 
 a man's own sake and that of his friends ; yet the 
 warmth of his heart remained unextinguished 
 amidst the feebleness of his frame. Lord Had- 
 dington, (whose kindness as Lord Binning had 
 been so useful to him when an officer in the Lo- 
 thian Fencible Regiment,) saw him among the last 
 times any person, beyond those of his own family, 
 were admitted to his room. He looked at his lord- 
 ship for some time with an uncertainty as to his 
 person, but shortly after, recovering the recollection 
 of his old friend, his features assumed the smile of 
 satisfaction, and he pressed his hand with a silent 
 assurance of his tender remembrance. It was gra- 
 tifying to his friends thus to see him pass through 
 his last moments with a decay of body undisturbed 
 by pain, and a serenity of mind, the effect of good- 
 ness and virtue exercised in this world, and the 
 forerunner of their reward in a better. 
 
 The Society must have been sensible of a defect 
 in this paper, the want of any critical account or 
 examination of Mr Home's works ; but I was aware
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 71 
 
 that I must exhaust its patience by what it was ne- 
 cessary for me to read of the principal events of his 
 life, and the characters of his friends. I could not 
 think of tiring it with listening to my remarks on 
 his works, or with another usual accompaniment, 
 perhaps at least as material, of such memoirs as 
 this, the most interesting letters of such of his 
 friends and correspondents as were conspicuous in 
 public or literary life. These I therefore reserve 
 to a future meeting, if the Society shall think they 
 are likely to deserve being read ; and with regard 
 to the letters, I shall derive great advantage from 
 the delay, because it is only this very day that I 
 have received from a near relation of Mr Home's, 
 a very large collection of those which he received 
 from Mr D. Hume, Mr Garrick, Dr Blair, Lord 
 Elibank, and others, strongly characteristic both of 
 the writers themselves, of the persons to whom they 
 were addressed, and not unfrequently of the times 
 when they were written.
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS WORKS, AND THE LETTERS 
 OF HIS CORRESPONDENTS. 
 
 I HAD intended, previously to giving any account 
 of Mr Home's Works, to have prefaced it with a 
 short notice of the state of the literature of this 
 part of the kingdom at the time when he began to 
 write ; but I found this statement likely to grow, 
 under my hands, to a size rather disproportionate 
 to what might be called the text of my biographi- 
 cal sketch of the poet. 
 
 I will content myself, at present, with mention- 
 ing the general state of the public taste and opi- 
 nion with regard to the drama, at the period when 
 Mr Home first began to cultivate dramatic poetry. 
 It was not long after Mr Garrick had opened the 
 new theatre of Drury Lane, with that idolatry of 
 Shakespeare, which his admirable acting, in some 
 of the principal characters of that inimitable poet, 
 tended so strongly to confirm. The heroics of the
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 73 
 
 former age had gone into that oblivion from which 
 fashion only had rescued them at their first produc- 
 tion. Such was the power of that fashion, that Ot- 
 way's admirable tragedies of the Orphan, and Ve- 
 nice Preserved, had received only a moderate de- 
 gree of public approbation ; while his play of Don 
 Carlos, every way inferior to these, and possessing, 
 indeed, very little merit of any kind, received the 
 unbounded applause which the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham has recorded in his satyrieal poem of the Ses- 
 sion oftlie Poets. Among the candidates for the 
 laureateship, Otway is introduced, not as founding 
 his claim on the excellent dramas first above men- 
 tioned, but as 
 
 " Tom Shadwell's dear Zany, 
 Who swears, for heroics, he writes best of any, 
 Don Carlos his pockets so amply had filled" 
 
 the other line of the couplet is so gross and dis- 
 gusting, that the Society will excuse my repeating 
 it. 
 
 At the time of Mr Home's beginning to turn 
 his thoughts to the composition of tragedy, this 
 author, Otway, had attained that true rank in dra- 
 matic poetry to which his power over the passions, 
 and the exquisite tenderness of his pathetic scenes, 
 so justly entitled him. His name was always cou- 
 pled with that of Shakespeare, by the friends of 
 the drama in this country. Next in rank were
 
 74 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 placed Howe and Southern ; the first for the rich- 
 ness and melody of his verse, the last for that na- 
 tural pathos with which he invested dramatic dis- 
 tress. Congreve's single tragedy of the Mourning 
 Bride had been received with great applause ; cer- 
 tainly there was something very impressive in one 
 of the characters, (that of Zara,} and the incidents, 
 if not very probable, were striking and theatrical. 
 Dr Young had, with a very successful boldness, 
 produced a play on the same subject as that of 
 Othello, which owed, perhaps, great part of its suc- 
 cess to that semi-bombastic dignity with which his 
 Zanga was invested, a character to which Young's 
 florid and swelling diction was well suited, and 
 which gave to some actors, who were celebrated for 
 their performance of that part, (the Irish Mossop 
 in particular,) an opportunity of displaying strong 
 powers, better adapted to the savage and relentless 
 energy of the Moor, than to the expression of more 
 natural feelings. A few months before the first re- 
 presentation of Douglas, Moore brought out his 
 tragedy of the Gamester, a dramatic story, sketch- 
 ed with somewhat a finer pencil than the plays of 
 Lillo, whose family tragedies (as they may be call- 
 ed) had been favourably received by the public, and 
 were on a plan that might be considered original, 
 as they preceded, by a considerable period, the 
 dromes of the French stage, which, for some time, 
 were so popular in France. The Gamester, how-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 75 
 
 ever, with all its merits, rather languished on the 
 London theatre, till the reflected reputation which 
 it borrowed from the success of a French imitation 
 of it, which Garrick found in high favour at Paris, 
 brought it into equal favour on the London stage ; 
 and the Society knows the celebrity it has since ac- 
 quired from the exquisite representation of its do- 
 mestic distress in the acting of Mrs Siddons. I 
 may speak of Mrs Siddons, now that she has quit- 
 ted the stage, as an actress of former times ; it 
 would not, perhaps, be altogether delicate to speak 
 of performers who continue to hold a high place 
 there. 
 
 Mr Home does not seem to have written with 
 any of the above-named authors in his view. 
 Shakespeare, of whose excellence he was an enthu- 
 siastic admirer, he did not think of imitating in 
 manner or in style ; and the later poets he does not 
 appear, from any of his private notes or letters 
 which I have seen, to have either studied or follow- 
 ed. He had, I presume, very early conceived the 
 idea of dramatic composition, and indeed I have 
 not been able to find traces of any poetical attempts 
 of his early life, when he wrote poetry independ- 
 ently of this idea. In his admiration of ancient re- 
 publicanism, which the warm and enthusiastic 
 turn of mind which 1 have before mentioned, as 
 natural to him, readily excited, he had written a 
 prose essay of considerable length, (already noticed
 
 76 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 in the first part of this paper,) somewhat after the 
 manner of Plutarch, on the comparative merits of 
 the Grecian characters ofAgis and deomenes, and 
 the Roman ones of the two Gracchi. In the course 
 of this historical dissertation, he seems to have 
 caught the idea of dramatizing that portion of 
 Spartan history which it led him to study, and he 
 produced his first tragedy otAgis. The plan of this 
 tragedy, as it first rose in his mind, appears to have 
 been conceived without the agency of any other 
 passion than that of patriotism on the one side, and 
 ambition on the other ; but after proceeding a cer- 
 tain length, he was convinced, (as Addison had 
 been in writing Cato,} that his play would not suc- 
 ceed in representation without somewhat more of 
 interest and tenderness being woven into the story, 
 and therefore he introduced the love of Lysander 
 and Eudnthe. This, certainly, whatever objection 
 might be made to it with regard to unity of action, 
 improved the theatrical effect of the plot and in- 
 cidents of the piece, and gave an opportunity, in 
 particular, for one incident in the scene where Ly- 
 sander, disguised in the dress of a helot, attempts 
 to kill Amphares, but is checked by the threat of 
 the Spartan chief, to stab Euanthe, if her lover 
 makes any further resistance, which the author set 
 a particular value on, as he expressed strongly to 
 me on a subsequent occasion, and which Garrick, 
 whose attention to stage effect sometimes, very na-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 77 
 
 turally, overcame his literary or critical judgment, 
 perused, (as will appear from a letter which I shall 
 read by and by,) with the highest approbation. 
 The tragedy of Agis remained several years in its 
 author's possession, without his being able to pro- 
 cure its admission to the stage. It was read by se- 
 veral of his literary friends, among whom was a gen- 
 tleman of great ability, but whose abilities were 
 better known as a politician than as a critic, the 
 late Mr Oswald of Dunnikeir, from whom I beg 
 leave, in this place, to read a letter to Mr Home 
 on the subject. The general remarks of this let- 
 ter are more distinguished by their good sense than 
 by their novelty ; and I should perhaps think it 
 too long for the Society to hear, were it not for one 
 interesting circumstance, namely,, that it contains 
 the opinion of the great Lord Chatham on the tra- 
 gedy of Agis, Mr Oswald having left the MS. 
 with that illustrious statesman, for the purpose of 
 obtaining his remarks on it. It is pleasant thus 
 to attend, into the walks of literature and private 
 life, the great public characters who have ruled the 
 fate of nations ; to mark the current of their minds 
 in its purer state, unsoiled and unperturbed amidst 
 the mazes of politics, or the stormy regions of am- 
 bition. I am, however, extremely sorry to say, that 
 Lord Chatham's (then Mr Pitt's) own letter has 
 been lost or mislaid by Mr Home, the most care- 
 less man on earth with regard to papers, so that we
 
 78 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 can only judge of the criticism which it contained, 
 from the representation of Mr Oswald in the letter 
 with which it was accompanied, and in which it 
 was amplified and enlarged. 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 " I received last night a letter from Mr Pitt, 
 which, as it contains a judgment on your play, I 
 have enclosed for your consideration. Since recei- 
 ving it, I have considered your piece, with a parti- 
 cular view to the objections contained in the letter ; 
 which, though not quite enough opened, nor suffi- 
 ciently accompanied with reasons, yet, as they are 
 said to proceed from sentiment, and come from peo- 
 ple of taste, deserve the most serious consideration, 
 taste and sentiment being the ultimate tests of 
 all poetical composition ; though it is possible, by 
 reasoning, to discover the foundations on which such 
 judgments proceed. 
 
 " The first objection seems directed singly against 
 the manner in which the love affair betwixt Lysan- 
 der and Euanthe is executed, and condemnation is 
 past on the expression of that passion, in both these 
 personages. This criticism is founded entirely on 
 sentiment. But, upon the best reflection I am able 
 to make, if it is a just one, it is more deeply found- 
 ed, and lies against the love intrigue itself, which 
 is not, perhaps from its nature cannot be, sufficient- 
 ly made a part of the main action, so as to mingle
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 79 
 
 with, or be transfused into it, and contribute to the 
 general distress or catastrophe. If that is the case, 
 not only any imperfections in this part will be more 
 visible, but at the same time less excusable, than if in 
 those incidents or characters which are more pecu- 
 liarly parts of the main design. The reason of this 
 seems to be, that the attention of the mind being 
 chiefly fixed to the main object, easily passes over 
 whatever is immediately connected with, or contri- 
 butes to it ; and, consequently, easily escapes and 
 forgives such small slips and faults as occur in the 
 hurry which this attention creates, providing they 
 do not intercept the view of the main object, or di- 
 vert the attention any other way. Besides, while 
 the attention remains fixed in general, such slips 
 and faults are not so soon discovered. No ques- 
 tions are asked while the attention is carried on ; 
 and in the progress new lights arise, to clear up 
 what would otherwise be obscure. The mind rests 
 satisfied on the whole, and only critics perhaps 
 demand greater exactness ; but it is quite the re- 
 verse in episodes, or double plots ; for, as these in- 
 fallibly divert the attention of the mind from the 
 main object, they as infallibly give occasion to a 
 thousand questions ; whilst unluckily the poet is 
 not at liberty to answer or explain them, without 
 diverting the attention and distracting the mind 
 still farther. To do it in a full degree, the main 
 object might be wholly eclipsed and lost. To ap-
 
 80 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 ply this general doctrine to the present case, what 
 I apprehend shocks in the episode of Lysander and 
 Euanthe, is, that their situation is not sufficiently 
 explained to justify the impatient passion of the 
 one, and the distressful tenderness of the other ; 
 their sentiments, neither improper in themselves, nor 
 improperly expressed, may become so from the si- 
 tuation not being properly explained ; and, conse- 
 quently, the reader or spectator left at liberty to 
 form such ideas of that situation, as his own force 
 of mind suggests to him, which is not always di- 
 rected by good nature the very reverse of which 
 is always indulged in subjects where aversion is 
 professedly expected. Another inconveniency at- 
 tending episodes, is, that the distress they produce 
 seldom coincides or mingles perfectly with the ge- 
 neral distress or catastrophe of the piece ; and if it 
 does not, it plainly diminishes it in just the same 
 proportion. This inconveniency is hard to be 
 avoided in any episode, unless a very fortunate one 
 indeed ; and I am afraid takes place in this of Ly- 
 sander and Euanthe, which, in some measure, gives 
 occasion to the other objections ; viz. that the catas- 
 trophe consists not of one general distress, but of 
 various distresses, each occasioning a different sen- 
 timent from each other for this I apprehend the 
 objection to be. The distress of Lysander and 
 Euanthe is a different one from that of Agis and 
 Sparta, through the whole play ; and the senti-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 81 
 
 ment of compassion different which the mind gives 
 to each. If this is so, they may, perhaps, instead 
 of heightening the sum total of the catastrophe, by 
 taking from each other, rather serve to diminish it. 
 One other cause could possibly be assigned why 
 the catastrophe strikes in this manner, and that 
 is, that Agis's imprisonment, from which period 
 the conspirators might, if they would, have put him 
 to death, may possibly, with some minds, finish the 
 main action in the fourth act ; and if this should 
 be so, the deaths ofAgis, Lysander, and Euanthe, 
 in the fifth act, may not mark the general catas- 
 trophe, or sum total of distress, but appear as so 
 many relations of so many various events, each of 
 which is attended with a different, and not one 
 uniform sentiment. Thus, if the fate of Sparta is 
 supposed to be determined in the fourth act, we 
 are left in the fifth to do no more than survey the 
 different ends of those who followed it. We may 
 pity Euanthe pity and applaud Lysander for his 
 generosity approve of Agis for his benevolence 
 and stoicism, and detest the others. But the mind 
 is not absorbed in one general passion or sentiment, 
 of which all the particular ones are only so many 
 parts which easily mix and blend together ; and 
 such is, and ought to be, the tragic catastrophe. 
 Those reflections which I have thrown loosely to- 
 gether since I received Mr Pitt's letter, did not, I 
 VOL. I. F
 
 83 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 own, occur to me before ; both as being no critic in 
 such performances, and for being charmed, as I still 
 am, with every detached scene of your piece, which 
 I look upon as far the best of the kind I have read. 
 But, on finding objections from a quarter for which 
 I have so great deference, I was tempted to try if 
 I could discover where the real strength of them 
 lay; not only as success is scarce to be expected when 
 objections from such people remain ; but, as I know 
 your genius and ability to be such as can easily 
 free this play from them, or compose another as good, 
 where none such shall exist. I will not pretend to 
 answer for the pertness of any of the observations 
 I have made, being quite a novice in those matters ; 
 But, as I write you with great freedom, I not only 
 submit them to you, but at same time what occurs 
 to me ; if you shall be of opinion that either those 
 objections, or what I have said on them, is mate- 
 rial. What occurs to me then is this ; that I ap- 
 prehend, with your genius and facility of composi- 
 tion, you will find it perhaps both an easier, a more 
 agreeable, and a more successful task, to set about 
 composing an entire new piece, where you will be 
 master of the whole, and thereby enabled, with ease, 
 to avoid every objection which has been made; while 
 at the same time you can transfuse the whole of 
 that poetical spirit, truth of character and inte- 
 rest, and beauty of diction, which has been, I 
 will take upon me to say, so justly admired in
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME, 83 
 
 this. Should this be your own opinion, I dare say 
 you cannot fail of success ; and may, perhaps, ob- 
 tain as quick a representation for the one, as you 
 could have had for the other ; which, meantime, 
 may be laid by to wait a more solemn decision, 
 when critics perhaps may change their rninds, as 
 I shall always at least be willing to do mine. One 
 thing you will certainly obtain ; that is, a more fa- 
 vourable hearing both from critics and others. What 
 inclines me to this opinion is, that I verily believe, 
 to one of your genius, it is infinitely easier to com- 
 pose a play, free from such faults as are objected to 
 in Agis, than to amend and alter those objected to. 
 Whatever your opinion is, I beg you will write me 
 with freedom ; and, above all, without being dis- 
 couraged ; for I think I can answer for your suc- 
 cess if you are not. I have got both copies, which 
 I shall dispose of as you direct. All this family is 
 well, and send compliments. 
 " I am, 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 " Yours, with great esteem, 
 
 " JAMES OSWALD." 
 " Wandsworth, 15tk June, 1750." 
 
 The suggestion of Mr Pitt was obeyed, and the 
 play materially corrected ; but neither the correc- 
 tions of the author, nor the patronage of those 
 friends, prevailed on Garrick to bring it on the
 
 84 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 stage. Afterwards, when the success of Douglas 
 had given Mr Home considerable reputation, and 
 principally, I believe, when he had become a favou- 
 rite and companion of Lord Bute, and through 
 him was patronised by the Prince of Wales, Gar- 
 rick made no difficulty of bringing out this tragedy, 
 in which he played the part of Lysander himself; 
 and though he criticised, in the following letter, 
 parts of the plan of the tragedy, and some of the 
 scenes in detail, his indulgence for the author got 
 the better of his judgment, and he brought out the 
 tragedy without any of the alterations which he 
 had suggested. It is amusing, when one recollects 
 his absolute refusal of this play at a prior period, to 
 peruse this letter, as well as the short note which 
 I read along with the first part of this paper, from 
 that celebrated actor and manager, whom the mu- 
 ses, I am afraid, interested somewhat in proportion 
 as they were in favour at Court. 
 
 " Nov. 5, 1757. 
 " MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 " I sit down to write you in the midst of drums, 
 trumpets, and, above all, the roarings of the mighty 
 Bajazet ; we are celebrating the glorious and im- 
 mortal memory as loudly as we can, but I have stole 
 away to say a word to you upon Agis. I have read 
 the three acts over and over again ; the language 
 and characters in general please me. The subject
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 85 
 
 itself is of the least dramatic kind, (viz. political 
 and sentimental,) not but there are some affecting 
 scenes in these three acts ; and if your two last are 
 gloriously poetical, I will insure you both fame and 
 profit. I could wish, if you have rough-written the 
 whole, that you would immediately repair to this 
 place, that we might confer upon these matters, 
 for it will be impossible to say every foolish thing 
 I have to say to you by letter. Some of the scenes 
 are rather heavy, particularly that between Rhesus 
 and Euanthe, and that between Agisaud Lysander, 
 in the second act. I likewise think that Lysander 
 comes too suddenly upon the stage, for Agis has 
 but just quitted it ; Euanthe speaks a soliloquy, 
 then enters Rhesus, giving an account of Lysan- 
 der's arrival and victory, and that he was with 
 Agis. Now, is it possible to conceive that Agis 
 could get to the Senate, meet Lysander there, and 
 that the necessary matters between them could be 
 dispatched in the time so short a scene can be per- 
 formed ? The first scene of the lovers is not, in my 
 opinion, so interesting and affecting as that in the 
 third act, and indeed you'll say that it ought not to 
 be so ; but all I mean is this, that their first scene 
 in the first act is not in proportion so well written 
 and magical as their last, or that in the third act. 
 If you and your friends should think me in this a 
 little too hypercritical, I shall very readily submit 
 to better judgments. 13ut now for something of
 
 86 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 more consequence ; surely the reason that Lysan- 
 der gives to Euanthe, (but I, Euanthe, partial to 
 thy willy SOUGHT THEE IN VAIN,) for being shut 
 up in the city, is a very weak one, and almost 
 amounts to the ridiculous. What ! not find a lady 
 of her quality, who is under the protection of the 
 king, and lives in the palace ? This certainly must 
 be altered.* I was thinking whether the scene be- 
 tween them in the third act might not pass before 
 the gates are shut, and that upon leaving her he 
 finds his going to the camp obstructed by the sud- 
 den order of Amphares,, that then he may return 
 to her in the helofs dress, which would very na- 
 turally and forcibly bring on the fine capital scene 
 in the third act, between him, her, and Amphares. 
 I am speaking at random, and therefore you must 
 make what use you please of these my loose thoughts. 
 Is not there too little matter in the second act ? the 
 whole consists of that very long scene between 
 Agis and Lysander, the entrance of a Senator, the 
 procession, and the soliloquy, (which is a very fine 
 one) of Amphares. I cannot as yet see what use 
 we can make of Sandane ; she is very insignificant 
 hitherto, and unless she has sometnlfTg to do in the 
 two last acts, she will appear to have no business in 
 the tragedy. I am called away, and can only say, 
 
 * It was, however, not altered.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 87 
 
 that the more I read of Agis, the more I like it ; 
 and if the pathos rises to a proper height in the two 
 last acts, I" affair est/aite. It will be a most unspeak- 
 able pleasure to me to convince you how much I 
 regard and esteem you. 
 " I am, dear Sir, 
 
 " Most sincerely, 
 
 " Your friend and very humble servant, 
 
 " D. GARIUCK. 
 
 " Mrs Garrick presents her best compliments to 
 you ; she has cry'd at you already. You have writ- 
 ten some passages in these three acts, more like 
 Shakespeare than any other author ever did." 
 
 Yet the objections of Garrick to this tragedy as 
 a play to be acted, seem to me to be well founded. 
 The two first acts lag so much, and have so much 
 of mere languid declamation, that it would be hard- 
 ly possible for any performer to keep up the atten- 
 tion of the audience during this pause of the main 
 action, and the barrenness of incident which attends 
 it. The poetry, however, is in general smooth and 
 flowing, and the sentiments striking and well ex- 
 pressed. There is much of the favourite spirit of 
 the author, the admirer of martial glory, in the 
 short speech of Rhesus t characterising his brother, 
 the second in command in that Thracian army,
 
 88 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 which was to awe the Spartans, and destroy their 
 king: 
 
 " Next in command my brother Euxus stands, 
 A youth to Mars devoted ; for he loves 
 Danger itself, not danger's rich reward*" 
 
 And the sentiment of Lysancler, when his prince 
 wishes him to leave him in Sparta, and provide for 
 their future safety by repairing to the army, is hap- 
 pily expressed, without being overloaded, like those 
 of many other dramas, with unnecessary words : 
 
 " Things past belong to memory alone, 
 Things future are the property of hope ; 
 The narrow line, the isthmus of these seas, 
 The instant scarce divisible, is all 
 That mortals have to stand on." 
 
 Nor is the reflection of the calm and philosophic 
 Agis without its peculiar merit, and is sufficiently 
 appropriate both to the character and the situation. 
 
 " In times like these, of a declining state, 
 Baseness infects the general race of man ; 
 But yet these trying times rear up a few 
 More excellent, refined, and conscious spirits, 
 More principled, and fit for all events, 
 Than any in the good, but equal mass, 
 Of a far better age." 
 
 The following may be thought too bold, and the
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 89 
 
 figure is somewhat open to ridicule, in respect of 
 the picture which it presents : 
 
 " On the insect wing 
 
 Of a snlall moment, ride th' eternal fates." 
 
 Yet I have heard it admired at the time ; and even 
 now, in that vague extravagant sort of sublimity, 
 begotten by Genius upon Nonsense, which has dis- 
 tinguished some recent productions, it would, I 
 doubt not, excite admiratibn and applause. 
 
 In the third act occurs the incident of which, as 
 I have formerly mentioned, the author was so proud, 
 and which Garrick foresaw would strike the audi- 
 ence so much, that in which the villain Ampliares 
 disarms Lysander., by the threat of stabbing his 
 much-loved Euanthe, if he continues to resist. Mr 
 Home has repeated it, with scarce any variation, in 
 one of the closing scenes of his Fatal Discovery. 
 
 The fourth act does not ill sustain, in the im- 
 portance of its events, and the spirit of its dialogue, 
 the interest which was excited in the third. The 
 Athenian Lysander, bred in the academic school, 
 may be excused, when, amidst the perils of his si- 
 tuation, he utters the following philosophical, but 
 generous exclamation : 
 
 . " If man is like the leaf, 
 
 Which, falling from the tree, revives no more, 
 I shall be shortly dust, that will not hear 
 Euanthe's grief, nor see the shame of Sparta !
 
 90 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Now I am a living man, my mind is free ; 
 
 And whilst I live and breathe, by Heaven, I'll act 
 
 As if I were immortal !" 
 
 One line, uttered by the same person in this 
 scene, attracted the particular applause of the au- 
 dience, from a circumstance in the conduct of the 
 Seven Years' War, which had then recently hap- 
 pened. Our troops had been foiled in an attempt 
 on the French coast, and the dispatch, if I recol- 
 lect right, of the commander of that detachment, 
 had mentioned the danger which had deterred him 
 from landing, or longer maintaining his position on 
 the coast. In the play, Euxus proposes to Ly- 
 sander immediately to leave Sparta, and depart for 
 the army. " Your stay," says he, 
 
 " Your stay is full of danger, risk it not." 
 
 Lysander replies, 
 
 " All necessary dangers must be risk'd." 
 
 Some one in the pit exclaimed, " Bellisle" and 
 there was a loud and continued plaudit. 
 
 The fifth act but ill supports the spirit of the 
 two former, though there is some interest excited 
 by the uncertainty which hangs over the fate of 
 Lysander, till the scene in which he kills Am- 
 phares, and rescues Euanthe. But the audience, 
 when I saw this piece represented, felt the languor
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 91 
 
 of its conclusion, and went away not much affected 
 by the death of Agis, and with somewhat of indif- 
 ference ahout the future fate of the lovers, or of 
 Sparta. To this is probably owing the neglect 
 which it has experienced since its original repre- 
 sentation, though certainly superior, in every kind 
 of merit, to many tragedies that have since kept 
 possession of the stage. 
 
 I think it probable that the suggestion contain- 
 ed in the criticism of Mr Oswald, which I read a 
 little while ago, was the prompter of our author's 
 idea in writing the tragedy of Douglas ; for there 
 are among his papers some hints and scraps that 
 seem to have been germs of that tragedy, which 
 bear the appearance of having been set down very 
 near the time when that letter was written. In 
 conformity, perhaps, with the criticism of that let- 
 ter, he now discarded love from the plan of his dra- 
 ma, and founded it on maternal tenderness a sub- 
 ject which had employed the ablest dramatic poets, 
 from the earliest times, and which was naturally 
 indeed, from the earliest times, entitled to posses- 
 sion of the stage. He wove it into a story, found- 
 ed, I believe, on the old Scots ballad of Gil Mor- 
 rice, which had been recited to him by a lady, and 
 which happily suited the bent of his imagination, 
 that loved to dwell amidst the heroic times of chi- 
 valry and romantic valour, particularly amidst those 
 in which the great names of our ancient Scottish
 
 92 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Worthies were distinguished. The story, in all its 
 circumstances, was calculated to inflame this sort of 
 imagination, and the incidents which it presented 
 were of an appropriate kind, familiarized to the 
 fancy of a poet of this country, and congenial to its 
 traditional history as well as manners. This seems 
 to me to have been the peculiar felicity which gave 
 Mr Home so great an advantage in the composition 
 of Douglas, and raised that drama so much above 
 all his other works. Of this piece there are extant, 
 among those papers which Mr Home's nephew has 
 been so obliging as to put into my hands, more frag- 
 ments and original sketches, or, as a painter would 
 call them, studies, than of any other of Mr Home's 
 productions ; and it is curious to observe, how much 
 the after corrections of the poet, probably suggest- 
 ed by the remarks of that very able set of friends 
 and companions to whom he early communicated 
 his piece, have improved it.* Yet the chief scene, 
 
 * These corrections, it is probable, occasioned the belief, 
 which I remember very current at one time, that the supe- 
 rior excellence of Douglas, was owing to the assistance which 
 he received in its composition, from his literary friends. 
 There is a disposition, (whether from envy or a love of de- 
 traction, or merely a sort of pleasure in the discovering of 
 things not commonly known) in the public to impute works 
 to others, instead of their real authors. The same disposition 
 leads to the accusations of plagiarism, so often made on very 
 slight foundations.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 93 
 
 one, indeed, which has no equal in modern, and 
 scarcely a superior in ancient drama, that between 
 Lady Randolph and Old JVorval, I have found, 
 on comparing the original sketch with the finished 
 scene in the printed play, to differ scarcely in a 
 word. Thus it is that the fervid creation of genius 
 and fancy strikes out what is so excellent as well as 
 vivid, as not to admit of amendment, and which, 
 indeed, correction would spoil instead of improving. 
 This is the true inspiration of the poet, which gives 
 to criticism instead of borrowing from it, its model 
 and its rule, and which it is possible, in some dif- 
 fident authors, the terrors of criticism may have 
 weakened or extinguished. 
 
 The only part of any great poetical composition, 
 whether in the dramatic or narrative form, which 
 no genius can produce in a hurry, is the plan and 
 progress of the fable. On that the poet, gifted how 
 much soever he may be, must often pause must 
 consider it in its general effect, as well as in its va- 
 rious parts in detail, in the relation which those 
 parts bear to one another, as well as to nature and 
 probability. He must often look back from the end 
 to the beginning must measure, as it were, the 
 growth of his characters, from their earliest intro- 
 duction into the piece, and trace the connexion of 
 the incidents or scenes, from the opening of his 
 story to its final catastrophe. It was this that made
 
 94 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Racine say that his piece was written when he had 
 written out its plan ; yet I am rather of the opinion 
 which I had once occasion to hear Garrick declare, 
 that there is a power in exquisite writing to abate 
 the faults, and to supply the wants of a defective 
 plan ; just as an excellent colourist can soften the 
 errors of his drawing, by the lights and shadows of 
 his painting. 
 
 In Douglas, there are some defects in the plan 
 and construction of the story ; and one which is a 
 sort of merit in the poet to have produced, is the 
 falling off in the interest in the two last acts ; for 
 I think, on an impartial examination, it will be 
 found, that the incidents, and more particularly the 
 dialogue, in these last acts, go off somewhat coldly, 
 chiefly from the high excitement of the spectator's 
 mind in the scene of the discovery ; and it is also 
 to be attended to, that in a play so often represent- 
 ed, the reader always raises up, even in his study, 
 the picture of the representation and in the repre- 
 sentation, the acting ; especially of that admirable 
 actress who has electrified so many audiences in 
 Lady Randolph ; and who, in her interview with 
 the Old Shepherd, has so called forth and exhaust- 
 ed the feelings, as to leave only their languid re- 
 mains to the future scenes of the play. I think 
 that if allowance be made for those disadvantages, 
 the reader will find, in the dialogue between the
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 95 
 
 mother and her son, in the fifth act, a degree of 
 tenderness and nature, that in an ordinary tragedy 
 would have been considered excellent. The dic- 
 tion, as well as the delineation of feeling in Dou- 
 glas, seems to me of a very superior kind suffi- 
 ciently beautiful, without losing the proper drama- 
 tic simplicity, and in a high degree poetical, with- 
 out any of that obscurity which in many, especial- 
 ly of modern poems, has been mistaken for poetry. 
 Mrs Siddons told me she never found any study 
 (which, in the technical language of the stage, 
 means the getting verses by heart) so easy as that 
 of Douglas, which is one of the best criterions of 
 excellence in dramatic style. The same great acr 
 tresv however, complained, that in the opening 
 scenes, even with the retrenchments which she was 
 obliged to make, there was a monotony which she 
 found it extremely difficult to support in the deli- 
 very. I apprehend that this remark, which I am 
 persuaded was well founded, was rather a compli- 
 ment than an objection to the style of the piece ; 
 because that sort of level tone which is so difficult 
 to support in scenic representations, is the very 
 voice of nature in those situations of long-nourish- 
 ed settled sorrow, which had been for so many years 
 the constant and cherished companion of Lady 
 Randolph. 
 
 With such excellence as is now universally al- 
 lowed to the tragedy of Douglas, it was not to be
 
 96 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 wondered at that it should produce a strong sensa- 
 tion in Scotland ; though I will allow, at the same 
 time, that the public curiosity and expectation were 
 considerably heightened by the peculiar situation 
 of its author, the minister of a church, which, in 
 those times particularly, held stage plays in repro- 
 bation. It created a sort of party, as a religious 
 rather than a critical question, and the proceedings, 
 as I have detailed in a former part of this paper, 
 were carried on with a violence which perhaps may 
 surprise us in these more moderate times. This 
 party keenness, however, was favourable, as far as 
 notice and interest are favourable, to the success of 
 the play. But its success did not rest on this ground 
 alone its poetical merit captivated all who had the 
 good fortune to hear any parts of it recited. I have 
 already mentioned that some of the striking pas- 
 sages, among which I particularly recollect the open- 
 ing soliloquy, had been got by heart, and were re- 
 peated by fair lips, for the admiration of their tea- 
 tables. I may observe in passing, that few open- 
 ing speeches are more beautiful in poetry, or more 
 interesting in matter ; though, perhaps, there is a 
 mistake, not uncommon (observable indeed in other 
 soliloquys of this very tragedy) in its dramatic cha- 
 racter, that it tells a great part of Lady Randolph's 
 story. Now, one never, I think, strictly speaking, 
 tells a story to one's-self in soliloquy, though one 
 
 13
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 97 
 
 may reflect on its past, and anticipate its future, 
 consequences. 
 
 No part of dramatic composition, however, has 
 been so little regulated either by nature or proba- 
 bility, as that of the Monologue. On the French 
 stage, till the time of Voltaire, the soliloquys were 
 not indeed narrative ; but they consisted of a string 
 of high-flown sentiments, artificially expressed, 
 equally unnatural and tiresome. I may be allowed 
 to add, that no part of dramatic language is more 
 difficult to the actor. Garrick appeared to me un- 
 rivalled in this department of acting. In speaking 
 soliloquy, in holding those secret and searching dia- 
 logues with himself, he not only forgot the audience, 
 but seemed to hold no communion with any thing 
 external. He put off even the ordinary attributes 
 of the character which he represented ; he wrapt in 
 the dark recesses of his soul, the half-conceived 
 thought, the stifled passion, the secret vengeance, 
 the repressed consciousness of crime. In a low and 
 broken tone, in a language almost independent of 
 words, he expressed the abrupt and scarcely con- 
 nected movements of his mind. In some of those 
 " horrible imaginings," as Shakespeare calls them, 
 which are first developed in soliloquy, from his fix- 
 ed eye, his contracted and furrowed brow, the silent 
 quivering of his lips, with the low stifled tones they 
 breathed, which, by an art almost peculiar to him- 
 
 VOL. j. G
 
 98 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 self, he made audible to the ear, but still more au- 
 dible to the mind, the impression was powerful be- 
 yond measure. 'Twas like the muttering of a vol- 
 cano, before its fires are seen ; and the audience lis- 
 tened to it with the same deep and silent awe. The 
 Society will scarcely make allowance for this enthu- 
 siastic eulogium ; but any of its members who have 
 seen Garrick will understand it. 
 
 The episode of the Hermit, in the tragedy of 
 Douglas, is extremely beautiful, and may be even 
 considered natural in the place where it is intro- 
 duced. It was one which had probably risen to the 
 poet's mind in his solitary walks on the shores of 
 his parish ; and of which he was so particularly fond, 
 that he has introduced the idea in more than one 
 of his subsequent productions, with the addition, in 
 one of them, of a picturesque image, which would 
 naturally occur to him amidst the scenes of those 
 walks I have mentioned. 
 
 " Here I sit in sorrow, 
 Silent and motionless, from morn to eve, 
 Till the sea-fowls that skim along the shore, 
 Fearless alight, and settling at my feet, 
 Scream their wild notes, as if I were a stone, 
 A senseless trunk, that could not do them harm." 
 
 I have been more full in my remarks on this tra- 
 gedy, because it was that which gave his celebrity 
 to the author, and continues to be distinguished as
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 99 
 
 one of the most interesting and pathetic dramas of 
 the modern stage. It is not easy to conceive what 
 could have induced Garrick to reject it when offer- 
 ed to him for representation ; nor did his confidence 
 in his own superior judgment yield even to the ex- 
 perience of its effect in representation at Edin- 
 burgh ; it was brought out at Covent-Garden only, 
 the year after it had been acted in Scotland. 
 
 Mr David Hume's high opinion of this tragedy, 
 he has told the world in the dedication of a volume 
 of his Essays, published soon after the appearance 
 of Douglas, to his friend the author. His remarks 
 when it was first communicated to him in MS. are 
 contained in a letter, part of which has been torn 
 off, of which the residue is as follows :* 
 
 * In reading this letter, it is necessary to know, that, as 
 the tragedy was first acted, the names of several of the prin- 
 cipal characters were different from what they were made in 
 the later representations. Lord Randolph was then Lord 
 Barnet, Lady Randolph, of course, Lady Barnet, and Norval 
 was Forman. The author's friends soon discovered the want 
 of dignity in the name Barnet, from its being the name of the 
 well-known village near London ; and Forman was a com- 
 mon sirname of no high rank in Berwickshire.
 
 100 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Mr DAVID HUME'S Remarks on Douglas. 
 
 " 1755, a 1756. 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 WITH great pleasure I have more than once 
 perused your tragedy. It is interesting, affecting, 
 pathetic. The story is simple and natural ; but 
 what chiefly delights me, is to find the language 
 so pure, correct, and moderate. For God's sake, 
 read Shakespeare, but get Racine and Sophocles 
 by heart. It is reserved to you, and you alone, to 
 redeem our stage from the reproach of barbarism. 
 
 '* I have not forgot your request to find fault, 
 but as you had neither numbered the pages nor the 
 lines in your copy, I cannot point out particular ex- 
 pressions. I have marked the margin, and shall 
 tell you my opinion when I shall have the pleasure 
 of seeing you. The more considerable objections 
 seem to be these : Glenalvorfs character is too 
 abandoned. Such a man is scarce in nature ; at 
 least, it is inartificial in a poet to suppose such a 
 one, as if he could not conduct his fable by the or- 
 dinary passions, infirmities, and vices of human na- 
 ture. Lord JBarnefs* character is not enough de- 
 cided ; he hovers betwixt vice and virtue, which, 
 
 * This name changed to Randolph, after the first repre- 
 sentation.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 101 
 
 though it be not unnatural, is not sufficiently 
 theatrical nor tragic. After Anna had lived 18 
 years with Lady Barnet, and yet had been kept out 
 of the secret, there seems to be no sufficient reason 
 why, at that very time, she should have been let 
 into it. The spectator is apt to suspect that it was 
 in order to instruct him ; a very good end indeed, 
 but which might have been attained by a careful 
 and artificial conduct of the dialogue. 
 
 " There seem to be too many casual rencoun- 
 ters. Young Forman* passing by chance, saves 
 Lord JSarnet; Old For man, passing that way by 
 chance, is arrested. Why might not Young For- 
 man be supposed to be coming to the Castle, in or- 
 der to serve under Lord Barnet, and OldForman, 
 having had some hint of his intention, to have fol- 
 lowed him that way ? 
 
 [Some lines torn off and lost.] 
 
 Might not Anna be supposed to have returned to 
 her mistress after long absence ? This might ac- 
 count for a greater flow of confidence." 
 
 If the Society will not think me tedious, I shall 
 be tempted to read in this place two other letters 
 from Mr Hume, the first of which mentions his 
 
 * Changed to Norval, before the tragedy was brought on 
 the stage.
 
 102 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 high opinion of Douglas, but the second has no re- 
 lation either to that or any other production of his 
 friend. But it seems to me so delightful in itself, 
 and is so genuine a specimen of the writer's admi- 
 rable talent for epistolary composition, that I own 
 I reckoned myself fortunate in being permitted to 
 allow the society a perusal of it. It will not be va- 
 lued the less for being altogether on a private sub- 
 ject, evidently written without the most distant 
 view to publication, or even to general perusal. 
 
 To Mrs D YSART, at Eccles, (a much valued rela- 
 tion o/*Mr D. HUME,) with a book the first 
 part of his History of England. 
 
 " Qth October, [1754.] 
 " DEAR MADAM, 
 
 "As I send you along book, you will allow me to 
 write you a short letter, with this fruit of near two 
 years very constant application, my youngest and 
 dearest child. You should have read it sooner, but 
 during the fine weather, I foresaw that it would 
 produce some inconvenience ; either you would at- 
 tach yourself so much to the perusal of me as to ne- 
 glect walking, riding, and field diversions, which are 
 much more beneficial than any history ; or if this 
 beautiful season tempted you, I must lie in a cor- 
 ner, neglected and forgotten. I assure you I would
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 103 
 
 take the pet if so treated. Now, that the weather 
 has at last hroke, and long nights are joined to 
 wind and rain, and that a fire-side has become the 
 most agreeable object, a new book, especially if 
 wrote by a friend, may not be unwelcome. In ex- 
 pectation then, that you are to peruse me first with 
 pleasure, then with ease, I expect to hear your re- 
 marks, and Mr Dysart's, and the Solicitor's.* Whe- 
 ther am I Whig or Tory ? Protestant or Papist ? 
 Scotch or English ? I hope you do not all agree 
 on this head, and that there are disputes among you 
 about my principles. We never see you in town, 
 and I never can get to the country ; but I hope I 
 preserve a place in your memory. 
 " I am, 
 
 " DEAR MADAM, 
 " Your affectionate friend and servant, 
 
 " DAVID HUME. 
 
