A 
 
 (_ 
 
 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 9 
 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 
 03 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 « 
 
 CIL 
 
 
 3 ■ 
 
 
 
 1 
 

 
 s-e-99 
 
 ^ STANDARD DRAMA. 
 
 No. LXXVII. 
 
 GUY MANNERING; 
 
 OR THE 
 
 GIPSEY'S PEOPHECY. 
 
 % iHusical |)laa 
 
 IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 BY DANIEL TERRY. 
 
 ALSO THE STAGE BUSINESS, CASTS OF CHARACTBB9, 
 COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, BTC. 
 
 NEW YOKK: 
 
 SAMUEL r R E N IT , PUBLISHER, 
 
 122 Nassau Stpi;i;t. (Tip Staiks.)
 
 CAST OF CHARACTER^. 
 
 Ori<^iruil cast. 
 
 Covent Garden, 1816. Broadway, 1849. 
 
 Colonel Mannering Mr Abbott. Mr. Fredericks. 
 
 Ihnry Be) tram " Curusett. '• Jordon 
 
 Domuiio Sampson " Liston. " W. B. Chapm«ia< 
 
 Da:>die Dinmogt •' Emery. " E.Shaw. 
 
 Virk Hatteraick " Comer. " Harris. 
 
 Bailie Miickletkrift " L Russell. " Hinl. 
 
 l.ilbert Glossin " Blanchard. " Thompson. 
 
 Gabriel, i " Tinney. " Whiting. 
 
 Stbaftian, > Gipsies ... " Jeffries. " P. C. Byrr«. 
 
 Franco, a,boj. J Master Farsloe. Miss Wallig. 
 
 Jack Tobos, (Ostler to Mrs. ,,_ t,„v„„ »»_ Qf„,-f 
 
 -Mrs. W'Candlish,). . . ^^^- ^^^^^- ^' ^*'*^'''- 
 
 F„.^-... $ I^I'- North. ( Mr. Lyster. 
 
 ^""^'^ I " Tinney. \ " Milot.d 
 
 Sergeant Mr. King 
 
 Julia Mannering Miss Mathews. Miss K. Horn. 
 
 Lucy B'^lram. " Stephens. Mrs. G. Loder 
 
 Meg MerHlies Mrs. Yates. Miss C. CushmaD. 
 
 Mrs. M'CandXish " Davenport. " Carman 
 
 Flora Miss Green Mrs. A. Knight. 
 
 Gipsies, Soldiers, Feasants, ^c. 
 Scene — Scotland. 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 COLONEL MANNERING.— Blue military undress coat, white waistcoat, pan 
 
 taloons, and Hessian boots. 
 HENRY BERTRAM.. Ibid. 
 DANDIE DIN.MONT. — Blue plush coat, scarlet plush waistcoat, leather breeehe* 
 
 drab coloured great coat, check shirt. &o 
 DIRK H.A.TTKRAICK.— Brown (Dutch) jacket and breeches. checK shirt. &c. 
 GILBERT (M.OSSIN.— Black foat and wai.'stcoat. leather breeches and boots. 
 BAILIE MUCKLETHRIFT.— Suit of old fashioned black. 
 G.4BRIEL. — Brown conntry coat and breeches, and plaid waistcoat. 
 SERGKANT MACRAE —Highland soldiers dress. 
 SFB.\STIAN. — Country coat, red waistcoat, and buff breeches. 
 FARMERS.— Country coats, &c, 
 DO.VUNIE SA.vlPSON.— J\,s( dress.— Old black coat and waistcoat, darned and 
 
 patched, and bue serge breeches Second dress— Similar, but in better quality 
 
 with a I 'Tge round hat. 
 LUCY BERTRAM.— Black crape dress. 
 JULIA MANNERING. — White satin pelisse, and muslin dress, trimmed with 
 
 lace and flowers. 
 MEG .MERRILIES. — Brown cloth petticoat and body, torn old red cloak, torn 
 
 pieces of plaid, and old russet sandals. 
 FLORA. — Plaid JDodice, n.uslin petticoat, and apron trimmed. 
 MRS. M'CANDLISH.— Plaid gown, blue quilted petticoat, white apron, handker- 
 chief and cap. 
 
 EXITS AND ENTRANCES. 
 R, means Right; L. Left; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door 
 S. E. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door. 
 
 RELATIVE POSITIONS. 
 R means Right; L. Left; C. Centre; R. C. Right of Centre ^ L. 
 L<ft of Centre. 
 
 ''a'Patsazes marked with Inverted Commas are xisually omitted in the 
 represiniation.
 
 '=rCQQ tiNivi'.usf'rv of caltfornt; 
 
 r^4 ^^ 
 
 EDll'ORIAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Thi) Musical Play of " Gur Mannering, or The GirsEY'4 
 Prophecy," was dramatized by Daniel Terry, the popular au- 
 thor and actor, from the novel of that name, by Sir Walter 
 Scott, and was first produced at the Theatre Royal, Covenfc 
 Garden, London, in the spring of 1816 ; it was eminently suc- 
 cessful, and still continues popular with the theatrical public 
 on both sides of the Atlantic. 
 
 We are not in favor of a class of compositions, or adaptations, 
 hostile, as we believe, to the best interests of the Drama ; still, 
 we must admit that Mr. Terry has admirably arranged '' Guy 
 Mannering" for the stage ; the new matter harmonizes and 
 forms a piece with the old, and it requires an intimate knowledge 
 of the original, to distinguish between them. 
 
 Terry was an intimate and valued friend of the, then, "great 
 Unknown,'' with whonS he was in constant correspondence ; 
 and we may infer, that the novelist himself had some hand in 
 the present adaptation. Lockhart, in his life of Scott, observes 
 "what share the novelist himself had in the first specimen of 
 what he called " Terry-fting," I cannot exactly say : but 
 his correspondence skows, that the pretty song of the Lullaby 
 was not his only contribution to it, and I imagine that he had 
 taken the trouble to modify the plot, and re-arrange for stage 
 purposes a considerable part of the original dialogue." It is 
 curious to notice in the correspondence with Terry, Sir W. 
 Scott's anxiety, and suggestions, to avoid the risk ol discovery, 
 through the introduction of the song alluded to ; which had in 
 the mean time been communicated to Alexander Campbell, edi- 
 tor of Albyn's Anthology. Sir W. Scott did not avow himself 
 as the author ot the Waverly novels until February, 1827 ; and 
 Terry was one of the twenty of his friends, to whom the se- 
 cret had been confided, and >y whom it had been so carefully 
 guardeu
 
 iv EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It would be unjust to a great living Musician, not to admit 
 that the exquisite Music of Sir H. R. Bishop, largely contri- 
 buted to the success of Gny Mannering on its first production on 
 the stage. The " Fox jumped over the parson's gate," and the 
 "Chough and Crow" may be cited as admirable specinvens of 
 classic English music. 
 
 The play of Guy Mannering has latterly excited renewed 
 inteiest, from Miss Charlotte Cushman's performance of the 
 character of Meg Merrilles. It is notour province to criticise, but 
 we cannot withhold a passing notice of a performance so uni- 
 que, as almost to put criticism at defiance ; — it is as vigorous in 
 conception, as it is startling, nay, electrical in execution; it 
 stands " alone," and may defy competition. It has been 
 said — we think hypercritically — that the Meg Merrilles of Miss 
 Cushman, great as it is admitted to be, is not that ot Sir W. 
 Scott; — if it is her own creation, the greater the genius of the 
 Artist : — from her first entrance from the gipsey tent, to the last 
 death throe, the character is never for a moment lost sight 
 of; appearance, dress, gait, gesture, intonnation of the voice 
 all are in perfect keeping; it standsout like Spagnoletto's figures, 
 in bold broad lights and shadows, and with a power of life and 
 truth, that *' only itself can be its parallel." The crowds 
 who thronged the Theatres in England, night after night, to 
 witness this wonderful exhibition of histrionic art ; and the en- 
 thusiasm, which is now crowdiig the American Theatres, a* b 
 but just tributes to the genius of this highly gifted lady. 
 
 H. L.
 
 GUY MANNEPilNG. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 ScKNE I. — Mrs. M'Candlish's Inn. — Several Farmers 
 and others, at one table c. — Drinking, S^c. — Mrs. 
 M'Candlish the handlady, and^Mhi'E, Mucklethrift, 
 at another l. at Tea. — A large comfortable Jire, w. e. r. 
 Sfc. — The Curtain rises, to the symphony of the follow- 
 ing 
 
 GLEE. 
 
 The winds whistle cold, 
 
 And the stars glimmer red, 
 The flocks are in Told, 
 
 And the cattle in shed. 
 When the hoar frost was chill 
 Upon moorland and hill, 
 
 And was fringing the forest-bough, 
 Our fathers would trowl 
 The bonny brown bowl, 
 
 And BO wiU we do now, 
 
 Jolly henrts ! 
 And so will we do now ! 
 Gaffer Winter may seize 
 Upon milk in the pail ; 
 'Twill be long ere he freeze 
 
 The bold brandy and ale ! 
 For our fathers sobold, 
 They laogh'd at the cold, 
 
 When Boreas was bending his brew ! 
 For they quafl''d mighty ale. 
 And they told a blith tale, 
 
 And so will we do now, 
 Jolly hearts ! 
 And so will we do now ! 
 
 Mrs. WCan. A. merry, social glee, and well sung, good 
 neighbours. 
 
 \st. Far. Then, here's your good health, landlady, in 
 the parting glass! for we must away up tj Wost-Greeu 
 to-night, to be ready for the fair on Monday,
 
 8 GUY MANNERING. [Act I 
 
 B'Irs. ]\T Can. Well then, good evening, ar.d a good 
 sale to you, farmer. — [Farmer crosses to L.J — I wonder 1 
 liaven't seen your old friend Andrew Dinmont on his way 
 there; he generally leaves his little horse, Dumpling, 
 here at fair time. 
 
 2d. Far. You'll see him, never fear ; there'd be no 
 cattle worth the handling, and no cudgelling worth a 
 broken head, without Dandie Dinmont at the fair! but 
 come along, neighbours, the evening wears, and we must 
 be jogging ; — good night ty'e mistress. 
 
 Mrs. WCan. (l.) He's as kind a heart, and as strong 
 an arm, that Dinmont, as any for forty miles rcund the 
 country. 
 
 Bailie, (r.) And of good worldly substance, they say, 
 Mrs. M'Candish, considering the instability of human 
 affairs. 
 
 Mrs. M' Can. He's e'en as good as yourself. Bailie; 
 and would I were no worse ; but I need not complain, for 
 who would have thought, when I was housekeeper at 
 Ellangowan castle, and Sir Godfrey Bertram member for 
 the county, that I should sit here this night, landlady of the 
 Gorden Arms in Kippletringan, expecting his only child 
 to come to this poor house of mine, to pay off all his ser- 
 vants, without knowing, poor girl! where she's to go 
 next. 
 
 Bailie. Aye, aye ! the instability of human concerns ; 
 and who would have thought that Gibbie Glossin, the 
 attorney, (whom I, Robbin Mucklethrift, the hard-ware 
 man, remember to have refused credit for a sixpenny pen- 
 knife,) should have been giving a grand dinner and claret, 
 in your house this very day, on purchasing the estate of 
 his aforesaid benefactor, and turning that only child out of 
 doors ; and he'll pay the bill, ready money, doubtless, Mrs. 
 M'Candish. [Goes up the Stage. 
 
 Mrs, M'Can. That he does, or the devil a drop of wine 
 shall go down his throat in this house. I wish 1 had the 
 tying a halt — [Bell rings violently.] — but, there, I must be 
 waiting on them :— they'll be wanting another magnum 
 of claret! — [Takes up a large bottle and is going, hut 
 stops.] — No, take it you, Grizzy, and say I am gone to 
 bed. — [Grizzy crosses and exit, u.] — I have not the heart 
 to look at them, making merry on the orohan's substance]
 
 f.CEN-E 1.] GUY MANNLRING. 9 
 
 the property that should, by right, belong to poor Miss 
 Bertram! If it were not that we victuallers must keep 
 open doors to all cattle, I'd soon clear the house of then:. 
 I trust Miss Bertram will not come up till to-morrow : — 
 I would not for a silver pound she found them ranting 
 and rioting here. — \^K7iocJcing without L.] — And there she 
 is, I doubt. 
 
 Enter Jock Jabos, l. 
 
 Well, Jock, is it Miss Bertram ] 
 
 Jock. No : — it's only a single ridez", mistress. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. A single rider! some Manchester lad in 
 the cotton line. Well, he must just come in here. 
 Enter Colonel Mannering, l. wra'pped up in a great 
 coat, a from horseback, ushered in by Jabos. 
 
 Col. Man. Let me disturb nobody, landlady i your house 
 is full, I understand : 1 can sit very well here. 
 
 \Crosses over to the fire. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. [Looking at 7iim.] Not much of the rider, 
 cither. 
 
 Jock. I'll tell you what, mistress : he has got as pretty 
 a piece of horse-flesh as ever stood in your stable. I'm a 
 judge, I reckon, by this time, and one may always know 
 a gentleman by his horse, [Exit l. 
 
 Col. Man. [Seating himself at the f re R.] IVBlucky the 
 old inn was at hand to shelter me in this sudden storm ; 
 but great changes, I perceive, have taken place since I 
 saw it. I wish I may find my kind friend at the castle 
 well : but he'll scarcely recollect me, I dare say. Sixteen 
 years of hard military service in India, is apt to rub a 
 young man's features a little out of memory. 
 
 3'Jrs. M'Can. I beg your honour's pardon. Would 
 your honour choose any refreshment after your ride 1 
 
 Col. Man. If you please, my good lady. 
 
 Bailie. Your honour, to a Manchester rider ! Psh I — 
 [Aside to Mrs. M'Can, after ej/eing Colonel Man.] I'll soon 
 find out what he is. Any news of trade, friend] How's 
 cotton in the market, new? 
 
 Col. Man [Drylij.] Cotton! really, sir. I do not know. 
 
 Bailie. Ay you don't know. Umph ! — [Aside to .Mrs.. 
 M'Can] — He s in the hard-ware line! — [To Col. Man.^ 
 You'll be dea.ing in the steel article, I fancy?
 
 10 GUY MANNERING. [Acr 1 
 
 Col. Man. \Smiling.'\ Steel! why, sir, you are a little 
 nearer the mark. 
 
 Bailie. I thought so; pray do you Birmingham folk 
 find the patent never-spilling coal-scultle answer in the 
 trade ? They gooff pretty bobbishly here, when they are 
 double japanned: I sent five to Ellangovvan castle last 
 week. 
 
 Col. Man. Ellangowan castle, sir! I was on my road 
 thither. 
 
 Bailie. You need not trouble yourself, sir; I furnish 
 them with all articles in your line, at the lowest Birming- 
 ham prices. 
 
 Col. Man. Sir! 
 
 Bailie. Yes, sir, in the hard-ware line, and I shall suffer 
 vet interlopers ! — \^Advancing consequentially to Mannering. 
 
 Col. Mar.. Sir, you're an impertinent little fellow ! 
 Perhaps this is harder ware than you would like to deal 
 in. [^Adoances his cane. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. [Interposing.] Our Bailie, sir, is an honest 
 little body, but he's apt to mistake. You were asking 
 after Ellangowan, sir. Was it the old family, or the 
 present, that you came to visit, sir 1 
 
 Col. Man. I mean Sir Godfrey Bertram of Ellan- 
 gowan. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. Alas! you come too late for him, poor 
 gentleman; he died last week, sir, under sad circumstan- 
 ces. 
 
