ACT I.

Day begins to peep—choak that Cock! he'll rouse my old master; but if I can get his Daughter Moggy to run away with me, let Cocks crow, Dogs bark, and old Masters grumble,

Moggy!

Miss Moggy M'Gilpin!—ha, ha, ha!—I must Miss Moggy her!

Well. Charley!

Here: I've stole the key of your room out of your father's pocket.

He, he, He! Oh, precious!

I'll drop out of the window for sear of making a noise on the stairs; you've only to un­lock [Page 6]your own door, soltly trip down, I'll wait for you below.

But how am I to get below? have you got the key of the street door?

Ecod! I had quite forgot that.

What a fool!—If I haven't a mind to go to bed again, and think no more about you—but since I did promise to go off with you, as we can't get out of the street door, I'll try to get from my win­dow; if you'll jump from yours, and stand below ready to receive me.

I'm not the fust clerk that's run away with his master's daughter, nor shall I be the last—while clerks are poor, masters rich, and daughters pretty.

The duce a thing can I find to—Oh, Lord!—stop, I'll cut my bed cord, tie it to the leg of the table, and slide down by it.

Slide down by her bed-cord! ha, ha, ha! my Moggy's a rare romping Hoyden—but she's fun­ny and good-natur'd, a sweet temper, and a merry heart; so if I never get a shilling from the old one, I'll have her at a venture.

There—I think that's fast—now I'll—Lud, I shall cut my hands thro'—take you for not getting the key of the street door.

My dear! throw out first what clothes you may want.

Then you won't take me without clothes, ha, ha, ha!

Master I think won't rise early—up late last night, rehearsing his fine speeches against he's a Parliament-man in London—Ha! ha! ha! tho' only now Laird Donald's steward, and collector of taxes here in one of the remote western islands of Scotland! ha! ha! he banished a simple old woman for a witch, 'cause she foretold his daughter should be run away with—ha! ha! ha! so I'll prove the truth of her prediction.—Odso!—here's the little gate too locked!—now could Moggy—stay—here's the horse block, and I'll make free with Dick the carpenter's bench, for her to step on the outside.—

I will believe in witcherafts, in wizards, and warlocks!—tho' I did pack Goody Commings out of the island, yet I'm certain her elves have been about my house t'night—no noise in Jenny's room, nor in my daughter Moggy's, nor in Charley's, nor in Benin's—yet noises I most assuredly heard.

Eh!—

Have you got it?

Yes,

I have got it!—what!—my daughter! oh! oh!

I thought I heard my father—

So did I!

Do you think he's get up?

No.

Now you'll catch me!

Yes, I'll catch you, you jade.

Now for it.

The devil!—she wont jump out of the window.

my fine fellow—here goes—

Oh, Lord! my child will break her bones.

—stop—can't you come out of the street door? It's open.

Pshaw!—why didn't you tell me so before? —Upon my word, I don't like such jokes—

Nor I, upon my soul.

—If I could carry on her mistake, I may find out who her seducer is—I think it is scarce light enough for her to know me now.

There's a wooden stepping-stone for you my dear—Eh!

the door open! we must have roused the old man; he must see me

—Who comes here?—Shelty, the piper—

If Sandy and Jenny are to be married to­day, it's time to rouse the boys and girls.

I think I know that voice—Oh, this is her fine fellow, I suppose.

Come now, I'm for you, my Dilding.

And I'm for you my Dodling.

And pray, my dear, where were you go­ing so early? Eh!

Going, Sir,—I—I—was going—

I know you were going, Sir,—but where, Sir?

To—to—church, Sir.

Jump out of the window to go to church!

Aw, aw!—What's the matter here?—Aw—aw—

Where have you been, sirrah?

Sir,—I—I—was—aw—aw—fast sleep.

You stupid—Where's Jenny?

Sir,—she's—aw—aw—fast asleep.

You lazy lubber!—Snoring in bed, and robbers and ravishers running away with my daugh­ter—

Sirrah, what do you want with my daughter?

I—

Eh—Shelty—Moggy—ho, ho—

Well, hang me if I didn't long suspect this,—

turn it upon him, and we are safe.

Go, my dear Shelty.

Eh!

Don't seduce my innocence any more.

I seduce!

Your wanting me to jump out of the win­dow to you.

I—jump!

To make a girl perhaps break her bones!

Ay—my poor little bones!—cruel lad!

Oh, fie, Shelty—Bless me! how came the horse-block, and the carpenter's bench here?

I dare say, to help Miss over.

It was.

My kind Shelty placed them.

Why, is the devil in you all?

Don't name the devil, you profligate! You're as wicked as the witch your grandmother, and the smuggling thief your father?

My granny was an innocent old woman, and so is my daddy.

Here father. [Page 10]I only came to see about Sandy and Jenny's wedding, 'cause I hop'd to sell a drop of liquor, and be em­ploy'd to play the pipes, and here, he says, I come to jump out of his window.

A piper! a tapster!—marry into the an­cient family of the M'Gilpins—one of the oldest houses in all Scotland!

I don't want to come near your old house.

You are a young—and your father there, is an old rogue—

What?

You come to steal my daughter, and he to rob the King.—I see he has been out, smug­gling all night;—but as I am a collector of his Majesty's customs, and my Laird Donald's rents, I'll—

You're a dog in office—I owe the King his duty; the Laird a quarter's rent, and you a beat­ing—all which I will pay, so help me, bonnet, purse, and cudgel!—

He threatens my life?—A conspiracy to run away with my daughter!—Charley, I commit her to your care.

Oh, cruel father!

Take her, Charley.—You marry, you jade! you shan't be even present at a wedding—I'll have Sandy and Jenny's celebrated to-day, and, oh, not a peep at it—up to your malepardis —go—!

Come, Miss; I'll take care you don't mar­ry any body—but myself—

That's right, Charley—

Well, if ever I saw such capers! the older he grows, the wickeder he is—ay, that's be­cause every day he gets nearer—

—Yes, he will—Eh—

As well as I [Page 11]can distinguish, yonder seems a boat put off from that ship that cou'dn't get in last night.—I may pick up customers among the passengers, they can't come to a nearer house than mine.—People may at their friends be better entertain'd, but the surest wel­come is at an inn.—Every body says—ha! ha! ha! that Shelty's a queer fellow; I believe I am —but I don't know how—how I get on—I do—I will.

Oh, my daughter is a most degenorate girl!—Well, you've lock'd her up?

Yes, Sir—

Eh, ay—boy, listen—I'm certain from that old smuggling knave Croudy's being towards the sea side so early, that he's about landing brandy and tobacco; so if I can but make a seizure, it may be worth ten times the cargo of tea I seiz'd on him last week; so my good lad, you'll be on the look-out; ay, and on the look-in too; to watch imports, and prevent exports.

I warrant, Sir, I'll keep one eye on the sea, and 'tother on Miss Moggy's room door.—Oh, Lord, Sir, yonder's Sandy come home.

Ha! ha! ha! Aye, the fool went to Mule to buy wedding clothes for himself and Jenny—I gave her an education, and I think that was doing very handsome by her—So I make a great compliment in giving her to Sandy, tho'—Ha! ha! ha! I'm very glad—he rids me of a burden—that's prudence, Char­ley—Ha! ha! ha!

'Tis, Sir, ha, ha, ha!

You know I taught you some of my tricks, ha, ha, ha!

Yes, Sir, and you'll find me an apt scholar.

In return, Charley, all I ask is your care of my daughter.

I'll take care of her, Sir.

Keep her from Shelty.

I'll keep her from Shelty, don't fear, Sir.

My good boy, how much I'm obliged to you. How shall I reward you?

I shall want cash for our frolic. A choice opportunity to coax him out of a little.

Only let me know what I shou'd do for you.

Why, Sir, last Christmas you promis'd me a Christmas-box—now didn't you, Sir?

I did so, my faithful Charley; keep [...]ut a strict watch upon Moggy, and—may be you [...]ave thoughts of some little blossom yourself; only [...] me know the girl that can make you happy, and [...] shall have her, by my authority.

Ah! Sir, there is a girl.—

No, no, my kind Charley—I've a great regard for you; but touch my pocket and our friendship ends; since they've raised me out of my bed, I'll walk down to the beach, and like another Demosthenes, practise one of my declamations; a [...]ine high wind for it.—This preverse girl! Oh, yes, [Page 14]with her beauty and my talents, I must raise a for tune by going to London.