 " P.S. I have seen John Hume's new unbap- 
 tized play,t and it is a very fine thing. He now 
 discovers a great genius for the theatre. 
 
 * Mr Home, a relation of the Historian, then Solicitor- 
 General for Scotland. 
 
 t I presume this was Douglas ; and the expression, " he 
 now discovers a great genius for the theatre," I suppose was 
 meant to imply Mr D. Hume's opinion of its being better fit- 
 ted for the stage than Agis.
 
 301) ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 [ Written at the top.'] " I must beg of you not 
 to lend the book out of your house, on any account, 
 till the middle of November ;* any body may read 
 it in the house." 
 
 To Mrs DYSART. 
 
 " Nmewells, March 19th, 1751. 
 " DEAR MADAM, 
 
 " Our friend at last plucked up a resolution, and 
 has ventured on that dangerous encounter. He 
 went off on Monday morning, and this is the first 
 action of his life wherein he has engaged himself 
 without being able to compute exactly the conse- 
 quences. But what arithmetic will serve to fix the 
 proportion between good and bad wives, and rate 
 the different classes of each ? Sir Isaac Newton 
 himself, who could measure the courses of the pla- 
 nets, and weigh the earth as in a pair of scales, 
 even he had not algebra enough to reduce that 
 amiable part of our species to a just equation ; and 
 they are the only heavenly bodies whose orbits are 
 as yet uncertain. 
 
 " If you think yourself too grave a matron to 
 
 I suppose the time of its publication in London.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 105 
 
 have this florid part of the speech addressed to you, 
 pray lend it to the collector, and he will send it to 
 Miss Nancy. 
 
 " Since my brother's departure, Katty and I have 
 been computing in our turn, and the result of our 
 deliberation is, that we are to take up house in 
 Berwick ; where, if arithmetic and frugality don't 
 deceive us, (and they are pretty certain arts) we 
 shall be able, after providing for hunger, warmth, 
 and cleanliness, to keep a stock in reserve, which we 
 may afterwards turn either to the purposes of hoard- 
 ing, luxury, or charity. But I have declared be- 
 forehand against the first. I can easily guess which 
 of the other two you and Mr Dysart will be most 
 favourable to. But we reject your judgment ; for 
 nothing blinds one so much as inveterate habits. 
 
 " My compliments to his Solicitorship. Unfor- 
 tunately I have not a horse at present to carry my 
 fat carcase, to pay its respects to his superior obe- 
 sity. But if he finds travelling requisite either for 
 his health or the Captain's, we shall be glad to en- 
 tertain him here as long as we can do it at an- 
 other's expence ; in hopes we shall soon be able to 
 do it at our own. 
 
 Pray tell the Solicitor that I have been reading 
 lately, in an old author called Strabo, that in some 
 cities of ancient Gaul, there was a fixed legal stand- 
 ard, established for corpulency, and that the senate 
 kept a measure, beyond which, if any belly presu-
 
 106 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 med to increase, the proprietor of that belly was 
 obliged to pay a fine to the public, proportionable 
 to its rotundity. Ill would it fare with his worship 
 and I, [me] if such a law should pass our parlia- 
 ment ; for I am afraid we are already got beyond 
 the statute. 
 
 " I wonder, indeed, no harpy of the treasury has 
 ever thought of this method of raising money. Taxes 
 on luxury are always most approved of ; and no one 
 will say, that the carrying about a portly belly is of 
 any use or necessity. 'Tis a mere superfluous or- 
 nament, and is a proof too, that its proprietor enjoys 
 greater plenty than he puts to a good use ; and* 
 therefore, 'tis fit to reduce him to a level with his 
 fellow subjects, by taxes and impositions. 
 
 "As the lean people are the most active, unquiet, 
 and ambitious, they every where govern the world, 
 and may certainly oppress their antagonists when- 
 ever they please. Heaven forbid that Whig and 
 Tory should ever be abolished, for then the nation 
 might be split into fat and lean, and our faction, I 
 am afraid, would be in piteous taking. The only 
 comfort is, if they oppressed us very much, we should 
 at last change sides with them. 
 
 " Besides, who knows if a tax were imposed on 
 fatness, but some jealous divine might pretend, that 
 the church was in danger. 
 
 " I cannot but bless the memory of Julius Cag- 
 sar, for the great esteem he expressed for fat men,
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 107 
 
 and his aversion to lean ones. All the world allows, 
 that that emperor was the greatest genius that ever 
 was, and the greatest judge of mankind. 
 
 " But I should ask your pardon, dear Madam, 
 for this long dissertation on fatness and leanness, in 
 which you are no way concerned ; for you are nei- 
 ther fat nor lean, and may indeed he denominated 
 an arrant trimmer. But this letter may all he read 
 to the Solicitor ; for it contains nothing that need 
 be a secret to him. On the contrary, I hope he will 
 profit by the example ; and, were I near him, I 
 should endeavour to prove as good an encourager as 
 In this other instance. What can the man be 
 afraid of? The Mayor of London had more cou- 
 rage who defied the hare. 
 
 " But I am resolved sometime to conclude, by 
 putting a grave epilogue to a farce, and telling you 
 a real serious truth, that I am, with great esteem, 
 
 " DEAR MADAM, 
 " Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 (Signed) DAVID HUME." 
 
 "P.*?. Pray let the Solicitor tell Frank,* that 
 he is a bad correspondent the only way in which 
 he can be a bad one, by his silence." 
 
 The next tragedy which Mr Home composed 
 was that of the Siege of Aquileia, of which Mr 
 
 * The late Dr Francis Home of Edinburgh.
 
 108 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Garrick (as I have mentioned in the chronological 
 account of the representations of the author's 
 plays,) entertained the most favourable opinion, and 
 anticipated the most brilliant success. In that ex- 
 pectation he was disappointed, from the circum- 
 stance formerly noticed, of the distress being chief- 
 ly produced by narrative, instead of the livelier 
 means of representation. But, even exclusive of 
 that circumstance, it seems to me that this tragedy, 
 neither as a drama or a poem, is calculated to af- 
 fect or to please nearly so much as either Douglas 
 or some of his other pieces. There are not those 
 bursts of real and overpowering passion with which 
 the audience sympathises and is moved. The words 
 in some degree overwhelm the feeling, and we read 
 verses which indeed contain beautiful and sublime 
 sentiments, but which speak rather than exhibit 
 those contending emotions of the soul, of which the 
 genuine expression in such situations marks the in- 
 spired mind, and the deep conscious skill of the 
 tragic poet. Emilius reminds us of Cato, but it is 
 Cato the orator, rather than Cato the patriot and 
 the father ; yet the contrast between the firmness 
 of Roman virtue in Emilius, and the yearnings of 
 a mother's heart in Cornelia, might, I think, in the 
 hands of such an actress as Mrs Gibber was, have 
 had a powerful effect on the stage, if there had been 
 more of compression in the words, and of picture in 
 the scene. In its present state, it would exhaust 
 the powers of the most unwearied actress, to sup-
 
 LIFE OF Mil JOHN HOME. 109 
 
 port the part of Cornelia as it ought to be support- 
 ed ; and this is probably the reason why it has 
 never been acted (as far as I know,) since its first 
 representation in London, in 1760. 
 
 The Fatal Discovery was the next production 
 of his muse, which, though indifferently received at 
 the time of its appearance, and now almost forgot- 
 ten, I am inclined to think, in point of poetry, and 
 indeed of pathos, the next to his Douglas. The 
 subject had probably dwelt on his mind ever since 
 his meeting at Moffat with James M'Pherson, 
 whom, as is well known, he encouraged to make a 
 tour in the Highlands and Islands, to collect the 
 ancient Gaelic poetry, of which M'Pherson had 
 translated fragments to Mr Home, when at that 
 watering-place. From one of those fragments, the 
 subject of this tragedy was taken, and the names of 
 the persons in the poem are preserved in the play. 
 Garrick was of my mind as to its merit, as appears 
 from the following letter : 
 
 " Hampstead, June 6, 1768. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 " I NEVER sat down to write to you with more 
 pleasure than I do at present. I have read Rimne 
 again and again, and every time with greater plea- 
 sure. I could not send it to you so soon as I pro- 
 mised, because I was resolved to get rid of all my 
 theatrical cares, which I did not, on account of the
 
 110 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Princess's death, till last Tuesday, when I finished 
 the season with Hamlet, and never played that 
 character so well in all my life. But to return to 
 our precious Rivine. How happy am I that I did 
 not give you the copy till I had considered it with 
 all my wits about me ! It is a most interesting, 
 original, noble performance ; and whenever it is 
 exhibited, will do the author great, very great ho- 
 nour. 
 
 " If your fifth act (as a fifth act,) is equal to the 
 rest, sublimiferies, &c. The construction of your 
 fable is excellent ; you leave the audience, at the 
 end of every act, with a certain glow, and in the 
 most eager expectation of knowing what is to fol- 
 low. I drew the tears last night in great plenty 
 from my wife, and a very intimate friend of ours, 
 who is now with us at Hampstead. I read it with all 
 my powers, and produced that effect which I would 
 always wish to do in reading a work of genius, and 
 more particularly a work of yours. 
 
 " I shall give the copy to Dr Blair to-morrow 
 morning, for he and Dr Robertson do me the ho- 
 nour to breakfast with me. The literary world, 
 notwithstanding our present unaccountable confu- 
 sion, are in the highest expectation of Dr Robert- 
 son's Charles the Fifth. 
 
 " I will not descend from my present exaltation 
 about you, to point out some little trifling objec- 
 tions I have here and there in your tragedy ; they
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. Ill 
 
 are of very little consequence, and if just, can be 
 altered in a morning. I find your friend Dr Blair 
 knows of it, and though I have not yet opened my 
 lips to him upon it, I will talk it over with him to- 
 morrow, by ourselves. I have filled my paper, and 
 my heart and mind are full about you. I shall ever 
 love and esteem you, though I were never to see 
 you again ; for * friendship never dies.' Act 4 
 Scene 1. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " Ever and most affectionately, 
 
 " D. GARRICK. 
 
 " Pray let me have the fifth act soon, and a com- 
 plete copy, that I may give it another reading. 
 What are your designs about it ? Pray tell me, 
 and tell it me in a hand that does not gallop quite 
 so fast as your imagination." 
 
 Mr Home's next succeeding performance was the 
 tragedy of Alonzo, brought out at Drury-Lane in 
 1773. This tragedy, though written at a consider- 
 able distance of time, has more both of the style and 
 story of Doug-las, than any other of the poet's dra- 
 mas, but both are much inferior to those of that ex- 
 cellent tragedy. There are a great many passages 
 in Alonzo so closely resembling those of its sister- 
 play, that the author could hardly have ventured 
 to set them down, if his memory had served him to
 
 112 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 recal those which he had formerly written. Thus 
 the young ^Alberto, the unacknowleged son of the 
 heroine Ormisitida, begins the story of his life : 
 
 " Alberto is my name, I drew my breath 
 From Catalonia ; in the mountains there 
 My father dwells, and for his own domains 
 Pays tribute to the Moor. He was a soldier. 
 Oft have I heard him of your battles speak, 
 Of Cavadonga's and Olalla's fields ; 
 But ever since I can remember aught, 
 His chief employment and delight have been 
 To train me to the use and love of arms. 
 
 et Meanwhile, my bosom beat for nobler game ; 
 I long'd in arms to meet the foes of Spain. 
 Oft I implored my father to permit me, 
 Before the truce was made, to join the host." 
 
 And the King's reply is nearly in the words of 
 Lord Randolph to his young deliverer : 
 
 " Thou art a prodigy, and fill'st my mind 
 
 With thoughts profound, and expectations high." 
 
 And in another place, the King, in words exactly 
 like those of Lady Randolph, says, 
 
 " Rise, Alberto, 
 
 To me no thanks are due ; a greater king, 
 The King of Kings I deem, hath chosen thee 
 To be the champion of his law divine." 
 
 Qrmisindtis admiration of her son, and compari- 
 
 15
 
 LIFE Or MR JOHN HOME. 113 
 
 son of him with his father, are expressed exactly as 
 ILady Randolph expresses the same feelings : 
 
 tc Is he not like him ? mark his coming forth 
 
 Behold Alonzo in his daring son, 
 
 Full of the spirit of his warlike sire; 
 
 His birth unknown, he felt his princely mind, 
 
 Advanced undaunted on the edge of war, 
 
 And claimed the post of danger for his own." 
 
 And, in the next act, 
 
 " Then tell him of his son to wring his heart ! 
 Truly describe the boy, how brave he was ! 
 How beautiful ! How, from the cloud obscure 
 In which his careful mother had involved him, 
 He burst, the champion of his native land." 
 
 There is likewise, though the author had long cea- 
 sed to exercise any of his clerical functions, the 
 same imitation of the Bible. 
 
 " Oft," says the stripling Alberto, almost in the 
 very words of David, when speaking of Goliah, 
 
 " Oft have I kill'd 
 
 The wolf, the boar, and the wild mountain-bull, 
 For sport and pastime. Shall this Moorish dog 
 Resist me fighting in my country's cause ? 
 
 And again, 
 
 " The God of Battles, whom Abdallah serves, 
 Has overthrown the infidel, whose trust 
 Was in his own right arm." 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 There is in many passages of this play the same 
 animated poetry which is found in Douglas ; but 
 there are many more blemishes in the language to 
 balance these. The following is an image of much 
 grandeur, comparing to a sublime natural pheno- 
 menon the mysterious progress of the hero of the 
 piece : 
 
 " I judge it is Alonzo. 
 
 Shrouded in anger, and in deep disdain, 
 Like some prime planet in eclipse he moves, 
 Gazed at and fear'd." 
 
 And in the next scene, the simile, illustrative of 
 a mind uncertain of its future destiny, is natural 
 and beautiful. 
 
 " But hope and fear alternate sway my soul, 
 Like light and shade upon a waving field, 
 Coursing each other, when the flying clouds 
 Now hide, and now reveal the sun of heaven." 
 
 It is difficult to conceive the same author, but a 
 few pages after, writing such prosaic lines as the 
 following i 
 
 " There never was, 
 
 Nor will there ever, while the world endures, 
 Be found a parallel to my distress." 
 
 " His eyes, his ears are shut. Oft have I sent 
 Jitters that would have pierced a heart of stone."
 
 LIFE OF 3FR JOHN HOME. 115 
 
 " A mace he wields, 
 
 Whose sway resistless breaks both shield and arm, 
 And crushes head and helmet." 
 
 " Has this youth no name ? Hast thou not heard 
 How he is called ?" 
 
 " You start and shudder like a man 
 Struck with a heavy blow." 
 
 " He did not deign to look upon the present, 
 
 But stretch'd his sun-burnt hands straight out before 
 
 him, 
 
 Like a blind man, and would have stood so still, 
 Had I not made his fingers feel the pearls." 
 
 " Why should I fear to see a grave-clad ghost, 
 Who may so soon be number'd with the dead, 
 And be a ghost myself."* 
 
 " Then forward sprung, and on the mighty shield 
 Discharged a mighty blow, enough to crush 
 A wall, or split a rock." 
 
 " The years, the months, the weeks> the very days, 
 
 Are reckon'd, register'd, recorded there. 
 
 And of that period I could cite such times, 
 
 So dolorous, distressful, melancholy, 
 
 That the bare mention of them would excite 
 
 Amazement how I live to tell the tale." 
 
 * Our national vanity must confess the same wretched quibble in 
 one of the most interesting scenes of Shakespeare's Hamlet : 
 
 " Unhand me, gentlemen ! 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him who lets me !" 
 
 Lines which (with reverence to Shakespeare be it said) I think 
 it might be judicious to leave out in the acting.
 
 116 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 And in that well known defiance of Alonzo, con- 
 ceived in the very slang of a bruiser. 
 
 " I'll fight you both,* 
 Father and son at once." 
 
 Nor is there less a want of propriety and good- 
 taste in the allusion to the hackneyed story in 
 Ovid, in the midst of a mother's anguish : 
 
 " You know not what you do, unhappy both ! 
 
 This combat must not, nor it shall not be ; 
 
 The sun in heaven would backward turn his course, 
 
 And shrink from such a spectacle as this, 
 
 More horrid than the banquet of Thyestes." 
 
 With all its imperfections, however, this tragedy 
 had much greater success in the representation than 
 any of Mr Home's other plays, Douglas excepted. 
 It owed, perhaps, great part of that success to the 
 exertions of Mrs Barry, then in the very zenith of 
 her theatrical fame, for whom Mr Home, in a pre- 
 face which sufficiently speaks his exultation at the 
 applause which his play received, says he wrote the 
 
 * When Mr Woods, a favourite actor on our Edinburgh 
 stage, brought out this tragedy for his benefit, I suggested a 
 slight transposition of thewords, that took off something from 
 the vulgarity of expression 
 
 " Both will I fight, 
 Father and son at once."
 
 LIFE OF Mil JOHN HOME. 117 
 
 part of Ormisinda, a confession which speaks more 
 of policy than dignity in the poet. 
 
 Of his latest tragedy, Alfred, I am unwilling to 
 speak. His friend, our venerable associate, Df 
 Adam Ferguson, thus accounts for its failure : 
 
 " Edinburgh, February 7, 1778. 
 " MY DEAR JOHN, 
 
 " DAMN the actors that have damned the play, 
 and think no more of it till you have time to do 
 what may be necessary for the press, and then con- 
 sider what is to be done with it. Besides the ac- 
 cidents you mention, I can conceive that the sub- 
 stitution of a love-interest for an interest of state, 
 which the audience expected from the name of Al- 
 fred, may have baulked them ; when they appeared 
 
 to languish, you certainly did right to withdraw it. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " I am, 
 
 " Dear JOHN, 
 
 " Most affectionately yours, 
 
 " ADAM FERGUSON." 
 
 But in truth, its own want of interest in the plot, 
 and of poetry in the dialogue, are quite sufficient, 
 without any other cause, to account for the unfa- 
 vourable reception it met with. There was an uni- 
 form mediocrity in the language, an uniform tame- 
 ness and want of discrimination in the characters,
 
 118 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 sufficient, without the national feeling of the de- 
 basement of the great Alfred into the hero of a 
 love-plot, to tire, if not to disgust an audience. 
 
 Another tragedy I find among his papers, of the 
 composition of which I am unable to fix the date, 
 but I presume it was at a later period than that of 
 Alfred ; its title is Alina, or the Maid of Yar- 
 row, and it is founded on a fabulous story, of which 
 the time is supposed to be that of the Crusade of St 
 Louis ; but the persons are Scots, and the scene is 
 laid on the Borders of Scotland. This story, being 
 of a sort adapted to kindle those national and he- 
 roic feelings of which Mr Home was so susceptible, 
 one would have thought might have roused his ge- 
 nius to something of the same excellence which his 
 Douglas possesses ; but it is very deficient in all 
 the qualities which give force or interest to drama- 
 tic composition, and the principal female character, 
 Alina, marked with nothing to distinguish or to 
 adorn it, and not placed in any situation in which 
 the ablest actress could make it attractive. Yet 
 the author seems to have been fond of it, for he has 
 made a number of corrections and alterations. An 
 anonymous friend, to whose judgment he appears to 
 have submitted this play, has written an elaborate 
 criticism (as far as can be judged by the fragment 
 of that criticism which exists among Mr Home's 
 papers,) upon every scene of it. But no amend- 
 ment which criticism could suggest, could possibly
 
 LIFE OF MU JOHN HOME. 119 
 
 give it interest with the reader or with an audience ; 
 it has the most irremediable of all faults, a want of 
 that vigour and creative force of genius for which 
 a number of faults is easily forgiven. By the au- 
 thor's partiality, two fair copies of it were made by 
 two different amanuenses ; but it was never acted, 
 and will probably never be published. 
 
 1 found, in a more imperfect form, two acts of 
 an unfinished play, to which the author has affix- 
 ed no title, but which is founded on an East-Indian 
 story, and turns on the invasion of Hindoostan, 
 by a Tartar Prince, who is in love with the daugh- 
 ter of a Rajah, whose hand her father, as well as 
 her own affections, had bestowed upon another. 
 From the two acts which were written, it does not 
 seem to promise any excellence that should make 
 one regret its not being finished. It is probable 
 the story was suggested by Mr Home's intimacy 
 with the author of Zingis, for which tragedy Mr 
 Home wrote the prologue. Zingis was brought 
 out, I think, about the year 1780. 
 
 If I am right in supposing the time of writing 
 these two tragedies to have been as late as that 
 year, it was after Mr Home had met with the very 
 serious accident of a fall from his horse, which had: 
 nearly cost him his life, and which certainly, though 
 it did not affect his intellect, impaired both the 
 power of his genius and the discrimination of his 
 taste; and this circumstance may easily account
 
 120 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 for their inferiority to his earlier productions. An- 
 other dramatic work, written however at a much 
 earlier period of his life, (for I see mention made of 
 it in a letter from Mr James M'Pherson, in 1774,) 
 is indeed of so inferior a kind, and so utterly un- 
 worthy of Mr Home, that I should not have men- 
 tioned it at all, but for that obligation which biogra- 
 phical truth imposes on me. This is a comedy call- 
 ed the Surprise ; or, W^ho would have ThoiigJit 
 it % It is a tame and spiritless dialogue, without 
 any wit, or even sentiment, to give pleasure to the 
 reader, or any incident in the scenes to give amuse- 
 ment on the stage. It might have fairly been 
 doubted indeed, even without this proof, if Mr 
 Home, even in his most vigorous days, or in his 
 happiest moods of composition, could have produ- 
 ced a good comedy. Though his conversation was 
 always pleasing, and frequently amusing, from the 
 anecdotes with which his memory was furnished ; 
 yet he appeared to me not endowed with that vi- 
 vacity or creative humour fitted to inspire comedy. 
 His very epilogues are always grave and serious, 
 even with a cast of melancholy ; and 1 have rarely 
 found in any of the fragments of his composition, 
 or in his letters, any sparks of humour or of gaiety. 
 
 I have taken up so much of the Society's time, 
 that I cannot encroach upon it more at present by 
 reading some of the correspondence which passed
 
 LIFE OF Mil JOHN HOME. 121 
 
 between Mr Home and his friends, among whom 
 were some men whose letters the Society would hear 
 with considerable interest. If they think it worth 
 while to afford me another evening, or part of an- 
 other evening, I may accomplish that purpose, or 
 attempt another, which I conceived on comparing 
 Mr Home's poetry with that of his immediate pre- 
 decessors and contemporaries. This comparison in- 
 duced me to take a short review of the older dra- 
 matists of England, who wrote before the poets of 
 the era immediately preceding Mr Home ; I was 
 thence imperceptibly led to a consideration of the 
 general state of poetry in this country, and that 
 change which it has undergone in recent times ; 
 but several interruptions, both of leisure and of 
 health, have hitherto prevented my finishing those 
 remarks. If I can render them any way deserving 
 the attention of the Society, I will take the liberty 
 of reading them at some subsequent meeting.
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ACCOUNT 
 
 MR HOME, 
 
 CONSISTING OF 
 
 LETTERS TO AND FROM HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 I AM sorry to find myself considerably disappoint- 
 ed in the Letters which I hoped to lay before the 
 Society, as an Appendix to the Account of Mr 
 Home's Life. In looking carefully over those with 
 which his nephew, Mr John Home, was so kind as 
 to furnish me, I found much fewer than I had ex- 
 pected of sufficient consequence to induce me to read 
 them in this place. This was owing, I believe, to the 
 circumstance which I mentioned formerly, of Mr 
 Home's careless habit with regard to papers, parti- 
 cularly during the concluding years of his life,
 
 124 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 There are still, however, some letters which 1 
 think will interest the Society, hoth from the cha- 
 racters of the writers, and the subjects to which 
 they relate. These I will read in the order of 
 their dates, as far as that order allows of dividing 
 them into the subjects of the narrative which I for- 
 merly submitted to the Society, taking first those 
 which relate to the early period of Mr Home's life, 
 the openings of his genius, and its subsequent de- 
 velopement in the productions of his muse ; next, 
 those which have reference to the patronage, I 
 might rather say the warm attachment, of Lord 
 Bute, his connexion with whom had the most im- 
 portant effects on his circumstances and situation ; 
 and, if the Society's time or patience will allow, I 
 shall conclude by submitting to it some letters 
 from, and relating to, his illustrious friend Mr 
 David Hume, chiefly written towards the close of 
 that celebrated author's life. 
 
 One thing I may fairly say, and with the most 
 perfect sincerity, that there is not one sentence of 
 all that correspondence which I have perused, how- 
 ever private or confidential, that does not afford the 
 strongest proof of those amiable dispositions, that 
 warmth of heart, that cordiality of friendship, that 
 perfect disinterestedness with regard to himself, 
 and generosity with regard to others, which I have 
 formerly mentioned as belonging particularly to the 
 character of Mr Home.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 125 
 
 The first letter that I shall read is one address- 
 ed to me by our venerable colleague, Dr Adam 
 Ferguson, giving some account of his early ac- 
 quaintance with Mr Home, and of their respec- 
 tive occupations. He apologises for its defects in 
 point of information, from a circumstance, which, 
 however, will increase its interest with us, the very 
 advanced age, and peculiar situation of the writer. 
 
 " St Andrews, June 3, 1812. 
 " MY DEAR Sm, 
 
 " I AM sorry to feel that I can do but little to 
 supply the defects of your materials, in framing the 
 intended Memoir relating to the life of my very 
 particular friend John Home. My intimacy with 
 him began at College, about the year 1743, or 44. 
 I left Scotland in the summer 1745, did not re- 
 turn till the year 1751, and had no fixed residence 
 in Scotland till near 1760, and my recollection of 
 transactions, or rather of dates, within this whole 
 period, is very imperfect, and even perplexed. 
 
 " As to Mr Home's early visits to London, I 
 heard of one in company with some of Mr Adams' 
 family, and believe it was then he met with his re- 
 pulse from Garrick, and made his address to Shake- 
 speare's monument. I know not whether he was 
 then presented to Lord Bute, but have heard of 
 his interviews with Mr Pitt, afterwards Earl of 
 Chatham. His openness, ardour, and warmth of
 
 126 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 heart, recommended him equally to Mr Pitt and 
 Lord Bute ; but the political difference which arose 
 and increased betwixt these personages, lost him 
 the one in the same degree as he acquired the 
 other. 
 
 " It was, I think, in his first visit to London, he 
 fell in with Collins the poet, perhaps introduced by 
 Mr Barrow, who, as you suppose, was his fellow ad- 
 venturer in the Castle of Doune, and continued 
 through life his warm and affectionate friend, as 
 I too experienced by Home's recommendation. 
 Home's access to Lord Bute procured Barrow the 
 office of pay-master to the army, during the Ame- 
 rican war, where scores of millions passed through 
 his hands, and left him returning to England, I 
 believe, nearly as poor as he went. 
 
 " I lived, as you suppose, with Mr Home, at 
 Braid, a farm-house two miles south of Edinburgh ; 
 but as to the date, I can say nothing, but suppose 
 it may have been after the first representation of 
 Douglas at Edinburgh, and after he was far gone 
 in the favour of Lord Bute. 
 
 " I remember he was then much engaged in ver- 
 sifying, but cannot say what. I think, but may be 
 mistaken, it was in some changes or amendments 
 wished by Lord Bute, in the tragedy of Agis ; and 
 even in concert with Garrick, who was beginning 
 to regard the influence of Lord Bute more than he 
 had formerly regarded the applications of Home. I
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 127 
 
 am by no means qualified to mention what differ- 
 ent subjects, or works, Mr Home attempted or 
 executed, as I myself, during the busiest time of 
 his life, was much engaged abroad, sometimes in 
 the Low Countries, in Germany, Switzerland, and 
 even in America. As to any attempt of his in co- 
 medy, I never heard of any such thing ; and, if the 
 public are not much interested to know the failures 
 as well as successes of literary men, I should be 
 willing to have the attempt in comedy you men- 
 tion entirely suppressed, as one of the mistakes we 
 commit in moments of dulness or error. 
 
 " As to what you call the party at MofFat, I can- 
 not pretend to recollect the date to which it may 
 be referred. I believe it was not any concerted par- 
 ty. John Home was there by himself lived at 
 the Ordinary and met with James M'Pherson at 
 the Bowling-Green. M'Pherson was there with 
 his pupil, young Graham of Balgoun, [now Lord 
 Lynedoch,] living with his mother, Lady Christian 
 Graham, at her brother, Lord Hopetoun's house, 
 in that village. What passed between John Home 
 and James M'Pherson, I soon after heard of; and 
 had no doubt it was a continuation of what had pass- 
 ed frequently betwixt Home and myself, on the sub- 
 ject of reported traditionary poetry in the Highlands. 
 There was another Highlander there, who, as well 
 as Mr Home, I understood, obtruded on M'Pher-
 
 128 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 son with inquiries on that subject. M'Pherson con- 
 firmed the reports ; and being asked whether he 
 could exhibit any specimens, said he was possessed 
 of several ; and on Home's wishing to have some 
 translation, M'Pherson agreed, and furnished him 
 with some of \hosefragments which were afterwards 
 printed in a pamphlet, and drew that public atten- 
 tion which gave rise to the further proceeding on 
 the subject. 
 
 " David Hume was not at Moffat when these in- 
 terviews with M'Pherson took place ; he was, you 
 know, a professed sceptic, and cannot properly be 
 said to have ever formally affirmed or denied the 
 authenticity or imposture of the poetry in question. 
 He began, and continued to call for evidence per- 
 haps for more evidence than the circumstances of 
 the case could admit ; but this, you know, is the 
 essence of scepticism ; to most men, day-light is 
 sufficient evidence that the sun is rising or risen ; 
 but the sceptic would always have more, even if the 
 rays were vertical. 
 
 " As to the project and subscription which after- 
 wards took place, to dispatch M'Pherson to collect 
 more poetry in the Highlands, I was not then in 
 Scotland, nor heard of it till some time afterwards. 
 
 " Mr Home certainly never entertained any 
 doubt that the original of Mr M'Pherson's tran- 
 slations was traditionary in the Highlands. 
 
 13
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 129 
 
 " As to the society he mostly frequented at Lon- 
 don, you seem to be sufficiently informed. Lord 
 Bute generally treated him with an uncommon de- 
 gree of affection ; their minds were much at uni- 
 son in all the sentiments of admiration or contempt. 
 The sphere of attentions paid to Mr Home at Lon- 
 don, no doubt extended after the representation of 
 Douglas ; but I have ever since been too little in 
 London to be apprised of particulars for your infor- 
 mation ; and as to the defects of what you might 
 expect from me on the subject of this letter in ge- 
 neral, I trust you will forgive it, being now for 
 many years declining, while you and many other 
 younger men are advancing in knowledge and 
 power. 
 
 " I am visited sometimes by Dempster, who is 
 possibly too old for your acquaintance, but I call 
 him a younker, being myself about to enter on my 
 ninetieth year. 
 
 " I am, 
 " My DEAR SIR, 
 
 " With great esteem, 
 " Your most obedient, and most 
 " Humble servant, 
 
 " ADAM FERGUSON." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 130 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 Part of a Letter from Mr HOME, to a friend, 
 giving a humorous Account of himself, after re- 
 covering from a severe Jit of the Toothache ; con- 
 cluding with a Description of BLACK LOCK, the 
 blind poet. 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 " I FANCY my letter last week would puzzle you 
 strangely, and make it hard for you to divine the 
 fate of the china and the wig, (for a wig was got by 
 George's care ;) but by the inexcusable neglect of 
 the china merchant, who undertook to send them 
 with some other boxes that were going for Dunse, 
 they have both lain in his shop all this week. I 
 should be extremely sorry if I thought that this 
 disappointment had given as much pain to Mrs 
 Home or you, as it has done to me. 
 
 " Yesterday I was out for the first time, having 
 been obliged, after a number of tormenting success- 
 less remedies, to draw the tooth where the pain was 
 seated, which has relieved me for this bout. I am 
 now what one, at first sight, would call a polite fel- 
 low, being much thinner and paler than usual ; and 
 when I am dressed in my folio coat, I very much 
 resemble those petit maitres that are pictured on 
 the frontispieces of Moliere's plays. My spirits 
 were so low for some time, that the taste for read- 
 ing, and even for arguing with my companions, was
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 131 
 
 sunk to a degree that alarmed me with fears of its 
 never rising more ; for, in my severest intervals, I 
 could not attend to the most easy deductions of 
 reason, but I am now in a more hopeful way, and 
 soon 
 
 Shall wonted ardour in my bosom burn, 
 And the fierce spirit of dispute return. 
 \ 
 
 "As soon as I went to town, I called at your car- 
 rier, and though I repeated my visit, found he had 
 nothing for me ; after which, I went to a compa- 
 nion's, and sent for the blind poet,* who is really a 
 strange creature to look at ; a small, weakly, under 
 thing a chilly, bloodless animal, that shivers at 
 every breeze. But if nature has cheated him in one 
 respect, by assigning to his share, forceless sinews, 
 and a ragged form, she has made him ample com- 
 pensation on the other, by giving him a mind en- 
 dued with the most exquisite feelings the most 
 ardent kindled up affections ; a soul (to use a poet's 
 phrase) that's tremblingly alive all over ; in short, 
 he is the most flagrant enthusiast I ever saw ; when 
 he repeats verses, he is not able to keep his seat, 
 but springs to his feet, and shews his rage by the 
 most animated motions. He has promised to let 
 me have copies of his best poems, which I'll trans- 
 mit to you whenever he is as good as his word. In 
 
 * Dr BUcklock.
 
 132 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 the meantime, as small fish are better than none, 
 you will accept of the inclosed Ode on Mercenary 
 Love, which was shewn to Blacklock by an ac- 
 quaintance of mine, along with some others, and by 
 him preferred to the rest. Receive with this, Par- 
 nell, Gaff, and Virtot's Revolutions of Portugal, 
 which Mrs Home will accept instead of a com- 
 pliment written especially to her. Pray let me hear 
 from you next week. 
 
 Three Letters from Mr Home to Dr Carlyle; writ- 
 ten from London, when smarting under his dis- 
 appointment of not getting his Tragedy ofAgis 
 brought on the Stage. 
 
 It were trite to say, after its being concentrated 
 into the adage "genus irritabile vatum" that the 
 same sensibility which inspires excellence in poetry, 
 gives proportional acuteness to the pains of neglect 
 and disappointment ; but it may be fair to remark, 
 on the other hand, that this irritability (which I 
 cannot bring myself to call unfortunate) frequently 
 aggravates the neglect much beyond what it would 
 appear to soberer minds, who give themselves lei- 
 sure to consider all the circumstances of the case. 
 I wish this qualifying remark to accompany our 
 author's account of the reception of his play by one 
 person, at least, of most respectable character, whom
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 133 
 
 other muses acknowledged as their most benevolent 
 patron and supporter. The same kind of feeling 
 which I have ventured to ascribe to poets, makes per- 
 sons of genius contemptuous of ordinary men, espe- 
 cially when their youth and inexperience, " fresh 
 from the classic walks of Greece and Rome," pre- 
 vent their justly appreciating the use of such cha- 
 racters. Poets, beyond all other men, live amidst 
 a creation of their own, where the castle-building 
 of their fancy smooths every thing around them, 
 without ever supposing any of those obstructions 
 which they must infallibly meet with when they 
 come to jostle amidst the realities of the world. 
 They are catched, if I may be allowed the expres- 
 sion, with the polished part of the fabric of human 
 life ; they forget how indispensible are the less 
 showy materials that compose the rubble work of the 
 building. With these prefatory observations, I may 
 venture to read the two following letters, without 
 detracting from that philanthropy and milk of hu- 
 man kindness, for which, in truth, Mr Home was 
 so remarkable : 
 
 " London, 6th November, 
 " DEAR CARLISLE, 
 
 " I DID not write to you upon the road, because 
 I was in no spirits, having travelled about one half 
 of the road alone ; besides, I had nothing very ma- 
 terial to report of Marchmont's criticisms ; he ex-
 
 134 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 tolled the spirit and characters of the piece, but ob- 
 jected to the bloodiness of the catastrophe, and to 
 the want of regularity and sequence of the scenes. 
 As to the first of these objections, I know that the 
 most applauded plays on earth are as bloody, and 
 ought not to be less so. As to the suite of the 
 scenes, the strictness of it would spoil almost every 
 fable, and I think that I have enough of it. Blair 
 and Maghie are to read it this night and to-mor- 
 row, after whose judgment I shall shew it to Lit- 
 tleton. I have seen nobody yet but Smollett, whom 
 I like very well. 
 
 " I am a good deal disappointed at the mien of 
 the English, which I think but poor. I observed 
 it to Smollett, after having walked at High-Mall, 
 who agreed with me. 
 
 " Westminster Abbey is the only object to my 
 content. I believe that I shall be very much there 
 at my leisure hours. I contemn all the buildings 
 that I have seen, except a chapel called the Ban- 
 quetting-house, which is admirable. I shall write 
 Logan as soon as I have seen the lions and other 
 pagans that reside in this city. The people here
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 135 
 
 are incredibly surprised to see a raw Scotchman so 
 little surprised, and so well acquainted with all 
 that he sees. 
 
 " JOHN HOME." 
 
 " MY DEAR CARLISLE, 
 " I HAVE long delayed writing to you, in expec- 
 tation of writing what might be agreeable with re- 
 gard to myself, or interesting as to others. I can- 
 not say that I will at this present time do either of 
 these, but I do not think it is fit I should be long- 
 er silent. Know, then, that as to myself, I have 
 met with one disappointment. After having made 
 some alterations in my play, and turned out some 
 Scotticisms, or vulgarities as they were termed, 
 Mr Littleton refused to read it, because if he did 
 not approve it, he would be pained in saying so, 
 and if he did, he would be put to as much trouble 
 in supporting it, as he was last winter in carrying 
 through Coriolanus, which, with all his interest, he 
 hardly could make run for nine nights, for which 
 reason he would not read a tragedy as a judge, nor 
 engage in it as a patron, if it was writt by his own 
 brother. I was also told, that it was not to be ex- 
 pected that any young man could write a tragedy 
 better than Mr Thomson, who was the greatest 
 poet of the age, (a brother of Littleton's, a dignified 
 clergyman, told me all this pleasing matter,) I 
 bowed, and answered, ' that Mr Thomson was a
 
 136 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 descriptive poet.' I thanked the gentleman for his 
 civilities, and walked off with less appearance of 
 chagrin than you will think possible. I thought at 
 first that Littleton had read the play, and took this 
 gentle way of dismissing me ; hut upon putting 
 that, and desiring to know the worst, this parson, 
 who I believe fears God, (though perhaps he may 
 be a little Arminian,) assured me most solemnly, 
 ' that Mr Littleton had not read it, and that he 
 himself did not pretend to be a judge in these mat- 
 ters, having addicted himself to the study of na- 
 tural history ; however, that he would have read it 
 for all that, if it had not been his extraordinary 
 business in attending upon the King as chaplain.' 
 You see what people I have to deal with ; I am 
 only vexed that I applied to them. I could divide 
 my body into two, and go to buffets with myself, for 
 having solicited a dish of skimmed milk, (as Hot- 
 spur says,) in such an honourable action. I believe 
 I need hardly tell you, that Maghie, Blair, and 
 Barrow, judged of j4gis as Logan, Blair, and you 
 have done. I cannot help telling 'you that one 
 Englishman, after extolling the genius of the piece, 
 added, * that the author had formed himself too 
 much upon Thomson's Seasons, and Lee's plays/ 
 I could not have been more surprised if he had said 
 that I had formed myself upon Euclid's Elements, 
 and M'Laurin's Fluxions. The genius of this na- 
 tion is really a little gross ; by what I can see of
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 137 
 
 their public buildings, their entertainments, and 
 their conversations, the plumb-pudding, and but- 
 ter-sauce, makes their intellectuals boggy. How- 
 ever, I have met with some charming fellows 
 amongst them, Oxonians that were republicans, 
 
 and citizens that were patterns of taste. * 
 
 ****** 
 
 Your friend Smollett, who has a thousand good, 
 nay, the best qualities, and whom I love much 
 more than he thinks I do, has got on Sunday last 
 
 three hundred pounds for his Mask. * * 
 
 * # * * # * 
 
 " JOHN HOME." 
 
