Waverley; Or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since — Volume 1

By Walter Scott

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Title: Waverley, Volume I

Author: Sir Walter Scott

Posting Date: January 13, 2012 [EBook #4964]
Release Date: January, 2004
[This file was first posted on April 5, 2002]

Language: English


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[Transcriber's Note:
I feel that it is important to note that this book is part
of the Caledonian series. The Caledonian series is a group
of 50 books comprising all of Sir Walter Scott's works.]




WAVERLEY

OR 'T IS SIXTY YEARS SINCE

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

VOLUME I





PUBLISHERS' NOTE


It has long been the ambition of the present publishers to offer
to the public an ideal edition of the writings of Sir Walter
Scott, the great poet and novelist of whom William Hazlitt said,
'His works are almost like a new edition of human nature.' Secure
in the belief not only that his writings have achieved a permanent
place in the literature of the world, but that succeeding
generations will prize them still more highly, we have, after the
most careful planning and study, undertaken the publication of
this edition of the Waverley Novels and the complete poetical
writings.

It is evident that the ideal edition of a great classic must be
distinguished in typography, must present the best available text,
and must be illustrated in such a way as at once to be beautiful
in itself and to add to the reader's pleasure and his
understanding of the book. As to the typography and text, little
need be said here. The format of the edition has been most
carefully studied, and represents the use of the best resources of
The Riverside Press. The text has been carefully edited in the
light of Scott's own revisions; all of his own latest notes have
been included, glossaries have been added, and full descriptive
notes to the illustrations have been prepared which will, we hope,
add greatly to the reader's interest and instruction in the
reading of the novels and poems.

Of the illustrations, which make the special feature of this
edition, something more may be said. In the case of an author like
Sir Walter Scott, the ideal edition requires that the beautiful
and romantic scenery amid which he lived and of which he wrote
shall be adequately presented to the reader. No other author ever
used more charming backgrounds or employed them to better
advantage. To see Scotland, and to visit in person all the scenes
of the novels and poems, would enable the reader fully to
understand these backgrounds and thereby add materially to his
appreciation of the author.

Before beginning the preparation of this edition, the head of the
department having it in charge made a visit in person to the
scenes of the novels and poems, determined to explore all the
localities referred to by the author, so far as they could be
identified. The field proved even more productive than had been at
first supposed, and photographs were obtained in sufficient
quantity to illustrate all the volumes. These pictures represent
the scenes very much as Scott saw them. The natural scenery--
mountains, woods, lakes, rivers, seashore, and the like--is nearly
the same as in his day. The ruins of ancient castles and abbeys
were found to correspond very closely with his descriptions,
though in many instances he had in imagination rebuilt these ruins
and filled them with the children of his fancy. The scenes of the
stories extend into nearly every county in Scotland and through a
large part of England and Wales. All of these were thoroughly
investigated, and photographs were made of everything of interest.
One of the novels has to do with France and Belgium, one with
Switzerland, one with the Holy Land, one with Constantinople, and
one with India. For all of these lands, which Scott did not visit
in person, and therefore did not describe with the same attention
to detail as in the case of his own country, interesting pictures
of characteristic scenery were secured. By this method the
publishers have hoped to bring before the reader a series of
photographs which will not only please the eye and give a
satisfactory artistic effect to the volumes, but also increase the
reader's knowledge of the country described and add a new charm to
the delightful work of the author. In addition to the photographs,
old engravings and paintings have been reproduced for the
illustration of novels having to do with old buildings, streets,
etc., which have long since disappeared. For this material a
careful search was made in the British Museum, the Advocates'
Library and City Museum, Edinburgh, the Library at Abbotsford, the
Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, and other collections.

It has been thought, too, that the ideal edition of Scott's works
would not be complete without an adequate portrayal of his more
memorable characters. This has been accomplished in a series of
frontispieces specially painted for this edition by twenty of the
most distinguished illustrators of England.

4 PARK STREET, BOSTON.





ADVERTISEMENT TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS


IT has been the occasional occupation of the Author of Waverley,
for several years past, to revise and correct the voluminous
series of Novels which pass under that name, in order that, if
they should ever appear as his avowed productions, he might render
them in some degree deserving of a continuance of the public
favour with which they have been honoured ever since their first
appearance. For a long period, however, it seemed likely that the
improved and illustrated edition which he meditated would be a
posthumous publication. But the course of the events which
occasioned the disclosure of the Author's name having, in a great
measure, restored to him a sort of parental control over these
Works, he is naturally induced to give them to the press in a
corrected, and, he hopes, an improved form, while life and health
permit the task of revising and illustrating them. Such being his
purpose, it is necessary to say a few words on the plan of the
proposed Edition.

In stating it to be revised and corrected, it is not to be
inferred that any attempt is made to alter the tenor of the
stories, the character of the actors, or the spirit of the
dialogue. There is no doubt ample room for emendation in all these
points,--but where the tree falls it must lie. Any attempt to
obviate criticism, however just, by altering a work already in the
hands of the public is generally unsuccessful. In the most
improbable fiction, the reader still desires some air of
vraisemblance, and does not relish that the incidents of a tale
familiar to him should be altered to suit the taste of critics, or
the caprice of the Author himself. This process of feeling is so
natural, that it may be observed even in children, who cannot
endure that a nursery story should be repeated to them differently
from the manner in which it was first told.

But without altering, in the slightest degree, either the story or
the mode of telling it, the Author has taken this opportunity to
correct errors of the press and slips of the pen. That such should
exist cannot be wondered at, when it is considered that the
Publishers found it their interest to hurry through the press a
succession of the early editions of the various Novels, and that
the Author had not the usual opportunity of revision. It is hoped
that the present edition will be found free from errors of that
accidental kind.

The Author has also ventured to make some emendations of a
different character, which, without being such apparent deviations
from the original stories as to disturb the reader's old
associations, will, he thinks, add something to the spirit of the
dialogue, narrative, or description. These consist in occasional
pruning where the language is redundant, compression where the
style is loose, infusion of vigour where it is languid, the
exchange of less forcible for more appropriate epithets--slight
alterations in short, like the last touches of an artist, which
contribute to heighten and finish the picture, though an
inexperienced eye can hardly detect in what they consist.

The General Preface to the new Edition, and the Introductory
Notices to each separate work, will contain an account of such
circumstances attending the first publication of the Novels and
Tales as may appear interesting in themselves, or proper to be
communicated to the public. The Author also proposes to publish,
on this occasion, the various legends, family traditions, or
obscure historical facts which have formed the ground-work of
these Novels, and to give some account of the places where the
scenes are laid, when these are altogether, or in part, real; as
well as a statement of particular incidents founded on fact;
together with a more copious Glossary, and Notes explanatory of
the ancient customs and popular superstitions referred to in the
Romances.

Upon the whole, it is hoped that the Waverley Novels, in their new
dress, will not be found to have lost any part of their
attractions in consequence of receiving illustrations by the
Author, and undergoing his careful revision.

ABBOTSFORD, January, 1829.





GENERAL PREFACE TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS

    ---And must I ravel out
    My weaved-up follies?

    Richard II, Act IV.

Having undertaken to give an Introductory Account of the
compositions which are here offered to the public, with Notes and
Illustrations, the Author, under whose name they are now for the
first time collected, feels that he has the delicate task of
speaking more of himself and his personal concerns than may
perhaps be either graceful or prudent. In this particular he runs
the risk of presenting himself to the public in the relation that
the dumb wife in the jest-book held to her husband, when, having
spent half of his fortune to obtain the cure of her imperfection,
he was willing to have bestowed the other half to restore her to
her former condition. But this is a risk inseparable from the task
which the Author has undertaken, and he can only promise to be as
little of an egotist as the situation will permit. It is perhaps
an indifferent sign of a disposition to keep his word, that,
having introduced himself in the third person singular, he
proceeds in the second paragraph to make use of the first. But it
appears to him that the seeming modesty connected with the former
mode of writing is overbalanced by the inconvenience of stiffness
and affectation which attends it during a narrative of some
length, and which may be observed less or more in every work in
which the third person is used, from the Commentaries of Caesar to
the Autobiography of Alexander the Corrector.

I must refer to a very early period of my life, were I to point
out my first achievements as a tale-teller; but I believe some of
my old schoolfellows can still bear witness that I had a
distinguished character for that talent, at a time when the
applause of my companions was my recompense for the disgraces and
punishments which the future romance-writer incurred for being
idle himself, and keeping others idle, during hours that should
have been employed on our tasks. The chief enjoyment of my
holidays was to escape with a chosen friend, who had the same
taste with myself, and alternately to recite to each other such
wild adventures as we were able to devise. We told, each in turn,
interminable tales of knight-errantry and battles and
enchantments, which were continued from one day to another as
opportunity offered, without our ever thinking of bringing them to
a conclusion. As we observed a strict secrecy on the subject of
this intercourse, it acquired all the character of a concealed
pleasure, and we used to select for the scenes of our indulgence
long walks through the solitary and romantic environs of Arthur's
Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, and similar places in the
vicinity of Edinburgh; and the recollection of those holidays
still forms an oasis in the pilgrimage which I have to look back
upon. I have only to add, that my friend still lives, a prosperous
gentleman, but too much occupied with graver business to thank me
for indicating him more plainly as a confidant of my childish
mystery.

When boyhood advancing into youth required more serious studies
and graver cares, a long illness threw me back on the kingdom of
fiction, as if it were by a species of fatality. My indisposition
arose, in part at least, from my having broken a blood-vessel; and
motion and speech were for a long time pronounced positively
dangerous. For several weeks I was confined strictly to my bed,
during which time I was not allowed to speak above a whisper, to
eat more than a spoonful or two of boiled rice, or to have more
covering than one thin counterpane. When the reader is informed
that I was at this time a growing youth, with the spirits,
appetite, and impatience of fifteen, and suffered, of course,
greatly under this severe regimen, which the repeated return of my
disorder rendered indispensable, he will not be surprised that I
was abandoned to my own discretion, so far as reading (my almost
sole amusement) was concerned, and still less so, that I abused
the indulgence which left my time so much at my own disposal.

There was at this time a circulating library in Edinburgh,
founded, I believe, by the celebrated Allan Ramsay, which, besides
containing a most respectable collection of books of every
description, was, as might have been expected, peculiarly rich in
works of fiction. It exhibited specimens of every kind, from the
romances of chivalry and the ponderous folios of Cyrus and
Cassandra, down to the most approved works of later times. I was
plunged into this great ocean of reading without compass or pilot;
and, unless when some one had the charity to play at chess with
me, I was allowed to do nothing save read from morning to night. I
was, in kindness and pity, which was perhaps erroneous, however
natural, permitted to select my subjects of study at my own
pleasure, upon the same principle that the humours of children are
indulged to keep them out of mischief. As my taste and appetite
were gratified in nothing else, I indemnified myself by becoming a
glutton of books. Accordingly, I believe I read almost all the
romances, old plays, and epic poetry in that formidable
collection, and no doubt was unconsciously amassing materials for
the task in which it has been my lot to be so much employed.

At the same time I did not in all respects abuse the license
permitted me. Familiar acquaintance with the specious miracles of
fiction brought with it some degree of satiety, and I began by
degrees to seek in histories, memoirs, voyages and travels, and
the like, events nearly as wonderful as those which were the work
of imagination, with the additional advantage that they were at
least in a great measure true. The lapse of nearly two years,
during which I was left to the exercise of my own free will, was
followed by a temporary residence in the country, where I was
again very lonely but for the amusement which I derived from a
good though old-fashioned library. The vague and wild use which I
made of this advantage I cannot describe better than by referring
my reader to the desultory studies of Waverley in a similar
situation, the passages concerning whose course of reading were
imitated from recollections of my own. It must be understood that
the resemblance extends no farther.

Time, as it glided on, brought the blessings of confirmed health
and personal strength, to a degree which had never been expected
or hoped for. The severe studies necessary to render me fit for my
profession occupied the greater part of my time; and the society
of my friends and companions, who were about to enter life along
with, me, filled up the interval with the usual amusements of
young men. I was in a situation which rendered serious labour
indispensable; for, neither possessing, on the one hand, any of
those peculiar advantages which are supposed to favour a hasty
advance in the profession of the law, nor being, on the other
hand, exposed to unusual obstacles to interrupt my progress, I
might reasonably expect to succeed according to the greater or
less degree of trouble which I should take to qualify myself as a
pleader.

It makes no part of the present story to detail how the success of
a few ballads had the effect of changing all the purpose and tenor
of my life, and of converting a painstaking lawyer of some years'
standing into a follower of literature. It is enough to say, that
I had assumed the latter character for several years before I
seriously thought of attempting a work of imagination in prose,
although one or two of my poetical attempts did not differ from
romances otherwise than by being written in verse. But yet I may
observe, that about this time (now, alas! thirty years since) I
had nourished the ambitious desire of composing a tale of
chivalry, which was to be in the style of the Castle of Otranto,
with plenty of Border characters and supernatural incident. Having
found unexpectedly a chapter of this intended work among some old
papers, I have subjoined it to this introductory essay, thinking
some readers may account as curious the first attempts at romantic
composition by an author who has since written so much in that
department. [Footnote: See Appendix No I.] And those who complain,
not unreasonably, of the profusion of the Tales which have
followed Waverley, may bless their stars at the narrow escape they
have made, by the commencement of the inundation, which had so
nearly taken place in the first year of the century, being
postponed for fifteen years later.

This particular subject was never resumed, but I did not abandon
the idea of fictitious composition in prose, though I determined
to give another turn to the style of the work.

My early recollections of the Highland scenery and customs made so
favourable an impression in the poem called the Lady of the Lake,
that I was induced to think of attempting something of the same
kind in prose. I had been a good deal in the Highlands at a time
when they were much less accessible and much less visited than
they have been of late years, and was acquainted with many of the
old warriors of 1745, who were, like most veterans, easily induced
to fight their battles over again for the benefit of a willing
listener like myself. It naturally occurred to me that the ancient
traditions and high spirit of a people who, living in a civilised
age and country, retained so strong a tincture of manners
belonging to an early period of society, must afford a subject
favourable for romance, if it should not prove a curious tale
marred in the telling.

It was with some idea of this kind that, about the year 1805, I
threw together about one-third part of the first volume of
Waverley. It was advertised to be published by the late Mr. John
Ballantyne, bookseller in Edinburgh, under the name of Waverley;
or, 'Tis Fifty Years Since--a title afterwards altered to 'Tis
Sixty Years Since, that the actual date of publication might be
made to correspond with the period in which the scene was laid.
Having proceeded as far, I think, as the seventh chapter, I showed
my work to a critical friend, whose opinion was unfavourable; and
having then some poetical reputation, I was unwilling to risk the
loss of it by attempting a new style of composition. I therefore
threw aside the work I had commenced, without either reluctance or
remonstrance. I ought to add that, though my ingenious friend's
sentence was afterwards reversed on an appeal to the public, it
cannot be considered as any imputation on his good taste; for the
specimen subjected to his criticism did not extend beyond the
departure of the hero for Scotland, and consequently had not
entered upon the part of the story which was finally found most
interesting.

Be that as it may, this portion of the manuscript was laid aside
in the drawers of an old writing-desk, which, on my first coming
to reside at Abbotsford in 1811, was placed in a lumber garret and
entirely forgotten. Thus, though I sometimes, among other literary
avocations, turned my thoughts to the continuation of the romance
which I had commenced, yet, as I could not find what I had already
written, after searching such repositories as were within my
reach, and was too indolent to attempt to write it anew from
memory, I as often laid aside all thoughts of that nature.

Two circumstances in particular recalled my recollection of the
mislaid manuscript. The first was the extended and well-merited
fame of Miss Edgeworth, whose Irish characters have gone so far to
make the English familiar with the character of their gay and
kind-hearted neighbours of Ireland, that she may be truly said to
have done more towards completing the Union than perhaps all the
legislative enactments by which it has been followed up.

Without being so presumptuous as to hope to emulate the rich
humour, pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact which pervade the
works of my accomplished friend, I felt that something might be
attempted for my own country, of the same kind with that which
Miss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for Ireland--something
which might introduce her natives to those of the sister kingdom
in a more favourable light than they had been placed hitherto, and
tend to procure sympathy for their virtues and indulgence for
their foibles. I thought also, that much of what I wanted in
talent might be made up by the intimate acquaintance with the
subject which I could lay claim to possess, as having travelled
through most parts of Scotland, both Highland and Lowland, having
been familiar with the elder as well as more modern race, and
having had from my infancy free and unrestrained communication
with all ranks of my countrymen, from the Scottish peer to the
Scottish plough-man. Such ideas often occurred to me, and
constituted an ambitious branch of my theory, however far short I
may have fallen of it in practice.

But it was not only the triumphs of Miss Edgeworth which worked in
me emulation, and disturbed my indolence. I chanced actually to
engage in a work which formed a sort of essay piece, and gave me
hope that I might in time become free of the craft of romance-
writing, and be esteemed a tolerable workman.

In the year 1807-08 I undertook, at the request of John Murray,
Esq., of Albemarle Street, to arrange for publication some
posthumous productions of the late Mr. Joseph Strutt,
distinguished as an artist and an antiquary, amongst which was an
unfinished romance, entitled Queenhoo Hall. The scene of the tale
was laid in the reign of Henry VI, and the work was written to
illustrate the manners, customs, and language of the people of
England during that period. The extensive acquaintance which Mr.
Strutt had acquired with such subjects in compiling his laborious
Horda Angel-Cynnan, his Regal and Ecclesiastical Antiquities, and
his Essay on the Sports and Pastimes of the People of England had
rendered him familiar with all the antiquarian lore necessary for
the purpose of composing the projected romance; and although the
manuscript bore the marks of hurry and incoherence natural to the
first rough draught of the author, it evinced (in my opinion)
considerable powers of imagination.

As the work was unfinished, I deemed it my duty, as editor, to
supply such a hasty and inartificial conclusion as could be shaped
out from the story, of which Mr. Strutt had laid the foundation.
This concluding chapter [Footnote: See Appendix No. II.] is also
added to the present Introduction, for the reason already
mentioned regarding the preceding fragment. It was a step in my
advance towards romantic composition; and to preserve the traces
of these is in a great measure the object of this Essay.

Queenhoo Hall was not, however, very successful. I thought I was
aware of the reason, and supposed that, by rendering his language
too ancient, and displaying his antiquarian knowledge too
liberally, the ingenious author had raised up an obstacle to his
own success. Every work designed for mere amusement must be
expressed in language easily comprehended; and when, as is
sometimes the case in QUEENHOO HALL, the author addresses himself
exclusively to the antiquary, he must be content to be dismissed
by the general reader with the criticism of Mungo, in the PADLOCK,
on the Mauritanian music, 'What signifies me hear, if me no
understand?'

I conceived it possible to avoid this error; and, by rendering a
similar work more light and obvious to general comprehension, to
escape the rock on which my predecessor was shipwrecked.

But I was, on the other hand, so far discouraged by the
indifferent reception of Mr. Strutt's romance as to become
satisfied that the manners of the middle ages did not possess the
interest which I had conceived; and was led to form the opinion
that a romance founded on a Highland story and more modern events
would have a better chance of popularity than a tale of chivalry.

My thoughts, therefore, returned more than once to the tale which
I had actually commenced, and accident at length threw the lost
sheets in my way.

I happened to want some fishing-tackle for the use of a guest,
when it occurred to me to search the old writing-desk already
mentioned, in which I used to keep articles of that nature.

I got access to it with some difficulty; and, in looking for lines
and flies, the long-lost manuscript presented itself.

I immediately set to work to complete it according to my original
purpose.

And here I must frankly confess that the mode in which I conducted
the story scarcely deserved the success which the romance
afterwards attained.

The tale of WAVERLEY was put together with so little care that I
cannot boast of having sketched any distinct plan of the work. The
whole adventures of Waverley, in his movements up and down the
country with the Highland cateran Bean Lean, are managed without
much skill. It suited best, however, the road I wanted to travel,
and permitted me to introduce some descriptions of scenery and
manners, to which the reality gave an interest which the powers of
the Author might have otherwise failed to attain for them. And
though I have been in other instances a sinner in this sort, I do
not recollect any of these novels in which I have transgressed so
widely as in the first of the series.

Among other unfounded reports, it has been said that the copyright
of Waverley was, during the book's progress through the press,
offered for sale to various book-sellers in London at a very
inconsiderable price. This was not the case. Messrs. Constable and
Cadell, who published the work, were the only persons acquainted
with the contents of the publication, and they offered a large sum
for it while in the course of printing, which, however, was
declined, the Author not choosing to part with the copyright.

The origin of the story of Waverley, and the particular facts on
which it is founded, are given in the separate introduction
prefixed to that romance in this edition, and require no notice in
this place.

Waverley was published in 1814, and, as the title-page was
without the name of the Author, the work was left to win its way
in the world without any of the usual recommendations. Its
progress was for some time slow; but after the first two or three
months its popularity had increased in a degree which must have
satisfied the expectations of the Author, had these been far more
sanguine than he ever entertained.

Great anxiety was expressed to learn the name of the Author, but
on this no authentic information could be attained. My original
motive for publishing the work anonymously was the consciousness
that it was an experiment on the public taste which might very
probably fail, and therefore there was no occasion to take on
myself the personal risk of discomfiture. For this purpose
considerable precautions were used to preserve secrecy. My old
friend and schoolfellow, Mr. James Ballantyne, who printed these
Novels, had the exclusive task of corresponding with the Author,
who thus had not only the advantage of his professional talents,
but also of his critical abilities. The original manuscript, or,
as it is technically called, copy, was transcribed under Mr.
Ballantyne's eye by confidential persons; nor was there an
instance of treachery during the many years in which these
precautions were resorted to, although various individuals were
employed at different times. Double proof-sheets were regularly
printed off. One was forwarded to the Author by Mr. Ballantyne,
and the alterations which it received were, by his own hand,
copied upon the other proof-sheet for the use of the printers, so
that even the corrected proofs of the Author were never seen in
the printing office; and thus the curiosity of such eager
inquirers as made the most minute investigation was entirely at
fault.

But although the cause of concealing the Author's name in the
first instance, when the reception of Waverley was doubtful, was
natural enough, it is more difficult, it may be thought, to
account for the same desire for secrecy during the subsequent
editions, to the amount of betwixt eleven and twelve thousand
copies, which followed each other close, and proved the success of
the work. I am sorry I can give little satisfaction to queries on
this subject. I have already stated elsewhere that I can render
little better reason for choosing to remain anonymous than by
saying with Shylock, that such was my humour. It will be observed
that I had not the usual stimulus for desiring personal
reputation, the desire, namely, to float amidst the conversation
of men. Of literary fame, whether merited or undeserved, I had
already as much as might have contented a mind more ambitious than
mine; and in entering into this new contest for reputation I might
be said rather to endanger what I had than to have any
considerable chance of acquiring more. I was affected, too, by
none of those motives which, at an earlier period of life, would
doubtless have operated upon me. My friendships were formed, my
place in society fixed, my life had attained its middle course. My
condition in society was higher perhaps than I deserved, certainly
as high as I wished, and there was scarce any degree of literary
success which could have greatly altered or improved my personal
condition.

I was not, therefore, touched by the spur of ambition, usually
stimulating on such occasions; and yet I ought to stand exculpated
from the charge of ungracious or unbecoming indifference to public
applause. I did not the less feel gratitude for the public favour,
although I did not proclaim it; as the lover who wears his
mistress's favour in his bosom is as proud, though not so vain, of
possessing it as another who displays the token of her grace upon
his bonnet. Far from such an ungracious state of mind, I have
seldom felt more satisfaction than when, returning from a pleasure
voyage, I found Waverley in the zenith of popularity, and public
curiosity in full cry after the name of the Author. The knowledge
that I had the public approbation was like having the property of
a hidden treasure, not less gratifying to the owner than if all
the world knew that it was his own. Another advantage was
connected with the secrecy which I observed. I could appear or
retreat from the stage at pleasure, without attracting any
personal notice or attention, other than what might be founded on
suspicion only. In my own person also, as a successful author in
another department of literature, I might have been charged with
too frequent intrusions on the public patience; but the Author of
Waverley was in this respect as impassible to the critic as the
Ghost of Hamlet to the partisan of Marcellus. Perhaps the
curiosity of the public, irritated by the existence of a secret,
and kept afloat by the discussions which took place on the subject
from time to time, went a good way to maintain an unabated
interest in these frequent publications. There was a mystery
concerning the Author which each new novel was expected to assist
in unravelling, although it might in other respects rank lower
than its predecessors.

I may perhaps be thought guilty of affectation, should I allege as
one reason of my silence a secret dislike to enter on personal
discussions concerning my own literary labours. It is in every
case a dangerous intercourse for an author to be dwelling
continually among those who make his writings a frequent and
familiar subject of conversation, but who must necessarily be
partial judges of works composed in their own society. The habits
of self-importance which are thus acquired by authors are highly
injurious to a well-regulated mind; for the cup of flattery, if it
does not, like that of Circe, reduce men to the level of beasts,
is sure, if eagerly drained, to bring the best and the ablest down
to that of fools. This risk was in some degree prevented by the
mask which I wore; and my own stores of self-conceit were left to
their natural course, without being enhanced by the partiality of
friends or adulation of flatterers.

If I am asked further reasons for the conduct I have long
observed, I can only resort to the explanation supplied by a
critic as friendly as he is intelligent; namely, that the mental
organisation of the novelist must be characterised, to speak
craniologically, by an extraordinary development of the passion
for delitescency! I the rather suspect some natural disposition of
this kind; for, from the instant I perceived the extreme curiosity
manifested on the subject, I felt a secret satisfaction in
baffling it, for which, when its unimportance is considered, I do
not well know how to account.

My desire to remain concealed, in the character of the Author of
these Novels, subjected me occasionally to awkward embarrassments,
as it sometimes happened that those who were sufficiently intimate
with me would put the question in direct terms. In this case, only
one of three courses could be followed. Either I must have
surrendered my secret, or have returned an equivocating answer,
or, finally, must have stoutly and boldly denied the fact. The
first was a sacrifice which I conceive no one had a right to force
from me, since I alone was concerned in the matter. The
alternative of rendering a doubtful answer must have left me open
to the degrading suspicion that I was not unwilling to assume the
merit (if there was any) which I dared not absolutely lay claim
to; or those who might think more justly of me must have received
such an equivocal answer as an indirect avowal. I therefore
considered myself entitled, like an accused person put upon trial,
to refuse giving my own evidence to my own conviction, and flatly
to deny all that could not be proved against me. At the same time
I usually qualified my denial by stating that, had I been the
Author of these works, I would have felt myself quite entitled to
protect my secret by refusing my own evidence, when it was asked
for to accomplish a discovery of what I desired to conceal.

The real truth is, that I never expected or hoped to disguise my
connection with these Novels from any one who lived on terms of
intimacy with me. The number of coincidences which necessarily
existed between narratives recounted, modes of expression, and
opinions broached in these Tales and such as were used by their
Author in the intercourse of private life must have been far too
great to permit any of my familiar acquaintances to doubt the
identity betwixt their friend and the Author of Waverley; and I
believe they were all morally convinced of it. But while I was
myself silent, their belief could not weigh much more with the
world than that of others; their opinions and reasoning were
liable to be taxed with partiality, or confronted with opposing
arguments and opinions; and the question was not so much whether I
should be generally acknowledged to be the Author, in spite of my
own denial, as whether even my own avowal of the works, if such
should be made, would be sufficient to put me in undisputed
possession of that character.

I have been often asked concerning supposed cases, in which I was
said to have been placed on the verge of discovery; but, as I
maintained my point with the composure of a lawyer of thirty
years' standing, I never recollect being in pain or confusion on
the subject. In Captain Medwyn's Conversations of Lord Byron the
reporter states himself to have asked my noble and highly gifted
friend,' If he was certain about these Novels being Sir Walter
Scott's?' To which Lord Byron replied, 'Scott as much as owned
himself the Author of Waverley to me in Murray's shop. I was
talking to him about that Novel, and lamented that its Author had
not carried back the story nearer to the time of the Revolution.
Scott, entirely off his guard, replied, "Ay, I might have done so;
but--" there he stopped. It was in vain to attempt to correct
himself; he looked confused, and relieved his embarrassment by a
precipitate retreat.' I have no recollection whatever of this
scene taking place, and I should have thought that I was more
likely to have laughed than to appear confused, for I certainly
never hoped to impose upon Lord Byron in a case of the kind; and
from the manner in which he uniformly expressed himself, I knew
his opinion was entirely formed, and that any disclamations of
mine would only have savoured of affectation. I do not mean to
insinuate that the incident did not happen, but only that it could
hardly have occurred exactly under the circumstances narrated,
without my recollecting something positive on the subject. In
another part of the same volume Lord Byron is reported to have
expressed a supposition that the cause of my not avowing myself
the Author of Waverley may have been some surmise that the
reigning family would have been displeased with the work. I can
only say, it is the last apprehension I should have entertained,
as indeed the inscription to these volumes sufficiently proves.
The sufferers of that melancholy period have, during the last and
present reign, been honoured both with the sympathy and protection
of the reigning family, whose magnanimity can well pardon a sigh
from others, and bestow one themselves, to the memory of brave
opponents, who did nothing in hate, but all in honour.

While those who were in habitual intercourse with the real author
had little hesitation in assigning the literary property to him,
others, and those critics of no mean rank, employed themselves in
investigating with persevering patience any characteristic
features which might seem to betray the origin of these Novels.
Amongst these, one gentleman, equally remarkable for the kind and
liberal tone of his criticism, the acuteness of his reasoning, and
the very gentlemanlike manner in which he conducted his inquiries,
displayed not only powers of accurate investigation, but a temper
of mind deserving to be employed on a subject of much greater
importance; and I have no doubt made converts to his opinion of
almost all who thought the point worthy of consideration.
[Footnote: Letters on the Author of Waverly; Rodwell and Martin,
London, 1822.] Of those letters, and other attempts of the same
kind, the Author could not complain, though his incognito was
endangered. He had challenged the public to a game at bo-peep, and
if he was discovered in his 'hiding-hole,' he must submit to the
shame of detection.

Various reports were of course circulated in various ways; some
founded on an inaccurate rehearsal of what may have been partly
real, some on circumstances having no concern whatever with the
subject, and others on the invention of some importunate persons,
who might perhaps imagine that the readiest mode of forcing the
Author to disclose himself was to assign some dishonourable and
discreditable cause for his silence.

It may be easily supposed that this sort of inquisition was
treated with contempt by the person whom it principally regarded;
as, among all the rumours that were current, there was only one,
and that as unfounded as the others, which had nevertheless some
alliance to probability, and indeed might have proved in some
degree true.

I allude to a report which ascribed a great part, or the whole, of
these Novels to the late Thomas Scott, Esq., of the 70th Regiment,
then stationed in Canada. Those who remember that gentleman will
readily grant that, with general talents at least equal to those
of his elder brother, he added a power of social humour and a deep
insight into human character which rendered him an universally
delightful member of society, and that the habit of composition
alone was wanting to render him equally successful as a writer.
The Author of Waverley was so persuaded of the truth of this, that
he warmly pressed his brother to make such an experiment, and
willingly undertook all the trouble of correcting and
superintending the press. Mr. Thomas Scott seemed at first very
well disposed to embrace the proposal, and had even fixed on a
subject and a hero. The latter was a person well known to both of
us in our boyish years, from having displayed some strong traits
of character. Mr. T. Scott had determined to represent his
youthful acquaintance as emigrating to America, and encountering
the dangers and hardships of the New World, with the same
dauntless spirit which he had displayed when a boy in his native
country. Mr. Scott would probably have been highly successful,
being familiarly acquainted with the manners of the native
Indians, of the old French settlers in Canada, and of the Brules
or Woodsmen, and having the power of observing with accuracy what
I have no doubt he could have sketched with force and expression.
In short, the Author believes his brother would have made himself
distinguished in that striking field in which, since that period,
Mr. Cooper has achieved so many triumphs. But Mr. T. Scott was
already affected by bad health, which wholly unfitted him for
literary labour, even if he could have reconciled his patience to
the task. He never, I believe, wrote a single line of the
projected work; and I only have the melancholy pleasure of
preserving in the Appendix [Footnote: See Appendix No. III.] the
simple anecdote on which he proposed to found it.

