tifying by a certain restlessness in her hands a vehement desire to shake her matronly fist at her son-in law. "Oh! I'm very much obliged to you!" "Grateful soul!" cried the dwarf. "Mrs. Quilp." "Yes, Quilp," said the timid sufferer. "Help your mother to get breakfast, Mrs. Quilp. I am going to the wharf this morning—the earlier, the better-so be quick." Mrs. Jiniwin made a faint demonstration of rebellion by sitting down in a chair near the door, and folding her arms as if in a resolute determination to do nothing. But a few whispered words from her daughter, and a kind inquiry from her son-in-law whether she felt faint, with a hint that there was abundance of cold water in the next apartment, routed these symptoms effectually, and she applied herself to the prescribed preparations with sullen diligence. While they were in progress, Mr. Quilp withdrew to the adjoining room, and turning back his coat-collar, proceeded to smear his countenance with a damp towel of very unwholesome appearance, which made his complexion rather more cloudy than it was before. But while he was thus engaged, his caution and inquisitiveness did not forsake him, for with a face as sharp and cunning as ever he often stopped, even in this short process, and stood listening for any conversation in the next room, of which he might be the theme. "Ah!" he said after a short effort of attention, "it was not the towel over my ears, I thought it was n't. I'm a little hunchy villain and a monster, am I, Mrs. Jiniwin? Oh!" The pleasure of this discovery called up the old doglike smile in full force. When he had quite done with it, he shook himself in a very dog-like manner, and rejoined the ladies. Mr. Quilp now walked up to the front of the looking-glass, and was standing, putting on his neckerchief, when Mrs. Jiniwin, happening to be behind him, could not resist the inclination she felt to shake her fist at her tyrant son-in-law. It was the gesture of an instant, but as she did so and accompanied the action with a menacing look, she met his eye in the glass, catching her in the very act. The same glance at the mirror conveyed to her the reflection of a horribly grotesque and distorted face with the tongue lolling out; and the next instant the dwarf, turning about with a perfectly bland and placid look, inquired in a tone of great affection, 66 How are you now, my dear old darling?" Slight and ridiculous as the incident was, it made him appear such a little fiend, and withal such a keen and knowing one, that the old woman felt too much afraid of him to utter a single word, and suffered herself to be led with extraordinary politeness to the breakfast table. Here he by no means diminished the impression he had just produced, for he ate hard eggs, shell and all, devoured gigantic prawns with the heads and tails on, chewed tobacco and water-cresses at the same time and with extraordinary greediness, drank boiling tea without winking, bit his fork and spoon till they bent again, and in short performed so many horrifying and uncommon acts that the women were nearly frightened out of their wits, and began to doubt if he were really a human creature. At last, having gone through these proceedings and many others which were equally a part of his system, Mr. Quilp left them, reduced to a very obedient and humble state, and betook himself to the river side, where he took boat for the wharf on which he had bestowed his name. It was flood tide when Daniel Quilp sat himself down in the wherry to cross to the opposite shore. A fleet of barges were coming lazily on, some sideways, some head first, some stern first; all in a wrong-headed, dogged, obstinate way, bumping up against the larger craft, running under the bows of steamboats, getting into every kind of nook and corner where they had no business, and being crunched on all sides like so many walnut shells; while each with its pair of long sweeps strug ling and splashing in the water looked like some lumbering fish in pain. In some of the vessels at anchor all hands were busily engaged in coiling ropes, spreading out sails to dry, taking in or discharging their cargoes; in others no life was visible but two or three tarry boys, and perhaps a barking dog running to and fro upon the deck or scrambling up to look over the side and bark the louder for the view. Coming slowly on through the forests of masts was a great steam ship, beating the water in short, impatient strokes with her heavy paddles as though she wanted room to breathe, and advancing in her huge bulk like a sea monster among the minnows of the Thames. ing in the sun, and creaking noise on board, reechoed from a hundred quarters. The water and all upon it was in active motion, dancing and buoyant and bubbling up; while the old grey Tower and piles of building on the shore, with many a church-spire shooting up between, looked coldly on, and seemed to disdain their chafing, restless neighbor. Daniel Quilp, who was not much affected by a bright morning, save in so far as it spared him the trouble of carrying