 Col. Man. Sir Godfrey Bertram dead ! 
 
 Bailie. A melancholy instance of the mutability of 
 worldly matters ; — fallen from all his greatness, and twenty- 
 seven pounds, six shillings and eightpence half-penny in 
 my books. 
 
 Col. Alan, Dead ! good heaven, I owed him much. 
 
 Bailie. If you please to make me payment of the afore- 
 said sum, sir, I vi^ill give you a receipt for so much of your 
 debt. 
 
 Col. Man. He has no child 1 
 
 Mrs. M Can. An only daughter, sir ; — thought to be an 
 only child. 
 * Bailie. My receipt will be exactly the same as hers. 
 
 Col. Man. Thought to be an only child ! — When I waj 
 in India, I heard 'le had a son.
 
 Scene I] GUY MANNERING, 11 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. Ah ! well-a-day ! you heard light, sir^ 
 he had a S(m indeed : — but, oh, me ! — 
 
 Bailie. Now don't begin whimperino-. — [To Co/. 2Iih.] 
 — She lost her first husband, sir, on the very day that yon 
 disappeared. 
 
 Mrs. WCCan. Aye ! I did indeed ! sixteen years ago. 
 
 Bailie. Well, don't cry so far back; he was a revenue 
 officer, sir, and was found murdered in the wood, hard 
 by ; — by smugglers it was supposed, headed by a desper- 
 ate fellow, — one Dirk Hatteraick, — half devil, half Dutch- 
 man. 
 
 Mrs. M^ Can. The villain! that there should be such 
 lawless, contraband ruffians suffered in a christian land. 
 
 Col. Man. I beg your pardon madam ; but may i ask 
 what connexion the misfortune of your first husband had 
 with the young heir of Ellangowan ] 
 
 Mrs. M' Can. Yes, sure, your honour: little Harry 
 Bertram, then a beautiful boy five years old, and his tutor, 
 one Dominie Sampson, as they call him, — you'll may be 
 remember him, sir, if you remember Ellangowan lung ago. 
 
 Col. Man. A tall, stiff, silent man, is he not I 
 
 Bailie. The same, sir, half crazed with his k-aruing, 
 poor silly man, and knows nothing of business. 
 
 Mrs. M' Can. He's a little absent indeed, poor man ; but 
 very affectionate, and as simple as any child — Well, si i-, 
 this Dominie Sampson and little Henry Bertram were 
 walking in the wood, and by came my poor husband, from 
 looking down the coast, and offered to give the boy a rido 
 on his horse, and bring him back to dinner to the castle in 
 an hour; but, lack-a-day ! lack-a-day ! that hour never 
 came, for poor Duncan was found welteiing in his blood ! 
 
 Col. Man. And was the child murdered too ^ 
 
 Bailie. That no man can tell, sir, for he was never found. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. There was an oid gipsey-woman, (that 
 then lived on the estate, and used to nurse the infant.) was 
 suspected of stealing him, out of revenge for Sir Godfrey's 
 transporting one of her sons for poaching. 
 
 Col. Man. And has nothing sver been heard of him since? 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. Nothing, sic, but from that day, the old 
 gentleman, Sir Godfrey Bertram, who was never over care* 
 ful, became worse and /vorse, and wasted and wanted, 
 and wanted and wastc;d and trusted and trusted —
 
 J2 GUy WANNERIXG. [Act I 
 
 Bailie. Till he trusted an attorney. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. And then, sir, Ins distresues broke his 
 heart, and he died, leaving his poor daughter pennyless and 
 unprotected, on the wide world ! 
 
 Bailie. His aflairs in utter disorder, and twentyseven 
 pounds, six shillings andeightpence halfpenny, in my books 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. But the worst of it, Bailie, was the ad- 
 vantage it gave that rogue of an attorney. 
 
 Cul. Man. How so, pray ] 
 
 Bailie. Why, sir, if the boy had lived, the old gentleman 
 could not have buithened or parted with an acre, it vi-ai 
 all so strictly settled on heirs male. But Glossin contrived, 
 thaysay, while his mind was so distressed, to wheedle him 
 out of some rash deed. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. But it will never prosper; if he has 
 cheated the helpless, and oppressed the fatherless, he'll 
 die, (mark my words. Bailie,) a-good-for-nothing beggar, yet 
 
 Bailie. Why, 1 hope the young heir may cast up ; the 
 mutability of human affairs is great, and there's news of 
 Diik Hatteraick's running a cargo on these shores again, 
 for the first time since the business; if so, the gipsey wife, 
 if she's alive, won't be far ofi", 1 dare say, 
 
 Mrs. M'Ca7i. The murderous wretches ! if I catch them, 
 I'll bring them to justice, if I sell the very sign over my 
 door. — [Noise heard without, l.] — Gracious heaven ! 1 hope 
 that's not Miss Bertram come just now, before the house 
 
 is clear of those drunken and if it is, what shall I do { 
 
 — For the room's close to the only one I have to shew her 
 into. [Goes and listens. 
 
 Bailie. \To Col. Man.] — There was some little mis- 
 take between you and me, sir : you said you dealt in steel, 
 whereby I thought — 
 
 Col. Alan. [Smiling.] — I Aar^ dealt in steel; I am an 
 officer of the army, retired from service. 
 
 Bailie. [Aside.] — Retired from service ! then it would 
 not be worth while to ofter him my shop-bill. 
 
 Col. Man. And am just arrived from India, to settle in 
 this neighbourhood. [Retires vp. 
 
 Bailie. [Aside.] — Fi-om India, and settling here ! — that's 
 a different story! — [The Builie Jumbles in his pockets, — 
 l>ulls out a spectacle-case, large j^ocket-hook, S^x. during 
 v)liich. Enter Jock Jahos. l.
 
 Scene I] GLY MANNERING. 13 
 
 Jock. Mistress ! mistress ! There's Miss Bertram poor 
 young lady, just stepping out of the chaise, wi' mistress 
 Fl ra, and Dominie Sampson buried up to the chin in old 
 uiioks : — you must go to them directly ; and, mistress, 
 who do you think yon gentleman is ? 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. Who, Jock 1 
 
 Jock. The great Colonel Mannering ! 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. What! for whom the Woodburne estate 
 was bought] 
 
 Jock. The very game. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. and Bailie. No, sure! 
 
 Jock. Ay, as sure as boots are not brogues ; — ^he was 
 daily expected, you know. There's his servant, just rode 
 in, — a genteel lad like myself, and a good jud2:e of hor- 
 ses ; and there's his sister, and the devil and all, following 
 as fast as they can : — there's news for ye, mistress ! 
 
 [Exit. L. 
 
 Mrs. jM'Can. He shall see Miss Bertram ; he may be a 
 good friend to the poor young lady. — [To Col. J\Ian.\ — 
 Your honour will excuse me, I must attend upon Miss 
 Bertram, who is just arrived, sir. 
 
 Col. Man. If you would take an opportunity of infor- 
 ming her, a friend of her late father is anxious to be ac- 
 quainted with her, you will greatly oblige me. 
 
 Airs. M'Can. That will I, sir, and gladly; for I am 
 quite fearful of that Glossin's riotous party up stairs; per- 
 haps some of them may intrude on her, and your presence 
 may be a protection to her. I am but a poor double wi- 
 dow, as I may say, sir ! and as for the Dominie, worthy 
 Boul ! he's just nobody at all — Your servant, sir. 
 
 [ Exit, L. 
 
 The Bailie, who has found his advertisement, struts up to 
 the Colonel, and presents it. 
 
 Bailie, (l.) — Colonel Mannering — sir! — [f on your 
 settlement in a strange land, you should have occasion for 
 fire-grates, tongs, pokers, shovels, coal-scuttles, plain or 
 patent, candlesticks, snuffers, extinguishers, savealls, &:c. 
 &c. &c. you may be supplied as far as an extensive stock — 
 CoL Mm. (r.) — And the mutability of human affairs — 
 Bailie. Ti le, sir, will permit, — and that at the sign of 
 tlie Three Tvouts and the Frying-pan, kept by your hum^
 
 14 GUV MANNliRING. [Act 1 
 
 ble servant, Robin Mucklethrift, Ironmonger and Brazier, 
 of Kippletringan in Scotland. \ Exit, i,. 
 
 Col. M(in. The honest and worshipfial magistrate, I per- 
 ceive, doesn't lose sight of the main chance in the uncer- 
 tainty of affairs. But yonder goes Miss Bertram. — poor 
 girl ! — how pale and melancholy, and yet, how engaging 
 — Well, the daughter of my earliest, and best friend shall 
 not be left without a protector to shield her sorrows from 
 injustice and oppression. \^Exit, R. 
 
 Scene II. — Another Room in the Inn, large doors in the 
 Back. c. — Enter Lucy Bertram, l. 
 
 AIR. — Miss Bertram. 
 
 Ye dear paternal scenes, farewell ! 
 
 The home where early fortune smil'd ! 
 No longer there must Lucy dwell : — 
 Of fortune robb'd, from home exii'd, 
 
 A wretched orphan child 
 Now weeps her last farewell; 
 Farewell ! 
 
 Tho' doora'd to wander far and wide, 
 
 A maiden friendless, desolate. 
 With Heaven my innocence to guide, 
 I fear not, tho' 1 mourn my fate ; 
 
 But all that it ordains await. 
 And weep my last farewell ! 
 Farewell! 
 
 Rnttr Mrs. M'Candlish, Flora, Jock and Grizzy, t. 
 
 bringing in boxes, and various light luggage. 
 
 Mrs. M^ Can. Dear Miss Bertram, I ask pardon; — T 
 never was so sorry in my life; — my house quite full, and 
 a noisy party of gentlemen in the best room. I have not 
 another place but this to show your ladyship into, and this 
 is but a public sort of a room neither ; and I didn't expect 
 your ladyship till to-morrow. 
 
 Miss B. Do not disturb yourself. I shall be but a few 
 minutes in any one's way. 1 will but dismiss my servants, 
 and retire to my bed-room, 
 
 Mrs. Br Can. And here is Dominie Sampson, your lady- 
 ship's old tutor, stalking up stairs out of your carriage. 
 
 Miss B. Do not suffer your people, my good dame, to 
 exercise th.eir merriment at the expense of that worthy 
 man.
 
 ScEliE II.J GUY MANNERING. 15 
 
 3Irs. M' Can.. Not for the world, my dear lady. 
 Miss B. His person, his retired habits, and great ab- 
 sence of mind, ai'e at times, I own, calculated to excito 
 somewhat more than a siuile ; but, when the impulse of 
 his excellent heart breaks forth, he rather forces a tear 
 from the eye of sensibility, than a laugh from the lungs of 
 ribaldry. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. Very true, indeed. But 1 beg pai'don, 
 Miss Beti'am ; there is a stranger, a gentleman now in the 
 house, a particular friend, he says, of my late honoured 
 master, who wishes to be permitted to speak with you. 
 Miss B. If he has business, I suppose I must see him. 
 [She retires, Mrs. M' Candlish turns to go out. 
 [Enter Dominie Sampson, l. with an immensely large 
 book under his arm, in old-fashioned binding, and 
 brass clasps, his appearance puritanical, raggea 
 black clothes, blue worsted stockings, pewter-headed 
 long cane, Sfc, Sfc, 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. You are welcome to Kippletringan, Mr. 
 Sampson ; how have you been this long time ? 
 
 Sufnp. Thanks, worthy madam. And how is your hus- 
 band, Mr. Kennedy 1 {Observes her surprise.) Eh ! Eh ! 
 out upon my tongue, he's dead ! 1 meant, honest Provost 
 M'Candlish. 
 
 Flora, (l.) [Pulling him by the sleeve. \ — Why, Dominie 
 Sampson, what are you about? — he's dead too. — Would 
 you bring forth the poor woman's husbands alive, one after 
 anotlier I 
 
 Samp. Prodigious! — [He is confounded, and silent, and 
 retires up the stage. 
 
 llora. Come, Mistress M'Candlish, don't take it amiss ; 
 the poor Dominie, you know, is apt to make mistakes. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. 'Twas kindly meant in Mr. Sampson, — 
 [Crosses to 'U.] — I daresay; but both my dear departed 
 husbands to be called to mind at once ! Oh ! 'twas too dis- 
 tressing. 
 
 Flora. 'Twas indeed ! too much for any woman ta 
 
 bear. [Exi.t Mrs. M'Candlish,i., 
 
 [ The Dominie by this time has opened his great boak : 
 
 and sat down to read upon some band-boxes, which 
 
 give icay zinder him.
 
 16 GUY MANNERING. [Act 1 
 
 Flora. Oh ; my jest bonnet. I had rather have had 
 twenty husbands at once, than had it spoiled. 
 
 Sayyip. Prodigious ! " Ubi lapsus 1 Quid feci /" 
 
 Flora. Fecey ! What's your Fccey to my bonnet ! your 
 head is too learned for the rest of your body, Mr. Samp- 
 son, and leads it into sad errors. What do you do with 
 that great lumbering book now 1 
 
 Sa?np. Josephus' History, light reading. Mistress Flora, 
 for travellers. 
 
 3Iiss B. Flora. 
 
 Flora. Yes, ma'am, — [Looking at Dominie.] — Mercy on 
 me? — [Goes to Miss B. — Sampson seats liimself at the ta- 
 ble, R. 
 
 Miss B. Before I part with you, my good girl, I must 
 thank you for the affectionate attention you have shewn to 
 me under my misfortunes. In this purse you will find an 
 additional remembrance of your kindness; it is indeed 
 but a trifle, yet — 
 
 Flora. [Half crying.\ — Don't mention it, madam ; I 
 shall never find such another mistress, I'm sure. 
 
 Miss B. Not so; I hope you will find, at least, as kind 
 a mistress in the English young lady. Miss Mannering. 
 
 Flora. I hope I may, ma'am; but I shall never cease 
 to think of you and all your goodness. — And poor Mr. 
 Sampson, though he has spoiled my bonnet, poor dear 
 good man ! what wil! become of him now 1 
 
 Miss B. That, indeed, is a grievous question. He was 
 the tutor of my youtli, my dear father's last and only 
 friend : it is like a second separation from him ; but it is 
 part of the severity of my fate, and must be endured, 
 however hai'd the struggle, — Mr. Sampson ! Mr. Samp- 
 son ! — [Sampson is by this ti?ne deeply involved in /lis book, 
 and docs not hear her. 
 
 Flora. [Looking over him\ — C(mie, Mr. Sampson, leave 
 Joo — heefus, and attend to Miss Bertram. 
 
 Samp. My honoured young lady ! I crave pardon ; 1 
 was oljjivious. 
 
 [Sampson jumps up and runs witli awkward eager- 
 ness, snatcJies up the smiffers, and, snuffs out one can- 
 dle, then another ; and, witli ludicrous offiriousncss^ 
 draws the. tabic, ^•r., ^-c., and advances toward. 
 Mi.., B.
 
 Scene II.j GUY MANNERING. 17 
 
 Flora. Only see now ! the poor dear man thinks him- 
 self in the parlour at Ellangowan, trimming the (.andius 
 for jnj poor old master, to read the newspapers. Oh ! he 
 has a rare head ! 
 
 Miss B. You give yourself too much trouble, Mr. 
 Sampson : it was not that I wanted of you, but I have a 
 small account to settle : permit me — [Puts a little pocket- 
 hook into his hand.] 
 
