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POETIC SCENES, NO. II.

Street in Rome.

Enter TWO OFFICERS.

1st. Officer. - Appius was bold.
2nd. Off:- It was a rough debate.

1. Off-How he did shake the gouty decemvir,
And make their wayward tongues drop i’ their mouths,
Like wither'd leaves from blighted forresters.

2. Of.--Yet when he heard Dentatus named, he too
In turn, fell mute, as if some troubled ghost
Had risen in controversy.

1. Off. --Between ourselves, Appius likes him 'not.

2. Oft.-And for no better cause than hath a maid
To hate a maid, whose rival charms' annoy her.

1. Off:—Talking of maids, this is a strange account,
Appius's rencontre with the young Virginia,
Who ever since hath haunted his poor brain
Like a foul fiend of conscience.

2. Off.---'Tis marvellous.

1. Off.—The wench hath made a Tempe of our shambles;
For there goes Appius, like another Arion,
Tuning his sighs to the sad sounding cleavers !...
Great heads truly are in all things great.
Great statesmen in the senate, in the field

Great warriors, and in their folly,-great fools! (Officers retire, as PunctiLLIO, an old patrician, creature of Appius, enters, surrounded by a crowd of citizens, shouling all,--Huzza !)

1. Citizen.—I say, Dentatus is the fittest man, altho' he be poor.

2. Cit. I don't like a poor man myself. 1. Cit.—Then you are at odds with yourself

, and no peaceable man would seek a quarrel with himself.

2. Cit.—Therein you shew your lack of mother wit.
'Tis good account to reckon with yourself,
But

sorry tale when neighbours tally not. Punc.-Well, blown bellows-mender, give me your hand, my hero, (puts money in it.) Your friend Appius will pass the course anon; go quilt your bellows-boards, with good brown liquor, and blow his merits with a borean blast.

1. Cit.—I say, Dentatus is the man. He has a soldier's heart, and has cut more wind-pipes for Rome, than you ever cobbled, Mr. Puff.

3. Cit.—That's all in favour of trade.

1. Cit.- Pray who may you be, Sir? (to Punctillio.) Punc.--And who are you, ye flecker'd Kestrel, that wouldst dare flout buzzard? What are your

wants ? 1. Cit.— Trade, sir. My father is a builder, sir. Punc.-Send him to me; I will give him a contract, 1. Cit.-With decent expedition; where rests the defunct? Punc. Defunct! rot-a-bed; is your father a grave-digger ?

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1. Cit.-No, Sir, I trust he'll ne'er descend to such a business.

Punc.—Proud as he may be, he'll soon be at the bottom of it, were it as deep as a cuckold's shame.

1. Cit.-He's no cuckold, sir, but a coffin builder.

Punc.— Then his case is all the worse as being the last shift of many a cuckold. Here, (gives him money,) take thou son of my last necessity. Away,-huzza ! Shout, you rascals, until your thrapples runch. Aủ.-Huzza!

(Exeunt.)

ADDRESS TO WATERLOO.

Oh, Waterloo! thou scene of blood,

Where Gallia's legions proudly stood,
To venture in the doubtful fight,

With English lord and Scottish knight.
Though after-times new themes may give,
Immortal shall thy glory live.

Oh, Waterloo! the battle's brunt

Thou witness’d, borne by Britons' front,
Then heav'd each heart the soldier's sigh,

For glorious death, or victory!
Though after-times new themes may give,
Immortal shall thy glory live.

Oh, Waterloo ! thou saw'st the Gaul,

Though nobly led, retire and fall;
Whilst havoc, speeding on his fire,

His foe might fall, but not retire.
Though after-times new themes may give,
Immortal shall thy glory live.

Oh, Waterloo ! the sire shall weep

(By drum and trumpet lull’d to sleep)
The son, who sunk with laureld head,

To rest upon thy gory bed.
Though after-times new themes may give,
Immortal shall thy glory live.

Oh, Waterloo ! thy hallow'd breast,

Álike entomb'd the haughty crest,
That matron's wish, and maiden's prayer,-

In secret would have shielded there.
Though after-times new themes may give,
Immortal shall thy glory live.

Oh, Waterloo ! the mourner's tear

Śtill falls with each revolving year,
And warrior souls, the gem to share,

Would gladly lay their relics there.
Though after-times new themes may give,
Immortal shall thy glory live.

J. W.

WANDERING WILLIE'S TALE.

(From REDGAUNTLET, a Novel, by the Author of Waverley.)

We hasten to gratify our readers with a copious extract from the new novel of the “ Great Unknown;"—the plot of the tale, and our critical opinion on it, will follow in the next sheet.

Ye maun have heard of Sir Robert Redgauntlet of that Ilk, who lived in these parts before the dear years. The country will lang mind him ; and our fathers used to draw breath thick if ever they heard him named. He was out wi' the Hielandmen in Montrose’s time; and again he was in the hills wi' Glencairn in the saxteen hundred and fifty-twa ; and sae when King Charles the Second came in, wha was in sic favour as the Laird of Redgauntlet ? He was knighted at Lonon court, wi the King's ain sword; and being a red-hot prelatist, he came down here, rampauging like a lion with commissions of lieutenancy, and of lunacy for what I ken, to put down a’ the Whigs and Covenanters in the country. Wild wark they made of it; for the Whigs were as dour as the Cavaliers were fierce, and it was which should tire the other. Redgauntlet was a' for the strong hand; and his name is kenn'd as wide in the country as Claverhouse's or Tam Dalyell's. Glen, nor dargle, nor mountain, nor cave, could hide the puir hill-folk when Redgauntlet was out with bugle and blood-hound after them, as if they had been sae mony deer. And troth when they fand them, they didna mak muckle mair ceremony than a Hielandman wi’ a roe-buckIt was just, “Will ye tak the test?”—if not, “Make ready-present-fire !”-and there lay the recusant.

Far and wide was Sir Robert hated and feared. Men thought he had direct compact with Satan—that he was proof against steel--and that bullets happed off his buff-coat like ail-staines from a hearth-that he had a mear that would turn a hare on the side of Carrifra-gawns—and muckle to the same purpose, of whilk mair anon. The best blessing they wared on him was, “ De'il

scowp wi' Redgauntlet!” He wasna a bad master to his ain folk though, and was weel aneugh liked by his tenants; and as for the lackies and troopers that raid out wi' him to the persecutions, as the Whigs ca'ad these killing times, they wad hae drunken themselves blind to his ealth at

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time. Now ye are to ken that my gudesire lived on Redgauntlets grund they ca’ the place Primrose-Knowe. We had lived on the grund, and under the Redgauntlets, since the riding days, and lang before. It was a pleasant bit; and I think the air is callerer and fresher there than ony where else in the country, Its a' deserted now; and I sat on the broken door-cheek three days since, and was glad I couldna see the plight the place was in; .but that's a' wide o' the mark. There dwelt my gudesire, Steenie Steenson, a rambling, rattling chiel he had been in his young days, and could play weel on the pipes; he was famous at“Hoopers and Girders”-a’ Cumberland couldna touch him at “ Jockie Lattin”—and he had the finest finger for the back-lill between Berwick and Carlisle. The like o’Steenie wasna the sort they make Whigs o'. And so he became a Tory, as they ca' it, which we now ca’ Jacobites, just out of a kind of needcessity, that he might belang to some side or other. He had nae ill-will to the Whig bodies, and likedna to see the blude rin, though, being obliged to follow Sir Robert in hunting and hosting, watching and warding, he saw muckle mischief, and maybe did some, that he couldna avoid.

Now Steenie was a kind of favourite with his master, and kenn'd a' the folks about the castle, and was often sent for to play the pipes when they were in their merriment. Auld Dougal MacCallum, the butler, that had followed Sir Robert through gude and ill, thick and thin, pool and stream, was specially fond of the pipes, and aye gae my gudesire his gude word wi' the Laird; for Dougal could turn his master round his finger.

Weel, round came the Revolution, and it had like to have broken the hearts baith of Dougal and his master. But the change was not a'thegether sae great as they feared, and other folk thought for. The Whigs made an unca crawing what they wad do with their auld enemies, and in special wi’ Sir Robert Redgauntlet. But there were ower mony great folks dipped in the same doings, to make a spick and span new warld. So Parliament passed it a' ower easy; and Sir Robert, bating that he was held to hunting foxes instead of Covenanters, remained just the man he was. His revel was as lond, and his hall as weel lighted, as ever it had been, though maybe he lacked the fines of the non-conformists, that used to come to stock larder and cellar; for it is certain he began to be keener about the rents than his tenants used to find him before, and they behoved to be prompt to the rent-day, or else the Laird wasna pleased. And he was sic an awsome body, that naebody cared to anger him; for the oaths he swore, and the rage that he used to get into, and the looks that he put on, made men sometimes think him a devil incarnate.