Ah, Sandy! this poor orphan, Jenny—he shall have her—ha, ha, ha! here comes the simple Sawny, that prefers love to money.

Ha, Sandy! welcome home, my boy!

Here, Sir, I've got all out wedding geer in the newest Edinbro' taste.

But when comes the Parson?

He's gone over to Raasey! so I desired Jamy M'Kenzie to send us their new Curate.

Stop, Sandy, I've one word to say to you.—Hem!

Delay'd now by his nonsensical oratorical speeches, and my soul on the wing to love and Jenny!

Sandy, you have, by skill in agricul­ture, which you acquir'd, as you say, in an excur­sion to England, not only improv'd your own farm, but diffus'd such a spirit of industry, that my maister, Laird Donald, if he should deign to visit us, will find his Isle of Col as finely cultivated, as any patch of land in all Scotland; therefore to re­ward you, your Jenny you shall wed this day.

And yonder she comes, bright as the morn, that gives the flowers their beauty; welcome as the gale that wafts its sweetness.

Welcome home my Sandy!

My love!

Ah, hah!—Egad my Highland Lad and Lowland Lassie, you'll make a neat couple, ha, ha, ha!

Dear, Sir, take the only return in my power, my thanks, my gratitude, for your unme­rited goodness.

Ah, Jenny, was I the man that boasted of his goodness. I'd remind you, that I gave you an Asylum, when you was but a squalling bairn—tho' I did'nt, nor I suppose I ever shall, know what family you are of; your mother coming here to Col to lye­in, privately, and dying in my house—yet my asto­nishing benevolence, Oh!—

Your benevolence would be astoni [...] indeed!

I say, my amazing charity, did—

Well, Sir, we have heard that [...] often—

To be sure; wou'd you have me put a candle under a bushel? Speak, Jenny, didn't I [...] you up equal to my own daughter, Miss [...] M'Gilpin? sent you to the tip top boarding-schoo [...] ▪ Inverness, kept by Miss Carolina Killcobeiry?

You did, Sir!

Tho' your forlorn mother didn't lea [...] you a bawbee, (but 600l. which you shall never se [...]

so out of pure friendship, Sandy, there tak [...] her—off my hands

Dear Sir!

Aye, I'm a kind friend Jenny; ain't a gay old fellow?—Why I'm a second Robin Gray!

Ah, Sir!—this last proof of your kindness leaves me not a wish but to know my parents.

Hey! yonder's a boat put in from th [...] ship in the Offing—some great strangers landed.

Red coats.

A little drummer boy desired me to give you this.

You busy—cou'dn't he have found any one else to carry me a message, than such a—you are a bad man!

The letter, Sir—

Seems a small running hand.

Running! then saddle your nose, and run after it.

"Mr. M'Gilpin, The Gentleman that delivers you this"—

Gentleman! that's me.

"is a soldier."

Not me.

"commands a company in my regiment." And who is yourself?

Oh, dear! why Jenny, Sandy!

Well, Sir?—

Get along, you busy impudent—Why here, young Laird Donald's gone into the army.

Indeed!—

Stay—

‘delivers you this, is a gentleman—soldier—company—my regiment.—His name is Captain Dash, I have dispatch'd him and Serjeant Jack, to raise recruits in the Isle of Col. which my father has made me a present of—’ So then young Robert is our landlord.

‘I desire you will give him all the assistance in your power, get him as many good men as you can—’ you'll go—

You know I'am a bad man.

Plague on the hand!

‘He's a friend I esteem, therefore every civility you shew him, will oblige yours,’

This is the first I heard of young Laird Do­nald's being in the army.

Oh, I must dress, to meet and welcome this Captain, with one of my most elegant orations.

Charley! get Mr. M'Gilpin's Sunday coat, brush his three cock'd beaver, and powder his scratch.

I must gather all the lads, to make a hand­some wedding procession to the kirk, Jenny.

And I to assemble the lasses. Oh, Sandy! here, as the packer's in, will you see if there's any letter for me, as I desired the lottery man to send me notice, if this chance should be drawn a prize.

Ha, ha, ha! you never told me you had bought a lottery chance, but it must, it shall be a prize, I'll keep it safe for you—this day proves I'm a favourite of fortune, and she shall smile upon my Jenny.

Huzza, for good fortune! now these soldiers are come, I may have the rendezvous at my house—so now to singe the sheep's head, bake the bonnocks, tap a barrel, and tune my chaunter! and then your wedding, Tol, lol, lol! high do­ings!

Ha, ha, ha!

Yes, the letter you sent by little Tom she drummer, has prepar'd the old tax-man, ha, ha, ha! he hasn't a doubt but you're a real Captain in the army. Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! and my sole commission only the promise of a pair of colours in the East India service, on condition I can raise an hundred men, ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! Ay, by this sham of pre­tending their young Laird is our Colonel, from the affection of a Scotch Highlander to his Chieftain, I'll warrant they'll flock to our standard—and yet, now, tho' 'tis I that have brought you here to the field of action, something whispers here,

Friend Jack, don't impose upon these honest innocent people.

Pshaw! nothing's an imposition till found out; and our's cannot before we have got our num­ber of recruits, and shipp'd them off—you know we're certain their young Laird is in England, learning the newest fashion of sowing oats! ha, ha, ha! and his father, the old Laird, in London, in full cry after jobs and places! from neither ever residing here on their estate, our imposition can't be easily detected.

We know our ground, and the character of old M'Gilpin—flatter his eloquence, and pro­mise him an agency, and we have every man in the Island.

Damme! I'd rather have one pretty wo­man, I saw just now, than the honour of planting my standard on the walls of Belgrade.

Some country gambols going forward.

The time to recruit—introduce yourself to them—set'em on to drink and play cards.

Right—for when the poor devils senses and money slip off, honour glitters on a bayonet, and riches jingles in a British shilling.

Come along, boys!

To'em, Jack—coax, wheedle, drink, swear —zounds! make'em—

As wicked as ourselves.

Ay, lads, I think we'll honour Sandy's wedding; but the lasses mustn't set out for kirk before us.

Ha, my hearties! my honest lad, shake hands

Every man shake his own hand.

Why, you all seem very merry, to-day.

Yes, and we'll be merry to-morrow, ha, ha, ha! and we were merry yesterday, ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! why, you're a pleasant fel­low!

Ha, ha, ha! yes, I am, ha, ha, ha!—I was born laughing, instead of crying, my mother laugh'd out, ha, ha, ha!—my daddy lik'd to have drop'd me out of his arms on the floor, laughing at me, ha, ha, ha! What's the child's name, said the Parson that christen'd me, Shelty says my God­daddy, ha, ha, ha! then the Parson laugh'd, ha, ha, ha! Amen, says the Clerk, ha, ha, ha! since that moment, every body has laugh'd at me, ha, ha, ha! and I have laugh'd at every body, ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! I should like to enlist such a pleasant fellow—your good humour wou'd keep us in such spirits, you'd be the drum of the corps.

Yes, and your rattan would be the drum­stick of the corps, to beat the travally on my back, row dy dow!—a good morning to you.

I tell you you'd make a develish good soldier.

That's more than my daddy cou [...]d.

Ha, ha, ha! you're an odd fish!

Yes, but I won't be a red herring.

No, but you're a pickl'd one tho'—but pray what are you?

Me! I'm a merchant, and a brogue-ma­ker —I sells a horn of malt—moreover, I'm a famous piper. My father. Mr. Croudy, is a necromancer—he's the gift of second sight; and Mrs. Cummins, my granny, was banished for a witch—and now pray, who are you?

I'm Serjeant Jack—in the company of Captain Dash.

Serjeant Jack, you keep company with Captain Dash—good bye to you worthy Sir—

But stop, you know your young Laird is our Colonel—this halbert is his standard—do you pay no respect to it?

Respect!—Oh, I beg pardon—

Ha! ha! ha! very polite indeed—but stop—

I must tune my chaunter.

Any particular festival to-day?

A wedding and here's the bridegroom.

Come lads, quick! quick!—Shelty play up—we must march two an two, till we join my Jenny and the lasses!

Ah! I could put you all in the neatest method of marching—

Yes, Sir, but your marching differs from ours—you march to face enemies, we to meet friends—you to assault a town, we to attack a wed­ding dinner.