 Samp. [Looking at it.] — Truly a very small duode- 
 cimo ! — [Opens it, takes out a bank note, and unfolds it.] — 
 It is for the stim of fifty pounds. — Prodigious ! Is it your 
 pleasure that I should hie me forth to procure little notes 
 in exchange for the same 1 
 
 Miss B. No, Mr. Sampsom ; but, in my present cir- 
 cumstances, alone, almost without fortune, it is impossible 
 — I have not, indeed, the means to supj^ort a household, 
 and that note is your own, till some other situation — 
 
 Samp. [Slow at first to comprehend, becomes agitated, 
 and sp)eaks with great feeling?^ — No ! Miss Lucy, never ! 
 if your father, whom 1 served and loved in prosperity and 
 adversity, should rise from the dead, and bid me leave 
 you, it were impossible \ impossible ! and that note, that 
 note befits not me, young lady. [Returning it.] 
 
 Miss B. I know it is inadequate. — Yet trifling as the 
 recompense is, — take it : — Oh ! take it, I beseech you. 
 
 Sa?np. [Pushing back her hand gently.] — Peradventure, 
 Miss Lucy you are too proud to share my pittance, and I 
 grow wearisome unto you. 
 
 Miss B. [Greatly distressed.] — Oh no ; — you are my 
 father's old, his only faithful friend: 1 am not proud ; 
 heaven knows, I have no reason to be so. — But what, 
 what can we do ? 
 
 Samp. I can teach ! I can write ! 1 can cypher ! I can 
 labour ! Heaven will protect ! Heaven will provide al- 
 ways : if our vv^ills and endeavours be not wanting. — 
 [Sohninly] — But I cannot, — cannot be severed from the 
 child of my affections, the daughter of my dear, dear mas- 
 ter — I will be no burden. Miss Lucy ; I will be, Heavei 
 willing, an aid : — I — 
 
 [Misis Bertram turns atvay, much affected — Entei 
 Col. Mannf.uing and Mrs. M'Canumsii, unper- 
 ceiced , at the hack of the scene, l.
 
 18 GUY MANNERINO. [Act I. 
 
 Flora, \lnte\-posmg\ Dear Mr. Sampson! you only dis- 
 tress yourself", and Miss Bertram ; — you had better take 
 the 
 
 Samp. Woman! No. It is not the lucre, — it is not 
 the lucre ! but 1 have eaten of her father's loaf, and drank 
 of his cup for thirty years and upwards, and to think that 
 I would leave his daughter, and leave her now in her dis- 
 tress and dolour : — No, Lucy Bertram. — I crave pardon, 
 Miss Bertram, I would say — you need never opine it. 
 You would not have put a favorite dog of your father's 
 from your door, and will you use me worse than a hound? 
 Entreat me not to leave thee, I beseech thee ; for while 
 Abel Sampson liveth, he will never, never be separated 
 from thee. — \Ti,csts upon the table, covering his face with his 
 hands\ [Exit Flora, L.] 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. [Aside, to Col. Man.] Good hn-d, was 
 ever any thing like that, from one who scarcely speaks 
 three words on any ordinary occasion ] The man's in- 
 spired ! 
 
 Miss B. Well then, Mr. Sampson, we will not separate ! 
 No, even though our joint labors should procure our 
 daily bread ! 
 
 Samp. Gratias ! Beatissime ! [Rising.] 
 
 Miss B. Alas ! for the pride of birth ! of all the rich 
 and noble, who claimed kindred with me as heiress of 
 that house, which was the source of their nobility : — of 
 all who shared my father's favour and hospitality, this 
 being alone remains attached tome, who was the too fre- 
 quent object of mockery and derision. [A burst of loud 
 and boisterous mirth is heard, behind the centre doors.] 
 What noise of revelry is this ] 
 
 ]\Irs. MCan. Lord preserve us ! they're breaking up, 
 and, perhaps, some of 'em will be coming thro' here ! 
 
 Miss B. Gracious Heaven ! I thought I heard the voice 
 of (rlossin among them. [Crosses to l. — JVoise again. 
 
 Samp. Mrs. M'Candlish, this vicinity to hilarious 
 drunkards beseeraetli not the chamber of Miss Lucy 
 Bertram. 
 
 [Noise and laughter again. — The doors Jly open.— 
 Enter Glossin, m. d. as leaving a drunken part;j, 
 flushed, loith wine, and singing. 
 
 Miss B. Glossin himself ! What am I doomed to sufter!
 
 Scene II ] 
 
 GUY MANNERING. 19 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. [Runs up, and opposes Ghssin's entrance.] 
 You really can't come this way, sir. It's impossible ! 
 there's a lady here, Mr. Glossin, a lady who would not 
 wish to see you, sir. 
 
 Glo.s. Egad ! I shall indulge no such caprice, Mrs. 
 M'Candlish. I have settled my bill, ma'am, and I have 
 a right to walk into any public room in your house, 
 ma'am ! A lady not wish to see me ! Egad ! perhaps 
 that's a civil hint, that 1 should come to see her. [ To 
 Miss Bertrain, who is on l.] I beg pardon, madam, if I 
 intrude — but my name is Glossin, madam ; Gilbert Glos- 
 sin of Ellangowan, at your service. 
 
 Miss B. [Raising her veil, with dignity,] I know it, too 
 well, sir, and how you became so, I remember my 
 father's death-bed, and who embittered his last moments, 
 by pressing alleged rights ; how acquired, I leave between 
 heaven and your own conscience. 
 
 Glos. [Disconcerted.] Stand by me, good claret. [^Aside.] 
 Why, Miss Bertram, there are things which may have 
 seemed harsh to you, doubtless, or to any body ; but they 
 flow from the law, madam ! — from the law ! 
 
 Miss B. [Calmly.] No, sir, not from the law, but from 
 such as pervert it to their own sinister purposes. 
 
 Glos. You are severe, Miss Bertram ; [Assmning an 
 air of covjident familiarity.] — but I trust you will see this 
 matter otherwise. It is yet in your power to be mistresa 
 of Ellangowan Castle, and your paternal estate. — Had 
 you listened to my — 
 
 Miss B. Sir, I understand your meaning, and will savo 
 you the pain of speaking it more explicitly. When you 
 formerly addressed the daughter of your patron, then with 
 all the advantages of high birth and supposed fortune, I 
 rejected your intrusion, but it was without reproving your 
 audacity ; but, sir, when you insult the poverty of the 
 daughter of Ellangowan, by inviting her to share the 
 spoils of her own house, so dishonestly acquired, she 
 turns from you with loathing and contempt. [Cross to r. 
 
 Samp. [In centre.] — Prodigious ! 
 Glos. [Fiercely.] Come come, madam, you may repent this! 
 
 Samp. [ Who has by degrees hccomc agitated, cornea 
 fiercely up.] — Avoid thee, thou evil one J — thou bast slain 
 and taken possession —
 
 20 GUY MANNEIIING. [Act t 
 
 Glos. Come, Mr. Dominie Sampson, we'll have no 
 preaching here. 
 
 Miss B. Mrs. M'CandUsh, is this intrusion on an unpro- 
 tected female — 
 
 Col. Mail. [Coming suddinly up between Glossiti and 
 Mis: B.\ — Not unprotected, Miss Berti-am, while the 
 obliged and grateful friend of Sir Godfrey, your father, 
 can defend you ! — Sir, your company is unpleasant — your 
 absence desired. There's the door, and you will oblige 
 me particularly by leaving the room this instant. 
 
 Glos. [In abuUi/ing tone.] I don't know who you are, 
 sir ; — but I know the law, and I know I can split a pistol 
 bullet against a pen-knife ; and 1 shall suffer no man to 
 use such d 'd freedom with me. 
 
 Col. Man. [Coming close up to }nm?\ — Look you, Mr. 
 Glossin ! it will avail you nothing here, to act either the 
 rogue, or the ruffian — the bully, or the attorney. That 
 you do not know me, matters nut; — I know you; and if 
 you do not instantly descend those stairs, by the heaven 
 above us, you shall take but one step from the top to ihe 
 bottom. 
 
 Samp. Prodigious ! 
 
 Glos. I — I — I don't choose to brawl here, sir, before a 
 lady ; — but you shall hear more of me, sir. 
 
 [Retiring, l. 
 
 Col. Man. When I do, sir, I shall treat the information 
 as it deserves. 
 
 Mrs. M' Can. This way, Mr. Glossin, if you please ! I'll 
 attend you, sir. — I never shewed any one down stairs with 
 greater pleasure in all my life. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. M'Can. and Glossin, l. 
 
 Col. Man. I beg pardon. Miss Bertram — my temper is 
 naturally impetuous, and I have alarmed you. — Hear my 
 ajjology at once ; — though personally unknown to you, 
 you, perhaps, have heard the name of Mannering — Guy 
 Mannering I 
 
 Miss B. T think I have heard my father mention it, sir; 
 but at this moment — 
 
 Col. Man. Hear me, then briefly: the son of an ancient 
 family, I came at fourteen years old, with my widowed 
 mother, to your northern capital. We were distressed 
 then, as you are now ; a circumstance drew on me the
 
 SoEire II] GUY MANNERING 21 
 
 notice of your father — he became our friend and comfort- 
 er, and his interest procured me a military appointment 
 to India, where 1 liave been successful beyond my wishes I 
 Paternal estates, also, have since opened to me in Eng- 
 land; but my attachment was here. — I wrote to a friend, 
 to purchase property in this neighbourhood, and learned, 
 on my landing in Britain, I was proprietor of Woodburne. 
 Surmises of distress in Sir Godfrey's family also reached 
 me, and I hurried down to pay my debt of gratitude, i 
 came, alas! too late to offer it to my generous benefac- 
 tor ; — let me have the satisfaction of finding I may be 
 useful to his daughter! 
 
 Samp. I have scanned him well, and believe him to be 
 the very Gruy Mannering who was the inmate of your 
 father's house some sixteen years ago. And for his mili- 
 tary propensities I will avouch ; inasmuch as he was wont 
 to put gunpowder into my tobacco-pipe, and amuse him- 
 self wit' I the explosion thereof 
 
 Miss B. Colonel Mannering, your generosity, and still 
 more, your affection for my dear father, entitle you to my 
 kindest thanks ; I will add, my confidence. But distress 
 must excuse caution — and — 
 
 Col. Man. I will presume no farther ; my sister, whose 
 carriage I have outrode by nearly an hour, will soon be 
 here ; and to her intercession I shall leave my suit. 
 
 Samp. I do myself prefer the equestrian to the vehicu- 
 lar mode of conveyance ! but, to say sooth, I am most ac- 
 customed unto the pedestrian. 
 
 Miss B. Colonel Mannering then will excuse me for the 
 present, nor think that my hesitation arises from any thing 
 but a wish that the acceptance of his friendship should 
 be as proper as the offer is kind. 
 
 [Exit R. 
 
 Gol. Man. Mr. Sampson, you must forgive me my boy- 
 ish tricks : I did not know the worth I teased. I was 
 then a spoiled urchin — spoiled by your patron and mine ! 
 but fortune has cured me. 
 
 Samp. And fortune, sir, (as the Heathens called her — 
 I should rather say providence,) has been kinder to me ■ 
 since, for thirty years, L have never had to seek a home or 
 a table, until this present moment of time. 
 
 Cul. Man. And you never shall have to seek cither, Mr.
 
 22 GUY MANNERING (AcT I 
 
 Sampson, if yoj will accept the sheltei of my loof. Your 
 learning ami patience will bring a blessing with thern. 
 
 Samp. Of learning, sir, it doth not become me to 
 speak t albeit. I know most ancient and modern tongues. 
 And of patience 1 have had but little exercise, since five- 
 and-lhirty years ago, when I was boorded for twenty- 
 pence a week at Luckie Sourkail's, in the High-street of 
 St. Andrew's. And there, tho' I hungered somewhat, T 
 was nothing a-thirst, being near the principal fountain or 
 pump of that town ; so that I might drink daily, and no 
 one say, Sampson, thou exceedest in thy potations. But 
 hath your honor no son, whom I might train up in polite 
 letters, and elegant accomplishments, as a requital for my 
 daily bread 1 
 
 Col. Man. I have only a sister, Mr. Sampson, about 
 ten years younger than myself; — how far she may profit 
 by your instructions 
 
 Samp. She may — she will — she shall — (Assuming great 
 consequence.) — I will teach her the Hebrew language, or I 
 should rather say the Chaldaic, since your Honour is 
 aware that the generic Hebrew hath been lost from the 
 time the Ten Tribes were led into captivity by Tigleth 
 Peleazer. 
 
 Col Man. I believe, sir, you will have an instant oppor- 
 tunity of consulting her own taste upo,n the matter, for 
 here she comes 1 
 
 Enter M.ISS Mannering, l. dressed in a fashionable travel- 
 ing Hahit. 
 
 Miss Man. (Running immedia/el?/ tip fo Col. Man.) My 
 dear brother, how fast you must have ridden. 
 
 Col Man. Rather, how slowly you must have followed, 
 my dear sister; but I am glad you are here, for I need 
 your assistance most particularly and immediately. 
 
 Miss Man. Well, well, you shall have it; but don't be 
 impntient ! I must attend to my own affairs first. Wheie's 
 the landlady. 
 
 Enter Mfss M'Canlish and Flora, l. 
 
 Mrs M'Can. Here, my lady, at your service. 
 
 [Curtsying low-
 
 SCEKE II.] 
 
 GUY MANNERING. 23 
 
 M/ss Maa. Oh, do me the favour to tell me if there be 
 a young woman here, who has inquired after IMiss Man. 
 nering. 
 
 Mrs. 31' Can. This is the person, I beheve, my lady. 
 
 [Presenting Flora. 
 Col. Man. Landlady, let me speak a word with you. 
 Mrs. M Can. Directly, your honour. 
 
 \^Goes to Col. Man7iering, and after seeming to recewe 
 his directions, goes off, r. The Dominie, during the 
 conversation of Miss Mannering icith Flora, circles 
 round Miss Mannering as if about to address her, 
 with characteristic formality and awkivardness, start- 
 ing hack when she looks at him, which she does, 
 with some surprise, as if amused at Ms strange 
 figure. 
 Miss Man. \To Flora.] You served a young lady in 
 this country, I am told 1 
 
 Flora. Yes, ma'am. [Curtsies. 
 
 Miss Man. A Miss — Miss — Miss Bertram, I think — I 
 never heard the name before. 
 Samp. Prodigious ! 
 
 Mi»s Man. However, I understand she's an excellent 
 young lady, and her character of you is quite satisfac- 
 tory. [Sampson seems pleased.] I believe Miss Bertram 
 dress'd her own hair 1 That won't quite, quite suit me. I 
 shall wish you to study a little under my brother's valet- 
 de-chambre; that you may be able to arrange my hair 
 a-la-Chinoise, to dispose my aigrette and Circassian tur- 
 ban, so as to throw I'air imposant over my figure. [Flora 
 curtsies, and goes off, l. 
 
 Samj). \Shaking his head.] This is harder than Chal- 
 daic ; — yea, — than Hebrew. Tigleth Peleazar himself 
 would have been puzzled at it. I dubitate whether this 
 damsel will fructify by my leai'ned endeavoui"s. 
 Mrs. M'Candlish shews in Miss Bertram, r. wJiom the 
 Colonel instantly presents to his sister. 
 Col. Man. Julia, let me solicit your sisterly interces- 
 sion with this young lady, the daughter of Sir Godfrey 
 Bertram, the friend by whom your brother's fortunes 
 were entirely promoteil, and for whose recent loss, I 
 grieve to say, she now suffers. It is my wi.'^h iha' %he
 
 24 GUY MANNERING. [A-CT I. 
 
 fshould honour Woodburne with her presence, and find in 
 it a retreat suited to her present feelings. Miss Bertram, 
 let me introduce to your friendship a soldier's sister ; — 
 rather a hair-braiu'd girl, but well deserving the kindest 
 regard, I assure you. — [ They retire and converse. The 
 Dominie listens to their discourse. 
 
