THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ^- \ Vs ^^ 'HICAL NOTICES, BY PETEll BUCHAN, ^•f»RRKSFO?,'l>lNG MEMBER OF THE SOCIETY OF ANTIQUARIES QF S(ori-A\D J OF THE NOIUHERN IXSTITUTIOX FOR THE FROMOTIOX OFSCIEXCE AXD LITERATURE ; ANI> OF THE AXTIQUARIAX SOCIETY OF N'EWCASTLE-UPOX-TYNE, .5t. Since the fifteenth day of June^ in the year of grace, 1831, the day on which it was first made a public spectacle on the boards of a theatre, it has lain hugger- mugger quietly among other long- forgotten writings of a similar nature, and would have continued so, had it not been for the prying eye of a friendly critic, who dragged it from its araneous bed of dust, and secrecy, in which it had taken shelter in my sanctorum, imd insisted on its seeing the light, as others had done be- fore him ; and, as I hadna' will to say him nay, for mair reasons than ane, I have complied with his request, but^ " hope I don't intrude." If I have dune wrong in gratifying the wish of a reverred friend, spare me hanf of the blame, and debit him with the other hauf. I usher it not into the world for lucre's sake, nor for INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. VI) fame- Although acliild of the brain^ It is no fondlln'x, and sliall be satisfied if it pay i\\e pj-inter without the piper, and maintain, in an ordinarily degree, my reputa- tion. I am M^ell aware, with many, it will have its legions of faults; with others of a more liberal spirit, it will have few, and with some, none! for books. like faces, do not please every one, nor at all times alike, — '' One mail's meat, being another man's poison." Some reading for amusement, others for instruction; one spreads a net to catch deformities, another to catch beauties ; one loves to s( ason iiis luxuries with acids, while another loves alkalies. It is, however, an author's d'lty, like a ^-kilful c^)()k's, to study to please the v;iri- egated tastes and pahites of his customers and gue.^r.-.-, although, I confess^ it is often very difficult, and easier said than done. The reader's disappointment in the contemplated pleasures of a new book, often arises more from his own stupidity, whim, and caprice, than any ignorance or defect of the author. " 'Tis h;u-d t) say, it^r,-;aer want of skill Apsiear in wrifmy^ or in jjidgiii^ ill ; But, of the two, Irss clruij^'rotis is th' offence To tire our patience th:ui mislead our .-^ense. Some few in that, but niimhers ere in this, Ten censure wrunir for one who write.s aniis.s." Nevertheless, the author, be he learned or unlearn- ed, wise or foolish, whether he write satire or pane- gyric, unless his ideas chime with those of his readers, he is loaded with abuse, and must suffer the gibes and contemptuous sneers of those who are too puny and puerile for his serious notice. I know that in this, my mciidcn essay, in the Dra na'tic way, there is plentv of room for f lult-Hnding cust'^mers. But, in the mid.st of my fears, 1 have one cjusolation when I think of Pope, and he was no vulgar boy. fv)i he savs, — " Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see. Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall he.' This is one proof how little perfection there is, even amongst the best of writers. You now see that I am somewhat at ease on this point, although perfectly conscious that William and Annie, levers as thev are, liavj theiry<7///y/o-6'. Vm INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. '' Love, the most geirrous passion of the mind, The softest refuge innocenee can find : The safe director of ungnided youth, Frauglit with kind wishes^and secured by truth : This cordial drop heav'n in our cup has thrown, To make the nauseous draught of life go down." Surely this will save the vainglorious a great deal of trouble in telling me, what I so well know already, aye, and knew long before themselves. How could I make them incomparable, when you know the limited sphere of society I have walked in of late; the galling chain of life I have dragged for many years, beneath the heat and burden of much turmoil and trouble ; and the few opportunities I have had of witnessing what is called by dramatists, Stage Efftct, when I tell you, and that truly, that during the whole period of my life, I never was present at the performance of ten plays. Nature alone, and not art, has been myinstructoress, and I have done my best to follow, not her iniqtiitous, but virtuous injunctions; but with what success, I do not pretend to say, I leave that to the declaration ol the candid and unprejudiced reader. A partial friend may say, — others of higher pretentions have their errors, and sins which easily beset them; but will this palliate my plea before the tribunal of a censorious public ? — Certainly not ! Even although my late worthy and much lamented friend, Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, when speaking of his Dramatic pieces, admits that he jiever wrote any thing fit for stage representation, all will not screen me from the lash of those who only fish for faults in troubled waters. " But seeing that I did herein proceed At his conuuand whom I ('ould not refuse, I huml)ly do beseech all those that n^ad Or leisure have, thi>; story to peruse ; If any laults Iheieiu they find to be, Or error that committed is by me : That they will of their gentleness takei)ain. The ratiier to correct and mend the sam<>. Than rashly to condemn it with disdain, For \\('ll I wot, it is not without hlarae ; For Chancer, that my master was, and knew What <]id belong to writing verse and prose, IS'e'er stumbld at small faults, nor yet did view With scornful eye the works and books of those. INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. IX That in his time di'l write, nor yet \V(nil(l tauiit, At any man, to scare him, or to daniit." Mon/i of Buri/—U-iO. To some beginners, the rod of correction is hurtful,, to others necessary ; but it must be applied, in all cases, by a skilful hand, or it loses the effect intended. It is not every one who assumes to himself the pre- eminent distinction of Dictator, or Critic, that can wield or wear this authority without pain to himself, or his less inspired dependants. For my own part, I do not covet the stripes of any man, although a little castigation now and then may be useful to many, I do not think it would be so to me ; but, for improve- ment's sake, like a little child, as I am, in this species of composition, I willingly bow to the chastisement of those who huve my weal at heart, as many have. As yet, I have been favourably dealt with by my superi- ors and compeers — my former productions having met with a m4)st cardial reception from that cla^s o=f the en- lightened cO'Dimunity whom I reverence, fear, and love, and are capable of appreciating the deserts of genius, and would be sorry, sorry indeed, if this little work were the means of my losing the confidence of those who have already, and so oftenhonoured me with their good opinions and praise — love of praise being an in- firmity to which the best of men are perhaps the nw^t subject. Some may say, and not without apparent reason, that the language, in most cases, is more adapted to a different class of beings than that of seafaring men, as' their knowledge of Heathen JMytholo<:y cannot be such as to justify my introducing it here; but my learned friends, by your leave, you may be wrong, as my ac- quaintance with many an honest Tar has already con- vinced me. The play, as you know, is foundet of my distresses, you will see 1 am not forgetful of those who deserve it ; and have, for once, exchanged the masculiiie for the feminine gender, and, under the ma^k of « gentle sheplverdess, chanted the pastoral dit-ty, to be found in page 68 of this book, out of respect to one of the best of men living, — one who has long held a place pre-eminent, and reigned triumphant in my heart's core ; but I am sorry, truly sorry, that I am so far deficient of doing him that justice to which his well-merited worth and talents entitle him. O for the pen of an immortal Homer, or a Virgil, for a month, to immortalize his name, and to spread his fame to the uttermost corners of the earth, and the harp of old Orpheus, to sing his praise, for he well deserves all. — May Iteaven spare him an honour, with a long lease of a happy life, as he has already been a blessing to his Native North ! I now conclude my long, and, I presume you are thinking, wearisome epistle, by wishing you the joys of another year, a store ol' that health and peace of mind to which 1 have been long estranged, and an alien to happiness, — that happiness I once so fondly clierish- ed in the hey-day of youth, health, and prosperity* when I was wont to go luind-in-hand witii the great and the good, " Amlyet my d ar F , there aie those who c.nn feel, Thiit this proud heart of mine is tiol fashiou'd of steel." Hygela, and the servants of Satan, have of late made a sad inroad in my constitution, and turned the channel of my pleasures into a fountain of bitterness ; but I have not abandoned myself to despair, 1 still have hope that I will soon be beyond the reach of their malicious greed, as some keaven-born wight will set me free from tlie devouring fangs of these hell- spawned vampires. — Their master's power is limited ; why not that of the servant's? *' Then biythely will I rant and sing, Wliile o'er the s\veet^» I range, I'll ery, your humble servant, king, Shamfa' them that wad change. A kiss of * * * • * ai.d a smile, Abeit ye wad lay down The right ye hae to Britain's isle, And offer me ye'r crown. ' INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. Xlll The very thought of an hereafter, has already be- gun to lessen the burden of my care : — Hope, what a jewel thou art, sweet nurse of future bliss I That I shall once more enjoy the felicity of domestic quiet, free from the terrors of a local hell, kept by the Cer- berus of which have haunted me, I dream in waking visions of the day. ^* Vprig'it to live, I sett my mynd, I never loose quhair aties I link ; I ruise the ioortle as 1 it tyndi I plainlie si>eik eviu as I think. I searche noe Iyer benealhe the yce, Nor courte wt ihoise that mak it nyce. For eartblie chance, for joy or paine, I naither hoope, nor doe dispaire. In sicknesse, healthe, tioe loise or gaine, My God 1 praise, and doe not caire, Ffor vealthe, lor vaiit, lor veill, lor voe <; I force no frend, nor leare noe foe. I seek not qulmir 1 com not spied, Att vill I valk, and trie of chairge. No lyff I liaite, no denJtlie I dried, I doe not laike, nor hev to lairge. I caire noe speitclie qiihair I doe live, 1 tak noe vrang, nor nane I giue. ^nhair I mislyke, I doe not kisse, I toylt> not for no ^ried of jiifaine, I send not quhair I favour misse, 1 irke ludqnimir I doe reniaine. jNly vord, my vreitt, my hairt, my hande, Accordi alvayes in one to stande. No beawtie brawe, my mynd can vinne, I doe disdaine noe lonesome face^ I knooke not quhair 1 vinne not inne, 1 frendlie lone quhair I imbri'.ice. I svey not for noe storme my blow, 1 mounte nothiegh, nor stoupe to low. FiXtraemes ar coujited most inisure, The meanest mynd is best of all, The ^reattest carle, the greatler caire, The hiegher vpe, the loner fall. Betiiist theise two quhi^ lives contente, Haith mor nor great king Creseus rente. Qlk great contentment I you viss. And all your sower translaite in sneit ; 1 vould be glaid to heir of this, I h)nge, hot heir no hoope to meittf ; Zit frendis ar frendis, thought fortvne mooue, Nuaghte vill dissolue loyall looue !" b XIV INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. Therefore, under all my tribulations and trials, and they have not been few nor far between, I still remem- ber gratefully how much I was, and am, and will have the pleasure to be, — My Dear Sir, Your very Obliged— PETER BUCHAN. Helicon-hill-housp, Abercken, Jan. 1834. POSTSCRIPT. I FIND upon concluding my letter, long as it is, that I must add something still, as a Tail-piece ; or, as you lawyers would have it, — a Testing clause^ to say that, although I have spoken my mind pretty freely and honestly, regarding some of the fraternity to which your profession is annexed, I never meant you to sup- pose that, 1 had a bad opinion of the whole race — No : far be such a thought from me : for, in addition to your own friendly disposition, I have found even here^ a few GOOD MEN AND TRUE, who despise the dirty tricks, and low intrigue of their despicable brethern. They have acted, in every instance, as far as I have been concerned, in the most upright manner, and as gentlemen — I wish I could say as much of the whole hundred and twenty. You have long known my dis- position, i. e. to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to give unto every man his due : for I don't like those martyrs and miracles of long sutfering patience, &c. which the world so hypocritically ap- plaud. — No; it is all cant and humbug; for they will be avenged, if not openly, by stealth, as I hiive found by experience. Give me, then, the straight- forward road of honour to walk in, or let me die in tiie attempt ; for I cannot think of sitting down tamely, and behold with impunity, and not retaliate, or avenge the wrongs of an injured name and reputation, or suffer to see with slovenly indifference, and saintly compliance, myself and fumily phnidered to the desti- tution of even the common necessaries of life, by low, dirty pettifoggers. Although I am not, by any INTRODUCTORy DEDICATION. XV means, naturally of an irritable temper, 1 have suf- fered more than enough, within these two years than would have driven a thousand men to desperation, death, and the devil ; but I do not at present wish to enter upon these particulars, — they will form of them- selves another, and an after concern. I cannot, however, forbear embracing the present opportunity of telling you, how that a few weeks ago, the son of a salmon fisher, who has been lately initiated into the order of the long robe, has begun his pe!tif(jgging career in Street, and as a set off to his brilliant talents, and to ensure himself of one dirty job at least, where his learned abilities might a})pear to most advantage, and to cultivate his client's good opinion, (who, by the bye, is himself only a creature of yesterday's standing — a mere echo of insolence and insult — one of those low-bred jockies who wish to show oti' their conse- quence, by trampling on the fair fame of tlieir superi- ors,) sent three looking wretches, quite facsnni- iies of their master, the devil, the very scuin of the earth, to plunder and spuilzic my house, and carry myself to prison. ** A Prison I Heavens, I loath the hated name, Fuiniiie';? iiu'tropolis, Uie ^^ilik oi shame, A nanseons sep'ikhte, whose craving womb Hourly inters poor mortals in its tomb ; By every plague and every ill possest, Even Purgatory itself to thee's a jest 5 Emblem ot hell, nursery of vice, Thou crawling university of lice : Where wretches numberless to ease their pains, With smoke and ale delude their pensive chains. How shall I thee avoid ? or, with wliat spell Dissolve th' enchantment of thy magic cell ? Even Fox himself can't boast so many martyrs, As yearly fall within thy wretched quarters. Not scolding wife, nor inquisition's worse, Thou'rt every mischief cram'd into one curse." This was done at the Instance of an old bankrupt, the son, the heir, and the brother of bankrupts, who had kept back from his lawful creditors, the balance of a trifling sum of a running account, payment of which had been repeatedly offered, but refused, for the purpose of being given to a favourite creditor on whom he depended for future favours, to the loss b 2 XVI INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. snd fraud of his other claiments ; and it is a fact no Jess strange than true, that nine-tenths of my trouble tias been caused by bankrupts, and bankrupts' sons and accomphces ; but more of this anon. 'J'he action was raised when I was confined to a bed of languish- ing pain and sickness, where I had urihappily lain for the two months previous, and even without the smallest notice having been given me. '' Yet think not that the wretch who finds the flaw. To haffie justice and elude the hav, Unpiinisli'd lives ; he pays atonement due j Each hour bis malelactons rise to view, Vengeance, more fierce than engines, racks, and wheels, Unseen, ntdieard, his mangled bosom feels. What greater curse can earth or heaven devise, Than bis, who, self-condemn'd, in torture lies ?" If such l>e the /fl?2; of poor Scotland, of which I am doubtful ; althougii it aj)pears to be that of Aber- deen j* and if tolerated by our wise le^ishuure, where is the wonted boast of the liheriij of a British sub- ject, as all are not mace-proof, although, fortunately I was at that time, but know not how long? " Since subjects fellow subjects can destroy And rob us of our boasted liberty. Devour'd J)y want, only to gratify Senseless revenge, and brutal cruelty." ******* • Out of the many cases of Aberdeen law and justice whicit I have to record, to the lioimur of i/ie crtfft, this is one, which 1 ibink near akin to Jeddert Justice , \xh\i, li is first to hang a man, then to try him : bulot Uiegoodly number of twenty and onehun- dred Aberdeen barristers, wlo i)ractice at the bar of that court, there are only, be it said lo lieir honour, five or six, of whom I can recollect at pre^eii!, but nioie i^.^ay appear soon, exclusive of this paltry boy, that would have been guilty of such a mean and l)eguarly actitm. As these vultures are already well-known by their fruits, it will save me the pain of mentioning their names at the present, as tliis sulijcct is not meant to pass away vrith the moment, like a morning cloud, but be marked by other times and places, when their yrncratiun, even to the third, shall be resusitated to show of what stock and lineage Lliey are sprung. — Prepare tlien your Briefs, O ye peltiloguers ol low kin, and dirty actions, to-morrow will come, and wilh it all its dire atten- dants,— miseiies of soul, restless and quacking con-ciences, with the terrors of hell and it wide open to receive you. INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. XVll •' Birds feed on birds, beasts on each other prey, But savage man alone does man betray ; Press'd by necessity, they kill for food ; INIan undoes man, to do himself no irood. With teeth and daws by nature arm'd, they hunt Nature's allowance, to supply their want: But man with smiles, embraces, friendship, praise, Inhumanly his fellow's life betrays; With voluntary pains works his distress. Not through necessity, but wantonness : The good he acts, the ill he does endure. Till alitor 'ear, to make himself secure ; INIerely for safety, after fame Vt^e thirst,* For all men would be cowards if they durst. And honesty's against all common sense. Men njust be knaves, tis in their ovrn defence : Nor can weak truth your reputation save. The knaves will all conspire to call you knave ; Long shall he live insulted o'er, oppressed, Who dares be less a villain than the rest. ' That excellent man, and public philanthropist, Mr* Wallace, M.P. for Greenock, has made this part of our laws his study for sometime past, and I hope from his superior talents, and praise-worthy exertions, that great good will be the issue, by securing to hisfel- low man those blessings of liberty so often denied by the tyranny of the present existing laws, and the har- pies who put them in execution. Then shall the poor, as well as the rich, in the fullness of their hearts " O Liberty ! thou goddess heav'nly bright, Profuse of bliss and (iregnant with delight, Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling plenty leads the wanton train ! Eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light. And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight ; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. Thee goddess, thee Britannia's pale adores ; How has she olt exhausted all her stores, How oft in fields of death thy presence sought ; Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought." *» ****** '* Why should dull law rule nature, who first made That law, by which herself is now betray'd ? Ee'r man's corruptions made him wretched, he Was born most noble, wiio was born most free : Each of himself was lord, and unconfin'd Obey'd the dictates of liis godlike mind. b 3 XVlll INTRODUCTORY DEDICATIOJT^ Law wa'^ an itinovatiofi brnnirlit in since, \^ hfn fdi 1< bei,^aii to love obed er.ce, And alltlieir siavcry, -^Hleiy, and delencp. Why should it l)e a stain then on my blood ?^ * ' * * » » * % * <* 'Tis libe' ty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; And we are weeds without it." Let me recount to you the many who have been in this place of late, who have wilfully contracted debts to the amount of thousands of pounds, and then basely and fradulently set their lawful creditors at defiance, and not paid one furtiiinf; per pound of what they owed, and have never suiFered a tythe of the thousands and one iiead-aches, heart-nches, and every other ache to which the soul or body of man is subject, as I have done, for a sum not v/orth the naming by an honest man. And, while monuments and mementos of their fraud aud deceit have stood staring around them as silent but expressive witnes- ses of their guilt, they have been living like the Bel- shazzers and Diveses of old, revelling in luxury and wantonness, and on the fat and property of others, I have been shut up in obscurity, living in solitude, pining in misery, but enjoying the fruit of a calm and composed conscience, by an honest industry, although taxing my overburthened brain to pay all my just and lawful debts : still, all would not satisfy the craving appetites of the belluine pettifoggers, and their thief- catching and plundering menial attendants; they must live as well as I, and by the sap of my brain too. Hard fortune, indeed 1 Think also, for a mo- ment, the state of my mind, when I was silently gaz- ing on the many, very many lamps full of midnight oil that have winged their blue ethereal way in spiral columns to the heavens, in my service ; and so oft has the honied cruise been drained dry of its virgin and shining store, when ahnost all nature save myself was enjoying the sweets of repose, to provide for an hon- ourable family an honourable subsistence— " Not for to hide it in a hedge, Nor for a train attendant. But for the glorious privilege Of being indejiendafd,' INTRODUCTORY DEDICATION. XIX But the cup has oft been dragged from their lips, and the pitcher brolten at the cistern, and all my night- ly labours gone to fill the bottomless and hungry ab- domens of the all-devouring and all-digestive ostrich maws of a few savage hyaenas, while my own worthy offspring lacked of their food. You now see. My Good Sir, that I am no time serv- ing servitor, nor respector of persons, but where re- spect is justly due, it is gratefully acknowledged, and will be, while the tide of life flows in my veins. I have always spoken my mind free of restraint, and like an honest man, but an wounded spirit, who can bear ? And, although I go single-handed m this, in my next publication, I will give such a display of the conduct of a few of those ravenous wolves that wished to eat me up, and pick the bones of my property, as will astound you, lawyer that you be, yourself I mean also to draw a line of distinction between the beggarlij pettifogger, and the nobie-minded gentleman-lawyer, whom 1 look upon as the bulwark of our freedom, the safeguard of our property, and the boast of our coun- try !* And, as honey is extracted from, and often found in the midst of, poisonous flowers, so have I found one to answer the above description, I mean, a good and hujnane man, in the midst of devils incarnate, i, e. clothed with flesh and blood in body, as we are, but with spirits demoniac ; but I shall not too hastily publish my faith, for fear of being mistaken, for the heart of man above all things is deceitful, and desper- ately wicked : duplicity being a disease inherent to man ; and, as Tobbie Smollett says, '' I am old enough to have seen and observed, that we are all play-things of fortune; and that it depends upon sometliin'j^ as in- significant and precarious as the tossing up of a half- penny, whether a man rises to afiluence and honours, or continues to his dyin^ day, struggling witli the difficul- ties and disgraces of life " The nature of the subject on which I have written so lengthy, I trust, -will atone for the unfashionable length of the Postscript. P. B. ♦ VVMicn, to all huiniin appearance, I was liki'iy to he .swii]- lowed np, root and hranc/i, heaven sent me, in the sluipe of Humanity, a catholicon to all my woes — a Gentleman Lmo-* yer, to whom I urn under the deepest obligatious. TO THE HEADERS OF THE PETERHEAD SIVIUGGLERS, <&c. My Esteemed Friends, For such I must designate you, as you have, ere this time, I presume, honoured with a perusal, and some degree of astonishment, the Introductory De- dication, and no doubt figured in your mind's eye, as did the learned Editor of the " London AthencBum," when he reviewed the first volume of tlie Poetical Works of my late friend. Sir Walter Scott, Bart. of Abbotsford, and says that 1 am, " One of the most singular of manldnd" There can be no harm in this, for, <* Were I (wlio, to my cost, already am One of those strange prodigious creatiues, man,) A spirit free to choose for my own share, What case of flesh fuid hlood I'd please to wear j Id be a dog, a monkey, or a bear ? Or any thing but thai vain animal, Who is so proud of beingratioiial.'' In the acerbity of temper shewn throughout the Epistle, into which I have unsuspectingly been betray- ed, ascribe to my nerveless feelings, now callous to every thing touching law and lawyers in general ; for, although no misanthropist, I have undergone more within these last two years, than would have soured the stomach, and jaundiced the eye, even of that pa- triarchal pattern of patience, whose example is so often held up to us, poor sickly creatures, as a model of imi- tation, when the devil was let loose to torment him. He was. I admit, in bad hands, when he was in the power of the Prince of Darkness ; but, had he been in tlie hands of imposters, cheats, and pettifogging law- yers, as I have been, he would have tJiought himself highly favoured, for his courage would then have for- sook every inch of him. — The master is often more merciful than that of his servants, at least those of his servants whom (I should have said which,) I TO THE READERS, &C. XXI have had the misfoitune to he subject. The man who wishes to leain patience from experience, let him go to law with an imposter and cheat, who employs for his agent a low, beggarly pettifogging lawyer, and he will get training, as I have done, with a ven- geance ! But " rU print it, And shiime llie r(igiii's.' My rigidly rigliteons fiiends, do not think, because I speak my mind thus candidly, that I am an arani' aranaiha, and an outcast from the society of good men, no; but I hate a hypocrite, wlio is continually canting about his religion and grace — By such, 1 have been woefully cheated and imposed upun ; but the true meaning of my addressing you at this tirae, is not so much to speak of ti)e sacririces that I have made to these cattle, as to get your assistance in solving a few, not matliematieai, but law pn»blems, wliich I mean to propou)Kl to you, instead of my Unv-adviser. I do not want your advice o^ific'udly, but (rfficioudy ; for, if any of you were of the long robe, you might cause me, as I have done, pav too dear for the whi&tle* * M> *» ih 'm % « % I\Iy friends, I am mucli obliged to you all for your attentive periisd; and, I have no doubt, good will tov.-ards me. Sliould ^ny of you belong to the profession of the law, 1 trust you will not take amiss what I have sait), peihaps rather causticly, but not without cause, of peiti/og^^efs. I re-pect and vene- rate many worlhy gentlemen v.'ho live by the law, as the law lives by tliem, and have ftamd them trust-worthy of my confidence. And, although I have spoken with perfect fieedom of a few, and they are but ^ Jexi\ wlio deseive my inali.sini, this throws no odium upon the wliole mass of the profession ; fur it cannot be said, nor v/oiild any one impute to the twelve a])osdes, that all of them were hypocrites and murderers, because one of them turned out to be a devil, a hypocrite, and a murderer. But the indig- nant spirit I have of late cherished and borne to- wards pettifoggeis, for the black deeds I have suf- fered at their hands, do not blame. Consider what it Xxii TO THE READERS, &C. is to have a good name and reputation despoiled by them — Horrid, and alarming thought ! The poignant feelings of an awakened honour of sensitive conscious- ness of having done right, have made the cup of my reason run over. Were you then to ask me what a Pittijhgger is, I would at once answer you by saying, — It is a crea^ ture detested by honest men ; the bane and bitterness of a well-regulated community ; the curse of an over- ruling Providence permitted to try the faith and sin- cerity of his suffering people; the vicegerent of the devil, and one of the black conclave of Pandemonium. ** Monsters more tierce, otieuded heaven ne'er sent From hell's abyss, for liutnan punishment." Upon reconsidering the subject matter of my law problems, I find it will be better to leave the pro- pounding of them to, (God willing) another and a better opportunity, when, I trust, we shall again meet, but under more propitious circumstances. — Till then, my friends — '* Pray thee, take care, that tak'st my book in hand, To read it well, that is, to understand.'' Good Morning ! ! ! P. a." Preparing for Publication. NORTH COUNTRIE MINSTRELSY; ANCIENT AND MODERN, WITH NOTES, BY PETER BUCHAN, Corresponding Member of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, Sfc. §-c. ^c. The Editor, in having again the honour of calling the attention of the admirers of (he '1 ales of the Olden Times, to this volume of the esteemed ditties of his mother North, thinks it unneces- sary to give much from his o^vn pen, particularly after the very flattering manner in \v:.ich his two last volumes were received by all the learned and respectable of the three kingdoms of Britain and Ireland. He begs only the liberty of being allowed a few extracts from the excellent Works of his late worthy and highly-esteemed friend, 8ir Walter Scott, Bart., and a ie\y of the leading Journals of the day, authenticating the merits of " The Ancient Ballads ano Songs of the North of Scot- land," &c. But, at the sametim»% would presume to say, that the present forthcoming volume will, in no wise, be inferior to Its predecessors j for, the Editor is proud to add, that, at very considerable trouble and expense, he has recovered from the re- citation of very old people, the greater part of the Songs, other- wise indubitably lost to the world, given in that list which was communicated to Mr. George Faton, Edinburgh, by the late Mr. Ritson, well known as a song collector, &c. Also, many of those mentioned by Wedderburne in his C«mplaynt of Scot- land, printed in 1540, and in the Dissertation by the late learned Editor, Dr. J. Leyden. In many of these Songs, the reader acquainted with this kind of lore, may trace in them the origi- nals of many of the best songs of Ramsay, Ferguson, Burns, and others of more modern date ; they have been the ba^is on which have been built many of the unperishable fabrics of our National Minstrelsy. He has also been fortunate in obtaining several valuable ancient unpublished manuscripts in the hand- writings of their respective authors, among which may be men- tioned one volume, upwards of two hundred years old, from Pitfour Castle, and a variety of others, scarce and curious ; with several original Jacobite songs. Suffice it, once for all, to say, that the MSS. of the intended volume were perused with a deep interest, by the late Mighty Minstrel ofAbbotsford, and such was his high opinion of them, that he stated to the Editor one day at dinner, in presence of some English noblemen, that, on Iiis rptnrn from abroad, he would do himself the pitasurs- of makiMy; the selection, and illustrating^ and enrichinj,'- the work with original Notes, as 1 was, at thai time, enirajjed with another laborious work, and conld not attend to both. But^^ alas ! that assistance on which I so proudly and so fondly con- fided, is forever gone. The mjagic ar.d enchanting sounds of the Harper is heard no more. — The harp which gladdened the hearts of thousands is now mute and unstrung.— He has exchanged atv earthly for a heavenly, and gone to that place where sing in joyful concert, the sons Of the morning. The sceptre of litera- ture to which nations bowed with wonder and amasement, is broken j and the Prince his last tale has told. Still to me his memory will be ever dear. The fond recollection of our last meeting will never be eradicated from the tablet of my soul, on which it is deeply engraved ; and the impressive and patriarchal tlessing which he implored from heaven in my behalf at our parting, is too strongly rivetted to my heart, to think it will ever he separated but by the fell destroyer, — death 1 The North Countuie Mixstjielsy will be addressed, by way of Dedication, to one of the most gentlemanly and best of men, William Gordon, Esq, of Fyvie and Maryculter, the Friend and Patron of genius, and will contain Biographical No- tices of a few of those eminent authors and senachies who have contributed so largely to the enrichment, and preservation of our National Song. OPINIONS OF REVIEWERS, &c. The Athenceiini) an ahly-coaducted London Weekly Jour- nal of Literature, &c., in reviewing the first volume of the new edition of Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works, makes the follow- ing remarks : — '• He (Sir Walter Scott,) pauses on his way to examine the merits of various ' ballad books,' published within the last fifty years in Scotland : The one that he seems to admire most, is the collection lately made in the north, by one of the vtost singular of man/iind—PETER Buchax, Sir Walter lOves him for his fidelity, a virtue for which tew editors of old rhymes are remarkable : The great Border antiquary was not perhaps aware that his brother of Peterhead is himself a rhymer of old standing, and, what is still mon' suspicious, his powers in verse are just about equal to the perpetration of many of the passages in the rudeness and bold simplicity of which Scott confided. jS'/> fV Ciller Scott's Opinion. From the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. " The most extensive and valuaJjle additions which have heen of late made to this branch of ancient literature, are the collec- tions of Mr. Peter Buchan of Peterhead, a person of indefatiga- ble research in that department, and whose industry has been crowned with the most successful results. This is partly owing to the country where Mr. Buchan resides, which, full as it is of minstral relics,, has been but little ransacked by fonnpr coilcc- tors; so that, while it is a very rare ^^v^H^t south of ihe Tay, to recover any hailad havins< u ( luim t;) antiquity, which has not been examinee! hiki rcpiibiislit'd in some one or other of our col- lections of aiuiciit poftry, those of Aberdeenshire have bt-t^n comparatively little attended lo. 'i lie present Editor was the first to solicitattention to these northern songs, in conseqience of a collection of ballads communicated to him by his late re- spected Iriend Lord VVoodhouselee. Mr. Jan>ieson, in lii^ col- lection of *< Song-s and Rallads/' beiii<^- liimsell a native of jNIorayshire, was al)Ie to push this enquiry much farther, and at the same time, by doing so, to illustr.ae histheury of the connex- ion between the ancient Scottisli and Danish ballads, upon which the publication of Mr. liuchan throws much light. It is, indeed, the most complete collection of the kind which has yet appeared. *' Of the originality of the ballads iu Mr. Huclian's collection, we do not entertain the slightest doubt. Several (we may in- stance the curious tale of " Th - Two Magicians,') are translat- ed from the Norse, auil Mr. Buclian is pobably ninicqnainted with the originals. Others refer to points of bistt ry, with which the Editor does not seem to l>e famidar. It is out of no disre- spect to this laborious r^nd useful ;.ntiquary, that we observe his prose composition is rather llorid, and lornis in this respect, a strong contrast to the extreme simplicity of tlie ballads, which gives us the most distinct assurance, that he has delivered the latter to the public in the shape in which he found them. Ac- cordingly, we have never s^en any collection of Scoltisli poetry appearing from internal evidence, so decidedly and indubitably original. It is perhaps a p;ty that Mr. Buchan did not remove some obvious errors and corrnptiuns ; but, in truth, though their remaining on record is an injury lo the effect of the b dlads in point of composition, it is, in some d.'g-;ee, a proof of their au- thenticity. Besides, although th ' exertion of this editorial pri- vilege, of selecting readings, is an advantage to the ballads themselves, we are contented rather to take the whole in their present though imperfect state, tiian that the least doubts sbouiii. be thrown upon them by am"tuiir,ents or alterations, which might render their authenticity doubtful, '['lie Idstoricai pv>em!5-, we observe, are few, and of no remote date, 'i bat ol the ' Bridge of Dee,' is among the oldest, and there are others referr-ng to the times of the Covenanters. JSom •, ind-ed, are composed on still more recent events, as the miirri. ge of the mother of the Ictte illustrious F>yron, and acatatrtphe ofstill later occurrence, ' Thed-ath ol Leith-liall.' '* As we wi-h to intere-,t the admirers of ancient minstrel lore, i!) th s cin-:ous collection, we shall only add, tiiat, on occasion of a new edition, we would recommend to Mr. Buchan lo leave out a number of songs which he has only inserted because th<^y are var.ed, sometimes for the worse, from setswhich have appeared in other publications. This restriction would make considera- ble room for such as, old though th 'y be, possess to this age alj the grace of novelty.'" From the Perthshire Courier. " While much has been done to collect and to illustrate the ancient poetry of the south of Scotland, and the songs of the Celtic bards, tlie popular ballads of the northern and eastern parts of the island have either been altog;etlier neglected, or what is nearly as bad, collected without care, and published without correction. We are ijiad to observe, that the gathering: togetlier of tlese interr^sting historical and poetical documents, has fallen into the hands of Mr. Peter Buchan of Peterhead, V. hose name must be familiar to all the readers of Blackwood's Magazine, (and who does not read it ?) as an indefatigible col- lector and preserver of the literary relics of his country. The manuscripts which he has collected have been submitted to Sir Walter Scott and other eminent literary characters, and have met with their decided approbation ; and froui what we have seen of it, we do not doubt that his truly national work will be worthy of a very high place in Scottish literature. The support Jklr. Buchan is receiving, is of the most fluttering kind, not merely in the extent of the subscription, but the value of many contributions which have been sent to him front various quarters_, where t!ie nature of his undertaking has been made known. We understand that, among others, Mr. Richardson of Pitfour, has given him access to a very curious collection of poems in his possession, written about the yt^ar 1630, by a Mrs. Margaret Robertson, a lady of the Lade family, who was married to a Mr. Stewart of Bonsk^'id. These are the poems referred to by General Stewart of Gartli, in his Sketches of the Highlands, as containing proofs of the advanced state of literature in the High- lands in the seventeenth century. The extracts from them lo be added to Mr. Buchan "s work, cannot fail to give it additional interest in this quarter. On the whole, his book, from the cir- cumstances now mentioned, seems to us fully entitled to the sup- jK)rt it is receiving, and is likely to receive in a still greater de- gree, the more the object it has in view Ijecomes known."' Late Earl of Buchan s Opimon. '< 3Ir. Peter Buchans Collection of Ancient Ballads appears to me to have much merit, and must be exceedingly interesting and amusing to those who wish to make themselves acquainted with the Ancient History, Traditions and Family Exploits of our Ancestors, and therefore I take this opportunity of ]Mr. Buchan's visit to the South, to recommend it to the Public, as I know they will be much gratified, and pleased with tlie work. (Signed) Buchan." From " Minstrelsy Ancient and Modern.' '' Of this ballad i liave seen a much more perfect ami beauti- ful version, entitled ' Young Aikeii,' in an immense MS. collec- tion ol Traditionary Ballads, <^:-. made by Mr. Buchan of Peter- head, which he intends for pubiicatiou. The contents of that collection are of singular interest and value 5 and it is much to be desired that Mr. Buchan may meet with encouragement suf- ficient to induce him to give his work to the ])ublic. It is the fruit of many years labour, and to collect it must have cost its euthusiastic Compiler a very serious expense. "—//'. A/o//terit;c// From the Paisley Magazine. <* Ere w? go farther in our notice of (bis choice collection of early Scottish Ballads, we deem it right to give our readers some authentic information regarding its enthusiastic and inge* nious compiler, Mr. Bnchan. We can throw more perfect light over his history and writings than any other organ of public in- telligence, and we rejoice to do .so, because we have observed with pain, that the Newspaper press, when it failed to review Lis volumes, deemed itself perfectly competent to write much of an apocryphal and fanciful nature touching the author himself. Anxious to set the world right in this respect, and circumstan- ces having placed in our power the copy of a letter addressed by Mr. Buchcin to the late venerable Earl of Buchan, in answer to some enquiries made by his Lordship, who had kindly inter- ested himself in Mr. B.'s welfare and manifold undertakings, we gladly present to our readers the whole of this authentic and interesting document. We are sure that in the wide range of present or past literature, there never was a more curious and characteristic autobiographic sketch penned 5 or one which af- forded a more felicitous and accurate reflex of the writerg mind, and of its whole moral and intellectual bearings. With sentiments of corresponding interest, it will be perused by every student of mind and manners. They, as we were, will be asto- nished and gratified to find Mr. Biu;han at one time rivalling tiie Mar(iuis of Worcester in rare, wonderful, and useful inven- tions ; at another time using with equal dexterity the graver of the artist, the pen of the historian, and the stick of the composi- tor; at one time wooing the reluctant muses to his embrace ; at another time, with no less ardour, accommodating himself to thesterner graces of grave philosophy and psychological science ; while last, and most pre-eminently, to our simple apprehension, he stands forth the single-hearted, sincere, indefatigable, and patriotic collector and illustrator of our national antiquities and traditionary literature. But let the author speak for himself: — " * * • * • ** So clones the account of his life and literary labours, which our autlior has written />ro/>n« manu to an illustrious friend and patron, now gathered to ancestral dust. Cold-blooded must the pitiful rascal be, who can read without emotion, this narra- tive of the struggles of an ingenious and towering spirit against an umelenting and untoward destiny. The acerbity of temper into which the writer is occasionally betrayed, may well be ex- cused, when we take into view the one thousand and one pro- voking circumstances which must attend the pathof one devoted to the elucidation of neglected literature. The patience of a saint might be outworn by them. He sees his labours con- temned—his industry sneered at — his abilities called into ques- tion by every saucy boy who can quote common-places from the dead languages — and last and worst, he beholds a public, whose effeminate and vitiated taste cannot appreciate researches, which referring to earlier and more masculine times, minister nothing to the fleeting vanities and idle puerilities of the present day. For our own share, had he writteu less teethily, we ought rather 6 to say less honestly, we would not have liked him half so well. Your mirftcles of suirerinff patience, and itnperturljal)le equna- nimity, under all the * slin<'.s and arrows of oiitraj;eons for- tune,' are mere lumps of snow — creatures without one drop of man's blood in their shrunken veins— their hearts are but indi- gest masses of dull phleg-m, and duller clay — mere boulder stones, nol livin*? and louping- things, trembling- with feeling and swelling- high with vig-oious and healthful life and action. Such poor dumb creatures, have not had a solitary spaik of sterling genius in their whole microcosm. They are of the earth earthy — soil bound slaves — knaves born for no other purpose than to hew wood and draw water — Gibeonites, pluckless Gibeonites. — On the other hand, we find that true genius has ever a gallant insolence about it, that will kick against the pricks to the last, give blow for blow, till it either tramples under foot all opposi- tion to its impetuous career, or is slain outright as a true knight under shield. " Stifly as Mr. Buchan has stood the stour, anti dearly as we love to see him fijjhting his way to glory through hosts of sense- less critics, yet, for his own sake, and for the sake of our na- tixsnal literature, we fervently hope, that his evil days have de- parted, and that brighter destinies now avrait him. Hisvolumes, we observe, are dedicated to his grace the Duke of Buccleugh, a nobleman wlio cannot be ignorant of the proud distinction which arises from being fleemec! tlie friend and patron of learned men, nor so utterly destitute of national feeling, as not to che- rish and uphold the spirit of him who has laboured so assidu- ously and successfully in preserving and illustrating the fast- fading monuments of Scotland's traditionary song— the lays of her chivalrous and romaiitic ages. Having ranged himself under the banner of the * Baiikl Buccleugh,' we should feel grieved and disappointed indeed, did its star not shine forth the harbinger of good fortuiie — did it not lead him on to honourable advancement, aud v.ell- merited reward." « » * • * ^' It were easy to multiply examples of the skill and industry with which our author has gatliered these old pieces. The field he has made accessible to us is exceedingly rich and varied. The spirit which has animated him throughout, is entitled to our warmest admiration, for we do well know how little sub- stantial remuneration can ever l)e hoped for by the man, who devotes himself, soul and body, to patriotic labours, such as he has so well executed. It has long been our wish to see a know- ledge in these matters widely diffused among our countrymen, and a taste for them created more general and decided than there is in the present day. To minds vitiated by the blan- dishments of art, it is long before they can be brought to relish the simple beauties of these early strains ; and it requires some study ere their valne, either as illustrative of history, or nation- al character, can be duly appreciated by the man of letters, the moralist, or metaphysician. But their beauties and value will be discovered in time, and the quickening effect this precipita- tion will communicate to the mind of the people, must prove as s.ilutary to their moral, as to their literary character. In glan- ring over what we have written, we observe many things have eseaped us, which in justice we should say of these volumes. What we iiave said, however, may suffice to satisfy all of the esteem in which we hold them. The notes, we may dismiss with statiii«ii:, that they principally tend to connect the ballads with matters of history, or are of an explanatory nature regard- ing their subjects. We are not sure that in his positions INIr. Buchan is always correct, or that in his comments he is uni- formly happy. This much, however, we can safely vouch for, that they are abundantly curious, and that to many, the vol- umes without them would bedeprived of a great portion of their interest. To conclude, no one bearing an honest affection to- wards the song of his father-land, should lack for a moment the < Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of iScotlatvd.' " From the Oxford Literary Gazette. " There is a desolate sea- port of North Briton called Peterhead, visited only by storm-tossed whalers, or home-returning voya- gers to the Pole. In that desolate sea-port lives Mr. Peter Buchan, the upright and indefatigible collector of northern song, a man worthy of a more genial residence. We have seen Mr. Buchan, and we at once recognised the excellent bookseller* of Peterhead in the vera ac viva ejflgies pertixed to his unex- ceptionable work. In our metaphysical days we derived mucb satisfaction from his treati-e on the ' 8ouls of Horses,' a sub- ject of speculation, curious at least if not useful, and which we remenxber he handled with singuhir tact and felicity. Of late years we have abjured hypoth»\sis, and though still disposed to hear any arguments that may be urged to promote the claims of a useful order of qu idnipeds to the distinction of rationality, yet, having lo4 the cinuiin'T of oiu- logical fence, our appetite for disputation is considerably abated. We are therefore oblig- ed to own that we at present prefer Mr. Buchan's collection of Minstrelsy, to his original lucubrations on tliis interesting point of animal psychelogy. In truth, a better collection of its mag- nitude, take it for all in all, we have never seen, whether esti- mated by the intrinsic exrellence of its accumulated lore, or its freedom from alloy. The correction of the proof sheets was un- dertaken, we perc -ived, by Mr. Kirkpatrirk 8harpe, an anti- quary of great discrimination and unl)lemished orthodoxy. '' Mr. Buchan has enriched his work with notes and a preface, which, though not so instructive as .Mr. -^lotherwell's introduc- tion, are not a whit inferior in point of originality. The perils of hailru!. errantry, and the endowments requisite to form the (^mJ«iV^m/ collector, are ailmirably depicted in the following extract from the preface : • « • • • " If Mr.Motherwells Historical Introduction and notes, with the choice pieces of his collection, were united to the ' Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotlaiul,' so good a work of its dimension's would not be numbereil in the catalogues of lii«' lil)raries ricliest in tLe treasures pres.Mved as household re- coilt'ctiojts throuijh the fiuctuations of ages."— fiy/F'm. Ken- ned}/, Esq. author of Fitful Fancies,' fc. • Mr, B. never was a Bookstller. Prom the Aberdeen Citizen. "We have long been accustomed to road with pleasure the va- lious productions of Mr, Hnchan^ hut till Into, our acquaintance did not extend to a knoivltdjjre of his dramatic acquirements. 3t is now, somewiiat horderiijif upon a score of vears, since we met with his first production, a little vohime of Juvenile Poems and Song-s, which he modestly called, >Tiie Recreation of Lei- sure Hours, beinsf 8on;^rs and Verses in the Scottish Dialect.' iiVer since, we have followed him in his literary wanderiuifs ; and, as an author, he has been successfully knosvn to the public as a Poet, an Historian, (in which capacity he has been hon- ourably mentioned in ' C lamhers' Lives of Illustrious Scotch- men >') a Biograqj/iist, and a Metaphysician \ and now as a Dramatist. As an Editor, he also ranks hi^li. In what cha- racter he will next appear on the literary stage, we do not pre- tend to divine, but this much may we say of him, without over- straining our consciences, that he will do it all manner of jus- tice, or vtre are very much mistaken indeed. His antiquarian researches have been crowned with success ; for few, in our day, have had such high compliments paid them by those best able to judge of merit. In the first volume of (he * Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,' the learned editor, vSir Walter Scott, of whom Mr. B. was long the intimate friend ar«l correspondent,. speaks of him in the most praise-worthy manner : And, we believe, in the present day, he is a favoured correspondent with many of the n^ost eminent literary men in England, as well as in Scotland. As a grateful mark of respect for liis indefatigible industry in collecting and garnering up the stra.rgling relics of the olden times, he has been honoured with n© less than three diplomas ; — 'two from Scotland, and one from England. These are honours which interest cannot command m>r buy. It is to meritalone they are given, and conferred as a reward of genius. "^ From the Scotsman^ " Aneient Songs of Scotland. -We have great pleasure in announcing to our readers, that Mr. Peter Buchaii of Peterhead has in the press, and nearly ready for publication, a large col- lection of unpublished ancient Song^s of the Nor.h of Scotland. The indefatigable editor has gleaned the whole from the tradition- ary recitations of the peasantry of the north country. The manu- script has been examined by Sir Walter Scott » and several other distinguished literary characters, allof whom speak of the Songs in terms of the highest commendation. We trust that Mr. buchan's praiseworthy exertions to preserve these valuable re- cords of the ancient history of ihe northern portion of his native country, will meet with that public approbation and reward to which they are eminently entitled." From the Aberdeen Journal. '^ The talent and good taste of Sir Walter Scott have in no re- spect been so conspicuously displayed than in the elucidation of the ancient manners and customs of his country, to which he has so successfully directed the attention of the public. The * Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border' revived the interest in our old ballads and songs, and led tlie way to various publications- of a similar nature. It remained, however, a desideratum, that the legendary poetry oi the Xorlli of Scotland should be collect- ed and published ; and that it sliould be proved that the * North Countrie' has produced both hcroical and hunierous effusions^ ecpial in beauty and talent to tliose even of the classic banks of the Tweed or Yarrow. '! his has now been accomplished by the indelatigable exertions ot ^Ir. liuchan of Peterhead, who, after Iiavinjr spent more tlian ten years in collecting the ballads and songs of his and the neig'ibouring counties, has produced a couple of volumes which entitk* him to the j^natitude of every Scotchman, and whi( h deserve a plme in every library. Mr. Buchan has had the singular good fortune to receive the advice of Sir Walter Scott in regard to his publication ; and to have brought it out under the immediate superintetidance of Mr; Kirkpatrick Sharp. This gentleman, so well known for his literary attainments and antiquarian knowledge, in the kindest manner offered to select the contents of these volumes, from a large mass of materials, which, we trust, shall soon see the light, in consequence of the patronage be>>towed on the present work. •* The lime is nearly gone for recovering these memorials of the customs, feelings, aiid local history ofour ancestors, of which they are such faithful chronicles, and over which they have such influence. What might have been accumulated in a lew weeks, fifty or sixty years since, now requires yeais of perseverance to collect. The rapid change in the habits and feelings of the Low- landers, in this respect, is analogous to that of the Hiylilanders in regard to Celtic poetry. W^e trust, however, that tiie revived taste for ancient national poetry among the tinper classes shall be the means of rescuing what remains from utter oblivion, and of rewarding those who have spent their time in such a lauda- ble pursuit. If Addison, who bestowed so much atlenlion on the works of Milton, did not disdain composing a long critique on the ballad of Chevy Chase, surely a work like that now beiore the public ought to excite our curiosity, if not rouse in us a feeling of well-founded national pride. It consists of 147 pieces, of which a large proiortion iias never before been printed. The remainder all differ from any former editions j and many, of which only a few stanzas were known, have been con)pleted by the industry and pers^everanceof l!ie Editor, from the recitation of obscure persons ; so that the coDipilation has a larger portiou of hitherto unpublished matter than is to be found in any work of the kind, since Percy's Reliques of Ancient Peetry. ** The subjects, style, and eras, of these poems, are of course so various, that it would refjuire a difficult clasfsiiication before any satisfactory critique couitl be offereil on them. It may hovv- ever, be observed, that they contain many curious views of the state of society in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, as well as much beautiful poetry, and not a little humour. We may give as a specimen of true feeling the the quaintness and sententious point of which, remind us greatly of the manner of Sir John Suckling :" * * * * * OF THE LAST CENTURY, ACT I. SCENE I. — TheT>enqfBoddom, where the lovers rneet^ William, Solus. Will. O cruel father, thus to doom my undoing. Surely, did you but know half the pangs that rend my youthful heart in twain, and rob me of my rest, you would take pity on an only son whose greatest crime has been to own the love he bears to a virtuous maiden, and not by your harshness drive him to de- spair. Must I again say, cruel father ? I must ! He has sealed my fate, and, I fear, signed my death-war- rant, by compelling me to leave my native land, and all that I hold dear on earth, to join a ruthless band of smugglers, who set at defiance the just and equit- able laws of their country, by introducing foreign luxuries^ for the sake of unjust gain, to pamper the appetites of an intemperate set of men hostile to good government, and to the ruin of the fair trader. O Annie, Annie ! innocent cause of my sorrows, how little dost thou know that thou hast been the cause of all my sufferings ! For you must I encounter the perils of the ocean, — suffer the scorn of my ignorant companions, — be made the laughing-stock of their mirth, and the butt of their ill-timed jests, when far from love and thee. I will, however, obey my father, and in this also will I honour his commands. He was kind and affectionate to me when a child — he provid- ed for all my wants ; and while I hung on my mother's b PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. breast he watched over me tvith all the fond care and kind sympathy of a dutiful parent. Then shall I go and brave the storms of the ocean, and all its attend- ant miseries, and show him that in life and in death I am obedient to his will. But it is not from the dan- gers nor the perils of the ocean, the climate of a foreign land, nor the risk of being found in a lawless enterprise, that makes me shrink from flying to obey his mandate. No 1 It is from the agonizing throbs that beat in my bosom when I think of parting ; yes, parting, perhaps for ever, with my love, my angel, my Annie. It is now the hour (looking at his ivatch,J she promised to meet me here, but how can I sustain the shock ? My sinews already shrink at the thought, and my feeble frame begins to give way. To hide my perturbation would be impossible, — then must she share in the agonized feelings I endure, and be a partaker of my woe ; but I must, it" possible, conceal from her the true cause. She does not come, (again looking his watch.) I am happy, and yet I am miser- able. How should she be made to divide my grief! Then do I go and meet my wayward fate, while heaven is my guide. \_lVhcn leaving the place Annie appears. Enter Annie. Ajui. What ! my William, flying from me ! Will. O my Annie, thou hast loiter'd long; what has been the cause of your tarrying at this critical juncture? lam now on haste. It is already half- past eight, and my business calls me hence. It de- mands an early attendance. Ann. Cruel William, will you thus go and leave me? JVill. I mu-it, obedient to the imperative mandate of an indulgent father. (Hiding his face.) Ann. You seem to falter and shake, my William ; every limb seems to quiver like the leaves on yon aspen tree. Are you well ! Will. I am. Ann. Then do not, O do not, do not, my love, my W^illiam, deceive mc. Make me your confident, or I die of despair ; my life is in your hands, and never, never shall I leave you till I become a partner of your PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 7 sorrow. I know you are innocent, and with you will I live — with you will I die ; for, like Ruth of old, I will wander the world with you, where thou lodgest will I lodge, thy pleasure shall be my joy, and thy sorrow my pain. Will- This is too much for me at this arduous mo- ment, (turjwig aside ; J the day has been that I could have heard such protestations made by a woman with- out any signs of emotion, although I was no misan- thropist, but now it drives me to despair. (Turning to her.) Charming woman, paragon of all I hold dear on earth, thou hast unmanned me. Thou hast un- hinged my inmost soul — unarmed all the powers of my philosophy, which, till now, were proof against the blandishments of sweet woman's tongue, and the syren voice of her bewitching eloquence. I will then reveal unto you the secret, the cause of ray uneasi- ness ; but to-night excuse me, I cannot communicate my sufferings, as I go to meet with my father, who by this time will be waiting for me on Keith Insch,* where a party is ready to receive me as their super- cargo on a secret mission To-morrow night, then, at seven o'clock, meet me in the Hows of Buch- an,-|- wliere, at that hour, you will find me seated beneath our favourite willow, ready to satisfy all your inquiries, let them be what they v.iil. Till then, my love, my life, adieu. \_Exit, Annie, Solus, Ann. Good heavens ! what can this mean ! a mys- tery, a dreadful mystery, hangs over all his words. A party ready to receive him on Keith Insch, as their supercargo, on a secret mission — a secret mission, did lie say, yes ! Then my happiness is for ever fled, — all my early dreams of eternal felicity will soon vanish in air. and my high-born hope sink into a chaos of despair, for evil lorbodings say, that when we meet again, it will be in a place where we shall meet to part no more. O William, William, cruel William, thus ♦ 'I'he easternmost point of land in Scotland, t A solitHiv glen about a mile and a half from Peterhead. a2 8 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. to betray me. Yet will I believe thou art not the man — no evil can spring from a heart whose love, like thine, is as pure as the ice that binds yon glassy stream in the gloomy month of December. But he has promised to meet me to-morrow night in the Hows of Buchan — sweet spot, would my heart were as light and as free of care as in the days on v»^hich he used to take pleasure in hearing me sing its praises. The words are very old, and as they were a great favourite of his, I will once more try to warble out a note by singing them, and soothe my solitary moments, as they may be the last. Annie Sings. Gin ye come back to Buchan, to woo, Come bonny and braw, come bonny and braw, And gin ye get the lassie's consent, Get siller an' a', get siller an' a'. For I hae been at the Hows o* Buchan, And bidden sae lang, and bidden sae lang, Tve courted a wife that I'm nae worthy o*. Base dog that I am, base dog that I am. The Hows o' Buchan are bonny an' braw, Winna ye go, love, winna ye go ? The Hows o' Buchan are bonny an' green, They will dazzle your e'en, they will dazzle youre*en. But I'll gang nae mair to Buchan, to woo, To Buchan, to woo, to Buchan, to woo, I'll gang nae mair to Buchan, to woo, Since William he leaves his Annie, I trow. [_Exit. SCENE n. — A public-house on Keith Insch, kept by Eppy Davidson, the rendezvous of Smugglers, ^c. John Gordon and Will Watch carousing. Own. Now, captain, although I have taken it in my head to punish my disobedient son, and yet he is not disobedient either, by causing him dree a voyage of penance to Holland with you, as supercargo of the Crooked Mary,* for the love he bears to Annie * The name of the vessel, a notorious sninggler. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 9 Forbes, who, although a good girl, and come of re- spectable parents, is now far below his degree. You know, captain, it is not what we were once, but what we are now, that the world looks upon. Money, and not merit, is the idol of all. I am, therefore, deter- mined to thwart him in his design of marrying her, but v'^u must not use him harshly, nor always set him in the face of danger. I esteem and love him, and in this case only has he ever given me the least cause of pain or complaint, or justified me in calling him undutiful. Capt. Good sir, you may rely on ray particular attention to the son of such a father, and if he does not deserve it, he is not a chip of the ould block. 1 have now sailed in the Crooked Mary for these last sixteen years, and suffered many hardships and perils. She is a canny ould hulk as any that sails the sea, and lias braved the weather of many a dreadful blast. How oft have I been caught on a lee-siiore, and be- calmed in Collie;.t()wn* bay, when unloading a valu- able cargo of the exports of Holland. Do you not also remember so often as I have been pursued by that confounded Duncan Ayrc, who is a terror to all the smuggling craft on this coast, — whose yacht is con- tinually floating in our way, and so often as he has been outwitted. I wish some sea-monster would swallow it up, or some kind storm dash it against the rock of Sherry, f that we might then get rid of his imper- tinence. Enter William. Capt. Come, my brave boy, what cheer ? Do not look so demure, — you have nothing to fear, — we will soon return, — we go to a country abounding with bonny lasses, where pleasure is ever plenty, and joys ever new. Will, I come, obedient to the will of my father, although^ I confess, it is much against that of my own. Own. You will never repent, my son, obedience to * A fishing town long known as the rendezvous of smugglers, t An isolated rock in the German ocean near the Buchanness. 10 FETElSHEilD SMUGCrLERS. a father's commands. Ydti have always been dear to me, and your compliance with my request in this affair, makes you dearer than ever. What I have done at this time, I consider to be part of my duty for your welfare, although it may appear at present some- what differently to you ; I trus^t my arrangements for your happiness will be crowned with success. Will. Be it so or not, I yield to your dictates. Capt. Right, my heroic young man; but previous to our setting sail, I wish some one would go for that ould wizard, Adam Donald, prophet of Bethelnie, to give us a fair wind. It is not more than a day's journey off. PVill. A fair wind ! how can yon old, decrepid, and despised of men, change the elements, or work such wonders in your favour. Banish the thought, and be not guilty of harbouring such impiety. Capt. Impiety, say you ; indeed 'tis not impiety to harbour such a thought. He can make the stars whirl round as easily as a child would do his whirly- gig, by a nod of his head or a tramp of his foot, and make the sun and the moon hide their heads in dark- ness. Boreas is afraid of him, and Neptune, with his trident, does him homage. Will. Then shall I go on this midnight errand. I long to see a man that can keep the waves of the ocean in awe, and make the wmd blow as he listeth. C Aside. J Poor deluded mortal, thy superstition is unconquerable, still will I comply with all the rites and ceremonies of the wizard's incantations in this negotiation, as by being a seeming partaker of their absurdities, it will gild a pill 1 mean the old man to swallow. l^Exit. Own. You now see, captain, with what alacrity my son attends to, not only my commands, but your sug- gestions. By this time, dark and dreary as is the night, he will be on his way to Bethelnie, where lives that imp of darkness, though clad in human form. Let us then part for the night, and meet to-morrow, just as the sun his wearied rays o'er Mormond hill* repose to rest; \_Exeunt, * A high hill about twelve miles north-west of Peterhead. PETERHEAD SMUGGLER?^ H SCENE III — *Hows of Buchan, William, Solus. Will, How short the time have I been a lodger on earth, yet enough to see the frightful ignorance that pervades the minds of the greater part of mankind, when they come in contact wiih supernatural agency. The fables of witchcraft have taken such a firm hold of their weak intellect, that it is with the greatest difficulty they are rooted out. There are people who are no sooner afflicted with disease or poverty, but they fly to some unearthly looking creature, and there implore their aid — a catholicon fur ail their woes, be- lieving that neither hail nor snow, thunder nor light- ning, rain nor tempestuous winds, come from the hea- vens but by the command and power of witches and conjurors. But I, for my part, think with Sirach, that the snow falleth, the wind bloweth, and the rag- ing of the ocean cease, only at the command of an over-ruling and a just Providence. I have, however, delivered my message, let the consequences be what they will. I now only long to unburtlien my mind, and take leave of the flower of womankind, my Annie ; and here she comes, lightly tripping along the mead, hke her compeer, the goddess Diana, brushing the silver bells from their flowery bed. Enter Annie. Ann. I now come, my William, to reap the fruits of my night's travel. You promised to satisfy all my inquiries — then I begin my catechism, — Have you found me faithless ? or has any malignant genii tried to tear our loves asunder, and with it all our happiness ? or dost thou repent the promises you have so often made to me, on this sequestered spot, beneath this aged thorn ? WUl. No, my lovely fair one, thou art as amiable in my eyes as ever, but — (interrupting him. J Ann. But what, my William, speak, and keep me no longer in suspense. The truth must out. Will. Know then niy Annie, my lovely Annie, that my father, as owner of the Crooked Mary, has decreed 12 PETERHEAD S3IUGGLERS. that to-morro\v niglu I go on board as supercargo of the Crooked Mary, and directly sail for Amsterdam, in Holland, to bring home a cargo of those contraband goods which have of late so inundated our peaceful countr}^, and drained it of its richest treasures. But again do I promise, under this sacred willow, and in presence of this old castle wall, to be faithful to my ever-charming and ever adored Annie. Ann. O cruel fate, could nought but our separa- tion glut thy vengeful ire, and satisfy thy ignoble thirst! Why have we thus been made the sport of thy choice, and thy pleasure the bane of our bitter- ness ! Better had 1 never seen the light, nor reason deigned to bless me with her hallowed fire. My soul, alas ! has been inspired with sentiments of a nobler cast, ill-suited indeed to, or becoming my present humble station ; for now must I forego all those pleas- ing prospects of happy bliss, and fly to one of those dreary and now desolate sky-capt turrets that ofc have sheltered the houseless wanderer from the impending storm of love and hate. One of those once happy mansions, where dwelt, in days of yore, the boldest barons of fair Scotland's isle. Will. Thy frenzied looks, my Annie, forbodesome ill, but do not give way to despair. The sun has oft been seen to brighten when least expected, and we will yet, I trust, be happy. Ann. (Weephig.) But how can I forget, or banish from my recollection those happy hours so sweetly spent with you, my love, on Ugie's daisied banks ? or when roving through those flowery meads where sport in playful merriment the woolly flock that crop its tender herbage ? 'Twas then, and there, my willing heart fust felt the soft emotion, and revealed in broken sighs the anguish of a youthful passion, while you, my William, nature's lovely masterpiece, stood re- splendent as orient sun driving away the darkness of a barren night. Will. Once happy hours, to memory dear, what dost thou recall ! What pleasant ra})tures, when seated with thee, ray Annie, on the moss-grown stone, beneath the withered arms of a once flourishing oak, PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. IS ruminating on the loves and joys of its first masters, and the better days they once had seen ; while thou, my love, sweetened life by thy kind and innocent caresses, while thy smiles and thy kisses, above all endearments, were doubly dear to me. Then cease to weep, this storm will soon decay, And the sad clouds of sorrow die away ; While thro' the rugged paths of life we go. All mortals taste the bitter draught of wo. Take then this ring, an enjblem of my love, And be assur'd that I will constant prove, As with this hand I freely give a heart. No one shall alter, tho' we present part ; And when the fates reverse their stern decree;, Then I'll return, my love and life, to thee ! Farewell. Au?i. O that word, the grief of thousands, how it pains me. Yet it must be so, (hanging round his neck J Farewell. \_Exeunt. SCENE IV. — Interior of Eppy Davidson's house^ •where the Owner and Captain of the Crooked Mary are in close coiiver nation ^ and wailing the Prophet of Bethelnie. Oivn, Well, captain, have you got all things ready for the intended voyage ? Caj)t. Yes, sir; the 31ary is just now stretching off and on the Buchannfss, and in a tack or two will be in the bay waiting your orders. But Master William and the ould wizard have not yet made their appear- ance. Surely he would not have raised the ghost of some little elf, and frightened tlie young man out of his wits, for I saw by his lot)ks when he went away, that he had no great wish to face the diel at such an untimeous time of night. Own. No, I am convinced that is not the cause of his delay, for he neither regards diel nor warlock ; he looks upon these fears as childish and vain. He has got other fish to fry, I'll warrant thee; for 1 presume, 14 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS* and if I guess aright, he will rather be taking a long and last farewell of his Annie. Capt. Be it so ; for if we meet with and are over- powered by that cursed dog of a fellow, Duncan Ayre, who is constantly on the out look for us, he will put such a bulwark between them, that interest and years alone can only remove. C^ knocking at the door J Walk in. E7iter Eppy in ajr-ight. Own. Well, Eppy, what is the cause of your alarm ? you look as if you had seen some frightful beast ready to devour you. Eppy. Nae wonder! nae wonder! Sir, although I seem frighted, for the very wee dogie, wha is nae a coward, ran yowling in beneath the bed, and the cat flew up the lum wi' sic a bicker as darkened the hale house wi' the soot she dang atf the rantle-tree, an' a' wi' the appearance o' an unearthly and frightsome auld carle, wi' a grey beard as lang an' as ugly as Jock Tamson's v/hite horse tail, wha's just come in seeking the master o' the Crooked Mary. 'Twas lucky, in- deed, that my dochter Jessy wasna in, for she wou'd bae gotten sic a fright as prevent a seven year's growth, an' that she couldna well bae spared ; besides, she wou'd never hae deen anither well turn a' her days. Capt. Send him in, Eppy; do ye think we can bide a look of hiui ? Eppy. Indeed I dinna ken, but it is mair than I can dee, an' I wish he were awa; for gin he bide here lang a my customers will forvow my house, an' that, )'e ken, wou'd be the upshot o' me fairly, for nae ane wou'd like to come in contact wi' a depute-diel, as I tgk* him to be, unless he sought his ain ruin. Capt. Bring him in, bring him in, without more com- ment, that we may at once behold, and look on the diel-depute, as you call him, face to face. Enter Adam Donald. JViz. Peace be here! I come to visit you at the re- quest of a youi:g man, who, I find is absent, but will be here presently, or my knowledge is in vain — you PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 15 can, however, explain to me your motives for calling me from my home, on so long and tedious a journey. Capt. We want your assistance, by procuring for us a fair wind to Holland, to which country we sail to- night, and we will more than pay you for your trouble. Wiz. But dost thou think, man, that I keep the wind in the palm of my hand, or can make it blow to any of the cardinal points as you would wish? No! I must, however, make some incantations, and try their power, by invocking one of the lower orders of my attendants, before 1 can serve you. Then shall you have — if my imps willeth — such a wind; but remem- ber that he needeth a long spoon that suppeth with the Devil. So shall it fare with you in the end; in the meantime, prepare yourself for the trial. Cnpt, (In a fright.) What is to be done! Already I quake for fear! My hair is all on end! Do not, Master Prophet, proceed farther; we will rather go without it; aye, with an easterly wind blowing us full in the face tiie whole way. Mr. Gordon, as owner of the vessel, what say you? Ori'W. As you have now begun, so must you carrv it through, come life, come deaths coine weal, come woe, show yourself a man, for I despise a coward, or one who would flinch from such a character as the Prophet of Bethelnie. But where is William, my son? Call Eppy and see if he be returned, that he also may be present when the conjuration takes place. (Knock' ingon the table.) Eppy! Eppy! Enter Eppy. Capt. Why do you not attend better to the calls of your guests? Eppij. Gaists ! gaists. Sir! indeed I was always frightened at gaists o' ilka description, a' my life, after what I ance saw wi' thir twa een v^^hen 1 was a wee bit lassie todling about the doors o' my father's barn. Oven. But you mistake him, Eppy, he did not mean, when he said guests, that they were ghosts, that is, the spirits of the departed; but your customers, who are alive and well. Is my son William come into your house yet? 16 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Eppy. Deed is he, Sir; but I was sae sair frighten- ed to come ben and tell you, that he stands in the kitchen floor waiting your orders. [_Exit, Own. Then let him walk in. Enter William. Will. So you have got here before me, Doctor Donald; I hope you have had a pleasant journey; did you ride on shank's mare, or flie on a broomstick? Wiz. Ride or flie on a broomstick. No! do you think I am one of those midnight carlins that ride through the air on broomsticks to the great annoy- ance, consternation, and fear of the poor ignoramuses that start at straws, and loup over windlans. No, no, my department is somewhat different; I never leagu- ed with these infernals, though I have often been charged with the crime. My pleasure is in doing good, theirs in doing evil, here lies the difference ; but we must to business. Capt. Aye, to business, to be sure; by this time the Mary is lying in the bay, and her boat, with a cursed unruly crew, will be sent on shore for Master Wil- liam there and myself— so proceed. IViz. (Drawing tvitk a viagic xvand.) Then do I draw this magic circle on the floor, which no one must approach on pain of death, till I have fairly finished my incantations: — '' The rivers I can make retire Into the mountains whence they flow, ^ Whereat the banks themselves admire : I can make standing waters go. With charms I drive both sea and cloud, I make it calm, and biov/ aloud. The viper's jaw, the rocky stone, With words and charms I break in twain ; The force of earth conjeal'd in one, I move and shake both woods and plain ; 1 make the souls of men arise; I pull the moon out of the skies!" I have now finished my operations, and here is an amulet which I have prepared for you^ but be care- PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 17 ful of not breaking the seal ; for if you do, like the open- ing of Pandora's box, you will find to your cost, when too late, that it contains all manner of evils. Be not then too fool hardy, but fear. (Giving the Captain a small j)hial sealed voith ivax.) Capt. Rely on it, I will preserve it like the apple of my eye. If I do not my name is not Will Watch, a true honest smuggler. Wiz. Balm, virgin wax, and holy water. An Agnus Dei I make, A gift than which none can be greater, I send the for to take. From fountain clear, the same hath issued, In secret sanctified; 'Gainst lightning it hath sovereign virtue. And roaring winds beside. (Making signs to the skies.) Blow, blow, ye breezes blow. Come swift, and do not tarry ! A westlin wind, and peaceful sea, To Watch's Crooked Mary. And when you reach fair Holland's shore. Where flower^- >ioom fair to see. Merrily, meruiy, may you land, And merrily may you be. Now must I alone for a thousand guineas, so much do I value the gift of a revered friend ; and ever since I possessed •them, they have been my close companions, through all sorts of weather, and oft have faced, with me, the battle and the breeze. Jessy. Excuse me. Sir, for I cannot drink ardent spirits, and I hope you will not force me. * The easternmost head-land in Scotland, Keith insch. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 19 Twn. By no means, but as we are now making merry, and on the eve of going a far journey, I think we will lay you under an embargo till you give us a son^. Jessy. Indeed, Sir, I am no singer, and beg again to be excused. Tom. No, no, no more excuses, my bonny bird, you have a sweet mouth, (kissing her,) and a singing voice ; I will not then let you go till you favour us with a song. Eppjj. Hoot, toot, Jessy, dinna say ye canna sing, nor seek to be excused, for weel can ye sing gin ye like. 'Twas only twa days or sae sin' tliese lugs o' mine heard you lilting aff, like ony m.avis, a sang about some Jacky Tar that ye hae a notion o', my canty wee thing. Dinna, then, think shame, for sailors are nae aye ill to please, but gie them it a' crap an' reet, it v/ill dee the house guid at anither time, fur ye shou'd be aye con- descending to customers whan tliey're civil, it helps to sell the ale sometimes whan it's sour. Jessy. What a dreadful thing it is to be under the control of an old canker'd carlin of a mither ; then must I sing, the newest that 1 hae, or she'll never for- Jessy sings on Tom's knee. Come ashore Jacky Tar, and your trowsers on, Come ashore Jacky Tar, and your trowsers on, Come ashore Jacky Tar, frae on board of man-of-war. And kiss a bonny lass wi' your trowsers on. I winna hae a biscuit, nor yet will I a dram, I winna hae a biscuit, nor yet will I a dram, I winna hae a biscuit, nor yet will I a dram. But a kiss o' Jacky Tar wi' his trowsers on. There's Reid's men, and King's men, they're a seek- ing me, Theres Reid's men, and King's men, they're a seek- ing me, Theres Reid's men, and King's men, they're a seek- ing me, But he's on board o' Duncan Avre that I'll gang wi', b2 20 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. He's on board o' Duncan Ayre that I'll gang wi'. He's on board o' Duncan Ayre that I'll gang wi'. He's a bonny little lad, wi' a blythe blinking e'e, And on board o' Duncan Ayre that I'll gang wi'. Tom. Stop, stop, stop — enough, enough. I find, Jessy, that we have caught the wrong sow by the lug, as your sweetheart is one of Duncan Ayre's crew. Then are we betrayed, and, like Sampson and Wallace, those heroes of old, all by woman's craftiness. Let us iiee from hence, as from the city of the plague, and vseek shelter on board of the Crooked Mary. Adieu, adieu. (All rise and depart in confusion.) {_Exeunt, END OF ACT I. ACT II. SCENE I. — Duncan Ayre and some of his crew coming on shore, vchile his ijacht, the Tiger cutter, is seen at a distance. Dun. A. Pull away, pull av/ay, my hearties, the outgoing tide is strong, but you are strong also. Never let it be said that you are afraid to encounter an equal number of smugglers. Jack T. No, no. Captain Ayre, we are n'-t afraid. We all long to meet witli the Cro- ked Mary, laden with gin, tea, and tobacco, and pledge ourselves we will stand by you till our beards grow grey, be it for life, or be it for death. Dun. A. Thev are a crew of determined and resolute fellows, and will' not hesitate to give life for life. They know the consequences of being canglit witliin the for- bidden limits of the British shore, confn.scation of their goods and property, and imprisonment or banishment of themselves ; so that, rather than be caught, to run these risks, they will die on the spot, considering that PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 21 life, with poverty and imprisonment, rather a curse than a blessing. Jack. I would then propose to catch them by stra- tagem, and in the first place reconnoitre old dame Davidson's house, which is their rendezvous. Dun. A. You advise aright, Jack ; then do you take charge of the crew on shore, and try the eifect of your well laid schemes, and what discoveries you can make ere I return ; I only go to pay a friendly visit to Bailie Arbuthnot, and will be back in a trice. \_Exit, Jack. I am glad of this ; I will now have an oppor- tunity of seeing my Jessy, sweet cherub, who, as she says, sits smiling aloft to keep watch for the life of poor Jack. What she means by this, hang me if I be learned enough to know. Perhaps she has read it in some sentimental song, and is as ignorant of its mean- ing as myself. But I shall not call her judgment in question^ this is not the time, better for me to remain ignorant as I am all the rest of the days of my mortal life, than run a risk of losing her favour at this critical moment. But here comes her mother. Enter Eppy Davidson. Eppy. So, so. Mister Jack, and ye've again returned frae sea. I daresay ye're like the ill weather, ye aften come unsent for. Jack. I believe you tell the truth by way of jest. But how is your daughter Janet ? Eppij. Quite well, quite well, I thank you, and will be nae waur o' seein' you well. Are ye nae gaen in to rest yoursell ? Jack. I believe I shall. Is Jessy within ? Eppy. If she's nae in she'll be here in a jeiFy, aye, before ye cou'd say Willie Robison ; for, did she but ken o' your being here, she wou'd rin hersell out o' breath to see you. Mony sleepless night and weary day has she seen sin' she saw you last take your de- parture frae aff the Peel-mou'.* Jack, I wonder, then, she's not coming. I am all • A creek on the east side of Keith Inscb, where boats lie. 22 PETERHEAD SiVUGGLERt. impatience to see her, as our captain will be here before long ; he is only up at Bailie Arbuthnot's. Eppi/. He canno' be wi' a better man. Well do I Jcen auld Tamas Arbuthnot, I kent his father, aye, an* his father afore him. The Arbuthnots were a' decent folks, an' come o' guid kin; for mony a time hae I heard my auld grannie (rest her saulj teilitigo'er their genea- logy, as some o' our ministers now a-days do their ser- mons, aff an auld printed T)aper. I'll warrant ye've heard o' that clever chiel John Arbuthnot o' Lunan, wha was nae only a poet, a wit, a philosopher, an' a physician, but a man possessed o' every accomplish- ment, as he was cotemporary wi' Addison, Pope, Swift, an' mony mair o' the literati o' his time than I can pre- sently enumerate or mention. But. to make a lang tale short, he was come o' the Peterhead Arbuthnots'; but I see ye're wearying wi' the subject — ye're nae sae muckle interested as some wou'd be, wi' tliese auld vvarld stories — but I dinna biame ye, for he that's in love is like nae ither body. Jack. I am mnch afraid I will have to go without seeing Jessy; but, in the meantime, can you tell me any thing of Captain Watch, or the Crooked Mary, or when she Avas last seen on this coast ? I understand he honours you with a visit when here. Eppy. So he does, Sir, aw' a welcome visit it is ; for he an' his men togither, a parcel of jolly dogs, when they come, never think o' rising till they are a' blin' fou, an' then I can charge them what I please, as my bit chalk sometimes has twa points, which I canno' help; but they never grudge, for they hae aye plenty o' siller. Jack. Well, how long is it since they paid you a visit? Eppy. (Putting her hand on her eyes.) Now lat me see, that I dinna tell a lie — ^just about sax weeks come the time. Jack. What time do you mean ? Eppy, Ou, do you no ken what I mean; I'm sure I'm speaking as guid, as plain, and as new-fashioned English as ony an in a Lunan cou'd dee. It is just sax weeks come the time sin' he was here — that's it o'er again to ye. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS* 23 Jack. To what port was the ship bound, and what was her carp;o? Eppy. For questions ye dino;, IMister Jacky, but I will answer them. In the first place, she was bound to New Deer;* in the second place, she was laden wi' Dantzic bees to plenish the heather, as last year there was an awfa' plague brake out amo' them, v/hen, poor sweet things, most o' them died o' that wearifu' trouble, ca'd by some beuk-learn'd men, the colorus morbus. Jack, You do but jest me now, and take me off; sure- ly you are not serious. Eppy. Serious! na, troth, I never was serious in a' my days but ance, an* that was when I married Jamie Davidson, worthy soul; but "ale-spellers shou'dna be tale-tellers," or they winna thrive lang in their voca- tions, as my auld aunty Betty used to tell me, sae ye'll get nae mair frae me on that score; but I'll gang an* see what keeps that daft hawkie that she's nae comini^ in about yet. \^Exit, Jack Tar, Solus. Jl^cA'. I see nothing can be elicited from this old cunning carlin ; I will next try and worm something out of her less suspecting daughter by courtesy or flattery — which is the easiest access to a woman's heart — for I know she loves me. Here she comes, all alive, and as frisky as a March hare, singing some merry song. Eiiter Jessy, singing. Now Jack's alive, and he'll be home. And I'll be married the morn; I'll shak my foot wi' right good will. In spite of ail their scorn. Nae aunty Bess, nor cousin Kate, Shall now nae langer jeer me — For I will wed my !^ailor lad. As he's the boy to cheer me. Jack. Ha, singing. * An inland paris!:, about eighteen miles from the nearest seaport tovv!i. 24 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Jessy, Then you have discovered me. (Blushing,) Jack. Come then, my Jessy, give us tlie rest of it while you are in a merry mood — your voice is enchant- ing — how superior to the music of the harp of old Or- pheus, which, by its powers, built the Theban wall. Jessy. I was only chanting a stave of an old song to amuse myself in this light and giddy-headed times; and you know that old songs, like old springs, gie nae price. Jack. Old or new, I admire the sentiment, the mu- sic, and, particularly, the pipe which played it. Jessy. O Jack, Jack, what a honey-mouth'd fellow vou are grown; but " old birds will not be caught by chaff." Jack. What do you mean, my Jessy? Jessy. I mean that you are a post too late; the hook, for all its gilded bait, is discovered, and you may go hang youself, Master John. Jack. I am now like a panel at the bar, tried and found guilty, and only waiting the just sentence of the law passed upon me for my duplicity. (Aside to him- self ) Her mother has '• let the cat out of the bag," and I am befooled for all my pains-taking. (Turtiing to Jessy.) Do, my Jessy, forgive me, and all will yet be right. I swear I shall never again intrude upon your secrets; give me a kiss, altho' '' some say kissing's a sin," and be reconciled, for I swear I love you; and *' here's my thumb I'll ne'er beguile you." Jessy. I know you love me, just as many do the Church, for the sake of the "loaves and fishes," but pox on all these lovers; and, as this is not the first time I have found what was your aim when pretending love to me — know that, although but a tapster lass, a lofty mind I bear, O; and that I have placed my ailections on one more deserving, and that is — (Singing.) iMy sailor laddie who's o'er the sea. And left his home, his friends, and me; Yet he'll return wi' mony dainty, And gi'e me gowd, and kisses plenty. May he prove true where'er he go. Stand by his friend to fight his foe; PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 25 And when in danger, always ready To meet with death — my sailor laddie. [^Exeunt. SCENE II. — Parlour in Bailie Arbuthnot's house y Duncan Ayre and the Bailie in close conversation. Dun, A, I have just come down from Leith Roads on a trip in pursuit of that notorious smuggler, Captain Watch. I wish he were in our grasp, and his ship well laden with the produce of Holland; for he has infest- ed these seas so long, that a price is set upon his head as a reward to the most active and persevering in the revenue service. Ba. Well, Captain Ayre, let me tell you, that it is much easier said than done ; for, believe me, little as I know of Captain Watch, and less as I know of naval tactics, it would not be children's play to come in con- tact with him. He is a hardy dog, and a thorough- bred seamen; his nautical skill exceeds every other man of my acquaintance ; he knows all the creeks and caves on this coast, from Collieston to Boddom harbour; so that he could be sheltered, when the Tiger cutter and her crew would be dashed to pieces. Be not, then, over sure of your mark, although he were within your reach, for he is generally well armed, and will conquer or die; he is an old veteran, and has^ dared the face of many a foaming billow, and stood the brunt of many a hard contested battle. Enter Peggy, the Bailie's maid,foUoii'ed by two coimtrijmen and a young female. Peg. Sir, here are two countrymen who wish to speak with you. [^Exit Peggy. Ba. Let them come forward. (Men enter. J Dun. A. Then shall I leave yon, Bailie, the case may require a private investigation. Ba. Not at all, I presume; but if it do so, I v/ill in- form you in good time to quit. (Smiling.) (To the men.) Who is this young woman that you have brought here; or what is her crime? Men. We know not any crime of which she has been found guilty; we merely found her in Earl Marischal's 26 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. woods on the west of the castle, in a forlorn and seem- ingly desponding condition, as she was threatening to throw herself into the river and put an end to all her miseries, which she said was great. We suspect, therefore, that she is a poor maniac, newly escaped from her keepers, and thought it an act of duty, as well as humanity, to save her life, and bring her be- fore you, to be provided for till she was recognized and claimed by her relations. Ba, Young woman will you be pleased to tell me your name ? Ann. Most certainly. Sir ; my name is Ann Forbes, and I am not mad, as these humane men suppose. Ba. Ann Forbes, did you say ? Ann. Most certainly. Sir : my name now only re- mains, all things else of me are changed, sadly changed, from what they once were. Ba. Who are your parents ? Ann. I have no parents. Sir ; they have long since paid the debt of nature. But my father was once a wealthy merchant in Peterhead. I was his only daugh- ter, and heir to all his property, which was considerable; my mother died when I was very young, which made my father unite himself to another wife, who used me harshly. A little time after my father's death, my step-mother married a second husband, who robbed me of all my pro- perty, which was by this time converted into bonds, bills, and other securities i^f debts owing my father, and carried them off. Since then, 1 have been in the capacity of a humble menial to a neighbouring gentleman, IMr. Gordon, who, on discovering that a mutual attachment existed between his son and me, after sending him abroad as a supercargo of a smu^-gling vessel, turned me from his service, and having had nowhere sincetolay my head, being ashamed to beg, I determined to put a period to my weary existence, for life had now no charms for me. Ba. Thy tale, young woman is a tale of pity, and a tale of woe. Such has too often been the portion of man, and the lot of thousands, in this vain world. Prosperity is but the child of a day ; let no one, then, boast of their accumulated riches, for none can fly from the hand of Providence. This simple and un- PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 27 varnished narrative is but one proof of the many we daily- meet with in our pilgrimage through life. Did I think, or do my eyes deceive me, that this is the un- fortunate orphan, the daughter of my friend ! Come, then, my child, and share with me a table plentifully covered for you, and give thanks to the author of your being, for I will be a father and protector to you. Let me then share with you your secrets, and repose in me your confidence. You have nothing to fear. (Rings.) Enter Peggy. Here, Pegg, provide every necessary for this young lady, and, if possible, even anticipate her wants. (Turning to the countrymen.) To you do 1 give this trifle for your humanity, and never will I forget the obligation I am under unto you for putting in my power an opportunity of thus serving an orphan, and the child of my friend. \_Two men Exeunt, Dun. A. (Rising.) I beg to congratulate you. Miss Foibts, on your good fortune in being saved from an ignoble and untimely end, and meeting with this good and humane Bailie. [_Annie and Peggy Exeunt. Ba. The happiness of man should consist in doing good and virtuous actions, not in tyranny and oppres- sion, nor in grasping at wealth, to the utter exclusion of every other honourable and generous sentiment. What can be a greater pleasure to the noble-minded than relieving the distressed and comforting the broken hearted ? The feelings that arise from wealth are only nominal, a shadow without a substance, when unaccompanied by liberality of heart and soul. Dnn. A. It is true, a magistrate is a very responsible character, not only in the sight of man, but also in the sight of heaven. He should be a terror to evil doers, and a praise to all those that do well ; but few do their duty conscientiously, and, like Nathaniel, without guile. Ba. That is their own faults. (Rings.) Enter Peggy. When yon stranger lady is refreshed, and her mind at ease, I will be glad to speak with her. 28 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Peg, Sir, I shall inform her. [.P^ggy E^^f- Ba. Do, and when ready, bring her in. Entp' Peggy and Annie courlesying* I am sorry, my good lady, to give you this trouble, but as you spoke of some worthless fellow who had married your step-mother, and clandestinely fled with your property, I wish to know his name^ that, while Captain Ayre is here, I may give him a warrant to search for, and, if possible, apprehend him on the sea, while I do my duty to serve you on the shore; [.Peggy Exit. Ann, Thank you, my worthy friend. His name was Solomon Isaac, a Dutch Jew, from Amsterdam, who said he had renounced Judiasm, and was turned Christian ; but young as I was, I believed him not. I always took him for an imposter and cheat, but 1 was glad to hold my peace upon any terms, for silence I found to be my best friend. Ba. We will then spread a net for him, and hope he will not escape our vigilance, which shall be exerted to the utmost stretch of our power in your behalf. But why so downcast now ? Something else seems to hang heavy on your mind ; do unburthen it to me, for I fear that, " Love is the cause of your mourning." Ann. You guess aright, (blushing,) and, as my mind is now somewhat settled, I shall sing you a few verses of a song, which used to compose me while wandering bare-footed through the woods of In- verugie. Annie Sings. The love that 1 have chosen Is to my heart's content ; The salt sea shall be frosen Before that I repent. Repent it shall I never. Until the day I die ; But the Lowlands of Holland Hae twin'd my love and me. My lov-e lives on the salt sea, And I live on the side, PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 29 Enough to break a young thing's heart, Wha thought to be a bride; Wha thought to be a bonny bride, Wi' pleasure in her e'e, But the Lowlands of Holland Hae twin'd my love and me. i There shall nae mantle cross my back, Nor comb come in my hair, Neither shall coal nor candle light Shine in my bower mair. Nor shall I have another love, Until the day I die ; For I never lov'd a love but ane, And he is on the sea. Ba. Then baud your tongue, my Annie, Be still and be content, There are mair lads in Peterhead, Ye needna sae lament. An7i. But there is nane in Peterhead, There's nane at a for me, For I never lov'd a lad but ane. And he is far at sea. [^Exeunt. SCENE III. — The Crooked Mary on her iv ay from Holland, laden iviUi contraband goods, a fair wind and smooth sea. The Captain, with the Mate, examining the chart. William and the Dutch- man in close conversation. The scene opens with n song, and ends in a storm. Will. Captain, while you and the mate are examin- ing the chart, that we may find our way over the track- less main, I think, on this fine day, when the porpoises are amusing themselves in the water, we might drive dull care away by humming a song — I never was a singer in my life, but as our only audience are the screaming sea-birds and the porpoises, I am not afraid of the critic's lash, nor the wry face of the sullen old maid. c 30 PETERHEAD S3IUGGLEBS. Capt, Excellent, Master William; now is the time for a song, when we shall give verse about — you begin. William Sings. O Holland is a bonny place, But in't there grows no grain, Nor yet a habitation Within't for to remain; Where the sugar-canes are plenty. And the wine drops from the tree, — But the Lowlands of Holland Hae twin'd my love and me. Capt. Bravo, Master William! I am right glad to hear you pipe in such a strain; we shall soon reach our native shore, where you will again meet with your Annie. (William holding dotvn his head. J Don't blush, my good fellow, the ould man told me all about it before we left the heath-clad hiils of beloved Ca- ledonia. (Tiirning to Tovi.) Tom, do you give us your stave next. Tom Sings. The sailor he fears not the roars of the seas. But with courage all danger surmounts; O'er his biscuit and glass he reposes at ease. And with pleasure each action recounts. Contented the soldier in dreadful campaign. Feels bless'd 'midst the thunders of war; Nor envies the sailor, who ploughs the deep main. Any prize, but the gain of a scar. Capt. Good also, Tom. (Turning to the Jew,) Now for yours, Master Solomon Isaac. Je7v. Me pe very bad tinger — me cannot ting at all, at all. Capt, You must, however, try, as amusement, at present, is our only aim to pass the time away. Jew. Ten me pegin and do my pest. The Jew's Song. Upon ma life, A vants a vife. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 31 Can you tell as vhere I'll get von? Vat knows de rig To cheat a prig, At a pargains vhen is meet von. CHORUS. Tag-rag, gag-mag, Black-doll, tiag-rag. Marine-stores shop the shine, O ! Blatherum, snatherum. Omnium, gatherum, Tickle out and rattle in the rhino 1 Von vat is quick, And sharp as old Nick, At arl vat is cunning nice knacks; At vonce I'll take. To my shop, and make. Her de vife of Solomon Isaacs. Tag-rag, &c. Capt. So I see, every one to his trade. Nearest the heart, aye nearest the mouth. What, then, shall I give you, some old, weather-beaten piece, like my- self; I fuppose. (All of them at once J Any thing to make the time piss merrily away. Capt, Here goes then, (taking the quid of tobacco from his mouth) ; but, by the bye, we must have this young sprout's stanza first. Sir, is your pipe in tune? Cab. B. O yes, captain; I am always ready and vpilling in a good cause, and shall give you a few lines of that olden ditty, the model of Tom Campbell's* best song. Cabin Boy Sings. The gentlemen of England, VVlio live at home at ease, Ah ! little do they know The dangers of the seas ; * This seems to be a slip of the Antiquary, but it is a wilful one. c2 32 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. When we receive our orders, We are obliged to go Xross the main, for their gain, While the stormy winds do blow, blow, While the stormy winds do blow. Then let us brave the ocean. Amid the glorious war, Of winds and waves contending. Sweethearts our Polar star. Tho' tempests do surround us, No fears shall ever know, While we plough the ocean thro'. And the stormy winds do blow, bK>w. And the stormy winds do blow. Capt. Now, as turn about is said to be fair play, I shall give you mine, as promised. Th-e Captain's Song. Now we're launch'd on the world. With our sails all unfurl 'd, 'Fore the wind, down the tide, proudly posting ; May the voyage of life, Free from tempest and strife, Prove as calm as a smooth water coasting; But should some sudden squall, Incidental to all. Rouse up reason, to reef every sail. May it be yours and my lot. To have such a pilot, W^hen passion increases the gale. For to what point soe'er, Of the compass we steer, While the helm still obeys her direction, 'Tis as clear as the light. That the sports of the night Will not shrink from the morning's reflection. And when rest or refreshment Succeeds work or play^ PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 33 Of enjoyment from both to be certain, May true friendship's hand Draw the cork every day, And true love, every night, draw the curtain. Will. Ha, ha, captain, so you've turned moralizer now in your singing. You are the last man in the world from whom I would have expected such a song, —quite sentimental ! Capt. Indeed, Master William, how so ? IVilL Because I thought ail seamen set at defiance the rules of decency, decorum, good feeling, and sentiment. Capt. Then, if you harbour such a thought, throw it overboard immediately, and let it be buried in the great deep. My young friend, there is not a race of men in the world, on the land or on the sea, more devoted to the cause of virtue, 'injured innocence, justice, honour, and honesty, and brave to the ex- treme — quite nautical knights-errant — than well-bred seamen. Will. Were I to judge of the whole from the sample just now before me, and the experience I have had since I came on board of the Crooked Mary, I must agree with you in your honest sentiments, and give them that praise to which they are justly entitled. For to be plain and candid with you, 1 entered your ship under a different impression of feelings towards mariners in general from what I do now. But, as too much truth would only have a tendency to make you vain, 1 shall forbear making farther remarks on this subject, at least for the present. Capt. You are right, William, the wisest divines and greatest philosophers are susceptible of flattery, — all have their weak sides. Why, then, should ould, blount Will Watch, be thought wiser or better than those, and that killing poison not find its way to a willing heart ? But 1 must again to my duty, my chart. Philosophizing is not my trade ; and, as that noble artist of old said — The shoemaker should not go beyond his last. I Aside, consulting his chart. 34 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. William and the Jew in close cotiversation. Will. Were you ever in Scotland before, Sir ? Jew. O yees, O yees ; Scotland pe te fine country ; me pe in Scotland 'pout fourteen years te go, and lived in te town of Peterhead, and vas te murchant, called in dat country de pedlar. Will. Then you will not need to be like your an- cestors, hang your harp upon the willows, and not sing the song of Zion, because }e go to a strange land. Jew. No, no, me no go to strange land, me know all apout it ; me collect great deal of te monies tere ; me hold ponds and pills to great amount over de houses and de lands in dat quarter. Will. Indeed ! Do you know the names of any of the people over whose property you hold securities ? Jeio. Yees. Tere be von John Gordon owes me great sum, five hunder pounds, and me go to pro- secute him if he no pay on demand. PVilL (Aside to himself.) Alas ! alas ! my father ! How are the mighty fallen, and the great laid low ! You, who only a few months ago boasted of your greatness, and considered yourself one of the most independent of men, in a ii^^v days must become a •prey to the ravening wolves of the law, and fall from your pinnacle of glory by the commands of a detested Dutch iew, who comes in your own ship to ruin you. However, I will not give way to despair, for, although it will humble my father's vanity, and bring down his lofty pride, it will be most essential to ray happi- ness, as thereby I will obtain my Annie, for her po- verty was her only fault in the eyes of my father, and the barrier that obstructed our union, which has caused me shed many silent and bitter tear. Long have I prayed that she might either be raised to the standard of my greatness, such as it is, or I be reduced to the level of her humihty. Now, my supplications have not been made in vain, although, I fear, at the ex« pense of my father's happiness, unless some unfore- seen power intervene, and support him in the day of PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 35 his calamity. How soon has my joy been turned into sorrow ? The life of man is but a life in thrall, A drop of honey in a draught of gall. Capt. Here she snores, and divides the watery ele- ment like the leviathans of the deep, plowing the crystal fields of Greenland. Mind your helm, Tom, and keep your eye on the compass. Do you know its varia- tion in this latitude ? Tom. Yes, Sir ; about a point and a half west. Capt. Then keep her close to the wind, as close as she will lie, for I fear a change of the weather soon> by yon sun-dog that a})peared a little ago. As there is no trusting to the steadiness of the winds nor the wea- ther this season of the year, you will better give orders to get all hands ready and at their posts, that, if a sud- den squall should overtake us, we may not be caught in surprise, nor unprepared for the worst. See that all the sheets, haliards, and braces arc clear, and of good materials, for I really fear a storm is not far distant. Tom. Here she yawns like the staggering of a drunken man, (makes a stagger^) better get the top- gallant and studding sails taken in, and the fore and maintop-sails close reefed, and all things made snug and tight. Capt. You lubbers, see and attend quickly to Tom's orders. Helm-a-lee, there, steersman, and let her scud right before the wind, for we cannot be far off Cruden Scares, which is as dangerous a reef of rocks as any on the Scottish coast, and has sent many a brave sailor ere this time to Davy Jones' locker. Jeiv. Ten me go down again to te capin, Master Captain, and pundle my papers and my monies on my pack, and say my prayers, for fear me no get time in te middle of te storm, vhen de vild roaring vaves vill pe preaking over our poor heads, smash ! smash ! O me ! O me ! {_Jevo Exit, Cabin Boy jumping merrily about. Capt, What do you laugh at so lustily, you young rogue, and you so near the brink of eternity ? Do you not know that every moment may be your last ? 36 PETEKHEAD SMUGGLERS. Cab. B. Yes, yes, my good captain, but pray excuse me ; it is not because I am regardless of the impend- ing dangers that cloud your merriment, nor am I callous of fear, that you see me merry. I am per- fectly awake to all the horrors that surround us, and the hollow ocean that threatens to engulph us, and the watery grave to be our bed, but I could not con- tain myself longer, the laugh burst upon me involun- tarily, when I thought what a fine picture, were I a Hogarth, yon ugly Jew Dutchman's big red nose v/ould make in the water, and how it would make it boil when he was drowning, for I think I see the water already in effervescence bubbling around it, — it seems to me to be all fire ; ha, ha, ha ! Capt. You rogue, you are all pluck. I wish I had on board twenty such as you ; but come, now, be se- rious. What ! a flash of lightning ! Tom, Yes, and thunder too, captain. Capt. Master William, you will better go below and secure yourself snugly in your berth, as long as you can, from the rain that is falling in such torrents, and the waves that are threatening to devour us. You can be of no service to us upon deck, and you run the risk of being washed overboard, which would leave an unpardonable blank in the catalogue of my crew, when I return to your father, should we be so fortunate as to survive the storm, and escape watery graves. WilL I wish to remain upon deck with you, cap- tain, and enjoy all the sublimity of the scene. Should the gale still increase, you will lash me to the main- mast, or some other secure place, where I shall re- main as a Grecian statue, supported by the club of Hercules, while the furious ocean is venting its rage against us by bleaching our sun-burnt faces. Capt. O William, William, this is not a time to think of the *' sublime and beautiful." Leave that to the immortal Burke, who wrote so learnedly on these subjects; or, when you are seated by your father's parlour fire, if ever that be your lot, then, and not till then, talk of contemplating the '* sublime and beautiful." PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS* 37 Will. What is theory without practice ? A non- entity — a thing without a name. I hate it. I have had too much of the one, and too little of the other. Now is the time to enjoy both. These whited bil- lows, curling on the mountain-tops, and these livid lightning's bright incessent flash, O how sublime ! If there be a soul alive that cannot enjoy these beau- ties of airy grandeur, I pity him in all sincerity. Capt. But you are not aware of the risks you run by exposing yourself thus, for if the gale increase, as in all likelihood it will, we must cut away our masts, and clear the decks of lumber by throwing every thing tangible overboard. Where will you then find a rest- ing place to contemplate the wonders -of the mighty deep? To77i. Don't you see how she rolls, and hear how she cracks. Down these topmasts and topmast rig- ging, and leave nothing standing but the bare poles, and as much canvass as make her lay too, for I am afraid she will not weather that head-land 1 see in the distance, and to heave her too without sail would be a dangerous experiment. What, then, captain, is to be done ? Capf. Upon my honour, Tom, I am at a loss to know how to advise. Do you think, if we could get into good anchoring ground, that she would ride out the storm^ with the best bovver anchor a-head ? She heaves again, (staggering). Were we not so near a lee-shore 1 would not mind, but we must do some- thing, at all hazards, to save our lives, come of ship and cargo what will. To7n. Were Duncan Ayre here jusi now he would not envy us our station, I'll warrant him. Capt. That is true, Tom. Will. By the bye, captain, what is all this bustle about ? have you forgot the wizard's amulet. I hope you have not broke the seal. CnpL I never thought of that till now. I must go below and inquire after it, for I stowed it away amongst the dollars which were to pay our cargo, in one of the safe lockers in the state-room. I must go and see after it immediately. \^Exit beloxu. 38 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Tom. Master William, I think I heard in the breeze and the howling of the waters, the syren song of that dreaded monster, the mermaid, not long ago, so that it will go hard with us if we escape at all with our lives. WilL Why did you not mention this before ? Tom. Because it would have put the captain into that state of mind and morbid lethargy, from which all the thunders of heaven would not have been able to have aroused him. So much is he afraid of the mermaid, that none of the crew, on sea or on shore, dare even mention her name before him, or, if he do, I can assure you the consequences would be bad. Will. These creatures, if any such exist, are believed by the learned to be fabulous, and can neither do good nor evil. Tom. If not^ then many a man tells, and has told lies, before you or I was born. Will. If such creatures then exist, taking it upon your ipse dixit, I should like much to see one, let the after consequences be what they might ; for this has been asserted a thousand times by the ignorant, and as often refuted by the learned, as no satisfactory evi- dence has as yet appeared. It would, therefore, be a proof of what has long been a desideratum in natural history, if one could be found. Tom. For my part, sailor as I am, and superstitious as my companions generally are, I am not truly afraid of mermaid nor merman. Will, No, you need be afraid of neither; for do you not remember the wizard's prediction at parting? (Smiling.) Tom. I was not present, and well was it for me I was not so, for if I had, I should have been dead long ago of perfect fright. What were his words ? Will. That, " Altho' his bark should not be lost. Yet it should be tempest tost." And I think he has been right so far, but whether he will continue so or not, I cannot tell. The same thing was predicted long ago by one of iMacbeth's witches. Tom. Then shall we have hope if we have faith. Enter Captain, in confusion. Capt. It is all over with us, my brave fellows. Pre- PETERHEAD S3IUGGLEIIS. 39 pare yourselves for a long journey, for we will soon have to cross another sea, the gulph of Styx, and our pilot and captain, Charon, an old weather-beaten fel- low, I assure you. Will. What is wrong, captain ? You seem to be intellectually disordered. Surely you are not afraid to die ! Capt. Surely not ! but I would like to die in a more glorious cause ; by dying here, no lasting honour is gained. You must, however, be informed, that the charmed phial I received from the prophet of Bethelnie at parting, is gone, literally gone to pieces, seal and al- together. IVill. Let it go ; it could not have saved us. These baubles were only invented and still kept up by priests, to keep their ignorant and foolish worshipers in awe. But let us think of something else ; up and be doing, for the waves are raving around us, and determined to show us no mercy. How far are we yet from that dan- gerous and rocky head-land, Rattray-head ?* Capt. I know not at present, as I cannot see the sun so long steady as to take an observation with my qua- drant, and our reckoning by the log is not to be de- pended upon in this weather. We cannot, however, be far from some landj as I think I hear the noise of breakers on the shore. Tom. There she reels again. Better cut away the masts, which will steady her a bit, and keep her from capsizing altogether. Capt. Hollo, then, get your axes ready, and lay on heavily and speedily. Masts are but a cumberance to us at this critical moment. Get, also, that land-lubber of a Dutchman upon deck, so that all hands may be employed in clearing the wreck. Enter Dutch3ian, rvhen all is coiifusion and hustle, the lightnings flashing and the thunders roaring. END OF ACT II. • One of the most dangerous reefs of rocks on the east coast of Scotland. 40 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. ACT III. SCENE I. — Broad Street, where the Dutch Jew is seen in pensive mood. An affecting interview between William and Annie, in Bailie Arbuthnot's par* lour* Dutch Jew, Solus, Jexv. Veil, veil, vlien I look around me every ting is de same as 'twas vhen I vas here last. As my great namefather, Solomon, said, tere is notting new under de sun ; all is de vanity and de vexation of de spirit. De old house vhere I spent de mony happy days vith my Judith, still has de same appearance, and stands vere it did fourteen years de go. No alteration vhat- ever on de outside, vhatever pe vithin. But I must not ruminate on vat is past, dat is only recalling, to my sorrow, the happy days dat are past, and losing de precious time, which ought to pe employed in devising de best means for my success in de future. I must, in de first place, learn vh ether de lassie pe dead or alive vho is de rightful heir, dat I may go apout my pusiness rightly ; and if she pe still here, I must contrive some means to make away vith her, either by murder or carrying her off secretly. In de second place. Chok- ing at a parcel of papers in his hand,) I must look out for de pest lawyer in de town, vho vill do my pusiness discreetly and quietly. Enter William. Will. So, Master Solomon, we have met again. How do you feel after the late fright you got from the storm. You seem to look all aghast — what is the matter ? Jew, Much petter, much petter, tank you; indeed I vas almost frightened to de death, vhen de great big seas vere roaring like vild pulls so around us, and toss- ing us upon dere tops van from another, as de poys do vith their shuttle cocks. 'Tis all over now ; put how am I to get home again to mine own country ? Per. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 41 haps de ocean vill turn mad again, and next time swallow me up altogether. fVill. You will then better stay where you are, and not run the risk of losing your precious life, as you deem it, a second time, on the deceitful element. Jefv. That I vould, if I could, but I must return to de Holland. Put can you tell me first vho is de pest lawyer in de Peterhead now, it is so long since I left it, and I am all over impatient to get my pusiness done ? Will, f Aside to himself. J This is a trial upon me What answer shall I give him ? Now begins my troi ble, and the misery of my poor father, who will die grief, thus to be deprived of his all ; I must, however, say something. Then, as Bailie Arbuthnot is one of tiie best men that I know, and the most upright law- yer, I will direct this fellow to him ; justice is but justice, let the consequences be what they will. (Turning to the Dutchman.) Then I would advise you to call on one Thomas Arbuthnot, Esquire, who is a Notary- it^ublic, and withal chief magistrate of Peterhead. He lives in one of the most conspicuous houses in the Broad Street, with Grecian window blinds, the door painted green, and a small flight of steps up to it. You cannot mistake the way, so adieu for the present ; we may meet again, but under, I hope, more auspicious circum.stances. \Exit. Dutch ^^.w, Solus. Jew. Now must I play my cards aright, or all iy over vith me. I have come de far journey, far over de stormy main, and must succeed. I tink I see de house pefore me de young man de>cribed so minutelv. Me go nock, nock, nock, at de door, and ask for de master of de house, de lawyer. (Knocking at the door, when the maid appears and demands his business. J Me come to see de master of de house, de lawyer ; is he vithin ? P^ggy. Yes ; you shall see him immediately, fol- low me. [jExit. D 42 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. (She takes him to the Bailie's writing'TOom^ where he is seen tvriting when the scene shifts. J Ba. Well, Sir, your commands with me. I under- stand you have called to see me on urgent business, have you not ? Jew. Me have. Sir; I vant to get payment of some old accounts, that have lain too long over unsettled. Ba» Then proceed. Have you got any proper do- cuments to show that can substantiate your claims ? Jew. Me have, Sir. Here, (handing the Bailie a packet of papers,) Please look at dese. Ba. (Looking xdstfully Jirst at the papers, next at the Dutchman. J How became you possessed of these bonds, bills, and securities, as I presume you are a foreigner ? Jevo. Yes, Sir, me a Dutchman, and arrived here only yesterday from Amsterdam in Holland. Ba. Were you never here before ? Jew. O yees, Sir, apout fourteen years ago. Ba. What occupation or trade did you follow then? Jew. Vhat I do still, de marchant. Ba. Then shall I examine these papers by and bye, and shall, as far as in my power, do you ample jus- tice, and all those concerned. Jew. Tank you, Sir, tank you, I know you vill. Den shall I go and leave you, and call again some days hence. Adieu; goot tay, goot tay. [^Exit. Bailie, Solus. Ba. Here, (looking again at the papers in surprise,) is food for the contemplative mind. The divine and the moralist are here taught a lesson in the work- ings of an over-ruling and a just Providence, wliose mysteries baffle the skill of the best metaphysiciai.. The very man, of all men I longed to see, and wished to bring to justice. Wonderful heaven ! thy deeds are incomprehensible, and thy ways past finding out ! The very papers, also, I have searched for since the death of my lamented friend, a lapse of twenty years, without success, thus to be unexpectedly placed in my bands, Let no one, then, say that he can fly from tlie PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 43 hand of divine justice, or elude the eye of a watchful Providence. But surely I rave or dream — can it be so ? or was the man mortal who lodged them with me ? If he were, I have done wrong in suffering him too easily to escape. He should have been confined in some dungeon as a felon, and his life only expiated for his crime, to the injured laws of a happy country, and the inhumanity of betraying and robbing a helpless orphan, whom it should have been the best part of his duty to have nursed and protected. Every dispensa- tion and decree of heaven is, however, meant for good, if we could take it so. Why, then, should I be the first to complain ? It must not be so, for it would be well with many had they the same ordeal to pass through as has had this amiable young woman, Annie Forbes, and, like her, been nursed in the school of ad- versity, rocked in a cradle of sorrow, and, like the patriarch of old, slept on a pillow of stone. I must, however, be now careful how I communicate uuto her the joyful news of her good fortune. An excess of joy is as dangerous, at times, as an excess of grief. (A knocking at the door. J ^^Q'^^> some one knocks at the door, why do you not admit him ? E?ite7' Peggy. Peggy. O, Sir, be pleased to excuse me, I have been supporting and throwing cold water on the face of Miss Forbes, for she had nearly fainted. I was just in time to save her from falling. Ba. Why, what is the matter ? Enter William, bowing, Ba. Be seated, young man, I will speak with you immediately. ( William takes a chair and sits down. J Peggy. Indeed, Sir, I cannot exactly tell what was the cause that made iNliss Forbes so suddenly nervous ; a trembling fit seized her immediately after having seen yon Dutchman that was in calling upon your honour a few minutes ago, and she has not yet recovered all her faculties. Ba, Aye, how did she become to see the Dutch- man ? d2 44 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Peggi/. As he was passing through tlie lobby to the writing-room, she met him full in the face, and her eyes no sooner came in contact with his, than it threw her into a hectic ; and, had I not been beside her, she would have swooned away, for lier face turned into all the colours of the rainbow in an instant, and her lips have not yet regained their natural bloom. TLey seem as if you were looking at them through the big blue Lotties that stand in the apothecaries' windows. Ba. Then you would better lose no time in calling a physician, he might prescribe something useful to her. Peggij. I have administered myself. Sir, and given her such simple medicines as I think will do her good, taken from Tippermalloch, or the Poor i\I an's Physician, and she is wonderfully recovered, so that I tliink there will be no necessity for a doctor at present, unless it be a spiritual one, to comfort a mind diseased, for I think she labours as much now under the rnalady of the soul, as disease of the body. Ba. Aye, aye, Pegg, how have you made this dis- covery } Did she say so herself, or have you seen any symptoms? (Tuniing to IV'dUam.) Excuse me, Sir, I will attend to you in a i^w minutes ; did you but know my situation, you would not envy me. I have too much business at present on hand, of rather a complicated, I may say unplea:?ant, and yet it is of a pleasant nature. Will. This is a paradox, Sir, and seems to be as difficult to solve as one of my namej>ake Gordon's pro- blems, in his curious Geographical Grammar. I can wait your leisure. Ba. I believe I was asking you some questions. Miss Pegg, was I not ? Peggy. Yes, Sir ; and here I stand at your service, ready to answer them. She did not say herself that she was troubled in her mind, but, by her looks and gestures. I think all is not right with her. Ba. Did the Dutchman observe her as he passed by } P^SS.V' ^ really know nut that. Sir. Ba. You can try and discover the state of her mind, but be particularly cautious of hurting her feelings, or giving her any cause of complaiat. i know she is a PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 45 lady of very sensitive parts, and little on this score might make her very unhappy ; although I am anxious to know what impression the sight of the Dutchman made upon her mind, or if it be he who is the cause of her trouble. Pe^gy. I shall watch every movement, and give you a daily, if not an hourly, bulletin of the result. \_^Exit. Will. As you are now at leisure. Sir, I beg leave to proceed with my little but important business. Ba. By all means, and you may rely on a patient hearing. I am sorry I have detained you so long al- ready, but you know, if a right knight-errant, every thing must give place to the ladies. (Smiling.) Will. JMost assuredly. To them are we indebted for our greatest happiness. Ba, Aye, and for our greatest miseries, too, young man, if we speak the truth ; but let this flie stick to the wall. I presume you did not come here for my opinion of sweet womankind — 'twas on business, better proceed, the lecture on the ladies we will leave till another opportunity. Will. Thank you. Sir; and I shall be brief. Per- haps you know part of my errand here already. Ba. It may be so ; but proceed. Will, Two days ago I came from Holland in com- pany with a Dutch Jqw^ who, by some unaccountable means or another, holds a security of five hundred pounds over my father's property, situated in the Lon- gate ; and as he did not know that I was William, the son of John Gordon, the person he wished to pro- secute, he asked me who was the best lawyer, and I directed him to you, to make payment of the bond. Now, sir, before taking any rash or legal steps, to incur expenses, will you be kind enough as to examine the validity of the paper, and by what right he is author- ised to demand immediate payment. My father is as yet ignorant of the whole matter, and I wished to keep him so, till I consulted you. Ba, Young man, you are a son of Mr. Gordon's, then, the merchant in the Longate, are you not } WiU. Yes, Sir. Ba, Excuse me, then, for I did not know you, young 46 PETEHHEAD S3IUGGLERS. people grow so fast now-a-days ; what with their oddity in dress, and one thing or another, they are so meta- morphosed from the original appearance of their fathers, that it is with diiiicuity that I can call any of the chil- dren of my friends by their proper names. But to the bond. You acted wisely in not making the subject known to your father. It would be wrong to torment him before the time, for the bond is as valid and as binding on him as the day on which it was written^ Bat how the Dutchman became possessed of it, must as yet be as a sealed book unto vou, but you will shortly learn, the seal will be broken, the contents made known, and the phial poured forth. fVilL Then, Sir, what is to be done ? can my father be saved ? Ba. These are questions too hard for me. I know not the state of his aifairs nor his finances. That is only known to himself; but in times like the present, to pay live hundred pounds of principal, with twenty years' interest, at five per cent., is no joke, I assure you. JViil. Well, my good Sir, will you try and indulge him with a little time, if you have it in your power ? I knov/ my father has more property than will satisfy all demands upon him, but he cannot easily convert it into cash, and to hurry it into the market would be perfect ruin. Ba. It has been the ruin of m.any an honest and opulent man that his property lias been hurried too precipitately into the market, to satisfy the demands of impatient and unreasonable creditors. I will, how- ever, now when the business is fairly in my hands, give him as much indulgence as is consistent with my hon- our and honest integrity — he need not be afraid, but more of this afterwards ; till then be silent, and I will be his friend, as he was ever mine. And now, since I have recognised, or rather met with his son, you will be pleased to stop and sup with me to-night, for your company will oblige me much ; but as there is a young female friend of mine a lodger, you will be pleased to be silent on what has passed, and let it not be once named between us. You will, perhaps, be better ac- quainted with her by and bye. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS* 47 Will. I accept your friendly invitation with thanks, and am proud of the honour. C Bowing. J Ba. Then, Mr. William^, walk with me. (Rising.) Will. With pleasure. Sir. f Bowing respectfully.) (The Bailie and William enter the Drawing-room , tvhere Miss Forbes is sitting reading the Sorrows of Werter.) Ba. Miss Forbes, may I have the pleasure of intro- ducing unto your notice Mr. William Gordon, one worthy of the name, and the son of my friend, Mr. John Gordon. (Turning to him.) Mr. Gordon, I beg to introduce unto you Miss Ann Forbes, the daughter of my much lamented friend, Mr. Patrick Forbes, long a respectable merchant in Peterhead. ^William and Annie rush into each others arms.) Ann. My William, O my William, my William, when did you return from afar, for I have heard no tidings of you since you went away ? My heart is full ; I can no more. (Hides her face, as if weeping, in his arms.) Will. My Annie, my Annie ; kind, propitious hea- ven, how have we met, and in this extraordinary man- ner ! (Embracing her.) \_Exeunt. SCENE II. — Duncan Ayre bribing the Dutch Jew. Dutch Jew, Solus. Jew. Tare pe somting strange in te yong lady's looks in te Bailie's house — I look'd, and iook'd, and look'd again at her, as I vas passing in de lobby, and my very heart vent pit-a-pat against my sides like de pendulum of de clock; and I vas sae muckle taken up vi' de sight of her, dat my memory nearly misgave me van I stood pefore de Bailie telling him my errand. De image of de little girl I vronged haunts me much dat I know not vhat to do. I have often heard it said dat Scotland vas de curious place for de second 46 PETERHEAD SiMUGGLERS. sight, visions, dreams, ghosts, vitchcraft, and conjura- tion, and now I pegin to feel it; for I never felt sic twisting and tugging at my conscience vhan I vas in Holland, as I do now. I vish I vere safe back again ; but me cannot spend so much money for noting; me must not return to Amsterdam vithout doing some- ting manly. Dey all pe te Christians here, and if me can kill de lassie and escape, all vill pe veil; put I am much afraid. Let me see how I can contrive it. (Muses with his hand on hisjace, then starts sud- denly as from a reverie,) I have it, I have it now at my iinger-ends. Veil done, Solomon Isaacs', all vill yet pe veil ! I vill first go and inform Captain Ayre of de Tiger cutter apout de smugglers. Me paid de passage-money, and must have it all pack again vith usuary: den vill dey pegin and fight, and murder de smugglers, and dey vill never discover dat it vas me vho gave de information; den vill I carry off in de boat, and murder in some of de vild caves apout Coi- lieston, de young lassie vhen no von vill find her out; for, vere I to murder her here, or drown her in de sea, some von would find her pody, which might lead to de discovery, and get me hanged. In de meantime, I vill go and seek after Captain Ayre, and tell him ail apout de smugglers, vho vill be landing some of dere tubs of gin in de night. (Aside.) Enter Duncan Ayre. "Dun. A. What can I now say when I am called be- fore the honourable the Commissioners of the Customs at Edinburgh, when I return to Leith, for having done so little? Not a single seizure for these six months pist; I am sure to be dismissed his Majesty's service, aid the Tiger catter given to another more worthy of the office. I would give a hundred guineas to any one who would inform me where the Crooked Mary could be captured, and her cargo made a prize. I know she is somewhere an this coast; but that cun- ning old fellow. Will Watch, is so expert and active in all his movements, that it is next to a mathematical impossibility to catch him by fair means; I must, there- fore use bribery and intrigue. 1 confess such is PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 4^ wrong — but necessity has no law; and I know that there are many who will swallow the bait, let the after consequences be what they may. There is always some needy and worthless wretch to be found, who will swear away the life and property of a just man, for very little money. (Turning suddenly round.) Aye, who comes here? by my sooth, it is the Dutch- man; how has he winged his way across the Ger- man Ocean? I must hail him — he is just the man for me. Hollo! Mynheer, when from Holland? Jew. Only apout two days since I landed from de Crooked Mary, smuggler. Dun. A. I hope you have had a pleasant voyage. Jew. O no, Sir, O no; quit de reverse; all like to pe trowned, and never to see teponny Holland any more. Dan. A. Where did you leave the Crooked Mary? Jevo. In de German Ocean, Sir! Dun. A. A very good answer, but I understand you. Do you love money ? Je'do. O yes — more dan I can get. Dun. A. Then do I promise I will pay you hand- somely if you will tell me correctly where she and her cargo coLiid be seized. Jexi\ Give me te monies first, dan vill I tell you all apout it; but Jew no trust Christian. Dun. A. Then you are a Jew, are you? Jeii). Yees. Dun. A. Then you are the fitter for my purpose; here is a purse containing fifty guineas, and when I can capture the ship and cargo, 1 will give you as much more. Jeiv. Vat a lucky man I am! I vill do your turn. Dun. A. As no time is to be lost in this enterprise, direct me as speedily as possible to the spot, or come along yourself and show me where she is lying. Jeiv. No, no. Sir, dat no do; me come here to re- cover de monies, — I must not den appear at all in de fray, as dat might prevent me from getting de pay- ments. Is your name Captain Ayre? as you seem py your naval uniform to pe in te King's service. Dun. A. Yes, captain of the Tiger, revenue cutter^ on this station, on the outlook for smugglers. 50 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Jew. Vhere pe all your men? Dun. A. Most of them are on board of the cutter, but will be ashore armed presently, as they are in the hourly expectation of meeting with the crew of the Crooked Mary, which is sometimes on the coast, or I have been wrong informed. Jeiv. Veil, she lies just now in Cruden Bay, and is to pe here soon, as it is not apove two hours since her poat landed in de Almanithy,* with a cargo of gin, tea, and tobacco; and her crew vill pe carousing in some of te public houses in de Roanheads.f Dun. A. Now for it, my lads, — to conquer or die! Away then I go; I shall see you soon again! [_Exif, Jew. Me hope so — te fifty guineas, te fifty guineas must no pe forgot — great sum in Holland. xVfe also must go upon another vork of destruction; O for de lassie in my grasp dis dark night, before de moon arise, de ruin of de work vould den be complete. I run, I run, " for dey run fast dat the Devil drives/' \_Exit, SCENE III — Interior of a public»house, where Cap- tain Watch and the i>mugg!e7's are carousing. Singing, &c. We are now safe arrived From the perils of the ocean. Be the weather foul or fair^ Our bark is still in motion. While the vampires of excise Do their duty to oppress us, We're regardless of their threats, While the lasses they caress us. Then drink away, smoke away. And let us still be cheery ; Each take his glaj^s — let it pass, But not foriret his deary. * A small creek where fishing: Ijoats land, f A fishing town ndjnjniMy: Peterhead. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 51 Capt, My boys, be quick, and get the rest of these ankers stowed away in some careful place. The wolves of the law may be down upon us ere we know where we are. It is a hard matter in these troublesome times to know whom one can trust. Are you all armed, in case of an attack being made upon us, for 1 know not the day nor the hour when such may take place ? (All of them at once.) We are. Sir. Capt, So much the better, and I hope you will use your arms rightly. Does any one know what has be- come of yon Jew Dutchman that came over with us from Amsterdam, I fear he will betray us, for 1 have no faith in his sect. You will better keep a sharp look-out a-head for him. Will. I saw him some hours ai^o walking alone, seem- ingly in thoughtful attitude, no doubt brooding over the ruin of some poor creature, who may be as unfortu- nate as to fall into his clutclies ; for he seems to be a very shark at heart, a devuurer of human flesh and substance, as determined and as cruel as his predecessor. Shy lock, the Jew of Venice. A bustle without y ivhen enter Duncan Ayre and his men. Dun. A, Hollo, hollo, there ; here is the nest, and the birds are not yet Hown. Guard the house, and let none escape. (The cutter s men rush in armed, when a scuffle ensues, the smugcrlers are ove?yowered, but, in the hurry, Wil' Ham escapes to the Dropping Cave of Slains.J Watch. (Captain of the Smugglers.) So you have caught me napping at last, you contemptible land-lub- ber fellow. Now have you caught your game, which you have been hunting so long after without success ; but I wish you had made the same attempt at sea, where I would have taught you a lesson you would not easily have forgotten. Dun. A. Silence, impudent babbler ; know you are now in my power, and I will treat you as you deseive if you are not silent. 52 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Watch. Silent, you beardless coward ; no ! while a drop of blood continues to flow in the veins of ould Will Watch, he never will be silent ! Duncan Ayre to his men. Dun. A. Get this fellow hand-cuffed, and as soon as he is taken on board of the Tiger, put him in irons, for he richly deserves it, and do it speedily, while the rest of us go in search for his ship in Cruden bay, where she is said to be lying. JV'aich. O treason ! treason I Dun. A. What do you mean by treason ? There is no one here who has dared to speak evil of his Mniesty, nor of any of the royal family. Why then call out treason } Hatch. What I have said, I have said; I have mv own meaning for the word, which you have no right to understand Suffice it only to know, I am betrayed. I knew you were a coward, and would not face me openly with an equal number of men, nor meet me single-handed. Dim. A. I a coward I I am no coward. Sir ! and that you shall know to your cost, before long. JVatch. Were you not a co^\ard, you would not have used the means you have done to entrap us ; but we are yet safe. You dare not, Sir, enfoice me to go on board of your cutter, nor put me in irons. Right, as is too often the case, may be put down by might, but I Iiave done nothing you have discovered to warrant or justify such proceedings. You have not detected us in anv unlawful or unjust act. You have not found us trafficking in any forbidden goods. W^e have only been found taking a little amusement and recreation after having escaped the perils of an unprecedented storm, where, had you been, Sir, life itself would have shrunk from its task, and the dastard blood of you freezed in your very veins for fear. It is, therefore, hard that we could not enjoy, in our own country, one hour's comfort on shore, after having undergone such fatigue at sea, without being interrupted and pestered with a parcel of good-for-nothing fellows, who are only eating up the fat of the land, at the expense of many au honest man. rZTERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 53 ti5 you and these here feliows are doing. But, had there not been, as was in the days of yore, a spy in the camp, you would not have found us Iiere. How- ever, I defy you, with all your unjust snares and wiles. Dun. A. Vou are a very impudent fellow, Watch, Jack Tar, haul him away immediately. Jack. Noble captain, allow me to speak with you for a moment. C Taking Duncan Ayre aside, ) You are not aware of the ortlers you are giving, nor the consequences that may follow thereby, if you use him thus harsiily, and afterwards he be found innocent. As he very justly remarks himself, he has not yet been found guilty, and, of course, not as yet liable to punishment. You will, then, better consider the matter for a little. I will obey your orders in- stantly, as is becoming my duty, but you must be the accountable agent. Dun, A. Jack, I daresay you are right; but it is provoking to be called a coward, and insulted by such a mean iellow, w iien you know that I do not deserve such ;m epithet. Jack. 1 know. Sir, you deserve a better name, and a hi^iuT compliment than what has been paid vou by this old fellow ; but, as some of our wiley country- men would say in tiiis case, 'twould be better to ** jouk and let the jaws gang o'er you," at least for the pre- sent — a day of counting and reckoning will come afterwards. Dun. A, No bad advice, JacJc, and I will take it ; however; do not let any of his men nor himself escape, perhaps we will soon meet with the Mary herself — then shall we have vengeance to the mast head ! ( Flourisking his sword in great eocuUation.) Jack. Ere then, shall I commit them to safe keep- ing, and go and get the pinnace ready for a crui&e. Tlie Tiger cannot be far off herself, but the small boat will be more convenient for coasting it along the rocks, and taking a peep into the dens and caves as we pass them by. Dun. A. Then shall we all go together. Come along, Watch. \^Kxeunt. 54 PETERHEAD SMUGGLEBS. Eyiter William, Solus* Will. These fellows, (looJnng around J I find, are now all gone ; may they never return. Yet I am wrong in saying so, they are only doing their duty, and why should we find fault with any one for doing his duty uprightly. The executioner is as neces- sary a part in the drama of justice, as the judge who condemns the criminal for contempt of the laws of his country. If any thing is then wrong, it is not the fault of these poor fellows, it is the fault of those who framed the laws ; and yet the laws are not wrong, they are necessary. It is the trade which my father follows, and fosters like a young lamb ; I wish he could see its evil tendency as well as I have done, and felt, and likely to feel, its effects ; for it is not yet over with me. I am like an outlaw, and an exile banished from my native country ; I dare not show my face but with the screech owls and beasts of prey, when the sun has shut his lamp of light, and all na- ture else gone to repose. I must fly to some den or cavern of the earth, where the sun's cheering rays, and the rain's refreshing drops, never enter, there to remain a prisoner to its own keeper till the storm be blown over, or somwhat abated ; a storm even more terrific than the last 1 suftered, if such could be pos- sible. But O the pangs that 1 endure for thee, my love, my life, my Annie ! All my other troubles are light when put in tlxe balance with thee. How v.ill thy feeble frame sustain the shock, when you make the sad discovery of my being forced to desert thee, and live as a second Cain, a reprobate on the earth. Still, still, it must be so, for a short season. \^Exit. Enter Dutchman, Solus. Jerv. It pe thought and said pe some, dat ile devil helps de vicked in contriving de evil plot ngainst de innocent, vhen dere own devices fail. I myself have found it so in clis pusiness, for me nor any other man on de yearth, could have contrived such a scheme to get de lassie in my power, as vhat I have done now. Bhe vill pe here presently, to meet vith her own iweet- PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 55 heart, Vil'.iam, vhen I shall vrap dis pig plaid round apout her, f rolling it round his arm,) and carry her off to de Vhite or Dropping Cave of Slains, near Colliesion, vhere she vill never pe found any more ; put gin she cry by te vay, I vill murder her vith dis dagger, (feeling its point, J and den trow her in de sea, to sink or to swim, as pleases pest herself. Enter Annie, starting. Ann. O hated monster, how came you here ? Jew. To meet vith dee, my love. Ann. First you robbed me of my property, em- bittered my life when a cliild, made me an outcast from the world, and now, I suppose, you have met me here to rob me of my life. Jew. Thou supposest aiigiit, young voman, and none now canst save thee. Ann. O that I had never been born ! Jew. Veil mightest dou say dat — mail vas born to trouble, as de sparks fiy upvards, and thou verifiest de holy book. Ann. Then must 1 die by your hands, already stained with the blood oi' tlie innocent; I am not [he only victim that have suffered by your cruelty. Jew. No, no, me not going to shed ty plooil if tou peiest silent, and gooL girl. Ann. What else, then, do you mean by your meet- ing me here in this unfrequented place ? Jew, To carry you to de petter quarters. Ann. Then all is over with me ; 1 have been basely betiayed. Do as you please — murder me where you will !" (Shrieking, and, as she falls, he wraps his plaid around her, and, while in the swoon, she is carried off.) \_Exeunt. SCENE I V. — Interior of the Dropping Cave of Slains, where Sinuo; skiers are seen landinor their carso, and William and the Dutch Jew ineet. William, Solus. Will. Such is the reward of all my industry, and E 2 56 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. obedience to the commands of a misinformed father. Did he but see his only son lying in this damp and dreary cavern, the cold earth for his bed, and a soli- tary stone for his pillow, — whose only companions are the seals with which it is tenanted, as the birds nor the light of heaven never enter it, — he wotdd, in future, fly from that hateful traffic of smupgling, as from a deadly pestilence, and live, as other honest men do, rather by the sweat of his brow, than by such de- tested and unlawful enterprises ; enterprises which not only endanger his own safety and peace of mind, but the lives and fortunes of others. When I grope around me, (ibr to see I cannot,) I think the saints of old had curious ideas of religion, when tiiey choose such gloomy places as this is wherein tlit:y builded their chapels, as v/as done in the seventh century, and dedicated to St. Adamunan. thefiiend and disciple of St. Columba. But (listening ) I think I hear the noise of rowers' oars in the water, and they seem to ap- proach nearer and nearer by the increase of sound. 1 will retire farther back till 1 see the event. I hope 1 have not forgot my sword, or some other weapon wherewith I may defend myself, in case of an attack being made from an enemy, when I am discovered. But hush, vain are my fears, it seems only to he a poor solitary mortal like myself, flying, no doubt, from the hands of justice, and to evade the punishment due to his crimes. 1 wish it were poor Will VVatcii who had escaped from his enemies, two would make the time pass more agreeably away in this dreary phice than one. But (again listening) I ihlnk i hear the soft sigh of some female in anguish. \\ liat can this mean ? I will, however, be still as death, for n uiomcnt, but keep myself in readiness, f Draws his sword.) Enter Dutchman, carrying A^^nie in a swoon, Jeiv. You have now reached de place of your des- tination, de haven of your rest, my ponny lass, so I vill leave thee. (As he goes niva?/, William calls aloud. J Will Surely this is the voice of the Dutch Jew PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 57 that has followed me here. It can be for no good ; aye, and carrying a female too. Hollo, there ! Jeiv. My eyes, vho pe dere ? Will. I am here. What female is that you have brought with you ? or why do you seek shelter in this inhospitable mansion, where nought but the gloom of death presides ? Jew. De lady vill tell you herself, — ask her. Will. Young woman, what is your errant here ? (^ Annie recovering from her Jit, she raves.) Ann. O do not, do not give me as food to the nshes of the sea, take me to land and murder me there, that I may find a Christian burial if my body be dis- covered. But where am I, (looking wildlij around her, J he has left me alone, and I know not where I am ? Surely I am hid in the bowels of the earth, or, like Jonah, swallow'd up, and in a whule's belly, where 1 must soon perish for ever ! O my William, my W^illiam, were you but here to know my sorrows, and to share with me my last moments, — but my heart is ever yours. Thy will, O heaven, be done ! Will. Surely this is the voice oF my Annie, and yon is the Dutchman. He has brought her here to murder her, but he shall not escape the punishment due to his crimes ; for, like proud Hamon, he has prepared for himself a gallows, which he shall adorn before to-morrow's sun gild the eastern waves. Pre- pare, murderer, for thy end is near. Ann. What new guardian angel is this that seeks to protect my life, and set me free ? A mortal it can- not be. Will. Yes, my Annie, it is thy William, whom hea- ven has kindly sent before to save thy life. (She goes to embrace him.) But this is not the time to waste in words nor in caresses, dearly as I love you, first let me rid the world of this base and deceitful wretch, then shall I be at your service. (Turning to the Dutchman, who is endeavouring to flee from him.) Draw, you detested of the earth, you scum of felons, for this moment shall be your last. Jevj, O master, master, save my precious life, and 58 PETERHEA1> SJriTGGliERSi. me give you great deal of de monies, as much as you can carry. PVilL No, thou hated wretcli above all others, thy money perish with thee, I will have none of it — I want your life. I do you a service, and a service to my country, by ridding you of it, for some day before long it must go, whether by me or not. Jew. Ten vill me sell it as dear as me can. (Draw» and fights.) Enter Captain Watch aiid crew,) Watch. Yo, ho, there, I hear the clashing of swords in the Dropping Cave, thereby. Surely the Philis- tians have not got there before us. Cab. B. \? they have, they are quarreling among themselves, for all our crew have saleiy escaped their fangs, I assure you Watch. However, as we are all armed, let us go in and see the fray. Cab. B. With all my heart ; I will never flinch from my captain nor my gun. Watch. Light a torch, Lhen, some of you^ that we may not be taken all aback in the squall. Let us go cautiously but resolutely to work. (The torch is lighted when they enter. J Cab. B. iMy eyes and Betty Martin, captain, but it is Mr. William Gordon and the Dutchman, yard-arm to j^ard-arm, in single combat, laying on most lustily. Watch. Avast hauling there, I say. (When they both stop.) How have you found your way here, Mr. William ? aye, and be so closely engaged with this here lubber fellow of a Dutch Jew. (Louking around ) Aye, aye, Mr. William, and your sweetheart too. But surely, (turning suddenly round,) this is some enchanted or wizard's cave, where the spirits of the dead are raised, and magicians learn the art of their black and diabolical magic. These figures that ap- pear floating before my eyes, (rubbing them,) are only the phantoms of a disordered brain, if not worse. Tom, what is your opinion of these appearances ; are these not smugglers landing their cargo ? They ap- pear as such to me, by the light of that bright moon. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 59 which shines so full in my face, and blazons the wa- tery horizon. Are they iiataral or supernatural ? Tom. They are ail real, Sir. Watch. What do you mean by renlj Sir ? Do you mean that they are real mortal bodies, or real ghosts, the spirits of the departed ? fVilL (Smiling at the captaiiis fears.) Indeed, captain, although I have had no cause to be merry since I came here, still you make me so by your su- perstitious fear. Here, Sir, feel this hand, (holding out his hand, while the captain draws back agitated") which is real flesh and blood, and expected ere now to have sent this rascally Dutchman to old Pluto's den, where he should have been long ere now ; and those others you see with so much trepidation, are our brothers, of the same lawless occupation. Watch. My fears are then fled., and I am glad we have met, although not in the most comfortable of lodgings. But let us all, save this Dutchman, embark as quickly as possible, and go to Peterhead. Will. But how can we go there .'' Is not Duncan Ayre and his crew still on the outlook for us ? Watch. O never mind, my boy, that storm is all over now ; we are safe ; he has not got proofs, as yet, that the Crooked Mary was within the smuggling limits, so all is right. Will. We must, however, not leave the Dutchman here, he would soon make his escape, when the gibbet would be cheated of its rigiits. And you know that it is said that the devil should get his due. Watch. Then, some of you lads there, bind the fellow neck and heel, and bring him along ; for al- though I am very humane in my way, I should like to see this Jew look through the bight of a rope at the yard arm, for 1 think he would grace such a place, and do honour to it. (P idling him along with a struggle) [_Exeunt. SCENE V. — Opevs with the interior of the Court HousCf examination of voiinesses, S^x. Bailie Aft- BUTHN^oT in the chair. Ba. Well, Captain Watch, Captain Ayre of the 60 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. Tiger cutter has made affidavit before the Honourable the Lords Commissioners of the Customs, and Board of Admiralty at Leith, against you, and say?, that you are by habit and repute a smuggler, in defiance of the just laws of this well-governed realm, and captain or commander of the Crooked Mary brig, just now lying in Port-Henry, alias, the North Harbour of Peter- head. Can you answer to the indictment, as I have been appointed by the Supreme Court to examine wit- nesses, &c. ? Watch, Yes, Sir. I will neither plead guilty or not guilty. 1 have only to say in my own exculpation, that assertion is no proof, and without proof she can- not be condemned, nor I found guilty. I, therefore, beg leave to file a bill of indemnity in behalf of my- self and crew. Ba. That is certainly good law. Captain Watch, you will need no counsellor. But Captain Ayre says he has half a dozen of men that are ready to make oath that they saw the Crooked Mary unloading a cargo of contraband goods within the limits specitied in the act of Parliament which jjrohibits smuggling. You can peruse the act at leisure, which you will find in the acts of his late Majesty, King George the Second, of blessed memory, statute 19, chapter 34. Captain Ayre, bring forward your proofs. Enter First Witness. Dun. A. George, come forward. Here, Bailie, is the first of my witnesses, and hope he will do honour to the cause. Ba. ( To the ivitness.) Did you see the Crooked ^lary unloading a cargo of gin, or other goods pro- hibited by law, within the limits proscribed by act of Parliament ? Geo. Yes, Sir. Ba. Will you make oath to it ? Geo. Yes. (^ Sometvhat uneasy.)^' Ba. Where were the Mary and crew unloading her cargo when you saw her ? * Prndence bids one draw a veil over the rest of this mys- terious, aod DOW iiearJy forgotteu circumstance. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 61 Geo. In Collieston Bay, Ba. And where were you when you saw her ? Geo. In my own house ; I saw her through a back window. Ba, Where is your own house ? Geo. In the parish of Deer. Ba. Did you see her from no other place ? G-.o. No. Ba. Verv well; enough, enough. Yo'i may go. [_Exit. A very formidable witness, indeed — such need no com- ment. I shall have nothing more to do with them. Captain Avre, you must send all the other of your witnesses to Edinburgh for examination, for I will have nothing more to do with them. I wash my hands of the concern, their ^ins be upon their own heads, if all of the others be like this one. Be seated, gentle- men, 1)6 seated, f addressing Captain Aijre and Captain Watch.) This v/ill be a hurried day with me, I fear, for I have much business yet to go through. Dun. A. Then may 1 retire a-.id not encumber the court. Watch. And I also, Bailie. Ba No, no, Captain Ay re, you need not, unless you please, for this is an open court, as all courts ought to be ; there is no hole-and-corner work goes on here, nor is allowed when 1 am present. As for )ou. Cap- tain Watch, I will j)erh,ips require your evidence in a serious matter before long. An inlricate cast-, indeed. Watch. But, Bailie, how cm I bean evidence, when I know nothing of law. 1 know nothing of client, pursuer, nor defendant. Ba. So much the better; I do not wish you to de- liver lectures on law- Watch. No, nor divinity either, I suppose. Bi. Neither, my friend — both are unnecessary at the present juncture. (To a constable.) Call in the Dutch Jew. Enter Dutch Jew. Ba. Sir, I have perused with particular care and attention, the papers }0u iefc with nie sometime ago for that purpose. I must now communicate unto yo^ 62 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. the results. (Again to the constable.) Call in Miss Ann Forbes and Mr. William Gordon. Ente?- William mid Annie. (Turning to the Dutchman.) Now, Sir, I must inform you of what you already know, that is, that you have come wrongously and clandestinely by these papers, (iji his hand,) and are therefore liable to the highest penalty of the law. You must, therefore be remanded to prison, as you are charged with another crime still more heinous in the sight of heaven, and that is, carrying off this young lady with an intent to murder her. What answer do you give — guilty or not guilty ? Jew. Me plead guilty to all de charges, and hope for de pardon. Ba. That must be obtained through another channel, for I am not the fountain of mercy. My prerogitive, great as it is, does not yet extend so far. I can no more take away life thun I can restore it. You have done well, however, in pleading guilty, as it will save the court a ureat deal of unpleasant trouble. (Turii- ing to the clerk.) Mr. Ritchie, see you be recording the proceedings of the court correctly. Clerk. I am, Sir. Ba. Miss Ann Forbes, you say you are the lawful and only surviving dau<;hter of the late Patrick Forbes, merchant in Peterhead — answer me. Ann. Yes, Sir, 1 am. Ba. But, according to long usage, and the forms of the law of Scotland, which, by the bye, are somewhat intricate, you must produce some witnesses who can identify your person as such. Have you any at hand? Ann. I have, Sir. Old Els})et Davidson on Keith Insch. Ba. Then call her into couit, constable. Enter Eppy. Ba. Well, Elspet, do you know this young woman ? Eppi/. [Lookinrr and .smiting.) Truth do I, Sir. What gars ye speer sic queer kind o' questions as that ? Ye ken well eneuch I ken a' body in this town, it's nae PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 63 sae muckle ; and Vv'hat is mair, I kent a' their fathers and mithers afore them, for the twa last generations. Ba. Then what was her father's name ? where did he stay ? and what was his occupation or trade ? Eppy. Hoot, toot, Master Bailie, ye're surely jock- ing wi' me now, or lost yere wits a' the gither. Ye ken a' these things well eneuch ye'resell ; ye are no needing to tease me telling ye things that ye kent sae lang syne ; forbye a' that, he was your very companion an' crony at a' merry makings, which war rifer than they are now, an' used every day to gang wi' you to the links ilka morning at five o'clock to a round o' the goff. But ye're nae sae vertie now-a-days, Bailie, as ye was whan I first kent you. Ye're like mysell, now, failing fast, but may we a' meet our hinder end wi' a guid commend. Ba. O Elspet, Elspet, ye're wading sair from the subject in hand. Could ye not tell us who was this young lady's father ? Eppy. Indeed, Bailie, I'll dee nae sic thing — ye ken, an' she kens hersell, already. Ba. But, Elspet, a great deal of her future fortune depends upon your answering these questions. I beg you will do it, and that right early. Eppy. Troth, Bailie, ye gar me laugh, and wha wou'dna laugh gin they heard that answering twa or three silly questions, that a' body here kens already, ware to make a young lady's fortune. Ha, ha, ha ! Ba. I am really in earnest, Elspet, and beg you will answer them quickly. Eppy. Now, I see ye're beginning to look douce, which is some sign of your being in earnest ; but how to comprehend or fathom your meaning, I cannot ; but I've often heard it said that lawyers ware a quere an* a puzzling set o' quirky an' cunning chaps, an' often began, like the Jew's Bible, wi' the wrang end o' their story formost. Ba. O Elspet, Elspet, I wish you would be more explicit, and not detain the court so long with your dissertation on lawyers, we will hear you upon these topics some more convenient season. Do you not see that we are all waiting your answers. (34 PETERIIKAD SMUGGLERS. Ep})y. Well, surely this is funny, that a hale house f(ju o' sic braw folks wou'd be waiting my poor answers. J. am sure there are mony ane here cou'd answer the same questions as well as me, aye, an' muckle better. Ba, But we want yours first, Elspet, and then, if necessary, we will question some of them afterwards. Eppy. Well, well. Sir, to make a lang tale short, Iklr. Patrick Forbes was the lady's father, (so said her mither.) he lived in Flying-Gig's Wynd,* and sold tea and tobacco, claiths o' a' kinds and colours, and monj mair things than a' that, or 1 cou'd name. His name surely was Patrick, but I aye ca'd him Pefer, as being mair Christian like, for I hate newfangled and out- landish names. I'm a real an' a true Episcopalian, and hate innovation in cimrch or state. Ba. But, Elspetj this is no innovation, nor an out- lan(ii>sh name. It is Scotch. Eppih It's nae sic thing, Sir, it's nae sic thing, begging your honour an' your bailieship's pardon, it s purely Irish, brought frae that country by some proud Highlandman, wlia wished to claim kindred wi' their Saint. Ba. Eispet, ye seem to be well acquainted wi' Buch- anan, the auld laird o' Auchmar, on the etymology of names, and stored no little portion of liis wisdom in your cranium, when you can argue so Do you know any thina next of the origin or history of the surname of Forbes ? Eppy. Deed do I, Sir ; I could tell you a long story about the Forbeses, aye, as lang as my i wa arms putten the gither, and a' the ups an' downs o' them sin' they got the name o' Forbes for reding tlieir native countv of Aberdeen o' a wild boar, that did muckle mischief in't, mony hunder year ago. iMony guid ane sin' that time has been o' the race, an' mony a ane nae worth the speaking about. It's nae aye pearls that are taeu out o' pearl mussels, nor a gow'd that glitteis. Ba. I daresay you could carry the origin of the name as far back as Noah, or the Urquharts of Cro- marty, could you not, EUpet.'' * A !aue leading to the north shore, now little freqneoted. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 65 J'^ppil' Aye Cdii'd I, Sir, aii' a great deal farer— . Noah, Noali, did ye say. Sir ? Ba. Yes, El>pit. Eppy. Til en I am a' clean wrang — I thought you said 1 cou'd carry the Forbeses as far back as Nothy that is the muckle hill beside Benachie ; now I kent some o' them that lived a great deal farer back than that hill, aye, as far back as Loch-na-gar on Dee-side- But I see now wha ye meant, it was that ventursome chiel, called in the bible bv the name o' Noah, the first sailor wha sailed round the globe in a muckle cork tub, wi^ a sample o' a' the birds an' beast^^ an' creeping things that were generated at the beginning o' the warld. Ba. (Addressing Annie.) We need not seek foi* more proofs in your favour. Miss Forbes^ Elspit has said enough to satisfy all of us here, and also your scep- tical enemies, if you have any, that you are the rightful Iieir of these papers, and the property coutained therein. Take them then, and I wish you great joy of the same, (gives Iter a parctl) and, should you require my as- sistance afterwards. I will be ready to serve you. To you now, i\Iaster William Gordon, (iiirning to him) from what I have heard and seen of your conduct and character, I, in absence of her departed father, give, with her full consent, lier hand unto you, as I know you have her heait already — then shall the bond be cancelled. Now, soon may I have the pleasure of calling her Mistress Gordon, a name that will ever be dear to me — a name that I revere above all others, as to this name am I indebted for much of my present comforts.* My gieat-grandmothers name was Beatrix Gordon, as you will iijid on examining one of the tombstones in the North-west coiner of the walls of that sacrced and solitary sanctuary of the dead, the Church- yard of St. Fergus — Take her then with my blessing, and mav she be unto thee as the ftuitful vine, ever flourishing ! * The author is proud to acknowledg^e that such are his feel- ings and sentiments. — To WiLT.iAM GoRPox, Es:q , of Fyvie, &c,, a Gentleman of worth and talents, will he ever he g^rate- lul for the many favours he has heaped upon him. F 66 PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. EPILOGUE. CAs spohen hy Mr. , Manager.) In this short tale we have before you laid, (Virtue and vice in their true lights pourtray*d,) You'll find a lesson, if you wish to learn, That viituous deeds have the most powerful charm ; That vice dismantl'd of its tinsel show. Will prove at last the bitter bane of woe. Mav blessings then on viituous deeds attend. And always prove the sure and lasting friend. While vice is punish'd with the scourge of power, A lasting tribute in the trying hour. That trying hour, when death shall change the scene, And life forget its pleasure and its pain. May ye then, like your countrymen of old. Deserve such praise ; and be your names enroll'd On some bright page, which shall in future shine Thro' every Act ; thro' every Scene, and line ; As William and Ann have found their true deserts. We now take leave with thanks, and grateful hearts ; And should we e'er to Peterhead return. Our hearts to serve you, shall with transport burn. Till then adieu, and may you ever nourish, The sons of genius, while your trade does flourish. Emblem of wealth, of wisdom, and of gain, While we, your humble servants, still remain. \^Exeunt, bowing. PETERHEAD SMUGGLERS. 07 DEATH OF WILL WATCH. 'TwAs one morn when the wind from the northward blew keenly, While sullenly roar'd the big waves of tlie main ; A famed smuggler, Will Watch, kissed his Sue, then serenely. Took helm, then to sea boldly steer'd out again. Will had promis'd his Sue, that this trip, if well ended. Should coil up his hopes, and he'd anchor ashore ; When his pockets were lin'd, why his life should be mended. The laws he bad broken, he'd never break more. His sea-boat was trim, made her port, took her lading, Then Will stood for home, reach'd the offing, and cried — This night, (if I've luck,) furls t!)e sails of my trading. In dock I can lay, serve a friend too beside. Will lay too till the night came on darksome and dreary. To crowd every sail then he pip'd up each hand, But a signal soon spied, ('twas a prospect uncheery,) A signal that warned him to bear from the land. The Philistines are out, cried Will, we'll take no heed on't. Attacked, whose the man that will flinch from his gun ? Should my head be blown off, I shall ne'er (eel the need on't, We'll fight when we cmn, when we can't boys, we'll run. Through the haz.^ of the night, a briglit (lash now appearing, Oil ! no, cries Will Watch, the Philistines bear down ; Bear a hand, my tight lads, ere we think about sheering. One broadside pour in, should we swim boys, or drown. But should I be popp'd off, you my mates left behind me. Regard my last words, see them kindly obey'd ; Let no stone mark the spot, and my friends do you mind me. Near the beach is the grave where Will Watch would be laid. Poor Will's yarn was spun out, — for a bullet next minute. Laid him low on the deck, and he never spoke more ; His bold crew fought the brig while a shot remain'd in it, Then sheer'd—and Will's hulk to his Susan they bore. In the dead of the night, his last wish was complied with, To few known his grave, and to few known his end, He was borne to the earth by the crew that he died with, — He'd the tears of his Susan, the prayers of each friend. Neiir his grave dash the billows, the winds loudly bellow, Von ash struck with lightning, points out the cold bed. Where Will Watch, t/ic bold smuggler y that fam d lawless fellow. Once fear'd, now forgot, sleeps in peace with (he dead ! r2 ®(Di3sa§ i^mm ^(ssros^ PASTORAL SONG. To William Gordox, Esq. of Fjjvie a?}d Marijculter, at London, October, 1833. " To virgin flowers, to sur.!)!:nit eartli the rain, To mariners fair winds aniid ih ' main, Cool sliades to pilg^rinT--, wl'Oin hot fjlances hiirn, Are not so pleasing' as thy bie.st rt'tynn. "—-Drw/ffno?id. To its oiim Tune. O Ythan bnies bloom fair to see. And Fyvik woods ae green. Where mony warbling songsters* sung. And I've sae lia])pv been, been, And I've sao happy been. But now deserted by l]\eir Lord. The streams nieund'rin;.?: liuw Through uieadows fair, and be.iuty rare> 'f tell their tale of woe, woe, To tell their tale of woe. For far frae hame is my true love, And I sae fou o' caie ; Sad is my sang, — he tarries, lang, ^nd will be evermair, mair, And will be ev^^rmair. Light loup'd my heart when he but smiled^ i3ut now a' day I mourn, For the blythest birds 'mang Fyvie's trees. Will weep ere he return, turn. Will weep ere he return.. POEMS AND SONGS. 69 My crook and plaid ly heedless by. My sheep bleat on the hill. My sportive colly stands amazed. All nature sighs her fill, fill, All nature sighs her fill. Then haste ye back, my kindest love, To thy ain ha's and bowers. Where mony ane will welcome thee To Fi/vies lofty towers, towers, To Fijvies lofty towers. Thy presence gladdens every heart, And every eye beams bright ; Thy smile is like a summer shower, — It gies to a' delight, light. It gies to 2l delight. When ye return the woods shall ring, And music fill ilk' grove, For then the little birds will sing Their sweetest sangs of love, love, Their sweetest sangs of love. Thy wide domains, and pleasant plains. Where I was wont to stray, Amang the broom of rich perfume. Shall join in melody, dy, Thall join in melody. The flowers will deck the mountain side. And every thing be gay. When hill and dale in mantl'd pride. Shall hail that happy day, day. Shall hail that happy day ! WHIRRY WHIGS AWA', MAN. Tins curious Jacobite Song was written by Mr. (;eokge Hacket, a schoolmaster in the parish of liathan, Aberdeenshire. In one of my former publi- 70 POEMS AND SONGS. cations, *• Gleanings of Scarce Old Ballads," &c. I have said all of him that could be collected from among the aged of the north, so it is unnecessary to repeat it again here. The copy of the song which now lies before me, and of whicli the following is an exact transcript, was for the first time, printed on the 20th July, 1744, under the immediate eye and superintendance of the author. Out of the many versions that have appeared in almost every Jacobite Collection, this is the only correct and complete one. It cost me no little trouble and expense ferreting it out of its antiquated nest ; but, as an antiquary, I am proud of my labour, and consider my money well icared. Will my readers be- lieve that this is the obnoxious ballad sung at Lau- rence fair in the year 1745, whicli gave rise to, and was the cause of that curious metrical pamphlet being written, called " Scotland's Glory and her Shame ; being a brief Historical Account of her Glory in Presbytery ?" &c. It was — and the indentical edition too. Hear what the ofiended Poet in his postscript says. — '*' The author of the foregoing sheets {"•' Scot- land's Glory," &c.) being in Laurence fair, on Muir of Halkerton, in the year 1745, where he had occasion to hear an impious wretch sing that abominable song, viz. — 'Whirry Whigs Awa', Man,' and seeing thepro- fane rabble giving such attention, it grieved ids spirit exceedingly. But seeing, according to his station, he could do nothing as to the suppressing of such trash, he at first opportunity set about composing the foregoing sheets, which he thought fit to do with some clink of the lorenamed spurious rhyme, though of quite different strain, in order to overturn the former, and also to clear up the truth and true case of \\\oe, He was the nearest heir, man. But he did reig:n but three years bare, Till beaten from his throne, man. And then rejoic'd that wicked race Of Whigs that he was gone, man. An Orange next from Holland came, That played with parties baith man, Whigs set up him, he set up them, Did us a world of skaith man. When he came o'er our king to be, His own father-in-law, man. By his Dutch guards he drove to sea. Then swore he ran awa', man. With Whigs he was so much at one, To them he proved right kind, man^ His great-grandfather's martyrdom, Came never in his mind, man. AH that loved the royal race. He favoured not at a, man. But stript them both of power and place, whirry whigs awa, man. Our worthy bishops he dang down, Opprest our church and state, man. And set up start-ups of their own, By Dutchcraji and deceit, man. The thirteen years that he did reign. We had no peace nor law, man, c2 80 POEMS AND S0NG3. But Whigs as Willie played to sing, whirry ?vhigs atva, mayi. A famine seven years prevail'd, The people pale-faced grew, man, By dearth and deatli they were assail'd,. Which thousands overthrew, man. The victual was sae dear and scant, We found no help at a', man. Both young and old fell down for want, Otchirry rvhigs awa, man. But Willie s latter end did come, He broke his collar bone, man, We cho'se a better, royal Anne, And set her on tiie tlirone, man. And then we had both sued and bread;, And plenty over a', man, We had no scarcity of food, ivhirry zvhigs aiva, man. Now wicked England did invent. To make an unity, man. To which tiie Whigs did boon consent, When promis'd presbytery, man. I wish they had been in their graves, Who did the letters draw, nian. These whinning knaves have made us slaves, whirry ivhigs atva, man. Next came the abjuration oath, To swear and then subsciive, man, The Whigs heard word iuul were not Icath, Assembled their belyve, man. Their plural number did appear. None did himself withdraw, man. They scrupled not at once to swear Twenty cross oaths and twa, man. Our royal Queen being dead and goncj. Increased was our woe, n)an, Our mourning days cannot be done, W'e'er now brought very low, man. POEMS AND SONGS. 81 And left in grief without relief, And little hopes at a', man, Old Albion suffers much mischief, whirry vohigs au>a\ man. We then sought out a German thing, Call'd to grace the throne, man, Then for the beggars he did bring, Sore taxes were laid on, man, Even heavy burdens on our malt. And ale by shift call'd law, man. On leather, candles, soap, and salt, O xjohirry whigs awa , man. Some nobles grieved with this yoke, Rais'd an intestine war, man, And having their late oaths forsook, Flock'd to tlie Earl of Mar, man, For one call'd the Pretender stood. And forces both did draw, man. But lonij those brave men have not stood, whirry zvhigs atva', man. They were defeat at Sheriff Muir, And Preston in one day, man, Argyle pursu'd them in the rear, riiey fled without delay, man. With prisoners the gaols were thronged. They could not win awa', man, Depriv'd of all that them belong'd, O xjohirry JVhigs awa", man. When George the first vrent God knows where, His son comes now the last, man. And wholly moves the British sphere, Sae our best days are past, man. Whose fault it is I cannot tell, Our liberty's awa', man. Our ancient rights for gold they sell, whirry whigs awa', man. Our honour's gone, our trade is sunk, By knaves at court so false, man, 82 POEMS AND SGETGS. Our gold pack'd up in Walpoles trunk;,, Which melted down his haUe, nrxan. O may it be, and his memory. And of his hirelings a', man, Be curst to a' posterity, whirry ivhigs awa, man. But cripple tho' I'll see the day, 1 hope to Whigs disgrace, man, That Spain shall yield of sea the swajj And humbly beg for peace, man. All evil banish'd from the throne, Our church restor'd wilh a", man. Then blythly shall we sing, they're gone. All ivhirri/ whigs awa'y man. REV. MR. JOHN SKINNER. rXhe follov/ing Poem, (a Soliloquy by the Earl of , the night prior to his suifering decapitation for rebellion in 1745,) was written by Mr. Skinner.] This worthy Divine and Poet, was for nearly sixty- five years Episcopal minister at Longside, a parish in the north of Aberdeenshire. He is well-known to the readers of Burns, as one of his favourite correspondents, and author of several of the best songs that have been sung in Scotland for many years. To enumerate them all would be impossible, even by his best friends, for many of them were written on the spur of the moment, on casual occasions, and given away in M.S. no more to be heard of. A collection of unpublished Jacobite Poems and Songs by him, in the original handwriting, still remains strangers to the public. Pity such should be hid under a bushel. The piece which adorns part of this little volume was copied, with several others, from this M.S. collection, penes John Elrick, Esq. Perth. Most of my readers will allow that it is indicative of a good mind, susceptible of fine impressions, but attached to a cause that has involved too many of our hapless countrymen. POEMS AND SONGS. SB The Poetical works of IMr. Skinner, Latin and Scotch, were collected and published in Edinburgh, shortly after his death, which took place in the arms of his son. The Right Rev. Bishop John Skinner, at Aber- deen, on the idth of June, 1807, aged 86. In the eightieth year of his age, when vital life be- gins to shrink from the services of the world, and be- comes more a burden than a pleasure to its possessor, he retained all his youthful vivacity, characteristic of a well-regulated deportment, and sober habits. He was abstemious in his diet, and, although at times he could enjoy in the company of friends, a flowing bowl, he studied more the feast of the mind than that of the body. To him, the delicacies of life had no charm, and conse- quently no temptation. As proof positive of this, the late Mr. Ferguson of Pitfour, with whom he was a great favourite, at this period of life, wished to render him a service, by adding to his domestic comforts every thing of which he stood in need, but IMr. Skinner de- clined his friendly offer. I shall give it in his own words : -*" Lodg'd in a canty cell of nine feet square. Bear bread, and sowans and milk my belly's fare ; Shoes for my feet, soft clothing for mv back, If warm, no matter whether blue or black: In such a sober, low, contented state, What comfort now need I from rich or great ? Now in my eightieth year, my thread near spun, My race through poverty and labour run ; Wishing to be by all my flock belov'd. And for long service, by my Judge approv'd: Death at my door, and heaven in my eye. From rich or great, what comfort now need I.^ Let but our sacred edifice* go on With cheerfulness, till all the work be done; Let hut my Hock be faithfully supplied, My friends all with their lot well satisfied : Then O ! with joy, and comfort from on high. Let me in Christian quiet calmly die, * His chaiei which was then building at Linshart. 84 POEMS AND SONGS. And lay my ashes in my Grizel's grave, 'Tis all I want, or wisli on earth to have : Thus lifted up above all vain desire, And quench each foolish spark of passion's fire, Deprived of her I held so justly dear. Nor plagued with idle hope or idle fear : The smiles or frowns of fortune I defy, From rich or great what comfort now need I ? It would be but a wasting of time and paper to say how much this worthy man was respected by his little flock ; suffice it to say, that, as soon as buried, they erected in the Church-yard of Longside, a marble monument to his memory^ bearing a suitable inscrip- tion. SOLILOQUY. And must it be. to death then must I go ? Must Justice and Lee, and Bedford have it so. Not glutted yet witli gore, dost Cumbrio thirst For Highland blood, as keen as at the first ? Still does his butchering soul delight to see A wretched rebel mount the fatal tree. And is there then no pity to be shown, No gracious sound of mercy from the throne. Mercy, where art thou ? To what desert fled ! Where do^t thou wander, a neglected shade. Thou once the glory of the British reign, Long have I call'd on thee, butcail'd in vain. For me no mcrc}^ — no reprieve to come, No hopes of pardon to reverse my doom ; My enemies, I'm told, do loud for vengeance call, And injured law requires that I should fall. Is't then a crime in us to assert our right, More now than what it was in eighty-eight? Must what was glorious sixty years ago, Because successful, be rebellious now ? What powers our lathers had, we sure may claim ^ Our fundamental charter is the same, /- And we but use the rights deriv'd from them. ) POEMS AND SONGS. 85 Sure we may still rise up in just defence, Of Britain's subject, and of Britain's Prince; And if our fathers forc'd him out 'tis plain, We when we pleased, may bring him in again. But now the times are chang'd; victorious might Enacts oppression, and destroys our right ; Now we are rebels if this Jaw be just, 'Tis this decrees my fate, and die I must. Then welcome death in all thy dread array. Be quick, nor let me breathe another day ; Thy bloody weapons 1 already see, And all thy barbarous pomp prepared for me. Around the smoking pile the lictors wait To end my days, and see me die in state. But why such respite does the law allow ? Why dont I I'all to-morrow ; Why not now ? Already I've made up my peace with heaven. My sins already are, 1 hope, forgiven. What soft compassion, and that tender love, Which earth denies, I've purchas'd from above ; He who the injur'd sufferer always hears, Has seen my sorrows, and has heard my prayers. Then Justice do thy worst, thy vengeance stretch As far as law in all its forms can reach : On this frail carcass exercise thy power. Hang, draw and quarter ; thou canst do no more. Rip up my bowels, and let the thoughtless crowd Surfeit their malice with a traitor's blood ; My head on loftiest pinnacle be shown, For wanton boys and girls to gaze upon. My scver'd limbs to distant quarters :sent, To fright the nation out uf discontent ; Is this enough my crime to expiate. And satisfy the inhuman Cumbrio's hate ? Or must I further satisfaction give ; Ah ! me, no more, even I but cease to live ! Even this too much, if mercy would have place, If suppliant matrons would have met with grace ; Then 1 perhaps have lived a lite of woe, ) Debarr'd from all the joys I once did know / ]3ut that's denied, and I mu.st undergo. } Art thou then sad, poor trem.bling heart. 86 POEMS AND SONGS, At death and dissolution dost thou start ? Dost thou at heaven's all-ruhng will repine, And fondly think no fate so hard as thine ? No ; far from me, be such unworthy thought. Soon will thy storm be o'er, the fight soon fought. The lictor's hand soon give my soul relief, And one hour's pain for ever end my grief. But O thou lovely sufferer in my fate. Thou dear companion of my various state ; Expos'd to every frown, from every foe, Upbraidings rude thou'lthave to undergo. In ail the adverse scenes of life to roam. Abroad neglected, and disgraced at home, Thy helpless orphans, all our mutual care, Hard burden now for thee alone to bear. In mournful posture cling around thy knee, And weep for bread, and some times weep for me. Then gracious heaven to thee her care I trust, To thee at once both merciful and just. In thee the widow's and the orphan's hope, The orphan's parent, and the widow's prop ; And now propitious hear my earnest cry, Since die 1 must, then teach me how to die. Relieve each anxious fear, and doubt remove. And fill my parting soul with heavenly love ; My spirit Till this 1< Then take my parung soui wun neaveniy love t calm with thy almighty power, "J last agony of death is o'er, S- ce me to thyself, to die no more. J ALEXANDER GEDDES, L.L D. The author of the Two following pieces, which never before appeared in print, was Alexander Ged- des, a Roman Catholic Priest in the Enzie, and trans- lator of a new version of the Bible, which was but in- differently received, even by people of his own persua- sion. He was born in Ruthven parish, county of Banff, in 1737^ and educated, gratuitously by the laird of Ar- radowl with two of his vsons, after which he went to Paris, and studied at the Scottish College. In 1764, he returned to Scotland, and fixed his residence at POEMS AND SONGS. 87 Dundee, as officiating priest in the district of Angus. After having gone through a variety of scenes, lie took charge of a congregation at Auchinhalrig, in his native county, and became at the same time farmer, but with bad success. He Avent afterwards to London, and commenced translating the first five books of i\Iose.<, under the patronage of Lord Petre. He was author of several pieces both in prose and verse, among the lat- ter are several epistles to the Society of Scottish An- tiquaries, in Scottish verse, which show a great know- ledge of the language, and power of versification. He was at that time elected by this learned body, a Cor- responding Member. He was also honoured by Mar- ischal College with the degree of L.L.D. as he was in- timate with almost all the professors in that University. He is said to be the author of the Jacobite Song of '* Lewis Gordon," but with what certainty, I do not pretend to sav. That curious and highly hum.orous song of the '* Wee Wifekie," his been ascribed to him by many of our modern editors of Scottish songs, but without foundation. Wliat first gave rise to this sup- position, was iVIr. Skinner's saying to Burns he pre- sumed it was written by Dr. G. but it turned out to be like Byrom's " Three Black Crows," — every body knows their history, — one neighbour went and told another that such-a-one had thrown up some stuff as black as a crow, a second told it was a crow, a third affirmed there were two, and so on it went, like a snow- ball, still gathering and growing in bulk, as it rolled along, till there were at last three of them If my rea- ders will take my honest word, as sacred as afore the priest, I would assure them, Dr. Geddes never wrote one single line of the *' Wee Wifekie." The rightful heir will get his own soon. The origirial M.S. of this truly graphic song, lies at present before me, with many others in the handwriting of the author, which will be published with some account of this eccentric Poet, who died about two years ago, aged eighty-seven. But I am wandering from my subject. Dr. Geddes was a man much beloved by his flock at Auchinhalrig, who, to testify their respect for him, and to preserve a relic, a m.emorial of his services while there, w hen he SS POEMS AND SONGS. sold (»ff his liousehold furniture by public roup, the articles bi ought unprecedented prices, every one viein'^ with another for the honour of even a fragment of a broken cup or saucer. He died in London, on the 26th of February, 1802, aged sixty-five, and was bur- ied in the church-yard of Paddington, where a marble monument", erected to his memory^by Lord Petre, points the place — TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF GORDON. The Petition of Miss Ketty Innes^ shexveih, That— Your humble petitioner lives in a place, Annex'd to a farm that belongs to your Grace, And there, for a number of years she has spent Her days and her nights to her utmost content. A snug little house, at a distance from din, We'll pt)inted without, and well plaster'd within ; A cleanly cantour and a small bit of green. Had made her as happy as Chailotte the Queen ; But of late, and since that unfurtunate time, She lucklessly shar'd in poor Probus's crime ; Hard Heaven to afflict her incessantly pours Misfortunes and hardships by tens and by scores ; Her neighbours who erst ^\eie uncomm(mly civil. Endeavour to work her all manner of evil, 'i'here's lang Sandy Smith, if he be not the diel, Who, to cover his malice, resembles the chiel : Does all sorts of mischief that lies in his power. He p s her wall, and at her door ; And if she reproves him, he soon rings her dumb. By showing his base unaccountable b — m. With that not contented, she tells it with shame, He's train'd up his wife, and dog, to the same ; He's taught them anither vile trick, to distress her, When the Priest, as frequently comes, to confess her, 'I hey hearken at her windows, and hear every word. She secretly tells to the man of the Lord. Besides, lack-a-day, her bit green he has till'd ; Her drain he has stopp'd, and her ditch he has fill'd ; And he hems her so closely, 'tis past any doubt. He means bv degrees, to raze her quite out. POEMS AND SONGS. 89 Vouchsafe then your Grace, who can do what you list. To order this same sandy Smith to desist : To leave her unplow'd, unpolluted her green. And cease to molest her at morning or e'en : To bind himself down, for the carle has pelf, Stand good for his wife, his dog, and himself. That all your improvements continue to thrive. Your cows and your cattle be kept all alive, And every thing round you look happy and gay, As bound, your Petitioner ever shall pray ! THE PRESBYTERIAN CONFESSION, Popish confession oft has been The butt of Presbyterian spleen. And many a pretty little jeer. Of Priest and Penitent we hear. Nor was it dreaded till of late, That Papists could retaliate. For who had ever heard before Of Presbyterian Confessor? And yet the story I'm to tell. Was not like theirs, — contriv'd in hell, But done at I will not name The place, to hide the person's shame; But as to every other part, The country knows it well by heart. David was sick, and like to die, So, when he thought his end drew nigh, He sent for Jonathan his friend To help him to a happy end ; For Jonathan, though half a Turk Is a great column of the Kirk ; And when the minister's away Will sometimes preach and sometimes pray ; And folks are ready to take oath That he right cleverly does both. Well, Jonathan sent for, as said, Soon came, and cleverly he pray'd, So cleverly that David felt His harden'd soul begin to melt. H 90 POEMS AND SONGS. He wept, and thus himself addrest To Jonathan, as to the Priest : — ^' Ah 1 Jonathan, thy words have stole To the black bottom of my soul. And there have rais'd a greater storm Than e'er was rais'd in ale or barm.* My sins that hitherto have lain Like lifeless pigmies on the plain, Start up anew before mine eyes, And each appears of giant size. From such a formidable hostj Preserve me, friend, or I am lost." John. — What shall I dee? David, — First, father, bless me, And then for heaven's sake confess me. Confess me, good and holy man. And then absolve me as you can. John. — Begin my child and let me hear. David. — I've sometimes sold my wood too dear.f I cry for mercy. John. — Whist, thou elf, I have done twice as much myself. David. — Fve often drank without being dry. John. — Why, truly, David, so have I. David. — I've curst, God help me, many a time, John. — Why, that, indeed's a sort of crime; Yet when I'm angry, faith it's true, I'll curse and swear as well as you. David. — I've fail'd to pay my lawful debt. This book is DUE on the last dale stamped below. REC'D LD-Uli 10M-1 1-50 23551470 REMINGTON RAND INC. 20 „. 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