Dinner! ah! my heroes! England's the field for a trencher battle—there our drum head is an oak table, Sir Loin leads the van, our right and left wing are a goose and turkey—our balls are plum­puddings —our bullets shot from a damsen-tart; we poise our knives, handle our forks, then smoke slap dash, cut thro' thick and thin—

But don't you say grace?

Yes, my grace is a b [...]mper of cherry bounce.

Well, ha! ha! ha! come to dinner with me to-day—and tho' in the Highlands of Scotland, you shall find we talk like French, eat like English, and drink like Irish farmers.

Ha! well said my lad! you deserve en­couragement —I've a rough guinea here, and egad I'll make one at your wedding, to drink my King's health, and success to the young couple.

ACT II.

EH! faith a buxom group, and the very charmer that pleas'd me so much.

True, but no matter whether you are all in white.

Ay, but we shou'd for a wedding.

You, Susan, and Peggy, are to be my bride-maids; I hope soon to do as much for you.

The sooner the better, ha, ha, ha!

Why, Moggy, how got you out?

Ha, ha, ha! Oh, dear! I've scarce breath to laugh—ha, ha, ha!

Nay, but tell us how did you get out?

Ah, that's it—he, he, he! Charley so over­acted his part, that he lock'd me up in earnest—ha, ha, ha! When Charley misses me, he'll act his sur­prise so natural, that father will place more confidence in him than ever—ha, ha, ha!

Ah, Moggy! you set little value upon the [...]essing of a parent, had I one!—your father is [...]ery good to you, and indeed you shou'dn't vex [...]im.

Ay, but when a husband's in the way— [...]ow if I cou'd but meet Charley! Come, Jenny, [...]here's the bridegroom, and the garland—the pipes [...]nd the parson?

Ha, ha, ha! you wild one!—but love is [...]e theme, and the sweet birds shall sing a melo­dious accompanyment.

Dear! if here isn't the strange officer been listening to our nonsense! he's come to take [...] men away—he is the most impudent devil—

A sine flock of chickens, upon my honor.

You're not a fox, Sir?

No, but he takes you for a lamb, [...] throws such a sheep's eye at you.

Ha, ha, ha!

You seem to be all—ha, ha, ha! pray don't let me spoil the play—ha, ha, ha! I'll make one—what is it? If you'd only admit me, you'd find me the merriest play-fellow, ha, ha, ha!

You are, upon my soul, a beauteour nosegay—but here's the rosebud of the boquet,

Tell me sweet, what's your play?

A rosebud grows in an angry bush, and about fair maids.

Hey! is this the recruiting Captain? 'gad, Sir, I suspect you're come to beat up among our wives and daughters, for a regiment of infantry, ha, ha, ha!

Was ever so sweet a rosebud!

Ha, ha, ha! Captain, if your Gene­ral saw you like a maypole, and the petticoat re­giment frisking round you, ha, ha, ha!

Who are you?

I'm young Laird Donald your Colo­nel's Steward, and Collector of his Majesty's taxes, come to bid you welcome to our Isle of Col.

Oh, zounds! they've set me all on fire! Your, hand!

Bu', Captain, what think you of the bride?

Bride! Eh! which? who?

She in the white and tartan ribbans.

The very charmer going to be married—'sdeath, that lovely sprig to be worn by a clown!

Clown! Oh, no, I'll assure you her [...]andy is a very clever lad.

He must not have her.

Hey!

I'll have her!

You!

Oh, yes.

Ha, ha, ha! This is recruiting! ha, ha, ha!

Demn your grinning, Sir! what d'ye mean?—Hark'ee, Mr. Steward, put that treasure in­ [...]o my possession, and what is there I will not do for you?

Eh! suppose you tell me what you will do for me—

Eh—stay—true, Jack told me the bait to have him.

Ay what think you of the agency of our regiment?

Good picking in an agency.

'Tis yours—say no more—I'll settle that with my Colonel.

Eh—oh, no, no, no, I promis'd her to Sandy.

Come, come, be a wise man, that prefers his own interest to all other consider [...]ions.

I am a wise man; and I—oh, Lord! —but the wedding's a thing settled, clothes bought, Parson bespoke, young folks wishes on tip of ex­pectation! dear, poor Sandy'd break his heart.—Eh! the finest thought—but, I suppose you never saw her, tho'—you shall marry my mog!

Damn your Mog! I don't want to mar­ry any body.

No! why I thought Jenny—

Zounds! Mr.—think of your interest.

Oh, Lord! I always do—

Such talents as yours, hid here in an ob­scure corner of the world! such powers of elo­quence! —a seat in Parliament.

Why, our Laird is a bright man there.

He bright! a Scotch pebble, to you; yo [...] eloquence once known, must command any thing.

Why, yes, I think once they find ho [...] I can speak. I shall get paid for holding my tongu [...] ▪

Boards! Jobs! Committees! The girl.

Jobs!

A Pension! Place and Peerage!—Li [...] Jenny.—

Pension! Jenny's yours; from a Su [...] veyor, I'll be a Commissioner; if I am a Steward it shall be of the Chiltern Hundreds.

Sir, Sir!

Eh! now you puppy, you've let Mogg [...] give you the slip.

No, Sir, have her safe—but as you fur pos'd, Old Croudy has just landed some run good

But where?

With my glass I saw him hide them: the Creek, behind the North Foreland.

From his Boat? was't the Swallow?

You know you feiz'd that last week, it the other boat, the Angel.

I'll have her and lading!

My dear Sir, that's Jenny.

I'll have the Angel condemn'd.

My Angel condemnd! for what?

For running brandy and tobacco.

The old fellow's mad—but he must p [...] vent this marriage—holloa, Sir! Mr.—

Ha, ha, ha! my master goes to seize hi [...] own goods that I stole out of his stores, and hid [...] the rocks for h [...]m to seek out, whilst I run off with his daughter.

I must run and let her out.

Dear Sir, won't you wait for company

Moggy! how the plague did you get out?

No matter, here I am, and take me while you can.

Hey? Ecod, t [...]is is doing things, ha, ha, ha!—Charming! I've cut out work for your father, on the opposite sides of the Island; so I'll run down to the pier, and get the boat ready, and off we skim like curlews.

Make haste, Charley—oh! my bonny Charley.—

Eh! yon's a boat put in—here's some of the passengers—what a strang looking—

—Ha, ha, ha! by the description, it must be the strange Parson that's expected from Mull, to marry Jenny and Sandy.

That dwelling,

looks like a public house.

It is, Sir.

Then engage a room, and leave my bag­gage there—my great coat was comfortable on the water, but on land its cumbr'ous,

and lay out my best perriwig, that I may look decent—I will inquire for those I want, and you may refresh yourself within.

Yes, Sir.

Here, pretty maiden.—

Sir.—What a civil gentleman!

Do you know one Sandy Frazer?

Eh! Sandy—

To whom I am to marry one Jenny.

Yes, Sir.

I am Jenny, Sir.—I hope he wont find me out

Lord! I believe he suspects me!

Then 'tis your wish I shou'd marry you to Sandy?

Yes, Sir; marry us as fast as you can, Sir—I'm not in a hurry to be married, Sir.

I see you are not.

Oh, no, Sir, my Sandy wishes it, Sir, and my father, Sir—

I did'nt think you had a father.—

True, Sir.—I—I mean Mr. M'Gilpin; he loves me as if I was his own daughter.

Then he has a daughter of his own.

Oh, yes, Sir, Moggy—Miss Moggy M'Gil­pin —a very pretty sort of a body, I'll assure you, Sir; loves me dearly, Sir, only, Sir, she's given to sib a little now and then.

I cou'd wish to see Mr. M'Gilpin, and—

Why Sir, I—I—don't magine you can see him, 'cause he's gone on great business, Sir; but, Sir, he left his best compliments for you, Sir, and requests you'd perform the marriage as soon as you cou'd, please your reverence,

If Charley was but now here, we might put it beyond the power of father ever to separate us,

Oh, Sir, here comes my Sandy—now, Sir, you'll—oh Heavens! my father!

Good bye, Sir,

But, lassy, stop—

Yes, Sir, I'll stop—when I'm out of your fight.

A whimsical sort of a young lady! Oh, here comes her Sandy—

The boat's ready, and—hey! where has she scamper'd—Sir—did you see a young wo­man?