 Mrs. 3T Can. [Cotning Joricard.] I'm as glad as if any 
 one had order'd a rump and dozen, or the commissioners 
 had bespoke a county dinner, I hope they may persuade 
 Miss Bertram. Who knows what may happen, if they do I 
 The great Col. Mannering, with sa(,ks full of diamonds, 
 from the India wars, and who was loved by her fathei 
 too ! — If a marriage should happen, there'll be fine doings 
 in the Gorden Arms that day, I'll warrant. 
 
 Samp. [Jumping Jo nvard from the 2Jarty,\ She will con- 
 sent to go to the mansion of the great man of battle ! — 
 Exultemus ! Venite! Exultemus ! I will rejoice! — I will 
 uplift a stave of joy, yea, I will sing! — I do remember me 
 of a catch, which I was wont to sing twice a-year, when 
 a bursar of St. Leonard's College. St. Andrews, with 
 good appro-ba-tion. 
 
 \He makes many contortions and efforts, like one who 
 first forgets words, then tune; at length breaks out 
 with absurd basJfulncss — 
 
 " The fox jumpt over the parson's gate ; 
 Fal lal loo ! fo lero, Icro loo ! 
 
 [They laugh. 
 
 Bear with me, my friends; it is but seldom I am thus 
 jocose. I will again essay, and with more audacity, for my 
 own voice did somewhat abash me ! — 
 
 " The fox jumpt over — " 
 
 Verily, — I need support. — Worthy Mrs. M'Candlish, sing 
 with me. 
 
 Mrs. M'Can. I! 
 
 Samp. Yes ! Cantate with me. 
 
 Mrs. M Can. Heaven help you! I never sung in all 
 my life ! but, there's two of our honest neighbours in the 
 next room, who hate (ilossin, and all such oppressor.^, 
 will be glad enough to cnntitate with you, I warrant. 
 
 f Crosses to i..
 
 Scene II.] GUY MANNERING. 25 
 
 Samp. Then announce the gladsome tidings unto them, 
 and bid them hither. — [Exit Mrs. M' Gandlish, l.] — In the 
 uiean time will I preludize, 
 
 FINALE. 
 
 Enter two Farmers to the Symphony, l. 
 
 Sampson, 
 
 Thefox jumpt over the parson's gate. 
 
 And stole his poultry from under his nose ; 
 "Aha !" quoth the parson, who popt out his pate, 
 "A good fat hen, and away she goes !" 
 
 Miss Mannering. [Leading Lucy forward.] 
 
 Calm, lady ! calm your troubled breast ! 
 
 Beneath our roof of friendship rest ; 
 
 Thei-e say what most may sooth your woes — 
 
 Samp. " A good fat hen, and away she goes !" 
 
 Miss Bertram. 
 
 Friendship, thou canst balm impart 
 
 To the wounded suffering heart ! 
 A mourner to thy generous roof I fly, 
 
 And then, should silent tears iutrude, 
 
 The gleam of glistening gratitude 
 Shall light the pendent drops in soitow's eye. 
 
 TRIO — Miss Manneeino, &c. 
 
 Away with old Care, let the dullard g') drown. 
 
 Mirth and pleasure life's short rosy moments should crovril} 
 
 For what gain or what good e'er from son'ow arose! 
 
 Samp. " A good fat hen, and away she goes !'' 
 
 Chorus. Let's rejoice ! ! ! 
 
 Samp. It doth beseem us. 
 
 Chorus. Let s oe jovial ! ! -I 
 
 Samp. Exultemus ! ! 
 
 Chorus. Hence, ye sordid and litigioaa ! 
 Hence oppression, hence 
 
 Samp. Prodigious ! lExeunt, h 
 
 END OF ACT I.
 
 JiO GUY WANNERING. [Acr 11 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Miss Mannering's Boudoir in the House at 
 Waodburne. — One of the doors supposed to lead into 
 Miss Mannering's Apartment, l. — Large folding Doors, 
 through which is seen the Library, r. s. e. — Venetian 
 Windows, c, oj^ening on a Balcony, with steps to the 
 Lake beneath. — The moonlight gleaming upon it, with 
 strong, clear, and distinct illumination. — The apart- 
 ment is decorated with Indian Curiosities, — Horns, — 
 Hkins of Tigers, ^r. 8fc. — Dresses of Indian Tribes — 
 Book-sta?ids — Dressing and Work-tables, a Harp, Sfc. 
 Miss Mannering, u. h. Miss Bertram, and the Colo- 
 nel. L, H. discovered, as after supper. 
 Miss Man. Upon my word, brother, it is quite time to 
 send you about your business. Formerly, I had to beg 
 for your society. 1 admit there was little temptation in 
 those days. 
 
 Col. Man. Pardon me, Julia ; but now you will allow 
 it is doubled. 
 
 Miss Man. Aye, — as you double a cypher, by placing 
 a figure before it, and render its value ten fold. [Pointing 
 to Miss Bertram. — They rise f'om the table. 
 
 Col. Man. Julia, pray prevail upon Miss Bertram to 
 sing that lovely air she was beginning, when the servant 
 inteiTupted us. — It was a beautiful thing ! wild, — yet so 
 pathetic. 
 
 Miss B. It has borrowed its tone of feeling, Colonel 
 Mannering, from the situation of the singer ! It is said, 
 irom a very ancient period, to have been sung in our 
 family to soothe the slumbers of the infant heir ! 
 
 Miss Man. O, pray sing it. \^Grosses to centre. 
 
 Miss B. It is not worth refusing. 
 
 AIR. — Miss Bertram. 
 
 Oh ! slumber, my dai'ling, 
 
 Thy sire is a knight. 
 Thy mother a lady, 
 
 So lovely and bright ; 
 The hills and the dales, 
 
 From the towers which we see. 
 They all sliall belong, 
 
 ey al 
 VI y d. 
 
 My dear infant, to tliee.
 
 Scene L] Ovy MANNERING. 37 
 
 Oh rest thee, babe ; rest thee, babe ; 
 
 Sleep oa till day • 
 Ok ! rest thee, babe ; rest thee babe ; 
 Sleep while you may. 
 Oh ! rest thee, my darling, 
 
 The time it shall come, 
 When thy sleep shall be brokea 
 
 By trumpet and drum : 
 Then rest thee, my darling, 
 
 Oh! sleep while you may; 
 For war comes with manhood, 
 As light comes with day. 
 Oh, rest thee, babe, &c. 
 
 Miss Man. And was this really made for your own 
 family ? 
 
 Miss B. Oh, yes ; and a hundred more such ditties ! 
 While my only brother, litde Harry, was spared to my 
 parents, it was sung to him every night by an old gipsey 
 nurse ; and I have heard, tho' so young, he could sing it 
 quite well. — There is not a milk-maid on the estate, once 
 ours, but can chaunt it, and knows its history ! and I have 
 heard, — tho' it hardly deserves mentioning, — that the per- 
 son now in possession — this Glossin, has, as far as he can, 
 forbidden them to sing it, which makes it doubly a fa- 
 vourite with me. 
 
 Col. Man. That's not surprising ; music and poetry 
 were never made for so base born and wretched a chi- 
 caner. 
 
 Miss Man. Neither, brother, are they made for you, 
 high-born and chivalrous as you are, after twelve o'clock 
 at night, in a quiet house in the country. 
 
 Col. Man. 1 obey your hint : goodnight, Julia. — [Sa- 
 lutes her with kindness and familiar itij, then turns to Mist 
 Bertram very respectfully ^^^ — That every morning may 
 bring Miss Bertram nearer to the restoration of all her 
 heart can hope, is my most earnest prayer, and shall be 
 the object of my most zealous exertion. 
 
 [Exit. R. D, 
 
 Miss Man. A lion in the toils ! Oh, Lucy, dear Lucy ! 
 if you knew what meshes have been spread for that 
 proud Colonel, in vain. 
 
 Miss B. Good night. Miss Mannering ! and if I do not 
 chide you for these speeches, it is because your kindness 
 always atones fur ycjur — your —
 
 23 GUY MANNERING. [Act IJ. 
 
 Miss Man. For my folly, eh ? Well, we'.J, sleep and 
 dream of gallant knights vanquishing wicked robbers, and 
 restoring forlorn damsels to their rightful homes — 
 
 Miss B. Good night ! good night ! [Boat crosses here, 
 over the hahc,Jrom R.] \Exit l. 
 
 Enter Flora, r. 
 
 Miss Man. She is a charming girl ! But how she can 
 remember all the names of her ancestors. — These Rolands, 
 and M'Dingawaies, and Donagilds — \Seeing Flora. \ Oh, 
 Flora ! did my old servant, Grace, whom my brother sent 
 back to the house in London, say nothing to you before 
 she went away ? 
 
 Flora. Oh, yes, ma'am. — [Signijicantly.\ — She told me 
 your ladyship might have some occasion for my services 
 in a very confidential way ; [Boat appears again,] — that 
 there was a gentleman, of whose addresses Colonel Man- 
 nering disapproved rather, ma'am. 
 
 Miss Man. But she should have added, also, that my 
 brother could find no possible objection to him, but in 
 his own prejudices against a man of unknown birth, who 
 could bring no M'Dingawaies, nor Donagilds to back his 
 suit. — Now, tho' I cannot sympathize in such prejudices, 
 I have, since the unhappy duel between them, in which 
 my lover was wounded, endeavoured t« avoid all commu- 
 nication with hiim ; yet, I fear, he is at this moment per- 
 haps too near me. 
 
 Flora. What, here, madam ? 
 
 Miss Man. Twice have I heard about this hour on the 
 lake, a flute, playing an Indian air, which in happiei 
 hours we used to sing together. 
 
 Flora. Ay, madam, it's he, I warrant ! no one but a 
 lover, or a madman, would come fluting on a lake at moon 
 light, in a cold winter night. — [Jiute plays outside, l.]— 
 Hark, madam ! as I live, I think I hear it now ! 
 
 Miss Man. Hush ! — \AJlute is heard to play the syin 
 •phony ef an Indian Air under the window.] — Is it eaithlj 
 music t I'm in the land of supeistition, and begin to 
 share it's influence, I think. 
 
 Flora. Wait a little, ma'am ; you'll find the fluting 
 gentleman no ghost, I warrant. 
 
 Miss Man. It is indeed the very air he taugl.t me; I'll 
 »iugit ; — if it be he, he will answer it.
 
 Scene I.J GUY JIANNERINO 29 
 
 AIR. — Miss Mannering. 
 
 Oh tell me, love, the dearest hour 
 
 The parted anxious lover knows, 
 When passion, vi-ith enchanter's pow'r, 
 
 Across his faithful mem'ry throws 
 
 Its softest, brightest flame. 
 
 Bertram. — [ Without, v. l. e.] 
 
 'Tis when he sings on some lone shore, 
 Where Echo's vocal spirits throng ; 
 
 Whose aery voices, o'er and o'er, 
 On still and moonlight lake prolong 
 One dear-lov'd, thrilling name. 
 
 \^At the end of the verse, Bertram rushes up the Balcony 
 steps from the Lake.] 
 
 Ber. Julia ! belov'd Julia ! 
 
 Miss Man. 'Tis he himself ; — begone! begone! What 
 will this end in 1 — [Turns away from him.] 
 
 Flora. A ring, a parson, and a cradle, I waiTant, 
 ma'am. 
 
 Ber. Will you refuse me even the privilege of a friend, 
 Julia ] 
 
 Miss Man. You deserve not the name ! Thus to seek 
 a stolen interview, which I am forced to endure, because 
 my giving any alarm would again involve you in a quar- 
 rel with my brother, and bring your life once more in 
 ■danger. 
 
 Ber. Do you then blame me, Julia for what was forced 
 upon me by his caprice, his injustice ! Oh ! let me now 
 entreat you to fulfil the hopes you once gave me, and 
 trust to time to reconcile your proud brother ! 
 
 SONG.— Bertram. 
 
 Be mine, dear maid ! my faithful heart 
 
 Can never prove untrue ! 
 'Twere easier far from life to part, 
 
 Thau cease to live for you. 
 My soul, gone forth from this lone breast, 
 
 Lives only, love, in thine : 
 There is its holy home of rest, 
 
 Its dear, its chosen shrine. 
 Then turn thee not away, my dear. 
 
 Oh ! turn tliee not away love ! 
 For by the light of truth I swear 
 
 To love thee night and day lovo.
 
 30 GUY MANNERING. [A ft II. 
 
 'Tis not mine eye thy beauty loves, 
 
 Mine ear thy tuneful voice ; 
 But 'tis my heart, thy heart approves— 
 
 A life-enduriug choice ; 
 The lark shall first forget to sing, 
 
 When morn unfolds the east, 
 E'er I by change or coldness wring 
 
 Thy fond confiding breast. 
 
 Then turn thee not away, &o. &c. 
 [A heavy lumbering noise heard without in the Library, Hi 
 
 Miss Man. \ Alarmed.] What noise is that ? 
 
 Flora. [Looking out.] Only Mr. Sampson, madam, 
 stumbling up and down the library ! Never mind the 
 good soul ! — with him, even seeing is not believing. 
 
 Miss Alan. For heaven's sake, sir, begone the way you 
 came ! 
 
 Flora. Aye, do — here, here, sir ! 
 
 Ber. [Runs to the Balcony.] I cannot ; — my boat is in 
 possession of your brother's servants. 
 
 Miss Man. To what difficulty has your folly reduced 
 me? 
 
 Flora. [ Watching.] Mr. Sampson has blundered this 
 way, sure enough. 
 
 [Sampson is seen through the Library with a long 
 candlestick in his hand, in his night-gown and 
 cap.] 
 
 Mss Man. What's to be done 1 
 
 Flora. I have it, I have it, ma'am ; — let the gentleman 
 put on one of those outlandish Indian dresses, and squat 
 down behind the harp : Mr. Sampson won't notice him ; 
 and if he does, let me alone. 
 
 Ber. Nay, if I cannot play a Bramin after being so 
 many years in India, it's very hard. — [ They assist to dress 
 him, and conceal him behind the instrument,] 
 
 Miss Man. But how shall vee account for his being 
 here, if he is discovered ? 
 
 Flora. We must take our cue from circumstances, 
 ma'am. 
 
 Enter Sampson, r. h. v. is., from the Library 
 
 Samp. Of a verity, this is not the way to mine own 
 apartment, neither ! Nay, it doth seem that of a lady.
 
 Scene I.J GUY MANNERIKG. 31 
 
 Flora. \ Whispering.] There, ma'am, did I not say he 
 would not see us ] 
 
 Samp. I would I had the clue of Ariadne, for this 
 dwelling is a Cretan labyrinth ; I will again essay to ex- 
 tricate myself. — [He walks toward the women, — Flora 
 advances, whom he does not see till close to her.] — Prodigious ! 
 
 Flora. Why, who would have thought this of you, Mr. 
 Sampson ! to be prying about so very near my young 
 lady's dressing-room, at this time of night ! I assure you, 
 I take it very sti'ange of you ! 
 
 Samp. I was erratic. Mistress Flora. 
 
 Flora. Never mistress me, man ! — but get away as fast 
 as you can : Lord only knows what Colonel Mannering 
 will say, if he should know of it. 
 