an umbrella, caused himself to be put ashore hard by the wharf, and proceeded thither through a narrow lane which, partaking of the amphibious character of its frequenters, had as much water as mud in its composition, and a very liberal sup ply of each. Arrived at his destination, the first object that presented itself to his view was a pair of very imperfectly shed feet, elevated in the air with the soles upwards, which remarkable appearance was referable to the boy, who being of an eccentric spirit, and having a natural taste for tumbling, was now standing on his head and contemplating the aspect of the river under these uncommon circumstances. He was put on his heels by the sound of his master's voice, and as soon as his head was in his right position, Mr. Quilp, to speak ex pressively in the absence of a better verb, "punched it" for him. "Come, you let me alone," said the boy, parrying Quilp's hand with both his elbows alternately. "You'll get something you won't like if you don't, and so I tell you.' "You dog," snarled Quilp, "I'll beat you with an iron rod, I'll scratch you with a rusty nail, I'll pinch your eyes, if you talk to me—I will." With these threats he clenched his hand again, and dexterously diving in between the elbows and catching the boy's head as it dodged from side to side, gave it three or four good hard knocks. Having now carried his point and insisted on it, he left off. You won't do it again," said the boy, nodding his head and drawing back, with the elbows ready in case of the worst; "Stand still, you dog," said Quilp. "I won't do it again, because I've done it as often as I want. Here. Take the key." Why don't you hit one of your size?" said the boy approaching very slowly. 66 "Where is there one of my size, you dog?" returned Quilp. "Take the key, or I'll brain you with it"-indeed he gave him a smart tap with the handle as he spoke. "Now open the counting-house." The boy sulkily complied, muttering at first, but desisting when he looked round and saw that Quilp was following him with a steady look. And here it may be remarked, that between this boy and the dwarf there existed a strange kind of mutual liking. How born or bred, or how nourished upon blows and threats on one side, and retorts and defiances on the other, is not to the purpose. Quilp would certainly suffer nobody to contradict him but the boy, and the boy would assuredly not have submitted to be so knocked about by anybody but Quilp, when he had the power to run away at any time he chose. "Now," said Quilp, passing into the wooden countinghouse, "you mind the wharf. Stand upon your head again, and I'll cut one of your feet off." The boy made no answer, but directly Quilp had shut himself in, stood on his head before the door, then walked on his hands to the back and stood on his head there, and then to the opposite side and repeated the performance. There were indeed four sides to the counting-house, but he avoided that one where the window was, deeming it probable that Quilp would be looking out of it. This was prudent, for in point of fact the dwarf, knowing his disposition, was lying in wait at a little distance from the sash armed with a large piece of wood, which, being rough and jagged and studded in many parts with broken nails, might possibly have hurt him. It was a dirty little box, this counting-house, with nothing in it but an old ricketty desk and two stools, a hat-peg, an ancient almanack, an inkstand with no ink and the stump of one pen, and an eight-day clock which had n't gone for eighteen years at least and of which the minute-hand had been twisted off for a tooth-pick. Daniel Quilp pulled his hat over his brows, climbed on to the desk (which had a flat top,) and stretching his short length upon it, went to sleep with the ease of an old practitioner; intending, no doubt, to compensate himself for the deprivation of last night's rest, by a long and On either hand were long black tiers of colliers; between them vessels slowly working out of harbor with sails glisten-sound nap. Sound it might have been, but long it was not, for he had not been asleep a quarter of an hour when the boy opened the door and thrust in his head, which was like a bundle of badly-picked oakum. Quilp was a light sleeper and started up directly. "Here's somebody for you," said the boy. "Who?" "I don't know." "Ask!" said Quilp, seizing the trifle of wood before mentioned and throwing it at him with such dexterity that it was well the boy disappeared before it reached the spot on which he had stood. "Ask, you deg." Not caring to venture within range of such missiles again, the boy discreetly sent in his stead the first cause of the interruption, who now presented herself at the door. What, Nelly?" cried Quilp. GLENCOE: OR, THE FATE OF THE MACDONALDS. A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, AUTHOR OF 'ION.' PREFACE. "Yes," said the child, hesitating whether to enter or retreat, for the dwarf just roused, with his disheveled haired as too shocking for dramatic effect, unless