To this I may add, I can easily conceive that there may have been
circumstances which gave a colour to the general report of my
brother being interested in these works; and in particular that it
might derive strength from my having occasion to remit to him, in
consequence of certain family transactions, some considerable sums
of money about that period. To which it is to be added that if any
person chanced to evince particular curiosity on such a subject,
my brother was likely enough to divert himself with practising on
their credulity.

It may be mentioned that, while the paternity of these Novels was
from time to time warmly disputed in Britain, the foreign
booksellers expressed no hesitation on the matter, but affixed my
name to the whole of the Novels, and to some besides to which I
had no claim.

The volumes, therefore, to which the present pages form a Preface
are entirely the composition of the Author by whom they are now
acknowledged, with the exception, always, of avowed quotations,
and such unpremeditated and involuntary plagiarisms as can scarce
be guarded against by any one who has read and written a great
deal. The original manuscripts are all in existence, and entirely
written (horresco referens) in the Author's own hand, excepting
during the years 1818 and 1819, when, being affected with severe
illness, he was obliged to employ the assistance of a friendly
amanuensis.

The number of persons to whom the secret was necessarily
entrusted, or communicated by chance, amounted, I should think, to
twenty at least, to whom I am greatly obliged for the fidelity
with which they observed their trust, until the derangement of the
affairs of my publishers, Messrs. Constable and Co., and the
exposure of their account books, which was the necessary
consequence, rendered secrecy no longer possible. The particulars
attending the avowal have been laid before the public in the
Introduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate.

The preliminary advertisement has given a sketch of the purpose of
this edition. I have some reason to fear that the notes which
accompany the tales, as now published, may be thought too
miscellaneous and too egotistical. It maybe some apology for this,
that the publication was intended to be posthumous, and still
more, that old men may be permitted to speak long, because they
cannot in the course of nature have long time to speak. In
preparing the present edition, I have done all that I can do to
explain the nature of my materials, and the use I have made of
them; nor is it probable that I shall again revise or even read
these tales. I was therefore desirous rather to exceed in the
portion of new and explanatory matter which is added to this
edition than that the reader should have reason to complain that
the information communicated was of a general and merely nominal
character. It remains to be tried whether the public (like a child
to whom a watch is shown) will, after having been satiated with
looking at the outside, acquire some new interest in the object
when it is opened and the internal machinery displayed to them.

That Waverly and its successors have had their day of favour and
popularity must be admitted with sincere gratitude; and the Author
has studied (with the prudence of a beauty whose reign has been
rather long) to supply, by the assistance of art, the charms which
novelty no longer affords. The publishers have endeavoured to
gratify the honourable partiality of the public for the
encouragement of British art, by illustrating this edition with
designs by the most eminent living artists. [Footnote: The
illustrations here referred to were made for the edition of 1829]

To my distinguished countryman, David Wilkie, to Edwin Landseer,
who has exercised his talents so much on Scottish subjects and
scenery, to Messrs. Leslie and Newton, my thanks are due, from a
friend as well as an author. Nor am I less obliged to Messrs.
Cooper, Kidd, and other artists of distinction to whom I am less
personally known, for the ready zeal with which they have devoted
their talents to the same purpose.

Farther explanation respecting the Edition is the business of the
publishers, not of the Author; and here, therefore, the latter has
accomplished his task of introduction and explanation. If, like a
spoiled child, he has sometimes abused or trifled with the
indulgence of the public, he feels himself entitled to full belief
when he exculpates himself from the charge of having been at any
time insensible of their kindness.

ABBOTSFORD, 1st January, 1829.





WAVERLEY

OR 'T IS SIXTY YEARS SINCE

    Under which King, Bezonian? speak, or die!

    Henry IV, Part II.


INTRODUCTION


The plan of this edition leads me to insert in this place some
account of the incidents on which the Novel of Waverley is
founded. They have been already given to the public by my late
lamented friend, William Erskine, Esq. (afterwards Lord Kinneder),
when reviewing the Tales of My Landlord for the Quarterly Review
in 1817. The particulars were derived by the critic from the
Author's information. Afterwards they were published in the
Preface to the Chronicles of the Canongate. They are now inserted
in their proper place.

The mutual protection afforded by Waverley and Talbot to each
other, upon which the whole plot depends, is founded upon one of
those anecdotes which soften the features even of civil war; and,
as it is equally honourable to the memory of both parties, we have
no hesitation to give their names at length. When the Highlanders,
on the morning of the battle of Preston, 1745, made their
memorable attack on Sir John Cope's army, a battery of four field-
pieces was stormed and carried by the Camerons and the Stewarts of
Appine. The late Alexander Stewart of Invernahylewas one of the
foremost in the charge, and observing an officer of the King's
forces, who, scorning to join the flight of all around, remained
with his sword in his hand, as if determined to the very last to
defend the post assigned to him, the Highland gentleman commanded
him to surrender, and received for reply a thrust, which he caught
in his target. The officer was now defenceless, and the battle-axe
of a gigantic Highlander (the miller of Invernahyle's mill) was
uplifted to dash his brains out, when Mr. Stewart with difficulty
prevailed on him to yield. He took charge of his enemy's property,
protected his person, and finally obtained him liberty on his
parole. The officer proved to be Colonel Whitefoord, an Ayrshire
gentleman of high character and influence, and warmly attached to
the House of Hanover; yet such was the confidence existing between
these two honourable men, though of different political
principles, that, while the civil war was raging, and straggling
officers from the Highland army were executed without mercy,
Invernahyle hesitated not to pay his late captive a visit, as he
returned to the Highlands to raise fresh recruits, on which
occasion he spent a day or two in Ayrshire among Colonel
Whitefoord's Whig friends, as pleasantly and as good-humouredly as
if all had been at peace around him.

After the battle of Culloden had ruined the hopes of Charles
Edward and dispersed his proscribed adherents, it was Colonel
Whitefoord's turn to strain every nerve to obtain Mr. Stewart's
pardon. He went to the Lord Justice Clerk to the Lord Advocate,
and to all the officers of state, and each application was
answered by the production of a list in which Invernahyle (as the
good old gentleman was wont to express it) appeared 'marked with
the sign of the beast!' as a subject unfit for favour or pardon.

At length Colonel Whitefoord applied to the Duke of Cumberland in
person. From him, also, he received a positive refusal. He then
limited his request, for the present, to a protection for
Stewart's house, wife, children, and property. This was also
refused by the Duke; on which Colonel Whitefoord, taking his
commission from his bosom, laid it on the table before his Royal
Highness with much emotion, and asked permission to retire from
the service of a sovereign who did not know how to spare a
vanquished enemy. The Duke was struck, and even affected. He bade
the Colonel take up his commission, and granted the protection he
required. It was issued just in time to save the house, corn, and
cattle at Invernahyle from the troops, who were engaged in laying
waste what it was the fashion to call 'the country of the enemy.'
A small encampment of soldiers was formed on Invernahyle's
property, which they spared while plundering the country around,
and searching in every direction for the leaders of the
insurrection, and for Stewart in particular. He was much nearer
them than they suspected; for, hidden in a cave (like the Baron of
Bradwardine), he lay for many days so near the English sentinels
that he could hear their muster-roll called. His food was brought
to him by one of his daughters, a child of eight years old, whom
Mrs. Stewart was under the necessity of entrusting with this
commission; for her own motions, and those of all her elder
inmates, were closely watched. With ingenuity beyond her years,
the child used to stray about among the soldiers, who were rather
kind to her, and thus seize the moment when she was unobserved and
steal into the thicket, when she deposited whatever small store of
provisions she had in charge at some marked spot, where her father
might find it. Invernahyle supported life for several weeks by
means of these precarious supplies; and, as he had been wounded in
the battle of Culloden, the hardships which he endured were
aggravated by great bodily pain. After the soldiers had removed
their quarters he had another remarkable escape.

As he now ventured to his own house at night and left it in the
morning, he was espied during the dawn by a party of the enemy,
who fired at and pursued him. The fugitive being fortunate enough
to escape their search, they returned to the house and charged the
family with harbouring one of the proscribed traitors. An old
woman had presence of mind enough to maintain that the man they
had seen was the shepherd. 'Why did he not stop when we called to
him?' said the soldier. 'He is as deaf, poor man, as a peat-
stack,' answered the ready-witted domestic. 'Let him be sent for
directly.' The real shepherd accordingly was brought from the
hill, and, as there was time to tutor him by the way, he was as
deaf when he made his appearance as was necessary to sustain his
character. Invernahyle was afterwards pardoned under the Act of
Indemnity.

The Author knew him well, and has often heard these circumstances
from his own mouth. He was a noble specimen of the old Highlander,
far descended, gallant, courteous, and brave, even to chivalry. He
had been out, I believe, in 1715 and 1745, was an active partaker
in all the stirring scenes which passed in the Highlands betwixt
these memorable eras; and, I have heard, was remarkable, among
other exploits, for having fought a duel with the broadsword with
the celebrated Rob Roy MacGregor at the clachan of Balquidder.

Invernahyle chanced to be in Edinburgh when Paul Jones came into
the Firth of Forth, and though then an old man, I saw him in arms,
and heard him exult (to use his own words) in the prospect
of drawing his claymore once more before he died.' In fact, on
that memorable occasion, when the capital of Scotland was menaced
by three trifling sloops or brigs, scarce fit to have sacked a
fishing village, he was the only man who seemed to propose a plan
of resistance. He offered to the magistrates, if broadswords and
dirks could be obtained, to find as many Highlanders among the
lower classes as would cut off any boat's crew who might be sent
into a town full of narrow and winding passages, in which they
were like to disperse in quest of plunder. I know not if his plan
was attended to, I rather think it seemed too hazardous to the
constituted authorities, who might not, even at that time, desire
to see arms in Highland hands. A steady and powerful west wind
settled the matter by sweeping Paul Jones and his vessels out of
the Firth.

If there is something degrading in this recollection, it is not
unpleasant to compare it with those of the last war, when
Edinburgh, besides regular forces and militia, furnished a
volunteer brigade of cavalry, infantry, and artillery to the
amount of six thousand men and upwards, which was in readiness to
meet and repel a force of a far more formidable description than
was commanded by the adventurous American. Time and circumstances
change the character of nations and the fate of cities; and it is
some pride to a Scotchman to reflect that the independent and
manly character of a country, willing to entrust its own
protection to the arms of its children, after having been obscured
for half a century, has, during the course of his own lifetime,
recovered its lustre.

Other illustrations of Waverley will be found in the Notes at the
foot of the pages to which they belong. Those which appeared too
long to be so placed are given at the end of the chapters to which
they severally relate. [Footnote: In this edition at the end of
the several volumes.]





PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION


To this slight attempt at a sketch of ancient Scottish manners the
public have been more favourable than the Author durst have hoped
or expected. He has heard, with a mixture of satisfaction and
humility, his work ascribed to more than one respectable name.
Considerations, which seem weighty in his particular situation,
prevent his releasing those gentlemen from suspicion by placing
his own name in the title-page; so that, for the present at least,
it must remain uncertain whether Waverley be the work of a poet or
a critic, a lawyer or a clergyman, or whether the writer, to use
Mrs. Malaprop's phrase, be, 'like Cerberus, three gentlemen at
once.' The Author, as he is unconscious of anything in the work
itself (except perhaps its frivolity) which prevents its finding
an acknowledged father, leaves it to the candour of the public to
choose among the many circumstances peculiar to different
situations in life such as may induce him to suppress his name on
the present occasion. He may be a writer new to publication, and
unwilling to avow a character to which he is unaccustomed; or he
may be a hackneyed author, who is ashamed of too frequent
appearance, and employs this mystery, as the heroine of the old
comedy used her mask, to attract the attention of those to whom
her face had become too familiar. He may be a man of a grave
profession, to whom the reputation of being a novel-writer might
be prejudicial; or he may be a man of fashion, to whom writing of
any kind might appear pedantic. He may be too young to assume the
character of an author, or so old as to make it advisable to lay
it aside.

The Author of Waverley has heard it objected to this novel, that,
in the character of Callum Beg and in the account given by the
Baron of Bradwardine of the petty trespasses of the Highlanders
upon trifling articles of property, he has borne hard, and
unjustly so, upon their national character. Nothing could be
farther from his wish or intention. The character of Callum Beg is
that of a spirit naturally turned to daring evil, and determined,
by the circumstances of his situation, to a particular species of
mischief. Those who have perused the curious Letters from the
Highlands, published about 1726, will find instances of such
atrocious characters which fell under the writer's own
observation, though it would be most unjust to consider such
villains as representatives of the Highlanders of that period, any
more than the murderers of Marr and Williamson can be supposed to
represent the English of the present day. As for the plunder
supposed to have been picked up by some of the insurgents in 1745,
it must be remembered that, although the way of that unfortunate
little army was neither marked by devastation nor bloodshed, but,
on the contrary, was orderly and quiet in a most wonderful degree,
yet no army marches through a country in a hostile manner without
committing some depredations; and several, to the extent and of
the nature jocularly imputed to them by the Baron, were really
laid to the charge of the Highland insurgents; for which many
traditions, and particularly one respecting the Knight of the
Mirror, may be quoted as good evidence. [Footnote: A homely
metrical narrative of the events of the period, which contains
some striking particulars, and is still a great favourite with the
lower classes, gives a very correct statement of the behaviour of
the mountaineers respecting this same military license; and, as
the verses are little known, and contain some good sense, we
venture to insert them.]





THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO ALL IN GENERAL


    Now, gentle readers, I have let you ken
    My very thoughts, from heart and pen,
    'Tis needless for to conten'
                  Or yet controule,
    For there's not a word o't I can men';
                  So ye must thole.

    For on both sides some were not good;
    I saw them murd'ring in cold blood,
    Not the gentlemen, but wild and rude,
                  The baser sort,
    Who to the wounded had no mood
                  But murd'ring sport!

    Ev'n both at Preston and Falkirk,
    That fatal night ere it grew mirk,
    Piercing the wounded with their durk,
                  Caused many cry!
    Such pity's shown from Savage and Turk
                  As peace to die.

    A woe be to such hot zeal,
    To smite the wounded on the fiell!
    It's just they got such groats in kail,
                  Who do the same.
    It only teaches crueltys real
                  To them again.

    I've seen the men call'd Highland rogues,
    With Lowland men make shangs a brogs,
    Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs
                  Out at the door,
    Take cocks, hens, sheep, and hogs,
                  And pay nought for.

    I saw a Highlander,'t was right drole,
    With a string of puddings hung on a pole,
    Whip'd o'er his shoulder, skipped like a fole,
                        Caus'd Maggy bann,
    Lap o'er the midden and midden-hole,
                        And aff he ran.

    When check'd for this, they'd often tell ye,
    'Indeed her nainsell's a tume belly;
    You'll no gie't wanting bought, nor sell me;
                        Hersell will hae't;
    Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy's Willie,
                        I'll hae a meat.'

    I saw the soldiers at Linton-brig,
    Because the man was not a Whig,
    Of meat and drink leave not a skig,
                        Within his door;
    They burnt his very hat and wig,
                        And thump'd him sore.

    And through the Highlands they were so rude,
    As leave them neither clothes nor food,
    Then burnt their houses to conclude;
                        'T was tit for tat.
    How can her nainsell e'er be good,
                        To think on that?

    And after all, O, shame and grief!
    To use some worse than murd'ring thief,
    Their very gentleman and chief,
                        Unhumanly!
    Like Popish tortures, I believe,
                        Such cruelty.

    Ev'n what was act on open stage
    At Carlisle, in the hottest rage,
    When mercy was clapt in a cage,
                        And pity dead,
    Such cruelty approv'd by every age,
                        I shook my head.

    So many to curse, so few to pray,
    And some aloud huzza did cry;
    They cursed the rebel Scots that day,
                        As they'd been nowt
    Brought up for slaughter, as that way
                        Too many rowt.

    Therefore, alas! dear countrymen,
    O never do the like again,
    To thirst for vengeance, never ben'
                        Your gun nor pa',
    But with the English e'en borrow and len',
                        Let anger fa'.

    Their boasts and bullying, not worth a louse,
    As our King's the best about the house.
    'T is ay good to be sober and douce,
                        To live in peace;
    For many, I see, for being o'er crouse,
                        Gets broken face.





WAVERLEY

OR 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE





CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY


The title of this work has not been chosen without the grave and
solid deliberation which matters of importance demand from the
prudent. Even its first, or general denomination, was the result
of no common research or selection, although, according to the
example of my predecessors, I had only to seize upon the most
sounding and euphonic surname that English history or topography
affords, and elect it at once as the title of my work and the name
of my hero. But, alas! what could my readers have expected from
the chivalrous epithets of Howard, Mordaunt, Mortimer, or Stanley,
or from the softer and more sentimental sounds of Belmour,
Belville, Belfield, and Belgrave, but pages of inanity, similar to
those which have been so christened for half a century past? I
must modestly admit I am too diffident of my own merit to place it
in unnecessary opposition to preconceived associations; I have,
therefore, like a maiden knight with his white shield, assumed for
my hero, WAVERLEY, an uncontaminated name, bearing with its sound
little of good or evil, excepting what the reader shall hereafter
be pleased to affix to it. But my second or supplemental title was
a matter of much more difficult election, since that, short as it
is, may be held as pledging the author to some special mode of
laying his scene, drawing his characters, and managing his
adventures. Had I, for example, announced in my frontispiece,
'Waverley, a Tale of other Days,' must not every novel-reader have
anticipated a castle scarce less than that of Udolpho, of which
the eastern wing had long been uninhabited, and the keys either
lost, or consigned to the care of some aged butler or housekeeper,
whose trembling steps, about the middle of the second volume, were
doomed to guide the hero, or heroine, to the ruinous precincts?
Would not the owl have shrieked and the cricket cried in my very
title-page? and could it have been possible for me, with a
moderate attention to decorum, to introduce any scene more lively
than might be produced by the jocularity of a clownish but
faithful valet, or the garrulous narrative of the heroine's fille-
de-chambre, when rehearsing the stories of blood and horror which
she had heard in the servants' hall? Again, had my title borne,
'Waverley, a Romance from the German,' what head so obtuse as not
to image forth a profligate abbot, an oppressive duke, a secret
and mysterious association of Rosycrucians and Illuminati, with
all their properties of black cowls, caverns, daggers, electrical
machines, trap-doors, and dark-lanterns? Or if I had rather chosen
to call my work a 'Sentimental Tale,' would it not have been a
sufficient presage of a heroine with a profusion of auburn hair,
and a harp, the soft solace of her solitary hours, which she
fortunately finds always the means of transporting from castle to
cottage, although she herself be sometimes obliged to jump out of
a two-pair-of-stairs window, and is more than once bewildered on
her journey, alone and on foot, without any guide but a blowzy
peasant girl, whose jargon she hardly can understand? Or, again,
if my Waverley had been entitled 'A Tale of the Times,' wouldst
thou not, gentle reader, have demanded from me a dashing sketch of
the fashionable world, a few anecdotes of private scandal thinly
veiled, and if lusciously painted, so much the better? a heroine
from Grosvenor Square, and a hero from the Barouche Club or the
Four-in-Hand, with a set of subordinate characters from the
elegantes of Queen Anne Street East, or the dashing heroes of the
Bow-Street Office? I could proceed in proving the importance of a
title-page, and displaying at the same time my own intimate
knowledge of the particular ingredients necessary to the
composition of romances and novels of various descriptions;--but
it is enough, and I scorn to tyrannise longer over the impatience
of my reader, who is doubtless already anxious to know the choice
made by an author so profoundly versed in the different branches
of his art.

By fixing, then, the date of my story Sixty Years before this
present 1st November, 1805, I would have my readers understand,
that they will meet in the following pages neither a romance of
chivalry nor a tale of modern manners; that my hero will neither
have iron on his. shoulders, as of yore, nor on the heels of his
boots, as is the present fashion of Bond Street; and that my
damsels will neither be clothed 'in purple and in pall,' like the
Lady Alice of an old ballad, nor reduced to the primitive
nakedness of a modern fashionable at a rout. From this my choice
of an era the understanding critic may farther presage that the
object of my tale is more a description of men than manners. A
tale of manners, to be interesting, must either refer to antiquity
so great as to have become venerable, or it must bear a vivid
reflection of those scenes which are passing daily before our
eyes, and are interesting from their novelty. Thus the coat-of-
mail of our ancestors, and the triple-furred pelisse of our modern
beaux, may, though for very different reasons, be equally fit for
the array of a fictitious character; but who, meaning the costume
of his hero to be impressive, would willingly attire him in the
court dress of George the Second's reign, with its no collar,
large sleeves, and low pocket-holes? The same may be urged, with
equal truth, of the Gothic hall, which, with its darkened and
tinted windows, its elevated and gloomy roof, and massive oaken
table garnished with boar's-head and rosemary, pheasants and
peacocks, cranes and cygnets, has an excellent effect in
fictitious description. Much may also be gained by a lively
display of a modern fete, such as we have daily recorded in that
part of a newspaper entitled the Mirror of Fashion, if we contrast
these, or either of them, with the splendid formality of an
entertainment given Sixty Years Since; and thus it will be readily
seen how much the painter of antique or of fashionable manners
gains over him who delineates those of the last generation.

Considering the disadvantages inseparable from this part of my
subject, I must be understood to have resolved to avoid them as
much as possible, by throwing the force of my narrative upon the
characters and passions of the actors;--those passions common to
men in all stages of society, and which have alike agitated the
human heart, whether it throbbed under the steel corslet of the
fifteenth century, the brocaded coat of the eighteenth, or the
blue frock and white dimity waistcoat of the present day.
[Footnote: Alas' that attire, respectable and gentlemanlike in
1805, or thereabouts, is now as antiquated as the Author of
Waverley has himself become since that period! The reader of
fashion will please to fill up the costume with an embroidered
waistcoat of purple velvet or silk, and a coat of whatever colour
he pleases.] Upon these passions it is no doubt true that the
state of manners and laws casts a necessary colouring; but the
bearings, to use the language of heraldry, remain the same, though
the tincture may be not only different, but opposed in strong
contradistinction. The wrath of our ancestors, for example, was
coloured gules; it broke forth in acts of open and sanguinary
violence against the objects of its fury. Our malignant feelings,
which must seek gratification through more indirect channels, and
undermine the obstacles which they cannot openly bear down, may be
rather said to be tinctured sable. But the deep-ruling impulse is
the same in both cases; and the proud peer, who can now only ruin
his neighbour according to law, by protracted suits, is the
genuine descendant of the baron who wrapped the castle of his
competitor in flames, and knocked him on the head as he
endeavoured to escape from the conflagration. It is from the great
book of Nature, the same through a thousand editions, whether of
black-letter, or wire-wove and hot-pressed, that I have
venturously essayed to read a chapter to the public. Some
favourable opportunities of contrast have been afforded me by the
state of society in the northern part of the island at the period
of my history, and may serve at once to vary and to illustrate the
moral lessons, which I would willingly consider as the most
important part of my plan; although I am sensible how short these
will fall of their aim if I shall be found unable to mix them with
amusement--a task not quite so easy in this critical generation as
it was 'Sixty Years Since.'





CHAPTER II

WAVERLEY-HONOUR--A RETROSPECT


It is, then, sixty years since Edward Waverley, the hero of the
following pages, took leave of his family, to join the regiment of
dragoons in which he had lately obtained a commission. It was a
melancholy day at Waverley-Honour when the young officer parted
with Sir Everard, the affectionate old uncle to whose title and
estate he was presumptive heir.

A difference in political opinions had early separated the Baronet
from his younger brother Richard Waverley, the father of our hero.
Sir Everard had inherited from his sires the whole train of Tory
or High-Church predilections and prejudices which had
distinguished the house of Waverley since the Great Civil War.
Richard, on the contrary, who was ten years younger, beheld
himself born to the fortune of a second brother, and anticipated
neither dignity nor entertainment in sustaining the character of
Will Wimble. He saw early that, to succeed in the race of life, it
was necessary he should carry as little weight as possible.
Painters talk of the difficulty of expressing the existence of
compound passions in the same features at the same moment; it
would be no less difficult for the moralist to analyse the mixed
motives which unite to form the impulse of our actions. Richard
Waverley read and satisfied himself from history and sound
argument that, in the words of the old song,

      Passive obedience was a jest,
      And pshaw! was non-resistance;

yet reason would have probably been unable to combat and remove
hereditary prejudice could Richard have anticipated that his elder
brother, Sir Everard, taking to heart an early disappointment,
would have remained a bachelor at seventy-two. The prospect of
succession, however remote, might in that case have led him to
endure dragging through the greater part of his life as 'Master
Richard at the Hall, the Baronet's brother,' in the hope that ere
its conclusion he should be distinguished as Sir Richard Waverley
of Waverley-Honour, successor to a princely estate, and to
extended political connections as head of the county interest in
the shire where it lay.

But this was a consummation of things not to be expected at
Richard's outset, when Sir Everard was in the prime of life, and
certain to be an acceptable suitor in almost any family, whether
wealth or beauty should be the object of his pursuit, and when,
indeed, his speedy marriage was a report which regularly amused
the neighbourhood once a year. His younger brother saw no
practicable road to independence save that of relying upon his own
exertions, and adopting a political creed more consonant both to
reason and his own interest than the hereditary faith of Sir
Everard in High-Church and in the house of Stuart. He therefore
read his recantation at the beginning of his career, and entered
life as an avowed Whig and friend of the Hanover succession.

The ministry of George the First's time were prudently anxious to
diminish the phalanx of opposition. The Tory nobility, depending
for their reflected lustre upon the sunshine of a court, had for
some time been gradually reconciling themselves to the new
dynasty. But the wealthy country gentlemen of England, a rank
which retained, with much of ancient manners and primitive
integrity, a great proportion of obstinate and unyielding
prejudice, stood aloof in haughty and sullen opposition, and cast
many a look of mingled regret and hope to Bois le Due, Avignon,
and Italy. [Footnote: Where the Chevalier St. George, or, as he was
termed, the Old Pretender, held his exiled court, as his situation
compelled him to shift his place of residence.] The accession of
the near relation of one of those steady and inflexible opponents
was considered as a means of bringing over more converts, and
therefore Richard Waverley met with a share of ministerial favour
more than proportioned to his talents or his political importance.
It was, however, discovered that he had respectable talents for
public business, and the first admittance to the minister's levee
being negotiated, his success became rapid. Sir Everard learned
from the public 'News-Letter,' first, that Richard Waverley,
Esquire, was returned for the ministerial borough of Barterfaith;
next, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had taken a distinguished
part in the debate upon the Excise Bill in the support of
government; and, lastly, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had been
honoured with a seat at one of those boards where the pleasure of
serving the country is combined with other important
gratifications, which, to render them the more acceptable, occur
regularly once a quarter.

Although these events followed each other so closely that the
sagacity of the editor of a modern newspaper would have presaged
the two last even while he announced the first, yet they came upon
Sir Everard gradually, and drop by drop, as it were, distilled
through the cool and procrastinating alembic of Dyer's 'Weekly
Letter.' [Footnote: See Note I. ] For it may be observed in
passing, that instead of those mail-coaches, by means of which
every mechanic at his six-penny club, may nightly learn from
twenty contradictory channels the yesterday's news of the capital,
a weekly post brought, in those days, to Waverley-Honour, a
Weekly Intelligencer, which, after it had gratified Sir Everard's
curiosity, his sister's, and that of his aged butler, was
regularly transferred from the Hall to the Rectory, from the
Rectory to Squire Stubbs's at the Grange, from the Squire to the
Baronet's steward at his neat white house on the heath, from the
steward to the bailiff, and from him through a huge circle of
honest dames and gaffers, by whose hard and horny hands it was
generally worn to pieces in about a month after its arrival.

This slow succession of intelligence was of some advantage to
Richard Waverley in the case before us; for, had the sum total of
his enormities reached the ears of Sir Everard at once, there can
be no doubt that the new commissioner would have had little reason
to pique himself on the success of his politics. The Baronet,
although the mildest of human beings, was not without sensitive
points in his character; his brother's conduct had wounded these
deeply; the Waverley estate was fettered by no entail (for it had
never entered into the head of any of its former possessors that
one of their progeny could be guilty of the atrocities laid by
Dyer's 'Letter' to the door of Richard), and if it had, the
marriage of the proprietor might have been fatal to a collateral
heir. These various ideas floated through the brain of Sir Everard
without, however, producing any determined conclusion.

He examined the tree of his genealogy, which, emblazoned with many
an emblematic mark of honour and heroic achievement, hung upon the
well-varnished wainscot of his hall. The nearest descendants of
Sir Hildebrand Waverley, failing those of his eldest son Wilfred,
of whom Sir Everard and his brother were the only representatives,
were, as this honoured register informed him (and, indeed, as he
himself well knew), the Waverleys of Highley Park, com. Hants;
with whom the main branch, or rather stock, of the house had
renounced all connection since the great law-suit in 1670.

This degenerate scion had committed a farther offence against the
head and source of their gentility, by the intermarriage of their
representative with Judith, heiress of Oliver Bradshawe, of
Highley Park, whose arms, the same with those of Bradshawe the
regicide, they had quartered with the ancient coat of Waverley.
These offences, however, had vanished from Sir Everard's
recollection in the heat of his resentment; and had Lawyer
Clippurse, for whom his groom was despatched express, arrived but
an hour earlier, he might have had the benefit of drawing a new
settlement of the lordship and manor of Waverley-Honour, with all
its dependencies. But an hour of cool reflection is a great matter
when employed in weighing the comparative evil of two measures to
neither of which we are internally partial. Lawyer Clippurse found
his patron involved in a deep study, which he was too respectful
to disturb, otherwise than by producing his paper and leathern
ink-case, as prepared to minute his honour's commands. Even this
slight manoeuvre was embarrassing to Sir Everard, who felt it as a
reproach to his indecision. He looked at the attorney with some
desire to issue his fiat, when the sun, emerging from behind a
cloud, poured at once its chequered light through the stained
window of the gloomy cabinet in which they were seated. The
Baronet's eye, as he raised it to the splendour, fell right upon
the central scutcheon, inpressed with the same device which his
ancestor was said to have borne in the field of Hastings,--three
ermines passant, argent, in a field azure, with its appropriate
motto, Sans tache. 'May our name rather perish,' exclaimed Sir
Everard, 'than that ancient and loyal symbol should be blended
with the dishonoured insignia of a traitorous Roundhead!'

All this was the effect of the glimpse of a sunbeam, just
sufficient to light Lawyer Clippurse to mend his pen. The pen was
mended in vain. The attorney was dismissed, with directions to
hold himself in readiness on the first summons.

The apparition of Lawyer Clippurse at the Hall occasioned much
speculation in that portion of the world to which Waverley-Honour
formed the centre. But the more judicious politicians of this
microcosm augured yet worse consequences to Richard Waverley from
a movement which shortly followed his apostasy. This was no less
than an excursion of the Baronet in his coach-and-six, with four
attendants in rich liveries, to make a visit of some duration to a
noble peer on the confines of the shire, of untainted descent,
steady Tory principles, and the happy father of six unmarried and
accomplished daughters.

Sir Everard's reception in this family was, as it may be easily
conceived, sufficiently favourable; but of the six young ladies,
his taste unfortunately determined him in favour of Lady Emily,
the youngest, who received his attentions with an embarrassment
which showed at once that she durst not decline them, and that
they afforded her anything but pleasure.

Sir Everard could not but perceive something uncommon in the
restrained emotions which the young lady testified at the advances
he hazarded; but, assured by the prudent Countess that they were
the natural effects of a retired education, the sacrifice might
have been completed, as doubtless has happened in many similar
instances, had it not been for the courage of an elder sister, who
revealed to the wealthy suitor that Lady Emily's affections were
fixed upon a young soldier of fortune, a near relation of her own.

Sir Everard manifested great emotion on receiving this
intelligence, which was confirmed to him, in a private interview,
by the young lady herself, although under the most dreadful
apprehensions of her father's indignation.