 Samp. And that might, perchance, prejudice my young 
 mistress, Miss Bertram, in his opinion ; woeful man that 
 I am, who shall deliver me ? 
 
 Flora. Pray go immediately, Mr. Sampson. 
 
 Samp. 1 obey ; — I will begone swiftly, — I am beset 
 with fears and trepidations. — [Crosses to l. — Goes towards 
 
 L. H. D.] 
 
 Flora. [Running after him and fulling him hach\ 
 Worse and worse, Mr. Sampson ! that's not your way. 
 Would you burst into my young lady's bed-room ? In- 
 deed, Mr. Dominie, 1 begin to suspect you. Is that the 
 way you propose to teach her Hebrew ? Oh, fie ! fie ! 
 fie! 
 
 Samp. Prodigious! — I am confounded. — [Peeping in.] 
 Assuredly, there is a four-posted bed, with crimson furni- 
 ture. I \vi!l gird up my loins and flee. 
 
 [He struggles out of Florals grasp, stumbles forward 
 
 and overturns the harp. Fie sees Bertram, and 
 
 stares at him with great surprise. Bertram retain? 
 his cross-legged position of an Indian Priest, and 
 stares at him again with great composure.] 
 
 Mirifice ! whom have we here 1 
 
 Flora. Why, Mr. Sampson, what mischief will you do 
 next] That you should disturb that learned Indian gen- 
 tleman, just as he was occupied in teaching my young 
 mistress the — the — the — what shall I say 1 Dear, dear, 
 where shall I find a word ? [Aside.
 
 82 GUY MANNERING [Act II 
 
 Samp. Ts he a teacher 1 Then T reverence Ifcm. In 
 what is he profound ] 
 
 Flora. Astrology. 
 
 Samp. Prodigious ! Nay, then, I will uplift my voice 
 against him. — [ Very loud.] — The occult sciences are a 
 isnare of the enemy, — delusions of darkness ! — works of 
 the wicked one ! 
 
 Miss. Man. [Asidei] I must stop his clamours ! — Nay, 
 Mr. Sampson, I see no more harm in the leai'ned gentle- 
 man teaching me the Sanscrit, than in your proposal to 
 teach mo Hebrew. 
 
 Samp Pardon me, most honourable ; — I knew not 
 when I proffered my poor endeavours, that there was a 
 learned Pundit, who doubtless is better provided; — never- 
 theless, I will accost him in the Eastern tongue. — [To 
 Bertram.] — Salum alicum ! — [Bertram rises and salams, 
 tvhich salutation is returned ridiculously by Sampson.] — 
 Expound unto me, most learned Pundit, whether we 
 shall confer in the Sanscrit of Bengali, in the Telinga, or 
 in the Malaya language ! Praise to the blessing of 
 Heaven on my poor endeavours, I am indifferently skill'd 
 in these three tongues. 
 
 Bcr. Confound your skill ! — T am aground : — I know 
 only a few words of Moorish gibberish. [A knocking at 
 
 R. D, 
 
 Miss Man. Flora ! there's my brother knocking. 
 
 Flora. [To Bertram.] Follow me down the back stairs, 
 most learned Pundit. [Exit with Bertram, r. h. 
 
 Samp. Where has the damsel conveyed the learned 
 Pundit ] I would converse with him. 
 
 Miss Man. Come in, bi-cther ! 
 
 Enter Coi.onel Mannering, r. d. 
 
 Col. Man. What has been the matter 1 My servants 
 heard music just now upon the lake, and have discovered 
 a strange boat beneath these apartments. I heard, too, a 
 heavy fall in your room. — No accident, I hope ] 
 
 Miss Man. You heard Mr. Sampson, brother, who has 
 chosen this strange time of night to rummage out the 
 Indian manuscripts in these cabinets, and has stumbled 
 over my harp. 
 
 Col. Man. How's this, Mr. Sampson ? You should
 
 Scene 1.] GUY MANNERING. 33 
 
 take other time and place for your Oriental studios, than 
 so close to my sister's room at midnight. 
 
 Sutnp. Honour'd sir ! I crave your forgiveness ; I 
 wandered unwittingly, and was detained by my thirst for 
 learning; that erudite Moonshee, whom I sought to con- 
 verse withal. 
 
 Miss Man. [Alarmed, fetches a hook from table.] This 
 is the book you sought, I believe, sir. 
 
 Samp. [Opens a fine illmninated manuscript}^ Prodig- 
 ious ! I profess it is an examplar of the Shah-Nameh of 
 the illustrious Furdusi ! [Puts it under his arm.] but, 
 touching that Sanscrit Interpreter, whom — 
 
 Re-enter Flora, r. 
 
 Miss. Man. Indian Interpreter sir ! here it is, in three 
 volumes, folio. ^Pushes them to Sampson. 
 
 Flora. [Aside to her mistress while Sampson exatnines 
 the hooks.] I have sent your Pundit safe off, and told 
 him to wait at the village till further advice. 
 
 Miss Man. Thank heaven for that ! But how shall we 
 get safe from the Dominie % He'll talk of nothing else. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Samp. I profess this is the most erudite work, and of 
 great scarcity ! I have observed it, honoured colonel, 
 noted in catalogues with four R's, which denoteth "raris- 
 !ii??ius." But, worthy sir, as concerning this learned 
 Pundit — 
 
 Flora. Is this the book, sir 1 
 
 Samp. It is rare ; but the Ulemat — ? 
 
 Miss Man. Or this, sir ? 
 
 Samp. It is precious ! but the aforesaid Bramin — 
 
 Flora. O, 'tis this, I'm sure 
 
 Sa?np. It is of the last rarity ! — but the Moonshee ! 
 
 Miss Man. Or this . . 
 
 Samp. It is curious; — but, the Moonshee, the Pundit — 
 the— 
 
 [They thrust hooks upcn him, which he cannot refuse 
 himself the j^ledsure of opening, uiitil his hands 
 and arms hccomc cmhcirrassed, and he begins to let 
 them fall, one or two always escajnng as he jficks up 
 the others.^
 
 34 GUY MANNERING. i Act 11. 
 
 Col. Man. Come, Mr. Sampson, I fancy you had better 
 retire, and what books you wish for shall be bi'ought you. 
 Barnes ! [ Calls. 
 
 Enter Barnes, e. 
 
 Light Mr. Sampson to his room — \ Sampson gathers up 
 what boohs he can carry.] — And hark ! When you have 
 shewed him in, lock the door. I must take precautions 
 against this extravagant thirst for information. 
 
 Barnes. This way, Mr. Sampson, if you please to fol- 
 low. 
 
 Samp, I prae, sequar ! Prodigious ! 
 
 Exit, loaded with hoohs, following Barnes, r. 
 
 Col. Man. All now seems quiet ; — so the mystery of 
 the music and boat must remain till opportunity shall lead 
 to discovery. — [J.s«(^e.] — Once more, Julia, good night. 
 
 [Exit, K. D. 
 
 Miss Man. Good night, and thanks for this nairow es- 
 cape ! — Go to my chamber. Flora; — I'll follow directly. 
 
 Flora. Yes, ma'am. \Exit, i.. n. 
 
 Miss Man. I declare I am frightened at my own im- 
 prudence ! Should my brother discover this business, 
 what will be the consequence ? Oh, dear ! I wish he 
 would but sympathize a little more with love, and a little 
 less with honour : — but alas ! 
 
 AIR. — Miss Mannering. 
 
 In ancient times, in Britain's Isle, 
 
 Lord Henry well was known ; 
 No knight in all the land more fam'd, 
 
 Or more deserv'd renown. 
 His heart was all on honour bent, 
 
 lie ne'er could stoop to love ; 
 No lady in the land had pow'r 
 
 His frozen heart to move. 
 
 Yet, in that bosom deem'd so stem, 
 
 The kindest feelings dwelt ; 
 Her tender tale, when pity told, 
 
 It never fail'd to melt. 
 But for no idle passion form'd. 
 
 His high heroic mood. 
 Glory's Bublimer chm-ms alone 
 
 With lover's ardour woo'd. 
 
 [Exit, L. »«
 
 Scene II.] GUY MANNERING. 35 
 
 Scene II. — A desolate Heath between Woodhurne and 
 Kippletringun. — The Moon declining. 
 
 Enter Bertram, l. h. bewildered and uncertain of M& 
 
 tcay. 
 
 Ber. Now the devil take all the glib-tongu'd ladies' 
 maids ! would any one have thought, to hear that chat- 
 tering monkey, that I'd more to do than just to follow 
 my nose straight across the heath, to this Kip-Kap-Kap- 
 ple — What the devil did she call the place ] And here I 
 am, fairly thrown out ! The moon's going down too, and 
 I may stray further out of my way. Holloa ! I wish some 
 one was within hail, friend or foe, I care not. 
 
 Enter Dandie Dinmont, l. — He'comes for ward a little tip- 
 sy, and staggering. 
 
 Din. Fair and softly, fair and softly, Dandie, my lad ! 
 Who was that hollowing, I wonder] I should like to 
 fall in with a companion, for it is growing confounded 
 dark ; I'll be hang'd if I can see my way : I wish 1 had 
 got Dumpling; many people pretend to guide their horse; 
 now, I always let my horse guide me : he'd have carried 
 me to the next ale-house, right enough, dark or light. 
 Steady ! my head's a little queerish! To think that fivo 
 poor bottles of rum should have done this now, among 
 four. [^Bertram advances.] Who goes there? 
 
 [Raising his tohip. 
 
 Ber. A friend ! 
 
 Din. Stand fast a bit though ; parley a little, Dandie, 
 — few friends on a mooi at midnight. What do you 
 want? 
 
 Ber. I am a stranger. My name is Brown, Captain of 
 Fusileers. 
 
 Din. And I am Dandie Dinmont, reckoned the best 
 bruiser in this country. I'll eat, drink, or fight wi' any 
 man ; so stand off! 
 
 Ber. I don't mean to dispute it; I assure you, my 
 friend. I am an Englishman ; Iliave lost my way, and 
 am really in want of a guide to the next town. 
 
 Din. Eh! no, are you really. Ye sha'l have one 
 then. If I had but my little horse now, you might have
 
 36 GUY MANNERING. [Act II 
 
 rode on his crupper; he always finds the way when I lose 
 it, and his back's main strong ; he'd carry six if 'tweio 
 long enough. But come away. [ Crosses io r. H.j steady! 
 are ye big, or little 1 
 
 Ber. Why, middling. 
 
 Din. That will do; for this moor, ye must know, is 
 not in great reputation. There's thieves and gipsies 
 haunt it. 
 
 Ber. Gipsies ! pooh ! nonsense ! 
 
 Din. Oh man, we ha' great faith in 'em in our country. 
 They prophecy, and knock down, like nobody knows 
 what ; so every body believes in 'em ; and there's an old 
 woman, Meg Merrilies, the queen of 'em, that deals wi' 
 the devil, they say, and can make 'em do any thing, if she 
 but lifts up her finger; she's known for a witch all over 
 these parts. 
 
 Ber. Well, my friend, I'll stand by you. 
 
 Din. Will ye 1 Then give me a rough shake of the 
 hand. 
 
 Ber. With all my heart, 
 
 [Bertram gives him a hearty shake, which Dinmont rC' 
 turnsi\ 
 
 Din. Gad ! and if your heart be like your hand, it be 
 a plaguy hard one. But look.' yonder's a couple of 
 lights dancing bonnily before us. 
 
 Ber. A couple ? 1 see but one, friend, and that seems 
 pretty steady. 
 
 Din. Does it? Then I've a notion that you don't see 
 with both your eyes, as I do; but come on ! let us make 
 our way to it border-fashion, side by side ! 
 
 Bar. \Asi(le\ The fellow gripes like a smith's vice. 
 Come along, friend, then, side by side. 
 
 Din. Aye, like true men ; and if we meet with rogues, 
 we'll shew 'em another border-fashion, hand to hand. I 
 say, — you were bawling lustily just now; — I can bawl a 
 hit myself Suppose we try if we can't nave a kind of a— 
 what d'ye call it — a — double song together, just to cheer 
 the way <.ver the heath. 
 
 Ber. With all my heart.
 
 Scene III.] GUY MANNERING. 37 
 
 DUET. — Bertram and Dinmpni. 
 
 DiNMONT. 
 
 Without a companion, what's life but a heath 
 
 That's wearisome, murky aud long ? 
 But Dandie defies dullness, danger, and death, 
 
 With his friend Jind his glass aud his song. 
 
 Bertram. 
 
 You're right : with a friend, man, you heighten your zest, 
 And march o'er life's road brisk and brightly ; 
 With double delight on its green-swards you rest, 
 And trip o'er its rough places lightly, 
 
 Both. 
 
 Then come on, side by side, and as long as I've breath, 
 Here's an arm that's both willing and strong ! 
 
 Jolly hearts bid defiance to danger and death, 
 
 Make light of the dark roads, and short of the long. 
 
 [Exuent, r. 
 
 Scene III. — A wilder and more romantic fart of the 
 chase, or forest. — A sort of scattered copse wood, loith 
 branches of one or two decayed oaks. — A cliff or two ri- 
 sing behind thetn. — Hdh in the distance. — A Gipsey hut 
 in the centre, with a fire within it. Gabriel, Skbas- 
 TIAN, and other Gipsies, men and wo7nen, occupied i,2 
 cooking, and various other employments, expressive oj 
 their habits. — Children mingling in the group. 
 
 Gab. Sebastian, where's the old gun with the Spanish 
 barrel ] 
 
 Seb. Why, will you need her to-ni2:ht 1 
 
 Gab. Aye : Dirk Hatteraick, the Dutchman, is on the 
 watch 
 
 »SeZ>. What, another shark to be harpoon'd by us gip- 
 sies 1 [Co?nes forward, R.] I'll have nought to do with it. 
 I hav'nt forgotten how he cried and groan'd. 
 
 Gah. What he .? 
 
 Seh. \In a low t;oice.] He of the wood of Ellangowan, 
 sixteen years ago, when they stole the child. No, no. I'll 
 have no more of tliat. Let Diik Hatteraick do his own 
 bloody buriiriess. [C''0sscs to L.
 
 38 GUY MANNERING. X[Act U 
 
 Gab. Bat it is business that concerns us all. The child, 
 that very child is now a man, and escaped from Batavia ; 
 has served in the army, and has come home again. 
 
 Seb. How do you know this 1 
 
 Gab. I saw him myself at Carlisle two days since, and 
 you know that I knew him in India, 
 
 Seb. Well, well, let him alone ; he'll never remember 
 anything of this country. 
 
 Gab. Dirk doesn't think so ; and is determin'd at least 
 to ship him over the herring-pond again. Besides, he has 
 other pla,ns about it. We have had him close watched ; 
 he has been seen twice to take boat on the lake, and was 
 in the house at Woodburne this very night ; that Franco 
 knew, and watched him out cf it. He must cross this 
 way to Kippletringan ; and then — 
 
 Seb. I say again, I'll not meddle. What does Meg 
 Merrilies say ; she, whom we must all obey % 
 
 Gab. She say ! Why, she doats ; she's no more what 
 she was, or ought to be : she's turned tendor-hearted, and 
 swears she'll hinder us from lifting a finger against the 
 lad of Ellangowan, and that if we attempt to keep him 
 from his own, we but fight against fate ! 
 
 Sab. Well, and we dare not dispute her bidding ; not 
 even her very signs. 
 
 Gab. Pooh ! thou art as bad as she : let us only be se- 
 cret, and do the business before she knows anything about 
 it. Do you go and tell Dirk Hatteraick I'll be at Mirk- 
 wood path shortly, with a party to help him. Tell him'to 
 keep his ground, and not begin till I come. [Exit SebaS' 
 tian, R.] Come, fellows, to our several stations. 
 