 ** My DEAR CARLISLE, 
 " I ADDRESS this to you with pleasure, as it will 
 certify you of the more favourable state of my af- 
 fairs, and that I hope to set out in a few days with 
 assurance, if not certainty, of my plays being acted 
 next winter. Kay, to whose cousin, Oswald, 1 am 
 infinitely obliged, will tell you the particulars. I 
 know your good sense and affection for me to be 
 both so great, as that you will easily excuse the ne- 
 glects in writing from a man like me, whose mind 
 was torn with anxiety, shame, and indignation. I 
 have now recovered my spirits and begun to write 
 to my friends, the moment that it is not painful for 
 me to write, and for them to receive my letters. 
 Before I go any further, I desire you to make my
 
 138 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 compliments, (but that's a cursed word,) to pre- 
 sent my most respectful and affectionate remem- 
 brance to your father and mother, who I doubt not 
 have often wondered at my silence. I delayed from 
 post to post, because every day I expected to be the 
 
 harbinger of better tidings. * * * 
 
 * * * # * * 
 
 I can't write to you about London as I do to other 
 people to whom every thing is news. You know 
 it better than I do, and we shall compare notes 
 plentifully. I must acquaint you, that I found 
 [torn off.] which is a most excellent place, 
 neither are the chop-houses to be despised ; only the 
 people here in general are so execrably stupid, that 
 there is no conversing with them, and their men of 
 learning such shallow monsters, that I am always 
 obliged to be upon my guard, lest I should really 
 shock, or seem to insult them. I sometimes heark- 
 en to the coffee-house conversations upon poetry 
 and politics, where there are such fellows authors, 
 whose wigs are worth three pounds sterling, that 
 it is ready to make a man of moderate patience 
 
 * Curse his better angel from his side, and fall to 
 reprobation.' 
 
 " JOHN HOME."
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 139 
 
 I am now to read three letters from Mr James 
 M'Pherson, who at that time, I believe, was a sort 
 of editor or manager of some newspapers in the in- 
 terest of government, because they relate to an 
 event which the national pride of this country sets 
 down as a very extraordinary one, the combined 
 fleets of France and Spain cruizing in the British 
 Channel, and threatening to cover an invasion, and 
 exhibit the feeling of the country on that event. 
 One cannot help comparing that with the alarm af- 
 terwards felt from the preparations for a French in- 
 vasion, and contrasting therewith a prouder nation- 
 al feeling, when the embodying and discipline of a 
 militia, and other native force, had rendered the 
 fears of an invasion a bugbear, with which no man, 
 scarce a woman or child, condescended to be fright- 
 ened. 
 
 " MY DEAII Sm, 
 
 '* I HAVE news to tell you. The French and 
 Spanish fleets are in the mouth of the Channel. 
 An express arrived this morning, a lieutenant of 
 the Marlborough, of 64 guns, which ship was cha- 
 ced by the enemy to within a few leagues of the 
 Lizard. Sir Charles Hardy was, by the last ac- 
 counts, off Ushant. I reckon it likely that he has
 
 140 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 them between him and the land. The lieutenant 
 says that an action must have happened ; a general 
 anxiety prevails, but less than you could have sup- 
 posed. Our friends look a little blue. The times 
 are big with events. I have no doubt of our beat- 
 ing them, unless the same devil who turmoiled the 
 27th of July, 1778, has still his black hand at our 
 admiral's helm. The express counted sixty-three 
 sail, 'tis said of the line ; I hope sixty- three was the 
 number of the whole. Should any new lights come 
 ere the post sets out, you may be put to the ex- 
 pence of another ninepence. We may probably 
 demand the swords of the S. Fencibles, in this 
 part of the world. 
 
 " Yours, very affectionately, 
 
 " JAMES MACPHERSON. 
 Tuesday, two 6 'Clock, Aug. 17, 1779." 
 
 " Tuesday, two o' Clock, Aug. 31. 
 " NOTHING new of the fleets. By the last of- 
 ficial accounts, the C. d'Orvilliers, with fifty of the 
 line, had advanced to where Sir Charles Hardy had 
 been left, on the 19th. Our fleet had been driven 
 further west. 'Twas thought Sir Charles was on 
 another tack, and about twelve leagues off. There 
 are thirty-two French, and eighteen Spaniards of 
 the line, with D'Orvilliers, sixteen of the line with 
 D. Lewis de Cordova, in sight. The fifty under 
 D'Orvilliers are in this order : Forty- five divided
 
 UFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 141 
 
 into three squadrons ; these subdivided into nine 
 lesser squadrons, each consisting of three French and 
 two Spaniards ; five ships of the line, under the Che- 
 valier de la Touche-Treville, destined to conduct 
 the transports, should our fleet suffer itself to be 
 beat or blocked up in a port. Official information 
 says, that the embarkation at St Male's was to have 
 begun on Friday last, the 27th. Some reports came 
 to-day, that 32,000 were at sea. The wind is truly 
 an invasion wind two points to the west of south. 
 We think here that Hardy ought to beat 'em ; 
 others say, he will miss them and gain the Chan- 
 nel. I am not under great apprehensions ; and 
 John Bull keeps up his spirits wonderfully. All is 
 calm, tranquil, and easy here. The stocks don't 
 fall ; and all the animal functions, and even plea- 
 sures, go on as usual. We shall hear some news 
 soon. 'Tis a time of anxious suspense to specula- 
 tive men." 
 
 " September 3d, 1779. 
 
 " This morning an express from Sir C. Hardy. 
 He was coming up Channel the combined fleet be- 
 hind, it is said, under a press of sail, in pursuit. 
 The fogs which prevailed at the mouth of the Chan- 
 nel during the east wind, prevented their meeting. 
 All was involved in night. They mutually heard 
 the signal guns, but could not see each other. We 
 expect a decisive action. I am not of that opinion.
 
 ] 42 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 John Bull is perfectly indifferent. Stocks rise ; 
 yet the fate of the kingdom may depend on the 
 turning up of the dye. One is disgusted with the 
 white lies of the day. I believe the Bourbons are 
 serious. Johnston's fifty gun Romney is thrown 
 out of the line. Hardy is in great spirits so is the 
 whole fleet. But, if we look back, through time, 
 we never had a sea-advantage over France, but 
 with superiority of numbers. I hope to announce 
 a victory in my next. The times are critical. A 
 defeat would involve us in confusion. I don't think 
 that drilling business ought to be your province in 
 these times. The battle will happen, perhaps, at 
 Spithead. Though I ought to know many things, 
 they communicate nothing. The bell-man is at 
 the door." 
 
 The next class of letters, from Lord Bute, I 
 think may be considered historical, in so far as they 
 seem to me decisively to contradict an idea very 
 generally entertained afr the time, and frequently 
 repeated since, that there was a certain secret in- 
 fluence possessed by that nobleman, which regula- 
 ted the choice of ministers, if not the adoption of 
 measures ; and placed between the people and the 
 sovereign, a sort of intermediate and invisible agen-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 143 
 
 cy, possessed of power without responsibility, which 
 therefore, the constitutional authority of parliament 
 could not directly controul, nor the voice of the 
 public its applause or its censure easily reach. From 
 the letters I am now to read, on the contrary, it ap- 
 pears that Lord Bute, when he did retire from offi- 
 cial situation, retired in good earnest, and was hap- 
 py to be relieved from all concern whatever with 
 public matters. In such retirement, he felt him- 
 self, as he conceived, neglected and forgotten, much 
 beyond the degree of neglect and oblivion which 
 commonly follows the relinquishment of power. 
 
 The first letter, dated 20th September, 1755, 
 may serve as an answer to the accusation brought 
 against him by Lord Chatham, when boasting of 
 having called forth the valour of Scotsmen and 
 Highlanders in the service of their country. " It 
 was not the country I objected to, but the man of 
 that country ; because he wanted wisdom, and held 
 principles incompatible with freedom." 
 
 London, September 20, 1755. 
 " DEAR HUME, 
 
 " I HAVE been living a most unsettled life ever 
 since I received your first. Real business should 
 plead for my silence, and yet I am loath to make 
 that excuse, because it sounds like an affected one. 
 I know you so well, that I flatter myself you will be 
 satisfied with assurances, that it no way proceeded 
 
 13
 
 144 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 from any want of regard or real esteem. I long 
 much to know how Douglas goes on. Garrick and 
 I have never met since I saw you. I don't much 
 like that scheme of shewing your play to Mallet ; 
 for I own I have not that great opinion of his taste ; 
 but prudential reasons with regard to Garrick may 
 make it necessary. Since Lady Dalkeith's intend- 
 ed marriage has been owned, I, from being an ut- 
 ter stranger to Mr Townshend, have little interest 
 with her ; but I have imparted to my brother your 
 request, who will, I am certain, do what he can. 
 
 " I once thought of sending a beautiful ode of 
 Voltaire's on the lake of Geneva, but I see they 
 have printed it, so that you will certainly see it ; 
 and yet I must give you here a few lines out of 
 It: 
 
 " Ce Loi est le premier ; c'est sur ces bords heureux, 
 Qu' habite des humains La Deesse eternelle, 
 L'ame des grands Travaux, 1'objet des nobles voeux, 
 Que tout mortel embrasse, ou desire, ou rapelle, 
 Qui vit dans touts les cceurs et dont le nom sacre, 
 Dans la Cour des Tyrans est tout bas adore, 
 La Liberte, &c." 
 
 "Again, talking of the people's success in defend- 
 ing Geneva against the sovereign, he says, 
 
 " Leurs fronts sont Couronnez, de ces fleurs 
 Que la Grecc, aux Champs de Marathon, prodiguoit aux 
 vainquers.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 145 
 
 C'est la leurs diademe, ils en font plus cle compte 
 
 Que d'un cercle a fleurons de Marquis ou de Comte. 
 
 On ne voit point ici la grandeur insultante 
 
 Portant de I'epaule au cote 
 
 Un niban que la vanite 
 
 A tissu de sa main brillante. 
 
 Ni la fortune insolente 
 
 Repoussant avec fierte 
 
 La priere humble et tremblante 
 
 De la triste pauvrete. 
 
 On n'y rneprise point les travaux necessaires, 
 
 Les etats sont egaux et les hommes sont freres." 
 
 " Excellent truth, with which I will end this 
 scrawll, desiring you to believe me, 
 " DEAR HOME, 
 
 " Your's, most humbly, 
 
 " BUTE." 
 
 On the subject of a Tutor to his Son. 
 
 " DEAR HOME, 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you for the friend- 
 ly endeavours you have used for me, in a point of 
 the greatest consequence. A person acting up to 
 the character you draw of Mr Ferguson would be 
 a treasure to me, and deserve my warmest protec- 
 tion. I spoke to Elliot upon the subject, and de- 
 sired him to write my thoughts, as I had it not then 
 in my power to do it myself. You would find by 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 him, that I want to change the plan of my chil- 
 dren's education. You have often heard me talk 
 of schools with horror. Before I received yours, I 
 had been on the search of a person in whom I might 
 repose the greatest trust I shall ever have in my 
 power to place in any man ; for it is not Greek and 
 Latin that I am most anxious about, 'tis the for- 
 mation of the heart the instilling into the tender 
 ductile plant, noble generous sentiments, real reli- 
 gion, moral virtue, enthusiasm for our country, its 
 laws and liberties ; in short, ideas fit for the situa- 
 tions my children, especially my eldest boy, will, 
 in all probability, be in ; the man who does this, or 
 indeed attempts it honestly, (for who can answer 
 for the success of the wisest education) must be my 
 friend, and will most certainly find me extremely 
 his. A person fit to take this great line, cannot, 
 must not, be embarrassed with teaching the first ru- 
 diments of education. I should therefore provide 
 some other person for that, under his eye. I have 
 now opened my heart to you, and have given you, 
 dear Home, more data to go upon. You will now 
 be a better judge of the important commission you 
 kindly take in hand. I expect every post to hear 
 of Agls you know I am to be feasted with the 
 acts as they are completed. 
 
 " I am this minute come from Harrowgate, where 
 I found Mountstuart proud of having made his first 
 essay for the silver arrow ; and not far off a victory. 
 He enquires after his friend, as well as Frederick ;
 
 LIFE OF Mil JOHN HOME. 147 
 
 and hopes Agis will make him amends for the loss 
 of Douglas. All are well here, and all your warm 
 wishers. Adieu, 
 
 " DEAR HOME, 
 
 " Believe me ever 
 
 " Most sincerely yours, &c. 
 
 " BUTE. 
 "Kew, August 1th, 1757." 
 
 " DEAR HOME, 
 
 " 1 observe in your last letter that you make no 
 mention of the length you are got in your play. 
 Though I long to see you, yet it is so impossible 
 for you to do any business here, that I own I should, 
 (though against myself,) advise remaining in Scot- 
 land to finish it, unless you propose putting it off 
 to another winter, which may be perhaps the most 
 prudent measure. I have now read again and again 
 your friend's* history, and cannot express how much 
 it pleases me ; the opening and winding up are 
 magnificent ; the characters equal to any thing I 
 ever read ; and the style noble, animated, and pure. 
 I protest, in my opinion, it stands the first history 
 in the English tongue. I hope he will hear as much 
 from others ; and that, encouraged by the jUst re- 
 ward of superior merit, he will procure new laurels 
 
 * Dr Robertson's,
 
 148 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 by some other masterpiece. I hope he has got some 
 good hand to do it justice in a French translation ; 
 for I should be grieved to hear of its appearing mu- 
 tilated in a foreign dress. Adieu, 
 " DEAR HOME, 
 
 " Yours, most entirely, 
 
 " BUTE. 
 "London, February 20th, 1759." 
 
 " DEAR HOME, 
 
 " As I may probably continue the next winter 
 abroad, I send this letter by George Johnson, to be 
 delivered into your own hand. I assure you I am 
 sorry to go without you ; and yet, for the reason I 
 mentioned in my last, you will see with me, the ne- 
 cessity of it ; besides, if you are here next winter, 
 I know your warm heart so well, that I am certain 
 you will not suffer me to be calumniated and abu- 
 sed in my absence, without taking proper methods 
 of answering these infamous wretches, where it is 
 necessary or expedient ; and I shall also expect to 
 know the state of things' from you, with more free- 
 dom than from others ; in short, if you are here, I 
 know I have a warm and zealous friend in this pan- 
 demonium, who will not leave me in ignorance of 
 any thing material that comes to his knowledge. 
 When once I know your motions and your time, I 
 will apprize you how to direct to me, as I shall
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 149 
 
 leave my name behind me, for these vipers to spread 
 their venom on ; for, believe me, whatever advan- 
 tage to my health this odious journey may be of, I 
 know too well the turn of faction to suppose my 
 absence is to diminish the violence I have for so 
 many years experienced a violence and abuse that 
 no fear has made me too sensible to ; and perhaps 
 the more, that I may think I merit a distinguish- 
 ed treatment, of a very opposite nature, from a peo- 
 ple I have served at the risk of my head. I have 
 tried philosophy in vain, my dear Home. I can- 
 not acquire callosity ; and were it not for something 
 still nearer to me still more deeply interesting I 
 would prefer common necessaries in Bute, France, 
 Italy, nay, Holland, to 50,000 a-year, within the 
 atmosphere of this vile place. But see it I must ; 
 so fate decrees ; and I am doomed, therefore, to ex- 
 perience, to my last minute, all the consequences 
 Adieu, dear Home, and depend upon it, if I live 
 to return, you will have restored to you, in my pre- 
 sence, a very cordial and affectionate friend, 
 
 " BUTE. 
 " London, July W]th, 1763." 
 
 " Venice, October 5tk, 1770. 
 " I have just received your letter, my worthy 
 bard, and wish you every happiness your heart can 
 desire in your new situation. It is, of all others,
 
 150 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 that in which there exists no medium. Felicity or 
 misery must attend it , may the first be your con- 
 stant lot ; for I know you well enough to be cer- 
 tain that was your whole aim ; and that you are in- 
 capable of those sordid interested views, that form 
 the basis of modern alliance, where the heart never 
 has any share, and even desire is often wanting ; 
 which passion, common to all animals, is, however* 
 the only thing this age christens by the name of 
 Love void of tender feelings, and real delicacy. 
 Where the half-crown does not make the match, 
 brutal desire is alone substituted for those exquisite 
 sensations those raptures in which the soul and 
 body have an equal share ; and which, with me, 
 makes the essence of that universal passion I call 
 love ; this enjoyment cannot pall, nor age or sick- 
 ness weaken. May you both experience this supe- 
 rior bliss, to the last hour of life. I have but a 
 poor account to give of myself. Near three months 
 of this envenomed Sirocco has lain heavy on me ; 
 and I am grown such a stripling, or rather a wither- 
 ed old man, that I now appear thin in white clothes 
 that I looked Herculean in when I was 20. I hope 
 I may get better, if permitted to enjoy that peace, 
 that liberty, which is the birth-right of the mean- 
 est Briton, but which has been long denied me. 
 Adieu, 
 
 DEAR HOME, 
 
 " Yours, most affectionately, 
 
 " BUTE."
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 151 
 
 " London, March 25t/i, 1773. 
 " DEAR HOME, 
 
 " I DON'T wonder you are surprised at not hear- 
 ing from me ; it would appear to any one else most 
 unkind, but you know me enough not to measure 
 my friendship by my letters. Alas ! my friend, For- 
 tune has been determined to empty every enve- 
 nomed arrow out of her quiver against me, which, 
 joined to so long a state of bad health, will bring 
 matters to a quicker issue ; which, far from a pain- 
 ful, is rather a comfortable reflection at my time 
 of life. Few men have ever suffered more, in the 
 short space I have gone through of political war- 
 fare, and yet the violence of open enemies has least 
 affected me. Think, my friend, of my son Charles 
 being refused every thing I asked. I have not had 
 interest to get him a company, while every alder- 
 man of a petty corporation meets with certain suc- 
 cess. I am now in treaty, under Lord Townshend's 
 wing, for dragoons in Ireland ; if I don't succeed, 
 I will certainly offer him to the Emperor. A thou- 
 sand thanks for the boxes and snuff; before I re- 
 ceived it, I had got a provision from Prestonpans, 
 that will, I believe, last my life. You say nothing 
 of moving southward, though my motions and re- 
 sidence are too uncertain to make me wish for it. 
 If I am in being, and in this part of the world, I 
 need not tell you that I shall rejoice to see you.
 
 152 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 Adieu, my good friend. Health, quiet, and hap- 
 piness attend you many years. 
 
 " Yours, most affectionately, 
 
 " BUTE." 
 
 " London, June Zltk, 1780. 
 " DEAR JOHN, 
 
 " How are matters going on with you in the 
 world, while we here have hoth lives and property 
 at stake ? This mad Scotchman* has lighted up a 
 flame that will not be so easily extinguished, though 
 at present, surrounded by fifteen thousand men, it 
 remains dormant. You will easily perceive, that 
 under the colour of religious zeal, three different 
 purposes were pursued by three very different sets 
 of people ; the breaking open the prisons and plun- 
 dering houses, were the natural operations of the 
 abandoned populace. Lord Mansfield's house, and 
 many others, they have found marked for destruc- 
 tion, (of which both mine in town and country had 
 the foremost rank,) belong to counsels you cannot 
 be at a loss to guess ; but the attack on the Bank, 
 of the New River water-pipes, and the particular 
 fire-balls made use of, came from those who really 
 wished the total destruction of this once-great 
 
 * Lord George Gordon*
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 153 
 
 country. Fanaticism in burning Romish chapels, 
 with a formidable list found of thirty-five thousand 
 Roman Catholic houses, all destined to the flames, 
 may be deemed to proceed from a fourth junto. 
 You will see printed, by authority, lists of three or 
 four hundred killed and wounded ; but Charles 
 tells me the first don't exceed thirty. The troops 
 had very cautious orders, and acted accordingly : 
 Never was an hour where spirit was so necessary 
 to save a country at the gates of destruction ; but 
 that is fled from this island, and exists only in the 
 first person amongst us. The extempore speech he 
 made at Council, drew tears from several there, 
 ' I lament the conduct of the magistrates, but I 
 can only answer for one one (putting his hand 
 on his breast,) will do his duty' The language of 
 is, at this hour, ' Poor creatures ! they did 
 not mean mischief, a mere frolic, &c. and now all 
 over, so that keeping the troops has very sinister 
 purposes.' I fear, indeed, those in power think it 
 over ; but the troops once gone, I look on the fate 
 of my house as determined ; indeed, nothing but 
 my son Charles, with forty of the Royals, saved it 
 on the Thursday ; and as to this place, I fear they 
 may destroy it when they please. Twenty men left 
 at Luton would have secured me, for a mob can't 
 come from London without its being known, but 
 eight or ten villains may do here what they please. 
 Charles is to send me arms, but his account of the
 
 154 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 servants left in town renders them useless, for he 
 says, except Peter, they were all sneaking cowards. 
 O ! my friend, how does this demonstrate the folly 
 I have been guilty of in all done here ? One-fourth 
 as much at Bute would have made that the first 
 seat in Britain, and given me a comfortable and se- 
 cure asylum in the decline of life ; but repentance 
 comes too late, and now, ' come what come may, 
 time and the tide wear out the roughest day.' " 
 
 The last division of the correspondence, which 
 I have selected from other letters, less interesting 
 to the Society, consists of some from Mr Home's 
 celebrated friend, to whom I have had occasion so 
 often to allude, David Hume ; many of whose 
 letters, I regret to say, our poet, with his charac- 
 teristic inattention to such matters, appears to have 
 destroyed, or rather probably neglected to keep, as 
 his nephew, to whose kindness I am indebted for a 
 communication of his uncle's papers and correspond- 
 ence, has been able to find but a very few. 
 
 In the first part of this paper, I mentioned ajeu 
 d 1 esprit of Mr Hume's ; who, being kept out of the 
 secret of a humorous pamphlet, written by his inti- 
 mate friend, Mr Ferguson, took his revenge by wri- 
 ting to Dr Carlyle a letter, claiming the work as
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 155 
 
 his own ; and I took occasion to observe how much 
 this anecdote tended to confirm an observation 
 which had frequently occurred to me, of the uncer- 
 tainty of the evidence arising from letters, when 
 the writers are dead, and the motives of the corre- 
 spondence cannot be known. I have now been fa- 
 voured with a copy of that letter, which I will read 
 to the Society, who, I think, will perceive, that 
 though plainly ironical to us, who know the pre- 
 vious circumstances, there is an air of sober reality 
 about it, that would have made it appear perfectly 
 serious to one who should have found it at some 
 distance of time, without being possessed of such 
 previous knowledge. 
 
 "Edinburgh, 3d February, 1761. 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 " I AM informed that you have received a let- 
 ter from London, by which you learn that the ma- 
 nuscript of sister Peg has been traced to the print- 
 er's, and has been found to be, in many places, inter- 
 lined and corrected in my hand-writing. I could 
 have wished that you had not published this piece 
 of intelligence before you told me of it. The truth 
 is, after I had composed that trifling performance, 
 and thought I had made it as correct as I could, I 
 gave it to a sure hand to be transcribed ; that in 
 case any of the London printers had known my
 
 156 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OP 
 
 hand, they might not be able to discover me. But 
 as it lay by me for some weeks afterwards, I could 
 not. forbear reviewing it ; and not having my ama- 
 nuensis at hand, I was obliged, in several places, to 
 correct it myself, rather than allow it to go to the 
 press with inaccuracies of which I was sensible. I 
 little dreamed that this small want of precaution 
 would have betrayed me so soon ; but as you know 
 that I am very indifferent about princes or presi- 
 dents, ministers of the gospel or ministers of state, 
 kings or keysars, and set at defiance all powers, hu- 
 man or infernal, I had no other reason for conceal- 
 ing myself, but in order to try the taste of the pub- 
 lic ; whom, though I also set in some degree at de- 
 fiance, I cannot sometimes forbear paying a little 
 regard to. 1 find that frivolous composition has been 
 better received than I had any reason to expect, and 
 therefore cannot much complain of the injury you 
 .have done me by revealing my secret, and obliging 
 me to acknowledge it more early than I intended. 
 The only reason of my writing to you is, to know 
 the printer's name, who has so far broke his engage- 
 ments as to shew the manuscript ; for the bookseller 
 assured my friend to whom I entrusted it, that we 
 might depend upon an absolute secrecy. I beg my 
 compliments to Mrs Carlyle, and am, 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 " Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 " DAVID HUME."
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 157 
 
 Copy of passage in a Letter from Mr DAVID 
 HUME to Dr BLAIR, dated Park Place, Lon- 
 don, 28th March, 1769. 
 
 ." DEAR DOCTOR, 
 
 " THE Fatal Discovery succeeded, and deser- 
 ved it. It has feeling, though not equal to Dou- 
 glas, in my opinion. The versification of it is not 
 enough finished. Our friend escaped by lying con- 
 cealed ; but the success of all plays in this age is 
 very feeble ; and people now heed the theatre al- 
 most as little as the pulpit. History now is the fa- 
 vourite reading, and our other friend,* the favourite 
 historian. Nothing can be more successful than his 
 last production, nor more deservedly. I agree with 
 you ; it is beyond his first performance, as was in- 
 deed natural to expect. I hope, for a certain rea- 
 son which I keep to myself, that he does not in- 
 tend, in his third work, to go beyond his second, 
 though I am damnably afraid he will, for the sub- 
 ject is much more interesting. Neither the cha- 
 racter of Charles V., nor the incidents of his life, 
 are very interesting ; and, were it not for the first 
 volume, the success of this work, though perfectly 
 well writ, would not have been so shining." 
 
 * Dr Robertson.
 
 158 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 To Mr HOME. 
 
 " St Andrew's Square, September 20th, 1775. 
 
 " DEAR JOHN, 
 
 "Or all the vices of language, the least excusa- 
 ble is the want of perspicuity ; for, as words were 
 instituted by men, merely for conveying their ideas 
 to each other, the employing of words without 
 meaning is a palpable abuse, which departs from 
 the very original purpose and intention of language. 
 It is also to be observed, that any ambiguity in ex- 
 pression is next to the having no meaning at all ; 
 and is indeed a species of it ; for while the hearer 
 or reader is perplexed between different meanings, 
 he can assign no determinate idea to the speaker or 
 writer ; and may, on that account, say with Ovid, 
 " Inopem me copia fecit" For this reason, all emi- 
 nent rhetoricians and grammarians,, both ancient 
 and modern, have insisted on perspicuity of lan- 
 guage as an essential quality ; without which, all 
 ornaments of diction are vain and fruitless. Quinc- 
 tilian carries the matter so far, as to condemn this 
 expression, vidi hominem librum legentem i be- 
 cause, says he, legentem may construe as well with 
 librum as hominem ; though one would think, that 
 the sense were here sufficient to prevent all ambi- 
 guity. In conformity to this way of thinking, Van-
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 159 
 
 gelas, the first great grammarian of France, will 
 not permit, that any one have recourse to the 
 sense, in order to explain the meaning of the words ; 
 because, says he, it is the business of the words to 
 explain the sense not of the sense to give a deter- 
 minate meaning to the words ; and this practice is 
 reversing the order of nature ; like the custom of 
 the Romans (he might have added, the Greeks) in 
 their saturnalia, who made the slaves the masters ; 
 for you may learn from Lucian, that the Greeks 
 practised the same frolic during the Festival of Sa- 
 turn, whom they called Xgovaq. 
 
 " Now, to apply, and to come to the use of this 
 principle, I must observe to you, that your last letter, 
 besides a continued want of distinctness in the form 
 of the literal characters, has plainly transgressed 
 the essential rule above-mentioned, of grammar and 
 rhetoric. You say, that Coutts has complained to 
 you of not hearing from me ; had you said either 
 James or Thomas, I could have understood your 
 meaning. About two months ago, I heard that 
 James complained of me in this respect, and I wrote 
 to him, though then abroad, making an apology for 
 my being one of the subscribers of a paper which 
 gave him some offence. I was afraid he had not 
 received mine. The letter of Thomas, I concei- 
 ved to be only a circular letter, informing me of a 
 change in the firm of the house ; and have answer- 
 ed it a few days ago, by giving him some directions
 
 160 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 about disposing of my money, which proved that I 
 intended to remain a customer to the shop. It hap- 
 pens, therefore, luckily, that I had obviated all ob- 
 jections to my conduct, on both sides. 
 
 " In turning over my papers, I find a manuscript 
 journal of the last rebellion, which is at your ser- 
 vice. 1 hope Mrs Home is better, and will be able 
 to execute her journey. Are you to be in town 
 soon ? Yours, without ambiguity, circumlocution, 
 or mental reservation, 
 
 " DAVID HUME." 
 
 To Mr HOME. 
 
 " Edinburgh, 8th February, 1 776. 
 " DEAII TVRT^EUS, 
 
 " IT is a remark of Dr Swift's, that no man in 
 London ever complained of his being neglected by 
 his friends in the country. Your complaint of me 
 is the more flattering. 
 
 " Two posts ago, I received, under a frank of 
 General Fraser's, a pamphlet, entitled A Letter 
 from an Officer retired. It is a very good pam- 
 phlet ; and I conjecture you to be the author. Sal- 
 lust makes it a question, whether the writer or the 
 performer of good things has the preference ? and 
 he ascribes the greater praise to the latter. It is 
 happy for you, that you may rest your fame on 
 
 13
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 161 
 
 either. I here allude to what you have done for 
 Ferguson. 
 
 " But, pray, why do you say, that the post of 
 Boston is like the Camp of Pirna ? I fancy our 
 troops can be withdrawn thence without any diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 " 1 make no doubt, since you sound the trumpet 
 for war against the Americans, that you have a plan 
 ready for governing them, after they are subdued ; 
 but you will not subdue them, unless they break in 
 pieces among themselves an event very probable. 
 It is a wonder it has not happened sooner. But no 
 man can foretell how far these frenzies of the peo- 
 ple may be carried. Yours, 
 
 " DAVID HUME." 
 
 Copy of a Card from Mr DAVID HUME to Dr 
 BLAIR. It was written when he> along with Mr 
 JOHN HOME, was on the way down from Bath 
 to Edinburgh. 
 
 "Doncaster, With of June. 
 MR JOHN HUME, alias Home, alias the Home, 
 alias the late Lord Conservator, alias the late Mi- 
 nister of the Gospel at Athelstaneford, has calcula- 
 ted matters so as to arrive infallibly with his friend 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 in St David's Street,* on Wednesday evening. He 
 has asked several of Dr Blair's friends to dine with 
 him there on Thursday, being the 4th of July, and 
 begs the favour of the Doctor to make one of the 
 number." 
 
 Subjoined to the card, there is this Note, in Dr 
 Blair's hand writing : 
 
 " Mem. This the last note received from Mr 
 David Hume. He died on the 25th of August, 
 1776." 
 
 Copy of passage in a Letter from Mr DAVID 
 HUME to Dr BLAIK, dated Bath, 13th May, 
 1776. It relates to his meeting with Mr JOHN 
 HOME, when on the way to jBatJi,for recovery 
 of his health. 
 
 " You must have heard of the agreeable surprise 
 which John Home put upon me. We travelled 
 up to London very cheerfully together, and thence 
 to this place, where we found Mrs Home almost 
 quite recovered. Never was there a more friendly 
 action, nor better placed ; for what between conver- 
 
 * Mr Hume's house.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 163 
 
 sation and gaming,* (not to mention sometimes 
 squabbling) I did not pass a languid moment ; and 
 his company I am certain was the chief cause why 
 my journey had so good an effect ; of which, how- 
 ever, I suppose he has given too sanguine accounts, 
 as is usual with him." 
 
 Excerpt from a Codicil to Mr DAVID HUME'S 
 Will, written in kis own hand, and dated 1th 
 August, 1776. 
 
 " I LEAVE to my friend Mr John Home of Kil- 
 duff, ten dozen of my old claret, at his choice ; and 
 one single bottle of that other liquor called port. I 
 also leave to him six dozen of port, provided that 
 he attests under his hand, signed John Hume, that 
 he has himself alone finished that bottle at two 
 sittings. By this concession, he will at once ter- 
 minate the only two differences that ever arose be- 
 tween us concerning temporal matters." 
 
 * Both were fond of picquel, and they played every even- 
 ing on the road.
 
 164 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 Note by DAVID HUME, Esq. Nephew to the His- 
 torian. 
 
 JOHN HOME was very strenuous in support of 
 the o in preference to the u, in the spelling of his 
 name, and held the point to he so clear in his own 
 favour, as to admit of no debate. David Hume, at 
 one time, jocularly proposed that they should de- 
 termine the controversy by casting lots. " Nay," 
 says John, " that is a most extraordinary proposal 
 indeed, Mr Philosopher for if you lose, you take 
 your own name, and if I lose, I take another man's 
 name." This he often told me with great glee, and 
 nearly in these words. 
 
 Wote by the Editor. 
 
 As to the port-wine, it is well known that Mr 
 Home held it in abhorrence. In his younger days, 
 claret was the only wine drank by gentlemen in 
 Scotland. His epigram on the enforcement of the 
 high duty on French wine in this country, is in 
 most people's hands : 
 
 " Firm and erect the Caledonian stood, 
 
 Old was his mutton, and his claret good ; 
 
 ' Let him drink port,' an English statesman cried 
 
 He drank the poison, and his spirit died."
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 165 
 
 Among the papers which have been preserved, 
 is one of a remarkable kind, a journal of that phi- 
 losopher and historian's conversation and opinions 
 delivered during the progress of a journey, which 
 those two friends made in company to Bath, a very 
 short while before Mr David Hume's death. That 
 journey was highly honourable to Mr John Home, 
 from the cordial and disinterested attachment which 
 it shewed him to entertain for his illustrious friend. 
 
 He was at London with his wife, when he re- 
 ceived accounts of the dangerous situation of Mr 
 David Hume's health, and that he proposed a 
 journey to Bath, as one of the possible means for 
 restoring it. Mr Home instantly set off for Scot- 
 land, with the design of attending him in that 
 journey, and ministering to him whatever ease or 
 comfort the society of so intimate and long-tried a 
 friend could afford. Mr Hume felt very sensibly 
 the kindness of this measure, and it seemed to have 
 answered, in no inconsiderable degree, the good pur- 
 pose which it was intended to serve. They travel- 
 led by easy stages, they discoursed by the road with 
 an easy unconstrained familiarity, which a sick man, 
 in his moments of ease, can indulge without fa- 
 tigue ; and, in the evening, when they came early 
 to their resting-place for the night, they played at 
 picquet, a game of which they were both fond 
 enough, as well as skilful in, to find an interest-
 
 166 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 ing amusement. When Mr Hume went to bed, 
 naturally from his situation, at an earlier hour than 
 his friend, Mr John Home used to put down notes 
 of the conversation which the preceding day had 
 afforded. 
 
 Its value, in his estimation, was such, that he 
 got it fairly copied out, with an intention of ha- 
 ving it published ; hut the historian's nephew, our 
 excellent colleague Mr Professor Hume, whose 
 leave he asked previously to carrying this design 
 into execution, conceived, that at that time it 
 would not have been proper for publication \ and 
 that in his own very significant words (addressed 
 to Mr John Home, in answer to a letter asking 
 his leave to make this publication), it was one 
 which he thought his uncle, had he been alive, 
 would have objected to. The same reasons, how- 
 ever, not subsisting now, he has given me leave to 
 insert it in this place. 
 
 The Society will perceive in those unreserved 
 effusions, the general turn and complexion of Mr 
 Hume's historical notions. Such familiar sketches 
 give the bent and contour of a person's mind, per- 
 haps more truly than his elaborate compositions, as 
 portraits drawn in a night-gown and slippers, shew 
 the figure more freely and more naturally, than 
 when they are finished in the costume of rank or 
 ceremony.
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 167 
 
 The letters from Mr Hume, which are subjoin- 
 ed to the journal the notes to Dr Blair, and the 
 Codicil to Mr Hume's Will, must interest, from 
 the peculiar situation in which they were written. 
 The Codicil was of his own hand-writing, and da- 
 ted 7th August, 1776. He died on the 25th of 
 that month. 
 
 Copy Letter Mr ADAM FERGUSSON to Mr JOHN 
 HOME, dated at Edinburgh, the \\th day of 
 April, 1776. 
 
 " I AM much such a correspondent as usual ; 
 and for some little time have heen in doubt where 
 a letter might find you. But David shewed me a 
 line from you to-day, by which you desire to have 
 your letters sent to London, and after such a pre- 
 amble, you may guess that my silence proceeded in 
 part from want of matter here. The loss of one 
 friend, and the danger of another, are not subjects 
 that make people in haste to write. David, I am 
 afraid, loses ground. He is chearful, and in good 
 spirits as usual, but I confess that my hopes, from 
 the effects of the turn of the season towards spring, 
 have very much abated. A journey to the south, 
 particularly to Bath, has been mentioned to him ; 
 but the thoughts of being from home, hurried at 
 inns, and exposed to irregular meals, are very dis-
 
 168 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 agreeable to him. Black is of opinion that he 
 ought not to expose himself to any thing that is 
 so ; and that for his complaints, the tranquillity 
 and usual amusement of his own fire-side, with 
 proper diet, is his hest regimen ; so that I think 
 the thoughts of any journey are at present laid 
 aside. I hope we shall see you here soon, and that 
 your attentions will contribute to preserve what we 
 can so ill spare. 
 
 " I am, dear John, 
 
 " Most affectionately yours, 
 
 " ADAM FERGUSSON." 
 
 Note by Mr JOHN HOME. 
 
 " Soon after Mr Home received the letter from 
 Dr Ferguson, he left London, and set out for Scot- 
 land with Mr Adam Smith. They came to Mor- 
 peth on the 23d of April, 1776, and would have 
 passed Mr David Hume, if they had not seen his 
 servant, Colin, standing at the gate of an inn. Mr 
 Home thinks that his friend, Mr David Hume, is 
 much better than he expected to find him. His 
 spirits are astonishing : He talks of his illness, of 
 his death, as matters of no moment, and gives an 
 account of >Yhat passed between him and his phy- 
 sicians since his illness began, with his usual wit, 
 or with more wit than usual.
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 169 
 
 " He acquainted Mr Adam Smith and me, that 
 Dr Black had not concealed the opinion he had of 
 the desperateness of his condition, and was rather 
 averse to his setting out. " Have you no reason 
 against it," said David, " hut an apprehension that 
 it may make me die sooner ? that is no reason at 
 all." I never saw him more chearful, or in more 
 perfect possession of all his faculties, his memory, 
 his understanding, his wit. It is agreed that Smith 
 shall go on to Scotland, and that I should proceed 
 to Bath with David. We are to travel one stage 
 before dinner, and one after dinner. Colin tells 
 me that he thinks Mr Hume better than when he 
 left Edinburgh. We had a fine evening as we 
 went from Morpeth to Newcastle. David seeing 
 a pair of pistols in the chaise, said, that as he had 
 very little at stake, he would indulge me in my 
 humour, of fighting the highwaymen. Whilst sup- 
 per was getting ready at the inn, Mr Hume and I 
 played an hour at picquet. Mr David was very 
 keen about his card playing." 
 
 " Newcastle., Wednesday, 24<th April. 
 
 " MR HUME not quite so well in the morning 
 
 says, that he had set out merely to please his 
 
 friends ; that he would go on to please them ; that 
 
 Fergusson and Andrew Stuart, (about whom we
 
 170 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 had been talking,) were answerable for shortening 
 his life one week a-piece ; for, says he, you will al- 
 low Xenophon to be good authority ; and he lays 
 it down, that suppose a man is dying, nobody has 
 a right to kill him. He set out in this vein, and 
 continued all the stage in his cheerful and talking 
 humour. It was a fine day, and we went on to 
 Durham from that to Darlington, where we pass- 
 ed the night. 
 
 " In the evening, Mr Hume thinks himself more 
 easy and light, than he has been any time for three 
 months. In the course of our conversation we 
 touched upon the national affairs. He still main- 
 tains, that the national debt must be the ruin of 
 Britain ; and laments that the two most civilized 
 nations, the English and French, should be on the 
 decline ; and the barbarians, the Goths and Van- 
 dals of Germany and Russia, should be rising in 
 power and renown. The French king, he says, 
 has ruined the state by recalling the parliaments. 
 Mr Hume thinks that there is only one man in 
 France fit to be minister, (the Archbishop of Tou- 
 louse,) of the family of Brienne. He told me some 
 curious anecdotes with regard to this prelate ; that 
 he composed and corrected without writing ; that 
 Mr Hume had heard him repeat an elegant ora- 
 tion of an hour and a quarter in length, which he 
 had never written. Mr Hume, talking with the 
 Princess Beauvais about French policy, said that
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 171 
 
 he knew but one man in France capable of resto- 
 ring its greatness ; the lady said she knew one too, 
 and wished to hear if it was the same. They ac- 
 cordingly named each their man, and it was this 
 prelate." 
 
 " Thursday, 25th. 
 
 " LEFT Darlington about nine o'clock, and came 
 to North Allerton. The same delightful weather. 
 A shower fell that layed the dust, and made our 
 journey to Borough-Bridge more pleasant. Mr 
 Hume continues very easy, and has a tolerable ap- 
 petite ; tastes nothing liquid but water, and sups 
 upon an egg. He assured me, that he never pos- 
 sessed his faculties more perfectly ; that he never 
 was more sensible of the beauties of any classic au- 
 thor than he was at present, nor loved more to 
 read. When I am not in the room with him he 
 reads continually. The post-boys can scarcely be 
 persuaded to drive only five miles an hour, and 
 their horses are of the same way of thinking ! The 
 other travellers, as they pass, look into the chaise, 
 and laugh at our slow pace. This evening the 
 post-boy from North Allerton, who had required a 
 good deal of threatening to make him drive as slow 
 as we desired, had no sooner taken his departure 
 to go home, than he set off at full speed. ' Pour 
 se dedommagerj said David."
 
