GUL. They re gone!-Now, am I scared, or am I not? I think the very desperate ecstasy Of fear has given me courage.' This is strange, now. SCENE III. KAT. And if I do, I take small heed of it. The devil, or a ghost-See! see! see yonder [A Figure is imperfectly seen between two of the pillars. KAT. There's something moves, that's certain, and the moonlight, Chased by the flitting gale, is too imperfect [Exit. To show its form; but, in the name of God, I'll venture on it boldly. A Gothic Hall, waste and ruinous. The moonlight is at times seen through the shafted windows. Enter KATLEEN and BLACKTHORN-They have thrown off the more ludicrous parts of their disguise. KAT. This way-this way; was ever fool so gull'd! BLA. I play'd the barber better than I thought for. Well, I 've an occupation in reserve, When the long-bow and merry musket fail me.- ΚΑΤ. What should I hearken to? BLA. Art thou not afraid, In these wild halls while playing feigned goblins, Not a jot. BLA. But is not this the place, the very hall KAT. If I e'er see that cottage, honest Blackthorn, Believe me, it shall be from other motive Than fear of Erick's spectre. BLA. BLA. Wilt thou so? Were I alone, now, I were strongly tempted To trust my heels for safety; but with thee, Be it fiend or fairy, I'll take risk to meet it. KAT. It stands full in our path, and we must pass it, Or tarry here all night. BLA. In its vile company? [As they advance towards the Figure, it is more plainly distinguished, which might, I think, be contrived by raising successive screens of crape. The Figure is wrapped in a long robe, like the mantle of a Hermit, or Palmer. PAL. Ho! ye who thread by night these wildering scenes, In garb of those who long have slept in death, BLA. This is the devil, Katleen, let us fly! [Runs off. KAT. I will not fly-why should I? My nerves shake To look on this strange vision, but my heart Partakes not the alarm.-If thou dost come in Heaven's name, In Heaven's name art thou welcome! PAL. I come, by Heaven permitted. Quit this castle: There is a fate on 't-if for good or evil, will not Desert the kinswoman who train'd my youth; [A rustling sound is heard. Know, that I will not quit my friend, my Flora; I heard a rustling sound-Know, that I will not leave the aged man Take then this key, and wait the event with courage. [He drops the key.-He disappears gradually -the moonlight failing at the same time. KAT. (after a pause.) Whate'er it was, 'tis gone! The blood that lately fortified my heart [As she steps forward she stumbles over the key. [She sits down exhausted. Re-enter BLACKTHORN, with a drawn sword and torch. BLA. Katleen! What, Katleen!-What a wretch was I To leave her!-Katleen,-I am weapon'd now, KATLEEN (who has somewhat gathered her spirits, in consequence of his entrance, comes behind and touches him; he starts.) Brave sir! I'll spare you that rash leap-You 're a bold woodsman! Surely I hope that from this night henceforward KAT. Thou art a fool to ask me to thy cottage, BLA. I'll take the risk of that-This goblin business SCENE IV. [Exeunt. LEO. The fool's bewitch'd-the goblin hath furnish'd him A cap which well befits his reverend wisdom. I should be sorry for the trick they play'd him. Who conjure Hebrew into Anglo-Saxon, To cheat starved barons with, can little guess at. His madness is not like to save his bones. GUL. Sirs, midnight came, and with it came the goblin. I had reposed me after some brief study; The Scene returns to the Apartment at the beginning of But as the soldier, sleeping in the trench, Act Second. OSWALD and DURWARD are discovered with ELEANOR, FLORA, and Leonard-DURWARD shuts a Prayer-book, which he seems to have been reading. DUR. 'Tis true-the difference betwixt the churches, Which zealots love to dwell on, to the wise Keeps sword and musket by him, so I had FLO. Sausagian sows'd-face; that much of your Hebrew Even I can bear in memory. We counter'd, The goblin and myself, even in mid-chamber, Amid the growling of the storm without, I hear strange notes of music, and the clash VOICES (without.) We come, dark riders of the night, At morn shall show where we have been. Osw. These must be revellers belated- [Flourish of trumpets at a distance, then nearer. What can they lack at this dead hour of night? Is hovering on the drawbridge-far apart Flit through the tempest banners, horse, and riders, ELE. Heaven protect us! The PALMER enters-GULLCRAMMER runs off. Osw. Whence and what art thou? for what end come hither? The wealth I brought from wasted Cumberland, Thy fortunes cast thee on. This do, DUR. Lord Oswald, thou art tempted by a fiend, ELE. Urge him not, father; if the sacrifice Osw. No, Ellen, no-it is not thus they part, PAL. I come from a far land, where the storm Have knit together, close as summer saplings howls not, And the sun sets not, to pronounce to thee, Oswald of Devorgoil, thy house's fate. Are twined in union by the eddying tempest. DUR. I charge thee, in the name we late have Thy impious counsel, other than with these words, And not his hand prevails without the key That his commission bore, and Heaven designs, If I may spell his will, to rescue Devorgoil In that young forester, unto whose hand Destined to ransom yours.-Advance, young Leonard, LEO. (advances and attempts the grate.) It is fast As is the tower, rock-seated. KAT. (giving the key.) Here, prove this; A chance most strange and fearful gave it me. FLO. The lake still rises faster.