ACT I.

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

Moggy!

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

Well. Charley!

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

He, he, He! Oh, precious!

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

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

Ecod! I had quite forgot that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eh!—

Have you got it?

Yes,

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

I thought I heard my father—

So did I!

Do you think he's get up?

No.

Now you'll catch me!

Yes, I'll catch you, you jade.

Now for it.

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

my fine fellow—here goes—

Oh, Lord! my child will break her bones.

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

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

Nor I, upon my ſoul.

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

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

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

—Who comes here?—Shelty, the piper—

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

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

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

And I'm for you my Dodling.

And pray, my dear, where were you go⯑ing ſo early? Eh!

Going, Sir,—I—I—was going—

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

To—to—church, Sir.

Jump out of the window to go to church!

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

Where have you been, ſirrah?

Sir,—I—I—was—aw—aw—faſt ſleep.

You ſtupid—Where's Jenny?

Sir,—ſhe's—aw—aw—faſt aſleep.

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

Sirrah, what do you want with my daughter?

I—

Eh—Shelty—Moggy—ho, ho—

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

turn it upon him, and we are ſafe.

Go, my dear Shelty.

Eh!

Don't ſeduce my innocence any more.

I ſeduce!

Your wanting me to jump out of the win⯑dow to you.

I—jump!

To make a girl perhaps break her bones!

Ay—my poor little bones!—cruel lad!

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

I dare ſay, to help Miſs over.

It was.

My kind Shelty placed them.

Why, is the devil in you all?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

Oh, cruel father!

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

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

That's right, Charley—

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

—Yes, he will—Eh—

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

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

Yes, Sir—

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

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

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

'Tis, Sir, ha, ha, ha!

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

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

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

I'll take care of her, Sir.

Keep her from Shelty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah! Sir, there is a girl.—

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

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

Ha, Sandy! welcome home, my boy!

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

But when comes the Parſon?

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome home my Sandy!

My love!

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

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

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

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

I ſay, my amazing charity, did—

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

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

You did, Sir!

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

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

Dear Sir!

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

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

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

Red coats.

A little drummer boy deſired me to give you this.

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

The letter, Sir—

Seems a ſmall running hand.

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

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

Gentleman! that's me.

"is a ſoldier."

Not me.

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

Oh, dear! why Jenny, Sandy!

Well, Sir?—

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

Indeed!—

Stay—

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

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

You know I'am a bad man.

Plague on the hand!

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

This is the firſt I heard of young Laird Do⯑nald's being in the army.

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

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

I muſt gather all the lads, to make a hand⯑ſome wedding proceſſion to the kirk, Jenny.

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

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

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

Ha, ha, ha!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some country gambols going forward.

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

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

Come along, boys!

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

As wicked as ourſelves.

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

Ha, my hearties! my honeſt lad, ſhake hands

Every man ſhake his own hand.

Why, you all ſeem very merry, to-day.

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

Ha, ha, ha! why, you're a pleaſant fel⯑low!

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

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

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

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

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

Ha, ha, ha! you're an odd fiſh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reſpect!—Oh, I beg pardon—

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

I muſt tune my chaunter.

Any particular feſtival to-day?

A wedding and here's the bridegroom.

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

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

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

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

But don't you ſay grace?

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

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

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

ACT II.

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

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

Ay, but we ſhou'd for a wedding.

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

The ſooner the better, ha, ha, ha!

Why, Moggy, how got you out?

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

Nay, but tell us how did you get out?

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

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

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

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

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

A ſine flock of chickens, upon my honor.

You're not a fox, Sir?

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

Ha, ha, ha!

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

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

Tell me ſweet, what's your play?

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

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

Was ever ſo ſweet a roſebud!

Ha, ha, ha! Captain, if your Gene⯑ral ſaw you like a maypole, and the petticoat re⯑giment friſking round you, ha, ha, ha!

Who are you?

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

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

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

Bride! Eh! which? who?

She in the white and tartan ribbans.

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

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

He muſt not have her.

Hey!

I'll have her!

You!

Oh, yes.

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

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

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

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

Ay what think you of the agency of our regiment?

Good picking in an agency.

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

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

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

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

Damn your Mog! I don't want to mar⯑ry any body.

No! why I thought Jenny—

Zounds! Mr.—think of your intereſt.

Oh, Lord! I always do—

Such talents as yours, hid here in an ob⯑ſcure corner of the world! ſuch powers of elo⯑quence! —a ſeat in Parliament.

Why, our Laird is a bright man there.

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

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

Boards! Jobs! Committees! The girl.

Jobs!

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

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

Sir, Sir!

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

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

But where?

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

From his Boat? was't the Swallow?

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

I'll have her and lading!

My dear Sir, that's Jenny.

I'll have the Angel condemn'd.

My Angel condemnd! for what?

For running brandy and tobacco.

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

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

I muſt run and let her out.

Dear Sir, won't you wait for company

Moggy! how the plague did you get out?

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

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

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

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

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

That dwelling,

looks like a public houſe.

It is, Sir.

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

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

Yes, Sir.

Here, pretty maiden.—

Sir.—What a civil gentleman!

Do you know one Sandy Frazer?

Eh! Sandy—

To whom I am to marry one Jenny.

Yes, Sir.

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

Lord! I believe he ſuſpects me!

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

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

I ſee you are not.

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

I did'nt think you had a father.—

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

Then he has a daughter of his own.

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

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

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

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

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

Good bye, Sir,

But, laſſy, ſtop—

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

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

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

Yes, your Jenny is gone into that houſe.

Jenny!—I mean—

Then, my good Sandy—I—

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

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

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

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

Ha, ha, ha,

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

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

She's ſafe, I'll anſwer, Sir.

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

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

Ods fiſh! but where is Jenny?

This inſtant gone into Shelty's.

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

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

Look, there ſhe is—after her, Sir.

Its me, you ſool!

Oh, dear! its Moggy

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

Stay, you, Sir—I'll have her—

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

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

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

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

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

Ha!

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

Loſt my poor Swallow!

Shoud'nt have thought as much,

This tax-man—Oh, zounds! I'll—

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

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

You han't.

I've bang'd him, ſirrah.

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

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

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

Eh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and wig! ha, ha, ha!

She is here.

Oh, Lord! there's father!

She is not.

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

Did he, indeed!

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

I'll have the houſe ſearch'd!

Don't ſpeak, and I'll get you out.

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

Father keep your temper—.

Deliver up Jenny, you ſcoundrel!

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

What old fellow's that?

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

Over the chimney, ſirrah!

Yes, that's poor Simon Frazer

Simon Frazer! I mean that

Oh, againſt the cupboard? Jenny Ca⯑maron.—

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

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

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

Don't ſpeak to him, Sir—

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

Father, you ſee you muſt fight your way.

I ſaw Croudy enter here.—

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

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

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

It's me, you blockhead!

Moggy again!

Come along, Doctor—

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

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

Oh, ſave my deareſt father!

My daughter!

This my daddy?

My dear child!

I've done this well.

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

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

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

Who, but my dear Shelty!

I! Me?

Ay, theſe were all your lies—your Si⯑mon Frazer's and Jenny Cameron's againſt the cup⯑board!

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

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

Give Jenny to—

Good Sir—

To Captain Daſh.

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

Sir, hav'n't I your promiſe?

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

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

Nay, My Sandy,

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

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

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

You ſhall.

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

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

I do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come home, you huſſey.

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

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

And this the completion of my happineſs!

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

Yes, Sir.

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

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

Do you belong to the houſe?

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

Manners!

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

Do you know who you talk to?

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

You're a ped⯑lar.—

How?

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

Sirrah!

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

Honour!

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

I ſhall, my Laird.

This Laird Donald?

Only order my bill.

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

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

But how! what?

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

But your canonicals!

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

Oh, then you have found her.

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

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

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

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

My Laird, forgive me taking you for a pedlar.

The dignity of a M'Donald!

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

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

Yes, my Laird, he's as worthy a man—

Worthy! I heard—

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

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

Gentlemen! Yes, we will all attend your Lordſhip.

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

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

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

ACT III.

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

M'Gilpin's deſign of giving you to Cap⯑tain Daſh diſtracts me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dear Jenny!—

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

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

A letter for me! who can it come from?

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

Eh!

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

Did you?

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

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

Why, have you been playing cards, Sandy?

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

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

Sir, did you win a lottery chance from him?

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

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

The prettieſt girl I ever ſaw—

I ſay, Sir, was that the number?

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

Yes, it is it—my poor Sandy!—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, my dear Moggy! for ever I'm un⯑done!—Sandy is—

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

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

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

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

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

The equal of my Sandy! not in Scot⯑land.—

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

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

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

My poor friend!—I wiſh I cou'd—

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

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

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

Well Benin, have you?—ſhew, my good—

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

My beſt creature—

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

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

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

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

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

Miſs Moggy, Jenny deſire me give you dis.—

Very well.

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

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

I'll firſt catch you this moment.

Go in there.

No, Sir!

Go in—

What's the matter, Sir?

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

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

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

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

Now Sir! what's that for?

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

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

Ay, true, my lad—however—

, ſtay you there, the plague of my fa⯑mily!

I think I have you faſt now, my deary.

My poor girl!

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

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

No, Sir, no.

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

Simple, indeed!

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

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

Suppoſe he is buſy.

Well, I'll tell my Maſſa—

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

I'll break your bones!

Me don't care,—oh—

Hey! what now?

An impudent ſcoundrel!—I'll—

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

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

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

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

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

Zounds, ſir ah, call him.

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

Eh—ain't I worthy of an anſwer?

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

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

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

Zounds, that is enough to knock a man ſpeechleſs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Burn it.

Speak, Sir!

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

Dear Sir! ſpeak if you can.

Why, I am ſpeaking, you puppy!

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

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

What humour is he in?

Shelty has put him in a paſſion?

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

Don't

Now I'll ſee if—

Here, you ſcoundrel, do you hear me?

Tank you, Charley.

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

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

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

Charley—

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

in your father's pocket.

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

Pop in, here he comes.

Now if I can but get him out—

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

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

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

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

Sir, here's Laird Donald.

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

Tank y'ee, Charley.

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

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

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

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

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

Eh—

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

I never ſpoke my mind to any man.

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

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

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

Hem! my Laird—Collect yourſelf,

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

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

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

Hey!

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

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

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

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

Apprehend him!

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

Oh, my Laird!—Oh, you rogue Charley!

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

Oh, that rogue, Charley!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, my lad, and I'll liſt you too.

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

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

Why is Sandy your brother?

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

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

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

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

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

Humanity!—Eh!—go home, my boy,

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

Hey! money!

Money!

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

Eh—in time—

Forty pounds—

And this yonker will grow taller.

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

Ha, ha, ha!—well, my little-tall boy—

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

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

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

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

now you are the King's man.

And Sandy is his own.

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

Ah, Sandy! how cou'd you forſake me?

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

True, my lad,

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

My—I've no brother!

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

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

Why, damme, you little ſon of a gun—

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

Here's my match,

and hey! I'm off like a ſky-rocket.

Sandy, didn't you know her?

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

Oh, Sandy, ſhe's a worthy girl.

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

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

Ha, ha, ha!

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

Oh, ho—I ſee it now—you have been a con⯑federate in this impoſition,

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

How?

This way—come, come.

Damme, I'll—

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

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

by whoſe authority do you liſt men in this iſland?

Our King, and my Colonel.

Who is your Colonel?

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

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

Son!—Jack,

Zounds, if—can this be the old Lai d?

Eh! is't poſſible? Bob!

Why, Sir, do you know this Sandy?

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

What, Sandy our young Laird!

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

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

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

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

Yes, the Captain goes up.

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

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

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

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

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

Going?

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

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

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

If ſhe will honour me.

It is an honour, if you knew all.

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

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

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

Sir,

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

You, madam!—I mean Jenny!

Well, Sir, this is ſhe!

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

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

The Doctor has been taking his whiſkey.

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

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

Pray, Madam, who are your parents?

I know not.

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

Tell me what you know of this young woman.

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

You are, authoritatively.

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

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

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

Well, Sir—

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

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

I now, with pride acknowledge her for my neice.

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

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

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

Ha, ha, ha!—Why, I believe you.

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

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

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

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

Recruiting, call you it—kidnapping—a diſ⯑grace to your profeſſion—for in your zeal for the ſer⯑vice, remember, that honour is the characteriſtic of an Engliſh officer.

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty well, I thank you, maſter Parſon!

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

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

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

—and poor Shel⯑ty, the Scotch piper—Oh, your humbe ſervant to command.

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