Yes, your Jenny is gone into that house.

Jenny!—I mean—

Then, my good Sandy—I—

Pshaw! I'm not Sandy—where the plague can Moggy have—

Well, I thought she meant—but I'll see about the marriage, taste your ale and wedding cheer, and then ferry over to Inchkinneth, where I have three or four more couple to tack together.

Now this giddy tit, to kick up her heels just at the starting post! Her father! Zounds, 'tis well she has miss'd him.

Fine police! if the King's Officers are to be assaulted in the execution of their duty!

Ha, ha, ha,

Oh, then, Sir, you've beat old [...]roudy?

No, damn him, but he has beat me! but I'll let the ruffian know, no body shall cheat the King in this Istand, but myself—he's a poacher too, goes fowling, grousing, and cocking; but I'll grouse and cock him! I'll shew him, that in Col I am grand fowler, prowler, and comptroller. His son Shelty have a child of mine!—my dear Charley take care of Moggy.

She's safe, I'll answer, Sir.

Have you seen the Captain? I'll give him Jenny, to secure my preferment there.

I'll set him another hunt, whilst I look for Moggy—Sir, have an eye to Jenny, the Parson's come, and if Sandy gets a hint of your intention to give her to the Captain, they'll be coupled unknown to you.

Ods fish! but where is Jenny?

This instant gone into Shelty's.

Run you in, boy, and secure her, whilst I raise the possey after Croudy.

Lord! Sir, Jenny'd never stay with me, you'd best in and secure her yourself, and I'll bring the constables for Croudy.

Look, there she is—after her, Sir.

Its me, you sool!

Oh, dear! its Moggy

Stop, you, Jenny! I'll have you!

Stay, you, Sir—I'll have her—

You! Zounds, you know she'd never stay for you—here Jenny—

Sent the Wolf after my Lamb! I cou'd hang myself! What, what is to be done? Stay, as he'll find her in Shelty's, I'll swear it was he stole her out.

Odfo! there's old Croudy gone into Shelty's—I'll setch the constables upon him—I know, from his wicked obstinate spirit, it will be a devil of a piece of work to take him; and in the confusion he'll kick up, I may still get Moggy down to the water side—then weigh anchor, feather oar, blow kind breezes, and adieu to my old master.

Yes, Sir, I'm here, Sir—I'm there, Sir—coming, Sir.

Lord, what nice ale do I sell—yes, Sir, my house is so full—oh, what a mor­tal fine chance have I to make money—but father's wrangling with M'Gilpin, will kick down all—here he comes; now if he hasn't been in some new combustifications.

Ha!

Ha! a scoundrel! tell me I rob the King! the Custom-house Officer takes his pay and smuggle —and he's a damn'd bad servant, indeed, that robs [Page 34]his master. Boy, M'Gilpin wou'd have seiz'd my boat, tho' 'twas only last week he claw'd up my other.

Lost my poor Swallow!

Shoud'nt have thought as much,

This tax-man—Oh, zounds! I'll—

Lord, father! how do you put one out of all sorts! here's my house full—there's the Serjeant has got Sandy and all the lads at cards; and here's Sandy's marriage—and here this new Parson seems a wet clergy—and then, now your quarrels with M'Gilpin will—

Go froth your ale, and score double boy,—I've thrash'd M'Gilpin.

You han't.

I've bang'd him, sirrah.

Oh, mercy, Master Croudy! here's the Constables, and M'Gilpin in the house!

Lord, Lord! you'll be taken—Apie do you go down and let no body come up—

Eh! this is the luckiest—here step into this great coat, hat, and wig, the Parson's ser­vant left here—no time for thinking—do take a fool's advice.

Eh!

If you are taken to jail you go—do you want to make a riot in my house, and give him a pretence to take away my licence? no, do things easy—here, quick, quick!

There, the devil a one of them can know you now—I'll run and get the boat ready—you're so nicely disguised, you may easily get to it—Huh! oh, dear—

Oh, you cowardly cur! you're no son of mine—my cudgel is but a—if I had only—Zounds! is'nt that my broad sword yonder? I made a present of it to this pigeon; but he never [Page 35]had spirit to use it,

and shall it be said, that a Highlander sneak'd out like a paltroon, with his broad sword in his hand? no, no! no disguise now.

All fair and open—if they take me, they take me—they must first take this,

'twas once drawn in what I then thought a right cause, but ready now to defend my King; tho' I do run a few anchors of brandy to quaff his health, and brin up my children to fight his battles.

Oh, lud! where shall I hide from father If I cou'd stand behind the door, and slip out as he comes in; but what cou'd bewitch Charley to send him after me? If I cou'd but get down to the pier—what's this,

Ha! the Parson's —Ecod I've a great mind to try now if I can't hide myself in it—Ha, ha, ha! on they go, ha, ha, ha!

and wig! ha, ha, ha!

She is here.

Oh, Lord! there's father!

She is not.

Sirrah! Charley told me she came in just now.—

Did he, indeed!

She is not, I tell you—you've done like a wise man

I'll have the house search'd!

Don't speak, and I'll get you out.

Where's Jenny? You're a stamp of your father, the old rascal!

Father keep your temper—.

Deliver up Jenny, you scoundrel!

Keep your cudgel quiet—Oh, Jenny!—You think me a Devil among the girls—this morn­ing I was running away with Moggy—now 'tis Mr. Shelty, Sir, you've been kissing Jenny!

What old fellow's that?

Over the chimney? Oh, that's Lord Lovat!

Over the chimney, sirrah!

Yes, that's poor Simon Frazer

Simon Frazer! I mean that

Oh, against the cupboard? Jenny Ca­maron.—

Get along, you audacious—I mean that, that fellow.

Fellow! this? Oh, Sir, this gentleman is the Parson from Rausey.—

Oh, I beg his pardon—How do you do, Doctor?—Oh, true, you come to marry Sandy and Jenny—ah, that's all up, Sir.

Don't speak to him, Sir—

Damn your busy—Sirrah, you are the cause of my child's present distresses, you miscreant! I'll—Ecod, I'll revenge all upon the rogue your fa­ther. Doctor—Oh! here, Charley has brought the Constables.

Father, you see you must fight your way.

I saw Croudy enter here.—

We'll have him.—There, Charley, you shew the Doctor here to my house, whilst the Con­stables and I search this for Croudy!

Do, Charley, take the Doctor—its my father—get him off.

What! I help the escape of a smuggler! —Sir, that's Croudy in disguise.

It's me, you blockhead!

Moggy again!

Come along, Doctor—

No, you old rogue, no collusion with my clerk—I know you—I see the tip of his nose—Constables lay hold of him—

Keep off! I'll defend my father with my life.

Oh, save my dearest father!

My daughter!

This my daddy?

My dear child!

I've done this well.

Before I lock'd, but now I'll double lock you.

Don't put me again in Charley's care.

No, I'll take care of you myself, my dutiful, affectionate—but, you jade, who got you out?

Who, but my dear Shelty!

I! Me?

Ay, these were all your lies—your Si­mon Frazer's and Jenny Cameron's against the cup­board!

But, where the devil can old Croudy be? Egad as I found Miss Moggy under a great coat, per­haps I may find my daddy under a petticoat.

However, for your concern for me, just now, you shall see me reward desert, and—

Give Jenny to—

Good Sir—

To Captain Dash.

Sir, you shall be a great man, upon in, honour!

Sir, hav'n't I your promise?

Eh! Egad I believe I'm a great man al­ready, for I totally forget my promise.

But, Sir, I hold you to that promise, and with my life I'll justify my pretensions here.

Nay, My Sandy,

Hark'ee, young bull calf, if you've a life to spare, in my regiment, it may serve your King and country.

Sir, the officer that cou'd disgrace his pro­fession, by injuring the individual, will prove but a poor protector to his country, and is unworthy the favour of his King.

A spirited sort of a scoundrel this!—Old one, I must have him.

You shall.

Sandy—remember my agency, tho'—I say, Sandy, upon re­collection, I can't assign over a leafs of the farm I promis'd you, unless you immediately pay me down a fine of 50l.

You know 'tis impossible for me to raise such a sum.

I do.

Oh, Lord! can't you? I'm so sorry—but you must quit the premises.

No indulgence—no consideration for the services I have render'd the estate?