 GIPSEY GLEE AND CHORI S.* 
 
 Franco. 
 The chough and crow to roost ai^e gone, 
 
 The owl sits on the tree ; 
 The Imsh'd wind wails with feeble moan, 
 
 Like infant charity. 
 The wiid-fire dances on tlie fen, 
 
 The red star sheds it ray : 
 Up-rouse ye, then, my meny men. 
 
 It is our opening day. 
 
 Chorus — Up-i-ouse ye, &c. &c. 
 
 •To Mrs. Joanna Bailie's friendly permission, the author was indebted for tha 
 use of this beautiful i)oem ;— accompanied by the inusio of Bishop, the efiect il 
 P'oduces is most powerful and characteristic.
 
 SCKKK lll.j f^'UY MANNERING. 39 
 
 GipsEY Woman. 
 
 Both child and nurse are fast asleep. 
 
 And clos'd is every flow'r, 
 And winking tapers faintly peep 
 
 High from my lady's bow'r ; 
 Bewilder'd hinds, with shorteu'd ken. 
 
 Shrink on their murky way ; 
 Up-rouse ye then, my merry men. 
 
 It is our op'ning day. 
 
 Chorus — Up-rouse ye, &c. &c. 
 Gabriel. 
 
 Nor board, nor gamer, own we now, 
 
 Nor roof, nor latched door. 
 Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow, 
 
 To bless a good man's store : 
 Noon lulls us m a gloomy den, 
 
 And night is grown our day ; 
 Up-rouse ye then, my meny men. 
 
 And use it as ye may. 
 
 Chorus — Up-rouse ye, &c. &c. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Gabriel^ Franco, the Boy and Uif 
 
 sey girl. 
 
 [ Voices without, r.J Holloa ! Holloa ! 
 
 Qab. What voices are those ? Holloa ! w:ho's there % 
 
 Enter Bertram and Dinmont, r. 
 
 'Tis he himself, by all that's lucky ! Then all's safe. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Din. [Aside to Ber.] They are the gipsies, but there's 
 only one man with them ; the rest are not far off, I reckon. 
 Well, never fear ! w^e are two : and for me, fair play, and 
 I'll face any three of them! Bless ye ! they aie not fed 
 like the like of us, 
 
 Ber. I fear them not; and with you at my side, friend, 
 there's not many things ought to alarm me. 
 
 Gab. What seek ye here 1 
 
 Din. We have lost our way, man, and ai'e seeking that j 
 kno-v ye which way Kippletringan lies ?
 
 40 GUY MANNliRING. [Acr IJ 
 
 Gah. Right over the hill, through the ford, cross the 
 bog, thro' the thicket, and you have it. 
 
 Din. Hill, ford, bog, thicket ! The gipsey knave ia 
 making fun, I think. Hark ye, friend ! have you a head 
 on your shoulders 1 
 
 Gab. Ay, sir ; and what of that ? 
 
 Din. Why ; how think you it would sort with the butt 
 end of a Liddesdale whip ? ^Shakes it at him. 
 
 Gip. Gir. [Aside to Gab.] Take care, give good words. 
 That's fighting Dinmont of Liddesdale ! 1 know him 
 well. I've seen him clear Staneshaw-bank fair from end 
 to end, driving fifty men before him. 
 
 Ber. [In centre.] Come, sirs, there's no occasion for 
 quarrelling! This gentlemen and I want a guide to the 
 town he mentioned, and I will willingly pay him hand- 
 somely. 
 
 Din. It's more than he deserves ; to refuse two poor 
 bewildered young creatures he!p, at such a time of night. 
 
 Gip. Girl. I'm sure, gentlemen, you'll excuse us; we 
 are not accustomed to see the like of you ; but if there's 
 any thing that you would take — 
 
 Din, [In centre.] Can there be any thing we won't take, 
 my dear] For 1 have not taken meat or drink this fuur 
 or five hours, and the cold blast on the hills has given nie 
 such an appetite, that, as the Yorkshire man says, " I could 
 eat a horse behind the saddle." 
 
 Gip. Girl. Well, sir, such as we have — 
 
 Din. That's a good lass! Come, stir! Come, my 
 sulky lad, lend a hand here. 
 
 [They draw forward a rude table,!., and place meal 
 and drink upon it, — Gabriel and France retire, and 
 whisper together. 
 
 Din. [To Ber.] Try a leg of her, man; she's a moor- 
 fijwl. [Helping him.] Did you ever see a moor fowl in 
 your part of the world ] 
 
 Ber. Never, unless stuff 'd, upon the shelves of a mu- 
 eeuni. 
 
 [Meg Merrilies darts from behind the tent, u. lohcn Ber- 
 tram speaks; advances softly u step or two, and 
 gazes intently on him.
 
 Scene 111.] GUY MANNERING 41 
 
 Din. Lord, the ignorance of your southern gentlefolks ! 
 Stuff it into your own stomach, man! [Drinks.\ This is 
 capital brandy too ! It will be moonshine brandy, I 
 reckon. The smugglers and gipsies are all one man's 
 children. But lord ! captain, (since you say you are a 
 captain,) did you ever in your life see a woman stand 
 staring, as that old gipsey woman has been staring at 
 you ] That's she, 1 take it, I told you of: she they ca'.l 
 Meg Merrilies, the ruler and terror of them all. 
 
 Ber. [Turning round and observing Meg.^ My good 
 woman, do you know me, that you look at me so hard 1 
 
 [Rises. 
 
 Meg. Better than you know yourself. 
 
 Ber. Aye, aye ; that is, you'll tell my future fortune. 
 
 Meg. Yes, because I know your past. 
 
 Ber. Indeed ! then you have read a perplexed page, 
 
 Meg. It will be clearer soon. 
 
 Ber. Never less likely. 
 
 Meg. Never more so. 
 
 Ber. [Offering money. \ Your manner is wild and oracu- 
 lar enough ; come, give me a proof of your art. 
 
 Meg. Offer it not. If, with a simple spell, 1 cannot re- 
 call times which you have long forgotten, hold me the 
 miserablest impostor. Hear me, hear me, Henry — Henry 
 Bertram ! 
 
 Ber. Henry Bertram ! Sure, I have heard that name ■, 
 but when and where — 
 
 Meg. Hark ! hark ! to the sound of other days ! Listen, 
 and let your heart awake. " Girl, come hither; sing me 
 the song I used to sing to Bertram's babe." 
 
 [" The gipsey girl sings the air which Miss Bertram 
 sung, hut much more wildly." 
 
 AIR—" Gipsey Girl."* 
 
 Oh ! hai-k thee, young Henry, 
 
 Thy sire is a knight, 
 Thy mother a lady, 
 
 So lovely and bright ; 
 The hills and the dales, 
 
 From the towprs which we see. 
 They all shall belong, 
 
 My dear Henry, to thee. 
 
 *M1?8 C. Cusiiman, in her performance of the character of Meg Merrilies einf* 
 tbesp lini'.niid the pflect prohiceil is must powerful.
 
 42 GUY MANNERING. [Aci II 
 
 Oh ! rest thee, babe ; rest thee, babe ; 
 
 Sleep on till day 
 Oh ! rest thee, babe ; rest thee, babe ; 
 
 ^leep while you may. 
 
 Ber. These words do indeed thrill ir/y bosom with 
 strange emotions. Woman, speak more plainly, and tell 
 me why those sounds thus agitate my inmost soul ; and 
 what ideas they are, that thus darkly throng upon my 
 mind at hearing them. 
 
 Meg. Speaks. 
 
 Listen, youth, to words of power, 
 Swiftly comes the nghtful hour! 
 They, who did thee scathe and wrong, 
 Shall pay their deeds by death e'er long. 
 
 The dark shall be light. 
 
 And the wrong made right. 
 And Bertram's right, and Bertram's might, 
 Shall meet ou EUaugowan's height! 
 
 \Erit Gabriel, suddenly vp the rocks, after appearing 
 to give Franco some directions. 
 
 Ber. [Stands gazing on her, thoughtful and surprised.] 
 Bertram ! Bertram! Why does that name sound so fa- 
 miliar to me ? 
 
 Din He is bewitched, for certain. There wcs always 
 witchcraft and devilry among them gipsey clan, 1 have 
 heard. 
 
 Meg. [ JVho has loatched Gabriel up.] And now begone ! 
 Franco, guide these strangers on their way to Kipple- 
 triagan. Yet, stay ; let me see your hand. [Leads liini 
 forioard^ What say these lines of the fortunes past 1 
 Wandering and woe, and danger, and crosses in love and 
 in friendship! What of the future? Honour, wealth, 
 prosperity, love rewarded, and friendship re-united ! But 
 what of the present 1 Aye ! there's a trace, which speaks 
 nf danger, of captivity, perchance; but not of death ! 
 ( hooks cautioush) round, then beckons Dinynont, and sj^eaks 
 in a very low deep voice?^ If you are attacked, be men, 
 and let your hands defend your heads ! I will not be far 
 distant from you in the monn-nt of need. And now lie- 
 tjnne ! Fate calls you ! A. way, away, away ! [She retire* 
 into the tent, r.
 
 Scene IV.] GUY MANNERING. «13 
 
 Din, Lord, captain, I wish she may be all right, and 
 not familiar with other things than live in this world. 
 
 Ber, Don't be afraid, my friend. 
 
 Din. Fear'd ! damn'd a whistle fear I ! Be she witch 
 or devil, its all one to Dandie ; and yet I felt but once 
 like just now, when she was/ conjuring. If I could ha' 
 muster'd a bit of a pray'r, I don't know but I'd have given 
 it her! — but, as I said, devil take me if I baulk you, cap- 
 tain ; so forward, my little fellow, and we'll follow. 
 
 Franco. This way, gentlefolks ! [Exit Franco up the 
 rocks, Dandie and Bertram following. 
 
 Scene IV. — A wild landscape. Enter Gabriel, l. cau- 
 tiously, and looking back, 
 
 Gah. Franco has observed my track, I see ! That's a 
 promising chick in our craft, and loves his profession. He 
 has as quick an eye to mischief as the oldest of our gang. 
 \ Enter Franco, quickly, l] Well, my little decoy duck, 
 are they far behind 1 
 
 Franco. Not far; I watched you, and sported on be- 
 fore, to get a word with you, now we're free from old Meg. 
 
 Gah. Well, then, lead 'em down the pass in the rocks, 
 to Hatteraick's point, and contrive to loiter there till I 
 come up the glen with my party ; but be sure not to give 
 Diik the signal till you see us. 
 
 Franco. Trust to me, Gabriel, Hush ! they are here. 
 
 Enter Dinmont and Bertram, l. 
 
 Din. Halloa ! you, sir ! You here too ? What are 
 you saying to the boy 1 
 
 Gab. I only came to give him directions ; I fear'd ho 
 might mistake the road. 
 
 Din. Look you, frientf ! your people sometimes come 
 up our water-side ; now they have always had a barn, and 
 clean straw, and a bellyful, at Charlie's Hope ; but if you 
 play us any trick now, the devil take me, if you or they 
 shall ever have any thing but your shirts full of broken 
 bones. Damn it, I could find the way mysplf ; for the 
 brandy has cleared my eyes, tlie rum had blinded. 
 
 Gah. There's no cause fin- your suspicion, sir ; you'll be 
 taken care of, depond 'on it.
 
 14 GUT MANNERING. fAcT II 
 
 SONG — Gabriel. 
 
 Follow him, nor fearful deem 
 
 Danger lurks in jripsey-guile ; 
 Eude and lawless tho' we seem, 
 
 Simple hearts we bear tlie while. 
 Robber fierce, nor tliief is here, 
 
 Who shroud by night in savage den ; 
 Fearless then, o'er mosses drear, 
 
 Gloomy thicket, darksome glen, 
 Safely follow, follow hira. 
 
 From rustic swains, the petty bribe, 
 
 Petty spoil from cot, or farm, 
 Content the wand'ring gipsey tribe, 
 
 Wiio the traveller never harm. 
 Then, nor thief, nor robber fear, 
 
 ■Who shroud by night in savage den ; 
 But thro' mosses, dank and drear, 
 
 Barren wilds, and darksome glen. 
 Safely follow, follow him. 
 
 \Exeunt Gabriel, l. Dinmont and Bertram following 
 Franco, r. 
 
 Scene V. — A sort of Dell or Passe, with cliffs rugged 
 and hroken ; shaggy underwood groicing on each side. 
 In the Offing, the Sea, or rather an inlet foom it, and a 
 Smugglers^ lugger riding in the distance. Taw Smug- 
 glers lurking on the rocks. The grey dawn oj" morn- 
 ing, with the sun fointly seen to light the extreme hori- 
 zon. 
 
 £l«/er Hatteraick rf«<Z Sebastian, down theroclcs, u. e. r. 
 
 Haft. By the elements, your fire's out, your spirit's gone, 
 Sebastian ! You're turned cowards and cravens, every 
 man of you! O, the pretty lads I have seen you gipsey 
 tribe turn out, to land a cargo, oi* to fight the land sharks ! 
 And to wince at such a trifle as this ! 
 
 Scb. But I tell you. Dirk Hatteraick, that Meg will not 
 consent that there should be a hair of his head hurt ; and 
 thou knovv'st well the weight she has with all our tribe, 
 and why she has it. We dare not disobey even her signs 
 and looks. 
 
 Hatt. Aye, aye : because your people think she is hand 
 and "love with old Satan.
 
 Scene V.] GUY MANNERING. 45 
 
 Seh. And what is your purpose, Captain Hatteralck t 
 I think I have a good right to know it. 
 
 Ilatt. What right ] 
 
 Seh. Why, before a man slips his neck within the com- 
 pass of a haltei', 1 think he may be allowed to ask a civil 
 question, Why 1 
 
 Hatt. Well then, you suspicious hound, if thou wert at 
 the top of that cliff, what large house would you see ? 
 
 Scb. EUangowan Castle, to be sure. What of that 1 
 
 Hatt. And to whom does EUangowan Castle belong? 
 
 Seb. Why, they say it belongs to your eld acquaintance, 
 Gilbert Glossin ! 
 
 Hatt, It does ; but if this lad, this Brown, as they call 
 him, thig heir-male, were safe under hatches yonder, in 
 in my lugger, ready to be produced with the documents 
 which I can give him, whose would the estate be then, eh? 
 
 Seb. I begin to see your drift, captain. 
 
 Hatt. Why mine, man, and thine ; and all who hold 
 the secret, to threaten Glossin with. He shall be our 
 factor Only, and draw the rents for us ; the castle's our 
 own to revel in, and he shall not dare to say us nay ! So 
 set your foot to mine, lads, and we secure the younker in 
 a moment, and keep him like a bagged fox, to be turned 
 out as we see cause. 
 
 Seb. But you had better wait for Gabriel, and his fel- 
 lows. Young Bertram's a powerful man; if he resists, 
 and — 
 
 Hatt. And is killed, you mean ; why then, we must 
 keep the secret, and make that scoundrel Glossin believe 
 him still alive. But zounds ! have done with your buts 
 and ands. Here they come. Stand back, lads, behind 
 the cliff. [They conceal themselves v.. ii. w. e. 
 
 Enter Bertram and Dandie, preceded by Franco, dowri 
 the ivinding path of an opposite cliff, l. h. 
 
 Din. [On the cliff] I tell you, my cock sparrow, I have 
 had a special notion this some time past, that you are 
 leading us out of the road to Kippletringan ! and if you 
 are, my chicken, I'll think no more of ringing your neck 
 round, than that of a moor-fowl pout ! 
 