presented merely in the hanging all about him and a yellow handkerchief over his head, was something fearful to behold; "it's only me, sir." "Come in," said Quilp, without getting off the desk. "Come in. Stay. Just look into the yard, and see whether there's a boy standing on his head." "No sir," replied Nell. "He 's on his feet." "You're sure he is ?" said Quilp. "Well. Now, come in and shut the door. What's your message, Nelly?" The child handed him a letter; Mr. Quilp, without changing his position further than to turn over a little more on his side and rest his chin on his hand, proceeded to make himself acquainted with its contents. MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. BY JAMES ALDRICH. In beauty lingers on the hills The softness of its rosy ray. Like weeds upon its sluggish wave. Which we regard not, being near; They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain; Our hearts and theirs, we love-in vain! Hath fallen the free repentant tear! How better thoughts have given to me 'Mid sweet remembrances of thee! The harvest of my youth is done, And manhood, come with all its cares, Finds, garnered up within my heart, For every flower a thousand tares. Dear MOTHER! couldst thou know my thoughts Thou wouldst not blush to call me thine! It is singular that the terrible incident which deepens the impression made on all tourists by the most awful pass of the Highlands, should not have been long ago made the subject of poetry or romance. Although the massacre which casts so deep a stain on the government of King William the Third, may well have been regardremote back-ground of scenic action, it is surely matter of surprise that it should not have been selected as a subject for Scottish romance by the great novelist who has held up its authors to just execration in his "History of Scotland." A deed so atrocious, perpetrated towards the close of the seventeenth century, under the sanction of a warrant, both superscribed and subscribed by the king, is an instance of that pr. jection of the savage state into a period of growing civilization which ennables the novelist to blend the familiar with the fearful"new manners" with "the pomp ofelder days"-the fading superstition of dim antiquity with the realities which history verifies. To him, the treachery by which it was preceded-the mixture of ferocity and craft by which it was planned and executed-the fearful contrast be tween the gay reciprocation of social kindness, and the deadly purpose of the guests marking out their hosts for slaughter-present opportunities for the most picturesque contrasts, the most vivid details, the most thrilling suggestions, which are not within the province of the dramatist. The catastrophe has also a far-reaching interest, as showing the extermination of one of the most sturdy and austere, although one of the smallest, of the Highland claus; for, being the most fearful of the series of measures by which the little sovereignties of the Highland Chiefs were abolished, it may well represent their general extinction, and the transfer of the virtues and the violence they sheltered from action to memory. It occurred in a scene, too, which, for gloomy grandeur, is not only unequalled, but unapproachedperhaps unresembled-by any other pass in Britain; and its solemn features, especially when contemplated beneath heavy clouds and amidst rolling mists, harmonize with the story of the horrors which were wrought among them. Considering, therefore, the delight which Sir Walter Scott felt in animating the noblest scenery of his country with its most romantic traditions, it is difficult to account for his abstinence from a theme which, if adopted by him, would have been for ever sacred from the touch of others.* ADVICE.-Always mind your dots in writing. A Maine congressman, on arriving at Washington, wrote to his wife that he had "formed a connexion with a very agreeable Mess and expected to spend the winter very pleasantly." Unfortunately, and greatly to the surprise and mortification of his good lady, he inadvertently dotted the word Mess. This circumstance came well nigh severing two fond hearts. Only think of it. In endeavoring to present, in a dramatic form, the feelings which the scene and its history have engendered, it has been found necessa sary to place in the foreground domestic incidents and fictitious characters; only to exhibit the chief agents of the treachery, so far as essential to the progress of the action; and to allow the catastrophe itself rather to be felt as affecting the fortunes of an individual family than exhibited in its extended horrors. The subject presents strong temptation to mere melo-dramatic effect: it has been the wish of the author to resist these as much as possible; but he can scarcely hope with entire success. In the outline of those incidents, which are historical, the author * Two passages only, as far as the author is aware, in the poetry and fiction of Sir Walter Scott contain allusion to the massacre at Glencoe; but they show how intensely he felt the atrocities committed under the apparent sanction at least of the government of king William. The following stanzas are quoted by himself from his own poems, in a note to his history: "The hand that mingled in the meal, And gave the host's kind breast to feel Meed for his hospitality! The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand, "Then woman's shriek was heard in vain ; More than the warrior's groan, could gain Respite from ruthless butchery! Far more than Southern clemency." The following passage occurs in the tale of the "Highland Widow," in Elspat's remonstrance to her son on his enlistment:-"Go, put your head under the belt of one of the race of Dermid, whose children murdered-yes," she added, with a wild shriek, " murdered your mother's fathers in their peaceful dwellings in Glencoe!Yes," she again exclaimed with a wilder and shriller scream, "I wa of my mother;-well I remember her words! They came in peace then unborn, but my mother has told me; and I attended to the voice and were received in friendship; and blood and fire arose, and screams and murder!" "Mother," answered Hamish, mournfully, but with a decided tone, Glencoe on the noble hand of Barcaldine;-with the unhappy house "all that I have thought over-there is not a drop of the blood of of Glenlyon the curse remains, and on them God hath avenged it." has not ventured on any material deviation from the story, as related in the fifty-eighth chapter of Sir Walter Scott's "History of Scotland," where it will be found developed with all the vividness of that master-spirit of narrative. The rash irresolution of Mac Ian, in deferring his submission till the last moment; his journey to Fort William in the snow-storm; his disappointment in finding he had sought the wrong officer; his turning thence, and passing near his own house, to Inverary, where he arrived after the appointed day; the acceptance of his oath by the sheriff of Argyle, and his return to enforce the allegiance of his clan to King William; the arrival of Glenlyon and his soldiers in the glen; their entertainment for fifteen days by the Macdonalds; the cold hypocricy by which they veiled their purpose when urged to its execution by Major Duncanson; and the partial execution of the murderous orders; are all real features of "an ower true tale." The only deviations of which the author is conscious are, the representing Alaster Macdonald, the younger son of Mac Ian, as a lad, instead of the husband of Glenlyon's niece; and that niece as fostered by the widow and son of a chief of the clau, once the rival of Mac Ian; and in substituting, for the foul traits of treachery which Sir Walter Scott imputes to Glenlyon, the incident of his procuring a young officer in his own regiment, but of the clan of the Macdonalds, te place the soldiers in the tracks leading from the valley they were commanded to surround. The character of Halbert Macdonald, and the incidents of his story and conduct, are entirely fictitious. As the chief interest which the author can hope that any will find in perusing this drama, will consist in its bringing to their minds the Features of the stupendous glen to which it refers, he may be permitted to state, that the spot where the tower and chapel of Halbert are supposed to be placed, is beneath the Mountain summit called the Pap of Glencoe; towards which a huge gully leads, or seems to lead, from the bed of the river, and where, enclosed amidst the black rocks, in the darkness of which that gully is lost, far above the glen may be the site of such a rude dwelling. The house of Mac Ian is supposed to be-where, no doubt, it was-in the lower and wider part of the glen, where, by the side of the Cona, the wild myrtle grows in great profusion, about two miles to the south-east of Loch Leven. In other respects, as far as vivid impressions, not verified for some time, enabled the author, he has endeavored to recall to the recollection of those who have visited Glencoe the subsisting features of its scenery; although he cannot place implicit confidence in those impressions, when he finds a writer like Pennant asserting of the glen, that "its mountains rise on each side perpendicularly to a great hight from a flat narrow bottom; so that, in many places, they seem to hang over,and make approaches as they aspire toward each other." To his memory, Glencoe seems not a narrow defile, as this description would import, but a huge valley between mountains of rock, receding from each other till a field of air several miles breadth lies between their summits: of which, the last time he saw it, three young eagles, rising from the coarse heather at the head of the pass, near King's-house, took and kept delighted possession. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. MAC IAN, Chief of the Clan of the Macdonalds of Glencoe. ALASTER MACDONALD, Youngest Son of Mac Ian-a youth. HALBERT MACDONALD, Nephew of Mac Ian-Son of a deceased Chief. ANGUS and DONALD, Old Men of the Clan of the Macdonalds of CAPT. ROBERT CAMPBELL of Glenlyon, commonly called GLENLYON, LINDSAY, an Officer under Glenlyon's command. DRUMMOND, a Sergeant in the Regiment. KENNETH, an Old Servant of Mac Ian. A CATHOLIC PRIEST. LADY MACDONALD, Mother of Halbert and Henry. HELEN CAMPBELL, an Orphan, protected by Lady Macdonald, Niece to Glenlyon. Clansmen, Officers, Soldiers, &c. SCENE-Glencoe, and the neighboring banks of Loch Leven. The first Two Acts occupy one night and the following morning.— There is an interval of a fortnight between the action of the Second and Third Acts;-the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Acts comprise the action of the three succeeding days. ACT I. SCENEI.... The Hall in the House of MAC IAN in Glencoe. JOHN. Let me entreat you, Alaster, to sleep; Three nights of feverish waking, at your age, Ruled by the time, count one. Rest those slight limbs Which may announce your father; but 't were needless ALAS. How can I sleep? How can you wish that I should sleep, when night As if in scorn of Highlanders, content JOHN. Alaster, I must not hear you blend those words with aught Yield up his clansmen. While the sky was clear, His doom at home; but when the snow-storm hurled Of gibe or withering silence, which he bears ALAS. Manhood! His equal; the expiring warrior raised ALAS. JOHN. So he yielded? No; And throat outspread with rage. He slowly raised Turned on him from her knees-of the wild fear ALAS. What was she who wrought Have you not heard of Moina? Although she has not since that day been seen Within our vale, her awful figure glared On the remotest infancy of men Who now are reckoned old. Her age alone Would make the obscurest thread of human life Drawn out, though many births and deaths of Hope, Her strange words JOHN. No; he could not brook The dullness of his home, though not uncheered By female grace; for there the lovely child Of brave Hugh Campbell, whom Macdonald loved, Spite of the hatred that he bore his clan, HAL. Enter KENNETH. Swift to the bridge; it may be yours to save [Exit KENNETH.] His journey will not lie that way, Yet horrors thicken round us. 'Mid the roar, Methinks I hear a step-it comes-alas! 'Tis not Mac Ian's. Enter HALBERT MACDONALD. The power to bid you welcome as I ought: I came to ask of him; To our lone dwelling but to-night, that still ALAS. HAL Are you assured 't was he? Did he address you? Alaster, you know How rarely he will grace me with a word; But this is not a season for a thought, Save of his peril. I had made my way, Breasting the hurricane, in hope to lead Our herd to shelter ere the night should add Dark terrors to the storm: in blackening mist I saw a mantle flicker; then the hairs Of a white head, which stream'd along the wave Some aged wanderer's steps, and cried aloud. my fleeter limbs O'ertook him; then he faced me;-'t was your father! A look, in which strong anguish baffled scorn, He fixed upon me; waved his arm aloft, In action that forbade pursuit, and took ALAS. HAL. If indeed 't was he If he lives, And waiting, without struggle, the last chill Is all then past? was the task, the way When through deep snow MAC IAN. It is; and sad as I was compelled to struggle through the storm To Inverary, where the Sheriff deigned, HAL. [speaking to ANGUS behind]. 'T was there I met him. MAC IAN. Here?—I must face them ;-tell them to approach. [MAC IAN takes his seat;-JOHN beckons the Old Clansmen, who surround it.] I have cold welcome for you, friends; you come To make the final sacrifice. I felt Resistance, with our deaths, would glut the hate JOHN. KEN. Too late! too late! Is all his anguish vain? HAL. What mean those awful words? No, he is safe! Why start ye?-though the bridge is swept away, Our chief's unharmed. And thus you welcome him, With words which freeze the soul! You meant no ill; KEN. [kneeling to MAC IAN]. Forgive me. MAC IAN. I'm armed for any ill, unless it fall On these, my life's last comforts. HAL. No; he came To gaze upon my sorrow? Let him face me! HAL. [coming forward.] I came not to offend you. Јони. In terror for your safety. MAC IAN. HAL. Said he so? Nay, Halbert, look yourself; scant powers are left To rend it from us; 't were a nobler course Sir, you do me wrong; Embosoms; and to me the mouldering walls Forgive me, sir: Of consecration which they took from prayers MAC IAN. HAL. You hear-he taunts me now; And all the passion and the pride of youth I strive to conquer them, Rise; [Looking on JOHN and ALASTER.] When peril comes-as come it will-regard [Exit HALBERT.] MAC IAN [to the Clansmen]. Good night, my friends. Come near me, children; I can scarcely bear JOHN. Forgive! We honor and revere you. Bless us! MAC IAN. There; we are knotted now to live or die. [The Drop Scene falls.] END OF ACT 1. ACT II. SCENE I..... The Hall of HALBERT's Tower. TimeDaybreak. Enter LADY MACDONALD with a Letter, followed by DRUM- The precious characters. [Reads.] "I come, dear mother, My quarters in your vale." The morn's faint light To read; they are dazzled now. [To the SOLDIER.] We have poor entertainment to bestow, But our best cheer is yours. |