Honour and generosity were hereditary attributes of the house of
Waverley. With a grace and delicacy worthy the hero of a romance,
Sir Everard withdrew his claim to the hand of Lady Emily. He had
even, before leaving Blandeville Castle, the address to extort
from her father a consent to her union with the object of her
choice. What arguments he used on this point cannot exactly be
known, for Sir Everard was never supposed strong in the powers of
persuasion; but the young officer, immediately after this
transaction, rose in the army with a rapidity far surpassing the
usual pace of unpatronised professional merit, although, to
outward appearance, that was all he had to depend upon.

The shock which Sir Everard encountered upon this occasion,
although diminished by the consciousness of having acted
virtuously and generously had its effect upon his future life. His
resolution of marriage had been adopted in a fit of indignation;
the labour of courtship did not quite suit the dignified indolence
of his habits; he had but just escaped the risk of marrying a
woman who could never love him, and his pride could not be greatly
flattered by the termination of his amour, even if his heart had
not suffered. The result of the whole matter was his return to
Waverley-Honour without any transfer of his affections,
notwithstanding the sighs and languishments of the fair tell-tale,
who had revealed, in mere sisterly affection, the secret of Lady
Emily's attachment, and in despite of the nods, winks, and
innuendos of the officious lady mother, and the grave eulogiums
which the Earl pronounced successively on the prudence, and good
sense, and admirable dispositions, of his first, second, third,
fourth, and fifth daughters.

The memory of his unsuccessful amour was with Sir Everard, as with
many more of his temper, at once shy, proud, sensitive, and
indolent, a beacon against exposing himself to similar
mortification, pain, and fruitless exertion for the time to come.
He continued to live at Waverley-Honour in the style of an old
English gentleman, of an ancient descent and opulent fortune. His
sister, Miss Rachel Waverley, presided at his table; and they
became, by degrees, an old bachelor and an ancient maiden lady,
the gentlest and kindest of the votaries of celibacy.

The vehemence of Sir Everard's resentment against his brother was
but short-lived; yet his dislike to the Whig and the placeman,
though unable to stimulate him to resume any active measures
prejudicial to Richard's interest, in the succession to the family
estate, continued to maintain the coldness between them. Richard
knew enough of the world, and of his brother's temper, to believe
that by any ill-considered or precipitate advances on his part, he
might turn passive dislike into a more active principle. It was
accident, therefore, which at length occasioned a renewal of their
intercourse. Richard had married a young woman of rank, by whose
family interest and private fortune he hoped to advance his
career. In her right he became possessor of a manor of some value,
at the distance of a few miles from Waverley-Honour.

Little Edward, the hero of our tale, then in his fifth year, was
their only child. It chanced that the infant with his maid had
strayed one morning to a mile's distance from the avenue of
Brerewood Lodge, his father's seat. Their attention was attracted
by a carriage drawn by six stately long-tailed black horses, and
with as much carving and gilding as would have done honour to my
lord mayor's. It was waiting for the owner, who was at a little
distance inspecting the progress of a half-built farm-house. I
know not whether the boy's nurse had been a Welsh--or a Scotch-
woman, or in what manner he associated a shield emblazoned with
three ermines with the idea of personal property, but he no sooner
beheld this family emblem than he stoutly determined on
vindicating his right to the splendid vehicle on which it was
displayed. The Baronet arrived while the boy's maid was in vain
endeavouring to make him desist from his determination to
appropriate the gilded coach-and-six. The rencontre was at a happy
moment for Edward, as his uncle had been just eyeing wistfully,
with something of a feeling like envy, the chubby boys of the
stout yeoman whose mansion was building by his direction. In the
round-faced rosy cherub before him, bearing his eye and his name,
and vindicating a hereditary title to his family, affection, and
patronage, by means of a tie which Sir Everard held as sacred as
either Garter or Blue-mantle, Providence seemed to have granted to
him the very object best calculated to fill up the void in his
hopes and affections. Sir Everard returned to Waverley-Hall upon a
led horse, which was kept in readiness for him, while the child
and his attendant were sent home in the carriage to Brerewood
Lodge, with such a message as opened to Richard Waverley a door of
reconciliation with his elder brother.

Their intercourse, however, though thus renewed, continued to be
rather formal and civil than partaking of brotherly cordiality;
yet it was sufficient to the wishes of both parties. Sir Everard
obtained, in the frequent society of his little nephew, something
on which his hereditary pride might found the anticipated pleasure
of a continuation of his lineage, and where his kind and gentle
affections could at the same time fully exercise themselves. For
Richard Waverley, he beheld in the growing attachment between the
uncle and nephew the means of securing his son's, if not his own,
succession to the hereditary estate, which he felt would be rather
endangered than promoted by any attempt on his own part towards a
closer intimacy with a man of Sir Everard's habits and opinions.

Thus, by a sort of tacit compromise, little Edward was permitted
to pass the greater part of the year at the Hall, and appeared to
stand in the same intimate relation to both families, although
their mutual intercourse was otherwise limited to formal messages
and more formal visits. The education of the youth was regulated
alternately by the taste and opinions of his uncle and of his
father. But more of this in a subsequent chapter.





CHAPTER III

EDUCATION


The education of our hero, Edward Waverley, was of a nature
somewhat desultory. In infancy his health suffered, or was
supposed to suffer (which is quite the same thing), by the air of
London. As soon, therefore, as official duties, attendance on
Parliament, or the prosecution of any of his plans of interest or
ambition, called his father to town, which was his usual residence
for eight months in the year, Edward was transferred to Waverley-
Honour, and experienced a total change of instructors and of
lessons, as well as of residence. This might have been remedied
had his father placed him under the superintendence of a permanent
tutor. But he considered that one of his choosing would probably
have been unacceptable at Waverley-Honour, and that such a
selection as Sir Everard might have made, were the matter left to
him, would have burdened him with a disagreeable inmate, if not a
political spy, in his family. He therefore prevailed upon his
private secretary, a young man of taste and accomplishments, to
bestow an hour or two on Edward's education while at Brerewood
Lodge, and left his uncle answerable for his improvement in
literature while an inmate at the Hall. This was in some degree
respectably provided for. Sir Everard's chaplain, an Oxonian, who
had lost his fellowship for declining to take the oaths at the
accession of George I, was not only an excellent classical
scholar, but reasonably skilled in science, and master of most
modern languages. He was, however, old and indulgent, and the
recurring interregnum, during which Edward was entirely freed from
his discipline, occasioned such a relaxation of authority, that
the youth was permitted, in a great measure, to learn as he
pleased, what he pleased, and when he pleased. This slackness of
rule might have been ruinous to a boy of slow understanding, who,
feeling labour in the acquisition of knowledge, would have
altogether neglected it, save for the command of a taskmaster; and
it might have proved equally dangerous to a youth whose animal
spirits were more powerful than his imagination or his feelings,
and whom the irresistible influence of Alma would have engaged in
field-sports from morning till night. But the character of Edward
Waverley was remote from either of these. His powers of
apprehension were so uncommonly quick as almost to resemble
intuition, and the chief care of his preceptor was to prevent him,
as a sportsman would phrase it, from over-running his game--that
is, from acquiring his knowledge in a slight, flimsy, and
inadequate manner. And here the instructor had to combat another
propensity too often united with brilliancy of fancy and vivacity
of talent--that indolence, namely, of disposition, which can only
be stirred by some strong motive of gratification, and which
renounces study as soon as curiosity is gratified, the pleasure of
conquering the first difficulties exhausted, and the novelty of
pursuit at an end. Edward would throw himself with spirit upon any
classical author of which his preceptor proposed the perusal, make
himself master of the style so far as to understand the story,
and, if that pleased or interested him, he finished the volume.
But it was in vain to attempt fixing his attention on critical
distinctions of philology, upon the difference of idiom, the
beauty of felicitous expression, or the artificial combinations of
syntax. 'I can read and understand a Latin author,' said young
Edward, with the self-confidence and rash reasoning of fifteen,
'and Scaliger or Bentley could not do much more.' Alas! while he
was thus permitted to read only for the gratification of his
amusement, he foresaw not that he was losing for ever the
opportunity of acquiring habits of firm and assiduous application,
of gaining the art of controlling, directing, and concentrating
the powers of his mind for earnest investigation--an art far more
essential than even that intimate acquaintance with classical
learning which is the primary object of study.

I am aware I may be here reminded of the necessity of rendering
instruction agreeable to youth, and of Tasso's infusion of honey
into the medicine prepared for a child; but an age in which
children are taught the driest doctrines by the insinuating method
of instructive games, has little reason to dread the consequences
of study being rendered too serious or severe. The history of
England is now reduced to a game at cards, the problems of
mathematics to puzzles and riddles, and the doctrines of
arithmetic may, we are assured, be sufficiently acquired by
spending a few hours a week at a new and complicated edition of
the Royal Game of the Goose. There wants but one step further, and
the Creed and Ten Commandments may be taught in the same manner,
without the necessity of the grave face, deliberate tone of
recital, and devout attention, hitherto exacted from the well-
governed childhood of this realm. It may, in the meantime, be
subject of serious consideration, whether those who are accustomed
only to acquire instruction through the medium of amusement may
not be brought to reject that which approaches under the aspect of
study; whether those who learn history by the cards may not be led
to prefer the means to the end; and whether, were we to teach
religion in the way of sport, our pupils may not thereby be
gradually induced to make sport of their religion. To our young
hero, who was permitted to seek his instruction only according to
the bent of his own mind, and who, of consequence, only sought it
so long as it afforded him amusement, the indulgence of his tutors
was attended with evil consequences, which long continued to
influence his character, happiness, and utility.

Edward's power of imagination and love of literature, although the
former was vivid and the latter ardent, were so far from affording
a remedy to this peculiar evil, that they rather inflamed and
increased its violence. The library at Waverley-Honour, a large
Gothic room, with double arches and a gallery, contained such a
miscellaneous and extensive collection of volumes as had been
assembled together, during the course of two hundred years, by a
family which had been always wealthy, and inclined, of course, as
a mark of splendour, to furnish their shelves with the current
literature of the day, without much scrutiny or nicety of
discrimination. Throughout this ample realm Edward was permitted
to roam at large. His tutor had his own studies; and church
politics and controversial divinity, together with a love of
learned ease, though they did not withdraw his attention at stated
times from the progress of his patron's presumptive heir, induced
him readily to grasp at any apology for not extending a strict and
regulated survey towards his general studies. Sir Everard had
never been himself a student, and, like his sister, Miss Rachel
Waverley, he held the common doctrine, that idleness is
incompatible with reading of any kind, and that the mere tracing
the alphabetical characters with the eye is in itself a useful and
meritorious task, without scrupulously considering what ideas or
doctrines they may happen to convey. With a desire of amusement,
therefore, which better discipline might soon have converted into
a thirst for knowledge, young Waverley drove through the sea of
books like a vessel without a pilot or a rudder. Nothing perhaps
increases by indulgence more than a desultory habit of reading,
especially under such opportunities of gratifying it. I believe
one reason why such numerous instances of erudition occur among
the lower ranks is, that, with the same powers of mind, the poor
student is limited to a narrow circle for indulging his passion
for books, and must necessarily make himself master of the few he
possesses ere he can acquire more. Edward, on the contrary, like
the epicure who only deigned to take a single morsel from the
sunny side of a peach, read no volume a moment after it ceased to
excite his curiosity or interest; and it necessarily happened,
that the habit of seeking only this sort of gratification rendered
it daily more difficult of attainment, till the passion for
reading, like other strong appetites, produced by indulgence a
sort of satiety.

Ere he attained this indifference, however, he had read, and
stored in a memory of uncommon tenacity, much curious, though ill-
arranged and miscellaneous information. In English literature he
was master of Shakespeare and Milton, of our earlier dramatic
authors, of many picturesque and interesting passages from our old
historical chronicles, and was particularly well acquainted with
Spenser, Drayton, and other poets who have exercised themselves on
romantic fiction, of all themes the most fascinating to a youthful
imagination, before the passions have roused themselves and demand
poetry of a more sentimental description. In this respect his
acquaintance with Italian opened him yet a wider range. He had
perused the numerous romantic poems, which, from the days of
Pulci, have been a favourite exercise of the wits of Italy, and
had sought gratification in the numerous collections of novelle,
which were brought forth by the genius of that elegant though
luxurious nation, in emulation of the 'Decameron.' In classical
literature, Waverley had made the usual progress, and read the
usual authors; and the French had afforded him an almost
exhaustless collection of memoirs, scarcely more faithful than
romances, and of romances so well written as hardly to be
distinguished from memoirs. The splendid pages of Froissart, with
his heart-stirring and eye-dazzling descriptions of war and of
tournaments, were among his chief favourites; and from those of
Brantome and De la Noue he learned to compare the wild and loose,
yet superstitious, character of the nobles of the League with the
stern, rigid, and sometimes turbulent disposition of the Huguenot
party. The Spanish had contributed to his stock of chivalrous and
romantic lore. The earlier literature of the northern nations did
not escape the study of one who read rather to awaken the
imagination than to benefit the understanding. And yet, knowing
much that is known but to few, Edward Waverley might justly be
considered as ignorant, since he knew little of what adds dignity
to man, and qualifies him to support and adorn an elevated
situation in society.

The occasional attention of his parents might indeed have been of
service to prevent the dissipation of mind incidental to such a
desultory course of reading. But his mother died in the seventh
year after the reconciliation between the brothers, and Richard
Waverley himself, who, after this event, resided more constantly
in London, was too much interested in his own plans of wealth and
ambition to notice more respecting Edward than that he was of a
very bookish turn, and probably destined to be a bishop. If he
could have discovered and analysed his son's waking dreams, he
would have formed a very different conclusion.





CHAPTER IV

CASTLE-BUILDING


I have already hinted that the dainty, squeamish, and fastidious
taste acquired by a surfeit of idle reading had not only rendered
our hero unfit for serious and sober study, but had even disgusted
him in some degree with that in which he had hitherto indulged.

He was in his sixteenth year when his habits of abstraction and
love of solitude became so much marked as to excite Sir Everard's
affectionate apprehension. He tried to counterbalance these
propensities by engaging his nephew in field-sports, which had
been the chief pleasure of his own youthful days. But although
Edward eagerly carried the gun for one season, yet when practice
had given him some dexterity, the pastime ceased to afford him
amusement.

In the succeeding spring, the perusal of old Isaac Walton's
fascinating volume determined Edward to become 'a brother of the
angle.' But of all diversions which ingenuity ever devised for the
relief of idleness, fishing is the worst qualified to amuse a man
who is at once indolent and impatient; and our hero's rod was
speedily flung aside. Society and example, which, more than any
other motives, master and sway the natural bent of our passions,
might have had their usual effect upon the youthful visionary. But
the neighbourhood was thinly inhabited, and the home-bred young
squires whom it afforded were not of a class fit to form Edward's
usual companions, far less to excite him to emulation in the
practice of those pastimes which composed the serious business of
their lives.

There were a few other youths of better education and a more
liberal character, but from their society also our hero was in
some degree excluded. Sir Everard had, upon the death of Queen
Anne, resigned his seat in Parliament, and, as his age increased
and the number of his contemporaries diminished, had gradually
withdrawn himself from society; so that when, upon any particular
occasion, Edward mingled with accomplished and well-educated
young men of his own rank and expectations, he felt an inferiority
in their company, not so much from deficiency of information, as
from the want of the skill to command and to arrange that which he
possessed. A deep and increasing sensibility added to this dislike
of society. The idea of having committed the slightest solecism in
politeness, whether real or imaginary, was agony to him; for
perhaps even guilt itself does not impose upon some minds so keen
a sense of shame and remorse, as a modest, sensitive, and
inexperienced youth feels from the consciousness of having
neglected etiquette or excited ridicule. Where we are not at ease,
we cannot be happy; and therefore it is not surprising that Edward
Waverley supposed that he disliked and was unfitted for society,
merely because he had not yet acquired the habit of living in it
with ease and comfort, and of reciprocally giving and receiving
pleasure.

The hours he spent with his uncle and aunt were exhausted in
listening to the oft-repeated tale of narrative old age. Yet even
there his imagination, the predominant faculty of his mind, was
frequently excited. Family tradition and genealogical history,
upon which much of Sir Everard's discourse turned, is the very
reverse of amber, which, itself a valuable substance, usually
includes flies, straws, and other trifles; whereas these studies,
being themselves very insignificant and trifling, do nevertheless
serve to perpetuate a great deal of what is rare and valuable in
ancient manners, and to record many curious and minute facts which
could have been preserved and conveyed through no other medium.
If, therefore, Edward Waverley yawned at times over the dry
deduction of his line of ancestors, with their various
intermarriages, and inwardly deprecated the remorseless and
protracted accuracy with which the worthy Sir Everard rehearsed
the various degrees of propinquity between the house of Waverley-
Honour and the doughty barons, knights, and squires to whom they
stood allied; if (notwithstanding his obligations to the three
ermines passant) he sometimes cursed in his heart the jargon of
heraldry, its griffins, its moldwarps, its wyverns, and its
dragons, with all the bitterness of Hotspur himself, there were
moments when these communications interested his fancy and
rewarded his attention.

The deeds of Wilibert of Waverley in the Holy Land, his long
absence and perilous adventures, his supposed death, and his
return on the evening when the betrothed of his heart had wedded
the hero who had protected her from insult and oppression during
his absence; the generosity with which the Crusader relinquished
his claims, and sought in a neighbouring cloister that peace which
passeth not away; [Footnote: See Note 2.]--to these and similar
tales he would hearken till his heart glowed and his eye
glistened. Nor was he less affected when his aunt, Mrs. Rachel,
narrated the sufferings and fortitude of Lady Alice Waverley
during the Great Civil War. The benevolent features of the
venerable spinster kindled into more majestic expression as she
told how Charles had, after the field of Worcester, found a day's
refuge at Waverley-Honour, and how, when a troop of cavalry were
approaching to search the mansion, Lady Alice dismissed her
youngest son with a handful of domestics, charging them to make
good with their lives an hour's diversion, that the king might
have that space for escape. 'And, God help her,' would Mrs. Rachel
continue, fixing her eyes upon the heroine's portrait as she
spoke, 'full dearly did she purchase the safety of her prince with
the life of her darling child. They brought him here a prisoner,
mortally wounded; and you may trace the drops of his blood from
the great hall door along the little gallery, and up to the
saloon, where they laid him down to die at his mother's feet. But
there was comfort exchanged between them; for he knew, from the
glance of his mother's eye, that the purpose of his desperate
defence was attained. Ah! I remember,' she continued, 'I remember
well to have seen one that knew and loved him. Miss Lucy Saint
Aubin lived and died a maid for his sake, though one of the most
beautiful and wealthy matches in this country; all the world ran
after her, but she wore widow's mourning all her life for poor
William, for they were betrothed though not married, and died in--
I cannot think of the date; but I remember, in the November of
that very year, when she found herself sinking, she desired to be
brought to Waverley-Honour once more, and visited all the places
where she had been with my grand-uncle, and caused the carpets to
be raised that she might trace the impression of his blood, and if
tears could have washed it out, it had not been there now; for
there was not a dry eye in the house. You would have thought,
Edward, that the very trees mourned for her, for their leaves
dropt around her without a gust of wind, and, indeed, she looked
like one that would never see them green again.'

From such legends our hero would steal away to indulge the fancies
they excited. In the corner of the large and sombre library, with
no other light than was afforded by the decaying brands on its
ponderous and ample hearth, he would exercise for hours that
internal sorcery by which past or imaginary events are presented
in action, as it were, to the eye of the muser. Then arose in long
and fair array the splendour of the bridal feast at Waverley-
Castle; the tall and emaciated form of its real lord, as he stood
in his pilgrim's weeds, an unnoticed spectator of the festivities
of his supposed heir and intended bride; the electrical shock
occasioned by the discovery; the springing of the vassals to arms;
the astonishment of the bridegroom; the terror and confusion of
the bride; the agony with which Wilibert observed that her heart
as well as consent was in these nuptials; the air of dignity, yet
of deep feeling, with which he flung down the half-drawn sword,
and turned away for ever from the house of his ancestors. Then
would he change the scene, and fancy would at his wish represent
Aunt Rachel's tragedy. He saw the Lady Waverley seated in her
bower, her ear strained to every sound, her heart throbbing with
double agony, now listening to the decaying echo of the hoofs of
the king's horse, and when that had died away, hearing in every
breeze that shook the trees of the park, the noise of the remote
skirmish. A distant sound is heard like the rushing of a swoln
stream; it comes nearer, and Edward can plainly distinguish the
galloping of horses, the cries and shouts of men, with straggling
pistol-shots between, rolling forwards to the Hall. The lady
starts up--a terrified menial rushes in--but why pursue such a
description?

As living in this ideal world became daily more delectable to our
hero, interruption was disagreeable in proportion. The extensive
domain that surrounded the Hall, which, far exceeding the
dimensions of a park, was usually termed Waverley-Chase, had
originally been forest ground, and still, though broken by
extensive glades, in which the young deer were sporting, retained
its pristine and savage character. It was traversed by broad
avenues, in many places half grown up with brush-wood, where the
beauties of former days used to take their stand to see the stag
coursed with greyhounds, or to gain an aim at him with the
crossbow. In one spot, distinguished by a moss-grown Gothic
monument, which retained the name of Queen's Standing, Elizabeth
herself was said to have pierced seven bucks with her own arrows.
This was a very favourite haunt of Waverley. At other times, with
his gun and his spaniel, which served as an apology to others, and
with a book in his pocket, which perhaps served as an apology to
himself, he used to pursue one of these long avenues, which, after
an ascending sweep of four miles, gradually narrowed into a rude
and contracted path through the cliffy and woody pass called
Mirkwood Dingle, and opened suddenly upon a deep, dark, and small
lake, named, from the same cause, Mirkwood-Mere. There stood, in
former times, a solitary tower upon a rock almost surrounded by
the water, which had acquired the name of the Strength of
Waverley, because in perilous times it had often been the refuge
of the family. There, in the wars of York and Lancaster, the last
adherents of the Red Rose who dared to maintain her cause carried
on a harassing and predatory warfare, till the stronghold was
reduced by the celebrated Richard of Gloucester. Here, too, a
party of Cavaliers long maintained themselves under Nigel
Waverley, elder brother of that William whose fate Aunt Rachel
commemorated. Through these scenes it was that Edward loved to
'chew the cud of sweet and bitter fancy,' and, like a child among
his toys, culled and arranged, from the splendid yet useless
imagery and emblems with which his imagination was stored, visions
as brilliant and as fading as those of an evening sky. The effect
of this indulgence upon his temper and character will appear in
the next chapter.





CHAPTER V

CHOICE OF A PROFESSION


From the minuteness with which I have traced Waverley's pursuits,
and the bias which these unavoidably communicated to his
imagination, the reader may perhaps anticipate, in the following
tale, an imitation of the romance of Cervantes. But he will do my
prudence injustice in the supposition. My intention is not to
follow the steps of that inimitable author, in describing such
total perversion of intellect as misconstrues the objects actually
presented to the senses, but that more common aberration from
sound judgment, which apprehends occurrences indeed in their
reality, but communicates to them a tincture of its own romantic
tone and colouring. So far was Edward Waverley from expecting
general sympathy with his own feelings, or concluding that the
present state of things was calculated to exhibit the reality of
those visions in which he loved to indulge, that he dreaded
nothing more than the detection of such sentiments as were
dictated by his musings. He neither had nor wished to have a
confidant, with whom to communicate his reveries; and so sensible
was he of the ridicule attached to them, that, had he been to
choose between any punishment short of ignominy, and the necessity
of giving a cold and composed account of the ideal world in which
he lived the better part of his days, I think he would not have
hesitated to prefer the former infliction. This secrecy became
doubly precious as he felt in advancing life the influence of the
awakening passions. Female forms of exquisite grace and beauty
began to mingle in his mental adventures; nor was he long without
looking abroad to compare the creatures of his own imagination
with the females of actual life.

The list of the beauties who displayed their hebdomadal finery at
the parish church of Waverley was neither numerous nor select. By
far the most passable was Miss Sissly, or, as she rather chose to
be called, Miss Cecilia Stubbs, daughter of Squire Stubbs at the
Grange. I know not whether it was by the 'merest accident in the
world,' a phrase which, from female lips, does not always exclude
malice prepense, or whether it was from a conformity of taste,
that Miss Cecilia more than once crossed Edward in his favourite
walks through Waverley-Chase. He had not as yet assumed courage to
accost her on these occasions; but the meeting was not without its
effect. A romantic lover is a strange idolater, who sometimes
cares not out of what log he frames the object of his adoration;
at least, if nature has given that object any passable proportion
of personal charms, he can easily play the Jeweller and Dervise in
the Oriental tale, [Footnote: See Hoppner's tale of The Seven
Lovers.] and supply her richly, out of the stores of his own
imagination, with supernatural beauty, and all the properties of
intellectual wealth.

But ere the charms of Miss Cecilia Stubbs had erected her into a
positive goddess, or elevated her at least to a level with the
saint her namesake, Mrs. Rachel Waverley gained some intimation
which determined her to prevent the approaching apotheosis. Even
the most simple and unsuspicious of the female sex have (God bless
them!) an instinctive sharpness of perception in such matters,
which sometimes goes the length of observing partialities that
never existed, but rarely misses to detect such as pass actually
under their observation. Mrs. Rachel applied herself with great
prudence, not to combat, but to elude, the approaching danger, and
suggested to her brother the necessity that the heir of his house
should see something more of the world than was consistent with
constant residence at Waverley-Honour.

Sir Everard would not at first listen to a proposal which went to
separate his nephew from him. Edward was a little bookish, he
admitted, but youth, he had always heard, was the season for
learning, and, no doubt, when his rage for letters was abated, and
his head fully stocked with knowledge, his nephew would take to
field-sports and country business. He had often, he said, himself
regretted that he had not spent some time in study during his
youth: he would neither have shot nor hunted with less skill, and
he might have made the roof of Saint Stephen's echo to longer
orations than were comprised in those zealous Noes, with which,
when a member of the House during Godolphin's administration, he
encountered every measure of government.

Aunt Rachel's anxiety, however, lent her address to carry her
point. Every representative of their house had visited foreign
parts, or served his country in the army, before he settled for
life at Waverley-Honour, and she appealed for the truth of her
assertion to the genealogical pedigree, an authority which Sir
Everard was never known to contradict. In short, a proposal was
made to Mr. Richard Waverley, that his son should travel, under
the direction of his present tutor Mr. Pembroke, with a suitable
allowance from the Baronet's liberality. The father himself saw no
objection to this overture; but upon mentioning it casually at the
table of the minister, the great man looked grave. The reason was
explained in private. The unhappy turn of Sir Everard's politics,
the minister observed, was such as would render it highly improper
that a young gentleman of such hopeful prospects should travel on
the Continent with a tutor doubtless of his uncle's choosing, and
directing his course by his instructions. What might Mr. Edward
Waverley's society be at Paris, what at Rome, where all manner of
snares were spread by the Pretender and his sons--these were
points for Mr. Waverley to consider. This he could himself say,
that he knew his Majesty had such a just sense of Mr. Richard
Waverley's merits, that, if his son adopted the army for a few
years, a troop, he believed, might be reckoned upon in one of the
dragoon regiments lately returned from Flanders.

A hint thus conveyed and enforced was not to be neglected with
impunity; and Richard Waverley, though with great dread of
shocking his brother's prejudices, deemed he could not avoid
accepting the commission thus offered him for his son. The truth
is, he calculated much, and justly, upon Sir Everard's fondness
for Edward, which made him unlikely to resent any step that he
might take in due submission to parental authority. Two letters
announced this determination to the Baronet and his nephew. The
latter barely communicated the fact, and pointed out the necessary
preparations for joining his regiment. To his brother, Richard was
more diffuse and circuitous. He coincided with him, in the most
flattering manner, in the propriety of his son's seeing a little
more of the world, and was even humble in expressions of gratitude
for his proposed assistance; was, however, deeply concerned that
it was now, unfortunately, not in Edward's power exactly to comply
with the plan which had been chalked out by his best friend and
benefactor. He himself had thought with pain on the boy's
inactivity, at an age when all his ancestors had borne arms; even
Royalty itself had deigned to inquire whether young Waverley was
not now in Flanders, at an age when his grandfather was already
bleeding for his king in the Great Civil War. This was accompanied
by an offer of a troop of horse. What could he do? There was no
time to consult his brother's inclinations, even if he could have
conceived there might be objections on his part to his nephew's
following the glorious career of his predecessors. And, in short,
that Edward was now (the intermediate steps of cornet and
lieutenant being overleapt with great agility) Captain Waverley,
of Gardiner's regiment of dragoons, which he must join in their
quarters at Dundee in Scotland, in the course of a month.

Sir Everard Waverley received this intimation with a mixture of
feelings. At the period of the Hanoverian succession he had
withdrawn from parliament, and his conduct in the memorable year
1715 had not been altogether unsuspected. There were reports of
private musters of tenants and horses in Waverley-Chase by
moonlight, and of cases of carbines and pistols purchased in
Holland, and addressed to the Baronet, but intercepted by the
vigilance of a riding officer of the excise, who was afterwards
tossed in a blanket on a moonless night, by an association of
stout yeomen, for his officiousness. Nay, it was even said, that
at the arrest of Sir William Wyndham, the leader of the Tory
party, a letter from Sir Everard was found in the pocket of his
night-gown. But there was no overt act which an attainder could be
founded on, and government, contented with suppressing the
insurrection of 1715, felt it neither prudent nor safe to push
their vengeance farther than against those unfortunate gentlemen
who actually took up arms.

Nor did Sir Everard's apprehensions of personal consequences seem
to correspond with the reports spread among his Whig neighbours.
It was well known that he had supplied with money several of the
distressed Northumbrians and Scotchmen, who, after being made
prisoners at Preston in Lancashire, were imprisoned in Newgate and
the Marshalsea, and it was his solicitor and ordinary counsel who
conducted the defence of some of these unfortunate gentlemen at
their trial. It was generally supposed, however, that, had
ministers possessed any real proof of Sir Everard's accession to
the rebellion, he either would not have ventured thus to brave the
existing government, or at least would not have done so with
impunity. The feelings which then dictated his proceedings were
those of a young man, and at an agitating period. Since that time
Sir Everard's Jacobitism had been gradually decaying, like a fire
which burns out for want of fuel. His Tory and High-Church
principles were kept up by some occasional exercise at elections
and quarter-sessions; but those respecting hereditary right were
fallen into a sort of abeyance. Yet it jarred severely upon his
feelings, that his nephew should go into the army under the
Brunswick dynasty; and the more so, as, independent of his high
and conscientious ideas of paternal authority, it was impossible,
or at least highly imprudent, to interfere authoritatively to
prevent it. This suppressed vexation gave rise to many poohs and
pshaws which were placed to the account of an incipient fit of
gout, until, having sent for the Army List, the worthy Baronet
consoled himself with reckoning the descendants of the houses of
genuine loyalty, Mordaunts, Granvilles, and Stanleys, whose names
were to be found in that military record; and, calling up all his
feelings of family grandeur and warlike glory, he concluded, with
logic something like Falstaff's, that when war was at hand,
although it were shame to be on any side but one, it were worse
shame to be idle than to be on the worst side, though blacker than
usurpation could make it. As for Aunt Rachel, her scheme had not
exactly terminated according to her wishes, but she was under the
necessity of submitting to circumstances; and her mortification
was diverted by the employment she found in fitting out her nephew
for the campaign, and greatly consoled by the prospect of
beholding him blaze in complete uniform. Edward Waverley himself
received with animated and undefined surprise this most unexpected
intelligence. It was, as a fine old poem expresses it, 'like a
fire to heather set,' that covers a solitary hill with smoke, and
illumines it at the same time with dusky fire. His tutor, or, I
should say, Mr. Pembroke, for he scarce assumed the name of tutor,
picked up about Edward's room some fragments of irregular verse,
which he appeared to have composed under the influence of the
agitating feelings occasioned by this sudden page being turned up
to him in the book of life. The doctor, who was a believer in all
poetry which was composed by his friends, and written out in fair
straight lines, with a capital at the beginning of each,
communicated this treasure to Aunt Rachel, who, with her
spectacles dimmed with tears, transferred them to her commonplace
book, among choice receipts for cookery and medicine, favourite
texts, and portions from High-Church divines, and a few songs,
amatory and Jacobitical, which she had carolled in her younger
days, from whence her nephew's poetical tentamina were extracted
when the volume itself, with other authentic records of the
Waverley family, were exposed to the inspection of the unworthy
editor of this memorable history. If they afford the reader no
higher amusement, they will serve, at least, better than narrative
of any kind, to acquaint him with the wild and irregular spirit of
our hero:--

    Late, when the Autumn evening fell
    On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell,
    The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam,
    The purple cloud, the golden beam:
    Reflected in the crystal pool,
    Headland and bank lay fair and cool;
    The weather-tinted rock and tower,
    Each drooping tree, each fairy flower,
    So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
    As if there lay beneath the wave,
    Secure from trouble, toil, and care,
    A world than earthly world more fair.


    But distant winds began to wake,
    And roused the Genius of the Lake!
    He heard the groaning of the oak,
    And donn'd at once his sable cloak,
    As warrior, at the battle-cry,
    Invests him with his panoply:
    Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd
    He 'gan to shake his foamy crest
    O'er furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek,
    And bade his surge in thunder speak.
    In wild and broken eddies whirl'd.
    Flitted that fond ideal world,
    And to the shore in tumult tost
    The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

    Yet, with a stern delight and strange,
    I saw the spirit-stirring change,
    As warr'd the wind with wave and wood,
    Upon the ruin'd tower I stood,
    And felt my heart more strongly bound,
    Responsive to the lofty sound,
    While, joying in the mighty roar,
    I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more.

    So, on the idle dreams of youth,
    Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth,
    Bids each fair vision pass away,
    Like landscape on the lake that lay,
    As fair, as flitting, and as frail,
    As that which fled the Autumn gale.--
    For ever dead to fancy's eye
    Be each gay form that glided by,
    While dreams of love and lady's charms
    Give place to honour and to arms!

In sober prose, as perhaps these verses intimate less decidedly,
the transient idea of Miss Cecilia Stubbs passed from Captain
Waverley's heart amid the turmoil which his new destinies excited.
She appeared, indeed, in full splendour in her father's pew upon
the Sunday when he attended service for the last time at the old
parish church, upon which occasion, at the request of his uncle
and Aunt Rachel, he was induced (nothing both, if the truth must
be told) to present himself in full uniform.

There is no better antidote against entertaining too high an
opinion of others than having an excellent one of ourselves at the
very same time. Miss Stubbs had indeed summoned up every
assistance which art could afford to beauty; but, alas! hoop,
patches, frizzled locks, and a new mantua of genuine French silk,
were lost upon a young officer of dragoons who wore for the first
time his gold-laced hat, jack-boots, and broadsword. I know not
whether, like the champion of an old ballad,--

    His heart was all on honour bent,
    He could not stoop to love;
    No lady in the land had power
    His frozen heart to move;

or whether the deep and flaming bars of embroidered gold, which
now fenced his breast, defied the artillery of Cecilia's eyes; but
every arrow was launched at him in vain.

    Yet did I mark where Cupid's shaft did light;
    It lighted not on little western flower,
    But on bold yeoman, flower of all the west,
    Hight Jonas Culbertfield, the steward's son.

Craving pardon for my heroics (which I am unable in certain cases
to resist giving way to), it is a melancholy fact, that my history
must here take leave of the fair Cecilia, who, like many a
daughter of Eve, after the departure of Edward, and the
dissipation of certain idle visions which she had adopted, quietly
contented herself with a pisaller, and gave her hand, at the
distance of six months, to the aforesaid Jonas, son of the
Baronet's steward, and heir (no unfertile prospect) to a steward's
fortune, besides the snug probability of succeeding to his
father's office. All these advantages moved Squire Stubbs, as much
as the ruddy brown and manly form of the suitor influenced his
daughter, to abate somewhat in the article of their gentry; and so
the match was concluded. None seemed more gratified than Aunt
Rachel, who had hitherto looked rather askance upon the
presumptuous damsel (as much so, peradventure, as her nature would
permit), but who, on the first appearance of the new-married pair
at church, honoured the bride with a smile and a profound curtsy,
in presence of the rector, the curate, the clerk, and the whole
congregation of the united parishes of Waverley cum Beverley.

I beg pardon, once and for all, of those readers who take up
novels merely for amusement, for plaguing them so long with old-
fashioned politics, and Whig and Tory, and Hanoverians and
Jacobites. The truth is, I cannot promise them that this story
shall be intelligible, not to say probable, without it. My plan
requires that I should explain the motives on which its action
proceeded; and these motives necessarily arose from the feelings,
prejudices, and parties of the times. I do not invite my fair
readers, whose sex and impatience give them the greatest right to
complain of these circumstances, into a flying chariot drawn by
hippogriffs, or moved by enchantment. Mine is a humble English
post-chaise, drawn upon four wheels, and keeping his Majesty's
highway. Such as dislike the vehicle may leave it at the next
halt, and wait for the conveyance of Prince Hussein's tapestry, or
Malek the Weaver's flying sentrybox. Those who are contented to
remain with me will be occasionally exposed to the dulness
inseparable from heavy roads, steep hills, sloughs, and other
terrestrial retardations; but with tolerable horses and a civil
driver (as the advertisements have it), I engage to get as soon as
possible into a more picturesque and romantic country, if my
passengers incline to have some patience with me during my first
stages. [Footnote: These Introductory Chapters have been a good
deal censured as tedious and unnecessary. Yet there are
circumstances recorded in them which the author has not been able
to persuade himself to retrench or cancel.]





CHAPTER VI

THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY


It was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir Everard
entered the library, where he narrowly missed surprising our young
hero as he went through the guards of the broadsword with the
ancient weapon of old Sir Hildebrand, which, being preserved as an
heirloom, usually hung over the chimney in the library, beneath a
picture of the knight and his horse, where the features were
almost entirely hidden by the knight's profusion of curled hair,
and the Bucephalus which he bestrode concealed by the voluminous
robes of the Bath with which he was decorated. Sir Everard
entered, and after a glance at the picture and another at his
nephew, began a little speech, which, however, soon dropt into the
natural simplicity of his common manner, agitated upon the present
occasion by no common feeling. 'Nephew,' he said; and then, as
mending his phrase, 'My dear Edward, it is God's will, and also
the will of your father, whom, under God, it is your duty to obey,
that you should leave us to take up the profession of arms, in
which so many of your ancestors have been distinguished. I have
made such arrangements as will enable you to take the field as
their descendant, and as the probable heir of the house of
Waverley; and, sir, in the field of battle you will remember what
name you bear. And, Edward, my dear boy, remember also that you
are the last of that race, and the only hope of its revival
depends upon you; therefore, as far as duty and honour will
permit, avoid danger--I mean unnecessary danger--and keep no
company with rakes, gamblers, and Whigs, of whom, it is to be
feared, there are but too many in the service into which you are
going. Your colonel, as I am informed, is an excellent man--for a
Presbyterian; but you will remember your duty to God, the Church
of England, and the--' (this breach ought to have been supplied,
according to the rubric, with the word KING; but as,
unfortunately, that word conveyed a double and embarrassing sense,
one meaning de facto and the other de jure, the knight filled up
the blank otherwise)--'the Church of England, and all constituted
authorities.' Then, not trusting himself with any further oratory,
he carried his nephew to his stables to see the horses destined
for his campaign. Two were black (the regimental colour), superb
chargers both; the other three were stout active hacks, designed
for the road, or for his domestics, of whom two were to attend him
from the Hall; an additional groom, if necessary, might be picked
up in Scotland.

'You will depart with but a small retinue,' quoth the Baronet,
'compared to Sir Hildebrand, when he mustered before the gate of
the Hall a larger body of horse than your whole regiment consists
of. I could have wished that these twenty young fellows from my
estate, who have enlisted in your troop, had been to march with
you on your journey to Scotland. It would have been something, at
least; but I am told their attendance would be thought unusual in
these days, when every new and foolish fashion is introduced to
break the natural dependence of the people upon their landlords.'

Sir Everard had done his best to correct this unnatural
disposition of the times; for he had brightened the chain of
attachment between the recruits and their young captain, not only
by a copious repast of beef and ale, by way of parting feast, but
by such a pecuniary donation to each individual as tended rather
to improve the conviviality than the discipline of their march.
After inspecting the cavalry, Sir Everard again conducted his
nephew to the library, where he produced a letter, carefully
folded, surrounded by a little stripe of flox-silk, according to
ancient form, and sealed with an accurate impression of the
Waverley coat-of-arms. It was addressed, with great formality, 'To
Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq., of Bradwardine, at his principal
mansion of Tully-Veolan, in Perthshire, North Britain. These--By
the hands of Captain Edward Waverley, nephew of Sir Everard
Waverley, of Waverley-Honour, Bart.'

The gentleman to whom this enormous greeting was addressed, of
whom we shall have more to say in the sequel, had been in arms for
the exiled family of Stuart in the year 1715, and was made
prisoner at Preston in Lancashire. He was of a very ancient
family, and somewhat embarrassed fortune; a scholar, according to
the scholarship of Scotchmen, that is, his learning was more
diffuse than accurate, and he was rather a reader than a
grammarian. Of his zeal for the classic authors he is said to have
given an uncommon instance. On the road between Preston and
London, he made his escape from his guards; but being afterwards
found loitering near the place where they had lodged the former
night, he was recognised, and again arrested. His companions, and
even his escort, were surprised at his infatuation, and could not
help inquiring, why, being once at liberty, he had not made the
best of his way to a place of safety; to which he replied, that he
had intended to do so, but, in good faith, he had returned to seek
his Titus Livius, which he had forgot in the hurry of his escape.
[Footnote: See Note 3.] The simplicity of this anecdote struck the
gentleman, who, as we before observed, had managed the defence of
some of those unfortunate persons, at the expense of Sir Everard,
and perhaps some others of the party. He was, besides, himself a
special admirer of the old Patavinian, and though probably his own
zeal might not have carried him such extravagant lengths, even to
recover the edition of Sweynheim and Pannartz (supposed to be the
princeps), he did not the less estimate the devotion of the North
Briton, and in consequence exerted himself to so much purpose to
remove and soften evidence, detect legal flaws, et cetera, that he
accomplished the final discharge and deliverance of Cosmo Comyne
Bradwardine from certain very awkward consequences of a plea
before our sovereign lord the king in Westminster.

The Baron of Bradwardine, for he was generally so called in
Scotland (although his intimates, from his place of residence,
used to denominate him Tully-Veolan, or more familiarly, Tully),
no sooner stood rectus in curia than he posted down to pay his
respects and make his acknowledgments at Waverley-Honour. A
congenial passion for field-sports, and a general coincidence in
political opinions, cemented his friendship with Sir Everard,
notwithstanding the difference of their habits and studies in
other particulars; and, having spent several weeks at Waverley-
Honour, the Baron departed with many expressions of regard, warmly
pressing the Baronet to return his visit, and partake of the
diversion of grouse-shooting, upon his moors in Perthshire next
season. Shortly after, Mr. Bradwardine remitted from Scotland a
sum in reimbursement of expenses incurred in the King's High Court
of Westminster, which, although not quite so formidable when
reduced to the English denomination, had, in its original form of
Scotch pounds, shillings, and pence, such a formidable effect upon
the frame of Duncan Macwheeble, the laird's confidential factor,
baron-bailie, and man of resource, that he had a fit of the
cholic, which lasted for five days, occasioned, he said, solely
and utterly by becoming the unhappy instrument of conveying such a
serious sum of money out of his native country into the hands of
the false English. But patriotism, as it is the fairest, so it is
often the most suspicious mask of other feelings; and many who
knew Bailie Macwheeble concluded that his professions of regret
were not altogether disinterested, and that he would have grudged
the moneys paid to the LOONS at Westminster much less had they not
come from Bradwardine estate, a fund which he considered as more
particularly his own. But the Bailie protested he was absolutely
disinterested--

    'Woe, woe, for Scotland, not a whit for me!'

The laird was only rejoiced that his worthy friend, Sir Everard
Waverley of Waverley-Honour, was reimbursed of the expenditure
which he had outlaid on account of the house of Bradwardine. It
concerned, he said, the credit of his own family, and of the
kingdom of Scotland at large, that these disbursements should be
repaid forthwith, and, if delayed, it would be a matter of
national reproach. Sir Everard, accustomed to treat much larger
sums with indifference, received the remittance of L294, 13S. 6D.
without being aware that the payment was an international concern,
and, indeed, would probably have forgot the circumstance
altogether, if Bailie Macwheeble had thought of comforting his
cholic by intercepting the subsidy. A yearly intercourse took
place, of a short letter and a hamper or a cask or two, between
Waverley-Honour and Tully-Veolan, the English exports consisting
of mighty cheeses and mightier ale, pheasants, and venison, and
the Scottish returns being vested in grouse, white hares, pickled
salmon, and usquebaugh; all which were meant, sent, and received
as pledges of constant friendship and amity between two important
houses. It followed as a matter of course, that the heir-apparent
of Waverley-Honour could not with propriety visit Scotland without
being furnished with credentials to the Baron of Bradwardine.

When this matter was explained and settled, Mr. Pembroke expressed
his wish to take a private and particular leave of his dear pupil.
The good man's ex hortations to Edward to preserve an unblemished
life and morals, to hold fast the principles of the Christian
religion, and to eschew the profane company of scoffers and
latitudinarians, too much abounding in the army, were not
unmingled with his political prejudices. It had pleased Heaven, he
said, to place Scotland (doubtless for the sins of their ancestors
in 1642) in a more deplorable state of darkness than even this
unhappy kingdom of England. Here, at least, although the
candlestick of the Church of England had been in some degree
removed from its place, it yet afforded a glimmering light; there
was a hierarchy, though schismatical, and fallen from the
principles maintained by those great fathers of the church,
Sancroft and his brethren; there was a liturgy, though woefully
perverted in some of the principal petitions. But in Scotland it
was utter darkness; and, excepting a sorrowful, scattered, and
persecuted remnant, the pulpits were abandoned to Presbyterians,
and, he feared, to sectaries of every description. It should be
his duty to fortify his dear pupil to resist such unhallowed and
pernicious doctrines in church and state as must necessarily be
forced at times upon his unwilling ears.

Here he produced two immense folded packets, which appeared each
to contain a whole ream of closely written manuscript. They had
been the labour of the worthy man's whole life; and never were
labour and zeal more absurdly wasted. He had at one time gone to
London, with the intention of giving them to the world, by the
medium of a bookseller in Little Britain, well known to deal in
such commodities, and to whom he was instructed to address himself
in a particular phrase and with a certain sign, which, it seems,
passed at that time current among the initiated Jacobites. The
moment Mr. Pembroke had uttered the Shibboleth, with the
appropriate gesture, the bibliopolist greeted him, notwithstanding
every disclamation, by the title of Doctor, and conveying him into
his back shop, after inspecting every possible and impossible
place of concealment, he commenced: 'Eh, Doctor!--Well--all under
the rose--snug--I keep no holes here even for a Hanoverian rat to
hide in. And, what--eh! any good news from our friends over the
water?--and how does the worthy King of France?--Or perhaps you
are more lately from Rome? it must be Rome will do it at last--the
church must light its candle at the old lamp.--Eh--what, cautious?
I like you the better; but no fear.' Here Mr. Pembroke with some
difficulty stopt a torrent of interrogations, eked out with signs,
nods, and winks; and, having at length convinced the bookseller
that he did him too much honour in supposing him an emissary of
exiled royalty, he explained his actual business.

The man of books with a much more composed air proceeded to
examine the manuscripts. The title of the first was 'A Dissent
from Dissenters, or the Comprehension confuted; showing the
Impossibility of any Composition between the Church and Puritans,
Presbyterians, or Sectaries of any Description; illustrated from
the Scriptures, the Fathers of the Church, and the soundest
Controversial Divines.' To this work the bookseller positively
demurred. 'Well meant,' he said, 'and learned, doubtless; but the
time had gone by. Printed on small-pica it would run to eight
hundred pages, and could never pay. Begged therefore to be
excused. Loved and honoured the true church from his soul, and,
had it been a sermon on the martyrdom, or any twelve-penny touch--
why, I would venture something for the honour of the cloth. But
come, let's see the other. "Right Hereditary righted!"--Ah!
there's some sense in this. Hum--hum--hum--pages so many, paper so
much, letter-press--Ah--I'll tell you, though, Doctor, you must
knock out some of the Latin and Greek; heavy, Doctor, damn'd
heavy--(beg your pardon) and if you throw in a few grains more
pepper--I am he that never preached my author. I have published for
Drake and Charlwood Lawton, and poor Amhurst [Footnote: See Note
4.]--Ah, Caleb! Caleb! Well, it was a shame to let poor Caleb
starve, and so many fat rectors and squires among us. I gave him a
dinner once a week; but, Lord love you, what's once a week, when a
man does not know where to go the other six days? Well, but I must
show the manuscript to little Tom Alibi the solicitor, who manages
all my law affairs--must keep on the windy side; the mob were very
uncivil the last time I mounted in Old Palace Yard--all Whigs and
Roundheads every man of them, Williamites and Hanover rats.'

The next day Mr. Pembroke again called on the publisher, but found
Tom Alibi's advice had determined him against undertaking the
work. 'Not but what I would go to--(what was I going to say?) to
the Plantations for the church with pleasure--but, dear Doctor, I
have a wife and family; but, to show my zeal, I'll recommend the
job to my neighbour Trimmel--he is a bachelor, and leaving off
business, so a voyage in a western barge would not inconvenience
him.' But Mr. Trimmel was also obdurate, and Mr. Pembroke,
fortunately perchance for himself, was compelled to return to
Waverley-Honour with his treatise in vindication of the real
fundamental principles of church and state safely packed in his
saddle-bags.

As the public were thus likely to be deprived of the benefit
arising from his lucubrations by the selfish cowardice of the
trade, Mr. Pembroke resolved to make two copies of these
tremendous manuscripts for the use of his pupil. He felt that he
had been indolent as a tutor, and, besides, his conscience checked
him for complying with the request of Mr. Richard Waverley, that
he would impress no sentiments upon Edward's mind inconsistent
with the present settlement in church and state. But now, thought
he, I may, without breach of my word, since he is no longer under
my tuition, afford the youth the means of judging for himself, and
have only to dread his reproaches for so long concealing the light
which the perusal will flash upon his mind. While he thus indulged
the reveries of an author and a politician, his darling proselyte,
seeing nothing very inviting in the title of the tracts, and
appalled by the bulk and compact lines of the manuscript, quietly
consigned them to a corner of his travelling trunk.

Aunt Rachel's farewell was brief and affectionate. She only
cautioned her dear Edward, whom she probably deemed somewhat
susceptible, against the fascination of Scottish beauty. She
allowed that the northern part of the island contained some
ancient families, but they were all Whigs and Presbyterians except
the Highlanders; and respecting them she must needs say, there
could be no great delicacy among the ladies, where the gentlemen's
usual attire was, as she had been assured, to say the least, very
singular, and not at all decorous. She concluded her farewell with
a kind and moving benediction, and gave the young officer, as a
pledge of her regard, a valuable diamond ring (often worn by the
male sex at that time), and a purse of broad gold-pieces, which
also were more common Sixty Years Since than they have been of
late.





CHAPTER VII

A HORSE-QUARTER IN SCOTLAND


The next morning, amid varied feelings, the chief of which was a
predominant, anxious, and even solemn impression, that he was now
in a great measure abandoned to his own guidance and direction,
Edward Waverley departed from the Hall amid the blessings and
tears of all the old domestics and the inhabitants of the village,
mingled with some sly petitions for sergeantcies and
corporalships, and so forth, on the part of those who professed
that 'they never thoft to ha' seen Jacob, and Giles, and Jonathan
go off for soldiers, save to attend his honour, as in duty bound.'
Edward, as in duty bound, extricated himself from the supplicants
with the pledge of fewer promises than might have been expected
from a young man so little accustomed to the world. After a short
visit to London, he proceeded on horseback, then the general mode
of travelling, to Edinburgh, and from thence to Dundee, a seaport
on the eastern coast of Angus-shire, where his regiment was then
quartered.

He now entered upon a new world, where, for a time, all was
beautiful because all was new. Colonel Gardiner, the commanding
officer of the regiment, was himself a study for a romantic, and
at the same time an inquisitive youth. In person he was tall,
handsome, and active, though somewhat advanced in life. In his
early years he had been what is called, by manner of palliative, a
very gay young man, and strange stories were circulated about his
sudden conversion from doubt, if not infidelity, to a serious and
even enthusiastic turn of mind. It was whispered that a
supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the
exterior senses, had produced this wonderful change; and though
some mentioned the proselyte as an enthusiast, none hinted at his
being a hypocrite. This singular and mystical circumstance gave
Colonel Gardiner a peculiar and solemn interest in the eyes of the
young soldier. [Footnote: See Note 5.] It may be easily imagined
that the officers, of a regiment commanded by so respectable a
person composed a society more sedate and orderly than a military
mess always exhibits; and that Waverley escaped some temptations
to which he might otherwise have been exposed.

Meanwhile his military education proceeded. Already a good
horseman, he was now initiated into the arts of the manege, which,
when carried to perfection, almost realise the fable of the
Centaur, the guidance of the horse appearing to proceed from the
rider's mere volition, rather than from the use of any external
and apparent signal of motion. He received also instructions in
his field duty; but I must own, that when his first ardour was
past, his progress fell short in the latter particular of what he
wished and expected. The duty of an officer, the most imposing of
all others to the inexperienced mind, because accompanied with so
much outward pomp and circumstance, is in its essence a very dry
and abstract task, depending chiefly upon arithmetical
combinations, requiring much attention, and a cool and reasoning
head to bring them into action. Our hero was liable to fits of
absence, in which his blunders excited some mirth, and called down
some reproof. This circumstance impressed him with a painful sense
of inferiority in those qualities which appeared most to deserve
and obtain regard in his new profession. He asked himself in vain,
why his eye could not judge of distance or space so well as those
of his companions; why his head was not always successful in
disentangling the various partial movements necessary to execute a
particular evolution; and why his memory, so alert upon most
occasions, did not correctly retain technical phrases and minute
points of etiquette or field discipline. Waverley was naturally
modest, and therefore did not fall into the egregious mistake of
supposing such minuter rules of military duty beneath his notice,
or conceiting himself to be born a general, because he made an
indifferent subaltern. The truth was, that the vague and
unsatisfactory course of reading which he had pursued, working
upon a temper naturally retired and abstracted, had given him that
wavering and unsettled habit of mind which is most averse to study
and riveted attention. Time, in the mean while, hung heavy on his
hands. The gentry of the neighbourhood were disaffected, and
showed little hospitality to the military guests; and the people
of the town, chiefly engaged in mercantile pursuits, were not such
as Waverley chose to associate with. The arrival of summer, and a
curiosity to know something more of Scotland than he could see in
a ride from his quarters, determined him to request leave of
absence for a few weeks. He resolved first to visit his uncle's
ancient friend and correspondent, with the purpose of extending or
shortening the time of his residence according to circumstances.
He travelled of course on horse-back, and with a single
attendant, and passed his first night at a miserable inn, where
the landlady had neither shoes nor stockings, and the landlord,
who called himself a gentleman, was disposed to be rude to his
guest, because he had not bespoke the pleasure of his society to
supper. [Footnote: See Note 6.] The next day, traversing an open
and uninclosed country, Edward gradually approached the Highlands
of Perthshire, which at first had appeared a blue outline in the
horizon, but now swelled into huge gigantic masses, which frowned
defiance over the more level country that lay beneath them. Near
the bottom of this stupendous barrier, but still in the Lowland
country, dwelt Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine; and, if
grey-haired eld can be in aught believed, there had dwelt his
ancestors, with all their heritage, since the days of the gracious
King Duncan.





CHAPTER VIII

A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE


It was about noon when Captain Waverley entered the straggling
village, or rather hamlet, of Tully-Veolan, close to which was
situated the mansion of the proprietor. The houses seemed
miserable in the extreme, especially to an eye accustomed to the
smiling neatness of English cottages. They stood, without any
respect for regularity, on each side of a straggling kind of
unpaved street, where children, almost in a primitive state of
nakedness, lay sprawling, as if to be crushed by the hoofs of the
first passing horse. Occasionally, indeed, when such a
consummation seemed inevitable, a watchful old grandam, with her
close cap, distaff, and spindle, rushed like a sibyl in frenzy out
of one of these miserable cells, dashed into the middle of the
path, and snatching up her own charge from among the sunburnt
loiterers, saluted him with a sound cuff, and transported him back
to his dungeon, the little white-headed varlet screaming all the
while, from the very top of his lungs, a shrilly treble to the
growling remonstrances of the enraged matron. Another part in this
concert was sustained by the incessant yelping of a score of idle
useless curs, which followed, snarling, barking, howling, and
snapping at the horses' heels; a nuisance at that time so common
in Scotland, that a French tourist, who, like other travellers,
longed to find a good and rational reason for everything he saw,
has recorded, as one of the memorabilia of Caledonia, that the
state maintained, in each village a relay of curs, called collies,
whose duty it was to chase the chevaux de poste (too starved and
exhausted to move without such a stimulus) from one hamlet to
another, till their annoying convoy drove them to the end of their
stage. The evil and remedy (such as it is) still exist.--But this
is remote from our present purpose, and is only thrown out for
consideration of the collectors under Mr. Dent's Dog Bill.

As Waverley moved on, here and there an old man, bent as much by
toil as years, his eyes bleared with age and smoke, tottered to
the door of his hut, to gaze on the dress of the stranger and the
form and motions of the horses, and then assembled, with his
neighbours, in a little group at the smithy, to discuss the
probabilities of whence the stranger came and where he might be
going. Three or four village girls, returning from the well or
brook with pitchers and pails upon their heads, formed more
pleasing objects, and, with their thin short-gowns and single
petticoats, bare arms, legs, and feet, uncovered heads and braided
hair, somewhat resembled Italian forms of landscape. Nor could a
lover of the picturesque have challenged either the elegance of
their costume or the symmetry of their shape; although, to say the
truth, a mere Englishman in search of the COMFORTABLE, a word
peculiar to his native tongue, might have wished the clothes less
scanty, the feet and legs somewhat protected from the weather, the
head and complexion shrouded from the sun, or perhaps might even
have thought the whole person and dress considerably improved by a
plentiful application of spring water, with a quantum sufficit of
soap. The whole scene was depressing; for it argued, at the first
glance, at least a stagnation of industry, and perhaps of
intellect. Even curiosity, the busiest passion of the idle, seemed
of a listless cast in the village of Tully-Veolan: the curs
aforesaid alone showed any part of its activity; with the
villagers it was passive. They stood, and gazed at the handsome
young officer and his attendant, but without any of those quick
motions and eager looks that indicate the earnestness with which
those who live in monotonous ease at home look out for amusement
abroad. Yet the physiognomy of the people, when more closely
examined, was far from exhibiting the indifference of stupidity;
their features were rough, but remarkably intelligent; grave, but
the very reverse of stupid; and from among the young women an
artist might have chosen more than one model whose features and
form resembled those of Minerva. The children also, whose skins
were burnt black, and whose hair was bleached white, by the
influence of the sun, had a look and manner of life and interest.
It seemed, upon the whole, as if poverty, and indolence, its too
frequent companion, were combining to depress the natural genius
and acquired information of a hardy, intelligent, and reflecting
peasantry.

Some such thoughts crossed Waverley's mind as he paced his horse
slowly through the rugged and flinty street of Tully-Veolan,
interrupted only in his meditations by the occasional caprioles
which his charger exhibited at the reiterated assaults of those
canine Cossacks, the collies before mentioned. The village was
more than half a mile long, the cottages being irregularly divided
from each other by gardens, or yards, as the inhabitants called
them, of different sizes, where (for it is Sixty Years Since) the
now universal potato was unknown, but which were stored with
gigantic plants of kale or colewort, encircled with groves of
nettles, and exhibited here and there a huge hemlock, or the
national thistle, overshadowing a quarter of the petty inclosure.
The broken ground on which the village was built had never been
levelled; so that these inclosures presented declivities of every
degree, here rising like terraces, there sinking like tan-pits.
The dry-stone walls which fenced, or seemed to fence (for they
were sorely breached), these hanging gardens of Tully-Veolan were
intersected by a narrow lane leading to the common field, where
the joint labour of the villagers cultivated alternate ridges and
patches of rye, oats, barley, and pease, each of such minute
extent that at a little distance the unprofitable variety of the
surface resembled a tailor's book of patterns. In a few favoured
instances, there appeared behind the cottages a miserable wigwam,
compiled of earth, loose stones, and turf, where the wealthy might
perhaps shelter a starved cow or sorely galled horse. But almost
every hut was fenced in front by a huge black stack of turf on one
side of the door, while on the other the family dunghill ascended
in noble emulation.

About a bowshot from the end of the village appeared the
inclosures proudly denominated the Parks of Tully-Veolan, being
certain square fields, surrounded and divided by stone walls five
feet in height. In the centre of the exterior barrier was the
upper gate of the avenue, opening under an archway, battlemented
on the top, and adorned with two large weather-beaten mutilated
masses of upright stone, which, if the tradition of the hamlet
could be trusted, had once represented, at least had been once
designed to represent, two rampant Bears, the supporters of the
family of Bradwardine. This avenue was straight and of moderate
length, running between a double row of very ancient horse-
chestnuts, planted alternately with sycamores, which rose to such
huge height, and nourished so luxuriantly, that their boughs
completely over-arched the broad road beneath. Beyond these
venerable ranks, and running parallel to them, were two high
walls, of apparently the like antiquity, overgrown with ivy,
honeysuckle, and other climbing plants. The avenue seemed very
little trodden, and chiefly by foot-passengers; so that being very
broad, and enjoying a constant shade, it was clothed with grass of
a deep and rich verdure, excepting where a foot-path, worn by
occasional passengers, tracked with a natural sweep the way from
the upper to the lower gate. This nether portal, like the former,
opened in front of a wall ornamented with some rude sculpture,
with battlements on the top, over which were seen, half-hidden by
the trees of the avenue, the high steep roofs and narrow gables of
the mansion, with lines indented into steps, and corners decorated
with small turrets. One of the folding leaves of the lower gate
was open, and as the sun shone full into the court behind, a long
line of brilliancy was flung upon the aperture up the dark and
gloomy avenue. It was one of those effects which a painter loves
to represent, and mingled well with the struggling light which
found its way between the boughs of the shady arch that vaulted
the broad green alley.

The solitude and repose of the whole scene seemed almost monastic;
and Waverley, who had given his horse to his servant on entering
the first gate, walked slowly down the avenue, enjoying the
grateful and cooling shade, and so much pleased with the placid
ideas of rest and seclusion excited by this confined and quiet
scene, that he forgot the misery and dirt of the hamlet he had
left behind him. The opening into the paved court-yard
corresponded with the rest of the scene. The house, which seemed
to consist of two or three high, narrow, and steep-roofed
buildings, projecting from each other at right angles, formed one
side of the inclosure. It had been built at a period when castles
were no longer necessary, and when the Scottish architects had not
yet acquired the art of designing a domestic residence. The
windows were numberless, but very small; the roof had some
nondescript kind of projections, called bartizans, and displayed
at each frequent angle a small turret, rather resembling a pepper-
box than a Gothic watchtower. Neither did the front indicate
absolute security from danger. There were loop-holes for musketry,
and iron stanchions on the lower windows, probably to repel any
roving band of gypsies, or resist a predatory visit from the
caterans of the neighbouring Highlands. Stables and other offices
occupied another side of the square. The former were low vaults,
with narrow slits instead of windows, resembling, as Edward's
groom observed, 'rather a prison for murderers, and larceners, and
such like as are tried at 'sizes, than a place for any Christian
cattle.' Above these dungeon-looking stables were granaries,
called girnels, and other offices, to which there was access by
outside stairs of heavy masonry. Two battlemented walls, one of
which faced the avenue, and the other divided the court from the
garden, completed the inclosure.

Nor was the court without its ornaments. In one corner was a tun-
bellied pigeon-house, of great size and rotundity, resembling in
figure and proportion the curious edifice called Arthur's Oven,
which would have turned the brains of all the antiquaries in
England, had not the worthy proprietor pulled it down for the sake
of mending a neighbouring dam-dyke. This dove-cot, or columbarium,
as the owner called it, was no small resource to a Scottish laird
of that period, whose scanty rents were eked out by the
contributions levied upon the farms by these light foragers, and
the conscriptions exacted from the latter for the benefit of the
table.

Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a huge
bear, carved in stone, predominated over a large stone-basin, into
which he disgorged the water. This work of art was the wonder of
the country ten miles round. It must not be forgotten, that all
sorts of bears, small and large, demi or in full proportion, were
carved over the windows, upon the ends of the gables, terminated
the spouts, and supported the turrets, with the ancient family
motto, 'Beware the Bear', cut under each hyperborean form. The
court was spacious, well paved, and perfectly clean, there being
probably another entrance behind the stables for removing the
litter. Everything around appeared solitary, and would have been
silent, but for the continued plashing of the fountain; and the
whole scene still maintained the monastic illusion which the fancy
of Waverley had conjured up. And here we beg permission to close a
chapter of still life. [Footnote: See Note 7.]





CHAPTER IX

MORE OF THE MANOR-HOUSE AND ITS ENVIRONS


After having satisfied his curiosity by gazing around him for a
few minutes, Waverley applied himself to the massive knocker of
the hall-door, the architrave of which bore the date 1594. But no
answer was returned, though the peal resounded through a number of
apartments, and was echoed from the court-yard walls without the
house, startling the pigeons from the venerable rotunda which they
occupied, and alarming anew even the distant village curs, which
had retired to sleep upon their respective dunghills. Tired of the
din which he created, and the unprofitable responses which it
excited, Waverley began to think that he had reached the castle of
Orgoglio as entered by the victorious Prince Arthur,--

    When 'gan he loudly through the house to call,
    But no man cared to answer to his cry;
    There reign'd a solemn silence over all,
    Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.

Filled almost with expectation of beholding some 'old, old man,
with beard as white as snow,' whom he might question concerning
this deserted mansion, our hero turned to a little oaken wicket-
door, well clenched with iron-nails, which opened in the court-
yard wall at its angle with the house. It was only latched,
notwithstanding its fortified appearance, and, when opened,
admitted him into the garden, which presented a pleasant
scene. [Footnote: Footnote: At Ravelston may be seen such a garden,
which the taste of the proprietor, the author's friend and
kinsman, Sir Alexander Keith, Knight Mareschal, has judiciously
preserved. That, as well as the house is, however, of smaller
dimensions than the Baron of Bradwardine's mansion and garden are
presumed to have been.] The southern side of the house, clothed
with fruit-trees, and having many evergreens trained upon its
walls, extended its irregular yet venerable front along a terrace,
partly paved, partly gravelled, partly bordered with flowers and
choice shrubs. This elevation descended by three several flights
of steps, placed in its centre and at the extremities, into what
might be called the garden proper, and was fenced along the top by
a stone parapet with a heavy balustrade, ornamented from space to
space with huge grotesque figures of animals seated upon their
haunches, among which the favourite bear was repeatedly
introduced. Placed in the middle of the terrace between a sashed-
door opening from the house and the central flight of steps, a
huge animal of the same species supported on his head and fore-
paws a sun-dial of large circumference, inscribed with more
diagrams than Edward's mathematics enabled him to decipher.

The garden, which seemed to be kept with great accuracy, abounded
in fruit-trees, and exhibited a profusion of flowers and
evergreens, cut into grotesque forms. It was laid out in terraces,
which descended rank by rank from the western wall to a large
brook, which had a tranquil and smooth appearance, where it served
as a boundary to the garden; but, near the extremity, leapt in
tumult over a strong dam, or wear-head, the cause of its temporary
tranquillity, and there forming a cascade, was overlooked by an
octangular summer-house, with a gilded bear on the top by way of
vane. After this feat, the brook, assuming its natural rapid and
fierce character, escaped from the eye down a deep and wooded
dell, from the copse of which arose a massive, but ruinous tower,
the former habitation of the Barons of Bradwardine. The margin of
the brook, opposite to the garden, displayed a narrow meadow, or
haugh, as it was called, which formed a small washing-green; the
bank, which retired behind it, was covered by ancient trees.

The scene, though pleasing, was not quite equal to the gardens of
Alcina; yet wanted not the 'due donzellette garrule' of that
enchanted paradise, for upon the green aforesaid two bare-legged
damsels, each standing in a spacious tub, performed with their
feet the office of a patent washing-machine. These did not,
however, like the maidens of Armida, remain to greet with their
harmony the approaching guest, but, alarmed at the appearance of a
handsome stranger on the opposite side, dropped their garments (I
should say garment, to be quite correct) over their limbs, which
their occupation exposed somewhat too freely, and, with a shrill
exclamation of 'Eh, sirs!' uttered with an accent between modesty
and coquetry, sprung off like deer in different directions.

Waverley began to despair of gaining entrance into this solitary
and seemingly enchanted mansion, when a man advanced up one of the
garden alleys, where he still retained his station. Trusting this
might be a gardener, or some domestic belonging to the house,
Edward descended the steps in order to meet him; but as the figure
approached, and long before he could descry its features, he was
struck with the oddity of its appearance and gestures. Sometimes
this mister wight held his hands clasped over his head, like an
Indian Jogue in the attitude of penance; sometimes he swung them
perpendicularly, like a pendulum, on each side; and anon he
slapped them swiftly and repeatedly across his breast, like the
substitute used by a hackney-coachman for his usual flogging
exercise, when his cattle are idle upon the stand, in a clear
frosty day. His gait was as singular as his gestures, for at times
he hopped with great perseverance on the right foot, then
exchanged that supporter to advance in the same manner on the
left, and then putting his feet close together he hopped upon both
at once. His attire also was antiquated and extravagant. It
consisted in a sort of grey jerkin, with scarlet cuffs and slashed
sleeves, showing a scarlet lining; the other parts of the dress
corresponded in colour, not forgetting a pair of scarlet
stockings, and a scarlet bonnet, proudly surmounted with a
turkey's feather. Edward, whom he did not seem to observe, now
perceived confirmation in his features of what the mien and
gestures had already announced. It was apparently neither idiocy
nor insanity which gave that wild, unsettled, irregular expression
to a face which naturally was rather handsome, but something that
resembled a compound of both, where the simplicity of the fool was
mixed with the extravagance of a crazed imagination. He sung with
great earnestness, and not without some taste, a fragment of an
old Scottish ditty:--

    False love, and hast thou play'd me this
    In summer among the flowers?
    I will repay thee back again
    In winter among the showers.
    Unless again, again, my love,
    Unless you turn again;
    As you with other maidens rove,
    I'll smile on other men.

[Footnote: This is a genuine ancient fragment, with some
alteration in the two last lines.]

Here lifting up his eyes, which had hitherto been fixed in
observing how his feet kept time to the tune, he beheld Waverley,
and instantly doffed his cap, with many grotesque signals of
surprise, respect, and salutation. Edward, though with little hope
of receiving an answer to any constant question, requested to know
whether Mr. Bradwardine were at home, or where he could find any
of the domestics. The questioned party replied, and, like the
witch of Thalaba, 'still his speech was song,'--

    The Knight's to the mountain
    His bugle to wind;
    The Lady's to greenwood
    Her garland to bind.
    The bower of Burd Ellen
    Has moss on the floor,
    That the step of Lord William
    Be silent and sure.

This conveyed no information, and Edward, repeating his queries,
received a rapid answer, in which, from the haste and peculiarity
of the dialect, the word 'butler' was alone intelligible. Waverley
then requested to see the butler; upon which the fellow, with a
knowing look and nod of intelligence, made a signal to Edward to
follow, and began to dance and caper down the alley up which he
had made his approaches. A strange guide this, thought Edward, and
not much unlike one of Shakespeare's roynish clowns. I am not over
prudent to trust to his pilotage; but wiser men have been led by
fools. By this time he reached the bottom of the alley, where,
turning short on a little parterre of flowers, shrouded from the
east and north by a close yew hedge, he found an old man at work
without his coat, whose appearance hovered between that of an
upper servant and gardener; his red nose and ruffled shirt
belonging to the former profession; his hale and sunburnt visage,
with his green apron, appearing to indicate

    Old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden.

The major domo, for such he was, and indisputably the second
officer of state in the barony (nay, as chief minister of the
interior, superior even to Bailie Macwheeble in his own department
of the kitchen and cellar)--the major domo laid down his spade,
slipped on his coat in haste, and with a wrathful look at Edward's
guide, probably excited by his having introduced a stranger while
he was engaged in this laborious, and, as he might suppose it,
degrading office, requested to know the gentleman's commands.
Being informed that he wished to pay his respects to his master,
that his name was Waverley, and so forth, the old man's
countenance assumed a great deal of respectful importance. 'He
could take it upon his conscience to say, his honour would have
exceeding pleasure in seeing him. Would not Mr. Waverley choose
some refreshment after his journey? His honour was with the folk
who were getting doon the dark hag; the twa gardener lads (an
emphasis on the word twa) had been ordered to attend him; and he
had been just amusing himself in the mean time with dressing Miss
Rose's flower-bed, that he might be near to receive his honour's
orders, if need were; he was very fond of a garden, but had little
time for such divertisements.'

'He canna get it wrought in abune twa days in the week at no rate
whatever,' said Edward's fantastic conductor.

A grim look from the butler chastised his interference, and he
commanded him, by the name of Davie Gellatley, in a tone which
admitted no discussion, to look for his honour at the dark hag,
and tell him there was a gentleman from the south had arrived at
the Ha'.

'Can this poor fellow deliver a letter?' asked Edward.

'With all fidelity, sir, to any one whom he respects. I would
hardly trust him with a long message by word of mouth--though he
is more knave than fool.'

Waverley delivered his credentials to Mr. Gellatley, who seemed to
confirm the butler's last observation, by twisting his features at
him, when he was looking another way, into the resemblance of the
grotesque face on the bole of a German tobacco pipe; after which,
with an odd conge to Waverley, he danced off to discharge his
errand.

'He is an innocent, sir,' said the butler; 'there is one such in
almost every town in the country, but ours is brought far ben.
[Footnote: See Note 8.] He used to work a day's turn weel
enough; but he helped Miss Rose when she was flemit with the Laird
of Killancureit's new English bull, and since that time we ca' him
Davie Do-little; indeed we might ca' him Davie Do-naething, for
since he got that gay clothing, to please his honour and my young
mistress (great folks will have their fancies), he has done
naething but dance up and down about the toun, without doing a
single turn, unless trimming the laird's fishing-wand or busking
his flies, or may be catching a dish of trouts at an orra time.
But here comes Miss Rose, who, I take burden upon me for her, will
be especial glad to see one of the house of Waverley at her
father's mansion of Tully-Veolan.'

But Rose Bradwardine deserves better of her unworthy historian
than to be introduced at the end of a chapter.

In the mean while it may be noticed, that Waverley learned two
things from this colloquy: that in Scotland a single house was
called a TOWN, and a natural fool an INNOCENT.





CHAPTER X

ROSE BRADWARDINE AND HER FATHER


Miss Bradwardine was but seventeen; yet, at the last races of the
county town of----, upon her health being proposed among a round
of beauties, the Laird of Bumperquaigh, permanent toast-master and
croupier of the Bautherwhillery Club, not only said MORE to the
pledge in a pint bumper of Bourdeaux, but, ere pouring forth the
libation, denominated the divinity to whom it was dedicated, 'the
Rose of Tully-Veolan'; upon which festive occasion three cheers
were given by all the sitting members of that respectable society,
whose throats the wine had left capable of such exertion. Nay, I
am well assured, that the sleeping partners of the company snorted
applause, and that although strong bumpers and weak brains had
consigned two or three to the floor, yet even these, fallen as
they were from their high estate, and weltering--I will carry the
parody no farther--uttered divers inarticulate sounds, intimating
their assent to the motion.

Such unanimous applause could not be extorted but by acknowledged
merit; and Rose Bradwardine not only deserved it, but also the
approbation of much more rational persons than the Bautherwhillery
Club could have mustered, even before discussion of the first
magnum. She was indeed a very pretty girl of the Scotch cast of
beauty, that is, with a profusion of hair of paley gold, and a
skin like the snow of her own mountains in whiteness. Yet she had
not a pallid or pensive cast of countenance; her features, as well
as her temper, had a lively expression; her complexion, though not
florid, was so pure as to seem transparent, and the slightest
emotion sent her whole blood at once to her face and neck. Her
form, though under the common size, was remarkably elegant, and
her motions light, easy, and unembarrassed. She came from another
part of the garden to receive Captain Waverley, with a manner that
hovered between bashfulness and courtesy.

The first greetings past, Edward learned from her that the dark
hag, which had somewhat puzzled him in the butler's account of his
master's avocations, had nothing to do either with a black cat or
a broomstick, but was simply a portion of oak copse which was to
be felled that day. She offered, with diffident civility, to show
the stranger the way to the spot, which, it seems, was not far
distant; but they were prevented by the appearance of the Baron of
Bradwardine in person, who, summoned by David Gellatley, now
appeared, 'on hospitable thoughts intent,' clearing the ground at
a prodigious rate with swift and long strides, which reminded
Waverley of the seven-league boots of the nursery fable. He was a
tall, thin, athletic figure, old indeed and grey-haired, but with
every muscle rendered as tough as whip-cord by constant exercise.
He was dressed carelessly, and more like a Frenchman than an
Englishman of the period, while, from his hard features and
perpendicular rigidity of stature, he bore some resemblance to a
Swiss officer of the guards, who had resided some time at Paris,
and caught the costume, but not the ease or manner, of its
inhabitants. The truth was, that his language and habits were as
heterogeneous as his external appearance.

Owing to his natural disposition to study, or perhaps to a very
general Scottish fashion of giving young men of rank a legal
education, he had been bred with a view to the bar. But the
politics of his family precluding the hope of his rising in that
profession, Mr. Bradwardine travelled with high reputation for
several years, and made some campaigns in foreign service. After
his demele with the law of high treason in 1715, he had lived in
retirement, conversing almost entirely with those of his own
principles in the vicinage. The pedantry of the lawyer,
superinduced upon the military pride of the soldier, might remind
a modern of the days of the zealous volunteer service, when the
bar-gown of our pleaders was often flung over a blazing uniform.
To this must be added the prejudices of ancient birth and Jacobite
politics, greatly strengthened by habits of solitary and secluded
authority, which, though exercised only within the bounds of his
half-cultivated estate, was there indisputable and undisputed.
For, as he used to observe, 'the lands of Bradwardine, Tully-
Veolan, and others, had been erected into a free barony by a
charter from David the First, cum liberali potest. habendi curias
et justicias, cum fossa et furca (LIE, pit and gallows) et saka et
soka, et thol et theam, et infang-thief et outfang-thief, sive
hand-habend. sive bak-barand.' The peculiar meaning of all these
cabalistical words few or none could explain; but they implied,
upon the whole, that the Baron of Bradwardine might, in case of
delinquency, imprison, try, and execute his vassals at his
pleasure. Like James the First, however, the present possessor of
this authority was more pleased in talking about prerogative than
in exercising it; and excepting that he imprisoned two poachers in
the dungeon of the old tower of Tully-Veolan, where they were
sorely frightened by ghosts, and almost eaten by rats, and that he
set an old woman in the jougs (or Scottish pillory) for saying'
there were mair fules in the laird's ha' house than Davie
Gellatley,' I do not learn that he was accused of abusing his high
powers. Still, however, the conscious pride of possessing them
gave additional importance to his language and deportment.

At his first address to Waverley, it would seem that the hearty
pleasure he felt to behold the nephew of his friend had somewhat
discomposed the stiff and upright dignity of the Baron of
Bradwardine's demeanour, for the tears stood in the old
gentleman's eyes, when, having first shaken Edward heartily by the
hand in the English fashion, he embraced him a la mode Francoise,
and kissed him on both sides of his face; while the hardness of
his gripe, and the quantity of Scotch snuff which his accolade
communicated, called corresponding drops of moisture to the eyes
of his guest.

'Upon the honour of a gentleman,' he said, 'but it makes me young
again to see you here, Mr. Waverley! A worthy scion of the old
stock of Waverley-Honour--spes altera, as Maro hath it--and you
have the look of the old line, Captain Waverley; not so portly yet
as my old friend Sir Everard--mais cela viendra avec le tems, as
my Dutch acquaintance, Baron Kikkitbroeck, said of the sagesse of
Madame son epouse. And so ye have mounted the cockade? Right,
right; though I could have wished the colour different, and so I
would ha' deemed might Sir Everard. But no more of that; I am old,
and times are changed. And how does the worthy knight baronet, and
the fair Mrs. Rachel?--Ah, ye laugh, young man! In troth she was
the fair Mrs. Rachel in the year of grace seventeen hundred and
sixteen; but time passes--et singula praedantur anni--that is
most certain. But once again ye are most heartily welcome to my
poor house of Tully-Veolan! Hie to the house, Rose, and see that
Alexander Saunderson looks out the old Chateau Margaux, which I
sent from Bourdeaux to Dundee in the year 1713.'

Rose tripped off demurely enough till she turned the first corner,
and then ran with the speed of a fairy, that she might gain
leisure, after discharging her father's commission, to put her own
dress in order, and produce all her little finery, an occupation
for which the approaching dinner-hour left but limited time.

'We cannot rival the luxuries of your English table, Captain
Waverley, or give you the epulae lautiores of Waverley-Honour. I
say epulae rather than prandium, because the latter phrase is
popular: epulae ad senatum, prandium vero ad populum attinet, says
Suetonius Tranquillus. But I trust ye will applaud my Bourdeaux;
c'est des deux oreilles, as Captain Vinsauf used to say; vinum
primae notae, the principal of Saint Andrews denominated it. And,
once more, Captain Waverley, right glad am I that ye are here to
drink the best my cellar can make forthcoming.'

This speech, with the necessary interjectional answers, continued
from the lower alley where they met up to the door of the house,
where four or five servants in old-fashioned liveries, headed by
Alexander Saunderson, the butler, who now bore no token of the
sable stains of the garden, received them in grand COSTUME,

    In an old hall hung round with pikes and with bows,
    With old bucklers and corslets that had borne many shrewd
      blows.

With much ceremony, and still more real kindness, the Baron,
without stopping in any intermediate apartment, conducted his
guest through several into the great dining parlour, wainscotted
with black oak, and hung round with the pictures of his ancestry,
where a table was set forth in form for six persons, and an old-
fashioned beaufet displayed all the ancient and massive plate of
the Bradwardine family. A bell was now heard at the head of the
avenue; for an old man, who acted as porter upon gala days, had
caught the alarm given by Waverley's arrival, and, repairing to
his post, announced the arrival of other guests.

These, as the Baron assured his young friend, were very estimable
persons. 'There was the young Laird of Balmawhapple, a Falconer by
surname, of the house of Glenfarquhar, given right much to field-
sports--gaudet equis et canibus--but a very discreet young
gentleman. Then there was the Laird of Killancureit, who had
devoted his leisure UNTILL tillage and agriculture, and boasted
himself to be possessed of a bull of matchless merit, brought from
the county of Devon (the Damnonia of the Romans, if we can trust
Robert of Cirencester). He is, as ye may well suppose from such a
tendency, but of yeoman extraction--servabit odorem testa diu--and
I believe, between ourselves, his grandsire was from the wrong
side of the Border--one Bullsegg, who came hither as a steward, or
bailiff, or ground-officer, or something in that department, to
the last Girnigo of Killancureit, who died of an atrophy. After
his master's death, sir,--ye would hardly believe such a scandal,
--but this Bullsegg, being portly and comely of aspect,
intermarried with the lady dowager, who was young and amorous, and
possessed himself of the estate, which devolved on this unhappy
woman by a settlement of her umwhile husband, in direct
contravention of an unrecorded taillie, and to the prejudice of
the disponer's own flesh and blood, in the person of his natural
heir and seventh cousin, Girnigo of Tipperhewit, whose family was
so reduced by the ensuing law-suit, that his representative is now
serving as a private gentleman-sentinel in the Highland Black
Watch. But this gentleman, Mr. Bullsegg of Killancureit that now
is, has good blood in his veins by the mother and grandmother, who
were both of the family of Pickletillim, and he is well liked and
looked upon, and knows his own place. And God forbid, Captain
Waverley, that we of irreproachable lineage should exult over him,
when it may be, that in the eighth, ninth, or tenth generation,
his progeny may rank, in a manner, with the old gentry of the
country. Rank and ancestry, sir, should be the last words in the
mouths of us of unblemished race--vix ea nostra voco, as Naso
saith. There is, besides, a clergyman of the true (though
suffering) Episcopal church of Scotland. [Footnote: See Note 9.]
He was a confessor in her cause after the year 1715, when a
Whiggish mob destroyed his meeting-house, tore his surplice, and
plundered his dwelling-house of four silver spoons, intromitting
also with his mart and his mealark, and with two barrels, one of
single and one of double ale, besides three bottles of brandy. My
baron-bailie and doer, Mr. Duncan Macwheeble, is the fourth on our
list. There is a question, owing to the incertitude of ancient
orthography, whether he belongs to the clan of Wheedle or of
Quibble, but both have produced persons eminent in the law.'--

  As such he described them by person and name,
  They enter'd, and dinner was served as they came.





CHAPTER XI

THE BANQUET


The entertainment was ample and handsome, according to the Scotch
ideas of the period, and the guests did great honour to it. The
Baron eat like a famished soldier, the Laird of Balmawhapple like
a sportsman, Bullsegg of Killancureit like a farmer, Waverley
himself like a traveller, and Bailie Macwheeble like all four
together; though, either out of more respect, or in order to
preserve that proper declination of person which showed a sense
that he was in the presence of his patron, he sat upon the edge of
his chair, placed at three feet distance from the table, and
achieved a communication with his plate by projecting his person
towards it in a line which obliqued from the bottom of his spine,
so that the person who sat opposite to him could only see the
foretop of his riding periwig.

This stooping position might have been inconvenient to another
person; but long habit made it, whether seated or walking,
perfectly easy to the worthy Bailie. In the latter posture it
occasioned, no doubt, an unseemly projection of the person towards
those who happened to walk behind; but those being at all times
his inferiors (for Mr. Macwheeble was very scrupulous in giving
place to all others), he cared very little what inference of
contempt or slight regard they might derive from the circumstance.
Hence, when he waddled across the court to and from his old grey
pony, he somewhat resembled a turnspit walking upon its hind legs.

The nonjuring clergyman was a pensive and interesting old man,
with much of the air of a sufferer for conscience' sake. He was
one of those

    Who, undeprived, their benefice forsook.

For this whim, when the Baron was out of hearing, the Bailie used
sometimes gently to rally Mr. Rubrick, upbraiding him with the
nicety of his scruples. Indeed, it must be owned, that he himself,
though at heart a keen partisan of the exiled family, had kept
pretty fair with all the different turns of state in his time; so
that Davie Gellatley once described him as a particularly good
man, who had a very quiet and peaceful conscience, THAT NEVER DID
HIM ANY HARM.

When the dinner was removed, the Baron announced the health of the
King, politely leaving to the consciences of his guests to drink
to the sovereign de facto or de jure, as their politics inclined.
The conversation now became general; and, shortly afterwards, Miss
Bradwardine, who had done the honours with natural grace and
simplicity, retired, and was soon followed by the clergyman. Among
the rest of the party, the wine, which fully justified the
encomiums of the landlord, flowed freely round, although Waverley,
with some difficulty, obtained the privilege of sometimes
neglecting the glass. At length, as the evening grew more late,
the Baron made a private signal to Mr. Saunders Saunderson, or, as
he facetiously denominated him, Alexander ab Alexandro, who left
the room with a nod, and soon after returned, his grave
countenance mantling with a solemn and mysterious smile, and
placed before his master a small oaken casket, mounted with brass
ornaments of curious form. The Baron, drawing out a private key,
unlocked the casket, raised the lid, and produced a golden goblet
of a singular and antique appearance, moulded into the shape of a
rampant bear, which the owner regarded with a look of mingled
reverence, pride, and delight, that irresistibly reminded Waverley
of Ben Jonson's Tom Otter, with his Bull, Horse, and Dog, as that
wag wittily denominated his chief carousing cups. But Mr.
Bradwardine, turning towards him with complacency, requested him
to observe this curious relic of the olden time.

'It represents,' he said, 'the chosen crest of our family, a bear,
as ye observe, and RAMPANT; because a good herald will depict
every animal in its noblest posture, as a horse SALIENT, a
greyhound CURRANT, and, as may be inferred, a ravenous animal in
actu ferociori, or in a voracious, lacerating, and devouring
posture. Now, sir, we hold this most honourable achievement by the
wappen-brief, or concession of arms, of Frederick Red-beard,
Emperor of Germany, to my predecessor, Godmund Bradwardine, it
being the crest of a gigantic Dane, whom he slew in the lists in
the Holy Land, on a quarrel touching the chastity of the emperor's
spouse or daughter, tradition saith not precisely which, and thus,
as Virgilius hath it--

    Mutemus clypeos, Danaumque insignia nobis
    Aptemus.

Then for the cup, Captain Waverley, it was wrought by the command
of Saint Duthac, Abbot of Aberbrothock, for behoof of another
baron of the house of Bradwardine, who had valiantly defended the
patrimony of that monastery against certain encroaching nobles. It
is properly termed the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine (though old
Doctor Doubleit used jocosely to call it Ursa Major), and was
supposed, in old and Catholic times, to be invested with certain
properties of a mystical and supernatural quality. And though I
give not in to such anilia, it is certain it has always been
esteemed a solemn standard cup and heirloom of our house; nor is
it ever used but upon seasons of high festival, and such I hold to
be the arrival of the heir of Sir Everard under my roof; and I
devote this draught to the health and prosperity of the ancient
and highly-to-be-honoured house of Waverley.'

During this long harangue, he carefully decanted a cob-webbed
bottle of claret into the goblet, which held nearly an English
pint; and, at the conclusion, delivering the bottle to the butler,
to be held carefully in the same angle with the horizon, he
devoutly quaffed off the contents of the Blessed Bear of
Bradwardine.

Edward, with horror and alarm, beheld the animal making his
rounds, and thought with great anxiety upon the appropriate motto,
'Beware the Bear'; but, at the same time, plainly foresaw that, as
none of the guests scrupled to do him this extraordinary honour, a
refusal on his part to pledge their courtesy would be extremely
ill received. Resolving, therefore, to submit to this last piece
of tyranny, and then to quit the table, if possible, and confiding
in the strength of his constitution, he did justice to the company
in the contents of the Blessed Bear, and felt less inconvenience
from the draught than he could possibly have expected. The others,
whose time had been more actively employed, began to show symptoms
of innovation--'the good wine did its good office.' [Footnote:
Southey's Madoc.] The frost of etiquette and pride of birth began
to give way before the genial blessings of this benign
constellation, and the formal appellatives with which the three
dignitaries had hitherto addressed each other were now familiarly
abbreviated into Tully, Bally, and Killie. When a few rounds had
passed, the two latter, after whispering together, craved
permission (a joyful hearing for Edward) to ask the grace-cup.
This, after some delay, was at length produced, and Waverley
concluded the orgies of Bacchus were terminated for the evening.
He was never more mistaken in his life.

As the guests had left their horses at the small inn, or change-
house, as it was called, of the village, the Baron could not, in
politeness, avoid walking with them up the avenue, and Waverley
from the same motive, and to enjoy after this feverish revel the
cool summer evening, attended the party. But when they arrived at
Luckie Macleary's the Lairds of Balmawhapple and Killancureit
declared their determination to acknowledge their sense of the
hospitality of Tully-Veolan by partaking, with their entertainer
and his guest Captain Waverley, what they technically called deoch
an doruis, a stirrup-cup, [Footnote 2: See Note 10] to the honour
of the Baron's roof-tree.

It must be noticed that the Bailie, knowing by experience that the
day's jovialty, which had been hitherto sustained at the expense
of his patron, might terminate partly at his own, had mounted his
spavined grey pony, and, between gaiety of heart and alarm for
being hooked into a reckoning, spurred him into a hobbling canter
(a trot was out of the question), and had already cleared the
village. The others entered the change-house, leading Edward in
unresisting submission; for his landlord whispered him, that to
demur to such an overture would be construed into a high
misdemeanour against the leges conviviales, or regulations of
genial compotation. Widow Macleary seemed to have expected this
visit, as well she might, for it was the usual consummation of
merry bouts, not only at Tully-Veolan, but at most other
gentlemen's houses in Scotland, Sixty Years Since. The guests
thereby at once acquitted themselves of their burden of gratitude
for their entertainer's kindness, encouraged the trade of his
change-house, did honour to the place which afforded harbour to
their horses, and indemnified themselves for the previous
restraints imposed by private hospitality, by spending what
Falstaff calls the sweet of the night in the genial license of a
tavern.

Accordingly, in full expectation of these distinguished guests,
Luckie Macleary had swept her house for the first time this
fortnight, tempered her turf-fire to such a heat as the season
required in her damp hovel even at Midsummer, set forth her deal
table newly washed, propped its lame foot with a fragment of turf,
arranged four or five stools of huge and clumsy form upon the
sites which best suited the inequalities of her clay floor; and
having, moreover, put on her clean toy, rokelay, and scarlet
plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the company, in full hope of
custom and profit. When they were seated under the sooty rafters
of Luckie Macleary's only apartment, thickly tapestried with
cobwebs, their hostess, who had already taken her cue from the
Laird of Balmawhapple, appeared with a huge pewter measuring-pot,
containing at least three English quarts, familiarly denominated a
Tappit Hen, and which, in the language of the hostess, reamed
(i.e., mantled) with excellent claret just drawn from the cask.

It was soon plain that what crumbs of reason the Bear had not
devoured were to be picked up by the Hen; but the confusion which
appeared to prevail favoured Edward's resolution to evade the
gaily circling glass. The others began to talk thick and at once,
each performing his own part in the conversation without the least
respect to his neighbour. The Baron of Bradwardine sung French
chansons-a-boire, and spouted pieces of Latin; Killancureit
talked, in a steady unalterable dull key, of top-dressing and
bottom-dressing, [Footnote: This has been censured as an
anachronism; and it must be confessed that agriculture of this
kind was unknown to the Scotch Sixty Years Since.] and year-olds,
and gimmers, and dinmonts, and stots, and runts, and kyloes, and a
proposed turnpike-act; while Balmawhapple, in notes exalted above
both, extolled his horse, his hawks, and a greyhound called
Whistler. In the middle of this din, the Baron repeatedly implored
silence; and when at length the instinct of polite discipline so
far prevailed that for a moment he obtained it, he hastened to
beseech their attention 'unto a military ariette, which was a
particular favourite of the Marechal Duc de Berwick'; then,
imitating, as well as he could, the manner and tone of a French
musquetaire, he immediately commenced,--

    Mon coeur volage, dit elle,
      N'est pas pour vous, garcon;
    Est pour un homme de guerre,
      Qui a barbe au menton.
                 Lon, Lon, Laridon.

    Qui port chapeau a plume,
      Soulier a rouge talon,
    Qui joue de la flute,
      Aussi du violon.
                 Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Balmawhapple could hold no longer, but broke in with what he
called a d--d good song, composed by Gibby Gaethroughwi't, the
piper of Cupar; and, without wasting more time, struck up,--

    It's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed,
    And o'er the bent of Killiebraid,
    And mony a weary cast I made,
      To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail.

[Footnote: Suum cuique. This snatch of a ballad was composed by
Andrew MacDonald, the ingenious and unfortunate author of
Vimonda.]

The Baron, whose voice was drowned in the louder and more
obstreperous strains of Balmawhapple, now dropped the competition,
but continued to hum 'Lon, Lon, Laridon,' and to regard the
successful candidate for the attention of the company with an eye
of disdain, while Balmawhapple proceeded,--

    If up a bonny black-cock should spring,
    To whistle him down wi' a slug in his wing,
    And strap him on to my lunzie string,
    Right seldom would I fail.

After an ineffectual attempt to recover the second verse, he sung
the first over again; and, in prosecution of his triumph, declared
there was 'more sense in that than in all the derry-dongs of
France, and Fifeshire to the boot of it.' The Baron only answered
with a long pinch of snuff and a glance of infinite contempt. But
those noble allies, the Bear and the Hen, had emancipated the
young laird from the habitual reverence in which he held
Bradwardine at other times. He pronounced the claret shilpit, and
demanded brandy with great vociferation. It was brought; and now
the Demon of Politics envied even the harmony arising from this
Dutch concert, merely because there was not a wrathful note in the
strange compound of sounds which it produced. Inspired by her, the
Laird of Balmawhapple, now superior to the nods and winks with
which the Baron of Bradwardine, in delicacy to Edward, had
hitherto checked his entering upon political discussion, demanded
a bumper, with the lungs of a Stentor, 'to the little gentleman in
black velvet who did such service in 1702, and may the white horse
break his neck over a mound of his making!'

Edward was not at that moment clear-headed enough to remember that
King William's fall, which occasioned his death, was said to be
owing to his horse stumbling at a mole-hill; yet felt inclined to
take umbrage at a toast which seemed, from the glance of
Balmawhapple's eye, to have a peculiar and uncivil reference to
the Government which he served. But, ere he could interfere, the
Baron of Bradwardine had taken up the quarrel. 'Sir,' he said,
'whatever my sentiments tanquam privatus may be in such matters, I
shall not tamely endure your saying anything that may impinge upon
the honourable feelings of a gentleman under my roof. Sir, if you
have no respect for the laws of urbanity, do ye not respect the
military oath, the sacramentum militare, by which every officer is
bound to the standards under which he is enrolled? Look at Titus
Livius, what he says of those Roman soldiers who were so unhappy
as exuere sacramentum, to renounce their legionary oath; but you
are ignorant, sir, alike of ancient history and modern courtesy.'

'Not so ignorant as ye would pronounce me,' roared Balmawhapple.
'I ken weel that you mean the Solemn League and Covenant; but if
a' the Whigs in hell had taken the--'

Here the Baron and Waverley both spoke at once, the former calling
out, 'Be silent, sir! ye not only show your ignorance, but
disgrace your native country before a stranger and an Englishman';
and Waverley, at the same moment, entreating Mr. Bradwardine to
permit him to reply to an affront which seemed levelled at him
personally. But the Baron was exalted by wine, wrath, and scorn
above all sublunary considerations.

'I crave you to be hushed, Captain Waverley; you are elsewhere,
peradventure, sui juris,--foris-familiated, that is, and entitled,
it may be, to think and resent for yourself; but in my domain, in
this poor Barony of Bradwardine, and under this roof, which is
quasi mine, being held by tacit relocation by a tenant at will, I
am in loco parentis to you, and bound to see you scathless. And
for you, Mr. Falconer of Balmawhapple, I warn ye, let me see no
more aberrations from the paths of good manners.'

'And I tell you, Mr. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine and
Tully-Veolan,' retorted the sportsman in huge disdain, 'that I'll
make a moor-cock of the man that refuses my toast, whether it be a
crop-eared English Whig wi' a black ribband at his lug, or ane wha
deserts his ain friends to claw favour wi' the rats of Hanover.'

In an instant both rapiers were brandished, and some desperate
passes exchanged. Balmawhapple was young, stout, and active; but
the Baron, infinitely more master of his weapon, would, like Sir
Toby Belch, have tickled his opponent other gates than he did had
he not been under the influence of Ursa Major.

Edward rushed forward to interfere between the combatants, but the
prostrate bulk of the Laird of Killancureit, over which he
stumbled, intercepted his passage. How Killancureit happened to be
in this recumbent posture at so interesting a moment was never
accurately known. Some thought he was about to insconce himself
under the table; he himself alleged that he stumbled in the act of
lifting a joint-stool, to prevent mischief, by knocking down
Balmawhapple. Be that as it may, if readier aid than either his or
Waverley's had not interposed, there would certainly have been
bloodshed. But the well-known clash of swords, which was no
stranger to her dwelling, aroused Luckie Macleary as she sat
quietly beyond the hallan, or earthen partition of the cottage,
with eyes employed on Boston's 'Crook the Lot,' while her ideas
were engaged in summing up the reckoning. She boldly rushed in,
with the shrill expostulation, 'Wad their honours slay ane another
there, and bring discredit on an honest widow-woman's house, when
there was a' the lee-land in the country to fight upon?' a
remonstrance which she seconded by flinging her plaid with great
dexterity over the weapons of the combatants. The servants by this
time rushed in, and being, by great chance, tolerably sober,
separated the incensed opponents, with the assistance of Edward
and Killancureit. The latter led off Balmawhapple, cursing,
swearing, and vowing revenge against every Whig, Presbyterian, and
fanatic in England and Scotland, from John-o'-Groat's to the
Land's End, and with difficulty got him to horse. Our hero, with
the assistance of Saunders Saunderson, escorted the Baron of
Bradwardine to his own dwelling, but could not prevail upon him to
retire to bed until he had made a long and learned apology for the
events of the evening, of which, however, there was not a word
intelligible, except something about the Centaurs and the
Lapithae.





CHAPTER XII

REPENTANCE AND A RECONCILIATION


Waverley was unaccustomed to the use of wine, excepting with great
temperance. He slept therefore soundly till late in the succeeding
morning, and then awakened to a painful recollection of the scene
of the preceding evening. He had received a personal affront--he,
a gentleman, a soldier, and a Waverley. True, the person who
offered it was not, at the time it was given, possessed of the
moderate share of sense which nature had allotted him; true also,
in resenting this insult, he would break the laws of Heaven as
well as of his country; true, in doing so, he might take the life
of a young man who perhaps respectably discharged the social
duties, and render his family miserable, or he might lose his own
--no pleasant alternative even to the bravest, when it is debated
coolly and in private.

All this pressed on his mind; yet the original statement recurred
with the same irresistible force. He had received a personal
insult; he was of the house of Waverley; and he bore a commission.
There was no alternative; and he descended to the breakfast
parlour with the intention of taking leave of the family, and
writing to one of his brother officers to meet him at the inn
midway between Tully-Veolan and the town where they were
quartered, in order that he might convey such a message to the
Laird of Balmawhapple as the circumstances seemed to demand. He
found Miss Bradwardine presiding over the tea and coffee, the
table loaded with warm bread, both of flour, oatmeal, and
barleymeal, in the shape of loaves, cakes, biscuits, and other
varieties, together with eggs, reindeer ham, mutton and beef
ditto, smoked salmon, marmalade, and all the other delicacies
which induced even Johnson himself to extol the luxury of a Scotch
breakfast above that of all other countries. A mess of oatmeal
porridge, flanked by a silver jug, which held an equal mixture of
cream and butter-milk, was placed for the Baron's share of this
repast; but Rose observed, he had walked out early in the morning,
after giving orders that his guest should not be disturbed.

Waverley sat down almost in silence, and with an air of absence
and abstraction which could not give Miss Bradwardine a favourable
opinion of his talents for conversation. He answered at random one
or two observations which she ventured to make upon ordinary
topics; so that, feeling herself almost repulsed in her efforts at
entertaining him, and secretly wondering that a scarlet coat
should cover no better breeding, she left him to his mental
amusement of cursing Doctor Doubleit's favourite constellation of
Ursa Major as the cause of all the mischief which had already
happened and was likely to ensue. At once he started, and his
colour heightened, as, looking toward the window, he beheld the
Baron and young Balmawhapple pass arm in arm, apparently in deep
conversation; and he hastily asked, 'Did Mr. Falconer sleep here
last night?' Rose, not much pleased with the abruptness of the
first question which the young stranger had addressed to her,
answered drily in the negative, and the conversation again sunk
into silence.

At this moment Mr. Saunderson appeared, with a message from his
master, requesting to speak with Captain Waverley in another
apartment. With a heart which beat a little quicker, not indeed
from fear, but from uncertainty and anxiety, Edward obeyed the
summons. He found the two gentlemen standing together, an air of
complacent dignity on the brow of the Baron, while something like
sullenness or shame, or both, blanked the bold visage of
Balmawhapple. The former slipped his arm through that of the
latter, and thus seeming to walk with him, while in reality he led
him, advanced to meet Waverley, and, stopping in the midst of the
apartment, made in great state the following oration: 'Captain
Waverley--my young and esteemed friend, Mr. Falconer of
Balmawhapple, has craved of my age and experience, as of one not
wholly unskilled in the dependencies and punctilios of the duello
or monomachia, to be his interlocutor in expressing to you the
regret with which he calls to remembrance certain passages of our
symposion last night, which could not but be highly displeasing to
you, as serving for the time under this present existing
government. He craves you, sir, to drown in oblivion the memory of
such solecisms against the laws of politeness, as being what his
better reason disavows, and to receive the hand which he offers
you in amity; and I must needs assure you that nothing less than a
sense of being dans son tort, as a gallant French chevalier, Mons.
Le Bretailleur, once said to me on such an occasion, and an
opinion also of your peculiar merit, could have extorted such
concessions; for he and all his family are, and have been, time
out of mind, Mavortia pectora, as Buchanan saith, a bold and
warlike sept, or people.'

Edward immediately, and with natural politeness, accepted the hand
which Balmawhapple, or rather the Baron in his character of
mediator, extended towards him. 'It was impossible,' he said, 'for
him to remember what a gentleman expressed his wish he had not
uttered; and he willingly imputed what had passed to the exuberant
festivity of the day.'

'That is very handsomely said,' answered the Baron; 'for
undoubtedly, if a man be ebrius, or intoxicated, an incident which
on solemn and festive occasions may and will take place in the
life of a man of honour; and if the same gentleman, being fresh
and sober, recants the contumelies which he hath spoken in his
liquor, it must be held vinum locutum est; the words cease to be
his own. Yet would I not find this exculpation relevant in the
case of one who was ebriosus, or an habitual drunkard; because, if
such a person choose to pass the greater part of his time in the
predicament of intoxication, he hath no title to be exeemed from
the obligations of the code of politeness, but should learn to
deport himself peaceably and courteously when under influence of
the vinous stimulus. And now let us proceed to breakfast, and
think no more of this daft business.'

I must confess, whatever inference may be drawn from the
circumstance, that Edward, after so satisfactory an explanation,
did much greater honour to the delicacies of Miss Bradwardine's
breakfast-table than his commencement had promised. Balmawhapple,
on the contrary, seemed embarrassed and dejected; and Waverley
now, for the first time, observed that his arm was in a sling,
which seemed to account for the awkward and embarrassed manner
with which he had presented his hand. To a question from Miss
Bradwardine, he muttered in answer something about his horse
having fallen; and seeming desirous to escape both from the
subject and the company, he arose as soon as breakfast was over,
made his bow to the party, and, declining the Baron's invitation
to tarry till after dinner, mounted his horse and returned to his
own home.

Waverley now announced his purpose of leaving Tully-Veolan early
enough after dinner to gain the stage at which he meant to sleep;
but the unaffected and deep mortification with which the good-
natured and affectionate old gentleman heard the proposal quite
deprived him of courage to persist in it. No sooner had he gained
Waverley's consent to lengthen his visit for a few days than he
laboured to remove the grounds upon which he conceived he had
meditated a more early retreat. 'I would not have you opine,
Captain Waverley, that I am by practice or precept an advocate of
ebriety, though it may be that, in our festivity of last night,
some of our friends, if not perchance altogether ebrii, or
drunken, were, to say the least, ebrioli, by which the ancients
designed those who were fuddled, or, as your English vernacular
and metaphorical phrase goes, half-seas-over. Not that I would so
insinuate respecting you, Captain Waverley, who, like a prudent
youth, did rather abstain from potation; nor can it be truly said
of myself, who, having assisted at the tables of many great
generals and marechals at their solemn carousals, have the art to
carry my wine discreetly, and did not, during the whole evening,
as ye must have doubtless observed, exceed the bounds of a modest
hilarity.'

There was no refusing assent to a proposition so decidedly laid
down by him, who undoubtedly was the best judge; although, had
Edward formed his opinion from his own recollections, he would
have pronounced that the Baron was not only ebriolus, but verging
to become ebrius; or, in plain English, was incomparably the most
drunk of the party, except perhaps his antagonist the Laird of
Balmawhapple. However, having received the expected, or rather the
required, compliment on his sobriety, the Baron proceeded--'No,
sir, though I am myself of a strong temperament, I abhor ebriety,
and detest those who swallow wine gulce causa, for the oblectation
of the gullet; albeit I might deprecate the law of Pittacus of
Mitylene, who punished doubly a crime committed under the
influence of 'Liber Pater'; nor would I utterly accede to the
objurgation of the younger Plinius, in the fourteenth book of his
'Historia Naturalis.' No, sir, I distinguish, I discriminate, and
approve of wine so far only as it maketh glad the face, or, in the
language of Flaccus, recepto amico.'

Thus terminated the apology which the Baron of Bradwardine thought
it necessary to make for the superabundance of his hospitality;
and it may be easily believed that he was neither interrupted by
dissent nor any expression of incredulity.

He then invited his guest to a morning ride, and ordered that
Davie Gellatley should meet them at the dern path with Ban and
Buscar. 'For, until the shooting season commence, I would
willingly show you some sport, and we may, God willing, meet with
a roe. The roe, Captain Waverley, may be hunted at all times
alike; for never being in what is called PRIDE OF GREASE, he is
also never out of season, though it be a truth that his venison is
not equal to that of either the red or fallow deer. [Footnote: The
learned in cookery dissent from the Baron of Bradwardine, and hold
the roe venison dry and indifferent food, unless when dressed in
soup and Scotch collops.] But he will serve to show how my dogs
run; and therefore they shall attend us with David Gellatley.'

Waverley expressed his surprise that his friend Davie was capable
of such trust; but the Baron gave him to understand that this poor
simpleton was neither fatuous, nec naturaliter idiota, as is
expressed in the brieves of furiosity, but simply a crack-brained
knave, who could execute very well any commission which jumped
with his own humour, and made his folly a plea for avoiding every
other. 'He has made an interest with us,' continued the Baron, 'by
saving Rose from a great danger with his own proper peril; and the
roguish loon must therefore eat of our bread and drink of our cup,
and do what he can, or what he will, which, if the suspicions of
Saunderson and the Bailie are well founded, may perchance in his
case be commensurate terms.'

Miss Bradwardine then gave Waverley to understand that this poor
simpleton was dotingly fond of music, deeply affected by that
which was melancholy, and transported into extravagant gaiety by
light and lively airs. He had in this respect a prodigious memory,
stored with miscellaneous snatches and fragments of all tunes and
songs, which he sometimes applied, with considerable address, as
the vehicles of remonstrance, explanation, or satire. Davie was
much attached to the few who showed him kindness; and both aware
of any slight or ill usage which he happened to receive, and
sufficiently apt, where he saw opportunity, to revenge it. The
common people, who often judge hardly of each other as well as of
their betters, although they had expressed great compassion for
the poor innocent while suffered to wander in rags about the
village, no sooner beheld him decently clothed, provided for, and
even a sort of favourite, than they called up all the instances of
sharpness and ingenuity, in action and repartee, which his annals
afforded, and charitably bottomed thereupon a hypothesis that
David Gellatley was no farther fool than was necessary to avoid
hard labour. This opinion was not better founded than that of the
Negroes, who, from the acute and mischievous pranks of the
monkeys, suppose that they have the gift of speech, and only
suppress their powers of elocution to escape being set to work.
But the hypothesis was entirely imaginary; David Gellatley was in
good earnest the half-crazed simpleton which he appeared, and was
incapable of any constant and steady exertion. He had just so much
solidity as kept on the windy side of insanity, so much wild wit
as saved him from the imputation of idiocy, some dexterity in
field-sports (in which we have known as great fools excel), great
kindness and humanity in the treatment of animals entrusted to
him, warm affections, a prodigious memory, and an ear for music.

The stamping of horses was now heard in the court, and Davie's
voice singing to the two large deer greyhounds,

    Hie away, hie away,
    Over bank and over brae,
    Where the copsewood is the greenest,
    Where the fountains glisten sheenest,
    Where the lady-fern grows strongest,
    Where the morning dew lies longest,
    Where the black-cock sweetest sips it,
    Where the fairy latest trips it.
    Hie to haunts right seldom seen,
    Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,
    Over bank and over brae,
    Hie away, hie away.

'Do the verses he sings,' asked Waverley, 'belong to old Scottish
poetry, Miss Bradwardine?'

'I believe not,' she replied. 'This poor creature had a brother,
and Heaven, as if to compensate to the family Davie's
deficiencies, had given him what the hamlet thought uncommon
talents. An uncle contrived to educate him for the Scottish kirk,
but he could not get preferment because he came from our GROUND.
He returned from college hopeless and brokenhearted, and fell into
a decline. My father supported him till his death, which happened
before he was nineteen. He played beautifully on the flute, and
was supposed to have a great turn for poetry. He was affectionate
and compassionate to his brother, who followed him like his
shadow, and we think that from him Davie gathered many fragments
of songs and music unlike those of this country. But if we ask him
where he got such a fragment as he is now singing, he either
answers with wild and long fits of laughter, or else breaks into
tears of lamentation; but was never heard to give any explanation,
or to mention his brother's name since his death.'

'Surely,' said Edward, who was readily interested by a tale
bordering on the romantic, 'surely more might be learned by more
particular inquiry.'

'Perhaps so,' answered Rose; 'but my father will not permit any
one to practise on his feelings on this subject.'

By this time the Baron, with the help of Mr. Saunderson, had
indued a pair of jack-boots of large dimensions, and now invited
our hero to follow him as he stalked clattering down the ample
stair-case, tapping each huge balustrade as he passed with the
butt of his massive horse-whip, and humming, with the air of a
chasseur of Louis Quatorze,--

    Pour la chasse ordonnee il faut preparer tout.
    Ho la ho! Vite! vite debout!





CHAPTER XIII

A MORE RATIONAL DAY THAN THE LAST


The Baron of Bradwardine, mounted on an active and well-managed
horse, and seated on a demi-pique saddle, with deep housings to
agree with his livery, was no bad representative of the old
school. His light-coloured embroidered coat, and superbly barred
waistcoat, his brigadier wig, surmounted by a small gold-laced
cocked-hat, completed his personal costume; but he was attended by
two well-mounted servants on horseback, armed with holster-
pistols.

In this guise he ambled forth over hill and valley, the admiration
of every farm-yard which they passed in their progress, till, 'low
down in a grassy vale,' they found David Gellatley leading two
very tall deer greyhounds, and presiding over half a dozen curs,
and about as many bare-legged and bare-headed boys, who, to
procure the chosen distinction of attending on the chase, had not
failed to tickle his ears with the dulcet appellation of Maister
Gellatley, though probably all and each had hooted him on former
occasions in the character of daft Davie. But this is no uncommon
strain of flattery to persons in office, nor altogether confined
to the barelegged villagers of Tully-Veolan; it was in fashion
Sixty Years Since, is now, and will be six hundred years hence, if
this admirable compound of folly and knavery, called the world,
shall be then in existence.

These Gillie-wet-foots, as they were called, were destined to beat
the bushes, which they performed with so much success, that, after
half an hour's search, a roe was started, coursed, and killed; the
Baron following on his white horse, like Earl Percy of yore, and
magnanimously flaying and embowelling the slain animal (which, he
observed, was called by the French chasseurs, faire la curee) with
his own baronial couteau de chasse. After this ceremony, he
conducted his guest homeward by a pleasant and circuitous route,
commanding an extensive prospect of different villages and houses,
to each of which Mr. Bradwardine attached some anecdote of history
or genealogy, told in language whimsical from prejudice and
pedantry, but often respectable for the good sense and honourable
feelings which his narrative displayed, and almost always curious,
if not valuable, for the information they contained.

The truth is, the ride seemed agreeable to both gentlemen, because
they found amusement in each other's conversation, although their
characters and habits of thinking were in many respects totally
opposite. Edward, we have informed the reader, was warm in his
feelings, wild and romantic in his ideas and in his taste of
reading, with a strong disposition towards poetry. Mr Bradwardine
was the reverse of all this, and piqued himself upon stalking
through life with the same upright, starched, stoical gravity
which distinguished his evening promenade upon the terrace of
Tully-Veolan, where for hours together--the very model of old
Hardyknute--

    Stately stepp'd he east the wa',
    And stately stepp'd he west

As for literature, he read the classic poets, to be sure, and the
'Epithalamium' of Georgius Buchanan and Arthur Johnston's Psalms,
of a Sunday; and the 'Deliciae Poetarum Scotorum,' and Sir David
Lindsay's 'Works', and Barbour's 'Brace', and Blind Harry's
'Wallace', and 'The Gentle Shepherd', and 'The Cherry and The
Slae.'

But though he thus far sacrificed his time to the Muses, he would,
if the truth must be spoken, have been much better pleased had the
pious or sapient apothegms, as well as the historical narratives,
which these various works contained, been presented to him in the
form of simple prose. And he sometimes could not refrain from
expressing contempt of the 'vain and unprofitable art of poem-
making', in which, he said,'the only one who had excelled in his
time was Allan Ramsay, the periwigmaker.'

[Footnote: The Baron ought to have remembered that the joyous
Allan literally drew his blood from the house of the noble earl
whom he terms--

    Dalhousie of an old descent
    My stoup, my pride, my ornament.]

But although Edward and he differed TOTO COELO, as the Baron would
have said, upon this subject, yet they met upon history as on a
neutral ground, in which each claimed an interest. The Baron,
indeed, only cumbered his memory with matters of fact, the cold,
dry, hard outlines which history delineates. Edward, on the
contrary, loved to fill up and round the sketch with the colouring
of a warm and vivid imagination, which gives light and life to the
actors and speakers in the drama of past ages. Yet with tastes so
opposite, they contributed greatly to each other's amusement. Mr.
Bradwardine's minute narratives and powerful memory supplied to
Waverley fresh subjects of the kind upon which his fancy loved to
labour, and opened to him a new mine of incident and of character.
And he repaid the pleasure thus communicated by an earnest
attention, valuable to all story-tellers, more especially to the
Baron, who felt his habits of self-respect flattered by it; and
sometimes also by reciprocal communications, which interested Mr.
Bradwardine, as confirming or illustrating his own favourite
anecdotes. Besides, Mr. Bradwardine loved to talk of the scenes of
his youth, whichl had been spent in camps and foreign lands, and
had many interesting particulars to tell of the generals under
whom he had served and the actions he had witnessed.

Both parties returned to Tully-Veolan in great good-humour with
each other; Waverley desirous of studying more attentively what he
considered as a singular and interesting character, gifted with a
memory containing a curious register of ancient and modern
anecdotes; and Bradwardine disposed to regard Edward as puer (or
rather juvenis) bonae spei et magnae indolis, a youth devoid of
that petulant volatility which is impatient of, or vilipends, the
conversation and advice of his seniors, from which he predicted
great things of his future success and deportment in life. There
was no other guest except Mr. Rubrick, whose information and
discourse, as a clergyman and a scholar, harmonised very well with
that of the Baron and his guest.

Shortly after dinner, the Baron, as if to show that his temperance
was not entirely theoretical, proposed a visit to Rose's
apartment, or, as he termed it, her troisieme etage. Waverley was
accordingly conducted through one or two of those long awkward
passages with which ancient architects studied to puzzle the
inhabitants of the houses which they planned, at the end of which
Mr. Bradwardine began to ascend, by two steps at once, a very
steep, narrow, and winding stair, leaving Mr. Rubrick and Waverley
to follow at more leisure, while he should announce their approach
to his daughter.

After having climbed this perpendicular corkscrew until their
brains were almost giddy, they arrived in a little matted lobby,
which served as an anteroom to Rose's sanctum sanctorum, and
through which they entered her parlour. It was a small, but
pleasant apartment, opening to the south, and hung with tapestry;
adorned besides with two pictures, one of her mother, in the dress
of a shepherdess, with a bell-hoop; the other of the Baron, in his
tenth year, in a blue coat, embroidered waistcoat, laced hat, and
bag-wig, with a bow in his hand. Edward could not help smiling at
the costume, and at the odd resemblance between the round, smooth,
red-cheeked, staring visage in the portrait, and the gaunt,
bearded, hollow-eyed, swarthy features, which travelling, fatigues
of war, and advanced age, had bestowed on the original. The Baron
joined in the laugh. 'Truly,' he said,'that picture was a woman's
fantasy of my good mother's (a daughter of the Laird of
Tulliellum, Captain Waverley; I indicated the house to you when we
were on the top of the Shinnyheuch; it was burnt by the Dutch
auxiliaries brought in by the Government in 1715); I never sate
for my pourtraicture but once since that was painted, and it was
at the special and reiterated request of the Marechal Duke of
Berwick.'

The good old gentleman did not mention what Mr. Rubrick afterwards
told Edward, that the Duke had done him this honour on account of
his being the first to mount the breach of a fort in Savoy during
the memorable campaign of 1709, and his having there defended
himself with his half-pike for nearly ten minutes before any
support reached him. To do the Baron justice, although
sufficiently prone to dwell upon, and even to exaggerate, his
family dignity and consequence, he was too much a man of real
courage ever to allude to such personal acts of merit as he had
himself manifested.

Miss Rose now appeared from the interior room of her apartment, to
welcome her father and his friends. The little labours in which
she had been employed obviously showed a natural taste, which
required only cultivation. Her father had taught her French and
Italian, and a few of the ordinary authors in those languages
ornamented her shelves. He had endeavoured also to be her
preceptor in music; but as he began with the more abstruse
doctrines of the science, and was not perhaps master of them
himself, she had made no proficiency farther than to be able to
accompany her voice with the harpsichord; but even this was not
very common in Scotland at that period. To make amends, she sung
with great taste and feeling, and with a respect to the sense of
what she uttered that might be proposed in example to ladies of
much superior musical talent. Her natural good sense taught her
that, if, as we are assured by high authority, music be 'married
to immortal verse,' they are very often divorced by the performer
in a most shameful manner. It was perhaps owing to this
sensibility to poetry, and power of combining its expression with
those of the musical notes, that her singing gave more pleasure to
all the unlearned in music, and even to many of the learned, than
could have been communicated by a much finer voice and more
brilliant execution unguided by the same delicacy of feeling.

A bartizan, or projecting gallery, before the windows of her
parlour, served to illustrate another of Rose's pursuits; for it
was crowded with flowers of different kinds, which she had taken
under her special protection. A projecting turret gave access to
this Gothic balcony, which commanded a most beautiful prospect.
The formal garden, with its high bounding walls, lay below,
contracted, as it seemed, to a mere parterre; while the view
extended beyond them down a wooded glen, where the small river was
sometimes visible, sometimes hidden in copse. The eye might be
delayed by a desire to rest on the rocks, which here and there
rose from the dell with massive or spiry fronts, or it might dwell
on the noble, though ruined tower, which was here beheld in all
its dignity, frowning from a promontory over the river. To the
left were seen two or three cottages, a part of the village, the
brow of the hill concealed the others. The glen, or dell, was
terminated by a sheet of water, called Loch Veolan, into which the
brook discharged itself, and which now glistened in the western
sun. The distant country seemed open and varied in surface, though
not wooded; and there was nothing to interrupt the view until the
scene was bounded by a ridge of distant and blue hills, which
formed the southern boundary of the strath or valley. To this
pleasant station Miss Bradwardine had ordered coffee.

The view of the old tower, or fortalice, introduced some family
anecdotes and tales of Scottish chivalry, which the Baron told
with great enthusiasm. The projecting peak of an impending crag
which rose near it had acquired the name of Saint Swithin's Chair.
It was the scene of a peculiar superstition, of which Mr. Rubrick
mentioned some curious particulars, which reminded Waverley of a
rhyme quoted by Edgar in King Lear; and Rose was called upon to
sing a little legend, in which they had been interwoven by some
village poet,

    Who, noteless as the race from which he sprung,
    Saved others' names, but left his own unsung.

The sweetness of her voice, and the simple beauty of her music,
gave all the advantage which the minstrel could have desired, and
which his poetry so much wanted. I almost doubt if it can be read
with patience, destitute of these advantages, although I
conjecture the following copy to have been somewhat corrected by
Waverley, to suit the taste of those who might not relish pure
antiquity.

                Saint Swithin's Chair

      On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest,
      Ever beware that your couch be bless'd;
      Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead,
      Sing the Ave, and say the Creed.

      For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will ride,
      And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side,
      Whether the wind sing lowly or loud,
      Sailing through moonshine or swath'd in the cloud.

      The Lady she sat in Saint Swithin's Chair,
      The dew of the night has damp'd her hair:
      Her cheek was pale; but resolved and high
      Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye.

      She mutter'd the spell of Swithin bold,
      When his naked foot traced the midnight wold,
      When he stopp'd the Hag as she rode the night,
      And bade her descend, and her promise plight.

       He that dare sit on Saint Swithin's Chair,
       When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air,
       Questions three, when he speaks the spell,
       He may ask, and she must tell.

       The Baron has been with King Robert his liege
       These three long years in battle and siege;
       News are there none of his weal or his woe,
       And fain the Lady his fate would know.

       She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks;--
       Is it the moody owl that shrieks?
       Or is it that sound, betwixt laughter and scream,
       The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream?

       The moan of the wind sunk silent and low,
       And the roaring torrent had ceased to flow;
       The calm was more dreadful than raging storm,
       When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly Form!

'I am sorry to disappoint the company, especially Captain
Waverley, who listens with such laudable gravity; it is but a
fragment, although I think there are other verses, describing the
return of the Baron from the wars, and how the lady was found
"clay-cold upon the grounsill ledge.'"

'It is one of those figments,' observed Mr. Bradwardine, 'with
which the early history of distinguished families was deformed in
the times of superstition; as that of Rome, and other ancient
nations, had their prodigies, sir, the which you may read in
ancient histories, or in the little work compiled by Julius
Obsequens, and inscribed by the learned Scheffer, the editor, to
his patron, Benedictus Skytte, Baron of Dudershoff.'

'My father has a strange defiance of the marvellous, Captain
Waverley,' observed Rose, 'and once stood firm when a whole synod
of Presbyterian divines were put to the rout by a sudden
apparition of the foul fiend.'

Waverley looked as if desirous to hear more.

'Must I tell my story as well as sing my song? Well--Once upon a
time there lived an old woman, called Janet Gellatley, who was
suspected to be a witch, on the infallible grounds that she was
very old, very ugly, very poor, and had two sons, one of whom was
a poet and the other a fool, which visitation, all the
neighbourhood agreed, had come upon her for the sin of witchcraft.
And she was imprisoned for a week in the steeple of the parish
church, and sparely supplied with food, and not permitted to sleep
until she herself became as much persuaded of her being a witch as
her accusers; and in this lucid and happy state of mind was
brought forth to make a clean breast, that is, to make open
confession of her sorceries, before all the Whig gentry and
ministers in the vicinity, who were no conjurors themselves. My
father went to see fair play between the witch and the clergy; for
the witch had been born on his estate. And while the witch was
confessing that the Enemy appeared, and made his addresses to her
as a handsome black man,--which, if you could have seen poor old
blear-eyed Janet, reflected little honour on Apollyon's taste,--
and while the auditors listened with astonished ears, and the
clerk recorded with a trembling hand, she, all of a sudden,
changed the low mumbling tone with which she spoke into a shrill
yell, and exclaimed, "Look to yourselves! look to yourselves! I
see the Evil One sitting in the midst of ye." The surprise was
general, and terror and flight its immediate consequences. Happy
were those who were next the door; and many were the disasters
that befell hats, bands, cuffs, and wigs, before they could get
out of the church, where they left the obstinate prelatist to
settle matters with the witch and her admirer at his own peril or
pleasure.'

'Risu solvuntur tabulae,' said the Baron; 'when they recovered
their panic trepidation they were too much ashamed to bring any
wakening of the process against Janet Gellatley.' [Footnote: See
Note 11]

This anecdote led to a long discussion of

       All those idle thoughts and fantasies,
         Devices, dreams, opinions unsound,
         Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies,
       And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies.

With such conversation, and the romantic legends which it
introduced, closed our hero's second evening in the house of
Tully-Veolan.





CHAPTER XIV

A DISCOVERY--WAVERLEY BECOMES DOMESTICATED AT TULLY-VEOLAN


The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a morning walk around
the house and its vicinity came suddenly upon a small court in
front of the dog-kennel, where his friend Davie was employed about
his four-footed charge. One quick glance of his eye recognised
Waverley, when, instantly turning his back, as if he had not
observed him, he began to sing part of an old ballad:--

    Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;
      Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
    Old men's love the longest will last,
      And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

    The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;
      Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
    But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire,
      And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

    The young man will brawl at the evening board;
      Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
    But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
      And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

Waverley could not avoid observing that Davie laid something like
a satirical emphasis on these lines. He therefore approached, and
endeavoured, by sundry queries, to elicit from him what the
innuendo might mean; but Davie had no mind to explain, and had wit
enough to make his folly cloak his knavery. Edward could collect
nothing from him, excepting that the Laird of Balmawhapple had
gone home yesterday morning 'wi' his boots fu' o' bluid.' In the
garden, however, he met the old butler, who no longer attempted to
conceal that, having been bred in the nursery line with Sumack and
Co. of Newcastle, he sometimes wrought a turn in the flower-
borders to oblige the Laird and Miss Rose. By a series of queries,
Edward at length discovered, with a painful feeling of surprise
and shame, that Balmawhapple's submission and apology had been the
consequence of a rencontre with the Baron before his guest had
quitted his pillow, in which the younger combatant had been
disarmed and wounded in the sword arm.

Greatly mortified at this information, Edward sought out his
friendly host, and anxiously expostulated with him upon the
injustice he had done him in anticipating his meeting with Mr.
Falconer, a circumstance which, considering his youth and the
profession of arms which he had just adopted, was capable of being
represented much to his prejudice. The Baron justified himself at
greater length than I choose to repeat. He urged that the quarrel
was common to them, and that Balmawhapple could not, by the code
of honour, evite giving satisfaction to both, which he had done in
his case by an honourable meeting, and in that of Edward by such a
palinode as rendered the use of the sword unnecessary, and which,
being made and accepted, must necessarily sopite the whole affair.

With this excuse, or explanation, Waverley was silenced, if not
satisfied; but he could not help testifying some displeasure
against the Blessed Bear, which had given rise to the quarrel, nor
refrain from hinting that the sanctified epithet was hardly
appropriate. The Baron observed, he could not deny that 'the Bear,
though allowed by heralds as a most honourable ordinary, had,
nevertheless, somewhat fierce, churlish, and morose in his
disposition (as might be read in Archibald Simson, pastor of
Dalkeith's 'Hieroglyphica Animalium') and had thus been the type
of many quarrels and dissensions which had occurred in the house
of Bradwardine; of which,' he continued, 'I might commemorate mine
own unfortunate dissension with my third cousin by the mother's
side, Sir Hew Halbert, who was so unthinking as to deride my
family name, as if it had been QUASI BEAR-WARDEN; a most uncivil
jest, since it not only insinuated that the founder of our house
occupied such a mean situation as to be a custodier of wild
beasts, a charge which, ye must have observed, is only entrusted
to the very basest plebeians; but, moreover, seemed to infer that
our coat-armour had not been achieved by honourable actions in
war, but bestowed by way of paranomasia, or pun, upon our family
appellation,--a sort of bearing which the French call armoires
parlantes, the Latins arma cantantia, and your English authorities
canting heraldry, [Footnote: See Note 12] being indeed a species of
emblazoning more befitting canters, gaberlunzies, and such like
mendicants, whose gibberish is formed upon playing upon the word,
than the noble, honourable, and useful science of heraldry, which
assigns armorial bearings as the reward of noble and generous
actions, and not to tickle the ear with vain quodlibets, such as
are found in jestbooks.' Of his quarrel with Sir Hew he said
nothing more than that it was settled in a fitting manner.

Having been so minute with respect to the diversions of Tully-
Veolan on the first days of Edward's arrival, for the purpose of
introducing its inmates to the reader's acquaintance, it becomes
less necessary to trace the progress of his intercourse with the
same accuracy. It is probable that a young man, accustomed to more
cheerful society, would have tired of the conversation of so
violent an assertor of the 'boast of heraldry' as the Baron; but
Edward found an agreeable variety in that of Miss Bradwardine, who
listened with eagerness to his remarks upon literature, and showed
great justness of taste in her answers. The sweetness of her
disposition had made her submit with complacency, and even
pleasure, to the course of reading prescribed by her father,
although it not only comprehended several heavy folios of history,
but certain gigantic tomes in high-church polemics. In heraldry he
was fortunately contented to give her only such a slight tincture
as might be acquired by perusal of the two folio volumes of
Nisbet. Rose was indeed the very apple of her father's eye. Her
constant liveliness, her attention to all those little observances
most gratifying to those who would never think of exacting them,
her beauty, in which he recalled the features of his beloved wife,
her unfeigned piety, and the noble generosity of her disposition,
would have justified the affection of the most doting father.

His anxiety on her behalf did not, however, seem to extend itself
in that quarter where, according to the general opinion, it is
most efficiently displayed, in labouring, namely, to establish her
in life, either by a large dowry or a wealthy marriage. By an old
settlement, almost all the landed estates of the Baron went, after
his death, to a distant relation; and it was supposed that Miss
Bradwardine would remain but slenderly provided for, as the good
gentleman's cash matters had been too long under the exclusive
charge of Bailie Macwheeble to admit of any great expectations
from his personal succession. It is true, the said Bailie loved
his patron and his patron's daughter next (though at an
incomparable distance) to himself. He thought it was possible to
set aside the settlement on the male line, and had actually
procured an opinion to that effect (and, as he boasted, without a
fee) from an eminent Scottish counsel, under whose notice he
contrived to bring the point while consulting him regularly on
some other business. But the Baron would not listen to such a
proposal for an instant. On the contrary, he used to have a
perverse pleasure in boasting that the barony of Bradwardine was a
male fief, the first charter having been given at that early
period when women were not deemed capable to hold a feudal grant;
because, according to Les coustusmes de Normandie, c'est l'homme
ki se bast et ki conseille; or, as is yet more ungallantly
expressed by other authorities, all of whose barbarous names he
delighted to quote at full length, because a woman could not serve
the superior, or feudal lord, in war, on account of the decorum of
her sex, nor assist him with advice, because of her limited
intellect, nor keep his counsel, owing to the infirmity of her
disposition. He would triumphantly ask, how it would become a
female, and that female a Bradwardine, to be seen employed in
servitio exuendi, seu detrahendi, caligas regis post battaliam?
that is, in pulling off the king's boots after an engagement,
which was the feudal service by which he held the barony of
Bradwardine. 'No,' he said, 'beyond hesitation, procul dubio, many
females, as worthy as Rose, had been excluded, in order to make
way for my own succession, and Heaven forbid that I should do
aught that might contravene the destination of my forefathers, or
impinge upon the right of my kinsman, Malcolm Bradwardine of
Inchgrabbit, an honourable, though decayed branch of my own
family.'

The Bailie, as prime minister, having received this decisive
communication from his sovereign, durst not press his own opinion
any farther, but contented himself with deploring, on all suitable
occasions, to Saunderson, the minister of the interior, the
laird's self-willedness, and with laying plans for uniting Rose
with the young Laird of Balmawhapple, who had a fine estate, only
moderately burdened, and was a faultless young gentleman, being as
sober as a saint--if you keep brandy from him and him from brandy
--and who, in brief, had no imperfection but that of keeping light
company at a time; such as Jinker, the horse-couper, and Gibby
Gaethroughwi't, the piper o' Cupar; 'o' whilk follies, Mr.
Saunderson, he'll mend, he'll mend,' pronounced the Bailie.

'Like sour ale in simmer,' added Davie Gellatley, who happened to
be nearer the conclave than they were aware of.

Miss Bradwardine, such as we have described her, with all the
simplicity and curiosity of a recluse, attached herself to the
opportunities of increasing her store of literature which Edward's
visit afforded her. He sent for some of his books from his
quarters, and they opened to her sources of delight of which she
had hitherto had no idea. The best English poets, of every
description, and other works on belles-lettres, made a part of
this precious cargo. Her music, even her flowers, were neglected,
and Saunders not only mourned over, but began to mutiny against,
the labour for which he now scarce received thanks. These new
pleasures became gradually enhanced by sharing them with one of a
kindred taste. Edward's readiness to comment, to recite, to
explain difficult passages, rendered his assistance invaluable;
and the wild romance of his spirit delighted a character too young
and inexperienced to observe its deficiencies. Upon subjects which
interested him, and when quite at ease, he possessed that flow of
natural, and somewhat florid eloquence, which has been supposed as
powerful even as figure, fashion, fame, or fortune, in winning the
female heart. There was, therefore, an increasing danger in this
constant intercourse to poor Rose's peace of mind, which was the
more imminent as her father was greatly too much abstracted in his
studies, and wrapped up in his own dignity, to dream of his
daughter's incurring it. The daughters of the house of Bradwardine
were, in his opinion, like those of the house of Bourbon or
Austria, placed high above the clouds of passion which might
obfuscate the intellects of meaner females; they moved in another
sphere, were governed by other feelings, and amenable to other
rules than those of idle and fantastic affection. In short, he
shut his eyes so resolutely to the natural consequences of
Edward's intimacy with Miss Bradwardine, that the whole
neighbourhood concluded that he had opened them to the advantages
of a match between his daughter and the wealthy young Englishman,
and pronounced him much less a fool than he had generally shown
himself in cases where his own interest was concerned.

If the Baron, however, had really meditated such an alliance, the
indifference of Waverley would have been an insuperable bar to his
project. Our hero, since mixing more freely with the world, had
learned to think with great shame and confusion upon his mental
legend of Saint Cecilia, and the vexation of these reflections was
likely, for some time at least, to counterbalance the natural
susceptibility of his disposition. Besides, Rose Bradwardine,
beautiful and amiable as we have described her, had not precisely
the sort of beauty or merit which captivates a romantic
imagination in early youth. She was too frank, too confiding, too
kind; amiable qualities, undoubtedly, but destructive of the
marvellous, with which a youth of imagination delights to dress
the empress of his affections. Was it possible to bow, to tremble,
and to adore, before the timid, yet playful little girl, who now
asked Edward to mend her pen, now to construe a stanza in Tasso,
and now how to spell a very--very long word in her version of it?
All these incidents have their fascination on the mind at a
certain period of life, but not when a youth is entering it, and
rather looking out for some object whose affection may dignify him
in his own eyes than stooping to one who looks up to him for such
distinction. Hence, though there can be no rule in so capricious a
passion, early love is frequently ambitious in choosing its
object; or, which comes to the same, selects her (as in the case
of Saint Cecilia aforesaid) from a situation that gives fair scope
for le beau ideal, which the reality of intimate and familiar life
rather tends to limit and impair. I knew a very accomplished and
sensible young man cured of a violent passion for a pretty woman,
whose talents were not equal to her face and figure, by being
permitted to bear her company for a whole afternoon. Thus, it is
certain, that had Edward enjoyed such an opportunity of conversing
with Miss Stubbs, Aunt Rachel's precaution would have been
unnecessary, for he would as soon have fallen in love with the
dairy-maid. And although Miss Bradwardine was a very different
character, it seems probable that the very intimacy of their
intercourse prevented his feeling for her other sentiments than
those of a brother for an amiable and accomplished sister; while
the sentiments of poor Rose were gradually, and without her being
conscious, assuming a shade of warmer affection.

I ought to have said that Edward, when he sent to Dundee for the
books before mentioned, had applied for, and received permission,
extending his leave of absence. But the letter of his commanding
officer contained a friendly recommendation to him not to spend
his time exclusively with persons who, estimable as they might be
in a general sense, could not be supposed well affected to a
government which they declined to acknowledge by taking the oath
of allegiance. The letter further insinuated, though with great
delicacy, that although some family connections might be supposed
to render it necessary for Captain Waverley to communicate with
gentlemen who were in this unpleasant state of suspicion, yet his
father's situation and wishes ought to prevent his prolonging
those attentions into exclusive intimacy. And it was intimated,
that, while his political principles were endangered by
communicating with laymen of this description, he might also
receive erroneous impressions in religion from the prelatic
clergy, who so perversely laboured to set up the royal prerogative
in things sacred.

This last insinuation probably induced Waverley to set both down
to the prejudices of his commanding officer. He was sensible that
Mr. Bradwardine had acted with the most scrupulous delicacy, in
never entering upon any discussion that had the most remote
tendency to bias his mind in political opinions, although he was
himself not only a decided partisan of the exiled family, but had
been trusted at different times with important commissions for
their service. Sensible, therefore, that there was no risk of his
being perverted from his allegiance, Edward felt as if he should
do his uncle's old friend injustice in removing from a house where
he gave and received pleasure and amusement, merely to gratify a
prejudiced and ill-judged suspicion. He therefore wrote a very
general answer, assuring his commanding officer that his loyalty
was not in the most distant danger of contamination, and continued
an honoured guest and inmate of the house of Tully-Veolan.





CHAPTER XV

A CREAGH, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES


When Edward had been a guest at Tully-Veolan nearly six weeks, he
descried, one morning, as he took his usual walk before the
breakfast hour, signs of uncommon perturbation in the family. Four
bare-legged dairy-maids, with each an empty milk-pail in her hand,
ran about with frantic gestures, and uttering loud exclamations of
surprise, grief, and resentment. From their appearance, a pagan
might have conceived them a detachment of the celebrated Belides,
just come from their baling penance. As nothing was to be got from
this distracted chorus, excepting 'Lord guide us!' and 'Eh sirs!'
ejaculations which threw no light upon the cause of their dismay,
Waverley repaired to the fore-court, as it was called, where he
beheld Bailie Macwheeble cantering his white pony down the avenue
with all the speed it could muster. He had arrived, it would seem,
upon a hasty summons, and was followed by half a score of peasants
from the village who had no great difficulty in keeping pace with
him.

The Bailie, greatly too busy and too important to enter into
explanations with Edward, summoned forth Mr. Saunderson, who
appeared with a countenance in which dismay was mingled with
solemnity, and they immediately entered into close conference.
Davie Gellatley was also seen in the group, idle as Diogenes at
Sinope while his countrymen were preparing for a siege. His
spirits always rose with anything, good or bad, which occasioned
tumult, and he continued frisking, hopping, dancing, and singing
the burden of an old ballad--

    'Our gear's a' gane,'

until, happening to pass too near the Bailie, he received an
admonitory hint from his horse-whip, which converted his songs
into lamentation.

Passing from thence towards the garden, Waverley beheld the Baron
in person, measuring and re-measuring, with swift and tremendous
strides, the length of the terrace; his countenance clouded with
offended pride and indignation, and the whole of his demeanour
such as seemed to indicate, that any inquiry concerning the cause
of his discomposure would give pain at least, if not offence.
Waverley therefore glided into the house, without addressing him,
and took his way to the breakfast-parlour, where he found his
young friend Rose, who, though she neither exhibited the
resentment of her father, the turbid importance of Bailie
Macwheeble, nor the despair of the handmaidens, seemed vexed and
thoughtful. A single word explained the mystery. 'Your breakfast
will be a disturbed one, Captain Waverley. A party of Caterans
have come down upon us last night, and have driven off all our
milch cows.'

'A party of Caterans?'

'Yes; robbers from the neighbouring Highlands. We used to be quite
free from them while we paid blackmail to Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian
Vohr; but my father thought it unworthy of his rank and birth to
pay it any longer, and so this disaster has happened. It is not
the value of the cattle, Captain Waverley, that vexes me; but my
father is so much hurt at the affront, and is so bold and hot,
that I fear he will try to recover them by the strong hand; and if
he is not hurt himself, he will hurt some of these wild people,
and then there will be no peace between them and us perhaps for
our life-time; and we cannot defend ourselves as in old times, for
the government have taken all our arms; and my dear father is so
rash--O what will become of us!'--Here poor Rose lost heart
altogether, and burst into a flood of tears.

The Baron entered at this moment, and rebuked her with more
asperity than Waverley had ever heard him use to any one. 'Was it
not a shame,' he said, 'that she should exhibit herself before any
gentleman in such a light, as if she shed tears for a drove of
horned nolt and milch kine, like the daughter of a Cheshire
yeoman!--Captain Waverley, I must request your favourable
construction of her grief, which may, or ought to proceed, solely
from seeing her father's estate exposed to spulzie and depredation
from common thieves and sorners, while we are not allowed to keep
half a score of muskets, whether for defence or rescue.'

Bailie Macwheeble entered immediately afterwards, and by his
report of arms and ammunition confirmed this statement, informing
the Baron, in a melancholy voice, that though the people would
certainly obey his honour's orders, yet there was no chance of
their following the gear to ony guid purpose, in respect there
were only his honour's body servants who had swords and pistols,
and the depredators were twelve Highlanders, completely armed
after the manner of their country. Having delivered this doleful
annunciation, he assumed a posture of silent dejection, shaking
his head slowly with the motion of a pendulum when it is ceasing
to vibrate, and then remained stationary, his body stooping at a
more acute angle than usual, and the latter part of his person
projecting in proportion.

The Baron, meanwhile, paced the room in silent indignation, and at
length fixing his eye upon an old portrait, whose person was clad
in armour, and whose features glared grimly out of a huge bush of
hair, part of which descended from his head to his shoulders, and
part from his chin and upper-lip to his breast-plate,--'That
gentleman, Captain Waverley, my grandsire,' he said, 'with two
hundred horse,--whom he levied within his own bounds, discomfited
and put to the rout more than five hundred of these Highland
reivers, who have been ever lapis offensionis et petra scandali, a
stumbling-block and a rock of offence, to the Lowland vicinage--he
discomfited them, I say, when they had the temerity to descend to
harry this country, in the time of the civil dissensions, in the
year of grace sixteen hundred forty and two. And now, sir, I, his
grandson, am thus used at such unworthy hands.'

Here there was an awful pause; after which all the company, as is
usual in cases of difficulty, began to give separate and
inconsistent counsel. Alexander ab Alexandro proposed they should
send some one to compound with the Caterans, who would readily, he
said, give up their prey for a dollar a head. The Bailie opined
that this transaction would amount to theft-boot, or composition
of felony; and he recommended that some canny hand should be sent
up to the glens to make the best bargain he could, as it were for
himself, so that the Laird might not be seen in such a
transaction. Edward proposed to send off to the nearest garrison
for a party of soldiers and a magistrate's warrant; and Rose, as
far as she dared, endeavoured to insinuate the course of paying
the arrears of tribute money to Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr,
who, they all knew, could easily procure restoration of the
cattle, if he were properly propitiated.

None of these proposals met the Baron's approbation. The idea of
composition, direct or implied, was absolutely ignominious; that
of Waverley only showed that he did not understand the state of
the country, and of the political parties which divided it; and,
standing matters as they did with Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr,
the Baron would make no concession to him, were it, he said, 'to
procure restitution in integrum of every stirk and stot that the
chief, his forefathers, and his clan, had stolen since the days of
Malcolm Canmore.'

In fact his voice was still for war, and he proposed to send
expresses to Balmawhapple, Killancureit, Tulliellum, and other
lairds, who were exposed to similar depredations, inviting them to
join in the pursuit; 'and then, sir, shall these nebulones
nequissimi, as Leslaeus calls them, be brought to the fate of
their predecessor Cacus,

    "Elisos oculos, et siccum sanguine guttur."'

The Bailie, who by no means relished these warlike counsels, here
pulled forth an immense watch, of the colour, and nearly of the
size, of a pewter warming-pan, and observed it was now past noon,
and that the Caterans had been seen in the pass of Ballybrough
soon after sunrise; so that, before the allied forces could
assemble, they and their prey would be far beyond the reach of the
most active pursuit, and sheltered in those pathless deserts,
where it was neither advisable to follow, nor indeed possible to
trace them.

This proposition was undeniable. The council therefore broke up
without coming to any conclusion, as has occurred to councils of
more importance; only it was determined that the Bailie should
send his own three milkcows down to the mains for the use of the
Baron's family, and brew small ale, as a substitute for milk, in
his own. To this arrangement, which was suggested by Saunderson,
the Bailie readily assented, both from habitual deference to the
family, and an internal consciousness that his courtesy would, in
some mode or other, be repaid tenfold.

The Baron having also retired to give some necessary directions,
Waverley seized the opportunity to ask, whether this Fergus, with
the unpronounceable name, was the chief thief-taker of the
district?

'Thief-taker!' answered Rose, laughing; 'he is a gentleman of
great honour and consequence, the chieftain of an independent
branch of a powerful Highland clan, and is much respected, both
for his own power and that of his kith, kin, and allies.'

'And what has he to do with the thieves, then? Is he a magistrate,
or in the commission of the peace?' asked Waverley.

'The commission of war rather, if there be such a thing,' said
Rose; 'for he is a very unquiet neighbour to his unfriends, and
keeps a greater following on foot than many that have thrice his
estate. As to his connection with the thieves, that I cannot well
explain; but the boldest of them will never steal a hoof from any
one that pays black-mail to Vich lan Vohr.'

'And what is black-mail?'

'A sort of protection-money that Low-Country gentlemen and
heritors, lying near the Highlands, pay to some Highland chief,
that he may neither do them harm himself, nor suffer it to be done
to them by others; and then if your cattle are stolen, you have
only to send him word, and he will recover them; or it may be, he
will drive away cows from some distant place, where he has a
quarrel, and give them to you to make up your loss.' [Footnote:
See note 13.]

'And is this sort of Highland Jonathan Wild admitted into society,
and called a gentleman?'

'So much so,' said Rose, 'that the quarrel between my father and
Fergus Mac-Ivor began at a county meeting, where he wanted to take
precedence of all the Lowland gentlemen then present, only my
father would not suffer it. And then he upbraided my father that
he was under his banner, and paid him tribute; and my father was
in a towering passion, for Bailie Macwheeble, who manages such
things his own way, had contrived to keep this black-mail a secret
from him, and passed it in his account for cess-money. And they
would have fought; but Fergus Mac-Ivor said, very gallantly, he
would never raise his hand against a grey head that was so much
respected as my father's.--O I wish, I wish they had continued
friends!'

'And did you ever see this Mr. Mac-Ivor, if that be his name, Miss
Bradwardine?'

'No, that is not his name; and he would consider MASTER as a sort
of affront, only that you are an Englishman, and know no better.
But the Lowlanders call him, like other gentlemen, by the name of
his estate, Glennaquoich; and the Highlanders call him Vich Ian
Vohr, that is, the son of John the Great; and we upon the braes
here call him by both names indifferently.'

'I am afraid I shall never bring my English tongue to call him by
either one or other.'

'But he is a very polite, handsome man,' continued Rose; 'and his
sister Flora is one of the most beautiful and accomplished young
ladies in this country; she was bred in a convent in France, and
was a great friend of mine before this unhappy dispute. Dear
Captain Waverley, try your influence with my father to make
matters up. I am sure this is but the beginning of our troubles;
for Tully-Veolan has never been a safe or quiet residence when we
have been at feud with the Highlanders. When I was a girl about
ten, there was a skirmish fought between a party of twenty of them
and my father and his servants behind the mains; and the bullets
broke several panes in the north windows, they were so near. Three
of the Highlanders were killed, and they brought them in wrapped
in their plaids, and laid them on the stone floor of the hall; and
next morning, their wives and daughters came, clapping their
hands, and crying the coronach, and shrieking, and carried away
the dead bodies, with the pipes playing before them. I could not
sleep for six weeks without starting and thinking I heard these
terrible cries, and saw the bodies lying on the steps, all stiff
and swathed up in their bloody tartans. But since that time there
came a party from the garrison at Stirling, with a warrant from
the Lord Justice Clerk, or some such great man, and took away all
our arms; and now, how are we to protect ourselves if they come
down in any strength?'

Waverley could not help starting at a story which bore so much
resemblance to one of his own day-dreams. Here was a girl scarce
seventeen, the gentlest of her sex, both in temper and appearance,
who had witnessed with her own eyes such a scene as he had used to
conjure up in his imagination, as only occurring in ancient times,
and spoke of it coolly, as one very likely to recur. He felt at
once the impulse of curiosity, and that slight sense of danger
which only serves to heighten its interest. He might have said
with Malvolio, '"I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade
me!" I am actually in the land of military and romantic
adventures, and it only remains to be seen what will be my own
share in them.'

The whole circumstances now detailed concerning the state of the
country seemed equally novel and extraordinary. He had indeed
often heard of Highland thieves, but had no idea of the systematic
mode in which their depredations were conducted; and that the
practice was connived at, and even encouraged, by many of the
Highland chieftains, who not only found the creaghs, or forays,
useful for the purpose of training individuals of their clan to
the practice of arms, but also of maintaining a wholesome terror
among their Lowland neighbours, and levying, as we have seen, a
tribute from them, under colour of protection-money.

Bailie Macwheeble, who soon afterwards entered, expatiated still
more at length upon the same topic. This honest gentleman's
conversation was so formed upon his professional practice, that
Davie Gellatley once said his discourse was like a 'charge of
horning.' He assured our hero, that 'from the maist ancient times
of record, the lawless thieves, limmers, and broken men of the
Highlands, had been in fellowship together by reason of their
surnames, for the committing of divers thefts, reifs, and herships
upon the honest men of the Low Country, when they not only
intromitted with their whole goods and gear, corn, cattle, horse,
nolt, sheep, outsight and insight plenishing, at their wicked
pleasure, but moreover made prisoners, ransomed them, or concussed
them into giving borrows (pledges) to enter into captivity again;
--all which was directly prohibited in divers parts of the Statute
Book, both by the act one thousand five hundred and sixty-seven,
and various others; the whilk statutes, with all that had followed
and might follow thereupon, were shamefully broken and vilipended
by the said sorners, limmers, and broken men, associated into
fellowships, for the aforesaid purposes of theft, stouthreef,
fire-raising, murther, raptus mulierum, or forcible abduction of
women, and such like as aforesaid.'

It seemed like a dream to Waverley that these deeds of violence
should be familiar to men's minds, and currently talked of as
falling within the common order of things, and happening daily in
the immediate vicinity, without his having crossed the seas, and
while he was yet in the otherwise well-ordered island of Great
Britain.





CHAPTER XVI

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY APPEARS


The Baron returned at the dinner-hour, and had in a great measure
recovered his composure and good-humour. He not only confirmed
the stories which Edward had heard from Rose and Bailie
Macwheeble, but added many anecdotes from his own experience,
concerning the state of the Highlands and their inhabitants. The
chiefs he pronounced to be, in general, gentlemen of great honour
and high pedigree, whose word was accounted as a law by all those
of their own sept, or clan. 'It did not indeed,' he said, 'become
them, as had occurred in late instances, to propone their
prosapia, a lineage which rested for the most part on the vain and
fond rhymes of their seannachies or bhairds, as aequiponderate
with the evidence of ancient charters and royal grants of
antiquity, conferred upon distinguished houses in the Low Country
by divers Scottish monarchs; nevertheless, such was their
outrecuidance and presumption, as to undervalue those who
possessed such evidents, as if they held their lands in a sheep's
skin.'

This, by the way, pretty well explained the cause of quarrel
between the Baron and his Highland ally. But he went on to state
so many curious particulars concerning the manners, customs, and
habits of this patriarchal race that Edward's curiosity became
highly interested, and he inquired whether it was possible to make
with safety an excursion into the neighbouring Highlands, whose
dusky barrier of mountains had already excited his wish to
penetrate beyond them. The Baron assured his guest that nothing
would be more easy, providing this quarrel were first made up,
since he could himself give him letters to many of the
distinguished chiefs, who would receive him with the utmost
courtesy and hospitality.

While they were on this topic, the door suddenly opened, and,
ushered by Saunders Saunderson, a Highlander, fully armed and
equipped, entered the apartment. Had it not been that Saunders
acted the part of master of the ceremonies to this martial
apparition, without appearing to deviate from his usual composure,
and that neither Mr. Bradwardine nor Rose exhibited any emotion,
Edward would certainly have thought the intrusion hostile. As it
was, he started at the sight of what he had not yet happened to
see, a mountaineer in his full national costume. The individual
Gael was a stout, dark, young man, of low stature, the ample folds
of whose plaid added to the appearance of strength which his
person exhibited. The short kilt, or petticoat, showed his sinewy
and clean-made limbs; the goatskin purse, flanked by the usual
defences, a dirk and steel-wrought pistol, hung before him; his
bonnet had a short feather, which indicated his claim to be
treated as a duinhe-wassel, or sort of gentleman; a broadsword
dangled by his side, a target hung upon his shoulder, and a long
Spanish fowling-piece occupied one of his hands. With the other
hand he pulled off his bonnet, and the Baron, who well knew their
customs, and the proper mode of addressing them, immediately said,
with an air of dignity, but without rising, and much, as Edward
thought, in the manner of a prince receiving an embassy, 'Welcome,
Evan Dhu Maccombich; what news from Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich lan
Vohr?'

'Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich lan Vohr,' said the ambassador, in good
English, 'greets you well, Baron of Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan,
and is sorry there has been a thick cloud interposed between you
and him, which has kept you from seeing and considering the
friendship and alliances that have been between your houses and
forebears of old; and he prays you that the cloud may pass away,
and that things may be as they have been heretofore between the
clan Ivor and the house of Bradwardine, when there was an egg
between them for a flint and a knife for a sword. And he expects
you will also say, you are sorry for the cloud, and no man shall
hereafter ask whether it descended from the bill to the valley, or
rose from the valley to the hill; for they never struck with the
scabbard who did not receive with the sword, and woe to him who
would lose his friend for the stormy cloud of a spring morning.'

To this the Baron of Bradwardine answered with suitable dignity,
that he knew the chief of Clan Ivor to be a well-wisher to the
King, and he was sorry there should have been a cloud between him
and any gentleman of such sound principles, 'for when folks are
banding together, feeble is he who hath no brother.'

This appearing perfectly satisfactory, that the peace between
these august persons might be duly solemnised, the Baron ordered a
stoup of usquebaugh, and, filling a glass, drank to the health and
prosperity of Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich; upon which the Celtic
ambassador, to requite his politeness, turned down a mighty bumper
of the same generous liquor, seasoned with his good wishes to the
house of Bradwardine.

Having thus ratified the preliminaries of the general treaty of
pacification, the envoy retired to adjust with Mr. Macwheeble some
subordinate articles with which it was not thought necessary to
trouble the Baron. These probably referred to the discontinuance
of the subsidy, and apparently the Bailie found means to satisfy
their ally, without suffering his master to suppose that his
dignity was compromised. At least, it is certain, that after the
plenipotentiaries had drunk a bottle of brandy in single drams,
which seemed to have no more effect upon such seasoned vessels
than if it had been poured upon the two bears at the top of the
avenue, Evan Dhu Maccombich, having possessed himself of all the
information which he could procure respecting the robbery of the
preceding night, declared his intention to set off immediately in
pursuit of the cattle, which he pronounced to be 'no that far off;
they have broken the bone,' he observed, 'but they have had no
time to suck the marrow.'

Our hero, who had attended Evan Dhu during his perquisitions, was
much struck with the ingenuity which he displayed in collecting
information, and the precise and pointed conclusions which he drew
from it. Evan Dhu, on his part, was obviously flattered with the
attention of Waverley, the interest he seemed to take in his
inquiries, and his curiosity about the customs and scenery of the
Highlands. Without much ceremony he invited Edward to accompany
him on a short walk of ten or fifteen miles into the mountains,
and see the place where the cattle were conveyed to; adding, 'If
it be as I suppose, you never saw such a place in your life, nor
ever will, unless you go with me or the like of me.'