Indulgence! Sandy!—I thought you was as honest as—as myself; but now I see you'd have me turn an unfaithful Steward.

You're a wretch! a little mean petty tyrant! and may every unfaithful servant, who, like you, uses his delegated power to oppress the poor, and bring curses on the name of a worthy master, meet the villain's reward—shame and punishment!

Damme, you shall go on the forlorn hope for this! Captain, you shall have him.

After all his labour and toil to improve this country, is my love to be driven thus out of it?

Come home, you hussey.

Ah, do, father, do lock me up, but don't be so cruel to poor Jenny—don't—

What are locks and brick walls against such an Algerine family as Shelty's? Even the old water-thief, his father, wou'd rob a Bishop of his butter boats!

And this the completion of my happiness!

Only enquire if Mr. M'Gilpin is at home!

Yes, Sir.

I find my arrival is totally unexpected. —The moment I set my foot on my little territo [...] here, I found my heart glow with all the regal pride of an ancient Scottish Chieftain! but no respect—no one to—no attendance—Who's there?

Ha, ha, ha! there he has taken her home.

Do you belong to the house?

No, but the house belongs to me—what d'ye want?

Manners!

I thought so, by your making such a noise.—D'ye want any ale?

Do you know who you talk to?

Yes—who are you? Oh, he's one of my father's smuggling customers.

You're a ped­lar.—

How?

Oh, I ask pardon, I did'nt see your lae'd waistcoat—you're the puppet-shew man come to Sandy's wedding?

Sirrah!

Yes, Mr. M'Gilpin is on the Island, your honour.

Honour!

Inform him his Laird is here—and I command his immediate attendance.

I shall, my Laird.

This Laird Donald?

Only order my bill.

The Laird of Rausey! Why, my good friend, what brings you to Col? and in such a—

Hush, my dear Donald? I as little expected to have met with you here.

But how! what?

You may remember my sister Evelyn making a stolen match with young Cameron; the lad went for England to acquire wealth, the only qualification he wanted; and my sister, poor thing! to avoid my father's anger lying in here in Col, died in child-birth, leaving a daughter, of whom I am now in search.

But your canonicals!

Why, Sir, meeting on the road with an old domestic of mine, who is now in the service of a Parson engaged to wed a couple here, I prevail'd on him, for a little cash, to assist me in a plan, I, on the instant conceived, to personate his master, ha, ha, ha!—lent me clothes, ha, ha, ha! for I thought, in a feign'd character, if I could discover my niece, I might unknown myself, have come to her real dis­position: If capable of polish, I'd have snatch'd her from obscurity—but I find such a—

Oh, then you have found her.

Oh, yes; but my niece, Miss Jenny, as they call her, may make a good farmer's wise, and in a young fellow, one Sandy, from his character, she's likely to have a most excellent husband—Ha, ha, ha! supposing me the Parson, just now, she wou'd have me marry her to him! Ay, she may grace a dairy, and so may be much happier than bringing her into a sphere her rustic education has render'd her unfit for; so I shall give the lad some cash with her; but I shan't discover myself.—And now for your affair.—

I've given this Island to my son Robert—parted with him last in London; he had then but just return'd from Hampshire, and the shooting season approaching, told me he'd see what game my new gift afforded; but I don't know how—I can hear nothing of the boy.—Fifteen years since I've been here, so, during recess of Par­liament, I've taken a trip, to see if Bob has made any improvements, for his Hampshire journey had made him a skilful farmer, I assure you;—besides, I was anxious to know how M'Gilpin, my Steward, has gone on: but I hear nothing but complaints of him, and yet the Island wears a fine sace.

Like me, you shou'd come incog, then you'd see the true face of things.

Ay, Sir, but no hiding the native dignity of a M'Donald.

My Laird, forgive me taking you for a pedlar.

The dignity of a M'Donald!

Pardon me, Sir, for taking you for a shewman!

Ha, ha, ha! well, Sir, I shall excuse your apologies—now for honest M'Gilpin.—

Yes, my Laird, he's as worthy a man—

Worthy! I heard—

All truth—he's as great a rogue as ever stood in the picture frame.

Well, let the gentlemen of the Island attend me.—

Gentlemen! Yes, we will all attend your Lordship.

And let every one that has any charge against him appear—if well grounded, I shall see him punished.—My Laird,

I shall see him pu­nished! hem! a fine thing to be a great man—hem! call the gentlemen to attend me,

If I was a Lord, what a deal of good I'd do to—myself—I'd, if—that is supposing I was a very great man, indeed—I'd be the patron of genius and talents, I'd reward the—stone-eater—I'd attend all sorts of elegant—cock fights, to shew my good-nature, and to shew my courage—I'd go to the most scientifical academies for—boxing—yes, that's it—the reward of genius now is given to a black smith, or a coal heaver, for a glorious black eye, or a noble bloody nose—and then there's your concerts, public and private, where some great Lords play the violin, and others play the fiddle; so, amongst those fa­mous quality hautboys, who knows how far my chaunter might be esteem'd in polite harmonious jollisications!

ACT III.

MY dear Sandy don't grieve; why shou'd ill fortune disturb our tranquility, unless it cou'd lessen our affections.

M'Gilpin's design of giving you to Cap­tain Dash distracts me.

But he shan't; my obligations to him are great, yet this tyrannous attempt to fetter my incli­nations, and a suspicion that his motives were not quite disinterested, have somewhat abated my debt of gratitude.

And here won't let me continue in my farm, without this fine of fifty pounds, so I must give it up—but he laid it on to ruin me.

Well, and even so, ain't there other farms, or no farm, cou'd you not be happy with your poor Jenny?

My source of happiness! when mine, I shall esteem you as a friend, respect you as a wo­man, and adore you as an angel—be for ever grate­ful for your honouring me with your choice, before so many more worthy—I'll cherish you in my heart —love you 'till death, and protect you with my life.

When you are my dear husband—if you can have faults, to me they shall seem failings, but your virtues I shall esteem perfections—I shall advise you with candour, obey you with cheerfulness, make your home the seat of comfort; yet, if you ever should quit your door with a srown, my smiles of welcome should meet you at the threshold!

My sweet Jenny! this Captain!—I cannot think of resigning you to a Prince; but if I truly love you, should I make you the partner of my mi­serable fortunes?

Were you a Prince, I'm sure you'd let me share your splendour—therefore I'll follow you, my love, the world over, equally prepar'd to partake of your good fortune, or comfort you in sorrow—oh, don't deny me!

My dear Jenny!—

This is the first time I ever was convinc'd money was a blessing.

Miss Jenny, Miss Jenny, a letter by the boat.

A letter for me! who can it come from?

Heavens! what good fortune! now Sandy, you may keep the farm!

Eh!

My lottery chance—where is it?—you know I gave it you—

Did you?

What's the matter?—let's see the paper—its a sixteenth—stay—sixteen fifties—Lord! you can pay the fine—and we shall have—aye—I don't know how much in our pockets.

Eh! isn't this the lad I broke at crib­bage? —'tis—oh!—hah, my worthy! I'm ready to give you your revenge at the broads again—or any game from lansquennet to tee-totum, ha, ha, ha!

Why, have you been playing cards, Sandy?

Eh!—no—yes, my love—I—I had not the smalleft of—but—that is—distraction—Oh, my Jenny! the die is cast!

Poor boy! a generous lad too—spent his money freely on our recruits—cards?—yes, touch'd him for three pounds at Shelty's, besides a lottery chance.—

Sir, did you win a lottery chance from him?

Yes, my dear, I—my dear—and I'll give it you for a kiss—damme if I don't!

Sir! was it that number—but it must be —he had no other.

The prettiest girl I ever saw—

I say, Sir, was that the number?

Oh, the number—the lovliest—eh—a thousand! no, no, my dear, I'm not so lucky as that—but let's see—aye, here it is—ha, ha, ha!—eh! 125—tol lol der lol!—a lucky dog am I—

Yes, it is it—my poor Sandy!—

Eh! is this 'cause the lad has lost? Zounds! this is the girl he was to have married—thro' my whole life I've been a petty shifting dog, always on the lurch—yet, damme if I can enjoy this first visit from good Fortune, as it brings tears into the eyes of a pretty girl!

By the loss of this, Sandy loses his farm, and I lose my Sandy!