 172 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 " Friday, %6th, Borough-bridge. 
 " ME HUME this morning not quite so well. 
 He observes, and I see it, that he has a good day 
 and a bad one. His illness is an internal hemor- 
 rhage, which has been wasting him for a long 
 time. He is so thin that he chooses to have a 
 cushion under him when he sits upon an ordinary 
 chair. He told me to-day, that if Louis XV. had 
 died in the time of the regency, the whole French 
 nation were determined to bring back the King of 
 Spain to be King of France, so zealous were they 
 for preserving the line of succession. This evening 
 Mr Hume not quite so well, and goes to bed at a 
 more early hour than he used to do." 
 
 " Ferry Bridge, Sunday, 28th. 
 " ME HUME much better this morning. He 
 told me, that the French nation had no great opi- 
 nion of Cardinal Fleury ; that the English had 
 extolled him, in opposition to their own minister 
 Sir Robert Walpole ; but that Fleury was a little 
 genius, and a cheat. Lord Marischal acquainted 
 Mr Hume with a piece of knavery, which his lord- 
 ship said nobody but a Frenchman and a priest 
 could have been guilty of. The French ambassa- 
 dor at Madrid came to Lord Marischal one day,
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 173 
 
 and told him, that he had a letter from the French 
 minister at Petersburg!!, acquainting him that Ge- 
 neral Keith was not pleased with his situation in 
 Russia, and wished to return to the Spanish ser- 
 vice, (where he had formerly been ;) that it would 
 be proper for Lord Mar ischal to apply to the court 
 of Spain. Lord Marischal said nothing could be 
 more agreeable to him than to have his brother in 
 the same country with him ; but that, as he had 
 heard nothing from himself, he could not make any 
 application in his name. The French minister still 
 urged him to write to the Spanish minister, but in 
 vain. When the brothers met, several years after, 
 they explained this matter. Keith had never any 
 intention of coming into the Spanish service again; 
 and if Lord Marischal had applied to the court of 
 Spain, measures were taken to intercept the letter, 
 and send it to the court of Russia. General Keith, 
 who commanded the Russian army in the field 
 against the Swedes, would have been arrested, and 
 sent to Siberia ; and the moment he had left the 
 army, the Swedes were to attack the Russians. 
 Mr Hume told me, talking of Fleury, that Mon- 
 sieur Trudent, who was his eleve, acquainted him 
 with an anecdote of that minister, and the late 
 French king, which he, Mr Hume, believes Tru- 
 dent had never ventured to tell to any body but 
 him ; and he (David) had never told it to any body 
 but me. Now, since Fleury, Trudent, and Lewis
 
 174 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 are all dead, it may be told. Trudent took the 
 liberty of observing to Fleury, that the king should 
 be advised to apply a little more to business, and 
 take some charge of his own affairs. Fleury, the 
 first time Trudent spoke to him upon this subject, 
 made him no answer ; but upon his speaking again 
 on the same subject, he told him, that he had en- 
 treated the king to be a man of business, and as- 
 sured him that the French did not like an inactive 
 prince ; that in former times, there had been a 
 race of indolent princes who did nothing at all, 
 and were called Les Rois Faineants ; that one of 
 them had been put into a convent. The king 
 made no reply ; but some time afterwards, when 
 Fleury resumed the subject, the king asked him, 
 whether or no the prince that was put into the con- 
 vent had a good pension allowed him ? 
 
 " Mr Hume this day told me, that he had 
 bought a piece of ground ; and when I seemed 
 surprised that I had never heard of it, he said it 
 was in the New Church-yard, on the Calton Hill, 
 for a burying-place ; that he meant to have a small 
 monument erected, not to exceed in expence one 
 hundred pounds ; that the inscription should be 
 
 DAVID HUME. 
 
 " I desired him to change the discourse. He 
 did so ; but seemed surprised at my uneasiness,
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 175 
 
 which he said was very nonsensical. I think he is 
 gaming ground ; but he laughs at me, and says it 
 is impossible ; that the year (76), sooner or later, 
 he takes his departure. He is willing to go to 
 Bath, or travel during the summer through Eng- 
 land, and return to Scotland to die at home ; but 
 that Sir John Pringle, and the whole faculty, would 
 find it very difficult to boat him, (formerly an usual 
 phrase in Scotland foi? going abroad, that is, out of 
 the island, for health.) This day we travelled by 
 his desire three stages, and arrived with great ease 
 at Grantham." 
 
 " Monday, 
 
 " FROM the treatment Mr Hume met with in 
 France, he recurred to a subject not unfrequent 
 with him that is, the design to ruin him as an 
 author, by the people that were ministers, at the 
 first publication of his history ; and called them- 
 selves Whigs, who, he said, were determined not 
 to suffer truth to be told in Britain. Amongst 
 many instances of this, he told me one which was 
 new to me. The Duke of Bedford, (who after- 
 wards conceived a great affection for Mr Hume), 
 by the suggestions of some of his party friends, or- 
 dered his son, Lord Tavistock, not to read Mr 
 Hume's History of England ; but the young man 
 was prevailed upon by one of his companions (Mr
 
 176 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 Crawford of Errol) to disobey the command. He 
 read the history, and was extremely pleased with it. 
 " Mr Hume told me, that the Duke de Choi- 
 seul, at the time Lord Hertford was in France, 
 expressed the greatest inclination for peace, and 
 a good correspondence between France and Bri- 
 tain. He assured Lord Hertford, that if the court 
 of Britain would relinquish Falkland island, he 
 would undertake to procure from the court of 
 Spain the payment of the Manilla ransom. Lord 
 Hertford communicated the proposal to Mr Gren- 
 ville, who slighted it. Lord Hertford told Mr 
 Hume the same day an extraordinary instance 
 of the violence of faction. Towards the end of 
 Queen Anne's reign, when the Whig ministers 
 were turned out of all their places at home, and 
 the Duke of Marlborough still continued in the 
 command of the army abroad, the discarded mi- 
 nisters met, and wrote a letter, which was sign- 
 ed by Lord Somers, Lord Townshend, Lord Sun- 
 derland, and Sir Robert Walpole, desiring the 
 Duke to bring over the troops he could depend 
 on, and that they would seize the Queen's person, 
 and proclaim the Elector of Hanover Regent. The 
 Duke of Marlborough answered the letter, and said 
 it was madness to think of such a thing. Mr Ho- 
 race Walpole, Sir R. Walpole's youngest son, con- 
 firmed the truth of this anecdote, which he had 
 heard his father repeat often and often ; and Mr
 
 LIFE OF MB JOHN HOME. 177 
 
 Walpole allowed Mr Hume to quote him as his 
 authority, and make what use he pleased of it. 
 When George I. came to England, he hesitated 
 whether to make a Whig or a Tory administra- 
 tionj but the German minister, Bernstorf, deter- 
 mined him to take the side of the Whigs, who had 
 made a purse of thirty thousand guineas, and given 
 it to this German. George I. was of a moderate 
 and gentle temper. He regretted all his life, that 
 he had given way to the violence of the Whigs in 
 the beginning of his reign. Whenever any diffi- 
 culty occurred in Parliament, he used to blame the 
 impeachment of the Tories, " Ce diable de im- 
 peachment," as he called it. 
 
 "The Whigs, in the end of Queen Anne's reign, 
 bribed the Emperor's ministers, not to consent to 
 the peace, and to send over Prince Eugene with 
 proposals to continue the war. 
 
 " This anecdote from Lord Bath, Another anec- 
 dote Mr Hume mentioned, but distrusted the au- 
 thority, for it was David Mallet who told Mr 
 Hume* that he had evidence in his custody of a 
 design to assassinate Lord Oxford. 
 
 " Prior, after the accession, was reduced to such 
 poverty by the persecution he met with, that he 
 was obliged to publish his works by subscription. 
 Lord Bathurst told Mr Hume, that he was with 
 Prior reading the pieces that were to be published, 
 
 VOL. i. M
 
 178 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 and he thought there was not enough to make two 
 small volumes. He asked Prior if he had no more 
 poems ? He said, No more that he thought good 
 enough. * What is that ?' said Bathurst, pointing 
 to a roll of paper, * A trifle,' said Prior, ' that I 
 wrote in three weeks, not worthy of your attention 
 or that of the public.' Lord Bathurst desired to 
 see it. This neglected piece was Alma''' 
 
 " Tuesday, 30th. 
 
 " LAST night, when Mr Hume was going to 
 bed, he complained of cold. One part of his ma- 
 lady had been a continual heat, so that he could 
 not endure a soft or warm bed, and lay in the night 
 with a single sheet upon him ; he desired to have 
 an additional covering. Colin observed to him, 
 that he thought it a good symptom. Mr Hume 
 said he thought so too, for it was a good thing to 
 be like other people. This morning he is wonder- 
 fully well, which is visible in his countenance and 
 colour, and even the firmness of his step. Talking 
 of the state of the nation, which he continually la- 
 ments, he mentioned an anecdote of the former war. 
 He was at Turin with General Sinclair, after the 
 peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, and, considering the su- 
 periority which the French arms had gained, he 
 could not conceive why France granted such good 
 terms to Britain. He desired General Sinclair to
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 179 
 
 touch upon that subject with the King of Sardinia 
 That Prince, who was very familiar with the Ge- 
 neral, said he was at a loss to give any account of 
 that matter; but, many years after, when Mr Hume 
 was minister in France, and lived in great intimacy 
 with Monsieur Puysieux, Secretary of State, who 
 had negociated the peace of Aix, Mr Hume asked 
 him the reason of the conduct of France at that 
 time ? Puysieux told him, that it was the king's 
 aversion to war ; that he knew more of it than any 
 man alive, for, the year before the peace, he was 
 ordered by the king to propose pretty near the 
 same terms. He remonstrated against making the 
 offer ; said that at least the proposal should come 
 from England ; and that there was always some 
 advantage to be gained by receiving, rather than 
 propounding terms. The king was impatient, and 
 obliged Puysieux to write the letter, (which Ge- 
 neral Ligonier carried,) with those terms which 
 next year were agreed to by the British court. 
 Mr John Home said he knew that the King of 
 France promoted the peace of Paris from the aver- 
 sion he had to war ; and the peace was made at 
 a time when it seemed impossible for Britain to 
 carry on a war of such extent, and retain her scat- 
 tered conquests. Mr Hume mentioned another 
 singular anecdote concerning the beginning of the 
 last war. When a squadron of the English fleet
 
 180 APPENDIX TO ACCOUNT OF 
 
 attacked and took two French men of war, the 
 Alcide and the Lys, Louis XV. was so averse to 
 war, that he would have pocketed the insult ; and 
 Madame Pompadour said it was better to put up 
 with the affront, than to go to war without any 
 object but the point of honour. It is known, that 
 neither the king, nor the ministers of England, 
 wished for war. The French King abhorred the 
 thought of war ! What then was the cause ? 
 Chiefly the fear of the popular clamour, and of the 
 opposition in the Duke of Newcastle's mind. Mr 
 Hume thinks Lord North no great minister, but 
 does not see a better ; cannot give any reason for 
 the incapacity and want of genius, civil and mili- 
 tary, which marks this period. He looks upon the 
 country as on the verge of decline. His fears seem 
 rather too great, and things are not quite so bad 
 as he apprehends ; but certainly the first show of 
 statesmen, generals, ai*d admirals, is, without com- 
 parison, the worst that has been seen in this coun- 
 try. I said to Mr Hume, that I thought the great 
 consideration to be acquired by speaking in Par- 
 liament, was the cause of that want of every other 
 quality in men of rank ; they do speak readily, but 
 there are many orators who can neither judge nor 
 act well."
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 181 
 
 " Wednesday, ^\st April. 
 
 " ARRIVED in London, where we saw Sir John 
 Pringle, who thought Mr Hume much better than 
 he expected to see him, and in no immediate dan- 
 ger. We staid a few days in London, and then set 
 out for Bath. 
 
 " In travelling from London to Bath, we had 
 occasion frequently to make our observations on 
 the passengers whom we met, and on those who 
 passed us, as every carriage continued to do. No- 
 thing occurred worthy the writing down, except 
 Mr David's plan of managing his kingdom, in 
 case Ferguson and I had been princes of the adja- 
 cent states. He knew very well, he said, (having 
 often disputed the point with us,) the great opi- 
 nion we had of military virtues as essential to every 
 state ; that from these sentiments rooted in us, he 
 was certain he would be attacked and interrupted 
 in his projects of cultivating, improving, and civi- 
 lizing mankind by the arts of peace ; that he com- 
 forted himself with reflecting, that from our want 
 of economy and order in our affairs, we should be 
 continually in want of money ; whilst he would 
 have his finances in excellent condition, his maga- 
 zines well filled, and naval stores in abundance ; 
 but that his final stroke of policy, upon which he 
 depended, was to give one of us a large subsidy to 
 fall upon the other, which would infallibly secure
 
 182 ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 to him peace and quiet, and after a long war, would 
 probably terminate in his being master of all the 
 three kingdoms. At this sally, so like David's 
 manner of playing with his friends, I fell into a 
 fit of laughing, in which David joined ; and the 
 people that passed us certainly thought we were 
 very merry travellers." 
 
 HAVING communicated this biographical essay 
 to my friend, Sir Robert Listen, lately our am- 
 bassador at the Porte, who was the early intimate 
 and neighbour of Dr Wilkie, he wished me to cor- 
 rect the expression, uttered in the course of free and 
 unweighed conversation, by Mr Charles Towns- 
 hendy containing the opinion of that gentleman 
 with regard to Dr Wilkie, which will be found at 
 p. 15. I give Sir Robert's correction in his own 
 words, contained in the following note to me : 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 " You have afforded me * a delicious treat by 
 the communication of your Account of the Life of 
 
 * I am happy to have this opportunity of setting down here 
 the name of my excellent class-fellow and earliest friend, Sir 
 Robert Liston. It is needless for me to eulogize that name ;
 
 LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME. 
 
 Jolm Home, whom I know well, and to whom I 
 think you have done perfect justice. 
 
 " I am anxious that you should mollify, or mo- 
 dify, what you say with respect to Professor Willtie. 
 
 " You have spoken fairly of his genius, which I, 
 like others, felt to he original and luminous beyond 
 that of any man I have ever seen. 
 
 " But I knew him long, and knew him intimate- 
 ly, and I can assure you that Wilkie was good-hu- 
 moured, mild, attached to his family and his friends, 
 full of condescension and kindness in his notice to 
 young persons, of which I have a most grateful 
 remembrance. He talked indeed a great deal, and 
 loved disquisition and debate ; but there was no- 
 thing overbearing or offensive, or even stiff, in the 
 manner of his urging his arguments ; on the con- 
 trary, he was always calm, placid, perfectly master 
 of his temper, and often lively, jocular, and full 
 of merriment. 
 
 " If he deserved, therefore, the epithet rough 
 and unpolished, it was not because he was at any 
 moment rude or harsh in the intercourse of life, but 
 because he abstained from every thing like flattery 
 
 it has been praised at courts and by princes ; but I know that 
 he will not the less value the suffrage of an ancient friend, felt, 
 deeply felt, though not expressed, in the private room in which 
 I write. 
 
 H. M.
 
 ACCOUNT, &C. 
 
 or compliment, and perhaps too frankly spoke the 
 truth; and if he was not accommodating to the 
 decorum of society, it was solely in the slovenliness 
 of his dress ; and the neglect of cleanliness in his 
 habits, sometimes, I own, carried to a degree that 
 caused disgust in persons of delicacy and high 
 breeding. 
 
 " Be assured of the perfect regard and attach- 
 ment of your most faithful humble servant, 
 
 " ROBERT LISTON." 
 
 END OF THE LIFE OF MR JOHN HOME.
 
 DRAMATIC WORKS.
 
 TO 
 HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 GEOEGE, 
 PRINCE OF WALES. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 IN dedications, especially those which poets write, 
 mankind expect to find little sentiment, and less 
 truth. A grateful imagination adorns its benefac- 
 tor with every virtue, and even flatters with since- 
 rity. Hence the portrait of each patron of the 
 Muses is drawn with the same outline, and finished 
 as a model of perfection. Instructed by the errors 
 of others, I presume not to make the panegyric of 
 the Prince of Wales, nor to extol the patronage 
 of literature as the most shining quality of a prince. 
 Your Royal Highness will permit me to mention 
 one sort of patronage which can never be praised 
 too much ; that, I mean, which, extending its in-
 
 186 DEDICATION. 
 
 fluence to the whole society, forms and excites the 
 genius of individuals, by exalting the spirit of the 
 state. 
 
 Institutions, that revive, in a great and highly 
 civilized people, those virtues of courage, manhood, 
 and love of their country, which are most apt, in 
 the progress of refinement, to decay, produce at 
 the same time that pleasing and ornamental genius, 
 which cannot subsist in a mind that does not par- 
 take of those qualities which it describes. This is 
 an observation which has escaped the notice of the 
 greater part of writers, who have inquired into the 
 causes of the growth and decay of poetry and elo- 
 quence ; but it has not escaped the penetration of 
 Longinus, who, writing in the decline of the Ro- 
 man Empire, and lamenting that the true sublime 
 was not to be found in the works of his time, bold- 
 ly imputes that defect to the change of policy ; and 
 enumerates, with indignation, the vices of avarice, 
 effeminacy, and pusillanimity, which, arising from 
 the loss of liberty, had so enthralled and debased 
 the minds of men, that they could not look up, as 
 he calls it, to any thing elevated and sublime : 
 And here, as in other questions, the great critic 
 quotes the authority of his master Homer. " The
 
 DEDICATION. 187 
 
 day of slavery bereaves a man of half his virtue." 
 The experience of succeeding times has shewn that 
 genius is affected by changes less violent than the 
 loss of liberty ; that it ever flourishes in times of 
 vigour and enterprize, and languishes amidst the 
 sure corruption of an inactive age. 
 
 Your Royal Highness, as heir-apparent of the 
 British empire, hath in view the noblest field that 
 ever a laudable ambition entered. The envied 
 state of this nation cannot remain precisely as it 
 is ; the tide must flow, or ebb faster than it has 
 ever flowed. A Prince destined in such a period 
 to reign, begins a memorable aera of perfection or 
 degeneracy. The serious cares and princely stu- 
 dies of your youth, the visible tenor of your gene- 
 rous and constant mind, have filled the breasts of 
 all good men with hopes of you, equal to their 
 wishes. That these hopes may be fulfilled in their 
 utmost extent, is the sincere and ardent prayer of 
 
 Your Royal Highness's 
 
 Most humble, most obedient, 
 And most devoted Servant, 
 JOHN HOME.
 
 A G I S; 
 
 TRAGEDY.
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 WRITTEN BY 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK. 
 
 IF, in these days of luxury and ease, 
 A tale from Sparta's rigid state can please ; 
 If patriot plans a British breast can warm ; 
 If kings asserting liberty can charm ; 
 If virtue still a grateful aspect wear ; 
 Check not at Agis' fall the gen'rous tear. 
 
 He view'd his subjects with a parent's love ; 
 With zeal to save a sinking people strove ; 
 Strove their changed hearts with glory to inflame; 
 To mend their morals, and restore their name ; 
 Till faction rose with murder at her side ; 
 Then mourn'd his country, persevered, and died. 
 
 That country once for virtue was revered ; 
 Admired by Greece ; by haughty Asia fear'd. 
 Then citizens and soldiers were the same ; 
 And soldiers heroes ; for their wealth was fame. 
 Then for the brave the fair reserved her charms, 
 And scorn'd to clasp a coward in her arms. 
 The trumpet call'd ; she seized the sword and shield ; 
 Array'd in haste her husband for the field ; 
 And sighing, whisper'd in a fond embrace, 
 " Remember ! death is better than disgrace."
 
 192 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The widow'd mother shew'd her parting son 
 The race of glory which his sire had run. 
 " My son, thy flight alone I shall deplore. 
 Return victorious ! or return no more !" 
 
 While beauty thus with patriot zeal combined, 
 And round the laurel'd head her myrtle twined ; 
 Whilst all confest the virtuous were the great ; 
 Fame, Valour, Conquest, graced the Spartan state. 
 Her pow'r congenial with her virtue grew, 
 And Freedom's banner o'er her phalanx flew ; 
 But soon as Virtue dropt her sick'ning head, 
 Fame, Valour, Conquest, Power and Freedom fled. 
 
 May this sad scene improve each Briton's heart ! 
 Rouse him with warmth to act a Briton's part ! 
 Prompt him with Sparta's noblest sons to vie ; 
 To live in glory ; and in freedom die !
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 AGIS, King of Sparta. 
 
 LYSANDER, ) . 
 A** ^Spartans. 
 
 j- Thracians. 
 
 Euxus, 
 
 AGESISTRATA, Mother of AGIS. 
 
 SANDANE, Queen to LEONID AS, the exiled King. 
 
 EUANTHE, an Athenian Lady. 
 
 Senators, Ephori, Messengers. 
 
 VOL. i. N
 
 A G I S. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE, A Court and Hall, common to the 
 Palaces of the Kings of Sparta. 
 
 Enter SANDANE, attended. 
 
 San. Hasten, Orontes, to the Senate-house, 
 And leani if rumour's voice has spoke the truth. 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 
 The adverse fortune of an exiled king 
 Pursues my lord. Achaia's generous aid 
 Sustains his cause in vain. Why risk a battle, 
 When the continuance of defensive war 
 Secured success and victory in Sparta ? 
 Would I had never left thy splendid court, 
 Delightful Sardis ! to be Sparta's queen.
 
 196 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 Enter AMPHARES. 
 
 Welcome, Amphares ! Have the armies met ? 
 
 Amph. They have. This morning, at the break 
 
 of day, 
 
 The Spartan army charged Achaia's host ; 
 This and no more is known. Suspense and fear 
 Possess the people ; to the gates they run, 
 Then to their houses : The still whisper spreads 
 Through justling multitudes the dread alarm. 
 
 San. Alas ! revenge and empire now depend 
 On the wild issue of unruly war. 
 What if the arms of Agis should prevail ? 
 
 Amph. Although lie should, the toils of fate 
 
 surround him. 
 
 Dauntless and firm our brave associates stand, 
 And with impatience wait the destined hour 
 To rush on Agis. This unlook'd-for battle 
 Is but a solemn prelude to the act, 
 Which bold conspiracy will soon perform. 
 This day shall terminate the reign of Agis, 
 And make, O Queen ! all power in Sparta thine. 
 
 San. I see that danger only whets the brave. 
 But yet, Amphares, if my lord is vanquish'd, 
 Will not the conquering army awe the city ?
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 197 
 
 Amph. Agis shall be the surety of our cause, 
 And hostage for our safety, till we wrest 
 The sword from proud Lysander, if he conquers ; 
 But that I fear not much. New to command, 
 From idle Athens the mock hero comes, 
 Starts up- a soldier, and a statesman too ; 
 Each palm he claims : All honours must adorn 
 The chosen friend of visionary Agis. 
 
 San. May Mars direct him so to guide the war, 
 As Agis rules the state : And mutiny 
 Prove there as fatal as sedition here ! 
 
 Amph. This factious state must change its fee- 
 hie form, 
 
 Waver no more beneath a double reign 
 Of limited, contending, useless kings. 
 Henceforth one monarch shall in Sparta rule, 
 As Jove alone in high Olympus reigns. 
 
 San. So reign the mighty monarchs of the East ; 
 And such imperial power, I thought, belong'd 
 To Sparta's king, else I had ne'er been queen. 
 Young, and deceived, I left my father's court 
 For Lacedsemon's miserable sceptre. 
 I did endeavour to extend its sway, 
 And to ambition roused my Spartan lord. 
 But the vain pupil of the Grecian schools,
 
 198 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 Unprincely Agis, marr'd the brave design. 
 Chief of the multitude, idol and slave 
 Of the hase populace, he led the herd, 
 He urged their brutal fury on the king. 
 
 Amph. And now their fury on himself recoils. 
 Like the unruly elephant, they turn, 
 And trample down the ranks in which they fought. 
 
 San. That is their liberty. 
 
 Amph. Let us employ, 
 And then suppress, such formidable licence. 
 My magistracy now is near expired ; 
 A king's resentment and a rival's hate 
 Have long hung over my devoted head : 
 Farewell to place, to dignity, and power, 
 Whilst haughty Agis fills the Spartan throne. 
 I will not live obscure in Lacedaemon, 
 Nor roam through Grecian states a banish'd man. 
 If I must set, to rise and shine no more, 
 A fiery track shall mark my setting sun. 
 But Agis comes. 
 
 San. And Agesistrata. 
 
 Farewell ! Success attend thee, brave Amphares ! 
 I will not stay. My soul disdains to hide 
 Its hatred or its scorn. [Exit SANDANE.
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 199 
 
 Amph. Yet they who mean 
 To gratify these passions must conceal them. 
 This day decides my fate. So let it be, 
 Such brief conclusion have I ever loved. 
 Assist me, Hermes, god of stratagems, 
 With artful words, to sooth the mind of Agis, 
 And turn him ftom the track my purpose holds ! 
 
 Enter AGIS and AGESISTRATA. 
 
 Ages. Alas ! my son ! that bold bad man I dread ! 
 Agis. He seems to wait us. At this hour, Am- 
 
 phares, 
 I think that thou of all men shouldst have shunn'd 
 
 me. 
 
 Amph. My motive in attending here your pre- 
 sence 
 Merits a less injurious salutation. 
 
 Agis. I know thy merits, and I will reward 
 
 them. 
 
 Art thou not author of the woes of Sparta, 
 Prime mover and inflamer of sedition ? 
 Hast thou not bent the power of thy high office 
 To the subversion of the state thou servest ? 
 At thee this day my indignation burns 
 I am dishonour'd
 
 200 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 Amph. What has dishonour'd thee ? 
 
 Agfa. Thou and thy practices : They have com- 
 
 pell'd me 
 
 To leave the noblest station of a prince. 
 In time of war where should a king be found 
 But at his army's head ? There Agis stood, 
 When you and your presumptuous Ephori 
 Required my presence here. Ungrateful Spartans ! 
 Had you allow'd me but one other day, 
 Then had I fought this battle for my country, 
 And died or conquer'd with her bravest sons. 
 
 Ages. Peril, my son ! dwells not in camps alone : 
 In cities, palaces, and courts of justice, 
 With treachery and treason she inhabits. 
 Peril attended thus thou must encounter, 
 More hideous sure than in the ranks of war. 
 
 Amph. I know my actions have incensed the 
 
 king; 
 
 But I imagined not that such suspicions 
 Found entertainment in your royal breast. 
 
 Agis. Hast thou not join'd the enemies of Agis ? 
 Thou who wast once his friend, inconstant man ! 
 
 Amph. I have opposed the counsel of a foe, 
 Whose arts deprived me of my prince's favour.
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 201 
 
 Agis. Thou hast opposed Lycurgus and the laws, 
 Which raised the name of Sparta to the skies. 
 The Delphic God inspired the deep design : 
 For more than human was that power of thought 
 Which join'd the public to the private good, 
 With such perfection, that each selfish passion 
 Flow'd in the channel of the common welfare, 
 And, like one family of sons and sires, 
 And dearest brothers, a great people lived : 
 In peace they lived, without or strife or scorn ; 
 In war they fought to conquer, or to die. 
 Equal and free, our happy fathers knew 
 No interest but the interest of the state ; 
 No gain but Sparta's glory ; proud they bore 
 That palm aloft, and shared the high respect, 
 The admiration, which consenting Greece 
 Paid to th' imperial virtue of their country. 
 
 Amph. Revolving time that system overthrew, 
 And changed the manners and the laws of Sparta. 
 Agis. The laws have been neglected, not annull'd, 
 And corrupt rulers have corrupted manners. 
 Authority will soon revive the laws, 
 And great example yet restore the manners, 
 In spite of those who have oppress'd their country,
 
 202 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 Deprived the people of their ancient rights, 
 And, while the nation sunk beneath their sway, 
 Still strove for power in a declining kingdom, 
 Still sought for wealth in an impoverish'd land. 
 Even at this hour rapacious they persist, 
 And, like some wretches in a stranded vessel, 
 Plunder and riot in the midst of ruin. 
 
 Amph. Moved by the present perils of the state, 
 This signal hour I chose, unknown as yet 
 The fortune of the field, to change my conduct, 
 And make an offer of my aid to Agis. 
 
 Agis. If I should judge the future by the past, 
 Thou mnst forgive me, though I doubt thy faith. 
 
 Ages. Yet hear him, Agis : in an hour like this, 
 He who assistance offers is a friend. 
 
 Agis. This hour may yet deceive their country's 
 
 foes. 
 
 I know the base foundation of that hope 
 Which makes my baffled enemies presume. 
 Lysander's army in its ranks contains 
 The best and bravest of Laconia's sons ; 
 The faction wish and hope defeat to them, 
 That Sparta's generous youth may ne'er return 
 To guard that freedom which has made them brave.
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 203 
 
 Amph. The boldness of their hopes their deeds 
 
 will prove 
 In the assembly, if Achaia conquer. 
 
 Ages. Amphares, say, what is their utmost aim ? 
 
 Amph. The old dependants of the exiled king, 
 And all the venal members of the state, 
 Won by Sandane's arts and foreign gold, 
 Aim to restore Leonidas, who comes 
 With hostile armies to enslave his country : 
 Therefore Sandane's proffers I rejected, 
 Have warn'd the king, and would have served him 
 
 too: 
 
 But since resentment and distrust prevent me, 
 Neutral I stand, and will not seek that welcome 
 Which his more artful enemies would give. 
 
 Agis. Thou speak'st more boldly than becomes 
 
 Amphares. 
 
 Add that to the offences I forgive. 
 It is the sacred maxim of my reign, 
 That in a prince's consecrated breast 
 Revenge and anger should not long remain. 
 These passions in a king afflict the state, 
 By driving rash offenders to despair. 
 This day decides your character with me. 
 Now let your actions prove your words sincere.
 
 204 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 Amph. No other terms I ask, and sure I am 
 Ne'er shall Amphares need again forgiveness. 
 
 [Exit AMPHARES. 
 
 Manent AGIS and AGESISTRATA. 
 
 Agis. Well has he judged the season of submis- 
 sion. 
 He will assist us if Lysander conquers. 
 
 Ages. May Jove avert the evils which I fear ! 
 I dread the ruin of the Spartan state, 
 And fear the downfal of our ancient house. 
 The blackest fury of the Stygian realm, 
 The most destructive, is infernal discord. 
 Bathed in the blood of kings she walks this world, 
 And tumbles states and empires to the ground. 
 
 Agis. Nations oft perish by their princes' crime ; 
 But now if Sparta's ancient state must fall, 
 Gods and good men shall witness for its king, 
 That he with fate contended for his people, 
 And on the ruins of their virtue fell. 
 
 Ages. Think not I mean to blame your high 
 
 design. 
 
 Age has not changed the tenor of my mind, 
 Nor pall'd my admiration of true glory. 
 Sprung, like thy father, from Alcides' blood,
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 905 
 
 I feel the spirit of the Spartan line. 
 
 Only let me adjure thee to beware, 
 
 And walk with caution through surrounding perils. 
 
 Though thou despisest every form of danger, 
 
 Think what a helpless train attends on thee ! 
 
 An aged mother, and an infant son. 
 
 Agis. Divine Alcides will protect his race. 
 
 Ages. I will invoke the God ; in times like these 
 Prayers are the arms of our defenceless sex. 
 A spotless choir of matrons and of virgins, 
 Who o'er their country mourn, myself will lead 
 To the high temple of the son of Jove. 
 He yet may hear the voice of supplication, 
 And stretch his arm to save the Spartan state. 
 
 [Exit AGESISTRATA. 
 
 AGIS alone. 
 
 Agis. Without, the enemy ; within, the faction. 
 What should I think? I have a thousand thoughts, 
 That rise and fall like waves upon the shore. 
 I need thee now, Lysander ! O my friend ! 
 I lean on thee, and thou perhaps art fall'n. 
 Ye ever-living gods, who know my heart, 
 I trust in you, for righteous are my thoughts,
 
 206 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 All bent on raising up long-prostrate Sparta. 
 With Sparta too, I would be proud to rise, 
 And gain such glory as my fathers gain'd, 
 When Persia's tyrant trembled at their arms. 
 If in this just ambition I should perish, 
 My name shall go to nations yet unborn. 
 But I must change my strain : Euanthe comes. 
 Alas ! Lysander, led by love and thee, 
 She left her Athens for this land of broils. 
 
 Enter EUANTHE. 
 
 Euan. No tidings from the camp ? 
 
 Agis. None, fair Euanthe. 
 If we had lost the field, the flying rout 
 Ere this had reach'd our gates. 
 
 Euan. Oh ! many a dame, 
 Matron and virgin, tremble at this hour ; 
 But who has cause like mine ? The most forlorn 
 And desolate of women is Euanthe ! 
 If 
 
 Agis. Small the chance of what Euanthe fears ; 
 In the long wars of still-contending Greece 
 Leaders of armies have but rarely fallen. 
 
 Euan One thing I know, and with prophetic 
 tongue
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 207 
 
 tf- 
 
 I speak it, Prince ! if Sparta triumph not, 
 Ne'er shall your eyes again hehold Lysander. 
 Disdain in him is fatal as despair. 
 
 Agis. When he returns victorious from the field, 
 Then shall he hear who best has spoke his praise. 
 But I must leave you now : The senate waits me. 
 Hereafter we shall speak of this, and smile ; 
 Like mariners who on the peaceful shore 
 Sit, and with pleasure talk of tempests past. 
 
 [Exit AGIS. 
 
 EUANTHE alone. 
 
 This stedfast ease is all assumed, I see ; 
 He staggers at the imminent event. 
 How dreadful is this interval to me, 
 Who am bereft and destitute of all 
 Those aids that stay affliction ; and must bear 
 The weight of woe that's heavier every hour. 
 The queen, the generous Agis too, discharge 
 The dues of kindred with unfeigned love. 
 But our acquaintance is not old enough 
 To yield a ripen'd sympathy, whose taste 
 Alone can comfort such a mind as mine. 
 Yet I repent me not, in this extreme,
 
 208 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 That I forsook my country and my friends. 
 They would have forced me to a loathed bed, 
 And torn me from the noblest of mankind. 
 If he should fall ! my love ! my only love ! 
 Shall I survive thee ; and return to Athens, 
 Be humbled there before my haughty kindred, 
 And hear them blame the ashes of Lysander ? 
 Forbid it, fearless love ! forbid it, shame ! 
 Forbid it, honour, and my nature's pride ! 
 Death shall forbid it, for I dare to die. 
 
 Enter RHESUS. 
 
 Euan. Rhesus, great Gods ! Oh say, how fares 
 
 Lysander ? 
 
 Rhe. As well as glorious victory can make him. 
 Euan. Forgive my rash despair, my thanks 
 
 accept, 
 
 Ye gracious powers who guard his daring breast ! 
 Where is he now ? 
 
 Rhe. With Agis in the senate. 
 
 Euan. Already here ? Blest be the Gods of 
 
 Greece ! 
 
 Rhe. Soon as the trumpet from pursuit recall'd 
 Our conquering Spartans, in the field arrived
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 
 
 A weary messenger, by Agis sent ; 
 Lysander straight bespoke the royal band i 
 " With all the speed of men to Sparta haste, 
 Chastise bold treason, and defend your king." 
 He said ; and call'd to me. With a few horse 
 I follow'd him : And when he sought the king, 
 By his command to you I brought these tidings. 
 
 Euan. Most welcome, Rhesus. But has Sparta 
 
 lost 
 None of her noble youth ? 
 
 Rhe. No man of note 
 
 Fell in the field but one, whose loss you'll mourn, 
 Lysander's friend, Athenian Polydorus. 
 
 Euan. Alas f alas ! my joy is mix'd with woe 
 Unhappy youth ! on my ill-omen'd head 
 The blame of thy untimely death will fall. 
 Conducting me, thou earnest to distant Sparta. 
 Fatal the honours Sparta's king bestow'd 
 Upon the generous guardian of Euanthe. 
 
 Rhe. Lady, the people of my native land, 
 The warlike Thracians, hold it vain to mourn 
 For men who fall in battle ; such they deem 
 The favourites of Mars, our country's God. 
 Those they bewail who die by dire disease, 
 
 VOL. i. o
 
 210 AGIS. ACT I. 
 
 Of youth and vigour full. But most of all 
 Lament old men, who drink the bitter dregs 
 Of life and woe, and in decrepit age 
 (Extremity of dotage) wish to live. 
 
 Euan. Who are these men who near the temple 
 
 stand ? 
 Uncouth to me their garb, and strange their arms. 
 
 Rhe. They are Thracians, lady. 
 
 Euan. What seek they here ? 
 
 Rhe. I will accost the herald, 
 And learn his business. 
 
 Euan. To the palace, Rhesus, 
 I go the willing messenger of joy. 
 This victory will free the anxious queen 
 From many fears. I pray thee do not tarry, 
 But come and tell me what yon herald bears, 
 And what affairs still occupy the senate. 
 
 Rhe. Depend on the unwearied zeal of Rhesus. 
 
 [Exit RHESUS. 
 
 Manet EUANTHE. 
 
 Agis and Sparta, and the public cares, 
 Detain Lysander from my longing eyes. 
 I see the happy change of my condition 4
 
 ACT I. AGIS. 211 
 
 And share the triumphs of the man I love ; 
 But yet, the slightest circumstance creates 
 New fears to me. Why lingers thus Lysander ! 
 My mind is not at rest ; the winds are hush'd, 
 But still my hosom quivers from the storm. 
 
 [Exit EUANTHE,
 
 212 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE, A Court, $c. as before. 
 
 Euan. Their tedious council now is at an end, 
 And surely he will hasten to Euanthe. 
 What means this clamour ? 
 
 [Shout of the People behind the Scenes. 
 Ha ! he comes, he comes ! 
 Loud acclamations and the voice of joy 
 Proclaim the hero. 
 
 Enter LYSANDER. 
 
 Lysan. O my life ! my love ! 
 To meet thee here is happiness complete. 
 The Gods have blest me to my utmost wish, 
 And brought me full of glory to Euanthe. 
 
 Euan. Thanks to the Gods who have preserved 
 
 Lysander ! 
 Athenian Pallas sure has heard my prayers.
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 
 
 Lysan. And mine ; for mutual is the lovers' 
 
 prayer. 
 
 Another deity I now invoke, 
 Whose rites the God of war has long delay'd. 
 With peace well pleased shall golden Hymen come, 
 And crown at last our long eventful love. 
 
 Euan. Speak not of Hymen now : his torch 
 
 for me 
 
 He shall not light, whilst cruel Discord waves 
 Her horrid hrand, and whilst unburied lies 
 Thy friend and mine, the generous Polydorus. 
 
 Lysan. Though love and glory both my breast 
 
 inspire, 
 
 And fortune smiles on both, yet sorrow finds 
 A place to sit in : but 'tis temper'd sorrow ; 
 For never Grecian hero greater died. 
 
 Euan. He fell the victim of his love to thee ; 
 He follow'd thee when thou forsook'st Euanthe, 
 Left me that day I touch'd the Spartan shore, 
 Though royal Agis begg'd thee to remain. 
 
 Lysan. Unjust Euan the, thus to blame Lysander 
 Who sought the field, the soldier of his love 
 As of his sacred country : fought to gain, 
 With liberty, a rank and place of honour,
 
 214 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 Such as becomes the husband of Euanthe ; 
 
 That tender name, and names that wait upon it, 
 
 Awake emotions as implacable 
 
 To tyranny, as generous and great, 
 
 As ever self-renouncing hero own'd. 
 
 When the chief aim is right, all passions else 
 
 Of noble kind impel the self-same way. 
 
 The lover and the husband rouse and fire 
 
 The Spartan and the man. 
 
 Of common clay, and in one common mould 
 
 Mankind are made ; but the celestial fire 
 
 That gives them life and soul, is liberty. 
 
 And I, Prometheus-like, to gain that fire 
 
 For Sparta's sons, would brave the bolt of Jove. 
 
 Euan. To me you need not vaunt your daring 
 
 mind. 
 
 Alas, Lysander ! I am still afraid 
 Of perils lurking in this troubled state. 
 O leave me not again to grief and fear, 
 And to Amphares ! 
 
 Lysan. Leave thee to Amphares ! 
 
 Euan. Yes, in thy absence he did talk of love, 
 Boasted his wealth, his clients, and his power ; 
 Mention'd the ruin of thy father's fortunes, 
 And spoke contemptuous of thy rash designs.
 
 ACT II. AOIS. 215 
 
 Lysan. Immortal Gods ! Did I not hate this man 
 Enough ? 
 
 Enter a Helot. 
 
 Whence, Helot ? 
 
 Hel. Lord, from Celimene. [Delivers a Letter. 
 
 Lysan. [Reads.] " Let Agis stand upon his 
 
 guard to-day, 
 
 This to Lysander from a faithful friend? 
 Helot, return, and tell the noble dame, 
 That the remembrance of her generous mind 
 Shall live for ever in my grateful breast. 
 
