ALICE.

And then how sweet the bushy glens between

them,

Where waterfalls shoot from the rocks and

streams,

Course on their wimpled way with brawling din!

MALCOLM.

Where low-roof'd cots, with curling smoke are

seen,

Each with its little stack of winter fuel,
And scanty lot of furrow'd corn-land near;
And groups of hardy imps, who range at will,
Or paddle in the brook, while bearded goats
Browse on the rocky knolls, and kids are sporting
Amongst the yellow broom.

CLAUDE.

Pray thee have done, good Malcolm; thou wilt fill

This girl's fancy with romantic visions,

Which may, perhaps, make the rich, fertile fields
Of her own country seem insipid things.

MARIAN (to CLAUDE).

One thing, you would observe, he has omitted
In the description of his bonnie glen,-
The cottage matron, with her cumb❜rous spade,
Digging the stubborn soil; and lazy husband
Stretch'd on the ground, or seated by the door,
Or on his bagpipe droning some dull dirge.

"pastoral"

MALCOLM.

Well, freely I confess our mountain matrons
In useful virtues do excel their mates;
And in what earthly region is it otherwise?

CLAUDE.

I dare not contradict thee, and be deemed
Ungallant for my pains.

Enters a Servant, and delivers a packet to CLAUDE.

ALICE.

Is it from Glasgow ?

Is there within the cover aught for me?

CLAUDE.

There is a letter with thy name upon it. (MALCOLM withdraws some paces from her.)

ALICE.

Which, ne'ertheless, thou keepest to thyself,
With eyes intently fix'd upon the writing.
Is it a stranger's hand to thee unknown?

CLAUDE (giving the letter).

No, not unknown.

ALICE.

It is from Emma Graham (to MARIAN), and with your leave,

I'll read it by this window. (Turns round, and starts upon finding MALCOLM close to her.)

Why do you start?

MARIAN.

ALICE.

I knew not he was near me.

MALCOLM (in confusion).

I crave your pardon: 't was unwittingly; I scarcely know myself why I returned. [ALICE opens the letter, whilst CLAUDE and MALCOLM stand gazing anxiously on her as she reads it to herself.]

MALCOLM (to ALICE, who seems to have come to the conclusion).

Your friends are well, I hope; all's well in Glasgow ?

ALICE.

She says a deadly fever rages there,

And nought is seen along their dismal streets
But funeral processions; nothing heard

But death-bells tolling, and the hammer's sound
Nailing in haste the corse's narrow house.

MALCOLM (agitated).

And she herself amidst this wreck of life!

ALICE.

She is, ere this, removed from the contagion; For these concluding lines inform me plainly, That she and all her family were prepared

To leave the town upon the following day
To that on which her letter has its date.

MALCOLM (eagerly).

I thank thee, Alice.

CLAUDE (peevishly).

Wherefore dost thou thank her?

MALCOLM (haughtily).

Whate'er thou hast a right to ask of me

Shall have its answer.

MARIAN (to CLAUDE).

When Highland pride is touch'd, some lack of

courtesy

Must be excused. You have not from this

window

Admired the falling of our mountain stream.

(Leads him to the bottom of the hall, and detains him there in apparent conversation.)

MALCOLM (in a softened voice).

So, gentle Alice, thouʼrt in friendship knit With Emma Graham! and meet companions are ye! (Looking closer to the letter, which

she still holds open in her hand.)

Forgive me; Lowland ladies far surpass,
As fair and ready scribes, our mountain maids:
I ne'er before saw lines by her indited.

ALICE (putting it up hastily; then hesitating,
then recovering herself).

No; why should I withhold it from thine eye;
For still the sweet expressions from her pen
Excel the beauty of its characters.

(Gives it to him.) Peruse it then, (aside, as she turns from him) while I peruse myself.

MALCOLM (returning the letter, after having read
it).

Thou art in tears, sweet Alice; has thy mind
Some boding apprehensions for her safety?

ALICE.

No, God forbid! I have a feeble body,
The worn-out case of a more feeble mind,
And oft will weep for nothing. Heed me not.

MALCOLM.

No, say not so: thy mind and body both
Are lovely yoke-fellows, and will together-
God grant it be so! hold their prosp❜rous course
For many years. (Seeing her endeavours to speak.)
Strive not to answer me;
This wish, though most sincere, deserves no
thanks.

Enter DUNARDEN, followed by Servants, carrying dishes of meat, &c.

DUNARDEN.

Come, honour'd guests, the first dish of our meal,

11

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