Farm! true, the Captain told me this feat of his separating two lovers, and get a man turn'd out of bread!—Captain!—if he was a General he's no soldier.

I suppose, tho' it was I bought the chance, they won't pay it me, as I can't bring it to them.

Aye, the poor fellow was turn'd out of his farm, because unable to pay the fifty pounds the old rascal laid on it—now this wou'd just—this is the first time I ever had it in my power to do a ge­nerous action, and I've a strange curiosity to know how a man feels after one—a failor wou'd—and why not a soldier?

Look y'e, my lass—before I knew this bit of paper was worth sixty pounds, I offer'd it you for a kiss—I'm not quite a Nabob in point of cash—but if 'twas worth an 100! I scorn to go back of my word to one that can't call me to an account for breaking it—There's your [Page 48]ticket—a kiss was the price—but tho' my mouth waters, pay it to the lad you love.

Can there be so much worth, where so little is expected? now to impart my joy, and make my Sandy happy as myself!

Ha, ha, ha! father thinks he has me now sure, but I think if our trusty Benin, the black, procures me the clothes, as he promis'd—yes, my kind pappy, I suspect I shall surely slip off from you again—ha, ha, ha! Oh, here's poor Jenny—she's as unfortunate in her love affairs as myself.

Oh, my dear Moggy! for ever I'm un­done!—Sandy is—

Well, I know father has turn'd him out of his farm.

But then he is gone, in a sit of despair, and listed himself among the soldiers!

What a fool—ps'h, make him runaway from them.

Desert!—Oh, the punishment, if taken, is terrible! besides, tho' drove to it by desperation, I know his noble spirit wou'd scorn to fly from the standard of his King!

If you cou'd procure a man in his place.

The equal of my Sandy! not in Scotland.—

Oh, yes, my dear, there's another very good man in Scotland!

I mean no affront to your Charley, my dear—but I've sold my lottery chance, and I'm go­ing to offer the money to the Captain, to see if he will let him off.

Money!—I wish I had a lottery chance, or somewhat—here am I going to run into the wide world, and, 'ecod I don't think Charley and I, be­tween us, can muster up ten shillings for travelling charges.

My poor friend!—I wish I cou'd—

Ha, ha, ha! Jenny, I think you had better offer yourself to the Captain—ha, ha, ha! I warrant he takes you in his stead—if not, you must, as the song says, "Pack up your tatters and follow the Drum"—you'd make a very smart little soldier's wife—with a brace of bairns in your arms, and an­other little sqaub fat fellow squalling on the knap­sack behind your Caledonian Alexander.

Why, my dear Moggy! if it even shou'd come to that, I have a heart prepar'd for all weathers —yet I doubt my fortitude!

My sweet gentle Friend!—my father uses her very unjustly—I'm certain her mother, for all he says of her poverty and his charity to her, left the money behind that has been the making of him—She must be come of good people, from her refin'd sentiments and elegant manners—she quite eclipses me; and yet I don't envy, but love her [Page 50]dearly.—How long Benin stays—if he shou'd dis­appoint —perhaps betray me to my father!—no, here he comes, the faithful fellow—yes, he has got them—oh, precious!

Well Benin, have you?—shew, my good—

Yes, Missy, and I tink dey vil fit you.

My best creature—

Ah, Missy! but Massa lick a me, as I was vorse creature—Missy if you run away, I run too—Massa kill a me, if he know I help you.

Pshaw! you fool, I'm not going to run away.

Missy, dere Miss Jenny write letter in par­lour below—want me fetch it.—Musy, pray don't tell Massa I brought you clothes.

Let's see what you have brought—jacket, kilt, bonnet, complete—I won't even tell Charley of my design 'till I'm equipp'd—ha, ha, ha! I'll sur­prise him.—There I'll lay all snug—

Now if Charley cou'd borrow cash to carry us up to Edinbro', father cou'd never find us out there—let's see, lud! I hav'n't above half a guinea left of my own pocket money—Oh, poor Charley and I—

Miss Moggy, Jenny desire me give you dis.—

Very well.

What's this! an Edinbro' bank note for forty pounds—let's see—

‘My dear Moggy, for certain the Captain will never part with such a soldier as my Sandy—therefore I shall take your hint and 'follow the drum.' As I shall not want the enclos'd, accept it, my dear friend, for travelling charges—besides a supply of cash you will find necessary 'till you can obtain your father's [Page 51]pardon for the steps you are about to take, in which be happier than your Jenny!’—My generous friend!—no, I will not enjoy happiness whilst you feel sorrow!—With the assistance of my Highland dress, here in my cuphoard, if I can once more elope, the first use I make of my liberty is to procure it for your Sandy—ay—tho' father catches me the next mo­ment.

I'll first catch you this moment.

Go in there.

No, Sir!

Go in—

What's the matter, Sir?

Here's a young lady won't be lock'd up.

Oh, fie, Miss, refuse to be lock'd up—that's so unreasonable of you—

So it is—isn't it a proof what value I set upon you, hussy!—don't I lock up my guineas? you, you—brazen-face go in there—

If I should be obliged to go out, Charley, you will have a watch here

Now Sir! what's that for?

Charley, don't say a word against it—it shall be as I like with my own family.

Yes, Sir, but when you count ears, pray don't consider me as one of the family.

Ay, true, my lad—however—

, stay you there, the plague of my fa­mily!

I think I have you fast now, my deary.

My poor girl!

Charley, boy, tho' I have the key, yet I scarce think I am sure of her, even now—she's full of hocus pocus—so, d'ye hear, now and then throw an eye to her door—that rogue, Shelty, must have been assisted by his grand-mother, the old witch I banish'd, to have got her out before.

Eh I I'll enourage this thought—yet not seem to give into it.

No, Sir, no.

Ha, ha, ha!—well, well, I desy the black art, I depend upon simple wit—

Simple, indeed!

Charley, I am now going into my study to practice oratory—don't let any body interrupt me, boy! hem.

I find he does'nt know yet that old Laird Donald is come—ha, ha, ha!—his ridiculous idea of Shelty's grand-mother being a witch, shews his poor brain is so weak—and his prejudices of witch­craft so very strong, that his credulity may be easily impos'd on—he is prepar'd to believe any extravagance that may confirm his favourite opinion. If I cou'd make it the means to procure my dear Moggy's re­lease —to persuade him that—ha, ha, ha! I'm ex­tremely tickled with the thought.

Suppose he is busy.

Well, I'll tell my Massa—

And here comes Shelty, in the nick of time, to help my project—ha, ha, ha!—I'll try it, however—ha, ha, ha!

I'll break your bones!

Me don't care,—oh—

Hey! what now?

An impudent scoundrel!—I'll—

Here he comes, and in a rare humour for my purpose—If I can but make him give her up to Shelty!—once she's out of these doots, I have my dear girl.

Out with him, my hero—you're a clever boy, faith.

'Gad Charley can't speak, he's so very angry—I never saw him in a passion before—is he gone?—

He is the knave, to let's come to ourselves, and consider—call Benin.

Why don't you call him when I bid you?

Zounds, sir ah, call him.

Damn the fellow! what's he at—is Benin coming?

Eh—ain't I worthy of an answer?

Damme, I shall knock you down if you stand making mouths at me, you rascal!

Eh!—why, can't you speak?—Eh! aye, indeed, I saw Shelty strike him with that fatal stick; but it's impossible—it ca'nt be—speak—I won't believe but you can—eh!—none of your capers upon me—come speak this moment—this instant say in plain audible English—how aye do, Mr. M'Gil­pin —or down you are, as flat as a flounder,

Eh—poor Charley!—faith if he has really lost his voice—I won't believe it—I'm strangely tempted to try it on myself; but then when I get into Parliament, if I lose my voice, I shall be fit only to be the Speaker—I'll venture—you Charley, sirrah, take up that stick and touch me with it, very gently, boy.

Zounds, that is enough to knock a man speechless.

Oh, if I never recover my voice, I'm a miserable being!

Why you have, you rogue, I heard your speak then very plain.

Eh! now my master's lips move, as it he was talking.

Ha, ha, ha!—why, I am talking, you fool!

Yes, they still move, but no sound—Eh! perhaps I may now have recovered my voice, by the stick touching my master—Oh, true, Shelty told me that the dumbness was transferrable!

Transferrable—the dumbness—what's that you say, boy?