 Euan. Who is this faithful friend ? 
 
 Lysan. A Spartan dame, 
 A gentle one, though wedded to a foe 
 Of royal Agis. In her virgin state 
 Slip was the constant and the loved companion 
 Of fair Deidamia, Agis' short-lived queen. 
 Through all our various strife, the generous dame 
 Preserves the friendships of her early days. 
 This scroll the king must see. Farewell, Euanthe. 
 
 Euan. Its threatning strain awakes my former 
 
 fears. 
 
 Would you had been, like me, content with love, 
 And never left Illyssus' flowery banks !
 
 216 AG1S. ACT II. 
 
 A fairer garland there you might have won, 
 Than ever war bestow'd, the immortal wreath 
 Of Pallas, queen of arts as well as arms. 
 But you forsook the vale, and left the shade, 
 To climb ambition's bare and rocky height, 
 To stand the storms and tempests of the world. 
 
 Ijysan. Your words, like melancholy music, take 
 My list'ning ear, and cause delusive sadness ; 
 For vain the malice of our baffled foes, 
 And impotent will prove their last endeavours ; 
 Past are the storms and tempests of our fortune ; 
 Let not Euanthe heed the rack of clouds, 
 Nor dread the murmurs of the falling main. 
 
 Euan. Elate with victory, you scorn your foes. 
 I wish that Rhesus would return again 
 Before you go to Agis. 
 
 Ijysan. Where is Rhesus ? 
 
 Euan. I saw some warriors clad in horrid arms 
 Near yonder temple stand. Strait Rhesus knew 
 The garb and arms of his own native Thrace, 
 And, wond'ring at the sight, went forth to learn 
 Who and from whence they were. 
 
 L<ysan. That shall be known. 
 In yonder temple sit the Ephori, 
 Those factious magistrates who love not Agis.
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 217 
 
 If Rhesus come to you, detain him not ; 
 Our resolutions may on him depend. 
 
 Euan. Lysander, stay ; you go again to Agis, 
 Perhaps to plan new perils to thy life ; 
 If so, by all that's sacred I conjure thee 
 To let me know your purpose. Speak with me 
 Before you execute what you resolve. 
 The image of the stern Amphares haunts me ; 
 Need I entreat thee to defend me from him ? 
 
 Lysan. No ! by the Gods ! O urge me not, 
 
 Euanthe ! 
 
 Nor rouse those thoughts a lover cannot bear. 
 Defend thee from Amphares ! O my fair ! 
 When thou art wrong'd, Lysander lives no more ! 
 But see, the king. 
 
 Euan. Let caution shew your love. 
 
 [LYSANDER goes off towards that side of 
 the stage where AGIS appears. 
 
 Manet EUANTHE. 
 
 If nature teaches me aright to read 
 The mind of man, this is a powerful spell 
 To charm the daring spirit of Lysander, 
 And make him think of me as well as Sparta. 
 
 [Exit EUANTHE.
 
 218 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 Enter AGIS. 
 
 Lysan. Regard, O king, the warnings of a 
 
 friend 
 
 Instructed in the counsels of thy foes. 
 Behold the stedfast faith of CeKmene. 
 
 [Gives the Letter. 
 
 Agis. I cannot think so basely of the people. 
 For them I have unplumed the regal power, 
 And deck'd their freedom with the spoils of kings. 
 If they betray me ; of all creatures, man 
 Is most ungrateful to his benefactor. 
 The generous courser and the faithful dog 
 With true affection love their gentle master * 
 Nay, even the heavy ox, the stubborn mule, 
 Dullest of beasts, they know the hand that feeds 
 them. 
 
 Lysan. Humanity lives in thy breast, O king ! 
 And dictates confidence unlimited ; 
 Virtue approves the generous extreme, 
 And magnanimity this error loves. 
 Let private men indulge the glorious fault, 
 And set their lives and fortunes on the faith 
 And gratitude of those they have obliged ;
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 219 
 
 But let severer prudence guard the heart 
 Of him whose brows are circled with a crown, 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 Off. O king ! the captain of Amycla's gate 
 Informs you that he has this hour descried 
 A band of men who halted near his post ; 
 A thousand Thracians, they report themselves, 
 Hired by Amphares for Seleucus' service. 
 
 Agis. A thousand Thracians ! 
 
 Off. On their march to Sardis. 
 
 Lysan. By whose permission do they march this 
 way? 
 
 Off. Before the troops arrived, a herald came, 
 Who to the Ephori a message bore. 
 
 Agis. Your diligence in duty I commend. 
 
 [Exit Officer. 
 
 Jjysan. The veil's withdrawn, and treason stands 
 
 reveal'd. 
 
 " Ne'er shall Amphares need again forgiveness." 
 With what a double tongue the traitor spoke ! 
 All-seeing Gods ! how little do we know 
 The greatness of those blessings you confer. 
 Had we not fought to-day, had we not conquer'd, 
 Agis and Sparta had been lost for ever.
 
 220 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 Ag'ts. This victory came like the bolt of Jove, 
 And levell'd their designs. 
 
 Lysan. Yet, if they dare 
 The worst of crimes, their treason may succeed. 
 Your troops, your conquering troops, are not ar- 
 rived ; 
 
 The assembly meets ; unguarded there you stand ; 
 What keeps the traitors from your noble life ? 
 
 Agis. My life, Lysander ! No, I fear not that. 
 The ancient annals of this land record, 
 That barbarous foes revere the race divine, 
 And turn in battle from a Spartan king. 
 
 Lysan. The multitude may still revere their 
 
 lord, 
 
 Who from the blood of great Alcides springs ; 
 And yet, some impious hand may strike the prince, 
 Although of virtue as of race divine. 
 
 Agis. I'll change the guards, and place at every 
 
 gate 
 Some men of trust. 
 
 Lysan. Mount your Thessalian steed, 
 And meet the troops that hasten to your aid. 
 With eager steps the royal band advance, 
 And wish for nothing but their king to lead them. 
 Then if the furies in their wrath provoke
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 221 
 
 Your foes to rise in arms, let arms decide. 
 Ne'er were the good and bad winnow'd so well, 
 And sever'd from each other. Such the hosts, 
 And such will be their fate, as when the rage 
 Of earth-born giants dared the sons of heaven. 
 Agis. Thou reason'st like an anxious friend, 
 
 Lysander. 
 Thy fears are all for me, mine for my people. 
 
 Enter RHESUS. 
 
 Hail, gallant Rhesus ! know'st thou aught of those 
 Thy countrymen, who thus unlook'd-for come, 
 And in a doubtful hour perplex our councils ? 
 
 Rhe. The Thracians are a thousand men com- 
 plete. 
 
 From snowy Hemus and the northern hills 
 Of wild Odrysus the fierce warriors come, 
 Rhinalces leads them, of illustrious birth ; 
 But stern, imperious, and grown old in arms, 
 He knows no umpire but the sword, no law 
 Except obedience to the prince he serves. 
 
 Agis. Such oft are those that quit a needy home 
 To serve as hirelings in a tyrant's host. 
 
 Rhe. Next in command, my brother Euxus 
 stands,
 
 222 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 A youth to Mars devoted ; for he loves 
 Danger itself, not danger's rich reward. 
 
 Lysan. Hast thou yet seen him ? 
 
 Ehe. No. 
 
 Lysan. Has he yet heard 
 That thou art here in Sparta ? 
 
 Rhe. He believes 
 
 That I am still in Athens. From the herald 
 I kept my name and quality conceaTd ; 
 For I suspected that these Thracian troops, 
 Though hired for Asia, were for Sparta meant. 
 If it prove so, I may be useful here : 
 My valiant brother bears a generous mind, 
 And, though of arms enamour'd, justice loves. 
 
 Agis. Haste to your valiant brother, and ex- 
 plain, 
 
 With an impartial tongue, the state of Sparta. 
 Shew him where justice, and where honour stand. 
 If these are sacred, as thou say'st they are, 
 To gallant Euxus, he may prove a friend. 
 
 Lysan. Exert the strong persuasion of a brother ; 
 And tell him, Rhesus, if he loves bright arms, 
 And that immortal glory valour gains, 
 No more to wield a mercenary sword,
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 
 
 But plant himself with thee in Sparta's soil, 
 Where Agis will his nohle nature cherish, 
 And rear his courage to such lofty deeds, 
 As ancient story tells of Sparta's chiefs. 
 
 [Exit RHESUS. 
 
 Agis. I hope that Rhesus will divide the Thra- 
 
 cians : 
 
 This favours well the bias of my mind, 
 Averse to leave the city on suspicion, 
 And drive the wavering faction to extremes. 
 
 Lysan. O generous prince ! whom I admire and 
 
 blame. 
 
 The greatest foe, the foe Lysander dreads, 
 Is the unequall'd gentleness of Agis. 
 Review the story of the Grecian states, 
 And mark how freedom fell in every land. 
 The brave asserters of the public cause 
 Have ever been too mild in evil times ; 
 Have, like indulgent parents, spared the rod, 
 And let the vices of their children live 
 To kill the virtues. Hence let Agis learn 
 The only lesson that his nature needs. 
 
 Agis. Uncertain is the peril if I stay, 
 But certain is the evil if I fly.
 
 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 I will remain ; but to assure my safety, 
 You must, Lysander, to the troops return. 
 
 Lysan. And leave my prince alone amidst his 
 
 foes ?- 
 
 Revoke the hard command ! if you're resolved 
 To brave the peril, then my place I claim 
 Next to your person ; by your side I stand ; 
 Perhaps some noble service I may render, 
 Receive the mortal wound aim'd at my prince, 
 And with my life redeem the life of Agis. 
 
 Agis. Your great imagination's up in arms ; 
 But hear me, and let calmer reason judge. 
 I am determin'd not to quit the city. 
 The guilt of civil war shall not be mine. 
 Lysander's presence here without the troops, 
 Would but embolden and excite my foes, 
 Who may be tempted by this fair occasion, 
 This mighty vantage, to surprise us both. 
 Without delay, once more, Lysander, arm, 
 And ostentatiously pass through the gate. 
 This victory, and the approaching host 
 Will hush the threaten'd storm. 
 
 Lysan. So may it prove. 
 But there is something in my heart rebels 
 
 Against this counsel ! Oh ! I cannot leave you 
 u
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 225 
 
 Nor ought I now to stay. Let never man 
 Say in the morning that the day's his own : 
 Things past belong to memory alone ; 
 Things future are the property of hope. 
 The narrow line, the isthmus of these seas, 
 The instant scarce divisible, is all 
 That mortals have to stand on. O, my prince ! 
 Lysander leaves you with a heavy heart. 
 
 Agis. Farewell, thou Spartan of the ancient 
 
 mould, 
 Dear as the brother of his blood to Agis ! 
 
 \Tliey embrace and part. 
 Lysander ! 
 
 Lysan. Ha ! may heaven your purpose change ! 
 
 Agis. My will is fix'd. But though my judg- 
 ment too 
 
 Confirms the secret counsel of my heart, 
 Yet I may be deceived ; perhaps, my friend, 
 We part this moment ne'er to meet again. 
 
 Lysan. Let us not part at all. 'Tis inspiration, 
 The guardian god, the demon of the mind, 
 Thus often presses on the human breast. 
 
 Agis. Mistake me not, I feel no new impression, 
 Nor, if I did, should I by that be alter'd ; 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 AG1S. ACT II. 
 
 For such presages, be they sad or joyful, 
 I deem them but the meteors of the mind, 
 Bred by the inward elemental strife, 
 When great events perplex and shake the soul. 
 My thoughts regard the state. If I should fall, 
 To thee, Lysander, I commit my son, 
 The only pledge of my Deidamia's love. 
 Train up the boy to walk in the same path 
 Which we have trod together, the straight path 
 Of virtue and true glory. If he proves 
 Of noble nature, and I hope no less, 
 He will not shun the lofty path of honour, 
 Though fate should mark it with his father's blood. 
 Lysan. Hear this, immortal Gods, who rule the 
 
 world, 
 
 And guard a prince the image of yourselves ! 
 O never, never may his royal race 
 Lysander's aid require. [Exit LYSANDER. 
 
 AGIS alone. 
 
 Affection choaks his words. 
 His generous heart bursts at this solemn parting. 
 In times like these of a declining state, 
 Baseness infects the general race of men ; 
 But yet these trying times rear up a few
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 227 
 
 More excellent, refined and conscious spirits, 
 More principled, and fit for all events, 
 Than any in the good, but equal mass 
 Of a far better age. Such is Lysander. 
 The hour draws near. 
 
 Enter Senators. 
 
 Sen. Assembled Sparta waits. 
 
 Agis. I come, my friends ! I will address the 
 
 people, 
 
 Proclaim aloud mine actions, which upbraid, 
 And soon shall silence, my despiteful foes. 
 My heart shall speak. This sceptre of my fathers, 
 By long descent hereditary mine, 
 I would disdain to hold, did I not hope, 
 That by its sway I might recal those days 
 When Lacedaemon was the pride of Greece, 
 The gaze and terror of the wond'ring world :| 
 For there, as in a chosen temple, dwelt 
 Valour and virtue, whilst attending fame 
 And glory on the land of heroes shone. 
 
 1 Sen. O Gods above ! how happy were our sires, 
 In those bright days of ancient glory born. 
 
 Agis. Those days shall yet return, Olympian 
 Jove !
 
 228 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 Or low in dust shall Spartan Agis lie. 
 
 [Sound of musical instruments. 
 
 1 Sen. What means this music ? 
 
 Agis. To the Gods of Greece 
 And Sparta's guardian deities it sounds. 
 Let us begone, nor stop the holy train. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter a Procession. 
 
 AGESISTRATA, ETJANTHE, Priests of JUPITER 
 and HERCULES. 
 
 Chorus of Matrons and Virgins. 
 
 Woes approach till now unknown ; 
 Discord shakes the Spartan throne. 
 Heaven avert the ills we fear ! 
 Jove, from high Olympus, hear ! 
 
 Priests of JUPITER. 
 
 This day our foes embattled came, 
 And vow'd to end the Spartan name : 
 Embattled near our gates they fought ; 
 But Jove for us deliverance wrought. 
 He smote Achaia's host with fear, 
 He thunder'd in their trembling rear ; 
 Jove's lightning flamed from Sparta's spear.
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 229 
 
 Chorus of Matrons and Virgins. 
 
 Ever may his mighty arm 
 Save the Spartan state from harm ! 
 Ne'er may proud invader boast 
 Glory from our glory lost. 
 Light, O Jove, that sacred fire 
 Which did Sparta's sons inspire, 
 When the prince and people strove, 
 Burning with their country's love. 
 Xerxes, lord of great alarms, 
 Xerxes roused the world to arms. 
 
 Priests of JUPITER. 
 
 The earth was troubled at his host, 
 The springs were dried, the rivers lost ; 
 But Spartan valour check'd his pride, 
 A slender band his host defied : 
 Thermopylae (immortal name !) 
 Beheld the Persian tyrant's shame. 
 
 Chorus of all. 
 
 There the brave Three Hundred died, 
 
 Faithful by their prince's side : 
 
 There they conquer'd, though they died.
 
 230 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 Priests of HERCULES. 
 
 On earth below, in heaven above, 
 Revered, victorious, son of Jove ! 
 Hear, Alcides, hear our prayer, 
 Thy godlike offspring claims thy care. 
 
 Chorus of all. 
 
 Bend thy bow, Tyrinthius, bend, 
 
 Lightly on the earth descend. 
 
 Fix an arrow on the string, 
 
 Stand beside the Spartan king, 
 
 Agis of thy race divine, 
 
 Tried in labours like to thine. 
 Undaunted, like thee, with monsters he strives ; 
 The fiercest of Hydras in faction revives. 
 
 If he falls a sacrifice, 
 
 Never more shall Sparta rise ! [Exeunt. 
 
 As the Procession goes off, enter AMPHARES. 
 
 Amph. Thus may my pious foes for ever strive, 
 Be theirs the airy aid of fabled Jove. 
 In nearer and more certain force I trust : 
 Of human race, I fight with mortal arms. 
 Yet, praised be Fortune, goddess of my vows,
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 231 
 
 "Tis she whose happy hand leads forth these dames ; 
 Ne'er to the palace shall their steps return. 
 The net I've spread now covers all my foes, 
 Except Lysander : O had he heen here ! 
 Then I had stood, like mighty Atlas firm ; 
 Fate but reserves him to another day. 
 The time is almost come ; my Thracians now 
 Have reach'd their post ; and many a daring eye 
 Looks for the signal. Here it is my sword. 
 When I appear thus arm'd, the furies rise ; 
 This is the comet, the fierce blazing star, 
 On which commotion, change, and death attend. 
 
 [Exit AMPHARES.
 
 232 AGIS. ACT II. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE, A Court, $c. as before. 
 
 Enter EUANTHE. 
 
 Athenian Pallas ! O my native Gods ! 
 Protect your suppliant in a foreign laud ! 
 Where shall I fly ? O Agis ! O Lysander ! 
 
 Enter LYSANDER in a Helofs garb. 
 
 Helot, if pity, or if gold 
 
 Lysan. Euanthe ! 
 
 Euan. O heaven and earth ! Lysander ! 
 
 Lysan. Yes, my love ! 
 Thou see'st Lysander, miserable man ! 
 Does Agis live ? 
 
 Euan. Amidst the clash of arms, 
 And cries of fighting men, I heard them shout 
 The name of Agis. By and by a Spartan, 
 Flying and wounded, as he pass'd, call'd out, 
 " The king is safe ; the king has gain'd the temple."
 
 ACT II. AGIS. 233 
 
 Lysan. Then all is safe ; for Sparta lives in him. 
 
 Euan. But the good queen ! 
 
 Lysan. Her sex, her age protects her. 
 
 Euan. Heaven grant they may ; an impious 
 
 band in arms 
 
 Pursued the holy train. Fear gave me speed, 
 For I outstript them all. But now, Lysander, 
 Betray'd, encompass'd, now what shall we do ? 
 
 Lysan. Wert thou but safely placed, Lysander 
 
 knows 
 
 What he should do. I must not tarry here. 
 There is a temple in this spacious city, 
 For sanctity above all others famed, 
 To Juno sacred, the avenging Queen ! 
 Thither a trusty slave of Agis' house 
 Will guide thy steps ; by my command he waits 
 Without the palace. 
 
 Euan. Whither dost thou go ? 
 
 Lysan. In this inglorious garb disguised, I wait 
 Till night and darkness come ; then I attempt 
 The wall, where'er I find it slightly guarded. 
 What mortal arm shall then oppose my way, 
 Urged as I am ! Alas, my loved Euanthe ! 
 From my compliance with thy fond request 
 Springs the worst evil of this dreadful hour.
 
 234 AGIS. ACT III. 
 
 I have betray'd the confidence of Agis : 
 But I'll repair my fault. 
 
 Euan. What dost thou mean ? 
 
 Lysan. Agis commanded me to leave the city, 
 And thinks, would to the Gods he thought aright ! 
 That his Lysander heads the Spartan troops, 
 In whom his only hope of safety lies. 
 But I, Euanthe ! partial to thy will, 
 Sought thee in vain. In that unhappy time 
 They seized the gates, and shut me up in Sparta. 
 Fate punishes with too severe a doom 
 The human weakness of indulgent love. 
 Agis ! I come ! For the deep voices now 
 Of duty, friendship, gratitude, and glory, 
 Sound through my breast, and from my beating 
 
 heart 
 Their echo rings. Farewell ! my love, farewell ! 
 
 Euan. Not yet, Lysander ! Agis is opprest, 
 And Sparta too. Does duty, or does honour 
 Require Lysander, like an eastern slave, 
 To fall attendant on the royal pile ? 
 What can you do ? The army will betray you : 
 So with the few, the faithful few that love you, 
 You'll do some desperate action, and be slain.
 
 ACT III. AGIS. 235 
 
 If you despise your life, yet think of me, . 
 The prey of curst Amphares. 
 
 Lysan. Infernal Gods ! 
 Let me not think of that. Retire, Euanthe, 
 And in the hallow'd temple rest secure. 
 This night I'll force ill-guided Sparta's gates, 
 And save my prince, my country, and Euanthe. 
 
 Euan. Thy prince, thy country, are already lost. 
 O listen, and preserve thyself and me : 
 The ship that hore me to the Spartan shore 
 Rides still at anchor : leave this wretched land. 
 Where'er thou go'st I will attend thy steps ; 
 Thy gods shall he my gods ; thy people, mine. 
 
 Lysan. Alas ! Euanthe does not see the shame, 
 The ruin of that counsel love inspires. 
 The eternal Gods repose this hour in me 
 No common trust : Upon my deeds depend 
 The fate of Agis, and the fate of Sparta. 
 My soldiers too, my brave, my faithful soldiers, 
 The meanest warrior of the royal hand 
 Freely devotes his life to godlike Agis. 
 And shall their leader, shall the friend of Agis, 
 Forsake his prince ? I will forget thy words ; 
 Repeat them not.
 
 236 AGIS. ACT III. 
 
 Euan. Is this Lysander's love ? 
 Must I not speak ? Is my reward reproach ? 
 For you I left my friends and native land, 
 Defy'd all danger, and all censure scorn'd ; 
 Now in my sore distress I call on thee 
 For whom I suffer, to protect my honour, 
 And in my sore distress dost thou upbraid me ? 
 If ever maid, like credulous Euanthe, 
 Bursts all the honds of nature for one man, 
 Let her beware that he be not a Spartan ! 
 O wretched maid ! O Athens lost in vain ! 
 
 [Ready to faint. 
 
 Lysan. All-ruling powers ! why am I thus dis- 
 
 trest ? 
 
 Why come calamities so thick upon me ? 
 Euanthe, hear me ; you shall be obey'd. 
 I'll bear thee hence, and go with thee to Athens, 
 Restore thee to thy country and thy friends, 
 Of whom thou dost complain I have bereft thee. 
 Lysander will acquit himself to thee, 
 And to mankind 
 
 Euan. Delude me not. Alas ! 
 Thy tongue speaks comfort ; but thy voice, thy 
 looks,
 
 ACT III. AGIS. 237 
 
 Wild and unsettled, drive me to despair : 
 For thou, methinks, art desperate, Lysander. 
 Those lips that quiver, and those eyes that roll 
 Like dragon's eyes, those are not signs of love ! 
 Thou say'st that thou wilt bear me back to Athens ; 
 Will that acquit thee, if thou leavest me there ? 
 Is that thy purpose ? 
 
 Lysan. Yes. I'll leave the world, 
 And death shall wipe dishonour from my name ; 
 Agis and Sparta shall forgive me then, 
 And every debt be paid. 
 
 Euan. Lysander, no. 
 
 Love's victims are not of your sterner sex. . 
 It is the destiny of womankind 
 Constant to live, and desolate to die. 
 To strong necessity Euanthe yields. 
 If I should tear you from the side of Agis, 
 I see my fate ; you ne'er would love me more : 
 Though you should live, yet you would die to me. 
 But I will rather stay and perish here, 
 Than live without thee. Go, and fight for Agis ; 
 But in the hour of danger think of me ! 
 Calm in the rear direct the course of battle, 
 The dreadful van let other warriors lead, 
 In whom nor Agis nor Euanthe lives.
 
 238 AGIS., ACT III. 
 
 Lysan. These words become my idolized Euanthe ! 
 And honour now approves the voice of love. 
 O, thou first object of my young desires, 
 And through each period of my ripening years 
 Still more maturely and intensely loved, 
 Hear and believe my words Beware Beware ! 
 
 Enter AMPHARES. 
 
 [To his People.] Tis she, by Venus ! halt. Fear 
 
 not, my fair, 
 Nor meditate escape from your Amphares. 
 
 Euan. My Amphares ! 
 
 Amph. Thine, and thine alone ! 
 Thou low'ring slave, begone ! Haste ! urge me not 
 To stain my sword with thy ignoble blood. 
 
 [Exit LYSA^DER. 
 
 Euan. Is this thy love ? Imperious, and in arms, 
 Recent from blood and treasonj dost thou come 
 To take by force and violence my heart ? 
 
 Amph. The love of thee, more powerful than 
 
 ambition, 
 
 Inflamed me to attempt the Spartan throne. 
 Thy beauty is the torch that lights the war : 
 For thee I conquer Smile not thus in scorn : 
 Deign to accept my hand and Sparta's crown.
 
 ACT III. AGIS. 239 
 
 Euan. Dost thou bestow the diadem of Sparta ? 
 Where is thy lawful prince ? 
 
 Amph. Leonidas ? 
 
 Euan. Agis. 
 
 Amph. That Agis is no more a king : 
 A suppliant, surrounded hy my troops, 
 In Juno's temple, with the priests he dwells. 
 Leonidas, by me restored to power, 
 Will gladly share with me divided empire. 
 Or, if I please to reign alone, I may. 
 Through dark conspiracy and open strife, 
 For thee I strove ; thou wilt reward my love. 
 Beauty, like thine, pertains not to the vanquish'd, 
 But still triumphant reigns the victor's queen. 
 
 Euan. Think' st thou there is no truth in human 
 
 breasts, 
 
 No faithful loyalty, no constant love ? 
 Soon shalt thou learn thine error. I begin 
 To teach thee first. Thee and thy love I scorn ! 
 And may the gods reward thy base ambition 
 As I reward thy love. 
 
 Amph. O womankind ! 
 How well your passions teach us to be just ! 
 You love Lysander still ; a little time 
 Will from your mind erase the memory
 
 240 AGIS. ACT III. 
 
 Of that vain-glorious, lost, and ruin'd man, 
 Who was my rival. 
 
 Euan. Was ! whate'er he was 
 He is, and more. Thou and thy crimes contribute 
 To make him more illustrious, more beloved. 
 Thou givest him scope and vantage to his virtue. 
 Speak'st thou of crowns whilst royal Agis reigns ? 
 Of power in Sparta whilst Lysander lives ? 
 The short dominion of this day is thine ; 
 But vengeance and Lysander come to-morrow. 
 
 Amph .Thou do'st instruct me. If my time is short, 
 We should not part. I'll see thee safely placed 
 Where I command. 
 
 Euan. I will not go with thee. 
 
 Amph. Yield to necessity ; for on my call 
 Compulsion waits. No other hand than mine 
 Should touch Euanthe. [Seizes her hand. 
 
 Euan. Help, Spartans, help ! 
 If any hear me who regard Lysander. 
 
 Enter LYSANDEE, with a dagger, and runs at 
 AMPHARES, who retires. 
 
 Amph. Assist me, friends. Surround him : Tis 
 
 Lysander. 
 Take him alive. [ To his People who enter.
 
 ACT III. AGIS. 241 
 
 Lysan. No. That they cannot, traitor ! 
 
 [Snatches a Sword from one of the Soldiers. 
 Now I am better arm'd. 
 
 Amph. Kill him, Euxus, 
 Unless he yield his sword. 
 
 Lysan. Come, brave Amphares ! 
 Come to the front, and there direct my fate. 
 Amph. Kill him ! 
 
 Eux. That would dishonour me for ever. 
 Advance on all sides, and close in upon him. 
 Lysan. Strangers, give way, and let the Spartan 
 
 chiefs 
 
 Fight their own quarrels. I will give you all 
 The wealth of Sparta. 
 
 Amph. Ha ! he grows upon them ! 
 Throw down your weapons, or I'll pierce her heart ! 
 [Points his Sword to EUANTHE'S breast. 
 Eux. Renown'd Lysander ! give thy sword to 
 
 Euxus. 
 
 Euan. Defend thy noble life ! Regard not mine. 
 [AMPHARES lifts his arm. 
 Lysan. Hold, hold. 
 Amph. Thou know'st me. Chuse. 
 
 VOL. i. Q
 
 242 AGIS. ACT III. 
 
 Lysan. I cannot bear to see Euanthe die ! 
 
 [ TJirows down his Sword. 
 
 Agis ! O my prince ! 
 Amph. Victorious chief, 
 
 Statesman and soldier, learned Athens' boast, 
 Where are thy glories now ? 
 Lysan. The strife of tongues 
 
 1 shun, as thou didst shun the strife of arms. 
 Amph. Yet let thy haughtiness grant one request. 
 
 Tell me what brought the great Lysander hither ? 
 Some stratagem profound ; which none but he 
 Could have contrived to hasten his destruction, 
 And add disgrace and ridicule to ruin. 
 
 Lysan. Hadst thou not fled, thou coward, from 
 
 my sword, 
 
 And shriek'd for help, this arm, this single arm, 
 Had baffled all the craft of false Amphares. 
 
 Amph. This pride becomes thee, and thy lost 
 condition. 
 
 Lysan. In this condition it becomes me best 
 To brave Amphares. Had he been a captive, 
 I should have pitied him. 
 
 Amph. Plead'st thou for pity ? 
 
 Lysan. For none that thou canst give. Hear 
 me, then judge,
 
 ACT III. AGIS. 243 
 
 If what I speak is meant to win thy favour. 
 I should have pitied thee by fate subdued : 
 Opprest with crimes, thy spirit would have shrunk 
 Under calamity, and guilt have marr'd 
 The noble vigour and the port of manhood. 
 Amidst thy triumph, does it not confound thee, 
 To think thou ow'st it to excess of baseness ? 
 Thou hast prevail'd, because the generous Agis 
 Would not believe there could be such a traitor. 
 
 Amph. Oft have I heard, and often seen thy folly; 
 But now to rail is madness. With one word 
 I could impose on thee eternal silence. 
 
 Lysan. And would 1 know thee if thou 
 
 thought'st it wise. 
 
 Even then, as now, I should contemn thy power : 
 But know, I fear thee not. The king is safe, 
 And his victorious troops at break of day 
 Will thunder in thine ears : thou and thy band 
 Will ill sustain the shock of such an host. 
 My life is in thy hands, but yet beware, 
 Thy fate depends on mine. In Lacedaemon 
 A prince like Agis soon will find Lysan ders. 
 
 Amph. Uncertain thy predictions of the future : 
 Small is thy prescience, witness thy condition. 
 Euxus, conduct him to yon corner tower.
 
 244 AGIS. ACT III. 
 
 Euan. Lysander ! 
 
 Lysan. Oh ! I have withdrawn my eyes 
 From thee, and to contention turn'd my heart. 
 
 Euan. Yet look on me before we part for ever. 
 
 Lysan. At looks or words of tenderness he'll 
 
 smile, 
 
 And o'er the sorrows of our love rejoice : 
 Forgive me still, I must not, cannot speak. 
 
 Euan. But I will speak, and earth and heaven 
 
 shall hear me. 
 
 Amphares too shall hear ; for it will gall him 
 To hear Euanthe now avow her love 
 And faith to her Lysander. Powerful words, 
 Emblems and figures of firm constancy, 
 Such as fond lovers lavishly employ 
 To sooth the pangs of parting and of absence, 
 Such music vows accord not with our state, 
 Our dreadful state : yet do not grieve thy heart, 
 Thy noble heart, too full of other sorrows, 
 With thoughts of what may happen to Euanthe. 
 Nothing shall happen to debase Euanthe. 
 The bondage and the shame that women suffer, 
 Who live the slaves of those who slew their lords, 
 I ne'er shall know, I never will endure. 
 If cruel destiny decrees thy fall,
 
 ACT III. AGIS. 245 
 
 Unspotted to the shades I'll follow thee, 
 For whom alone on earth I'd wish to live. 
 
 Jjysan. Lead on. Farewell, Euanthe ! 
 
 Euan. Gods ahove ! 
 
 Amph. Conduct her to the tower where late you 
 
 lodged 
 The captive queen. 
 
 Euan. Alas ! no guarded tower, 
 Or vaulted dungeon, ever yet contain'd 
 Two more unhappy, or more helpless captives ! 
 
 \Exeunt guarded. 
 
 Amph. Lysander's fierce demeanour and his 
 
 threats, 
 
 Proud as he is, spring not from pride alone ; 
 I must stretch forth my arms to shelter'd Agis. 
 If I accomplish not this night his ruin, 
 To-morrow's rising sun may see my fall. 
 Curst be the temples ! curst the priests of Sparta ! 
 Now I am like a man who has adventured 
 To cross the flats forsaken by the main, 
 And looking back sees not the shore he left ; 
 Through deeps and shallows, rocks, and quaking 
 
 sands, 
 On he must go. To stop is sure perdition.
 
 246 AGIS. ACT III. 
 
 Enter SANDANE. 
 
 Hail to the Queen of Sparta ! 
 
 San. Yes, Amphares : 
 Now fortune seems to smile upon Sandane. 
 I saw the sullen captive led along, 
 His gloomy eye-balls fix'd upon the earth. 
 
 Ampli. This night, O Queen ! must sec the bold 
 
 conclusion 
 
 Of a design, thus far so bravely borne. 
 On hollow and deceitful ground we tread, 
 Whilst Agis lives. 
 
 San. Thou speak'st my very thoughts. 
 Seasons there are, Amphares, which suspend 
 All sanctimonious reverence and respect. 
 
 Amph. Temples, and priests, and altars shall 
 
 not save him, 
 
 If fate should drive us to the last extreme. 
 Meanwhile, I will employ more gentle means 
 To gain our ends : For sacrilege would rouse 
 The zealous multitude to rage and arms. 
 The temple is begirt with Thracian bands, 
 Who all access forbid : and Agis knows not 
 What has befall'n Lysander. I will send 
 A subtle Spartan in Lysander's name,
 
 ACT III. AGIS. 247 
 
 Who may by specious arguments persuade him 
 To quit the sanctuary ; and then, O Queen ! 
 With all solemnity of pomp and form, 
 The assembled Ephori shall pass his doom, 
 And in the same decree include Lysander. 
 
 San. Think'st thou the Ephori will give the 
 
 sanction 
 Of their authority to Agis' death ? 
 
 Amph. They will. At midnight the stern judges 
 
 meet 
 
 In Terror's temple ; they have charged a herald 
 With orders to the troops not to advance 
 On pain of treason. The astonish'd people 
 Will crouch and tremble at that awful power, 
 Which draws the sword of justice on a king. 
 Then shall your lord's authority revive ; 
 And like the sun, when bursting from a cloud, 
 With greater power and brighter splendour shine. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 248 AGIS. ACT IT. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 LYSANDER as a Prisoner, the Thracian Guards 
 at a distance. 
 
 LYSANDER musing, advances and speaks. 
 
 Has virtue no prerogative on earth ? 
 
 And can the Gods permit the fall of Agis ? 
 
 They can. 'Tis man's own arrogance arrays him 
 
 In gorgeous titles of excelling nature, 
 
 Care of the Gods, and centre of creation. 
 
 I fear I fear man's life is but a dream ; 
 
 His soul a subtle essence of the blood, 
 
 A rainbow beauty, made to shine a space, 
 
 Then melt and vanish into air. 
 
 Ye mighty minds of sages and of heroes ! 
 
 Epaminondas, Plato, great Lycurgus ! 
 
 Who once with such transcendent glory shone, 
 
 Brighter than all the stars that deck the heavens, 
 
 Is your celestial fire for ever quench'd, 
 
 And nought but ashes left, the sport of chance,
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 249 
 
 Which veering winds still blow about the world ? 
 
 I will not think so ! Yet, alas ! the while 
 
 I see and feel presages that alarm. 
 
 If they prove true, if man is like the leaf, 
 
 Which falling from the tree revives no more, 
 
 I shall be shortly dust, that will not hear 
 
 Euanthe weep, nor see the shame of Sparta ! 
 
 Now I'm a living man, my mind is free, 
 
 And, whilst I live and breathe, by heaven I'll act 
 
 As if I were immortal. 
 
 Enter RHESUS and Euxus. 
 
 Rhe. See where he stands ! behold him, O my 
 
 brother ! 
 
 The bravest and the best of human kind. 
 Opprest with grief and shame, and fatal love, 
 Indignant virtue but augments his pain. 
 Will not my Euxus give his aid to heave 
 This noble vessel from the rock it beats on ? 
 
 [Goes up to LYSANDER. 
 My lord ! my leader ! Oh ! 
 
 Lysan. My faithful Rhesus ! 
 Comest thou to share the ruin that Lysander 
 Has brought upon himself, his prince, his country ?
 
 250 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 Rhe. I come more eager and more proud to share 
 Thy present fortune, than thy former glory. 
 Alas, my lord ! 'twould make a stranger weep, 
 To see the chief, whom conquest crown'd to-day, 
 A captive. 
 
 Lysan. Rhesus, thou hast named the least 
 Of my calamities. I could endure, 
 With Spartan fortitude, my own disasters ; 
 Bear to be hurled from meridian glory, 
 And, like a fallen star, be seen no more : 
 But, oh ! the king ! and desolate Euanthe ! 
 
 Rhe. Do not despair. 
 
 Lysan. Thou art my only hope, 
 This day thy generous brother saved my life ; 
 At his request I yielded up my sword, 
 Else had Lysander like a soldier fall'n. 
 Thou art my friend in noble perils proved. 
 My fate, the fate of Sparta, and of Agis, 
 Is in the hands of Euxus 
 
 Rhe. Ah ! my brother! 
 
 Eux. O chief of Sparta ! Euxus is distrest 
 On every side. Thy virtue, thy misfortunes, 
 Have touch'd my heart : but here in trust I stand. 
 Would 1 had never seen the walls of Sparta ! 
 
 15
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 251 
 
 Jjijsan. The Gods, the guardian Gods of Lace- 
 
 dsemon, 
 
 Have brought you hither to preserve a people, 
 And save from traitors' hands the best of kings. 
 Although at first you rashly drew the sword 
 In blind obedience to a leader's will, 
 The gallant Euxus will not sure persist 
 In error known, in manifest injustice. 
 Thy trade is war, brave soldier ; this is not 
 An office for thy sword. 
 
 Eux. True are thy words ; 
 I was indeed deceived, and came not here 
 To mix in Sparta's strife ; but honour now 
 
 Rhe. I will not hear thee plead so bad a cause. 
 Is there a bond in nature like the tie 
 Which binds the hearts of brothers ? And will 
 
 Euxus, 
 
 From vain ideas of fidelity 
 To that detested traitor, false Amphares, 
 His brother murder ? 
 
 Eux. No. 
 
 Rhe. Then let thy arms 
 Defend Lysander. By our country's Gods 
 I swear, and by our warlike father's soul,
 
 252 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 Whose well-beloved son thou ever wert, 
 That with the Spartan chief thy brother dies. 
 
 Lysan. Might you not favour the escape of 
 
 Agis? 
 The guards are Thracians. 
 
 Eux. I might favour thine. 
 My power extends not to the guards of Agis. 
 
 Eke. And wilt thou not ? 
 
 Eux. Command thyself, my brother. 
 
 Rhe. How canst thou hesitate ? 
 
 Eux. I must beware ; 
 Inferior in command to bold Rhinalces, 
 And ever view'd by him with jealous eyes. 
 Whilst I deliberate, no time is lost. 
 The light of day suits not with your designs ; 
 Before the night comes on, I will determine. 
 
 L/ysan. 'Tis almost night, the sun hath left the 
 
 heavens, 
 
 And doubtful twilight ushers in the gloom. 
 Perhaps the enemies of Agis wait 
 The darkness of the night to cover deeds 
 They dare not act by day. This night I dread 
 
 Rhe. The Ephori have sent a herald forth, 
 Charged with some solemn menace, and command 
 To stop the army's march.
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 253 
 
 Lysan. If they obey, 
 
 The fane of Juno guards the king no more ! 
 Eternal Gods ! how wretched is Lysander ! 
 From me that herald should have heard his answer. 
 Cannot my Rhesus find one gallant Spartan 
 To bear my orders to the royal band 
 To storm the city ? 
 
 Rhe. I myself will bear 
 These orders to the camp. 
 
 Lysan. Another task, 
 More difficult and dangerous, is thine. 
 Assume the arms and vesture of thy country, 
 And through the Thracians win thy way to Agis. 
 Rhesus, the generous spirit of that prince 
 Is of a nature that excludes all fear, 
 Consideration, and respect of self : 
 On earth he acts as if he were a god, 
 Immortal, and incapable of harm. 
 Think how the artful falsehood of Amphares 
 May operate on such a royal mind. 
 
 Enter a Thradan. 
 
 Thru. The Spartan lord draws near, 
 Eux. Amphares comes.
 
 254 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 Retire, my lord, whilst I advance to meet him : 
 Our intercourse might lead him to suspicion. 
 
 Lysan. Nor vigilance nor care I recommend 
 To thee, my Rhesus ! But let caution rule 
 Thy forward zeal. 
 
 Rhe. It shall, my noble lord : 
 My heart beats high with hope to see thee rise 
 Once more, like Mars, in arms. 
 
 Lysan. Eternal Gods ! 
 In Thracian breasts the Spartan virtue lives. 
 
 [LYSANDER enters into the Tower. 
 [Exit RHESUS. 
 
 Manet Euxus. 
 
 Enter AMPHARES. 
 
 Amph. How does the haughty captive brook 
 confinement ? 
 
 Eux. Full of inquietude he seems, and sadness. 
 Now in some pensive posture sits a while, 
 Then smites his breast, and, starting from his seat, 
 Walks to and fro with a disorder'd pace. 
 