 [Dinmont by this time is doion en front, and Franco anx- 
 iously Ivokiiig ojf, R.]
 
 46 GUY MANNERING. [Act li 
 
 What ails ye now, you devil's bird, that you stand 
 staring down the glen 1 1 have not the truth out of you ! 
 
 [Shakes hhn. 
 
 Franco. I only thought, perhaps, the gentleman might 
 like to see the rocks ; many southern gentlemen come to 
 see this glen : it's famous ! 
 
 Din. Rocks and glens! when we want to get to a town 
 and our beds ! Come, come, where's the way next ? 
 
 Franco. [Affecting great fear.] You terrify me so, 1 
 don't know. 
 
 Din. If I take you in hand, young one — 
 
 Bcr. O, let him alone ; you fiighten him ; he is but a 
 boy ! 
 
 Din. A boy ! there's as much mischief in the devil's 
 little finger, they say, as there is in all his body ; he's 
 hatching a lie at this moment. 
 
 Franco. [Aside] I see 'em ; dear sir, if you heard the 
 curious echo that is here, you would not be angry. 
 
 Ber. Echo! What echo, my little lad? 
 
 Franco. You shall hear. 
 
 [Seems pleased, blows a tohistle, and runs off, r.] 
 
 (Hatteraick andJiis sailors rush forward, from r. h 
 U. E. — Gauriel enters, from r. h. s. e. with tus 
 or three Gipsey men. — Just as tliey are going to 
 fall on, Meg Merriliks suddenly appears upon an 
 eminence, w. E. l. h. hetwecn the ^?rtri/e*, and reaves 
 off the Gipsies, who shrink hack at her signal. 
 
 Meg. Gipsies, strike not, at your peril! Children, obey 
 me, and depart. .—'— ^ 
 
 Halt. Witch! fiend! hag! Cowards, will ye desert 
 me at a woman's bidding? Then we must do it ourselves. 
 At 'em, lads. 
 
 [A violent scvffe, in which the sailors are vmrsted and 
 driven off, r. h. u. e. — Haitcraick is knocked down 
 and made prisoner. — Alcg disa]>pears, vr. e l. h.] 
 
 Din. Well, the devil such sport as this, captain, T 
 never saw. How that fellow fought. 
 
 Bert. But what shall we do with cur prisoner? he 
 seems resolved not to walk.
 
 SCENK v.] GUY MANNERING. 47 
 
 Dm. I cannot blame hira, — it's a rough road to the 
 gallows! — [To IIattcraick.\ — Come, lad, will ye get up 
 and walk, or shall I carry you on my shoulders, as if you 
 were a sheep ? 
 
 [Bertram assists Dandle to lift up Hatteraick, wlwse 
 
 arms the]/ bind. — He looks dogged and stern, but 
 
 makes no resistance.^ 
 
 Ber. Now, sir, be pleased to use your legs. Nol 
 
 motionless and silent ? We'll find a way to make you 
 
 march. 
 
 [" Bagpipes, L. u. E. — A march heard behind the 
 scenes. \ 
 
 " Din. And as good luck would have it, yonder comes 
 " the Highland party I saw at the fair yesterday, and a 
 ** troop of the village lads and lasses following the merry 
 " bagpipes. 'Gad, we'll have enough to carry you now, 
 " lad, gaily and lightly ; and it's my old acquaintance, 
 *' Serjeant M'Crae, with them too. 
 
 " The party march on the stage, l. 
 
 " How is all with you, serjeant ? and how came you in 
 " this queer out-o'-the-way place ? 
 
 " Scrj. Why, we'i-e order'd here, to look out for some 
 " srauTfoflers and banditti. 
 
 "Din. We have been before-hand with you, man: 
 " fought them, beat them, and made a prisoner ! And 
 "you must help us to take hira to the next justice's, 
 ** Gibbie Glossin's, at Ellangowan. 
 
 " Serj. With all my heart. Take him away, lads. 
 
 ["Exeunt two soldiers carrying Dirk, l. s. b 
 
 " But I must first refresh my party. 
 " Din. And what will refresh them ? 
 '* Serj. A fir am. 
 " Din. And what more 1 
 " Serj. A song. 
 " Din. And what more ? 
 " Serj. A dance. 
 
 " Din. Bravo, serjeant ! you keep a right Highland 
 " heart still.
 
 48 GUY MANNERING. [Aor 111 
 
 SONG AND CHORUS. 
 
 " Now fill the glass, and let it -paa^ 
 
 " From hautl to hand wi' glee, man ; 
 " The faint are bold, and young the oU, 
 " When whiskey fires their ee', man. 
 " The kelted lads frae Scottish hills, 
 " When taking aft' their native gills, 
 " Find every norve wi' courage fills ; 
 " A dauntless band, 
 " Like rocks they stand, 
 " And wield the brand 
 *' Wi' deadly hand, 
 « Till foes all fail or tlee, man. 
 
 ** Let pipers chant a rattling rant, 
 
 " And lasses join the dance, man, 
 " Wi' music-craft and whiskey daft, 
 " Our pulses wildly prance, man. 
 " Then lads gae mad from head to heel, 
 " Strike hands, and then strike up a reel, 
 " And in the air they glance and wheel, 
 " They set and shout, 
 " And in and out, 
 " They cross about, 
 " Till all the rout 
 " Are lost in pleasure's trance, man, 
 
 [Thei/ dance a Scotch dance.\ 
 
 ACT III . 
 
 Scene I. Ellclngoican.——The Sea-shore, with the 
 
 Castle on the rocks. 
 
 Enter Meg, l. 
 
 Meg. From one peril I have preserved young Bertram ! 
 his greatest and his last is still to corae. From that too 
 will I protect him ; for I was born to raise the house of 
 Ellangowan from its ruins. 
 
 Enter Sebastian, r. 
 Now, Sebastian, thy tidings? 
 
 Sth. Dirk Hatteraick has sent his orders by me, for 
 our crew to meet him instantly at the old tower of Dern- 
 cleugh. 
 
 Meg. Hatteraick! Why, was he not serured, and taken 
 to Dinmont and the youth to Glossin's 1 Is he not in the 
 hands of justice ?
 
 Sci-.Nt, I.] G'^Y MANNER ING. 49 
 
 Seb. He was ; but he has slipt through its fingers, and 
 without much difficulty : for they were opened to him on 
 purpose. 
 
 Meg. What meanest thou ? 
 
 Seh. Why, that his old friend Justice Glossin contrived 
 that he should effect his escape from the Ca&tle-Keep, 
 where he was confined ; and the friendly smuggler and 
 lawyer meet to-night in the cavern by Derncleugh Tower, 
 where we are to assist them in making sure (as they call 
 it) of that younker of Ellangowan, whom Glossin is to 
 separate from his sturdy companion, and send over tho 
 heath alone. 
 
 Meg I understand it, — his death is purpos'd ; and 
 they have chosen the scene of one murder to commit 
 another. Right ! The blood spilt on that spot, has long 
 cried for vengeance, and it shall fall upon them. Sebas- 
 tian, speed to Dinmont and the youth : tell them not to 
 separate for their lives, — guide them to the glen near 
 the tower ; there let them wait till Glossin and Hatter- 
 aick meet in the cavern, and I will join them. Away, and 
 do my bidding! — [Exit Sebastian, R. ii.] — Now to send to 
 Mannering, — I must remain on the watch myself: — 
 Gabriel I dare not trust. Ha ! who comes now l The 
 girl herself, and Abel Sampson, Henry Bertram's ancient 
 tutor ! It shall be so — [Retires, r. 
 
 Enter JvLiA and Lucy, l. h. 
 
 Julia. Upon ray word, my dear Lucy, this Scotland of 
 your's is the most gallant country in the world. There's 
 even Mi\ Sampson yonder, turned as arrand a coxcomb 
 as my brother, in our service. How delightful the old 
 gentleman does look in his new suit ! What wonders 
 will you work next 1 An old, abstracted philosopher, 
 dangling after us, a beau-companion ; and a proud, stern, 
 stoical soldier, melted down into your forlorn true lover. 
 
 Lucy. Why will you thus continue to persecute me 
 with speeches, which gratitude and delicacy, and above 
 all, the remembrance of my deep and x-ecent afflictions, 
 should forbid me listening to. 
 
 Julia. By no means, my dear ; gratitude and delicacy, 
 and every thing in the world, should bid you listen to a
 
 60 GUV MANNERING. [Act III 
 
 man, who (I can tell you from good authority) is over 
 head and ears in love with you. What say yoa, dearest 
 Lucy, will you be my sister ] 
 
 Lucy. Oh Julia ! What can, — what ought I to say 1 
 Spare me, 1 entreat jou ! My heart is too full : Let your's 
 Bpeak for me. 
 
 AIR. — Miss Bertram. 
 
 Oh ! blame me not, that such high worth 
 
 Hath rais'd of love the gentle flame ; 
 Yet, as I owu it — quicker throbs 
 
 The timid, trembling pulse of shame. 
 When pity dries the falling tear. 
 
 Love, unperceiv'd, ■will venture in ; 
 And kindness to a wounded heart. 
 
 Is sure that wounded heart to win. 
 
 My faalt'ring tongue, my downcast eyes. 
 
 Reveal my bosom thoughts too plam ; 
 But where love wore a form so good, 
 
 Ah ! tell me, could it plead in vain ? 
 This heart without a resting place, 
 
 Was like the wand'ring weary dove, 
 Return'd from soitow's storms, to seek 
 
 A shelter in the ark of love. 
 
 Julia. Oh, here comes Mr. Sampson. 
 
 Lucy. Pray endeavour to divert the poor man's atten- 
 tion, for his change of dress quite confuses him. How 
 could you play such a roguish trick upon the good absent 
 soul, as to make the servant put new clothes in his room, 
 ia the place of his old ones ? 
 
 Enter Sampson, l. looking at his clothes. 
 
 Samp. Truly, my outward man doth somewhat embar- 
 rass my sensations of identity. My vestments are reno- 
 vated miraculously. 
 
 Julia. Mr. Sampson, will you favor us with your arm 1 
 
 Samp. [Looks at her a moment, then returns to his 
 clothes.] Of a verity, these sleeves are regenerated, so are 
 the knees of my breeches, or subligaculi, as the an- 
 cients denominated them. 
 
 Lucy. Come, Mr. Sampson, we wait for you. 
 
 Samp. Honour'd young lady. I — Where can the patch 
 and darning be removed unto? 
 
 Lucy. What's the matter, Sir ?
 
 Scene I.] GUY MANNERING. 51 
 
 Samp. I know not, I am nubilous ; doubtless the air 
 oi Woodbiirne is favorable unto wearing apparel ; for the 
 surface of my garments is as fresh as when 1 first put them 
 on, ten years ago ! Miraculous ! Idem et alter ! Pro- 
 digious! But I crave forgiveness, young ladies, — we 
 will proceed, [As they are going Mtg stops thein. 
 
 Meg. Stop ! I command ye ! 
 
 Samp. Avoid thee ! [Starts and runs hack. 
 
 Julia. What a frightful creature ! here ! here. Sir ! 
 [Holding her purse to Sampson.] Give her something, and 
 bid her go. 
 
 Meg. I want not your trash. 
 
 Lur.i/. She's mad ! 
 
 Meg. No ; I am not mad. I've been imprisoned for 
 mad, — scourged for mad, — banished for mad ; but mad I 
 am not. 
 
 Lucy. For mercy's sake, good woman, what is it you 
 want % 
 
 Meg. Go hence, Lucy Bertram, and Julia Mannering; 
 there's no harm meant you, and, may be, much good at 
 hand. Hence ! 'tis Abel Sampson, I want. 
 
 Sajnp. [Aside.] 'Tis Meg Merrilies, renowned for her 
 sorceries ! I hav'nt seen her for many a year. My blood 
 curdles to hear her ! Young ladies, depart and fear not. 
 I am somewhat tremulous, but 1 am vigorous. Lo ! I will 
 resist. [Edges round between the ladies and Meg, to cover 
 their retreat; — they go off, l. — Points his long cane at 
 her.] I am perturbed at thy words. Woman, I conjure 
 thee ! [She advances.] Nay then, will I flee inconti- 
 nently. 
 
 Meg. Halt ! and stand fast, or ye shall rue the day, while 
 a limb of you hangs together ! 
 
 Samp. Conjuro te, nequissima, et scelestissima ! 
 
 Meg. What gibberish is that ? Go from me to Colonel 
 Mannering. 
 
 Samp, I am fugacious. [He attempts to jly, she makes 
 .T( him. 
 
 Meg. Stay, thou tremblest ! drink of this. [ Offers a 
 flask. 
 
 Samp. ^ am not athirst. most execrable, — I mean, ex- 
 cellent —
 
 52 GUY MANNERING. [Act III. 
 
 Meg. Drink ! and put some heart in you, cr I will — 
 
 Samj). Lo ! I obey ! [Drin/cs. 
 
 Meg. Can your learning tell you what that is % 
 
 Sa?np. Praised be thy bounty, brandy. 
 
 Wlog. Will you remember my errand now ? 
 
 Snmp. I will, most pernicious ; that is, pertinaciously. 
 
 M<g. Then tell Coloiiel Mannering, if ever he owed a 
 debt to the house of Ellangowan, and hopes to see it 
 prosper, he must come instantly, armed, and well attended, 
 to the glen, below the tower of Derncleugh ; and fail not 
 on his life ! You know the spot. 
 
 Samp. I do, where you once dwelt, most accursed ; — 
 that is most accurate, 
 
 IVIcg. Aye, Abel Sampson, there blazed my hearth foi 
 many a day ! and there, beneath the willow that hung its 
 garlands over the brook, I've sat and sung to Harry Ber- 
 tram songs of the old time. [Crosses to l. 
 
 Scan]}. \Aside.\ Witch-rhymes and incantations. I 
 lA^ould 1 could abscond. 
 
 Meg. That tree is wither'd now, never to be green 
 again : — and old Meg Merrilies will never sing blythe 
 songs more. [Crosses to u.] But I charge you, Abel Samp- 
 son, when the heir shall have his own, — as soon he 
 shall — 
 
 Sa-np. Woman ! What say'st thou ] 
 
 Meg. That you tell him not to forget Meg Merrilies, 
 liut to build up the old walls in the glen for her sake, and 
 let those that live there be too good to fear the beings ol 
 another world ; for, if ever the dead come back among 
 the living, I will be seen in that glen many a-night after 
 these crazed bones are whitened in the mouldering grave. 
 
 Samp. Fears and perturbations creep upon me ! but 1 
 will speak soothingly unto her. [^s/r/c] Assuredly, Mis- 
 tress Margaret Merrilies, I will go whither thou biddest 
 me, and remember your behest ; but touching the return 
 of little Harry Bertram, 1 opine — 
 
 Meg. I have said it, old man ! ye shall see him again, 
 and the best lord he shall be that Ellangowan has seen 
 these hundred years. But you're o'er long here. — To 
 Mannering! Away! and bid him come to that spot in- 
 stantly, or the heir .>f Ellangowan may perish for ever.
 
 ScEtii: II.] GUY MANNERIXG. 58 
 
 Samp. I will hie me nimbly, most fascinorous ; — I would 
 say fascinating. Prodigious! Prodigious! Prodigious! 
 [This he Tcpeats as Meg motions him off, l. She 
 stands looking after him, her arm pointed in the di' 
 reclion he is going. 
 