Weel, my gudesire was nae manager-no that he was a very great misguider—but he hadna the saving gift, and he got twa terms rent in arrear. He got the first brash at Whitsunday put ower wi' fair words and piping; but when Martinmas came, there was a summons from the grand-officer to come with the rent on a day preceese, or else Steenie behoved to flit. Sair wark he had to get the siller ; but he was weel-freended, and at last he got the haill seraped thegether-a thousand merks--the maist of it was from they ca'd Laurie Lapraik-a-sly tod. Laurie had wealth o'gearcould hunt wi' the hound and rin wi' the haré-and be Whig or Tory, saunt or sinner, as the wind stood. He was a professor in the Revolution warld, but he liked an orra sound, and a tune on the pipes weel aneugh at a bye-time; and abune a' he thought he had gude security for the siller he lent my gudesire over the stocking at Primrose-Knowe.

Away trots my gudesire to Redgauntlet Castle, wi' a heavy purse and a light heart, glad to be out of the Laird's danger. Weel, the first thing he learned at the Castle was, that Sir Robert had fretted himself into à fit of the gout, because he did not appear before twelve o'clock. It wasná a'thegether for the sake of the money, Dougal thought; but because he didna like to part wi' my gudesire aff the grund. Dougal was glad to see Steenie, and brought him into the great oak parlour, and there sat the Laird his leesome lane, excepting that he had beside him a great, ill-favoured jack-anapé, that was a special pet of his; a cankered beast it was, and mony an ill-natured trick it played—ill to please it was, and easily angered-ran about the haill castle, chattering and youling, and pinching, and biting folk, specially before ill-weather, or disturbances in the state. Sir Robert ca’ad it Major Weir, after the warlock that was burned; and few folk liked either the name or the conditions of the creature--they thought there was something in it by ordinar--and my gudesire was not just easy in mind when

the door shut on him, and he saw himself in the room wi' naebody but the Laird, Dougal MacAllum, and the Major, a thing that hadna chanced to him before.

Sir Robert sat, or, I should say, lay, in a great armed chair, wi' his grand velvet gown,

and his feet on a cradle; for he had baith gout and gravel, and his face looked as gash and ghastly as Satan's. Major Weir sat opposite to him, in a red-laced coat, and the Laird's whig on his head; and aye as Sir Robert girned wi' pain, the jack-an-ape girned too, like a sheep's head between a pair of tangsman ill-faur'd, fearsome couple they were. The Laird's buff-coat was hung on a pin behind him, and his broadsword and pistols within reach; for he keepit up the auld fashion of having the weapons ready, and a horse saddled day and night, just as he used to do when he was able to loup on horseback, and away after ony of the hill-folk he could get speerings of. Some said it was for fear of the Whigs taking vengeance, but I judge it was just his auld custom-he wasna gien to fear onything. The rental-book, wi' its black cover and brass clasps, was lying beside him; and a book of sculduddry sangs was put between the leaves, to keep it open at the place it bore evidence against the Goodman of Primrose-Knowe, as behind the band with his mails and duties. Sir Robert gave my gudesire a look, as if he would have withered his heart in his bosom. Ye maun ken he had a way of bending his brows, that men saw the visible mark of a horse shoe in his forehead, deep-dinted, as if it had been stamped there.

“ Are ye come light-handed, ye son of a toom whistle ?” said Sir Robert. Zounds! if you are

My gudesire, with as gude a countenance as he could put on, made a leg, and placed the bag of money on the table wi' a dash, like a man that does something clever. The Laird drew it to him hastily-"Is it all here, Steenie, man?"

Your honour will find it right,” said my gudesire.

Here, Dougal,” said the Laird, “gie Steenie a tass of brandy down stairs, till I count the siller, and write the receipt.”

But they werena weel out of the room, when Sir Robert gied a yelloch that garr'd the castle rock. Back ran Dougal-in flew the livery-men-yell on yell gied the Laird, ilk ane mair awfu' than the ither. My gudesire knew not whether to stand or flee, but he ventured back into the parlour, where a' was gaun hirdy-girdy-náebody to say come in' or Terribly the Laird roared for cauld water to his feet, and wine to cool his throat; and Hell, hell, hell, and its flames, was a’ the word in his mouth. They brought him water, and when they plunged his swoln feet into the tub, he cried out it was burning; and folk say that it did bubble and sparkle like a seething cauldron. He flung the cup at Dougal's head, and said he had given him blood instead of burgundy; and, sure eneagh, the lass washed clottered blood aff the carpet the neist day. The jack-an-ape they ca'd Major Weir, it jibbered and cried as if it was mocking its master; my gudesire's head was like to turn-he forgot baith siller and receipt, and down stairs he banged; but as he ran, the shrieks came faint and fainter; there was a deep-drawo slivering groan, and word gaed through the Castle, that the Laird was dead.

Weel, away came my gudesire, wi' his finger in his mouth, and his best hope was, that Dougal had seen the money-bag, and heard the Laird speak of writing the receipt. The young Laird, now Sir John, came from Edinburgh,

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