hand, boldly replied, that he hoped God would not so far forsake him as to permit him to confess a crime of which he was innocent, and exhorted Bannatyne in his turn to confess the practices by which he had been induced to devise such falsehoods against him. The two Mures, father and son, were therefore put upon their solemn trial, along with Bannatyne, in 1611, and, after a great deal of evidence had been brought in support of Bannatyne's confession, all three were found guilty.' The elder Auchindrane was convicted of counselling and directing the murder of Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne, and also of the actual murder of the lad Dalrymple. Bannatyne and the younger Mure were found guilty of the latter crime, and all three were sentenced to be beheaded. Bannatyne, however, the accomplice, received the King's pardon, in consequence of his voluntary surrender and confession. The two Mures were both executed. The younger was affected by the remonstrances of the clergy who attended him, and he confessed the guilt of which he was accused. The father, also, was at length brought to avow the fact, but in other respects died as impenitent as he had lived;—and so ended this dark and extraordinary tragedy. The Lord Advocate of the day, Sir Thomas Hamilton, afterwards successively Earl of Melrose and of Haddington, seems to have busied himself much in drawing up a statement of this foul transaction, for the purpose of vindicating to the people of Scotland the severe course of justice observed by King James VI. He assumes the task in a high tone of prerogative law, and, on the whole, seems at a loss whether to attribute to Providence, or to his most sacred Majesty, the greatest share in bringing to light these mysterious villanies, but rather inclines to the latter opinion. There is, I 1"Efter pronunceing and declairing of the quhilk determination and dely uerance of the saidis persones of Assyse, The Justice, in respect thairof, be the mouth of Alexander Kennydie, dempster of Court, decernit and adiudget the saidis Johnne Mure of Auchindrane elder, James Mure of Auchindrane younger, his eldest sone and appeirand air, and James Bannatyne, called of Chapel-Donane, and ilk ane of thame, to be tane to the mercat croce of the burcht of Edinburgh, and thair, upon ane scaffold, their heidis to be strukin frome thair bodeyis: And all thair landis, heritages, takis, steidingis, rowmes, possessiones, teyndis, coirnes, cattell, insicht plenissing, guidis, geir, tytillis, proffeitis, commoditeis, and richtis quhatsumeuir, directlie or indirectlie pertening to thame, or ony of thame, at the committing of the saidis tressonabill Murthouris, or sensyne; or to the quilkis thay, or ony of thame, had richt, claim, or actioun, to be forfalt, escheit, and inbrocht to our souerane lordis vse; as culpable and convict of the saidis tressonabill crymes.' "Quhilk was pronuncet for Dome." PITCAIRN's Criminal Trials, vol. iii. p. 156. 2 See an article in the Quarterly Review, February, 1831, on Mr. Pitcairn's valuable collection, where Sir Walter Scott particularly dwells on the original documents connected with believe, no printed copy of the intended tract, which seems never to have been published; but the curious will be enabled to judge of it, as it appears in the next fasciculus of Mr. Robert Pitcairn's very interesting publications from the Scottish Criminal Record. The family of Auchindrane did not become extinct on the death of the two homicides. The last descendant existed in the eighteenth century, a poor and distressed man. The following anecdote shows that he had a strong feeling of his situation. There was in front of the old castle a huge ashtree, called the Dule-tree (mourning-tree) of Auchindrane, probably because it was the place where the Baron executed the criminals who fell under his jurisdiction. It is described as having been the finest tree of the neighborhood. This last representative of the family of Auchindrane had the misfortune to be arrested for payment of a small debt; and, unable to discharge it, was prepared to accompany the messenger (bailiff) to the jail of Ayr. The servant of the law had compassion for his prisoner, and offered to accept of this remarkable tree as of value adequate to the discharge of the debt. "What!" said the debtor, "sell the Dule-tree of Auchindrane! I will sooner die in the worst dungeon of your prison." In this luckless character the line of Auchindrane ended. The family, blackened with the crimes of its predecessors, became extinct, and the estate passed into other hands. DRAMATIS PERSONE. JOHN MURE OF AUCHINDRANE, an Ayrshire Baron. He has been a follower of the Regent, Earl of the story of Auchindrane; and where Mr. Pitcairn's important services to the history of his profession, and of Scotland, are justly characterized. (1833.) "Sir Walter's reviewal of the early parts of Mr. Pitcairn's Ancient Criminal Trials had, of course, much gratified the editor, who sent him, on his arrival in Edinburgh, the proofsheets of the Number then in hand, and directed his attention particularly to its details on the extraordinary case of Mure of Auchindrane, A. D. 1611. Scott was so much interested with these documents, that he resolved to found a dramatic sketch on their terrible story; and the result was a composition far superior to any of his previous attempts of that nature. Indeed, there are several passages in his Ayrshire Tragedy'especially that where the murdered corpse floats upright in the wake of the assassin's bark-(an incident suggested by a lamentable chapter in Lord Nelson's history)—which may bear comparison with any thing but Shakspeare. Yet I doubt whether the prose narrative of the preface be not, on the whole, more dramatic than the versified scenes. It contains, by the way, some very striking allusions to the recent atrocities of Gill's Hill and the West Port."-LOCKHART vo.. ix. p. 334. Morton, during the Civil Wars, and hides an oppressive, ferocious, and unscrupulous disposi tion, under some pretences to strictness of life and doctrine, which, however, never influence his conduct. He is in danger from the law, owing to his having been formerly active in the assassination of the Earl of Cassilis. PHILIP MURE, his Son, a wild, debauched Profligate, professing and practising a contempt for his Father's hypocrisy, while he is as fierce and licentious as Auchindrane himself. GIFFORD, their Relation, a Courtier. QUENTIN BLANE, a Youth, educated for a Clergy | comes in upon a bold rocky Shore. The remains of a small half-ruined Tower are seen on the right hand, overhanging the Sea. There is a ressed at a distance in the offing. A Boat at the bottom of the Stage lands eight or ten Persons, dressed like disbanded, and in one or two cases like disabled Soldiers. They come straggling forward with their knapsacks and bundies. HILDEBRAND, the Sergeant, belonging to the Party, a stout elderly man, stands by the boat, as if superintending the disembarcation. QUENTIN remains apart. ABRAHAM. Farewell, the flats of Holland, and right welcome cliffs of Scotland! Fare thee well, black And Schiedam gin! and welcome twopenny, WILLIAMS (who wants an arm.) Farewell, the man, but sent by AUCHINDRANE to serve in a Band of Auxiliaries in the Wars of the Nether-The lands, and lately employed as Clerk or Comptroller to the Regiment-Disbanded, however, and on his return to his native Country. He is of a mild, gentle, and rather feeble character, liable to be influenced by any person of stronger mind who will take the trouble to direct him. He is somewhat of a nervous temperament, varying from sadness to gayety, according to the impulse of the moment; an amiable hypochondriac. HILDEBRAND, a stout old Englishman, who, by feats of courage, has raised himself to the rank of Sergeant-Major (then of greater consequence than at present). He, too, has been disbanded, but cannot bring himself to believe that he has lost his command over his Regiment. ABR. My tongue shall never need to smooth To such poor sounds, while it can boldly say, WIL. Hush, the sergeant hears you! ABR. And let him hear; he makes a bustle yon- And dreams of his authority, forgetting WIL. A wretched lordship-and our freedom As that of the old cart-horse, when the owner man To bear a Southron's rule an instant longer Quentin's no longer clerk to it. WIL. For shame! for shame! What, shall old comrades jar thus, And on the verge of parting, and for ever! Nay, keep thy temper, Abraham, though a bad one. Good Master Quentin, let thy song last night money, When dollars clink for chorus, QUE. I've done with counting silver,' honest As thou, I fear, with pouching thy small share on't. [He sings, and the rest bear chorus. SONG. Hither we come, Once slaves to the drum, But no longer we list to its rattle. Adieu to the wars, With their slashes and scars, The march, and the storm, and the battle. There are some of us maim'd, Which we flung by like fools, Dick Hathorn doth vow To return to the plough, Jack Steele to his anvil and hammer; The weaver shall find room At the wight-wapping loom, He bid farewell to sword and petronel! He should have said, farewell my pen and stan. dish. These, with the rosin used to hide erasures, SER. (interposes.) We'll have no brawling- That being comrades six long years together, As the first draught of native air refresh'd them? ABR. [Raises his halberd WIL. Well said-stout Abraham has the right I tell thee, sergeant, we do reverence thee, And your clerk shall teach writing and grammar. 'Tis ended, howsoe'er, and we'll not suffer ABR. And this is all that thou canst do, gay To swagger o'er a herd of parish brats, QUE. I am the prodigal in holy writ; ABR. Clerk Quentin, if of fighting thou art tired, WIL. Thou dost belie him-I have seen him Bravely enough for one in his condition. A word of sergeantry, or halberd-staff, A sergeant thou, and he being all thy regiment. That if you bear a name o'er other soldiers, WIL. We grant thy skill in leading, noble ser geant; Witness some empty boots and sleeves amongst us ABR. What, he that counter-casting, smock- Our shoulders do record them. At a word, faced boy? What was he but the colonel's scribbling drudge, 1 MS." I've done with counting dollars," &c. Will you conform, or must we part our company! A bolt-flight farther to be made a general. SER. And I will hear thee willingly, the rather And revel of last night. And I may aid thee QUE. May it prove well for both!--But note, my friend, I can but intimate my mystic story. That must be kept, of course I ask but that which thou may'st freely tell Yon goodly fellowship and fair example? Of the poor orphan lad drew some applause. Like your own sea-fowl, seek your course to- The knight was proud of me, and, in his halls, gether. QUE. Faith, a poor heron I, who wing my flight I had such kind of welcome as the great SER. Thou'rt thankless. Had we landed on the My manners, doctrine, and acquirements fitting. coast, Where our course bore us, thou wert far from home; SER. Hitherto thy luck Was of the best, good friend. Few lords had cared If thou couldst read thy grammar or thy psalter. But the fierce wind that drove us round the isl- Thou hadst been valued couldst thou scour a harand, stream I look on, As I have noted, giddy brains like thine— To whom a minstrel whim gives idle rapture, QUE. But mine is not fantastic. I can tell thee, Since I have known thee still my faithful friend, In part at least the dangerous plight I stand in. 1 MS.-"Quentin. My short tale chanced ness, And dress a steed distinctly. QUE. My old master Held different doctrine, at least it seem'd soBut he was mix'd in many a deadly feudAnd here my tale grows mystic. I became, Unwitting and unwilling, the depositary Of a dread secret, and the knowledge on't Has wreck'd my peace for ever. It became My patron's will, that I, as one who knew More than I should, must leave the realm of Scot land, And live or die within a distant land1 SER. Ah! thou hast done a fault in some wild raid, As you wild Scotsmen call them. To hide my ill-omen'd face with owls and ravens,' So thought I, when dark Arran, with its walls In which we lately served the Belgian. Our leader, stout Montgomery, hath been kind SER. Ay, therein was Montgomery kind indeed; QUE. Bore I such letters ?-Surely, comrade, no. Then let him do his will, and destine for me SER. Now, by the rood, thou art a simple fool! This copyhold can keep two quiet inmates, QUE. Nay, you can only jest, my worthy friend! SER. The claim of him that wants, and is in danger, On him that has, and can afford protection: SER. Ay, but thy better angled wrought for good, Thou would'st not fear a foeman in my cottage, Whatever ill thy evil fate designed thee. Montgomery pitied thee, and changed thy service In the rough field for labor in the tent, More fit for thy green years and peaceful habits. QUE. Even there his well-meant kindness injured me. My comrades hated, undervalued me, And whatsoe'er of service I could do them, Where a stout mastiff slumber'd on the hearth, Our village schoolmaster hath left the parish, SER. Hast thou worse fate than others if it were Myself will enter pupil. Better late, Worse even than me, thy friend, thine officer, The worst of leprosies, they think you poor." SER. They think like lying villains then, I'm rich, And they too might have felt it. I've a thoughtBut stay-what plans your wisdom for yourself? QUE. My thoughts are wellnigh desperate. But I purpose Return to my stern patron-there to tell him Our proverb says, than never to do well. QUE. Would I might take thy offer! But, alas! If I do, 1 The MS. here adds: clefts "And then wild Arran, with its darksome Of naked rock received me; till at last walls I yielded to take service in the legion |