Eh!—may be he's not inclin'd for talking.

Sirrah, I'm always inclin'd for talking.

I'll ask him a question to prove it—Sir, what shall I do with this wand of Shelty's?

Burn it.

Speak, Sir!

I say to the flames with it; and I believe on a statute of James the Sixth, I cou'd burn the owner.

Dear Sir! speak if you can.

Why, I am speaking, you puppy!

Yes, by the motion of his lips, the poor gentleman thinks he's speaking.

Speaking! Zounds, I'm bawling!—I won't believe but I'm heard, sirrah, I'll—

What humour is he in?

Shelty has put him in a passion?

I taught so by his roaring—I won't answer whatever he says.

Don't

Now I'll see if—

Here, you scoundrel, do you hear me?

Tank you, Charley.

Aye, 'tis plain I can't make myself be heard—Oh! I have lost my voice,

but [Page 59]zounds, it can't be!—This may be a confederacy—but hold—if so, my daughter can't be in the plot, as no body could have spoke to her since I lock'd her up here within. True, and even the windows are nail'd down—I'll see if she can hear me—

Oh, the plague!—now Moggy'll answer him, and overthrow all my magic.

Charley—

You there—oh, then—why, I believe the black gentleman has been at work in earnest—how the duce got you there? and the key, which lock'd you into that room

in your father's pocket.

Pshaw! you fool—Hush! I'm dressing here, ha, ha, ha!—why, you're humming him nicely, he, he, he!—but only get him out of the way, and off we go.

Pop in, here he comes.

Now if I can but get him out—

She's gone—I shall go mad—he has got her out, but how? no other way but the chimney, or the key hole—how the devil!—bless us—yes, if Shelty cou'd carry her off, when here—I found the door lock'd. I can no longer doubt his power to take my speech—Oh, I'm a most miserable old gentleman!—I'm in grief, and no body to pity me—I complain, and none can hear my lamentations

Eh! but hold—as Charley recovered by my getting the dumbness, I can as eafily transfer it to somebody else, and so recover my own voice, ha, ha, ha!—Pshaw! except his taking Moggy—If this is the worst, a fig for his power, ha, ha, ha!—I've a great mind to return it again to Charley, ha, ha, ha! but his voice will be necessary to explain my ac­counts to Laird Donald.

Well, Sir, what does Miss Moggy say to her lover's tricks?

Pshaw! this fool tantalizes me with questions, when he knows I cant't make him hear my answers!—who shall I confer this favour on? Eh—ay, stupid Benin, the blackmamoor, has little occasion for his gutteral sounds—some revenge too for his in­terrupting my studies just now.

Sir, here's Laird Donald.

Oh, dear! I must recover my tongue to talk him over!—Yes, I'll give my dumbness to Benin—damme, I'll bang you into silence, my dou­ble dy'd swarthy acquaintance

Tank y'ee, Charley.

He has hopp'd off like a black-bird—wou'dn't even wait till I shake salt upon his tail.

I see my only method to get him out of the way, is to bring him into disgrace with Laird Donald, which, from the complaints of all the te­nants, and the Laird's haughty temper, a little thing will do.

Oh, dear sir, yonder comes the Laird, and I believe the whole clan.

Ecod, then I must touch Charlev, for speak to Laird Donald I must, and use a good deal of palavar too.

Now, Sir, what will you do? stay—od so—well remembered; Shelty told me one virtue of that stick, whilst its held in the lest hand, a per­son can be heard by every one but the very person they address.

Eh—

Now Sir, you've an opportunity of doing what no body does—to speak your mind to a great man.

I never spoke my mind to any man.

And my dear Sir, instead of this fine com­plimentary speech which you intended, I would speak boldly to him; by that you may still keep up your own consequence amongst the tenants, without incur­ring his displeasure, as he will be the only person present that cannot here you.

I'll abuse him!—Zounds! what a great bird they'll all think me! for a Highland Chief is a Demigod amongst his vassals—ha, ha, ha!—here he marches in at their head, like a great turkey.

Well, Mr. M'Gilpin, with the remem­brance of my person, you seem to have lost all duty for your Laird.

Hem! my Laird—Collect yourself,

I say, my Laird, I have the honour to be confidential Secretary to your Lordship's Tax-man; and, my Laird, in a most respectful speech, the voice of your whole Isle of Col constitute Mr. M'Gilpin their humble mouth.

Humble mouth! I didn't think Charley cou'd speak so pretty!—I'm glad I did'nt unvoice him.

Hem!—As he can't hear me, I'll give it him on both sides of his ears—in what [...] superior light they'll all look upon me in future—hem—now for it—off I go! hem!—Sir, you Do­nald, here—in the name of the assembly present, and the island in general, I tell you, you are an op­pressive upstart—in a word, you are a proud old puppy!

Hey!

He's surpis'd I don't speak; and they are all struck with wonder at what I do—Ecod I'll at him again,

Eh! and so you've got into Par­liament? —a pretty representative of the people, to stand like a puppet, with your leg out, and turn and twist, just as the minister pulls the wire fastened to your jaws, you stupid blocked!

How!—this confirms all I have heard —but I coud'nt have believ'd his insolence rose to such a height of—lay hold of the ungrateful vil­lain!

Why my Laird, did you hear me?—Charley!—

Apprehend him!

I wish, like the ancient Barons, I had the power to hang you on the instant.

Oh, my Laird!—Oh, you rogue Charley!

On my authority take him to prison! 'till he renders an account of his charge—away with him!

Oh, that rogue, Charley!

Ha, ha, ha!—well Jack, our success is even beyond my expectation—I think I shall flap my colours, and you sport your halbert in Calcutta: but as soon as we've our compliment of men, we must decamp.

I've done my best, because I undertook the thing; but under a false hope, trepanning the poor fellows from their homes and families. Pressing in the sea service is a disgrace to the British freedom, and a cruel contradiction to British humanity!—but we are worse—we have made the Highlander's loyal affection to his Chief the instrument of his slavery!

Ha, ha, ha—why Jack, you had none of these fine morals when I found you a drumm'd out trooper; and on my promise of an halbert, had your consent to join in any scheme that might better your fortune.

Why I was drumm'd out, though sav'd from lashes by the clemency of my Royal Master; but my only crime was insolence to my officer; I [Page 63]was saucy, and I deserv'd punishment—yet, when a soldier, I never forget I was a man; and now blush to think, by an act of dishonour, I have sunk beneath the noble character of an Englishman!

Well, and you shall command men; this Sandy that I've just now listed, is very much of a gentleman—old M'Gilpin shoving him out of his farm, has just plump'd him into our net.

I wou'd certainly fish up men by hook or by crook; but can't enjoy the prosperity that's built on the destruction of another!

Pshaw! damn your nonsense!—what the Devil is come to you? this Sandy is—oh, have you seen his Jenny?

Yes, I have seen her, and wish she was his.

Wish she was his very civil, when you know I love her to distraction—hey! what's here?

I beg your honour's pardon, but hasn't your honor listed one Sandy Frazer?

Yes, my lad, and I'll list you too.

Yes, we'll list you, if you're willing.

It's for that I'm come, if you'll take me in my brother Sandy's place.

Why is Sandy your brother?

Yes, Sir, he is, and the eldest of eight little brothers and sisters, not one of them but me, able to earn a morsel of bread for themselves; Sandy and I did tolerably well for them, while he had the farm, as he was able to take care of them, because he cou'd manage and provide, and knows ten times more about land not I, from his having been in England—No, I can never do it; if you take him away, what will become of my brothers and sisters?—Yes, they'll be starv'd—oh, merciful good Captain! take me, and discharge brother Sandy!—oh!

Ha, ha, ha! you young dog, do you bink I'll exchange an effective man for such a little whipper-snapper as you?—get along, you little monkey!

I am a little monkey!—oh! I shall never be able to maintain the family!—oh!

Why, Jack, (to Serj.) ha, ha, ha! here is another opportunity for your sentiments! ha, ha, ha!

Yes, and for your humanity, if you have any.

Humanity!—Eh!—go home, my boy,

Sir, I have rais'd a little bit of money here by selling some of our stock; if this could make up for my deficiency, till I grow bigger?

Hey! money!

Money!

Yes, Sir, if you'll accept this forty pounds and me in the place of my brother Sandy—Oh, wor­thy noble gentleman! you'll see what a good fine sol­dier I'll make in time.

Eh—in time—

Forty pounds—

And this yonker will grow taller.

Oh, yes, Sir, I intend to grow a deal taller.

Ha, ha, ha!—well, my little-tall boy—

Ha, ha, ha!—there's your brother Sandy's discharge—I take your forty pounds—there, a shilling.

A shilling!—generous Captain! thank'ye, Sir—this paper—what a present for my poor Jenny!

Sir, we are lucky rogues! this forty pounds comes to us most apropos!

Us!—what do you mean, fellow?—In profit I am solus.

now you are the King's man.

And Sandy is his own.

There's your discharge, Sandy; no more the King's, you're now only Jenny's man.

Ah, Sandy! how cou'd you forsake me?

Hey! the Devil!—what's all this about? —here, you little busy rascal,

True, my lad,

as he says, you're free, but I'll or­der your pert young brother here up the halberts—

My—I've no brother!

Eh!—why, what the devil is all this you've been telling me, firrah?

Oh, Lord! Sir, I'm the greatest fibber you ever knew.

Why, damme, you little son of a gun—

No, Sir, but I happen to be daughter to an old great gun!

Here's my match,

and hey! I'm off like a sky-rocket.

Sandy, didn't you know her?

But, my dear, what has she been about here?

Oh, Sandy, she's a worthy girl.

She!—a woman!—Oh, zounds! have I parted with an Alexander, to make a soldier of—

A soldier!—ha, ha, ha!—the Captain has been listing Moggy M'Gilpin, ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha!

My dear whimsical good-natured friend!—may she be as happy with the lad of her heart as she has made me with my Sandy!

Oh, ho—I see it now—you have been a con­federate in this imposition,

Totally innocent; and yet Captain, I'm an impostor, as well as yourself.

How?

This way—come, come.

Damme, I'll—

Nay, Sir, no bouncing—for here comes an old gentleman that will find us both out.

Sir, you stand upon your own guilt or innocene—you've turn'd the sword of justice into a raping-hook, and her balance to a money scale—but it's putting a weapon into the hands of a madman, to give power, where the mind is base and venal; so expect no favour from me.—And pray, Sir,

by whose authority do you list men in this island?

Our King, and my Colonel.

Who is your Colonel?

The owner of this island, my friend, young Bob M'Donald.

Well, this is rather odd; my son a Colonel! the first time I ever heard he was even in the army!

Son!—Jack,

Zounds, if—can this be the old Lai d?

Eh! is't possible? Bob!

Why, Sir, do you know this Sandy?

What do you mean by Sandy? This is my son Robert, ha, ha, ha!—your friend—young Bob M'Donald.

What, Sandy our young Laird!

Ha, ha, ha!—But Bob, if you are a colo­nel, as this Gentleman says, I don't admire the mode of your regimentals.

Why, no, Sir—but this gentleman dubs himself a Captain, his friend Bob a Colonel, and then cruelly degrades me to a private in my own re­giment, ha, ha, ha!

This young Donald? confusion!—Jack, we are undone—yes, they'll hang us,

Us!—what do you mean, follow? In hanging you are solus—

Yes, the Captain goes up.

Oh, I conceive now—then Bob, you are the Sandy I've heard so much of for improving the land; but why disgrace youself and family, by turn­plough-boy yourself, lad?

Sir, nothing disgraces any family but a dis­honourable action; and of that I am unconscious. I came hither, as I told you I should on my shooting scheme; but on the instant of my arrival, a transient sight of this lady inspir'd me with the design, which has made me the happiest of men. In this sequester'd I sle I have found this lovely flower, whose difinterest­ed smiles upon the farmer, have proved she must grace the bosom of the Laird.

But, Bob, still your whole conduct (to me wears a face of mystery, your turning common soldier—how?—Come, Sir, I insist upon a full and clear explanation.

Sir, my motives for enlisting were, to secure this gentleman's conviction, for his very impudent fraud, founded on a forgery of my name—and by fabricating imaginary distresses, have prov'd how far true love wou'd go to alleviate a real one.

Well, I am come to bid you, farewel, Donald.

Going?

Yes, when I settle—but where is this lad? I don't know how to find this Sandy Frazer out.

Ha, ha, ha!—Oh, Sir, there stands the gentleman,

An honest looking youth—young man, you'll marry Jenny?

If she will honour me.

It is an honour, if you knew all.

Here's an hundred pounds with her; don't ask why I give you this—she's wild and vulgar, but keep a tight rein, and you may reclaim her.

Sir, whosoever you are keep your advice and money for those who want them.

Want them! then, Sir, give my father the advice, and me the money.

Sir,

tho' I have not the honour of knowing you, and wou'd wish not to deserve the character you are pleas'd to give me, yet I humbly thank you for your generous intention.

You, madam!—I mean Jenny!

Well, Sir, this is she!

This!—why, you are not the young wo­man was wanting me to marry you just now?

Me, Sir,—to my recollection, I never saw you before.

The Doctor has been taking his whiskey.

Very odd this; I must have been impos'd on.

Oh, yes, they forget to mix it for you.

Pray, Madam, who are your parents?

I know not.

Oh, Sir, from you I ex­pect, and must exact, a consirmation of what indeed [Page 70]I scarce entertain a doubt,

Tell me what you know of this young woman.

First, Sir, tell me am I obliged to tell you?

You are, authoritatively.

Then, Sir, you must know—upon my word, my memory is so very bad, I can't recollect any thing at all of the matter.

What, Sir, not recollect the 500l. left her by her mother?

The five pounds! Zounds, I tell you, if I was even on a trial, I never could remember what I was determined to forget—however, Sir, if as I now find, you are the Laird of Rausey, I'll make a free confession, if 'twill do me any good.

Well, Sir—

This is your very neice, the sweet babe that was born in my house.

'Tis confirm'd—I saw there the features of my beloved unhappy sister,

I now, with pride acknowledge her for my neice.

Do you?—Oh, then I acknowledge her formy daughter-in-law.

Hard now that I can't turn out to be some body else.

I protest, Sir, had I known you were the Laird, I'd never have turn'd you out of your farm.

Ha, ha, ha!—Why, I believe you.

So, Sir, I hope you'll procure my Laird's pardon for the genteel manner in which I ha Miss Jenny brought up at Miss Kilcooburry's boarding­school, at Inverness—you know, Miss, what a fuss I made about you when a little fat pup et.

Indeed, Sir, whatever may have been his other failings, to me he has prov'd an affectionate guardian—permit me, Sir, to recommend to your fa­vour the worthy serjeant here, to whose unexpected generosity I partly owe my present happiness.

Thank'yee, Ma'am—I own I came here on a very roguish plan, which, if you can prevail on the young Laird to pardon,

let it [Page 71]extend to my friend, the Captain—'twas I that led him here, to help my recruiting scheme—we were partners in the guilt.

Recruiting, call you it—kidnapping—a dis­grace to your profession—for in your zeal for the ser­vice, remember, that honour is the characteristic of an English officer.

But now your justice, my Laird, on this curs'd, juggling, conjuring piper, who has, without my consent, run away with, and married my daughter.

Sir, give me leave to introduce Captain M'Gilpin.

Moggy!—Oh!—you brazen face!—hey —turn'd soldier?

I am, Sir, and under the command of General Charley—the real parson, who is now below at the door, gave the word—'twas love, honour, and obey.

Ay, ay, this is the young lady that is so clever at fibbing—how do you do, Miss Jenny?

Pretty well, I thank you, master Parson!

My dear son, the noble manner in which you have made your choice, with all my family pride, gives me infinite pleasure—Madam, I wish you joy.

Your affections have been prov'd, and you must both be happy—where viriue and innocence re­side Heaven is the orphan's friend; and I wish every fond pair, who marry for love, may thus be agrec­ably surpris'd with money.

If I was sure of that, I'd marry for love my­self; so I'm a conjuror!—these are comical conjura­tions —the tenant is the landlord—the poor orphan is the Lady of the land—the Captain is no soldier—the soldier is a woman—the apprentice is the master—the master is—no body—the poor parson is a Laird of much land.

—and poor Shel­ty, the Scotch piper—Oh, your humbe servant to command.

—and whether I tap the barrel, or tune the chaunter—Hey! neighbours, let's all be merry—