-Leonard, Leonard, [LEONARD tries the lock-it opens with a violent LEO. The lake is ebbing with as wondrous haste Osw. We will fetch other means, and prove its We'll not disturb your learning for the matter; strength, Haste, save yourselves-the lake is rising fast.1 And still is swelling strangely. GUL. (who has stood astonished upon seeing them.) Peers, like ambitious tyrant, o'er his bounds, And soon will whelm the castle-even the draw bridge Is under water now. KAT. Let us escape! Why stand you gazing there? Yet, since you've borne a part in this strange drama, GUL. Thanks, mighty baron, now no more a bare I will be quaint with him, for all his quips. [Aside. Her portion in our happiness. KAT. Thanks, my good lord, but Katleen's fate is fix'd There is a certain valiant forester, Too much afear'd of ghosts to sleep anights DUR. Peace, all! and hear the blessing which this Speaks unto faith, and constancy, and virtue. No more this castle's troubled guest, 1 If it could be managed to render the rising of the lake visible, it would answer well for a coup-de-théâtre. MS.-"The storms of angry Fate are past Constancy abides their blast. Auchindrane; GR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. Cur aliquid vidi? cur noxia lumina feci PREFACE. THERE is not, perhaps, upon record, a tale of horror which gives us a more perfect picture than is afforded by the present, of the violence of our ancestors, or the complicated crimes into which they were hurried, by what their wise, but ill-enforced, laws termed the heathenish and accursed practice of Deadly Feud. The author has tried to extract some dramatic scenes out of it; but he is conscious no exertions of his can increase the horror of that which is in itself so iniquitous. Yet, if we look at modern events, we must not too hastily venture to conclude that our own times have so much the superiority over former days as we might at first be tempted to infer. One great object has indeed been obtained. The power of the laws extends over the country universally, and if criminals at present sometimes escape punishment, this can only be by eluding justice,-not, as of old, by defying it. But the motives which influence modern ruffians to commit actions at which we pause with wonder and horror, arise, in a great measure, from the thirst of gain. For the hope of lucre, we have seen a wretch seduced to his fate, under the pretext that he was to share in amusement and conviviality; and, for gold, we have seen the meanest of wretches deprived of life, and their miserable remains cheated of the grave. The loftier, if equally cruel, feelings of pride, ambition, and love of vengeance, were the idols of our forefathers, while the caitiffs of our day bend to Mammon, the meanest of the spirits who fell. The criminals, therefore, of former times, drew their hellish inspiration from a loftier source than is known to modern villains. The fever of unsated ambition, the frenzy of ungratified revenge, the perfervidum ingenium Scotorum, stigmatized by our jurists and our legislators, held life but as passing breath; and such enormities as now sound like the acts of a madman, were then the familiar deeds of every offended noble. With these observations we proceed to our story. 1 "Mammon led them on: Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell From Heaven."-MILTON. John Muir, or Mure, of Auchindrane, the contriver and executor of the following cruelties, was a gentleman of an ancient family and good estate in the west of Scotland; bold, ambitious, treacherous to the last degree, and utterly unconscientious,-a Richard the Third in private life, inaccessible alike to pity and to remorse. His view was to raise the power, and extend the grandeur, of his own family. This gentleman had married the daughter of Sir Thomas Kennedy of Barganie, who was, excepting the Earl of Cassilis, the most important person in all Carrick, the district of Ayrshire which he inhabited, and where the name of Kennedy held so great a sway as to give rise to the popular rhyme, "Twixt Wigton and the town of Air, Portpatrick and the Cruives of Cree, No man need think for to bide there, Unless he court Saint Kennedie." Now, Mure of Auchindrane, who had promised himself high advancement by means of his father-inlaw Barganie, saw, with envy and resentment, that his influence remained second and inferior to the House of Cassilis, chief of all the Kennedys. The Earl was indeed a minor, but his authority was maintained, and his affairs well managed, by his uncle, Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne, the brother of the deceased Earl, and tutor and guardian to the present. This worthy gentleman supported his nephew's dignity and the credit of the house so effectually, that Barganie's consequence was much thrown into the shade, and the ambitious Auchindrane, his son-in-law, saw no better remedy than to remove so formidable a rival as Cullayne by violent means. For this purpose, in the year of God 1597, he came with a party of followers to the town of Maybole, (where Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne then resided,) and lay in ambush in an orchard, through which he knew his destined victim was to pass, in returning homewards from a house where he was engaged to sup. Sir Thomas Kennedy came alone, and unat tended, when he was suddenly fired upon by Auchindrane and his accomplices, who, having missed their aim, drew their swords, and rushed upon him to slay him. But the party thus assailed at disadvantage. had the good fortune to hide himself for that time in |