 Meg. Now then to complete the work of fate : the mo- 
 ment is at hand when all shall behold, 
 
 Bertram's right, and Bertram's might, 
 Meet on Ellaugowau's height. 
 
 [Exit, R. 
 
 Scene II. — An apartment in Woodhurne-house. — Swords* 
 guns, pistols, ^c, over ths mantlepiece. — Enter Colonel 
 Mannkrisg, R. Jbllowed hy LocY and Julia. 
 
 Miss Man. Oh, my dear brother ! you cannot think how 
 fiighten'd we were ! she desired us to go away. It wa» 
 Mr, Sampson she said she wanted to speak witli. 
 
 Miss M. I wish he were returned. \Samp. is heara 
 without, L. speaking to Flora. 
 
 Samp. Avoid thee ! — that is, where is Colonel Manner 
 ingl 
 
 Flora. This way, Mr. Sampson ! follow me. 
 
 Samp. Conjuro te : — I mean, shew me to him. 
 
 Col. Man. Here is Mr. Sampson ; and now perhaps, 
 we shall know how to act. 
 
 Enter Sampson, l. preceded hy Flora. 
 Flora. Gracious me, Mr Sampson, what's the matter 
 
 with you ? 
 
 Satnp. Exorcise te ! 
 
 Flora. Exercise me ! What is't you mean, sir \ Are 
 you out of your wits'? 
 
 Samp. Conjuro te! 
 
 Flora. Conjure some tea 1 You're bewitched yourself, 
 for certain. 
 
 Samp. Of a surety, it is my belief — deprecor ; — this is, 
 I would confer with the Colonel Mannering. 
 
 Flora. Well, there is the Colonel, and the young ladies 
 with him, Mr. Sampson. [Exit l. 
 
 Col. I'lan. Now. Mr. Sampson what is the meaning ot 
 all this alarm 1
 
 54 OUY MANNERING. [Act Jll 
 
 Samp. Exorclso ! — 
 
 Col. Man. How, sir ? 
 
 Samp. T crave pardon, honorable sir; but my wits — 
 
 Col Man. Seem rather disorder'd, I think ; but I beg 
 you will arrange them, and explain your business. 
 
 Somp. 1 will : sed conjure te ! — 1 mean, I will deliver 
 my message. 
 
 Col. Man. Your message ! from whom ? 
 
 Samp. From Beelzebub, 1 believe. 
 
 Col. Man. This is an ill-tim'd jest, Mr. Sampson. 
 
 Samp. She, of whom 1 spake is no jesting person. 
 
 Col. Man. Whom, whom did you speak of? 
 
 Samp. Beelzebub's mistress, Meg Merrilies. 
 
 Lury. Good heaven ! was it slie whom I saw '/ Oh, sir, 
 what said she I 
 
 Sa7np. Prodigious ! I am oblivious. 
 
 Col. Mail. Mr. Sampson, how can you trifle thus? 
 
 Samp. Honored Colonel, bear with me a moment. The 
 witch has terrified me ! It was touching little Harry Ber- 
 tram. 
 
 Lucy. How ! my long-lost brother 1 
 
 Samp. Yea ! who, tho' of a tender age, was, by a bless 
 ingf on my poor endeavors, a prodigy of learning. 
 
 Col. Man. Well, sir, but what of him ? 
 
 Samp. Of a verity, she prophesied his return. 
 
 Lucy. Gracious heaven ! 
 
 Sa^np. And has commanded you, worthy Colonel, to at- 
 tend her summons, with armed men, at her ancient domi- 
 cile, in the glen, by Derncleiigh tower. 
 
 Col. Man. With armed men. 
 
 Savip. Yea, and speedily ; lest, as she said, the heir of 
 Ellangowan perisheth for ever. 
 
 Col. Man. It shall be attended to this moment. Mr. 
 Sampson, protect the ladies ! arm yours-elf, and follow. 
 Your presence may be important. [Exit, l. 
 
 Samp. [Takes down a gun and sword fro7n the tcall.] 
 Young ladies, follow n;e, and fear not, Lo ! I have 
 armed myself, aJid will smite lustily in the cause of little 
 Harry. \Tlie gun goes of.\ P-r-o-o-digious ! [The ladiex 
 run, off, he after them, dragging the gun, and shouldering 
 the sword awkxtardly 
 
 1
 
 Scene III.] GUY MANNERING. 55 
 
 Scene 111.— The cavern near the tower of Tkrncleugh ; 
 the broken and lofty entrance at the summit of the stage, 
 from which descends a rugged path ; another dark and 
 narrow, passage hewn in the rock hehiw. — Hatteraick 
 is diicovered walking vp and down in the vault over the 
 emliers of a fire, with the gestures of one who finds it 
 d)fiicult to keep himself warm. — Enter Glossin, cau- 
 tiously, from R. u. E. with a dark lantern. 
 
 Glos. Hist ! hist ! 
 
 Hatt. Is it you % 
 
 Glos. Are you in the dark, my dear Dirk ? 
 
 Hatt. Dark ! Dark as the devil's mouth, and my fire ia 
 
 ;Ut. 
 
 Glos. We'll repair it in a trice. \Gathers up S07ne dry 
 aPicks, and repairs the fire ; as it breaks out. Dirk war7ns 
 'timsef with eagerness.] It is a cold place, to be sure. 
 
 Hatt. Cold ! snow-water and hail ! It is perdition ! 
 And I could only keep myself alive, by walking up and 
 down this infernal h(jle, and thinkng of the merry 
 rouses we have had in it. 
 
 Glos. And shall again, boy. [Produces a fiask.j Sec 
 here's something to warm your heart, as well as yourlimba 
 
 hatt. Give it me, give it me. Ah ! this lights the fire 
 wittiin. I have dreamt of nothing but that d — 'd dead 
 fellow, Kennedy, ever since I've been here, 
 
 Glos. Come, come, the cold's at your heart still ; take 
 another pull. I left that bull-headed brute of a faimei-, 
 refreshing, as he calls it, with the soldiers, and the young- 
 ster crosses the heath alone ; so there's an easy trick to 
 be won. 
 
 Hatt. No, I rather fight for it. A few good blows put 
 a colour upon such a business ; besides, I should like my 
 'evenge on that Liddesdale bully, for the hard knock on 
 Uie head he gave me. 
 
 [Meg Merrilies appears through the narrow entrance, k. 
 attended by Bkrtuam and Dinmont. 
 
 Meg. \In a deep uliisper to Birtratn.] Will you believe 
 me now 1 You shall hear them attest all I have .said; but 
 flo nut .stir till ! give the Kign. \T'icy retire, n. it.
 
 56 GUY MANNERING. [Act III 
 
 Halt. [ Who has been warming himself. \ Is Sebastian 
 true, think you 1 
 
 Glos. True as steel ! I fear none of them but old 
 Meg. 
 
 Meg. \ Steps forward to them.] And what d'ye fear 
 from her ? 
 
 Glos. [Aside.] What fury has brought this hag hither? 
 [to Meg.] — Nay, nothing, nothing, my good mother; I was 
 only fearing you might not come here, to see our old 
 friend Dirk Hatteraick before he left us. 
 
 Meg. What brings him back with the blood of the 
 Kennedy upon his hands 1 
 
 Hatt. It has dried up, you hag ; it has dried up twenty 
 years ago. 
 
 Meg. It has not ! It cries night and day, from the bot- 
 tom of this dungeon, to the blue arch of heaven ; and nev- 
 er so loudly as at this moment! and yet you proceed, as 
 if your hands were whiter than the lily. 
 
 Hatt. Peace, you foul witch ! or I'll make you quiet. 
 
 Glos. No violence, no violence against honest Meg! 1 
 will show her such good reasons for what we have furth- 
 er lo do. You know our purpose, I suppose 1 
 
 Meg. Yes! to murder an unoffending youth, the heir of 
 Ellangowan. And you, you treacherous cur, that bit the 
 chariiable hand that fed you ! will you again be helping 
 to kidnap your master's son? Beware ! I always told ye 
 evil would come on ye, and in this very cave. 
 
 Glos Hark ye, Meg, we must speak plain to you! My 
 friend Dirk Hatteraick and I have made up our minds 
 about this youngster, and it signifies nothing talking, un- 
 leas you have a mind to share his fate. You were as deep 
 as we in the whole business. 
 
 Meg. 'Tis false ! you forced me to consent that you 
 should hurry him away, kidnap him, plunder him; but to 
 murder him was your own device ! Your's ! And it has 
 thriven with you well. 
 
 Haft. The old hag has croaked nothing but evil bodinga 
 these twenty years; she has been a rock-a-head to me all 
 my life. 
 
 Meg. I, a rock-ahead ! The gallows is your rock -a* 
 head.
 
 OCE.VE III ] GUY MANNERING. 57 
 
 Halt. Gallows ! ye hag of Satan, the hemjt is not 
 sown that shall hang me. 
 
 Meg. It is sown, and it is grown, and hackled and 
 twisted. Did I not tell you that the boy would return in 
 spite of you 1 Did I not say, the old fire would bum 
 down to a spark, and then blaze up again, 
 
 [Here tlie party appears on the watch.] 
 Hatt. You did ; but all is lost, unless he's now made 
 sure. Ask Glossin else. 
 
 Meg. I do, and in the name of heaven, demand if ho 
 will yet forego his foul design against his master's son. 
 
 Glos. What! and give up all to this Brown, or Ber- 
 tram ; this infernal heir male, that's come back ? never! 
 
 Meg. Bear witness, heaven and earth ! They have 
 confessed the past deed, and proclaimed their present 
 purpose. 
 
 [She throws a little flax, dipt in spirits of wine, on the 
 
 Jire, lohich blazes up to the ronf. At this signal, 
 
 Bertram rushes upon Glossi.v — Djnmo.\t upon 
 
 Hatteraick, and masters his sword. — Hatteraich. 
 
 suddenly fires a pistol at Meg, who fulls xoitli. a loud 
 
 scream, andrushing vp to the entrance of the Cavern, 
 
 he is met hy Mannering and soldiers, who instantly 
 
 secure him and Glossi.v. Servants follow with lights. 
 
 Col Man. Carry off these villians ; — we have heard 
 
 their own tongues seal their guilt. Justice shall do the 
 
 rest. [Exeunt soldiers with prisoners, w. E. i,. 
 
 And look to this unfortunate woman. Hasten, some one, 
 
 for proper assistance. 
 
 Meg. Heed me not — T knew it would be this way, and 
 it has ended as it ought — bear me up — let me but see my 
 master's son ; let me but behold Henry Bertram, and bear 
 witness to him, and the gipsey vagrant has nothing more 
 to do with life. 
 
 Samp, [without, w. e. l.] This way, Miss Lucy, tliis 
 way. Where, where is little Harry Bertram 1 I must 
 nehold the infant, the dear child. 
 [He rushes on impatiently, followed hy Miss Bertram and 
 Miss Mannering, and stanrls opposite to Bertram, gaz- 
 ing on him — villagers and country people follow him and 
 ransic at Ourk. »
 
 &8 GUY MANNERING. 
 
 [Act III 
 
 Samp. Beatissime ! it is his father alive it is indeed, 
 Harry, little Harry Bertram! — look at me, my cliild ! do 
 you not remember me, Abel Sampson? 
 
 Ber. A light breaks in upon me — yes, th&t was indeed 
 my name, and that — tliat is the voice and figure of my 
 kind old master. 
 
 Samp. Miss Lucy Bertram, look ! lo ! behold ! — is he 
 Tiot your father's living image ? embrace him, and let fall 
 your teaj's upon a brother's cheek. 
 
 Miss B. My brother ! my long lost brother restored to 
 his rights ! welcome, oh, welcome to a sister's love ! 
 
 Meg. [Suddenl>/ raising herself.] Hear ye that 1 he's 
 owned ! — there's a living witness, and here, here is one, 
 rvho will soon speak no more. Hear her last words ! there 
 stands Harry Bertram: shout, shout, and acknowledge him 
 .wrd of ElJangowan ! [the people shout.] My ears grow 
 dull — stand from the light, and let me gaze upon him; — 
 no, the darkness is in my own eyes. 
 
 [Sinks into the arms of Bertram und Col. Mannering.] 
 
 Col. Come hither, some of you — bear her to AVood- 
 burne house — let all care be taken of her support, and 
 bear her gently away, she may yet recover. — [Meg is 
 borne aivaij R.] And now, Mr. Bertram, 1 hope no misun- 
 derstanding will prevent your accepting what I most 
 sincerely offer, my friendship and congratulations, upon 
 your restoration to birth and fortune. 
 
 Ber. Colonel Mannering, I accept them most gladly, 
 and if 1 am not deceived, the wishes of both our hearts 
 may make us not only friends but brothers. What say 
 you, sister, am I right 1 
 
 Miss M. Oh ! she can't speak, so I will. Give Miss 
 Bertram your arm, brother, and here, Henry, is mine ; and 
 now let us go in before v/e talk more on the subject. 
 
 Ber. My hearty friend and brave defender, come ; we 
 cannot part with you yet. 
 
 Din. I beg pardon of your honor and these young 
 ladies, but 1 haven't got my Sunday's suit on, and this 
 coat is rather the worse of the two or three tussles we 
 have had Jo-day.
 
 SCENK III. J 
 
 GUY MANNEKING. 
 
 ?i9 
 
 Bert. And can that "be an objection, to him in whose 
 cause it sufiei-ed 1 You may thank Mr. Dinmonl's 
 courage, ladies, for my life and safety. 
 
 liJiss. B. Thank him ! aye, that we do, and bless him 
 for it. 
 
 Din. Eh ! and heaven bless you, my bonny lass, wi* all 
 my heart. [Kisses Miss Bertram, and. alarmed at hia 
 boldness, runs back confused. 
 
 Samp. Prodigious ! 
 
 Din. Lord's sake, forgive me ! I ask your pardon, I am 
 sure — I forgot but ye'd been a bairn of my own — the 
 captain, here's so homely like ! he just makes one forget 
 one's self — and I'm so overjoyed like, at his good fortune — • 
 
 Col. So are we all, and if the heir of EUangowan be 
 welcomed here too, our joy will be — 
 
 Samp, Prodigious. 
 
 FINALE AND CHORUS. 
 
 Mita M. Oh ! let your hands assure the youth 
 
 There's nothing now to fear. 
 For his return is little worth, 
 
 Unless he's welcomed here. 
 For there's nae luck about the houee, 
 
 There's nae luck ava', 
 There's little pleasure in this house, 
 
 When your smiles are awa.' 
 
 Chorus. For there's nae luck, &c. 
 
 Bertram, The heir of Ellangowan's fate 
 Depends upon this night, 
 If you deny him your support. 
 He's neither right nor might, 
 
 Ckoru*. For there's nae luck, &c. 
 
 Miaa B. Then welcome home the rightful heir, 
 To native halls and lauds, 
 There's right and might, and music, too. 
 In your approving hands. 
 For there's nae luck, &c. 
 
 Chmus For there's nae luck, &Cv 
 
 DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 THE FAJLL OF THH 
 
 Villagers. 
 Djkmont. 
 
 8.1 
 
 Dominie. Lucy, B. Colonel Man. Julia MAif, 
 
 THE END. 
 
 VlLtAOERfc 
 
 Henby B.
 
 flora ' 
 
 SPE EDY BINDER 
 
 ^^^ Syracuse, N. Y. 
 
 Z:^ Stockton, Calif. 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 001 423 908 1 
 
 PR THE LIBRARY 
 
 5gO(a UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 _ - Santa Barbara 
 
 TXG 
 ^Q STACK COLLECTION 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW.