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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

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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
beer

And Schiedam gin! and welcome twopenny,
Oatcakes, and usquebaugh!

WILLIAMS (who wants an arm.) Farewell, the
gallant field, and "Forward, pikemen!"
For the bridge-end, the suburb, and the lane;
And, "Bless your honor, noble gentleman,
Remember a poor soldier !”

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.

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ABR. My tongue shall never need to smooth
itself

To such poor sounds, while it can boldly say,
"Stand and deliver!"

WIL. Hush, the sergeant hears you!

ABR. And let him hear; he makes a bustle yon-
der,

And dreams of his authority, forgetting
We are disbanded men, o'er whom his halberd
Has not such influence as the beadle's baton.
We are no soldiers now, but every one
The lord of his own person.

WIL. A wretched lordship-and our freedom
such

As that of the old cart-horse, when the owner
Turns him upon the common, I for one
Will still continue to respect the sergeant,
And the comptroller, too,-while the cash lasts.
ABR. I scorn them both. I am too stout a Scots-

man

To bear a Southron's rule an instant longer
Than discipline obliges; and for Quentin,
Quentin the quillman, Quentin the comptroller,
We have no regiment now; or, if we had,

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
Give us once more our welcome to old Scotland.
ABR, Ay, they sing light whose task is telling

money,

When dollars clink for chorus,

QUE. I've done with counting silver,' honest
Abraham,

As thou, I fear, with pouching thy small share on't.
But lend your voices, lads, and I will sing
As blithely yet as if a town were won;
As if upon a field of battle gain'd,
Our banners waved victorious.

[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,
And some that are lamed,
And some of old aches are complaining;
But we'll take up the tools,

Which we flung by like fools,
'Gainst Don Spaniard to go a-campaigning.

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,
Were the best friends he left in camp behind him.
QUE. The sword you scoff at is not far, but scorne
The threats of an unmanner'd mutineer.

SER. (interposes.) We'll have no brawling-
Shall it e'er be said,

That being comrades six long years together,
While gulping down the frowsy fogs of Holland,
We tilted at each other's throats so soon

As the first draught of native air refresh'd them?
No! by Saint Dunstan, I forbid the combat.
You all, methinks, do know this trusty halberd;
For I opine, that every back amongst you
Hath felt the weight of the tough ashen staff,
Endlong or overthwart. Who is it wishes
A remembrancer now?

ABR.

[Raises his halberd
Comrades, have you ears
To hear the old man bully? Eyes to see
His staff rear'd o'er your heads, as o'er the hounds
The huntsman cracks his whip?

WIL. Well said-stout Abraham has the right
on't.-

I tell thee, sergeant, we do reverence thee,
And pardon the rash humors thou hast caught,
Like wiser men, from thy authority.

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
Quentin?

To swagger o'er a herd of parish brats,
Cut cheese or dibble onions with thy poniard,
And trm the sheath into a ferula?

QUE. I am the prodigal in holy writ;
I cannot work,-to beg I am ashamed.
Dedes, good mates, I care not who may know it,
I'm c'en as fairly tired of this same fighting,
As the poor cur that's worried in the shambles
By all the mastiff dogs of all the butchers;
Wherefore, farewell sword, poniard, petronel,
And welcome poverty and peaceful labor.

ABR. Clerk Quentin, if of fighting thou art tired,
By my good word, thou'rt quickly satisfied,
For thou'st seen but little on't..

WIL. Thou dost belie him-I have seen him
fight

Bravely enough for one in his condition.

A word of sergeantry, or halberd-staff,
Nor the most petty threat of discipline.
If thou wilt lay aside thy pride of office,
And drop thy wont of swaggering and commanding,
Thou art our comrade still for good or evil.
Else take thy course apart, or with the clerk
there-

A sergeant thou, and he being all thy regiment.
SER. Is't come to this, false knaves? And think
you not,

That if you bear a name o'er other soldiers,
It was because you follow'd to the charge
One that had zeal and skill enough to lead you
Where fame was won by danger?

WIL. We grant thy skill in leading, noble ser

geant;

Witness some empty boots and sleeves amongst us
Which else had still been tenanted with limbs
In the full quantity; and for the arguments
With which you used to back our resolution,

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,
With men of straw to stuff the regiment roll;
With cipherings unjust to cheat his comrades,
And cloak false musters for our noble captain?

1 MS." I've done with counting dollars," &c.

Will you conform, or must we part our company!
SER. Conform to you? Base dogs! I would not
lead you

A bolt-flight farther to be made a general.
Mean mutineers! when you swill'd off the dregs
Of my poor sea-stores, it was, "Noble Sergeant-
Heaven bless old Hildebrand-we'll follow him,

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SER. And I will hear thee willingly, the rather
That I would let these vagabonds march on,
Nor join their troop again. Besides, good sooth,
I'm wearied with the toil of yesterday,

And revel of last night. And I may aid thee
Yes, I may aid thee, comrade, and perchance
Thou may'st advantage me.

QUE. May it prove well for both!--But note, my friend,

I can but intimate my mystic story.
Some of it lies so secret,-even the winds
That whistle round us must not know the whole-
An oath!-an oath !-
SER.

That must be kept, of course

I ask but that which thou may'st freely tell
QUE. I was an orphan boy, and first saw light
Not far from where we stand-my lineage low,
But honest in its poverty. A lord,
The master of the soil for many a mile,
Dreaded and powerful, took a kindly charge

Yon goodly fellowship and fair example?
Come, take your wild-goose flight. I know you For my advance in letters, and the qualities
Scots,

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
In loneliness, or with a single partner;
And right it is that I should seek for solitude,
Bringing but evil luck on them I herd with.

I had such kind of welcome as the great
Give to the humble, whom they love to point to
As objects not unworthy their protection,
Whose progress is some honor to their patron—
A cure was spoken of, which I might serve,

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,

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stream I look on,
Each bosky wood, and every frowning tower,
Awakens some young dream of infancy.
Yet such is my hard hap, I might more safely
Have look'd on Indian cliffs, or Afric's desert,
Than on my native shores. I'm like a babe,
Doom'd to draw poison from my nurse's bosom.
SER. Thou dream'st, young man. Unreal terrors
haunt,

As I have noted, giddy brains like thine—
Flighty, poetic, and imaginative-

To whom a minstrel whim gives idle rapture,
And, when it fades, fantastic misery.

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
Grows mystic now.
Among the deadly feuds
Which curse our country, something once it

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.

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To hide my ill-omen'd face with owls and ravens,'
And let my patron's safety be the purchase
Of my severe and desolate captivity.

So thought I, when dark Arran, with its walls
Of native rock, enclosed me. There I lurk'd,
A peaceful stranger amid armed clans,
Without a friend to love or to defend me,
Where all beside were link'd by close alliances.
At length I made my option to take service
In that same legion of auxiliaries

In which we lately served the Belgian.

Our leader, stout Montgomery, hath been kind
Through full six years of warfare, and assign'd me
More peaceful tasks than the rough front of war,
For which my education little suited me.

SER. Ay, therein was Montgomery kind indeed;
Nay, kinder than you think, my simple Quentin.
The letters which you brought to the Montgomery,
Pointed to thrust thee on some desperate service,
Which should most likely end thee.

QUE. Bore I such letters ?-Surely, comrade, no.
Full deeply was the writer bound to aid me.
Perchance he only meant to prove my mettle;
And it was but a trick of my bad fortune
That gave his letters ill interpretation.

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Then let him do his will, and destine for me
A dungeon or a grave.

SER. Now, by the rood, thou art a simple fool!
I can do better for thee. Mark me, Quentin.
I took my license from the noble regiment,
Partly that I was worn with age and warfare,
Partly that an estate of yeomanry,
Of no great purchase, but enough to live on,
Has call'd me owner since a kinsman's death.
It lies in merry Yorkshire, where the wealth
Of fold and furrow, proper to Old England,
Stretches by streams which walk no sluggish pace,
But dance as light as yours. Now, good friend
Quentin,

This copyhold can keep two quiet inmates,
And I am childless. Wilt thou be my son?

QUE. Nay, you can only jest, my worthy friend!
What claim have I to be a burden to you?

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,
They guerdon'd with ingratitude and envy—
Such my strange doom, that if I serve a man
At deepest risk, he is my foe for ever!

Where a stout mastiff slumber'd on the hearth,
And this good halberd hung above the chimney?
But come-I have it-thou shalt earn thy bread
Duly, and honorably, and usefully.

Our village schoolmaster hath left the parish,
Forsook the ancient schoolhouse with its yew-trees,
That lurk'd beside a church two centuries older,—
So long devotion took the lead of knowledge;
And since his little flock are shepherdless,
"Tis thou shalt be promoted in his room;
And rather than thou wantest scholars, man,

SER. Hast thou worse fate than others if it were Myself will enter pupil. Better late,
so?

Worse even than me, thy friend, thine officer,
Whom yon ungrateful slaves have pitch'd ashore,
As wild waves heap the sea-weed on the beach,
And left him here, as if he had the pest
Or leprosy, and death were in his company ?
QUE. They think at least you have the worst of
plagues,

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.
And look you, on the holydays I'd tell
To all the wondering boors and gaping children,
Strange tales of what the regiment did in Flanders,
And thou shouldst say Amen, and be my warrant,
That I speak truth to them.

QUE. Would I might take thy offer! But, alas!
Thou art the hermit who compell'd a pilgrim,
In name of Heaven and heavenly charity,
To share his roof and meal, but found too late
That he had drawn a curse on him and his,
By sheltering a wretch foredoom'd of heaven!
SER. Thou talk'st in riddles to me.
QUE.
"Tis that I am a riddle to myself.

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
Which lately has discharged us. Stout Montgomery
Our colonel, hath been kind through five years' war-
fare."

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