 Amph. Admit no Spartan of whatever sex, 
 Or whatsoe'er affinity they claim.
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 255 
 
 Eux. That strict command hath been already 
 given. 
 
 Amph. 'Tis needful, Euxus ; for his furious 
 
 mind, 
 
 In this extreme, will snatch at slight occasions 
 To make incredible and wild attempts. 
 Renew the charge ; then go and search Lysander 
 For secret weapons. On his breast he wears 
 A curious gorget, rich with precious stones, 
 And a small portrait of surpassing beauty, 
 The image of the fair Athenian maid, 
 Drawn by an artist who has vied with nature 
 In sweet expression of her matchless charms : 
 That I must have. 
 
 Eux. You shall without delay. [Exit Euxus. 
 
 Manet AnrHARES. 
 
 Let other men deprive themselves of pleasure, 
 And toil for bare ambition ; I'll provide 
 A more luxurious banquet to my taste. 
 What though as yet Euanthe loves me not, 
 It is the nature of her sex to change. 
 With wondrous ease the female kind submit 
 To destiny, and soon are reconciled 
 To persons and conditions once abhorr'd.
 
 256 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 Like birds new caught, who flutter for a time, 
 
 And struggle with captivity in vain ; 
 
 But by and by they rest ; they smooth their plumes, 
 
 And to new masters sing their former notes. 
 
 This facile temper of the beauteous sex 
 
 Great Agamemnon, brave Pelides, proved : 
 
 They sack'd the cities, and they slew the sires, 
 
 The brothers, and the lovers of the fair, 
 
 Who weep'd awhile, then wiped their wat'ry eyes, 
 
 And lost their sorrows in the hero's arms. 
 
 Enter SANDANE. 
 
 San. The herald is return'd. The royal band, 
 Inflamed with rage and scorn, the mandate tore ; 
 And to the city bend their rapid march. 
 
 Amph. Let them advance. They hasten to their 
 
 fate. 
 
 A secret stratagem I have devised 
 To check these warriors in their bold career. 
 
 San. The Ephori in resolution faint 
 
 Amph. Their courage I'll restore ; for Agis yields 
 To the fallacious counsellor I sent. 
 Demochares, in sacerdotal robes, 
 As if disguised to elude the Thracian guards, 
 Past in by my permission, and conjured 
 
 13
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 257 
 
 Agis to quit the fane's uncertain shelter, 
 
 And seek the sure protection of the camp ; 
 
 Himself he offer'd as his faithful guide. 
 
 This in Ly Sander's name. Agis at first, 
 
 Irresolute and doubtful, balanced much : 
 
 At last this thought sprung up, and tum'd the 
 
 scale : 
 
 That his escape would force us to submission, 
 And end the strife without the shock of arms. 
 Demochares at midnight is appointed 
 To come again ; and goes with an addition 
 That will give certain credence to his words ; 
 The gorget of Lysander. 
 
 San. Now, Amphares, 
 
 I see the snares of death are wrapt around him ; 
 Our hated foe stands on the verge of fate : 
 He who despised Sandane, and permitted, 
 With most insulting courtesy, my stay ; 
 I would not have remain'd one day in Sparta, 
 But for the hope I had to work his ruin. 
 He is the root, with him the branches fall. 
 
 Amph. Although his son is safe in Orchomeuos, 
 Yet there in hopeless exile he must live. 
 But Agesistrata 
 
 VOL. T. it
 
 258 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 San. Shall not survive 
 
 To travel suppliant through the states of Greece, 
 And shew her hoary hairs with ashes strew'd, 
 To move compassion in the giddy Greeks. 
 She's old, and fit to die. 
 
 Enter a Spartan Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The Thracian troops 
 Who guard the temple, faithful to their charge, 
 Have seized a spy, who, clothed and arm'd like 
 
 them, 
 
 Attempted to pass through their ranks to Agis. 
 Rhinalces for a while delay'd the doom 
 That martial law decrees, till you yourself 
 Discourse and judge the captive. 
 
 Amph. I approve 
 The vigilance and conduct of Rhinalces. 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 
 San. Still flows the tide of fortune ; I'll dispatch 
 Orontes to my lord. Joyful he comes 
 To re-assume his sceptre and his throne. 
 Farewell restraint, and laws that bind a prince ! 
 The people's majesty, the senate's power, 
 Shall shrink beneath their awful monarch's sword.
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 259 
 
 Fear is the only principle of rule, 
 Which man, like other animals, obeys. 
 
 [Exit SANDANE. 
 
 Manet AMPHARES. 
 Amph. Why tarries Euxus now ? 
 
 Enter Euxus. 
 
 I must applaud 
 
 Thy countrymen for discipline and care, 
 As well as valour ; they have seiz'd a spy, 
 Who mix'd with them, disguised in Thracian arms. 
 
 Euxus. In Thracian arms ! 
 
 Amph. Yes, to pass to Agis. 
 Some bold adventurer of the royal band, 
 Whose life Why art thou troubled ? Has Ly- 
 
 sander 
 Escaped the guards ? 
 
 Euxus. No. I am pale with anger, 
 At the reproachful terms, the bitter taunts, 
 Which I have suffer'd from incensed Lysander, 
 In execution of thy late commands. 
 
 [Gives the gorget. 
 
 Amph. Is that the cause ?
 
 260 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 He soon shall be no object of thy wrath. 
 
 [Exit AMPHAIIES. 
 
 Manent Euxus. 
 
 Euxus. My brother seized ! 1 hesitate no more. 
 The voice of nature in my breast exclaims 
 Against the rigour of those guilty laws, 
 Which bind a soldier blindly to obey. 
 Son of my mother ! Brother of my blood ! 
 I fly to save thee. Now I'm thine, Lysander. 
 
 [Goes to the gate of the tower. 
 Chief of Sparta ! 
 
 Enter LYSANDER. 
 
 Lysan. Is Euxus yet resolved? 
 
 Euxus. That thou shalt see, thy enemies are 
 
 mine. 
 Rhesus is taken. 
 
 Lysan. My contagious fate 
 Infects my friends ! my brave, my generous Rhesus ! 
 
 Euxus. Friend of my brother ! first I set thee 
 
 free. 
 
 An officer of mine commands that gate 
 At which the Thracians enter'd; haste thee thither,
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 261 
 
 Array'd like one of those whom I will send 
 To guide thy steps. 
 
 Toysan. Ye guardian gods of Greece ! 
 Whose ways mysterious rashly I arraign'd, 
 Forgive my rashness ! Prosper now my sword 
 Where are my arms ? 
 
 [ Whilst LYSANDER speaks, Euxus beckons 
 one of his soldiers. 
 
 Euxus. Here enter, and obey 
 Without reply. {Exeunt LYSANDER and the 
 
 Thracian to the tower. 
 The soldiers' hearts are mine. 
 Their various toils and perils I have shared, 
 Nay more than shared,' the first in hard extremes, 
 When signal danger claims a leader's sword. 
 No spoil, no treasure, have I e'er reserved ; 
 The wealth I covet is the soldier's love. 
 My bold Odrysians are a faithful band ; 
 In this distress I'll throw myself on them ; 
 They will support me. 
 
 Enter a Spartan Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Leader of Thracian bands ! 
 Amphares and the magistrates of Sparta, 
 Met in the senate-house, expect thy presence.
 
 262 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 Euxus. I will attend them, [Exit Messenger. 
 Surely they have learn'd, 
 That I am brother to ill-fated Rhesus. 
 
 Enter LYSANDEH, in TJiracian dress and arms. 
 
 Lysan. Once more at liberty ! Once more in 
 
 arms! 
 To thee, brave Thracian 
 
 Euxus. I am summon'd hence 
 To meet the Ephori. I fear, my lord, 
 They have discover'd Rhesus is my brother. 
 
 Lysan. That secret in your breast and his is 
 
 lodged : 
 
 Nor can his alter'd features now betray him, 
 In early youth he left his native land ; 
 The heat of summer, and the winter's cold, 
 In many a hard campaign, have chaced his bloom, 
 
 Euxus. Indeed I knew him not. 
 
 Lysan. Then who could know him ? 
 Calm and determined to the senate go : 
 Here I'll remain, and wait your quick return. 
 To know what they design imports us much, 
 
 Euxus. Your stay is full of danger ; risk it not. 
 
 Lysan. All necessary dangers must be risk'd. 
 Perhaps I am the subject of their councils.
 
 ACT IV. AGIS, 
 
 Perhaps I may be call'd before the senate ! 
 If I appear not, you must be discover'd, 
 And my escape too soon to them be known. 
 
 Euxus. Your reasons are of force. I am con- 
 
 vinced. 
 
 Here, take my sword. Then, if we are betray'd, 
 My troops obey you. Now, my bold Sithontes, 
 
 [To one of his Thracians. 
 Draw your battalion nearer to the square, 
 And guard the person of this Spartan chief 
 As you would guard myself. If I'm detain'd, 
 Follow to death or victory Lysander. 
 
 {Exit Euxus. 
 
 Lysan. Shall I obey the impulse of my heart, 
 And lead these Thracians to the tower that holds 
 My lost Euanthe ? No, let reason rule. 
 Amphares will not, dares not wrong her honour, 
 Whilst undecided is the fate of Agis, 
 'Tis night, but never shall the morning rise 
 On Who can know the secret will of heav'n ! 
 Down, down, enthusiasm ! my heart be calm ! 
 A little while, and thou shalt beat no more. 
 Oft have I wish'd for perilous occasions ; 
 And, wand'ring in the academic grove, 
 Have roused myself with strong imagination
 
 264 AGIS. ACT IV. 
 
 Of great exploits by ardent valour done : 
 But ne'er did fancy's tempest match the truth, 
 The strong reality of such a storm. 
 O did I combat but for life alone, 
 Were Sparta and Euanthe safe spectators, 
 How gaily should Lysander take the field. 
 Euxus draws near Upon the insect wing 
 Of a small moment ride th' eternal fates. 
 
 Enter Euxus. 
 
 Euxus. My fears are vain. The secret is un- 
 known. 
 But Rhesus is condemn'd to die to-morrow. 
 
 La/san. To-morrow ! many men will die to-mor- 
 row, 
 Who are not yet condemn'd. 
 
 Euxus. 'Tis true, by heav'n ! 
 Mortal designs and enterprizes rise 
 On every side. The Ephori resolve 
 At midnight to surprise the royal band, 
 And order'd me to hold my troops prepared 
 Their forces to sustain. 
 
 Lysan. 'Tis well ! 'tis wondrous well 
 They urge me now, and point the line of action. 
 Under the high up-lifted arm of fate
 
 ACT IV. AGIS. 265 
 
 I'll rush, and strike before their blow can fall. 
 I'll storm the city while they force the camp. 
 
 Your troops 
 
 Euxus. Shall join you at the gate. The word ? 
 Lysan. Agis. Farewell ! Now I shall save thee, 
 
 Agis, 
 Or leave my blood upon the stones of Sparta. 
 
 [Exeunt LYSANDER and Euxus.
 
 266 AGIS. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 AMPH ARES and the Ephori with the Officers, fyc. 
 The gate of the prison seen at a distance. 
 
 1. Epho. The hour is past. 
 
 2. Epho. I fear 
 
 Amph. Silence. He comes. 
 
 I hear the steps of wary treading feet. 
 
 Enter a Spartan. AGIS following. 
 
 Agis. This way conducts not to Amycla's gate. 
 Ah ! whither dost thou lead me ? 
 
 Amph. To thy death. 
 The Ephori of Sparta have condemn'd thee. 
 
 Agis. I am betray'd ! What mockery is this 
 Of sacred justice ? Lay aside the rohes 
 And ensigns of authority prophaned : 
 The pomp of magistracy suits not treason.
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 267 
 
 Amph. The licence of thy tongue affronts the 
 
 laws, 
 Where awful rev'rence our high office hears. 
 
 Agis. Know ye not this, ye guardians of the 
 
 laws, 
 
 The meanest citizen of Lacedaemon 
 Without free trial cannot he condemn'd ; 
 Much less your king. What law have I trans- 
 
 gress'd ? 
 Point out my crime ; produce my bold accusers. 
 
 Amph. Thy crime is tyranny, 
 
 Agis. Is that my crime ? 
 Had Agis been a tyrant, thou had'st been 
 His fawning slave, thou enemy of freedom ! 
 
 AmpJi. Behold the stubborn spirit of this man : 
 He breathes his native arrogance, and still 
 Insults his judges, and avows his crimes. 
 
 Agis, Who made you judges of the life of Agis ? 
 But you have judged : yourselves, and earth, and 
 
 heav'n, 
 
 Know how unjustly. To the gods above, 
 The sure avengers of a murder'd king, 
 I make my last appeal. Their messenger 
 Is on the wing ; Lysander comes apace ; 
 And Nemesis directs his righteous sword.
 
 268 AGIS. ACT V. 
 
 Amph. Proceeds this boldness from thy trust in 
 
 him? 
 
 Thy great avenger is, like thee, a captive, 
 And under the same mortal sentence lies. 
 
 Agis. Ye powers above ! Lysander too a captive ! 
 Where was he taken ? 
 
 Amyh. In the streets of Sparta, 
 Clad in the servile garment of a Helot. 
 
 Agis. Alas ! alas ! Lysander ! O my friend ! 
 Thy love for me, thy generous, fearless love, 
 Has wrought thy fall. For me thou earnest to 
 
 Sparta, 
 And, like the parent bird hov'ring too near 
 
 Its captive young, thy noble life is lost ! 
 
 Forgive these tears, my country ! Agis weeps 
 For thee. Alas ! thy brave defender's gone ! 
 O Lacedaemon, thou art fall'n for ever ! 
 Thy bad estate shall every day grow worse ; 
 Successive tyrants shall exhaust thy strength, 
 Till all thy generous youths have bled in vain ; 
 At last the consummation of thy woes 
 Shall come upon thee ; some ambitious foe 
 Shall stretch the iron arm of conquest forth, 
 And grasp thee in the circle of his empire. 
 My native land, the kingdom of my fathers,
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 269 
 
 Shall be no more a nation ! O my country, 
 How irretrievable is thy condition ! 
 The Macedonian vulture hovers o'er thee, 
 Soon to descend, and on thy vitals prey. 
 
 Amph. Thou may'st delay, perhaps avoid, thy 
 
 death. 
 
 Send forth thy mandate to the royal band 
 To halt till further orders. 
 
 Agis. Ha ! No more 
 
 I trust thee, traitor. Would I had ever been 
 Thus deaf to thee ! No, let the royal band 
 Revenge their gallant leader and their king. 
 
 1 Epho. Thou tempt'st thy fate, 
 
 Agis. I scorn it. Since my hope 
 Of Sparta's lost, and my beloved friend 
 Has perish'd in my cause, why should I live ? 
 In any period of my former days 
 I rather would have chose to die attempting 
 The glorious design, which you have ruin'd, 
 Than live the prince of a degenerate people, 
 The tame spectator of a falling empire, 
 
 1 Epho. To reason hearken. 
 
 Agis. Reason bids me die, 
 As I have lived, unalter'd in my love 
 To Sparta, and unconquer'd in my purpose.
 
 S70 AGIS* ACT V. 
 
 You mean to take advantage of my state, 
 Without spectator, counsellor, or friend : 
 You think I dread the stern approach of death, 
 Because the blooming season of my life 
 Still promises a long extent of years : 
 But my forefathers' blood is in my veins, 
 The blood of heroes, and of Spartan kings, 
 Less only than the gods. I dare your worst, 
 And with my dying breath acquit my people. 
 The people rose ; they hearken'd to the voice 
 Of Liberty, and blest the name of Agis. 
 But you, the nobles, an inglorious race, 
 Base as the dastard and unarmed Helots, 
 With foreign arms and mercenary aid, 
 Bore down the people and opprest your prince, 
 Whom death delivers. Agis shall not see 
 The last convulsions of expiring Freedom ; 
 For in the first he dies. 
 
 Amph. We'll hear no more 
 Of these invectives. Bear him to the place 
 Of execution. Officers, advance 
 And do your duty. 
 
 Off". This is not our duty. 
 
 Amph. What ! 
 
 Off. Murder of a king is not our duty.
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 271 
 
 Amph. Mutinous slaves ! for you I'll find a time. 
 Sir. [To AGIS. 
 
 Agis. Touch me not, for uncompell'd I go 
 To meet my destiny. Weep not for me. 
 
 [To an Officer. 
 
 O ! thou whose nature suits not thy employment, 
 Weep not for me ! I would not change conditions 
 With these bad men. I shall not feel the woes 
 That thou and all must feel, the woes of Sparta ! 
 O ! might my death avail my much-loved country, 
 I'd die as joyful then, as fearless now. 
 
 [Exit AGIS, guarded. 
 
 Amph. Atone your insolence by prompt obe- 
 dience, 
 
 Or death's your portion. [ To an Officer. 
 
 [Exeunt with AGIS, 
 
 Manent AMPHARES, &p. 
 
 Amph. Magistrates of Sparta ! 
 This painful work of necessary justice 
 Will quickly end the troubles of the state, 
 Leonidas, who owes his crown to you, 
 Your faithful zeal and service will reward. 
 
 [Exeunt EphorL
 
 272 AGIS. ACT V. 
 
 Manent AMPHARES and the Spartan who entered 
 with AGIS. 
 
 Amph. Haste to the Thracian captain, and 
 
 require him 
 To send his prisoner Lysander hither. 
 
 \_Exit Spartan. 
 
 Agis removed, and turhulent Lysander, 
 Like snow along the shore, their army melts. 
 
 Enter Messenger from the Dungeon. 
 
 Mess. The executioners refuse their office : 
 Sacred they hold the person of a king, 
 A Spartan king descended from the gods. 
 
 Amph. Again those fables of the villain priests 
 Rise up to thwart me. Now, iny trusty servant, 
 Approve thy faith, and win my lasting favour. 
 Each instant of delay is big with peril 
 Whilst Agis lives. Let thy good sword fulfil 
 The sentence of the law, and thy own tongue 
 Shall name the recompense. 
 
 Mess. Shall it, my lord ? 
 I am your instrument, and bind myself 
 By this bold deed still faster to your fortunes. 
 
 [Exit.
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 
 
 Amph. Ye sons of bold ambition, learn of me : 
 Trust not the survey of another's eye : 
 Your dangerous voyage needs a pilot's care, 
 Who never quits the helm. 
 
 Enter Spartan. 
 
 Spar. We are betray'd. 
 Lysander 
 
 Amph. What of him ? Speak faulter not. 
 
 Spar. Is fled. 
 
 Amph. Whither? With whom? Eternal Gods! 
 
 Spar. The guards have set him free ; the open 
 
 gates 
 I saw, and entering search'd the empty tower. 
 
 Amph. That traitor Euxus ! Now let me re- 
 solve, 
 And quickly too. 
 
 Spar. The people are alarm'd, 
 And gather to their tribes ! 
 
 Amph. Curst be their tribes ! 
 The deed is done already. Yet I have 
 One pledge of value. 
 
 Spar. Agesistrata 
 
 Amph. This hour she dies. I've sent a trusty slave 
 
 VOL. i. s
 
 274 AGIS. ACT V. 
 
 To end her woes. But the Athenian maid, 
 Her I'll bear off in spite of frowning fortune. 
 Go to the turret, and conduct her hither. 
 
 [Exit Spartan. 
 
 Manet AMPHARES. 
 
 Amph. Malignant powers ! or blind unerring 
 
 Fate, 
 This is your work : now you assert your empire. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, the troops of Euxus have re-< 
 
 volted. 
 
 Rhinalces visited this night each post, 
 And near Amycla's gate some Thracians met, 
 Whose leader, question'd, answer'd with his sword. 
 
 Amph. By heaven and earth, Lysander ! Ha ! 
 proceed. 
 
 Mess. The sudden onset, and the cloud of night, 
 The traitors favour'd ; some escaped our swords, 
 But many more in the sharp combat fell. 
 
 Amph. Did their fierce leader fall ? 
 
 Mess. Above the rest 
 Conspicuous he fought ; at him each sword
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 275 
 
 Was pointed. If he fell not on the spot, 
 Sure he received wounds that must fatal prove. 
 Amph. Confirm me that, and I will mock at 
 
 fate. 
 
 Command my troops, that in the Forum watch, 
 To join Rhinalces. I myself will follow. 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Enter EUANTHE. 
 
 How beautiful she is ! Should he survive, 
 Those charms divine he never shall enjoy. 
 
 Euan. Why hast thou call'd me hither, to afflict 
 And torture me with spectacles of woe ? 
 
 [The Gate of the Prison opens., and 
 
 AMPHARES' Slave advances. 
 Eternal powers ! why yawn yon dreadful gates ? 
 And from what horrid deed stalks yonder villain ? 
 
 Mess. Thy orders are obey'd. He lives no more. 
 
 Euan. Barbarian monster ! hast thou kill'd Ly- 
 
 sander ? 
 
 But I will not reproach thee, nor complain 
 To the regardless gods. My doom is past ; 
 There is one only refuge for Euanthe. 
 Once more I follow where Lysander leads,
 
 276 AGIS. ACT V. 
 
 Where murder and Amphares cannot come 
 To part us more. 
 
 [She runs towards the Dungeon. AM- 
 PHARES seises her. 
 Amph. Some other season choose. 
 There is no leisure now for lamentation. 
 Forthwith conduct her to the Arcadian gate : 
 There with the horsemen wait. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, 
 The royal band by Thracian Euxus led 
 
 [Shout. 
 
 Amph. My enemy prevails. This way with me. 
 My steps pursue, or by the Gods of Hell ! 
 Euan. I will not leave this place. Draw forth 
 
 thy sword, 
 And try if death can terrify despair. 
 
 Amph. Drag her along. [Shout. 
 
 Again ! the foe draws near. 
 
 [Shout from the other side, " Agis and 
 
 Liberty !" 
 
 Amph. I am encompast ; yet I'll mar their 
 triumph. 
 
 [Runs at EUANTHE with his sword.
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 277 
 
 Enter LY SANDER, followed by RHESUS. 
 
 Lysan. Infernal dog, turn and behold Lysander ! 
 Fly, Rhesus, to the king. Traitor accurst ! 
 
 [Exit RHESUS. 
 Down, down, to Tartarus ; there, villain, howl. 
 
 Euan. Amazing powers ! alive ! victorious ! oh ! 
 
 Lysan. And have I come to save thee, O Euan the ! 
 But oh ! I fear I come too late for Agis, 
 The dungeon-mouth is open. 
 
 Enter RHESUS. 
 
 Tell me, Rhesus. 
 
 Rhe. The king is murder'd, in yon vault he lies. 
 
 Lysan. My prince ! my friend ! thy goodness, 
 
 and thy virtue, 
 
 Thy clemency, thy mildness, have undone thee ! 
 Fatal to nations is the dread example ! 
 Hence monarchs, who with iron sceptre rule, 
 Will justify their treatment of mankind ; 
 And virtuous princes, horn in evil times, 
 Will hesitate to stem corruption's tide, 
 Lest they should be like Agis overwhelm'd. 
 
 Amph. He who preferr'd Lysander to Amphares,
 
 278 AGIS. ACT V. 
 
 Has paid me with his life. My dying hand 
 Hath soWd the seeds of discord and distraction. 
 Peace ne'er shall dwell in Sparta. Plagues on 
 plagues 
 
 Shall rise to curse you, as [Diet. 
 
 Lysan. Thy soul is curst. 
 There the fell spirit of Amphares fled 
 In imprecations. Prophet of disasters, 
 Upon the dismal banks of Acheron, 
 Amidst the wailing ghosts, still curse thy country, 
 And end a speech the damn'd will hate to hear. 
 Behold the mother of our murder'd king, 
 
 Enter AGESISTRATA and Euxus. 
 
 Ages. Alas ! I need not ask the fate of Agis : 
 Your looks, your silence say, I have no son ! 
 Yet speak to me, for I can hear the worst, 
 I have been long familiar with affliction ; 
 I am the widow of the sire of Agis. 
 
 Lysan. There Kes the bloody author of his 
 
 death, 
 Slain by my hand. 
 
 Ages. Alas, alas ! my son ! 
 Oft has my anxious mind this hour foreseen, 
 And warn'd thee oft. But thou the danger scorn'-d,
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 275 
 
 When Sparta's glory was the price of peril. 
 O ! son of Jove, great author of our race, 
 Sustain my soul. For he who was my stay, 
 My comfort and my strength, is now no more. 
 Yet in the path his generous spirit; chose, 
 He fell ; and conscious virtue crown'd his fall. 
 Lysan. So fell not false Amphares. 
 Euxus. And Sandane. 
 Lysan. Sandane dead ! 
 Euxus. And dreadful was :her death. 
 She fled, for refuge from the people's rage, 
 To the same turret where Amphares' troops 
 Guarded the queen, whose mantle on the ground 
 She spied, and wrapt it round her wretched head ; 
 When suddenly a stern assassin came 
 And stabb'd her, as that queen whose robe she 
 
 wore. 
 
 Arriving then, I heard her shriek for help, 
 Implore her country's gods with bitter cries, 
 And, in her agony, divulge her crimes. 
 It was no wonder that she fear'd to die. 
 Ages. O guilt ! thou'rt worst of all ; he knew 
 
 thce not 
 For whom I mourn. Untimely was his fate ;
 
 280 AQIS. ACT V. 
 
 Yet full of high and pleasing thoughts he fell. 
 Great-hearted Virtue, in its swelling hour, 
 Scarce feels the blow that strikes at brittle life. 
 The painful part is mine, in grief to live. 
 Would I had died for thee, my son, my son ! 
 
 Euan. Euanthe's tears shall ever flow with yours, 
 For her protector and her gentle friend. 
 Mysterious are the counsels of the gods ; 
 Together Agis and Amphares fall 
 
 Lysan. The son of Agis lives, his infant years 
 Require a mother's care. Without delay 
 Proclaim the son of Agis king of Sparta. 
 To him, the offspring of my prince adored, 
 Descend the love and faith I bore to Agis. 
 Ye generous Thracians, who this day have shewn 
 The matchless worth and honour of your minds, 
 Henceforth be Spartans. And, ye Spartan youths, 
 Whom Agis loved, and for whose rights he died, 
 Display the spirit of your dear bought freedom ; 
 With grateful valour guard the hero's son, 
 And prove that Agis perish'd not in vain. 
 
 Ages. Conduct me, Spartans, to his dear re- 
 mains. 
 
 Lysan. Forbear a while yon dismal vault.
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 281 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, 
 
 The people, headed by the priests of Jove 
 And Hercules, in long procession come, 
 Bearing the body of their royal lord, 
 From that base dungeon to the sculptured tomb, 
 Which guards the sacred dust of Sparta's kings. 
 
 Enter the Procession with the body of AGIS. 
 
 Lysan. O Destiny supreme ! 
 
 Euan. O sad remains of youth and majesty ! 
 
 Ages. My son, my son ! 
 
 Nature is thwarted here ; thou should'st have borne 
 Thy aged parent to the silent tomb. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Mourn, ye sons of Sparta, mourn, 
 Pour the sad lamenting strain. 
 Wretched people ! Land forlorn ! 
 Mourn the best of princes slain. 
 
 Priest of JUPITER. 
 
 He fell not as the warrior falls, 
 Whose breast defends his native walls.
 
 282 AGIS. ACT V. 
 
 To treason Agis bow'd his head, 
 And by his guilty subjects bled : 
 Betray'd by those his mercy spared ; 
 Ingratitude was his reward. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Shame is mix'd with Sparta's woe, 
 Blood of kings the city stains, 
 Ever let our sorrows flow, 
 Shame indelible remains. 
 
 Priests of JUPITER. 
 
 Yet Agis triumph'd in his fall ; 
 For Virtue triumphs over all ! 
 Great, superior to his fate, 
 He only grieved for Sparta's state. 
 When Jove decrees a nation's doom, 
 He calls their heroes to the tomb. 
 Fearless they fall, immortal rise, 
 And claim the freedom of the skies. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Agis triumph'd in his fall, 
 Virtue triumphs over all !
 
 ACT V. AGIS. 283 
 
 Such a king shall ne'er return : 
 Our country and ourselves we mourn. 
 
 Priests of HERCULES. 
 
 Agis fell, by fraud o'ercome ; 
 Alike was great Alcides' doom : 
 Yet then most worthy of his sire, 
 The son of Jove, when wrapt in fire, 
 Victorious crown'd his labours past : 
 His noblest labour was the last. 
 
 Chorus of all. 
 
 Now in peace our hero lies. 
 Ceased his toil, his race is run ; 
 Freedom is the glorious prize 
 Agis for his people won.
 
 EPILOGUE, 
 
 SPOKEN BY MRS PRITCHARD. 
 
 A KINO in bloom of youth, for freedom die ! 
 
 Our bard, though bold, durst not have soar'd so high. 
 
 This is no credulous admiring age ; 
 
 But sacred, sure, the faith of Plutarch's page. 
 
 In simple style that ancient sage relates 
 
 The tale of Sparta, chief of Grecian states : 
 
 Eight hundred years it flourish'd, great in arms, 
 
 On dangers rose, and grew amidst alarms. 
 
 Of Sparta's triumph you have heard the cause, 
 
 More strong, more noble than Lycurgus' laws ; 
 
 How Spartan dames, by glory's charms inspired, 
 
 The son, the lover, and the husband fired. 
 
 Ye fair of Britain's isle, which justly claims 
 
 The Grecian title, land of lovely dames, 
 
 In Britain's cause, exert your matchless charms, 
 
 And rouse your lovers to the love of arms. 
 
 Hid, not extinct, the spark of valour lies ; 
 
 Your breath shall raise it flaming to the skies. 
 
 Now Mars his bloody banner hangs in air, 
 
 And bids Britannia's sons for war prepare : 
 
 Let each loved maid, each mother bring the shield, 
 
 And arm their country's champions for the field.
 
 286 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Arm'd and inflamed, each British breast shall burn, 
 No youth unlaurel'd shall to you return. 
 Then shall we cease to exult at trophies won, 
 In glory's field, by heroes not our own. 
 France yet shall tremble at the British sword, 
 And dread the vengeance of her ancient lord.
 
 DOUGLAS; 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 Non ego sum vates, sedprisci conscius cevi.
 
 [ 289 ] 
 
 fo of >; b^,k>Tcf '/>/ > ef^i/f*O r/i 
 : Kwf.it >^/l- -zi'v-iM Irjflt'w 
 t -rvj;Hrir M 'uf,iii r-;< r;rS 
 i'fMjM-. ;;:! 
 
 PEOLOGUE, 
 
 ;.! ,'- .>''* 'j'.- 'i/f! Oyirf ( }efmu f'- 
 SPOKEN AT LONDON. 
 
 IN ancient times, when Britain's trade was arms, 
 And the loved music of her youth, alarms ; 
 A god-like race sustain'd fair England's fame : 
 Who has not heard of gallant Percy's name ? 
 Ay, and of Douglas ? Such illustrious foes 
 In rival Rome and Carthage never rose ! 
 From age to age bright shone the British fire, 
 And every hero was a hero's sire. 
 When powerful fate decreed one warrior's doom, 
 Up sprung the phoenix from his parent's tomb. 
 But whilst these generous rivals fought and fell, 
 These generous rivals loved each other well : 
 Though many a bloody field was lost and won, 
 Nothing in hate, in honour all was done. 
 When Percy, wrong'd, defied his prince or peers, 
 First came the Douglas with his Scottish spears ; 
 And, when proud Douglas made his king his foe, 
 For Douglas, Percy bent his English bow. 
 Expell'd their native homes by adverse fate, 
 They knock'd alternate at each other's gate : 
 Then blazed the castle, at the midnight hour, 
 For him whose arms had shook its firmest tower. 
 VOL. I. T -
 
 290 PROLOGUE. 
 
 This night a Douglas your protection claims ; 
 A wife ! a mother ! Pity's softest names : 
 The story of her woes indulgent hear, 
 And grant your suppliant all she begs, a tear. 
 In confidence she begs ; and hopes to find 
 Each English breast, like noble Percy's, kind.
 
 [ 291 ] 
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 SPOKEN AT EDINBURGH. 
 
 IN days of classic fame, when Persia's Lord 
 Opposed his millions to the Grecian sword, 
 Flourish'd the state of Athens, small her store, 
 Rugged her soil, and rocky was her shore, 
 Like Caledonia's ; yet she gain'd a name 
 That stands unrival'd in the rolls of fame. 
 
 Such proud pre-eminence not valour gave, 
 (For who than Sparta's dauntless sons more brave ?) 
 But learning, and the love of every art, 
 That Virgin Pallas and the Muse impart. 
 
 Above the rest the Tragic Muse admired 
 Each Attic breast with noblest passions fired. 
 In peace their poets with their heroes shared 
 Glory, the hero's and the bard's reward. 
 The Tragic Muse each glorious record kept, 
 And, o'er the kings she conquer'd, Athens wept.* 
 
 Here let me cease, impatient for the scene ; 
 To you I need not praise the Tragic Queen : 
 Oft has this audience soft compassion shown 
 To woes of heroes, heroes not their own. 
 
 * Sec the Perai of JEschylus.
 
 292 PROLOGUE. 
 
 This night our scenes no common tear demand, 
 He comes, the hero of your native land ! 
 Douglas, a name through all the world renown'd, 
 A name that rouses like the trumpet's sound ! 
 Oft have your fathers, prodigal of life, 
 A Douglas follow 'd through the bloody strife ; 
 Hosts have been known at that dread time to yield 
 And, Douglas dead, his name hath won the field. 
 Listen attentive to the various tale, 
 Mark if the author's kindred feelings fail ; 
 Sway'd by alternate hopes, alternate fears, 
 He waits the test of your congenial tears. 
 If they shall flow, back to the Muse he flies, 
 And bids your heroes in succession rise ; 
 Collects the wand'ring warriors as they roam, 
 Douglas assures them of a welcome home.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 LORD RANDOLPH. 
 GLENALVON. 
 OLD NORVAL. 
 DOUGLAS. 
 
 LADY RANDOLPH. 
 
 ANNA. 
 
 Servants, fyc.
 
 DOUGLAS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE, The Court of a Castle surrounded 
 with Woods. 
 
 Enter Lady RANDOLPH. 
 
 Lady Rand. YE woods and wilds, whose me- 
 lancholy gloom 
 
 Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth 
 The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart, 
 Farewell a while : I will not leave you long ; 
 For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells, 
 Who from the chiding stream, or groaning oak, 
 Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan. 
 O, Douglas, Douglas ! if departed ghosts 
 Are e'er permitted to review this world,
 
 296 DOUGLAS, ACT I. 
 
 Within the circle of <that wood thou art, 
 And with the passion of immortals hcar'st 
 My lamentation ; hear'st thy wretched wife 
 Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost. 
 My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn, 
 Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day. 
 To thee I lift my voice ; to thee address 
 The plaint which mortal ear has never heard. 
 O disregard me not ; though I am call'd 
 Another's now, my heart is wholly thine. 
 Incapable of change, affection lies 
 Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave. 
 But Randolph comes, whom fate has made my 
 
 lord, 
 To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead. 
 
 < o-.-tfifY . i 7 ' v VYO, 
 
 Enter Lord RANDOLPH. 
 
 Lord Rand. Again these weeds of woe ! say, 
 
 dost thou well 
 
 To feed a passion which consumes thy life ? 
 The living claim some duty ; vainly thou 
 Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead. 
 
 Lady Rand. Silent, alas ! is he for whom I 
 
 mourn : 
 Childless, without memorial of his name,
 
 ACT. I. DOUGLAS. 297 
 
 He only now in my remembrance lives. 
 This fatal day stirs my time-settled sorrow 
 Troubles afresh the fountain of my heart. 
 
 Lord Rand. When was it pure of sadness ! These 
 
 black weeds 
 
 Express the wonted colour of thy mind, 
 For ever dark and dismal. Seven long years 
 Arc pass'd, since we were join'd by sacred ties : 
 Clouds all the while have hung upon thy brow, 
 Nor broke, nor parted by one gleam of joy. 
 Time, that wears out the trace of deepest anguish, 
 As the sea smooths the prints made in the sand, 
 Has pass'd o'er thee in vain. 
 
 Lady Rand. If time to come 
 Should prove as ineffectual, yet, my lord, 
 Thou can'st not blame me. When our Scottish 
 
 youth 
 
 Vied with each other for my luckless love, 
 Oft I besought them, I implored them all 
 Not to assail me with my father's aid, 
 Nor blend their better destiny with mine ; 
 For melancholy had congeal'd my blood, 
 And froze affection in my chilly breast. 
 At last my sire, roused with the base attempt 
 To force me from him, which thou rend'rcdst vain,
 
 298 DOUGLAS. ACT I. 
 
 To his own daughter bow'd his hoary head, 
 
 Besought me to commiserate his age, 
 
 And vow'd he should not, could not, die in peace, 
 
 Unless he saw me wedded, and secured 
 
 From violence and outrage. Then, my lord ! 
 
 In my extreme distress I call'd on thee, 
 
 Thee I bespake, profess'd my strong desire 
 
 To lead a single, solitary life, 
 
 And begg'd thy nobleness, not to demand 
 
 Her for a wife whose heart was dead to love. 
 
 How thou persisted'st after this, thou know'st, 
 
 And must confess that I am not unjust, 
 
 Nor more to thee than to myself injurious. 
 
 Lord Rand. That I confess ; yet ever must re- 
 gret 
 
 The grief I cannot cure. Would thou wert not 
 Composed of grief and tenderness alone, 
 But hadst a spark of other passions in thee, 
 Pride, anger, vanity, the strong desire 
 Of admiration, dear to woman kind ; 
 These might contend with, and allay thy grief, 
 As meeting tides and currents smooth our frith. 
 
 Lady Rand. To such a cause the human mind 
 
 oft owes 
 Its transient calm, a calm I envy not.
 
 ACT I. DOUGLAS. 299 
 
 Lord Rand. Sure thou art not the daughter of 
 
 Sir Malcolm : 
 
 Strong was his rage, etenial his resentment : 
 For when thy brother fell, he smiled to hear 
 That Douglas' son in the same field was slain. 
 
 Lady Rand. Oh ! rake not up the ashes of my 
 
 fathers ; 
 
 Implacable resentment was their crime, 
 And grievous has the expiation been. 
 Contending with the Douglas, gallant lives 
 Of either house were lost ; my ancestors 
 Compell'd, at last, to leave their ancient seat 
 On Tiviot's pleasant banks ; and now, of them 
 No heir is left. Had they not been so stem, 
 I had not been the last of all my race. 
 
 Lord Rand. Thy grief wrests to its purposes my 
 
 words. 
 
 I never asked of thee that ardent love, 
 Which in the breasts of fancy's children burns. 
 Decent affection and complacent kindness 
 Were all I wish'd for ; but I wish'd in vain. 
 Hence with the less regret my eyes behold 
 The storm of war that gathers o'er this land : 
 If I should perish by the Danish sword, 
 Matilda would not shed one tear the more.
 
 .300 DOUGLAS. ACT I. 
 
 Lady Rand. Thou dost not think so : woeful as 
 
 I am, 
 
 I love thy merit, and esteem thy virtues. 
 But whither gocst thou now ? 
 
 Lord Rand. Straight to the camp, 
 Where every warrior on the tip-toe stands 
 Of expectation, and impatient asks 
 Each who arrives, if he is come to tell 
 The Danes are landed. 
 
 Lady Rand. O ! may adverse winds, 
 Far from the coast of Scotland, drive their fleet ! 
 And every soldier of both hosts return 
 In peace and safety to his pleasant home ! 
 
 Lord Rand. Thou speak'st a woman's, hear a 
 
 warrior's wish : 
 
 Right from their native land, the stormy north, 
 May the wind blow, till every keel is fix'd 
 Immoveable in Caledonia's strand ! 
 Then shall our foes repent their bold invasion, 
 And roving armies shun the fatal shore. 
 
 Lady Rand. War I detest : But war with 
 
 foreign foes, 
 Whose manners, language, and whose looks are 
 
 strange, 
 Is not so horrid, nor to me so hateful,
 
 ACT I. DOUGLAS. 301 
 
 As that which with our neighbours oft we wage, 
 A river here, there an ideal line, 
 By fancy drawn, divides the sister kingdoms. 
 On each side dwells a people similar, 
 As twins are to each other ; valiant both : 
 Both for their valour famous through the world. 
 Yet will they not unite their kindred arms, 
 And, if they must have war, wage distant war, 
 But with each other fight in cruel conflict. 
 Gallant in strife, and noble in their ire, 
 The battle is their pastime. They go forth 
 Gay in the morning, as to summer sport ; 
 When ev'ning comes, the glory of the morn, 
 The youthful warrior, is a clod of clay. 
 Thus fall the prime of either hapless land ; 
 And such the fruit of Scotch and English wars. 
 Lord Rand. I'll hear no more : this melody 
 
 would' make 
 
 A soldier drop his sword, and doff his arms, 
 Sit down and weep the conquests he has made ; 
 Yea, (like a monk) sing rest and peace in heaven 
 To soids of warriors in his battles slain. 
 Lady, farewell : I leave thec not alone ; 
 Yonder comes one whose love makes duty light. 
 
 [Exit.
 
 DOUGLAS. ACT I. 
 
 Enter ANNA. 
 
 Anna. Forgive the rashness of your Anna's love : 
 Urged by affection, I have thus presumed 
 To interrupt your solitary thoughts ; 
 And warn you of the hours that you neglect, 
 And lose in sadness. 
 
 Lady Rand. So to lose my hours 
 Is all the use I wish to make of time. 
 
 Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with my 
 
 state : 
 
 But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man, 
 Never did sister thus a brother mourn. 
 What had your sorrows been if you had lost, 
 In early youth, the husband of your heart ? 
 
 Lady Rand. Oh ! 
 
 Anna. Have I distress'd you with officious love, 
 And ill-timed mention of your brother's fate ? 
 Forgive me, lady : humble though I am, 
 The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune : 
 So fervently I love you, that to dry 
 These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away. 
 
 Lady Rand. What power directed thy uncon- 
 scious tongue 
 To speak as thou hast done ? to name
 
 ACT I. DOUGLAS. 303 
 
 Anna. I know not : 
 
 But since my words have made my mistress tremble, 
 I will speak so no more ; but silent mix 
 My tears with her's. 
 
 Lady Rand. No, thou shalt not be silent. 
 I'll trust thy faithful love, and thou shalt be 
 Henceforth the instructed partner of my woes. 
 But what avails it ? Can thy feeble pity 
 Roll back the flood of never-ebbing time ? 
 Compel the earth and ocean to give up 
 Their dead alive ? 
 
 Anna. What means my noble mistress ? 
 
 Lady Rand. Didst thou not ask what had my 
 
 sorrows been, 
 
 If I in early youth had lost a husband ? 
 In the cold bosom of the earth is lodged, 
 Mangled with wounds, the husband of my youth ; 
 And in some cavern of the ocean lies 
 My child and his ! 
 
 Anna. O ! lady, most revered ! 
 The tale wrapt up in your amazing words 
 Deign to unfold. 
 
 Lady Rand. Alas ! an ancient feud, 
 Hereditary evil, was the source
 
 304 DOUGLAS. ACT I. 
 
 Of my misfortunes. Hiding fate decreed, 
 That my brave brother should in battle save 
 The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe : 
 The youthful warriors vow'd eternal friendship. 
 To see the vaunted sister of his friend 
 Impatient, Douglas to Balarmo came, 
 Under a borrow'd name. My heart he gain'd ; 
 Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg'd : 
 My brother's presence authorized our marriage. 
 Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings of 
 
 down, 
 
 Had o'er us flown, when my loved lord was call'd 
 To fight his father's battles ; and with him, 
 In spite of all my tears, did Malcolm go. 
 Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire was told 
 That the false stranger was Lord Douglas' son. 
 Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword, 
 And question'd me. " Alone, forsaken, faint, 
 Kneeling beneath his sword, fault'ring, I took 
 An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would 
 Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity, 
 Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave 
 Thy onward path ! although the earth should 
 
 gape, 
 
 15
 
 ACT I. DOUGLAS. 305 
 
 And from the gulph of hell destruction cry, 
 To take dissimulation's winding way. 
 
 Anna. Alas ! how few of woman's fearful kind 
 Durst own a truth so hardy ! 
 
 Lady Rand. The first truth 
 Is easiest to avow. This moral learn, 
 This precious moral, from my tragic tale. 
 In a few days the dreadful tidings came, 
 That Douglas and my brother both were slain. 
 My lord ! my life ! my husband ! Mighty God ! 
 What had I done to merit such affliction ? 
 
 Anna. My dearest lady ! many a tale of tears 
 I've listen'd to ; but never did I hear 
 A tale so sad as this. 
 
 Lady Rand. In the first days 
 Of my distracting grief, I found myself 
 As women wish to be who love their lords. 
 But who durst tell my father ? The good priest 
 Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient tutor, 
 With his loved Malcolm, in the battle fell : 
 They two alone were privy to the marriage. 
 On silence and concealment I resolved, 
 Till time should make my father's fortune 
 That very night on which my son was born, 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 306 DOUGLAS. ACT I. 
 
 My nurse, the only confidante I had, 
 
 Set out with him to reach her sister's house : 
 
 But nurse, nor infant, have I ever seen, 
 
 Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour. 
 
 My murder'd child ! Had thy fond mother fear'd 
 
 The loss of thee, she had loud fame defied, 
 
 Despised her father's rage, her father's grief, 
 
 And wander'd with thee through the scorning 
 
 world. 
 Anna. Not seen nor heard of ! then perhaps he 
 
 lives. 
 Lady Hand. No. It was dark Decemher : wind 
 
 and rain 
 
 Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay 
 The destined road ; and in its swelling flood 
 My faithful servant perish'd with my child. 
 O hapless son ! of a most hapless sire ! 
 But they are both at rest ; and I alone 
 Dwell in this world of woe, condemn'd to walk, 
 Like a guilt-troubled ghost, my painful rounds : 
 Nor has despiteful fate permitted me 
 The comfort of a solitary sorrow. 
 Though dead to love, I was compell'd to wed 
 Randolph, who snatch'd me from a villain's arms ; 
 And Randolph now possesses the domains,
 
 ACT I.' DOUGLAS. 307 
 
 That by Sir Malcolm's death on me devolved ; 
 
 Domains, that should to Douglas' son have given 
 
 A baron's title, and a baron's power. 
 
 Such were my soothing thoughts, while I bewail'd 
 
 The slaughter'd father of a son unborn. 
 
 And when that son came, like a ray from heaven, 
 
 Which shines and disappears ; alas ! my child ! 
 
 How long did thy fond mother grasp the hope 
 
 Of having thee, she knew not how, restored. 
 
 Year after year hath worn her hope away ; 
 
 But left still undiminish'd her desire. 
 
 Anna. The hand, that spins the uneven thread 
 
 of life, 
 May smooth the length that's yet to come of your's. 
 
 Lady Rand. Not in this world : I have eonsi- 
 
 der'd well 
 
 Its various evils, and on whom they fall. 
 Alas ! how oft does goodness wound itself, 
 And sweet affection prove the spring of woe ! 
 O ! had I died when my loved husband fell ! 
 Had some good angel oped to me the book 
 Of Providence, and let me read my life, 
 My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum 
 Of ills, which one by one I have endured.
 
 308 DOUGLAS. ACT I. 
 
 Anna. That God, whose ministers good angels 
 
 are, 
 
 Hath shut the book in mercy to mankind. 
 But we must leave this theme : Glenalvon comes : 
 I saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes ; 
 And hitherward he slowly stalks his way. 
 
 Lady Rand. I will avoid him. An ungracious 
 
 person 
 Is doubly irksome in an hour like this. 
 
 Anna. Why speaks my lady thus of Randolph's 
 heir? 
 
 Lady Rand. Because he's not the heir of Ran- 
 dolph's virtues. 
 
 Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind 
 An artificial image of himself : 
 And he with ease can vary to the taste 
 Of different men its features. Self-denied, 
 And master of his appetites he seems : 
 But his fierce nature, like a fox chain'd up, 
 Watches to seize unseen the wish'd-for prey. 
 Never were vice and virtue poised so ill, 
 As in Glenalvon's unrelenting mind. 
 Yet is he brave and politic in war, 
 And stands aloft in these unruly times.
 
 ACT I. DOUGLAS. 309 
 
 Why I describe him thus I'll tell hereafter : 
 Stay and detain him till I reach the castle. 
 
 [Exit Lady RANDOLPH. 
 Anna. O happiness ! where art thou to be found ? 
 I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, 
 Though graced with grandeur, and in wealth array'd: 
 Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue dwell ; 
 Else had this gentle lady miss'd thee not. 
 
 Enter GLENALVON. 
 
 Glen. What dost thou muse on, meditating 
 
 maid? 
 
 Like some entranced and visionary seer, 
 On earth thou stand'st, thy thoughts ascend to 
 
 heaven. 
 Anna. Would that I were, e'en as thou say'st, 
 
 a seer, 
 
 To have my doubts by heavenly vision clear'd ! 
 Glen. What dost thou doubt of? what hast 
 
 thou to do 
 
 With subjects intricate ? thy youth, thy beauty, 
 Cannot be question'd : think of these good gifts ; 
 And then thy contemplations will be pleasing. 
 
 Anna. Let women view yon monument of woe, 
 Then boast of beauty : who so fair as she ?
 
 DOUGLAS. ACT I. 
 
 But I must follow : this revolving day 
 Awakes the memory of her ancient woes. 
 
 [Exit ANNA. 
 Glen. [Solus.'] So ! Lady Randolph shuns me : 
 
 by and by 
 
 I'll woo her as the lion wooes his bride. 
 The deed's adoing now, that makes me lord 
 Of these rich vallies, and a chief of power. 
 The season is most apt : my sounding steps 
 Will not be heard amidst the din of arms. 
 Randolph has lived too long : his better fete 
 Had the ascendant once, and kept me down : 
 When I had seized the dame, by chance he came, 
 Rescued, and had the lady for his labour. 
 I 'scaped unknown : a slender consolation ! 
 Heaven is my witness that I do not love 
 To sow in peril, and let others reap 
 The jocund harvest. Yet I am not safe : 
 By love, or something like it, stung, inflamed, 
 Madly I blabb'd my passion to his wife, 
 And she has threaten'd to acquaint him of it. 
 The way of woman's will I do not know : 
 But well I know the baron's wrath is deadly. 
 I will not live in fear : the man I dread 
 Is as a Dane to me ; ay, and the man
 
 ACT I. DOUGLAS. 311 
 
 Who stands betwixt me and my chief desire. 
 No bar but he ; she has no kinsman near ; 
 No brother in his sister's quarrel bold ; 
 And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause, 
 I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon. \JEx\i.
 
 312 DOUGLAS. ACT II. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE, A Court, %c. as before. 
 
 Enter Servants and a Stranger at one door, and 
 Lady RANDOLPH and ANNA at another. 
 
 Lady Rand. What means this clamour ? Stran- 
 ger, speak secure ; 
 Hast thou been wrong'd ? have these rude men 
 
 presumed 
 To vex the weary traveller on his way ? 
 
 1 Serv. By us no stranger ever suffer'd wrong : 
 This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth ; 
 So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears. 
 
 JEnter Lord RANDOLPH and a Young Man, 
 with their swords drawn and bloody. 
 
 Lady Rand. Not vain the stranger's fears ! 
 
 How fares my lord ? 
 Lord Rand. That it fares well, thanks to this 
 
 gallant youth,
 
 ACT II. DOUGLAS. 313 
 
 Whose valour saved me from a wretched death I- 
 As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, 
 At the cross way four armed men attack'd me : 
 Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp ; 
 Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low, 
 Had not this brave and generous stranger come, 
 Like my good angel, in the hour of fate, 
 And, mocking danger, made my foes his own. 
 They turn'd upon him ; but his active arm 
 Struck to the ground, from whence they rose no 
 
 more, 
 
 The fiercest two ; the others fled amain, 
 And left him master of the bloody field. 
 Speak, Lady Randolph : upon beauty's tongue 
 Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold ; 
 Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord. 
 Lady Rand. My lord, I cannot speak what now 
 
 I feel. 
 
 My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heav'n ; 
 And to this noble youth, who, all unknown 
 To you and yours, deliberated not, 
 Nor paused at peril, but humanely brave 
 Fought on your side, against such fearful odds. 
 Have you yet learn'd of him whom we should thank? 
 Whom call the saviour of Lord Randolph's life ?
 
 314 DOUGLAS. ACT II. 
 
 Lord Rand. I ask'd that question, and he an- 
 swered not : 
 But I must know who my deliverer is. 
 
 [ To the Stranger. 
 
 Strung. A low-born man, of parentage obscure, 
 Who nought can boast but his desire to be 
 A soldier, and to gain a name in arms. 
 
 Lord Rand. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is en- 
 nobled 
 
 By the great King of kings ! thou art ordain'd 
 And stamp'd a hero by the sovereign hand 
 Of Nature ! blush not, flower of modesty, 
 As well as valour, to declare thy birth. 
 
 Strang. My name is Norval : on the Grampian 
 
 hills 
 
 My father feeds his flocks ; a frugal swain, 
 Whose constant cares were to increase his store, 
 And keep his only son, myself, at home. 
 For I had heard of battles, and I long'd 
 To follow to the field some warlike lord : 
 And heav'n soon granted what my sire deny'd. 
 This moon which rose last night, round as my 
 
 shield, 
 
 Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, 
 A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
 
 ACT II. DOUGLAS. 315 
 
 Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale, 
 Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled 
 For safety and for succour. I alone, 
 With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, 
 Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd 
 The road he took, then hasten'd to ray friends, 
 Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, 
 I met advancing. The pursuit I led, 
 Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe. 
 We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn, 
 An arrow from my bow had pierced their chief, 
 Who wore that day the arms which now I wear. 
 Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd 
 The shepherd's slothful life ; and having heard 
 That our good king had summon'd his bold peers 
 To lead their warriors to the Carron side, 
 I left my father's house, and took with me 
 A chosen servant to conduct my steps : 
 Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master. 
 Journeying with this intent, I past these towers, 
 And, heav n-directed, came this day to do 
 The happy deed that gilds my humble name. 
 Lord Rand. He is as wise as brave. Was ever 
 
 tale 
 With such a gallant modesty rehearsed ?
 
 DOUGLAS. ACT II. 
 
 My brave deliverer ! thou shalt enter now 
 A nobler list, and in a monarch's sight 
 Contend with princes for the prize of fame, 
 I will present thee to our Scottish king, 
 Whose valiant spirit ever valour loved. 
 Ha, my Matilda ! wherefore starts that tear ? 
 
 Lady Rand. I cannot say : for various affections, 
 And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell ; 
 Yet each of them may well command a tear. 
 I joy that thou art safe ; and I admire 
 Him and his fortunes who hath wrought thy safety ; 
 Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own. 
 Obscure and friendless, he the army sought, 
 Bent upon peril, in the range of death 
 Resolved to hunt for fame, and with his sword 
 To gain distinction which his birth deny'd. 
 In this attempt unknown he might have perish 'd, 
 And gain'd, with all his valour, but oblivion. 
 Now, graced by thee, his virtue serves no more 
 Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope 
 He stands conspicuous ; fame and great renown 
 Are brought within the compass of his sword. 
 On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke, 
 And bless'd the wonder-working Lord of heaven.
 
 ACT II. DOUGLAS. 317 
 
 Lord Rand. Pious and grateful ever are thy 
 
 thoughts ! 
 
 My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the way, 
 Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon, 
 In honour and command shall Norval he, 
 
 Norv. I know not how to thank you. Rude I 
 
 am 
 
 In speech and manners : never till this hour 
 Stood I in such a presence ; yet, my lord, 
 There's something in my breast, which makes me 
 
 hold 
 
 To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favour. 
 Lady Rand. I will he sworn thou wilt not. 
 
 Thou shalt be 
 
 My knight ; and ever, as thou didst to-day, 
 With happy valour guard the life of Randolph. 
 Lord Rand. Well hast thou spoke. Let me for- 
 bid reply. [ To NORVAL. 
 We are thy debtors still ; thy high desert 
 O'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed, 
 As was at first intended, to the camp. 
 Some of my train, I see, are speeding hither, 
 Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delay. 
 Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall see 
 The chosen warriors of thy native land,
 
 318 DOUGLAS. ACT II. 
 
 Who languish for the fight, and beat the air 
 With brandish'd swords. 
 
 Norv. Let us begone, my lord. 
 
 Lord Rand. [ To Lady RANDOLPH.] About 
 
 the time that the declining sun 
 Shall his broad orb o'er yonder hills suspend, 
 Expect us to return. This night once more 
 Within these walls I rest ; my tent I pitch 
 To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast. 
 Free is his heart who for his country fights : 
 He in the eve of battle may resign 
 Himself to social pleasure ; sweetest then, 
 When danger to a soldier's soul endears 
 The human joy that never may return. 
 
 [Exeunt RANDOLPH and NORVAL. 
 
 Lady RANDOLPH and ANNA. 
 
 Lady Rand. His parting words have struck a 
 
 fatal truth. 
 
 O Douglas, Douglas ! tender was the time 
 When we two parted, ne'er to meet again ! 
 How many years of anguish and despair 
 Has heaven annex'd to those swift-passing hours 
 Of love and fondness ! Then my bosom's flame,
 
 ACT II. DOUGLAS. 319 
 
 Oft, as blown back by the rude breath of fear, 
 lleturn'd, and with redoubled ardour blazed. 
 
 Anna. May gracious heaven pour the sweet balm 
 
 of peace 
 
 Into the wounds that fester in your breast ! 
 For earthly consolation cannot cure them. 
 
 Lady Band. One only cure can heaven itself be- 
 stow ; 
 
 A grave that bed in which the weary rest. 
 Wretch that I am ! Alas ! why am I so ? 
 At every happy parent I repine ! 
 How blest the mother of yon gallant Norval ! 
 She for a living husband bore her pains, 
 And heard him bless her when a man was bora : 
 She nursed her smiling infant on her breast ; 
 Tended the child, and rear'd the pleasing boy. 
 She, with affection's triumph, saw the youth 
 In grace and comeliness surpass his peers : 
 Whilst I to a dead husband bore a son, 
 And to the roaring waters gave my child. 
 
 Anna. Alas, alas ! why will you thus resume 
 Your grief afresh ? I thought that gallant youth 
 Would for a while have won you from your woe. 
 On him intent you gazed, with a look
 
 320 DOUGLAS. ACT II. 
 
 Much more delighted, than your pensive eye 
 Has deign'd on other objects to bestow. 
 
 Lady Rand. Delighted, say'st thou ? Oh ! even 
 
 there mine eye 
 
 Found fuel for my life-consuming sorrow. 
 I thought, that had the son of Douglas lived, 
 He might have been like this young gallant stran- 
 ger, 
 
 And pair'd with him in features and in shape. 
 In all endowments, as in years, I deem, 
 My boy with blooming Norval might have num- 
 
 ber'd. 
 
 Whilst thus I mused, a spark from fancy fell 
 On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness 
 For this young stranger, wandering from his home, 
 And like an orphan cast upon my care, 
 I will protect thee, (said I to myself) 
 With all my power, and grace with all my favour. 
 Anna. Sure heaven will bless so generous a re- 
 
 solve^ 
 
 You must, my noble dame, exert your power : 
 You must awake : devices will be framed, 
 And arrows pointed at the breast of Norval. 
 Lady Hand. Glenalvon's false and crafty head 
 will work
 
 ACT II. DOUGLAS. 321 
 
 Against a rival in his kinsman's love, 
 If I deter him not : I only can. 
 Bold as he is, Glenalvon will beware 
 How he pulls down the fabric that I raise. 
 I'll be the artist of young Norval's fortune. 
 'Tis pleasing to admire ! most apt was I 
 To this affection in my better days ; 
 Though now I seem to you shrunk up, retired 
 Within the narrow compass of my woe. 
 Have you not sometimes seen an early flower 
 Open its bud, and spread its silken leaves, 
 To catch sweet airs, and odours to bestow ; 
 Then, by the keen blast nipt, pull in its leaves,- 
 And, though still living, die to scent and beauty ? 
 Emblem of me : affliction, like a storm, 
 Hath kill'd the forward blossoms of my heart, 
 
 Enter GLENALVON. 
 
 Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble Ran- 
 dolph? 
 
 Lady Rand. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, 
 of the base 
 
 Glen. I have : and that the villains may not 
 'scape, 
 
 VOL, r. x
 
 322 DOUGLAS. ACT II. 
 
 With a strong band I have begirt the wood : 
 If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken, 
 And torture force from them th' important secret, 
 Whether some foe of Randolph hired their swords, 
 Or if-- 
 
 Lady Rand. That care becomes a kinsman's 
 
 love. 
 
 I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear. \JExit ANNA . 
 Glen. To him your counsels always are com- 
 mands. 
 Lady Rand. I have not found so : thou art 
 
 known to me. 
 Glen. Known ! 
 Lady Rand. And most certain is my cause of 
 
 knowledge. 
 Glen. What do you know ? By the most blessed 
 
 cross, 
 
 You much amaze me. No created being, 
 Yourself except , durst thus accost Glenalvon. 
 Lady Rand. Is guilt so bold ? and dost thou 
 
 make a merit 
 
 Of thy pretended meekness ? This to me, 
 Who, with a gentleness which duty blames, 
 Have hitherto conceal'd, what, if divulged,
 
 ACT II. DOUGLAS. 323 
 
 Would make thee nothing ; or, what's worse than 
 
 that, 
 
 An outcast beggar, and unpitied too ? 
 For mortals shudder at a crime like thine. 
 
 Glen. Thy virtue awes me. First of woman- 
 kind! 
 
 Permit me yet to say, that the fond mail 
 Whom love transports beyond strict virtue's bounds, 
 If he is brought by love to misery, 
 In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn, 
 Unpity'd cannot be. Pity's the alms 
 Which on such beggars freely is bestow'd : 
 For mortals know that love is still their lord, 
 And o'er their vain resolves advances still : 
 As fire, when kindled by our shepherds, moves 
 Through the dry heath before the fanning wind. 
 
 Lady Rand. Reserve these accents for some 
 
 other ear. 
 
 To love's apology I listen not. 
 Mark thou my words ; for it is meet thou should'sfc 
 His brave deliverer Randolph here retains. 
 Perhaps his presence may not please thee well ; 
 But, at thy peril, practise aught against him : 
 Let not thy jealousy attempt to shake 
 And loosen the good root he has in Randolph ;
 
 324 DOUGLAS. ACT II. 
 
 Whose favourites I know thou hast supplanted. 
 Thou look'st at me, as if thou fain would'st pry 
 Into my heart : 'Tis open as my speech. 
 I give this early caution ; and put on 
 The curb, before thy temper breaks away. 
 The friendless stranger my protection claims : 
 His friend I am, and be not thou his foe. [Exit, 
 
 Manet GLENALVON* 
 
 Glen. Child that I was, to start at my own sha- 
 dow, 
 
 And be the shallow fool of coward conscience ! 
 I am not what I have been ; what I should be. 
 The darts of destiny have almost pierced 
 My marble heart. Had I one grain of faith 
 In holy legends, and religious tales, 
 I should conclude there was an arm above 
 That fought against me, and malignant tiirn'd, 
 To catch myself, the subtle snare I set. 
 Why, rape and murder are not simple means ! 
 Th' imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse ; 
 And the intended murder introduced 
 A favourite to hide the sun from me ; 
 And, worst of all, a rival. Burning hell ! 
 This were thy centre, if I thought she loved him !
 
 ACT II. DOUGLAS. 325 
 
 / 
 
 'Tis certain she contemns me ; nay, commands me, 
 And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, 
 In his behalf. And shall I thus be braved ? 
 Curb'd, as she calls it, by dame chastity ? 
 Infernal fiends, if any fiends there are 
 More fierce than hate, ambition, and revenge, 
 Rise up, and fill my bosom with your fires, 
 And policy remorseless ! Chance may spoil 
 A single aim ; but perseverance must 
 Prosper at last. For chance and fate are words : 
 Persistive wisdom is the fate of man. 
 Darkly a project peers upon my mind, 
 Like the red moon when rising in the east, 
 Cross'd and divided by strange-colour'd clouds. 
 I'll seek the slave who came with Norval hither, 
 And for his cowardice was spurned from him. 
 I've known a follower's rankled bosom breed 
 Venom most fatal to his heedless lord. [Exit.
 
 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE, A Court, $c. as before. 
 Enter ANNA. 
 
 Anna. Thy vassals, Grief! great nature's order 
 
 break, 
 
 And change the noon-tide to the midnight hour. 
 Whilst Lady Randolph sleeps, I will walk forth, 
 And taste the air that breathes on yonder bank. 
 Sweet may her slumbers be ! Ye ministers 
 Of gracious heav'n who love the human race, 
 Angels and seraphs who delight in goodness, 
 Forsake your skies, and to her couch descend ! 
 There from her fancy chase those dismal forms 
 That haunt her waking ; her sad spirit charm 
 With images celestial, such as please 
 The bless'd above upon their golden beds. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. One of the vile assassins is secured. 
 We found the villain lurking in the wood :
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 
 
 With dreadful imprecations he denies 
 All knowledge of the crime. But this is not 
 His first essay : these jewels were coneeal'd 
 In the most secret places of his garment ; 
 Belike the spoils of some that he has murder'd. 
 Anna. Let me look on them. Ha ! here is a 
 
 heart, 
 
 The chosen crest of Douglas' valiant name ! 
 These are no vulgar jewels. Guard the wretch. 
 
 [Exit ANNA. 
 
 Enter Servants with a Prisoner. 
 
 Pris. I know no more than does the child un- 
 born 
 Of what you charge me with, 
 
 1 Serv. You say so, sir ! 
 
 But torture soon shall make you speak the truth. 
 Behold, the lady of Lord Randolph comes : 
 Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge. 
 
 Enter Lady RANDOLPH and ANNA. 
 
 Anna. Summon your utmost fortitude, before 
 You speak with him. Your dignity, your fame, 
 Are now at stake. Think of the fatal secret, 
 Which in a moment from your lips may fly.
 
 ,'328 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 Lady Rand, Thou shalt behold me, with a des- 
 perate heart, 
 Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels. 
 
 [ The Prisoner kneels. 
 fris. Heaven bless that countenance so sweet 
 
 and mild ! 
 
 A judge like thee makes innocence more bold. 
 O save me, lady ! from these cruel men, 
 Who have attack'd and seized me ; who accuse 
 Me of intended murder. As I hope 
 For mercy at the judgment-seat of God, 
 The tender lamb, that never nipt the grass, 
 Is not more innocent than I of murder. 
 
 Lady Rand. Of this man's guilt what proof can 
 
 ye produce ? 
 1 Serv. We found him lurking in the hollow 
 
 glen, 
 
 When view'd and call'd upon, amazed he fled. 
 We overtook him, and inquired from whence 
 And what he was : he said he came from far, 
 And was upon his journey to the camp. 
 Not satisfied with this, we search'd his clothes, 
 And found these jewels, whose rich value plead 
 Most powerfully against him. Hard he seems,
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 
 
 And old in villainy. Permit us try 
 
 His stubbornness against the torture's force. 
 
 Pris. O, gentle lady ! by your lord's dear life, 
 Which these weak hands, I swear, did ne'er assail ; 
 And by your children's welfare, spare my age ! 
 Let not the iron tear my ancient joints, 
 And my grey hairs bring to the grave with pain. 
 
 Lady Rand, Account for these ; thine own they 
 
 cannot be : 
 
 For these, I say : be stedfast to the truth ; 
 Detected falsehood is most certain death. 
 
 [ANNA removes the Servants and returns. 
 
 Pris. Alas ! I'm sore beset ! let never man, 
 For sake of lucre, sin against his soul ! 
 Eternal justice is in this most just ! * 
 
 I, guiltless now, must former guilt reveal. 
 
 Lady Rand. O ! Anna, hear ! Once more I 
 
 charge thee speak 
 
 The truth direct : for these to me foretell 
 And certify a part of thy narration ; 
 With which, if the remainder tallies not, 
 An instant and a dreadful death abides thee. 
 
 Pris. Then, thus adjured, I'll speak to you as 
 just
 
 330 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 As if you were the minister of heaven, 
 Sent down to search the secret sins of men. 
 
 Some eighteen years ago, I rented land 
 Of brave Sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's lord ; 
 But falling to decay, his servants seized 
 All that I had, and then turn'd me and mine 
 (Four helpless infants and their weeping mother,) 
 Out to the mercy of the winter winds. 
 A little hovel by the river's side 
 Received us : there hard labour, and the skill 
 In fishing, which was formerly my sport, 
 Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly lived, 
 One stormy night, as I remember well, 
 The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof: 
 Red came the river down, and loud and oft 
 The angry spirit of the water shriek'd. 
 At the dead hour of night was heard the cry 
 Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran 
 To where the circling eddy of a pool, 
 Beneath the ford, used oft to bring within 
 My reach whatever floating thing the stream 
 Had caught. The voice was ceased ; the person 
 
 lost : 
 But, looking sad and earnest on the waters,
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 331 
 
 By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and round, 
 A basket : soon I drew it to the bank, 
 And nestled curious there an infant lay. 
 
 Lady Rand. Was he alive ? 
 
 Pris. He was. 
 
 Lady Rand. Inhuman that thou art ! 
 How could'st thou kill what waves and tempests 
 spared ? 
 
 Pris. I was not so inhuman. 
 
 Lady Rand. Didst thou not ? 
 
 Anna. My noble mistress, you are moved too 
 
 much : 
 
 This man has not the aspect of stern murder ; 
 Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear 
 Good tidings of your kinsman's long lost child. 
 
 Pris. The needy man who has known better 
 
 days, 
 
 One whom distress has spited at the world, 
 Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon 
 To do such deeds, as make the prosperous men 
 Lift up their hands, and wonder who could do 
 
 them : 
 
 And such a man was I ; a man declined, 
 Who saw no end of black adversity :
 
 332 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not 
 Have touch'd that infant with a hand of harm. 
 Lady Rand. Ha ! dost thou say so ? Then per- 
 haps he lives ! 
 
 Pris. Not many days ago he was alive. 
 Lady Rand. O God of heaven ! Did he then 
 
 die so lately ? 
 
 Pris. I did not say he died ; I hope he lives. 
 Not many days ago these eyes heheld 
 Him, flourishing in youth, and health, and beauty. 
 Lady Rand. Where is he now ? 
 Pris. Alas ! I know not where. 
 Lady Rand. Oh, fate ! I fear thee still. Thou 
 
 riddler, speak 
 
 Direct and clear ; else I will search thy soul. 
 Anna. Permit me, ever honoured ! Keen impa- 
 tience, 
 
 Though hard to be restrain'd, defeats itself. 
 Pursue thy story with a faithful tongue, 
 To the last hour that thou didst keep the child. 
 Pris. Fear not my faith, though I must speak 
 
 my shame. 
 
 Within the cradle where the infant lay 
 Was stow'd a mighty store of gold and jewels ;
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 333 
 
 Tempted by which, we did resolve to hide, 
 From all the world, this wonderful event, 
 And like a peasant breed the noble child. 
 That none might mark the change of our estate, 
 We left the country, travell'd to the north, 
 Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought 
 
 forth 
 
 Our secret wealth, But God's all-seeing eye 
 Beheld our avarice, and smote us sore : 
 For one by one all our own children died* 
 And he, the stranger, sole remain'd the heir 
 Of what indeed was his. Fain then would I, 
 Who with a father's fondness loved the boy, 
 Have trusted him, now in the dawn of youth, 
 With his own secret : but my anxious wife, 
 Foreboding evil, never would consent. 
 Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and beauty 5 
 And, as we oft observed, he bore himself, 
 Not as the offspring of our cottage blood ; 
 For nature will break out : mild with the mild, 
 But with the froward he was fierce as fire* 
 And night and day he talk'd of war and arms. 
 I set myself against his warlike bent ; 
 But all in vain : for when a desperate band 
 Of robbers from the savage mountains came
 
 334 ' DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 Lady Rand. Eternal Providence ! What is thy 
 
 name ? 
 Pris. My name is Norval ; and my name he 
 
 bears. 
 Lady Rand. 'Tis he ; 'tis he himself ! It is my 
 
 son ! 
 
 O, sovereign mercy ! 'Twas my child I saw ! 
 No wonder, Anna, that my bosom burn'd; 
 
 Anna. Just are your transports : ne'er was wo- 
 man's heart 
 Proved with such fierce extremes. High-fated 
 
 dame ! 
 
 But yet remember that you are beheld 
 By servile eyes ; your gestures may be seen 
 Impassion'd, strange ; perhaps your words o'er- 
 
 heard. 
 Lady Rand. Well dost thou counsel, Anna : 
 
 Heaven bestow 
 On me that wisdom which my state requires ! 
 
 Anna. The moments of deliberation pass, 
 And soon you must resolve. This useful man 
 Must be dismiss'd in safety, ere my lord 
 Shall with his brave deliverer return. 
 
 Prig. If I, amidst astonishment and fear, 
 Have of your words and gestures rightly judged,
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 335 
 
 Thou art the daughter of my ancient master ; 
 The child I rescued from the flood is thine. 
 
 Lady Rand. With thee dissimulation now were 
 
 vain. 
 
 I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm ; 
 The child thou rescuedst from the flood is mine. 
 
 Pris. Bless'd be the hour that made me a poor 
 
 man ! 
 My poverty hath saved my master's house ! 
 
 Lady Rand. Thy words surprise me : sure thou 
 
 dost not feign ! 
 
 The tear stands in thine eye : such love from thee 
 Sir Malcolm's house deserved not ; if aright 
 Thou told'st the story of thy own distress. 
 
 Pris. Sir Malcolm of our harons was the flower ; 
 The fastest friend, the best, the kindest master : 
 But ah ! he knew not of my sad estate. 
 After that battle, where his gallant son, 
 Your own brave brother, fell, the good old lord 
 Grew desperate and reckless of the world ; 
 And never, as he erst was wont, went forth 
 To overlook the conduct of his servants. 
 By them I was thrust .out, and them I blame : 
 May heaven so judge me as I judged my master ! 
 And God so love me as I love his race !
 
 336 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 Lady Rand. His race shall yet reward thee. 
 
 On thy faith 
 
 Depends the fate of thy loved master's house. 
 Remember'st thou a little lonely hut, 
 That like a holy hermitage appears 
 Among the cliffs of Carron ? 
 
 Pris. I remember 
 The cottage of the cliffs. 
 
 Lady Rand. 'Tis that I mean : 
 There dwells a man of venerable age, 
 Who in my father's service spent his youth : 
 Tell him I sent thee, and with him remain, 
 Till I shall call upon thee to declare, 
 Before the king and nobles, what thou now 
 To me hast told. No more but this, and thou 
 Shalt live in honour all thy future days ; 
 Thy son so long shall call thee father still, 
 And all the land shall bless the man who saved 
 The son of Douglas, and Sir Malcolm's heir. 
 Remember well my words ; if thou should'st meet 
 Him whom thou call'st thy son, still call him so ; 
 And mention nothing of his nobler father. 
 
 Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair a harvest, 
 By putting in my sickle ere 'tis ripe.
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 337 
 
 Why did I leave my home and ancient dame ? 
 To find the youth, to tell him all I knew, 
 And make him wear these jewels in his arms, 
 Which might, I thought, be challenged, and so 
 
 bring 
 To light the secret of his noble birth. 
 
 [Lady RANDOLPH goes towards the Servants. 
 Lady Rand. This man is not the assassin you 
 
 suspected, 
 Though chance combined some likelihoods against 
 
 him. 
 
 He is the faithful bearer of the jewels 
 To their right owner, whom in haste he seeks. 
 'Tis meet that you should put him on his way, 
 Since your mistaken zeal hath dragg'd him hither. 
 [Exeunt Stranger and Servants. 
 
 Lady RANDOLPH and ANNA. 
 
 Lady Rand. My faithful Anna ! dost thou 
 
 share my joy ? 
 
 I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event ! 
 Reaching from heaven to earth, Jehovah's arm 
 Snatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my 
 
 son ! 
 VOL. i. Y
 
 338 DOUGLAS. 
 
 Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father, 
 
 Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks 
 
 For such a gift ! What does my Anna think 
 
 Of the young eaglet of a valiant nest ? 
 
 How soon he gazed on hright and burning arms, 
 
 Spurn'd the low dunghill where his fate had thrown 
 
 him, 
 And tower'd up to the region of his sire ! 
 
 Anna. How fondly did your eyes devour the 
 
 boy! 
 
 Mysterious nature, with the unseen cord 
 Of powerful instinct, drew you to your own. 
 
 Lady Rand. The ready story of his birth be- 
 lieved 
 
 Supprest my fancy quite ; nor did he owe 
 To any likeness my so sudden favour : 
 But now I long to see his face again, 
 Examine every feature, and find out 
 The lineaments of Douglas, or my own. 
 But most of all I long to let him know 
 Who his true parents are, to clasp his neck, 
 And tell him all the story of his father. 
 
 Anna. With wary caution you must bear yourself 
 In public, lest your tenderness break forth, 
 And in observers stir conjectures strange.
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 339 
 
 For, if a cherub in the shape of woman 
 Should walk this world, yet defamation would, 
 Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train. 
 To-day the baron started at your tears. 
 
 Lady Rand. He did so, Anna ! Weir thy mis- 
 tress knows 
 
 / 
 
 If the least circumstance, mote of offence, 
 Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would be 
 With jealousy disorder'd. But the more 
 It does behove me instant to declare 
 The birth of Douglas, and assert his rights. 
 This night I purpose with my son to meet, 
 Reveal the secret, and consult with him : 
 For wise he is, or my fond judgment errs. 
 As he does now, so look'd his noble father, 
 Array'd in nature's ease : his mien, his speech, 
 Were sweetly simple, and full oft deceived 
 Those trivial mortals who seem always wise. 
 But, when the matter match'd his mighty mind, 
 Up rose the hero ; on his piercing eye 
 Sat observation ; on each glance of thought 
 Decision follow'd, as the thunderbolt 
 Pursues the flash. 
 
 Anna. That demon haunts you still : 
 Behold Glenalvon.
 
 340 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 Lady Rand. Now I shun him not. 
 This day I braved him in hehalf of Norval : 
 Perhaps too far : at least my nicer fears 
 For Douglas thus interpret. 
 
 Enter GLENALVON. 
 
 Glen. Noble dame ! 
 
 The hov'ring Dane at last his men hath landed : 
 No band of pirates ; but a mighty host, 
 That come to settle where their valour conquers ; 
 To win a country, or to lose themselves. 
 
 Lady Rand. But whence comes this intelligence, 
 Glenalvon ? 
 
 Glen. A nimble courier sent from yonder camp, 
 To hasten up the chieftains of the north, 
 Inform'd me, as he past, that the fierce Dane 
 Had on the eastern coast of Lothian landed, 
 Near to that place where the Sea-rock immense, 
 Amazing Bass, looks o'er a fertile land. 
 
 Lady Rand. Then must this western army 
 
 march to join 
 The warlike troops that guard Edina's towers. 
 
 Glen. Beyond all question. If impairing time 
 Has not effaced the image of a place 
 Once perfect in my breast, there is a wild
 
 ACT III. DOUGLAS. 341 
 
 Which lies to westward of that mighty rock, 
 And seems by nature formed for the camp 
 Of water-wafted armies, whose chief strength 
 Lies in firm foot, unflank'd with warlike horse : 
 If martial skill directs the Danish lords, 
 There inaccessible their army lies 
 To our swift-scow'ring iaorse ; the bloody field 
 Must man to man, and foot to foot, be fought. 
 
 Lady Hand. How many mothers shall bewail 
 
 their sons ! 
 
 How many widows weep their husbands slain i 
 Ye dames of Denmark ! even for you I feel, 
 Who, sadly sitting on the sea-beat shore, 
 Long look for lords that never shall return. 
 
 Glen. Oft has the unconquer'd Caledonian sword 
 Widow'd the north. The children of the slain 
 Come, as I hope, to meet their fathers' fate. 
 The monster war, with her infernal brood, 
 Loud yelling fury, and life-ending pain, 
 Are objects suited to Glenalvon's soul. 
 Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death : 
 Reproach more piercing than the pointed sword. 
 
 Lady Rand. I scorn thee not, but when I ought 
 
 to scorn ; 
 Nor e'er reproach, but when insulted virtue
 
 342 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 Against audacious vice asserts herself. 
 I own thy worth, Glenalvon ; none more apt 
 Than I to praise thine eminence in arms, 
 And be the echo of thy martial fame. 
 No longer vainly feed a guilty passion ; 
 Go and pursue a lawful mistress, Glory : 
 Upon the Danish crests redeem thy fault, 
 And let thy valour be the shield of Randolph. 
 
 Glen. One instant stay, and hear an alter'd man. 
 When beauty pleads for virtue, vice abash'd 
 Flies its own colours, and goes o'er to virtue. 
 I am your convert ; time will shew how truly : 
 Yet one immediate proof I mean to give. 
 That youth, for whom your ardent zeal to-day 
 Somewhat too haughtily defied your slave, 
 Amidst the shock of armies I'll defend, 
 And turn death from him with a guardian arm. 
 Sedate by use, my bosom maddens not 
 At the tumultuous uproar of the field. 
 
 Lady Rand. Act thus, Glenalvon, and I am 
 
 thy friend : 
 
 But that's thy least reward. Believe me, sir, 
 The truly generous is the truly wise ; 
 And he, who loves not others, lives unblest. 
 
 [Exit Lady RANDOLPH.
 
 ACT III. . DOUGLAS. 343 
 
 Glen. [Soltis.'] Amen ! and virtue is its own 
 
 reward ! 
 
 I think that I have hit the very tone 
 In which she loves to speak. Honey'd assent, 
 How pleasant art thou to the taste of man, 
 And woman also ! flattery direct 
 Rarely disgusts. They little know mankind 
 Who doubt its operation : 'tis my key, 
 And opes the wicket of the human heart. 
 How far I have succeeded now, I know not : 
 Yet I incline to think her stormy virtue 
 Is lull'd awhile. 'Tis her alone I fear : 
 Whilst she and Randolph live, and live in faith 
 And amity, uncertain is my tenure. 
 Fate o'er my head suspends disgrace and death, 
 By that weak hair, a peevish female's will. 
 I am not idle ; but the ebbs and flows 
 Of fortune's tide cannot be calculated. 
 That slave of Norval's I have found most apt : 
 I shew'd him gold, and he has pawn'd his soul 
 To say and swear whatever I suggest. 
 Norval, I'm told, has that alluring look, 
 'Twixt man and woman, which I have observed 
 To charm the nicer and fantastic dames,
 
 344 DOUGLAS. ACT III. 
 
 Who are, like Lady Randolph, full of virtue. 
 In raising Randolph's jealousy, I may 
 But point him to the truth. He seldom errs, 
 Who thinks the worst he can of womankind. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ioi^ T f ji'< ^'. r i/ii ol aaibtd I j.oY 
 
 Ml ft. a'olHi 
 
 < ^oli Leu 

 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 345 
 
 lie >o 
 
 bu$I>i{ .^'.xrhiifto -thili Jjfiu .>.'i-;>,'[v(M;r -^mWifroTJ oiH 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 SCENE, ^* Cowr#, ^c. * lef ore. Flourish of 
 Trumpets. 
 
 '. CxCf 1 iHf'R 
 
 JSw/^r Z/orrf RANDOLPH, attended. 
 
 Lord Rand. Summon a hundred horse, by break 
 
 of day, 
 To wait our pleasure at the castle-gate. 
 
 Lady RANDOLPH. 
 
 Lady Rand. Alas ! my lord ! I've heard un- 
 
 welcome news : 
 The Danes are landed. 
 
 Lord Rand. Ay, no inroad this 
 Of the Northumbrian, bent to take a spoil : 
 No sportive war, no tournament essay 
 Of some young knight resolved to break a spear, 
 And stain with hostile blood his maiden arms. 
 The Danes are landed : we must beat them back, 
 Or live the slaves of Denmark.
 
 346 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 Lady Rand. Dreadful times ! 
 
 Lord Rand. The fenceless villages are all for- 
 saken ; 
 
 The trembling mothers, and their children, lodged 
 In wall-girt towers and castles ; whilst the men 
 Retire indignant. Yet, like broken waves, 
 They but retire more awful to return. 
 
 Lady Rand. Immense, as fame reports, the Da- 
 nish host ! 
 
 Lord Rand. Were it as numerous as loud fame 
 
 reports, 
 
 An army knit like ours would pierce it through: 
 Brothers, that shrink not from each other's side, 
 And fond companions, fill our warlike files : 
 For his dear offspring, and the wife he loves, 
 The husband and the fearless father arm. 
 In vulgar breasts heroic ardour burns, 
 And the poor peasant mates his daring lord. 
 
 Lady Rand. Men's minds are temper'd, like their 
 
 swords, for war ; 
 
 Lovers of danger, on destruction's brink 
 They joy to rear erect their daring forms. 
 Hence, early graves ; hence, the lone widow's Life ; 
 And the sad mother's grief-embitter'd age. 
 Where is our gallant guest ?
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 347 
 
 Lord Rand. Down in the vale 
 I left him, managing a fiery steed, 
 Whose stubbornness had foil'd the strength and 
 
 skill 
 
 Of every rider. But behold he comes, 
 In earnest conversation with Glenalvon. 
 
 Enter NORVAL and GLENALVON. 
 
 Glenalvon ! with the lark arise ; go forth, 
 And lead my troops that lie in yonder vale : 
 Private I travel to the royal camp : 
 Norval, thou goest with me. But say, young man ! 
 Where didst thou learn so to discourse of war, 
 And in such terms, as I o'erheard to-day ? 
 War is no village science, nor its phrase 
 A language taught amongst the shepherd swains. 
 Norv. Small is the skill my lord delights to 
 
 praise 
 
 In him he favours. Hear from whence it came : 
 Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote 
 And inaccessible by shepherds trod, 
 In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, 
 A hermit lived ; a melancholy man, 
 Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains : 
 Austere 'and lonely, cruel to himself,
 
 348 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 Did they report him ; the cold earth his bed, 
 Water his drink, his food the shepherd's alms. 
 I went to see him, and my heart was touch'd 
 With rev'rence and with pity. Mild he spake, 
 And, entering on discourse, such stories told 
 As made me oft revisit his sad cell ; 
 For he had been a soldier in his youth, 
 And fought in famous battles, when the peers 
 Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led, 
 Against the usurping infidel display'd 
 The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land. 
 Pleased with my admiration, and the fire 
 His speech struck from me, the old man would 
 
 shake 
 
 His years away, and act his young encounters ; 
 Then, having shew'd his wounds, he'd sit him dawn, 
 And all the live long day discourse of war. 
 To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf 
 He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts ; 
 Described the motion, and explain'd the use 
 Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line, 
 The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm. 
 For all that Saracen or Christian knew 
 Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 349 
 
 Lord Hand. Why did this soldier in a desert 
 
 hide 
 Those qualities that should have graced a camp ? 
 
 Non\ That too at last I learn'd. Unhappy 
 
 man ! 
 
 Returning homeward by Messina's port^ 
 Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won, 
 A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea 
 Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought : 
 The stranger fell, and with his dying breath 
 Declared his name and lineage. Mighty power \ 
 The soldier cried, my brother ! Oh my brother ! 
 
 Lady Rand, His brother ! 
 
 Norv. Yes ; of the same parents born ; 
 His only brother. They exchanged forgiveness : 
 And happy, in my mind, was he that died ; 
 For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd. 
 In the wild desart on a rock he sits, 
 Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks, 
 And ruminates all day his dreadful fate. 
 At times, alas ! not in his perfect mind, 
 Holds dialogues with his loved brother's ghost : 
 And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch, 
 To make sad orisons for him he slew.
 
 350 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 Lady Rand. To what mysterious woes are mor- 
 tals born ! 
 
 In this dire tragedy, were there no more 
 Unhappy persons ? Did the parents live ? 
 Norv. No ; they were dead : kind Heaven had 
 
 closed their eyes 
 
 Before their son had shed his brother's blood. 
 Lord Hand. Hard is his fate ; for he was not 
 
 to blame ! 
 
 There is a destiny in this strange world, 
 Which oft decrees an undeserved doom : 
 Let schoolmen tell us why. From whence these 
 sounds ? [ Trumpets at a distance. 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 Off. My lord, the trumpets of the troops of Lorn : 
 The valiant leader hails the noble Randolph. 
 Lord Rand. Mine ancient guest ? does he the 
 
 warriors lead ? 
 
 Has Denmark roused the brave old knight to arms? 
 Off. No ; worn with warfare, he resigns the 
 
 sword. 
 
 His eldest hope, the valiant John of Lom, 
 Now leads his kindred bands.
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS, 351 
 
 Lord Rand. Glenalvon, go, 
 With hospitality's most strong request 
 Entreat the chief. \Exlt GLENALVON. 
 
 Off. My lord, requests are vain. 
 He urges on impatient of delay, 
 Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach. 
 
 Lord Hand. May victory sit on the warrior's 
 
 plume ! 
 
 Bravest of men ! his flocks and herds are safe ; 
 Remote from war's alarms his pastures lie, 
 By mountains inaccessible secured : 
 Yet foremost he into the plain descends, 
 Eager to bleed in battles not his own. 
 Such were the heroes of the ancient world ; 
 Contemners they of indolence and gain ; 
 But still, for love of glory and of arms, 
 Prone to encounter peril, and to lift 
 Against each strong antagonist the spear. 
 I'll go and press the hero to my breast. 
 
 {Exit RANDOLPH. 
 
 Manent Lady RANDOLPH and NORVAL. 
 
 Lady Rand. The soldier's loftiness, the pride 
 and pomp
 
 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 Investing awful war, Norval, I see, 
 Transport thy youthful mind. 
 
 Norv. Ah ! should they not ? 
 Blest be the hour I left my father's house ! 
 I might have heen a shepherd all my days, 
 And stole obscurely to a peasant's grave. 
 Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I stand ; , 
 And, if I fall, with noble dust I lie. 
 
 Lady Rand. There is a gen'rous spirit in thy 
 
 breast, 
 
 That could have well sustain'd a prouder fortune. 
 This way with me ; under yon spreading beech, 
 Unseen, unheard, by human eye or ear, 
 I will amaze thee with a wondrous tale. 
 
 Norv. Let there be danger, lady, with the se- 
 cret, 
 
 That I may hug it to my grateftd heart, 
 And prove my faith. Command my sword, my 
 
 life; 
 
 These are the sole possessions of poor Norval. 
 Lady Rand. Know'st thou these gems ? 
 Norv. Durst I believe mine eyes, 
 I'd say I knew them, and they were my father's. 
 Lady Rand. Thy father's, say'st thou ? Ah ! 
 
 they were thy father's ! 
 12
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 353 
 
 Norv. I saw them once, and curiously inquired 
 Of both my parents, whence such splendour came ; 
 But I was check'd, and more could never learn. 
 
 Lady Rand. Then learn of me, thou art not 
 Norval's son. 
 
 Norv. Not Norval's son ! 
 
 Lady Rand. Nor of a shepherd sprung. 
 
 Norv. Lady, who am I then ? 
 
 Lady Rand. Noble thou art ; 
 For noble was thy sire ! 
 
 Norv. I will believe 
 O, tell me farther ! Say, who was my father ? 
 
 Lady Rand. Douglas ! 
 
 Norv. Lord Douglas, whom to-day I saw ? 
 
 Lady Rand. His younger brother. 
 
 Norv. And in yonder camp 
 
 Lady Rand. Alas ! 
 
 Norv. Youmakemetremble Sighs and tears ! 
 Lives my brave father ? 
 
 Lady Rand. Ah ! too brave indeed ! 
 He fell in battle ere thyself was born. 
 
 Norv. Ah me, unhappy ! ere I saw the light ? 
 But does my mother live ? I may conclude, 
 From my own fate, her portion has been sorrow. 
 
 VOL. I. 7,
 
 354 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 Lady Rand. She lives ; but wastes her life in 
 
 constant woe, 
 Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost. 
 
 Norv. You that are skill'd so well in the sad story 
 Of my unhappy parents, and with tears 
 Bewail their destiny, now have compassion 
 Upon the offspring of the friends you loved. 
 O ! tell me who, and where my mother is ? 
 Oppress'd by a base world, perhaps she bends 
 Beneath the weight of other ills than grief; 
 And, desolate, implores of heaven the aid 
 Her son should give. It is, it must be so 
 Your countenance confesses that she's wretched. 
 O, tell me her condition ! Can the sword 
 Who shall resist me in a parent's cause ? 
 
 Lady Rand. Thy virtue ends her woes. My 
 
 son ! my son ! 
 I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas ! 
 
 \Fatts upon his necJf. 
 Norv. O heaven and earth, how wondrous is my 
 
 fate! 
 Art thou my mother ? Ever let me kneel ! 
 
 Lady Rand. Image of Douglas ! Fruit of fatal 
 
 love ! 
 All that I owe thy sire, I pay to thee.
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 355 
 
 Norv. Respect and admiration still possess me, 
 Checking the love and fondness of a son : 
 Yet I was filial to my humble parents. 
 But did my sire surpass the rest of men, 
 As thou excellest all of womankind ? 
 
 Lady Rand. Arise, my son ? In me thou dost 
 
 behold 
 
 The poor remains of beauty once admired : 
 The autumn of my days is come already ; 
 For sorrow made my summer haste away. 
 Yet in my prime I equall'd not thy father : 
 His eyes were like the eagle's, yet sometimes 
 Liker the dove's ; and, as he pleased, he won 
 All hearts with softness, or with spirit awed. 
 
 Norv. How did he fall ? Sure 'twas a bloody 
 
 field 
 When Douglas died. O ! I have much to ask. 
 
 Lady Rand. Hereafter thou shalt hear the 
 
 lengthen'd tale 
 
 Of all thy father's and thy mother's woes. 
 At present this : Thou art the rightful heir 
 Of yonder castle, and the wide domains 
 Which now Lord Randolph, as my husband, holds. 
 But thou shalt not be wrong'd ; I have the power
 
 356 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 * 
 
 To right thee still : before the king 111 kneel, 
 And call Lord Douglas to protect his blood. 
 
 Norv. The blood of Douglas will protect itself. 
 
 Lady Rand. But we shall need both friends 
 
 and favour, boy, 
 
 To wrest the lands and lordship from the gripe 
 Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet I think 
 My tale will move each gentle heart to pity ; 
 My life incline the virtuous to believe. 
 
 Norv. To be the son of Douglas is to me 
 Inheritance enough. Declare my birth, 
 And in the field I'll seek for fame and fortune. 
 
 Lady Rand. Thou dost not know what perils 
 
 and injustice 
 
 Await the poor man's valour. O, my son ! 
 The noblest blood of all the land's abash'd, 
 Having no lackey but pale poverty. 
 Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas ! 
 Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's child. 
 The wanton heir of some inglorious chief 
 Perhaps has scorn'd thee, in the youthful sports, 
 Whilst thy indignant spirit swell'd in vain ! 
 Such contumely thou no more shalt bear : 
 But how I purpose to redress thy wrongs
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 357 
 
 Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs 
 That we should part before yon chiefs return. 
 Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand 
 Receive a billet, which thy mother's care, 
 Anxious to see thee, dictated before :I m 
 This casual opportunity arose 
 Of private conference. Its purport mark ; 
 For, as I there appoint, we meet again. 
 Leave me, my son ! and frame thy manners still 
 To Norval's, not to noble Douglas' state. 
 
 Norv. I will remember. Where is Norval now, 
 That good old man ? 
 
 Lady Rand. At hand conceal'd he lies, 
 An useful witness. But beware, my son, 
 Of yon Glenalvon ; in his guilty breast 
 Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone 
 To false conjecture. He hath grieved my heart. 
 
 Norv. Has he, indeed? Then let yon false 
 
 Glenalvon 
 Beware of me. [Exit DOUGLAS. 
 
 Manet Lady RANDOLPH. 
 
 Lady Rand. There burst the smother'd flame ! 
 O ! thou all righteous and eternal King !
 
 358 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 Who father of the fatherless art call'd, 
 Protect my son ! Thy inspiration, Lord ! 
 Hath fill'd his bosom with that sacred fire, 
 Which in the breast of his forefathers burn'd : 
 Set him on high, like them, that he may shine 
 The star and glory of his native land ! 
 Then let the minister of death descend, 
 And bear my willing spirit to its place. 
 Yonder they come. How do bad women find 
 Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt ? 
 When I, by reason and by justice urged, 
 Full hardly can dissemble with these men 
 In nature's pious cause ? 
 
 Enter Lord RANDOLPH and GLENALVON. 
 
 Lord Rand. Yon gallant chief, 
 Of arms enamour'd, all repose disclaims. 
 
 Lady Hand. Be not, my lord, by his example 
 
 sway'd ; 
 
 Arrange the business of to-morrow now, 
 And, when you enter, speak of war no more. 
 
 [Exit Lady RANDOLPH.
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 359 
 
 L-ii-1 ;>.,{ . i -fl. ! 
 
 Manent Lord RANDOLPH awe? GLENALVON. 
 
 Lord Rand. 'Tis so, by heaven ! her mien, her 
 
 voice, her eye, 
 And her impatience to be gone, confirm it. 
 
 Glen. He parted from her now : behind the 
 
 mount, 
 Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along. 
 
 Lord Rand. For sad sequester'd virtue she's 
 
 renown'd. 
 
 Glen. Most true, my lord. 
 Lord Rand. Yet, this distinguish'd dame 
 Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day, 
 Alone to meet her at the midnight hour. 
 This assignation, [Shews a Letter,] the assassin 
 
 freed, 
 
 Her manifest affection for the youth, 
 Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain, 
 Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded ; 
 Much more in mine. Matilda never loved me. 
 Let no man, after me, a woman wed, 
 Whose heart he knows he has not ; though she 
 
 brings 
 A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry.
 
 360 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 For let her seem, like the night's shadowy queen, 
 Cold and contemplative he cannot trust her : 
 She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow on him ; 
 The worst of sorrows, and the worst of shames ! 
 
 Glen. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting 
 
 thoughts ; 
 
 But let the spirit of a hushand sleep, 
 Till your own senses make a sure conclusion. 
 This billet must to blooming Norval go : 
 At the next turn awaits my trusty spy ; 
 I'll give it him refitted for his master. 
 In the close thicket take your secret stand ; 
 The moon shines bright, and your own eyes may 
 
 judge 
 Of their behaviour. 
 
 Lord Rand. Thou dost counsel well. 
 
 Glen. Permit me now to make one slight essay. 
 Of all the trophies which vain mortals boast, 
 By wit, by valour, or by wisdom won, 
 The first and fairest, in a young man's eye, 
 Is woman's captive heart. Successful love 
 With glorious fumes intoxicates the mind ! 
 And the proud conqueror in triumph moves, 
 Air-borne, exalted above- vulgar men.
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 361 
 
 Lord Rand. And what avails this maxim ? 
 
 Glen. Much, my lord. 
 
 Withdraw a little : I'll accost young Norval, 
 And with ironical derisive counsel 
 Explore his spirit. If he is no more 
 Than humble Norval, by thy favour raised, 
 Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonish'd from me : 
 But if he be the fav'rite of the fair, 
 Loved by the first of Caledonia's dames, 
 He'll turn upon me, as the lion turns 
 Upon the hunter's spear. 
 
 Lord Rand. 'Tis shrewdly thought. 
 
 Glen. When we grow loud, draw near. But let 
 
 my lord 
 His rising wrath restrain. [Exit RANDOLPH. 
 
 Manet GLENALVON. 
 
 Glen. 'Tis strange, by heaven ! 
 That she should run full tilt her fond career, 
 To one so little known. She too that seem'd 
 Pure as the winter stream, when ice emboss'd 
 Whitens its course. Even I did think her chaste, 
 Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex ! 
 Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's thoughts !
 
 362 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 .. / : 
 
 Enter NORVAL. 
 
 His port I love ; he's in a proper mood 
 
 To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd. [Aside. 
 
 Has Norval seen the troops ? 
 
 Norv. The setting sun 
 With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale ; 
 And as the warriors moved, each polish'd helm, 
 
 % 
 
 Corslet or spear, glanced back his gilded heams. 
 The hill they climbed, and halting at its top, 
 Of more than mortal size, towering, they seem'd 
 A host angelic, clad in burning arms. 
 
 Glen. Thou talk'st it well ; no leader of our host 
 In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war. 
 
 Norv. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name, 
 My speech will be less ardent. Novelty 
 Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration 
 Vents itself freely ; since no part is mine 
 Of praise pertaining to the great in arms. 
 
 Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir ; your mar- 
 tial deeds 
 Have rank'd you with the great : But mark me, 
 
 Norval ; 
 
 Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth 
 Above his veterans of famous service :
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 363 
 
 Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you : 
 Give them all honour ; seem not to command ; 
 Else they will scarcely brook your late-sprung power, 
 Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns. 
 
 Norv. Sir, I have been accustom'd all my days 
 To hear and speak the plain and simple truth : 
 And though I have been told that there are men 
 Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their 
 
 scorn, 
 
 Yet in such language I am little skill'd. 
 Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, 
 Although it sounded harshly. Why remind 
 Me of my birth obscure ? Why slur my power 
 With such contemptuous terms? 
 
 Glen. I did not mean 
 To gall your pride, which now I see is great. 
 
 Norv. My pride ! 
 
 Glen. Suppress it as you wish to prosper : 
 Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake, 
 I will not leave you to its rash direction : 
 If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men, 
 Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ? 
 
 Norv. A shepherd's scorn ! 
 
 Glen. Yes. If you presume 
 To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
 
 364 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 As if you took the measure of their minds, 
 And said in secret, you're no match for me ! 
 What will become of you ? 
 
 Norv. If this were told ! [Aside. 
 
 Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? 
 
 Glen. Ha ! Dost thou threaten me ? 
 
 Norv. Didst thou not hear ? 
 
 Glen. Unwillingly I did ; a nobler foe 
 Had not been question'd thus. But such as thee 
 
 Norv. Whom dost thou think me ? 
 
 Glen. Norval. 
 
 Norv. So I am 
 And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes ? 
 
 Glen. A peasant's son, a wand'ring beggar-boy ; 
 At best no more, even if he speaks the truth. 
 
 Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my 
 truth ? 
 
 Glen. Thy truth ! Thou'rt all a lie ; and false 
 
 as hell .'>a'' 
 
 Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. 
 
 Norv. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bed-rid 
 
 old, 
 
 Perhaps I should revile : But as I am, 
 I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval 
 Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 365 
 
 r 
 
 Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour, 
 And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, 
 I'd tell thee what thou art. I know thee well. 
 
 Glen. Dost thou know Glenalvon, born to com- 
 mand 
 Ten thousand slaves like thee ! - 
 
 Norv. Villain, no more : 
 Draw and defend thy life. I did design 
 To have defy'd thee in another cause : 
 But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. 
 Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs. 
 
 IUK;,", olc.'. -;r;ofi;>!T 
 Enter LORD RANDOLPH. 
 
 Lord Rand. Hold, I command you both. The 
 
 man that stirs 
 Makes me his foe. 
 
 Norv. Another voice than thine 
 That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. 
 Glen. Hear him, my lord ; he's wond'rous con- 
 descending ! 
 
 Mark the humility of shepherd Norval ! 
 Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. 
 
 [Sheaths his sword. 
 Lord Rand. Speak not thus,
 
 366 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 Taunting each other ; but unfold to me 
 
 The cause of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you. 
 
 Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you 
 
 much, 
 
 My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. 
 I blush to speak ; I will not, cannot speak 
 Th' opprobrious words that I from him have borne. 
 To the liege-lord of my dear native land 
 I owe a subject's homage ; but even him 
 And his high arbitration I'd reject. 
 Within my bosom reigns another lord ; 
 Honour, sole judge and umpire of itself. 
 If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, 
 Revoke your favours, and let Norval go 
 Hence as he came, alone but not dishonour'd. 
 
 Lord Rand. Thus far I'll mediate with impar- 
 tial voice : 
 
 The ancient foe of Caledonia's land 
 Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields ; 
 Suspend your purpose, till your country's arms 
 Repel the bold invader : then decide 
 The private quarrel. 
 
 Glen. I agree to this. 
 
 Norv. And I.
 
 ACT IV. DOUGLAS. 367 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. The banquet waits. 
 Lord Rand. We come. [Exit with Servant. 
 Glen. Norval, 
 
 Let not our variance mar the social hour, 
 Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph. 
 Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, 
 Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy 
 
 brow; 
 Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. 
 
 Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resent- 
 ment. 
 When we contend again, our strife is mortal. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 368 DOUGLAS. ACT IV. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 ,t//cr! In.^h- -"i 7 ?- -r-* i 
 SCENE, T 
 
 f ')is.' , ._. ? 0!f 
 
 Enter DOUGLAS. 
 
 Doug. This is the place, the centre of the grove; 
 Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood. 
 How sweet and solemn is this mid-night scene ! 
 The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way 
 Through skies where I could count each little star. 
 The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves ; 
 The river rushing o'er it's pehhled bed, 
 Imposes silence with a stilly sound. 
 In such a place as this, at such an hour, 
 If ancestry can be in aught believed, 
 Descending spirits have conversed with man, 
 And told the secrets of the world unknown. 
 
 Enter OLD NOBVAL. 
 
 . Old Norv. 'Tis he. But what if he should chide 
 me hence ?
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 369 
 
 i 
 
 His just reproach I fear. 
 
 [DOUGLAS turns and sees him. 
 Forgive, forgive ! 
 
 Can'st thou forgive the man, the selfish man, 
 Who bred Sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son ? 
 
 Doug. Kneel not to me ; thou art my father 
 
 still : 
 
 Thy wish'd-for presence now completes my joy. 
 Welcome to me, my fortunes thou shalt share, 
 And ever hononr'd with thy Douglas live. 
 
 Old Norv. And dost thou call me father ? O 
 
 my son ! 
 
 I think that I could die to make amends 
 For the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my crime 
 Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd 
 The blossom of thy youth. 
 
 Doug. Not worse the fruit, 
 That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd. 
 Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot, 
 I learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget 
 When I inhabit yonder lofty towers. 
 I, who was once a swain, will ever prove 
 The poor man's friend ; and, when my vassals bow, 
 Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas. 
 
 VOL. i. 2 A
 
 370 DOUGLAS. ACT V. 
 
 Old Norv. Let me but live to see thine exalta- 
 tion ! 
 
 Yet grievous are my fears. O leave this place, 
 And those unfriendly towers. 
 
 Doug. Why should I leave them ? 
 
 Old Norv. Lord Randolph and his kinsman 
 seek your life. 
 
 Doug. How know'st thou that ? 
 
 Old Norv. I will inform you how. 
 When evening came, I left the secret place 
 Appointed for me hy your mother's care, 
 And fondly trod in each accustom'd path 
 That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I ranged, 
 I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds 
 Of earnest voices. On the persons came ; 
 Unseen I lurk'd, and overheard them name 
 Each other as they talk'd, Lord Randolph this, 
 And that Glenalvon : still of you they spoke, 
 And of the lady ; threatening was their speech, 
 Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it. 
 'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery ; 
 And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. 
 
 Doug. Revenge ! for what ? 
 
 Old Norv. For being what you are, 
 Sir Malcolm's heir : how else have you offended ?
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 371 
 
 When they were gone, I hied me to my cottage, 
 And there sat musing how I best might find 
 Means to inform you of their wicked purpose. 
 But I could think of none : at last perplex'd, 
 I issued forth, encompassing the tower 
 With many a weary step and wishful look. 
 Now Providence hath brought you to my sight, 
 Let not your too courageous spirit scorn 
 The caution which I give. 
 
 Doug. I scorn it not. 
 
 My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness ; 
 But I will not suspect the noble Randolph. 
 In our encounter with the vile assassins, 
 I mark'd his brave demeanour : him I'll trust. 
 
 Old Norv. I fear you will, too far. 
 
 Doug. Here in this place, 
 I wait my mother's coming : she shall know 
 What thou hast told : her counsel I will follow ; 
 And cautious ever are a mother's counsels. 
 You must depart ; your presence may prevent 
 Our interview. 
 
 Old JVbrv. My blessing rest upon thee ! 
 O may heaven's hand, which saved thee from the 
 
 wave, 
 And from the sword of foes, be near thee still ;
 
 372 DOUGLAS. ACT V. 
 
 Turning mischance, if aught hangs o'er thy head, 
 All upon mine ! [Exit OLD NORVAL. 
 
 Doug. He loves me like a parent ; 
 And must not, shall not, lose the son he loves, 
 Although his son has found a nohler father. 
 Eventful day ! how hast thou changed my state ! 
 Once on the cold and winter-shaded side 
 Of a bleak hill mischance had rooted me, 
 Never to thrive, child of another soil : 
 Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale, 
 Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers. 
 Ye glorious stars ! high heaven's resplendent host ! 
 To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd, 
 Hear and record my soul's unalter'd wish ! 
 Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd ! 
 May heaven inspire some fierce gigantic Dane, 
 To give a bold defiance to our host ! 
 Before he speaks it out I will accept ; 
 Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die. 
 
 Enter LADY RANDOLPH. 
 
 Lady Rand. My son ! I heard a voice 
 
 Doug. The voice was mine. 
 
 Lady Rand. Didst thou complain aloud to 
 Nature's ear,
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 373 
 
 That thus in dusky shades, at midnight hours, 
 By stealth the mother and the son should meet ? 
 
 [Embracing him. 
 
 Doug. No ; on this happy day, this better birth- 
 day, 
 My thoughts and words are all of hope and joy. 
 
 Lady Rand. Sad fear and melancholy still di- 
 vide 
 
 The empire of my breast with hope and joy* 
 Now hear what I advise. 
 
 Doug. First, let me tell 
 What may the tenor of your counsel change. 
 
 Lady Rand. My heart forebodes some evil ! 
 
 Doug. 'Tis not good. 
 At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon, 
 The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard 
 Their conversation ; oft they mention'd me 
 With dreadful threat'nings ; you they sometimes 
 
 named. 
 
 'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery ; 
 And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. 
 
 Lady Rand. Defend us, gracious God ! we are 
 
 betray'd : 
 
 They have found out the secret of thy birth ; 
 It must be so. That is the great discovery.
 
 374 DOUGLAS. ACT V. 
 
 Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own ; 
 And they will be revenged. Perhaps even now, 
 Arm'd and prepared for murder, they but wait 
 A darker and more silent hour, to break 
 Into the chamber where they think thou sleep'st. 
 This moment, this, heaven hath ordain'd to save 
 
 thee! 
 Fly to the camp, my son ! 
 
 Doug. And leave you here ? 
 No : to the castle let us go together, 
 Call up the ancient servants of your house, 
 Who in their youth did eat your father's bread ; 
 Then tell them loudly that I am your son. 
 If in the breasts of men one spark remains 
 Of sacred love, fidelity, or pity, 
 Some in your cause will arm. I ask but few 
 To drive those spoilers from my father's house. 
 
 Lady Rand. O Nature, Nature! what can check 
 
 thy force ? 
 
 Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas ! 
 But rush not on destruction : save thyself, 
 And I am safe. To me they mean no harm. 
 Thy stay but risks thy precious life in vain. 
 That winding path conducts thee to the river.
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 375 
 
 Cross where thou seest a broad and beaten way, 
 Which running eastward leads thee to the camp. 
 Instant demand admittance to Lord Douglas. 
 Shew him these jewels which his brother wore. 
 Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel the truth, 
 Which I by certain proof will soon confirm. 
 
 Doug. I yield me, and obey : but yet my heart 
 Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me stay, 
 And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read 
 Of wond'rous deeds by one bold arm achieved. 
 Our foes are two ; no more : let me go forth, 
 And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon. 
 
 Lady Rand. If thou regard'st thy mother, or 
 
 reverest 
 
 Thy father's mem'ry, think of this no more. 
 One thing I have to say before we part ; 
 Long wert thou lost ; and thou art found, my child, 
 In a most fearful season. War and battle 
 I have great cause to dread. Too well I see 
 Which way the current of thy temper sets : 
 To-day I've found thee. Oh ! my long-lost hope ! 
 If thou to giddy valour givest the rein, 
 To-morrow I may lose my son for ever. 
 The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light,
 
 376 DOUGLAS. ACT T. 
 
 Sustain 'd my life when thy brave father fell. 
 If thou shalt fall, I have nor love nor hope 
 In this waste world ! My son, remember me ! 
 
 Doug. What shall I say ? how can I give you 
 
 comfort ? 
 
 The God of battles of my life dispose 
 As may be best for you ; for whose dear sake 
 I will not bear myself as I resolved. 
 But yet consider, as no vulgar name 
 That which I boast sounds amongst martial men, 
 How will inglorious caution suit my claim ? 
 The post of fate unshrinking I maintain : 
 My country's foes must witness who I am. 
 On the invaders' heads I'll prove my birth, 
 Till friends and foes confess the genuine strain. 
 If in this strife I fall, blame not your son, 
 Who, if he lives not honour'd, must not live. 
 
 Lady Rand. I will not utter what my bosom 
 
 feels. 
 
 Too well I love that valour which I warn. 
 Farewell, my son ! my counsels are but vain ; 
 
 [Embracing. 
 
 And as high Heaven hath will'd it, all must be. 
 [ They are about to separate.
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 377 
 
 Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path ; 
 I'll point it out again. 
 
 [Just as they are separating., enter from 
 the Wood Lord RANDOLPH and 
 GLENALVON. 
 Lord Hand. Not in her presence. 
 
 [Exeunt, at different sides, DOUGLAS 
 and Lady RANDOLPH. 
 
 Glen. I'm prepared. 
 
 Lord Rand. No ; I command thee stay. 
 I go alone : it never shall be said 
 That I took odds to combat mortal man. 
 The noblest vengeance is the most complete. 
 
 [Exit Lord RANDOLPH. 
 [GLENALVON makes some steps to the same 
 
 side of the stage, listens and speaks. 
 Glen. Demons of death, come, settle on my 
 
 sword, 
 
 And to a double slaughter guide it home ! 
 The lover and the husband both must die. 
 
 [Lord RANDOLPH behind the scenes. 
 Lord Rand. Draw, villain ! draw. 
 Doug. Assail me not, Lord Randolph ! 
 Not, as thou lovest thyself. [Clashing of swords.
 
 378 DOUGLAS. ACT V. 
 
 Glen. Now is the time. [Running out. 
 
 Enter Lady RANDOLPH at the opposite side of 
 the stage, faint and breathless. 
 
 Lady Rand. Lord Randolph, hear me ; all shall 
 
 be thine own : 
 But spare ! Oh spare my son ! 
 
 Enter DOUGLAS, with a sword in each hand. 
 
 Doug. My mother's voice ! 
 I can protect thee still. 
 
 Lady Rand. He lives, he lives ! 
 For this, for this to Heaven eternal praise ! 
 But sure I saw thee fall. 
 
 Doug. It was Glenalvon. 
 Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword, 
 The villain came behind me ; but I slew him. 
 
 Lady Rand. Behind thee ! Ah, thou'rt wound- 
 ed ! O my child, 
 How pale thou look'st ! And shall I lose thee now ? 
 
 Doug. Do not despair : I feel a little faint- 
 ness ; 
 I hope it will not last. \Leans upon his sword. 
 
 Lady Rand. There is no hope !
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 379 
 
 And we must part ! the hand of death is on thee ! 
 O my beloved child ! O Douglas, Douglas ! 
 
 [DOUGLAS growing more and more faint. 
 Doug. Too soon we part ; I have not long heen 
 
 Douglas. 
 
 O destiny ! hardly thou deal'st with me : 
 Clouded and hid, a stranger to myself, 
 In low and poor obscurity I lived. 
 
 Lady Rand. Has heaven preserved thee for an 
 
 end like this ? 
 
 Doug. O had I fall'n as my brave fathers fell, 
 Turning with effort great the tide of battle ! 
 Like them I should have smiled and welcom'd 
 
 death. 
 
 But thus to perish by a villain's hand ! 
 Cut off from nature's and from glory's course, 
 Which never mortal was so fond to run. 
 
 Lady Rand. Hear, justice ! hear ! stretch thine 
 
 avenging arm. [DouGLAS^/w/fo. 
 
 Doug. Unknown I die ; no tongue shall speak 
 
 of me. 
 
 Some noble spirits, judging by themselves, 
 May yet conjecture what I might have proved, 
 And think life only wanting to my fame : 
 But who shall comfort thee ?
 
 380 DOUGLAS, ACT V. 
 
 Lady Hand. Despair ! despair ! 
 
 Doug. O, had it pleased high Heaven to let me 
 
 live 
 
 A little while ! My eyes that gaze on thee 
 Grow dim apace ! my mother ! O, my mother ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Enter Lord RANDOLPH and ANNA. 
 
 Lord Eand. Thy words, the words of truth, 
 
 have pierced my heart. 
 I am the stain of knighthood and of arms. 
 Oh ! if my hrave deliverer survives 
 The traitor's sword 
 
 Anna. Alas ! look there, my lord. 
 
 Lord Rand. The mother and her son ! How 
 
 curst I am ! 
 
 Was I the cause ? No : I was not the cause. 
 Yon matchless villain did seduce my soul 
 To frantic jealousy. 
 
 Anna. My lady lives : 
 The agony of grief hath hut supprest 
 A while her powers. 
 
 Lord Rand. But my deliverer's dead ! 
 The world did once esteem Lord Randolph well ; 
 Sincere of heart, for spotless honour famed :
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 381 
 
 And in my early days, glory I gain'd 
 Beneath the holy banner of the cross. 
 Now past the noon of life, shame comes upon me ; 
 Reproach, and infamy, and public hate, 
 Are near at hand ; for all mankind will think 
 That Randolph basely stabb'd Sir Malcolm's heir. 
 \Lady RANDOLPH recovering. 
 
 Lady Rand. Where am I now ? still in this 
 
 wretched world ! 
 
 Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine. 
 My youth was worn in anguish ; but youth's 
 
 strength, 
 
 With hope's assistance, bore the brunt of sorrow, 
 And train'd me on to be the object, now, 
 On which Omnipotence displays itself, 
 Making a spectacle, a tale of me, 
 To awe its vassal, man. 
 
 Lord Rand. O misery ! 
 Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim 
 My innocence. 
 
 Lady Rand. Thy innocence ! 
 
 Lord Rand. My guilt 
 Is innocence, compared with what thou think'st it. 
 
 Lady Rand. Of thee I think not : what have 
 I to do
 
 382 DOUGLAS. ACT T. 
 
 With thee, or any thing ? My son ! my son ! 
 My beautiful ! my brave ! how proud was I 
 Of thee, and of thy valour ! My fond heart 
 O'erflow'd this day with transport, when I thought 
 Of growing old amidst a race of thine, 
 Who might make up to me their father's child- 
 hood, 
 
 And bear my brother's and my husband's name : 
 Now all my hopes are dead ! A little while 
 Was I a wife ! a mother not so long ! 
 WTiat am I now ? I know But I shall be 
 That only whilst I please ; for such a sou 
 And such a husband drive me to my fate. 
 
 [Runs out. 
 Lord Rand. Follow her, Anna : I myself would 
 
 follow, 
 But in this rage she must abhor my presence. 
 
 [Exit ANNA. 
 
 Enter Old NORVAL. 
 
 Old Norv. I hear the voice of woe ; heaven 
 guard my child ! 
 
 Lord Rand. Already is the idle gaping crowd, 
 The spiteful vulgar, come to gaze on Randolph ? 
 Begone !
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 383 
 
 Old Norv. I fear thee not. I will not go. 
 Here I'll remain. I'm an accomplice, lord, 
 With thee in murder. Yes, my sins did help 
 To crush down to the ground this lovely plant. 
 
 nohlest youth that ever yet was horn ! 
 Sweetest and best, gentlest and hravest spirit, 
 That ever bless'd the world ! Wretch that I am, 
 Who saw that noble spirit swell and rise 
 Above the narrow limits that confined it, 
 
 Yet never was by all thy virtues won 
 To do thee justice, and reveal the secret, 
 Which, timely known, had raised thee far above 
 The villain's snare ! Oh ! I am punish'd now ! 
 These are the hairs that should have strew'd the 
 
 ground, 
 And not the locks of Douglas. 
 
 [Tears his hair, and throws himself upon 
 
 the body of DOUGLAS. 
 Lord Rand. I know thee now : thy boldness I 
 
 forgive ; 
 
 My crest is fall'n. For thee I will appoint 
 A place of rest, if grief will let thee rest. 
 
 1 will reward, although I cannot punish. 
 Curst, curst Glenalvon, he escaped too well, 
 Though slain and baffled by the hand he hated.
 
 384- DOUGLAS. ACT V. 
 
 Foaming with rage and ftrfy to the last, 
 Cursing his conqueror the felon died. 
 
 Enter ANNA. 
 
 Anna. My lord ! my lord ! 
 
 Lord Rand. Speak : I can hear of horror. 
 
 Anna. Horror indeed ! 
 
 Lord Rand. Matilda? 
 
 Anna. Is no more. 
 
 She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill, 
 Nor halted till the precipice she gain'd, 
 Beneath whose low'ring top the river falls, 
 Ingulph'd in rifted rocks : thither she came, 
 As fearless as the eagle lights upon it, 
 And headlong down 
 
 Lord Rand. 'Twas I ! alas ! 'twas I 
 That fill'd her breast with fury ; drove her down 
 The precipice of death ! Wretch that I am ! 
 
 Anna. O had you seen her last despairing look ! 
 Upon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes 
 Down on the deep : then lifting up her head 
 And her white hands to heaven, seeming to say, 
 Why am I forced to this ? she plunged herself 
 Into the empty air.
 
 ACT V. DOUGLAS. 385 
 
 Lord Rand. I will not vent, 
 In vain complaints, the passion of my soul. 
 Peace in this world I never can enjoy. 
 These wounds the gratitude of Randolph gave. 
 They speak aloud, and with the voice of fate 
 Denounce my doom. I am resolved. I'll go 
 Straight to the battle, where the man that makes 
 Me turn aside, must threaten worse than death. 
 Thou, faithful to thy mistress, take this ring, 
 Full warrant of my power. Let every rite 
 With cost and pomp upon their funerals wait : 
 For Randolph hopes he never shall return. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 VOL. j.
 
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 EPILOGUE. 
 
 AN epilogue I ask'd ; but not one word 
 Our bard will write. He vows 'tis most absurd 
 With comic wit to contradict the strain 
 Of tragedy, and make your sorrows vain. 
 Sadly he says, that pity is the best, 
 The noblest passion of the human breast : 
 For when its sacred streams the heart o'erflow, 
 In gushes pleasure with the tide of woe; 
 And when its waves retire, like those of Nile, 
 They leave behind them such a golden soil, 
 That there the virtues without culture grow, 
 There the sweet blossoms of affection blow. 
 These were his words : void of delusive art 
 I felt them ; for he spoke them from his heart. 
 Nor will I now attempt, with witty folly, 
 To chase away celestial melancholy. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST.
 
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 EDINBURGH : 
 Printed by James BaUantyne and Co.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBBARYFACIUTY 
 
 
 CENTRAL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 University of California, San Diego 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
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 a 39 
 
 UCSD Libr.
 
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