Our hero, feeling his curiosity considerably excited by the idea
of visiting the den of a Highland Cacus, took, however, the
precaution to inquire if his guide might be trusted. He was
assured that the invitation would on no account have been given
had there been the least danger, and that all he had to apprehend
was a little fatigue; and, as Evan proposed he should pass a day
at his Chieftain's house in returning, where he would be sure of
good accommodation and an excellent welcome, there seemed nothing
very formidable in the task he undertook. Rose, indeed, turned
pale when she heard of it; but her father, who loved the spirited
curiosity of his young friend, did not attempt to damp it by an
alarm of danger which really did not exist, and a knapsack, with a
few necessaries, being bound on the shoulders of a sort of deputy
gamekeeper, our hero set forth with a fowling-piece in his hand,
accompanied by his new friend Evan Dhu, and followed by the
gamekeeper aforesaid, and by two wild Highlanders, the attendants
of Evan, one of whom had upon his shoulder a hatchet at the end of
a pole, called a Lochaber-axe, [Footnote: See Note 14] and the
other a long ducking-gun. Evan, upon Edward's inquiry, gave him to
understand that this martial escort was by no means necessary as a
guard, but merely, as he said, drawing up and adjusting his plaid
with an air of dignity, that he might appear decently at Tully-
Veolan, and as Vich Ian Vohr's foster-brother ought to do. 'Ah!'
said he, 'if you Saxon duinhe-wassel (English gentleman) saw but
the Chief with his tail on!'

'With his tail on?' echoed Edward in some surprise.

'Yes--that is, with all his usual followers, when he visits those
of the same rank. There is,' he continued, stopping and drawing
himself proudly up, while he counted upon his fingers the several
officers of his chief's retinue; 'there is his hanchman, or right-
hand man; then his bard, or poet; then his bladier, or orator, to
make harangues to the great folks whom he visits; then his gilly-
more, or armour-bearer, to carry his sword and target, and his
gun; then his gilly-casfliuch, who carries him on his back through
the sikes and brooks; then his gilly-comstrian, to lead his horse
by the bridle in steep and difficult paths; then his gilly-
trushharnish, to carry his knapsack; and the piper and the piper's
man, and it may be a dozen young lads beside, that have no
business, but are just boys of the belt, to follow the Laird and
do his honour's bidding.'

'And does your Chief regularly maintain all these men?' demanded
Waverley.

'All these?' replied Evan; 'ay, and many a fair head beside, that
would not ken where to lay itself, but for the mickle barn at
Glennaquoich.'

With similar tales of the grandeur of the Chief in peace and war,
Evan Dhu beguiled the way till they approached more closely those
huge mountains which Edward had hitherto only seen at a distance.
It was towards evening as they entered one of the tremendous
passes which afford communication between the high and low
country; the path, which was extremely steep and rugged, winded up
a chasm between two tremendous rocks, following the passage which
a foaming stream, that brawled far below, appeared to have worn
for itself in the course of ages. A few slanting beams of the sun,
which was now setting, reached the water in its darksome bed, and
showed it partially, chafed by a hundred rocks and broken by a
hundred falls. The descent from the path to the stream was a mere
precipice, with here and there a projecting fragment of granite,
or a scathed tree, which had warped its twisted roots into the
fissures of the rock. On the right hand, the mountain rose above
the path with almost equal inaccessibility; but the hill on the
opposite side displayed a shroud of copsewood, with which some
pines were intermingled.

'This,' said Evan, 'is the pass of Bally-Brough, which was kept in
former times by ten of the clan Donnochie against a hundred of the
Low-Country carles. The graves of the slain are still to be seen
in that little corrie, or bottom, on the opposite side of the
burn; if your eyes are good, you may see the green specks among
the heather. See, there is an earn, which you Southrons call an
eagle. You have no such birds as that in England. He is going to
fetch his supper from the Laird of Bradwardine's braes, but I 'll
send a slug after him.'

He fired his piece accordingly, but missed the superb monarch of
the feathered tribes, who, without noticing the attempt to annoy
him, continued his majestic flight to the southward. A thousand
birds of prey, hawks, kites, carrion-crows, and ravens, disturbed
from the lodgings which they had just taken up for the evening,
rose at the report of the gun, and mingled their hoarse and
discordant notes with the echoes which replied to it, and with the
roar of the mountain cataracts. Evan, a little disconcerted at
having missed his mark, when he meant to have displayed peculiar
dexterity, covered his confusion by whistling part of a pibroch as
he reloaded his piece, and proceeded in silence up the pass.

It issued in a narrow glen, between two mountains, both very lofty
and covered with heath. The brook continued to be their companion,
and they advanced up its mazes, crossing them now and then, on
which occasions Evan Dhu uniformly offered the assistance of his
attendants to carry over Edward; but our hero, who had been always
a tolerable pedestrian, declined the accommodation, and obviously
rose in his guide's opinion, by showing that he did not fear
wetting his feet. Indeed he was anxious, so far as he could
without affectation, to remove the opinion which Evan seemed to
entertain of the effeminacy of the Lowlanders, and particularly of
the English.

Through the gorge of this glen they found access to a black bog,
of tremendous extent, full of large pit-holes, which they
traversed with great difficulty and some danger, by tracks which
no one but a Highlander could have followed. The path itself, or
rather the portion of more solid ground on which the travellers
half walked, half waded, was rough, broken, and in many places
quaggy and unsound. Sometimes the ground was so completely unsafe
that it was necessary to spring from one hillock to another, the
space between being incapable of bearing the human weight. This
was an easy matter to the Highlanders, who wore thin-soled brogues
fit for the purpose, and moved with a peculiar springing step; but
Edward began to find the exercise, to which he was unaccustomed,
more fatiguing than he expected. The lingering twilight served to
show them through this Serbonian bog, but deserted them almost
totally at the bottom of a steep and very stony hill, which it was
the travellers' next toilsome task to ascend. The night, however,
was pleasant, and not dark; and Waverley, calling up mental energy
to support personal fatigue, held on his march gallantly, though
envying in his heart his Highland attendants, who continued,
without a symptom of abated vigour, the rapid and swinging pace,
or rather trot, which, according to his computation, had already
brought them fifteen miles upon their journey.

After crossing this mountain and descending on the other side
towards a thick wood, Evan Dhu held some conference with his
Highland attendants, in consequence of which Edward's baggage was
shifted from the shoulders of the gamekeeper to those of one of
the gillies, and the former was sent off with the other
mountaineer in a direction different from that of the three
remaining travellers. On asking the meaning of this separation,
Waverley was told that the Lowlander must go to a hamlet about
three miles off for the night; for unless it was some very
particular friend, Donald Bean Lean, the worthy person whom they
supposed to be possessed of the cattle, did not much approve of
strangers approaching his retreat. This seemed reasonable, and
silenced a qualm of suspicion which came across Edward's mind when
he saw himself, at such a place and such an hour, deprived of his
only Lowland companion. And Evan immediately afterwards
added,'that indeed he himself had better get forward, and announce
their approach to Donald Bean Lean, as the arrival of a sidier roy
(red soldier) might otherwise be a disagreeable surprise.' And
without waiting for an answer, in jockey phrase, he trotted out,
and putting himself to a very round pace, was out of sight in an
instant.

Waverley was now left to his own meditations, for his attendant
with the battle-axe spoke very little English. They were
traversing a thick, and, as it seemed, an endless wood of pines,
and consequently the path was altogether indiscernible in the
murky darkness which surrounded them. The Highlander, however,
seemed to trace it by instinct, without the hesitation of a
moment, and Edward followed his footsteps as close as he could.

After journeying a considerable time in silence, he could not help
asking, 'Was it far to the end of their journey?'

'Ta cove was tree, four mile; but as duinhe-wassel was a wee
taiglit, Donald could, tat is, might--would--should send ta
curragh.'

This conveyed no information. The curragh which was promised might
be a man, a horse, a cart, or chaise; and no more could be got
from the man with the battle-axe but a repetition of 'Aich ay! ta
curragh.'

But in a short time Edward began to conceive his meaning, when,
issuing from the wood, he found himself on the banks of a large
river or lake, where his conductor gave him to understand they
must sit down for a little while. The moon, which now began to
rise, showed obscurely the expanse of water which spread before
them, and the shapeless and indistinct forms of mountains with
which it seemed to be surrounded. The cool and yet mild air of the
summer night refreshed Waverley after his rapid and toilsome walk;
and the perfume which it wafted from the birch trees, [Footnote:
It is not the weeping birch, the most common species in the
Highlands, but the woolly-leaved Lowland birch, that is
distinguished by this fragrance.] bathed in the evening dew, was
exquisitely fragrant.

He had now time to give himself up to the full romance of his
situation. Here he sate on the banks of an unknown lake, under the
guidance of a wild native, whose language was unknown to him, on a
visit to the den of some renowned outlaw, a second Robin Hood,
perhaps, or Adam o' Gordon, and that at deep midnight, through
scenes of difficulty and toil, separated from his attendant, left
by his guide. What a variety of incidents for the exercise of a
romantic imagination, and all enhanced by the solemn feeling of
uncertainty at least, if not of danger! The only circumstance
which assorted ill with the rest was the cause of his journey--the
Baron's milk-cows! this degrading incident he kept in the
background.

While wrapt in these dreams of imagination, his companion gently
touched him, and, pointing in a direction nearly straight across
the lake, said, 'Yon's ta cove.' A small point of light was seen
to twinkle in the direction in which he pointed, and, gradually
increasing in size and lustre, seemed to flicker like a meteor
upon the verge of the horizon. While Edward watched this
phenomenon, the distant dash of oars was heard. The measured sound
approached near and more near, and presently a loud whistle was
heard in the same direction. His friend with the battle-axe
immediately whistled clear and shrill, in reply to the signal, and
a boat, manned with four or five Highlanders, pushed for a little
inlet, near which Edward was sitting. He advanced to meet them
with his attendant, was immediately assisted into the boat by the
officious attention of two stout mountaineers, and had no sooner
seated himself than they resumed their oars, and began to row
across the lake with great rapidity.





CHAPTER XVII

THE HOLD OF A HIGHLAND ROBBER


The party preserved silence, interrupted only by the monotonous
and murmured chant of a Gaelic song, sung in a kind of low
recitative by the steersman, and by the dash of the oars, which
the notes seemed to regulate, as they dipped to them in cadence.
The light, which they now approached more nearly, assumed a
broader, redder and more irregular splendour. It appeared plainly
to be a large fire, but whether kindled upon an island or the
mainland Edward could not determine. As he saw it, the red glaring
orb seemed to rest on the very surface of the lake itself, and
resembled the fiery vehicle in which the Evil Genius of an
Oriental tale traverses land and sea. They approached nearer, and
the light of the fire sufficed to show that it was kindled at the
bottom of a huge dark crag or rock, rising abruptly from the very
edge of the water; its front, changed by the reflection to dusky
red, formed a strange and even awful contrast to the banks around,
which were from time to time faintly and partially illuminated by
pallid moonlight.

The boat now neared the shore, and Edward could discover that this
large fire, amply supplied with branches of pine-wood by two
figures, who, in the red reflection of its light, appeared like
demons, was kindled in the jaws of a lofty cavern, into which an
inlet from the lake seemed to advance; and he conjectured, which
was indeed true, that the fire had been lighted as a beacon to the
boatmen on their return. They rowed right for the mouth of the
cave, and then, shifting their oars, permitted the boat to enter
in obedience to the impulse which it had received. The skiff
passed the little point or platform of rock on which the fire was
blazing, and running about two boats' lengths farther, stopped
where the cavern (for it was already arched overhead) ascended
from the water by five or six broad ledges of rock, so easy and
regular that they might be termed natural steps. At this moment a
quantity of water was suddenly flung upon the fire, which sunk
with a hissing noise, and with it disappeared the light it had
hitherto afforded. Four or five active arms lifted Waverley out of
the boat, placed him on his feet, and almost carried him into the
recesses of the cave. He made a few paces in darkness, guided in
this manner; and advancing towards a hum of voices, which seemed
to sound from the centre of the rock, at an acute turn Donald Bean
Lean and his whole establishment were before his eyes.

The interior of the cave, which here rose very high, was
illuminated by torches made of pine-tree, which emitted a bright
and bickering light, attended by a strong though not unpleasant
odour. Their light was assisted by the red glare of a large
charcoal fire, round which were seated five or six armed
Highlanders, while others were indistinctly seen couched on their
plaids in the more remote recesses of the cavern. In one large
aperture, which the robber facetiously called his SPENCE (or
pantry), there hung by the heels the carcasses of a sheep, or ewe,
and two cows lately slaughtered. The principal inhabitant of this
singular mansion, attended by Evan Dhu as master of the
ceremonies, came forward to meet his guest, totally different in
appearance and manner from what his imagination had anticipated.
The profession which he followed, the wilderness in which he
dwelt, the wild warrior forms that surrounded him, were all
calculated to inspire terror. From such accompaniments, Waverley
prepared himself to meet a stern, gigantic, ferocious figure, such
as Salvator would have chosen to be the central object of a group
of banditti. [Footnote: See Note 15.]

Donald Bean Lean was the very reverse of all these. He was thin in
person and low in stature, with light sandy-coloured hair, and
small pale features, from which he derived his agnomen of BEAN or
white; and although his form was light, well proportioned and
active, he appeared, on the whole, rather a diminutive and
insignificant figure. He had served in some inferior capacity in
the French army, and in order to receive his English visitor in
great form, and probably meaning, in his way, to pay him a
compliment, he had laid aside the Highland dress for the time, to
put on an old blue and red uniform and a feathered hat, in which
he was far from showing to advantage, and indeed looked so
incongruous, compared with all around him, that Waverley would
have been tempted to laugh, had laughter been either civil or
safe. The robber received Captain Waverley with a profusion of
French politeness and Scottish hospitality, seemed perfectly to
know his name and connections, and to be particularly acquainted
with his uncle's political principles. On these he bestowed great
applause, to which Waverley judged it prudent to make a very
general reply.

Being placed at a convenient distance from the charcoal fire, the
heat of which the season rendered oppressive, a strapping Highland
damsel placed before Waverley, Evan, and Donald Bean three cogues,
or wooden vessels composed of staves and hoops, containing
eanaruich, [Footnote: This was the regale presented by Rob Roy to
the Laird of Tullibody.] a sort of strong soup, made out of a
particular part of the inside of the beeves. After this
refreshment, which, though coarse, fatigue and hunger rendered
palatable, steaks, roasted on the coals, were supplied in liberal
abundance, and disappeared before Evan Dhu and their host with a
promptitude that seemed like magic, and astonished Waverley, who
was much puzzled to reconcile their voracity with what he had
heard of the abstemiousness of the Highlanders. He was ignorant
that this abstinence was with the lower ranks wholly compulsory,
and that, like some animals of prey, those who practise it were
usually gifted with the power of indemnifying themselves to good
purpose when chance threw plenty in their way. The whisky came
forth in abundance to crown the cheer. The Highlanders drank it
copiously and undiluted; but Edward, having mixed a little with
water, did not find it so palatable as to invite him to repeat the
draught. Their host bewailed himself exceedingly that he could
offer him no wine: 'Had he but known four-and-twenty hours before,
he would have had some, had it been within the circle of forty
miles round him. But no gentleman could do more to show his sense
of the honour of a visit from another than to offer him the best
cheer his house afforded. Where there are no bushes there can be
no nuts, and the way of those you live with is that you must
follow,'

He went on regretting to Evan Dhu the death of an aged man,
Donnacha an Amrigh, or Duncan with the Cap, 'a gifted seer,' who
foretold, through the second sight, visitors of every description
who haunted their dwelling, whether as friends or foes.

'Is not his son Malcolm taishatr (a second-sighted person)?' asked
Evan.

'Nothing equal to his father,' replied Donald Bean. 'He told us
the other day, we were to see a great gentleman riding on a horse,
and there came nobody that whole day but Shemus Beg, the blind
harper, with his dog. Another time he advertised us of a wedding,
and behold it proved a funeral; and on the creagh, when he
foretold to us we should bring home a hundred head of horned
cattle, we gripped nothing but a fat bailie of Perth.'

From this discourse he passed to the political and military state
of the country; and Waverley was astonished, and even alarmed, to
find a person of this description so accurately acquainted with
the strength of the various garrisons and regiments quartered
north of the Tay. He even mentioned the exact number of recruits
who had joined Waverley's troop from his uncle's estate, and
observed they were PRETTY MEN, meaning, not handsome, but stout
warlike fellows. He put Waverley in mind of one or two minute
circumstances which had happened at a general review of the
regiment, which satisfied him that the robber had been an eye-
witness of it; and Evan Dhu having by this time retired from the
conversation, and wrapped himself up in his plaid to take some
repose, Donald asked Edward, in a very significant manner, whether
he had nothing particular to say to him.

Waverley, surprised and somewhat startled at this question from
such a character, answered, he had no motive in visiting him but
curiosity to see his extraordinary place of residence. Donald Bean
Lean looked him steadily in the face for an instant, and then
said, with a significant nod, 'You might as well have confided in
me; I am as much worthy of trust as either the Baron of
Bradwardine or Vich Ian Vohr. But you are equally welcome to my
house.'

Waverley felt an involuntary shudder creep over him at the
mysterious language held by this outlawed and lawless bandit,
which, in despite of his attempts to master it, deprived him of
the power to ask the meaning of his insinuations. A heath pallet,
with the flowers stuck uppermost, had been prepared for him in a
recess of the cave, and here, covered with such spare plaids as
could be mustered, he lay for some time watching the motions of
the other inhabitants of the cavern. Small parties of two or three
entered or left the place, without any other ceremony than a few
words in Gaelic to the principal outlaw, and, when he fell asleep,
to a tall Highlander who acted as his lieutenant, and seemed to
keep watch during his repose. Those who entered seemed to have
returned from some excursion, of which they reported the success,
and went without farther ceremony to the larder, where, cutting
with their dirks their rations from the carcasses which were there
suspended, they proceeded to broil and eat them at their own
pleasure and leisure. The liquor was under strict regulation,
being served out either by Donald himself, his lieutenant, or the
strapping Highland girl aforesaid, who was the only female that
appeared. The allowance of whisky, however, would have appeared
prodigal to any but Highlanders, who, living entirely in the open
air and in a very moist climate, can consume great quantities of
ardent spirits without the usual baneful effects either upon the
brain or constitution.

At length the fluctuating groups began to swim before the eyes of
our hero as they gradually closed; nor did he re-open them till
the morning sun was high on the lake without, though there was but
a faint and glimmering twilight in the recesses of Uaimh an Ri, or
the King's Cavern, as the abode of Donald Bean Lean was proudly
denominated.





CHAPTER XVIII

WAVERLEY PROCEEDS ON HIS JOURNEY


When Edward had collected his scattered recollection, he was
surprised to observe the cavern totally deserted. Having arisen
and put his dress in some order, he looked more accurately round
him; but all was still solitary. If it had not been for the
decayed brands of the fire, now sunk into grey ashes, and the
remnants of the festival, consisting of bones half burnt and half
gnawed, and an empty keg or two, there remained no traces of
Donald and his band. When Waverley sallied forth to the entrance
of the cave, he perceived that the point of rock, on which
remained the marks of last night's beacon, was accessible by a
small path, either natural or roughly hewn in the rock, along the
little inlet of water which ran a few yards up into the cavern,
where, as in a wetdock, the skiff which brought him there the
night before was still lying moored. When he reached the small
projecting platform on which the beacon had been established, he
would have believed his further progress by land impossible, only
that it was scarce probable but what the inhabitants of the cavern
had some mode of issuing from it otherwise than by the lake.
Accordingly, he soon observed three or four shelving steps, or
ledges of rock, at the very extremity of the little platform; and,
making use of them as a staircase, he clambered by their means
around the projecting shoulder of the crag on which the cavern
opened, and, descending with some difficulty on the other side, he
gained the wild and precipitous shores of a Highland loch, about
four miles in length and a mile and a half across, surrounded by
heathy and savage mountains, on the crests of which the morning
mist was still sleeping.

Looking back to the place from which he came, he could not help
admiring the address which had adopted a retreat of such seclusion
and secrecy. The rock, round the shoulder of which he had turned
by a few imperceptible notches, that barely afforded place for the
foot, seemed, in looking back upon it, a huge precipice, which
barred all further passage by the shores of the lake in that
direction. There could be no possibility, the breadth of the lake
considered, of descrying the entrance of the narrow and low-browed
cave from the other side; so that, unless the retreat had been
sought for with boats, or disclosed by treachery, it might be a
safe and secret residence to its garrison as long as they were
supplied with provisions. Having satisfied his curiosity in these
particulars, Waverley looked around for Evan Dhu and his
attendants, who, he rightly judged, would be at no great distance,
whatever might have become of Donald Bean Lean and his party,
whose mode of life was, of course, liable to sudden migrations of
abode. Accordingly, at the distance of about half a mile, he
beheld a Highlander (Evan apparently) angling in the lake, with
another attending him, whom, from the weapon which he shouldered,
he recognised for his friend with the battle-axe.

Much nearer to the mouth of the cave he heard the notes of a
lively Gaelic song, guided by which, in a sunny recess, shaded by
a glittering birch-tree, and carpeted with a bank of firm white
sand, he found the damsel of the cavern, whose lay had already
reached him, busy, to the best of her power, in arranging to
advantage a morning repast of milk, eggs, barley-bread, fresh
butter, and honey-comb. The poor girl had already made a circuit
of four miles that morning in search of the eggs, of the meal
which baked her cakes, and of the other materials of the
breakfast, being all delicacies which she had to beg or borrow
from distant cottagers. The followers of Donald Bean Lean used
little food except the flesh of the animals which they drove away
from the Lowlands; bread itself was a delicacy seldom thought of,
because hard to be obtained, and all the domestic accommodations
of milk, poultry, butter, etc., were out of the question in this
Scythian camp. Yet it must not be omitted that, although Alice had
occupied a part of the morning in providing those accommodations
for her guest which the cavern did not afford, she had secured
time also to arrange her own person in her best trim. Her finery
was very simple. A short russet-coloured jacket and a petticoat of
scanty longitude was her whole dress; but these were clean, and
neatly arranged. A piece of scarlet embroidered cloth, called the
snood, confined her hair, which fell over it in a profusion of
rich dark curls. The scarlet plaid, which formed part of her
dress, was laid aside, that it might not impede her activity in
attending the stranger. I should forget Alice's proudest ornament
were I to omit mentioning a pair of gold ear-rings and a, golden
rosary, which her father (for she was the daughter of Donald Bean
Lean) had brought from France, the plunder, probably, of some
battle or storm.

Her form, though rather large for her years, was very well
proportioned, and her demeanour had a natural and rustic grace,
with nothing of the sheepishness of an ordinary peasant. The
smiles, displaying a row of teeth of exquisite whiteness, and the
laughing eyes, with which, in dumb show, she gave Waverley that
morning greeting which she wanted English words to express, might
have been interpreted by a coxcomb, or perhaps by a young soldier
who, without being such, was conscious of a handsome person, as
meant to convey more than the courtesy of an hostess. Nor do I
take it upon me to say that the little wild mountaineer would have
welcomed any staid old gentleman advanced in life, the Baron of
Bradwardine, for example, with the cheerful pains which she
bestowed upon Edward's accommodation. She seemed eager to place
him by the meal which she had so sedulously arranged, and to which
she now added a few bunches of cranberries, gathered in an
adjacent morass. Having had the satisfaction of seeing him seated
at his breakfast, she placed herself demurely upon a stone at a
few yards' distance, and appeared to watch with great complacency
for some opportunity of serving him.

Evan and his attendant now returned slowly along the beach, the
latter bearing a large salmon-trout, the produce of the morning's
sport, together with the angling-rod, while Evan strolled forward,
with an easy, self-satisfied, and important gait, towards the spot
where Waverley was so agreeably employed at the breakfast-table.
After morning greetings had passed on both sides, and Evan,
looking at Waverley, had said something in Gaelic to Alice, which
made her laugh, yet colour up to her eyes, through a complexion
well en-browned by sun and wind, Evan intimated his commands that
the fish should be prepared for breakfast. A spark from the lock
of his pistol produced a light, and a few withered fir branches
were quickly in flame, and as speedily reduced to hot embers, on
which the trout was broiled in large slices. To crown the repast,
Evan produced from the pocket of his short jerkin a large scallop
shell, and from under the folds of his plaid a ram's horn full of
whisky. Of this he took a copious dram, observing he had already
taken his MORNING with Donald Bean Lean before his departure; he
offered the same cordial to Alice and to Edward, which they both
declined. With the bounteous air of a lord, Evan then proffered
the scallop to Dugald Mahony, his attendant, who, without waiting
to be asked a second time, drank it off with great gusto. Evan
then prepared to move towards the boat, inviting Waverley to
attend him. Meanwhile, Alice had made up in a small basket what
she thought worth removing, and flinging her plaid around her, she
advanced up to Edward, and with the utmost simplicity, taking hold
of his hand, offered her cheek to his salute, dropping at the same
time her little curtsy. Evan, who was esteemed a wag among the
mountain fair, advanced as if to secure a similar favour; but
Alice, snatching up her basket, escaped up the rocky bank as
fleetly as a roe, and, turning round and laughing, called
something out to him in Gaelic, which he answered in the same tone
and language; then, waving her hand to Edward, she resumed her
road, and was soon lost among the thickets, though they continued
for some time to hear her lively carol, as she proceeded gaily on
her solitary journey.

They now again entered the gorge of the cavern, and stepping into
the boat, the Highlander pushed off, and, taking advantage of the
morning breeze, hoisted a clumsy sort of sail, while Evan assumed
the helm, directing their course, as it appeared to Waverley,
rather higher up the lake than towards the place of his
embarkation on the preceding night. As they glided along the
silver mirror, Evan opened the conversation with a panegyric upon
Alice, who, he said, was both CANNY and FENDY; and was, to the
boot of all that, the best dancer of a strathspey in the whole
strath. Edward assented to her praises so far as he understood
them, yet could not help regretting that she was condemned to such
a perilous and dismal life.

'Oich! for that,' said Evan, 'there is nothing in Perthshire that
she need want, if she ask her father to fetch it, unless it be too
hot or too heavy.'

'But to be the daughter of a cattle-stealer--a common thief!'
'Common thief!--no such thing: Donald Bean Lean never LIFTED less
than a drove in his life.'

'Do you call him an uncommon thief, then?'

'No; he that steals a cow from a poor widow, or a stirk from a
cotter, is a thief; he that lifts a drove from a Sassenach laird
is a gentleman-drover. And, besides, to take a tree from the
forest, a salmon from the river, a deer from the hill, or a cow
from a Lowland strath, is what no Highlander need ever think shame
upon.'

'But what can this end in, were he taken in such an
appropriation?'

'To be sure he would DIE FOR THE LAW, as many a pretty man has
done before him.'

'Die for the law!'

'Ay; that is, with the law, or by the law; be strapped up on the
KIND gallows of Crieff, [Footnote: See Note 16.] where his father
died, and his goodsire died, and where I hope he'll live to die
himsell, if he's not shot, or slashed, in a creagh.'

'You HOPE such a death for your friend, Evan?'

'And that do I e'en; would you have me wish him to die on a bundle
of wet straw in yon den of his, like a mangy tyke?'

'But what becomes of Alice, then?'

'Troth, if such an accident were to happen, as her father would
not need her help ony langer, I ken nought to hinder me to marry
her mysell.'

'Gallantly resolved,' said Edward; 'but, in the meanwhile, Evan,
what has your father-in-law (that shall be, if he have the good
fortune to be hanged) done with the Baron's cattle?'

'Oich,' answered Evan,'they were all trudging before your lad and
Allan Kennedy before the sun blinked ower Ben Lawers this morning;
and they'll be in the pass of Bally-Brough by this time, in their
way back to the parks of Tully-Veolan, all but two, that were
unhappily slaughtered before I got last night to Uaimh an Ri.'

'And where are we going, Evan, if I may be so bold as to ask?'
said Waverley.

'Where would you be ganging, but to the Laird's ain house of
Glennaquoich? Ye would not think to be in his country, without
ganging to see him? It would be as much as a man's life's worth.'

'And are we far from Glennaquoich?'

'But five bits of miles; and Vich Ian Vohr will meet us.'

In about half an hour they reached the upper end of the lake,
where, after landing Waverley, the two Highanders drew the boat
into a little creek among thick flags and reeds, where it lay
perfectly concealed. The oars they put in another place of
concealment, both for the use of Donald Bean Lean probably, when
his occasions should next bring him to that place.

The travellers followed for some time a delightful opening into
the hills, down which a little brook found its way to the lake.
When they had pursued their walk a short distance, Waverley
renewed his questions about their host of the cavern.

'Does he always reside in that cave?'

'Out, no! it's past the skill of man to tell where he's to be
found at a' times; there's not a dern nook, or cove, or corrie, in
the whole country that he's not acquainted with.'

'And do others beside your master shelter him?'

'My master? MY master is in Heaven,' answered Evan, haughtily; and
then immediately assuming his usual civility of manner, 'but you
mean my Chief;--no, he does not shelter Donald Bean Lean, nor any
that are like him; he only allows him (with a smile) wood and
water.'

'No great boon, I should think, Evan, when both seem to be very
plenty.'

'Ah! but ye dinna see through it. When I say wood and water, I
mean the loch and the land; and I fancy Donald would be put till
't if the Laird were to look for him wi' threescore men in the
wood of Kailychat yonder; and if our boats, with a score or twa
mair, were to come down the loch to Uaimh an Ri, headed by mysell,
or ony other pretty man.'

'But suppose a strong party came against him from the Low Country,
would not your Chief defend him?'

'Na, he would not ware the spark of a flint for him--if they came
with the law.'

'And what must Donald do, then?'

'He behoved to rid this country of himsell, and fall back, it may
be, over the mount upon Letter Scriven.'

'And if he were pursued to that place?'

'I'se warrant he would go to his cousin's at Rannoch.'

'Well, but if they followed him to Rannoch?'

'That,' quoth Evan, 'is beyond all belief; and, indeed, to tell
you the truth, there durst not a Lowlander in all Scotland follow
the fray a gun-shot beyond Bally-Brough, unless he had the help
of the Sidier Dhu.'

'Whom do you call so?'

'The Sidier Dhu? the black soldier; that is what they call the
independent companies that were raised to keep peace and law in
the Highlands. Vich Ian Vohr commanded one of them for five years,
and I was sergeant mysell, I shall warrant ye. They call them
Sidier Dhu because they wear the tartans, as they call your men--
King George's men--Sidier Roy, or red soldiers.'

'Well, but when you were in King George's pay, Evan, you were
surely King George's soldiers?'

'Troth, and you must ask Vich Ian Vohr about that; for we are for
his king, and care not much which o' them it is. At ony rate,
nobody can say we are King George's men now, when we have not seen
his pay this twelve-month.'

This last argument admitted of no reply, nor did Edward attempt
any; he rather chose to bring back the discourse to Donald Bean
Lean. 'Does Donald confine himself to cattle, or does he LIFT, as
you call it, anything else that comes in his way?'

'Troth, he's nae nice body, and he'll just tak onything, but most
readily cattle, horse, or live Christians; for sheep are slow of
travel, and inside plenishing is cumbrous to carry, and not easy
to put away for siller in this country.'

'But does he carry off men and women?'

'Out, ay. Did not ye hear him speak o' the Perth bailie? It cost
that body five hundred merks ere he got to the south of Bally-
Brough. And ance Donald played a pretty sport. [Footnote: See Note
17.] There was to be a blythe bridal between the Lady Cramfeezer,
in the howe o' the Mearns (she was the auld laird's widow, and no
sae young as she had been hersell), and young Gilliewhackit, who
had spent his heirship and movables, like a gentleman, at cock-
matches, bull-baitings, horse-races, and the like. Now, Donald
Bean Lean, being aware that the bridegroom was in request, and
wanting to cleik the cunzie (that is, to hook the siller), he
cannily carried off Gilliewhackit ae night when he was riding
dovering hame (wi' the malt rather abune the meal), and with the
help of his gillies he gat him into the hills with the speed of
light, and the first place he wakened in was the cove of Uaimh an
Ri. So there was old to do about ransoming the bridegroom; for
Donald would not lower a farthing of a thousand punds--'

'The devil!'

'Punds Scottish, ye shall understand. And the lady had not the
siller if she had pawned her gown; and they applied to the
governor o' Stirling castle, and to the major o' the Black Watch;
and the governor said it was ower far to the northward, and out of
his district; and the major said his men were gane hame to the
shearing, and he would not call them out before the victual was
got in for all the Cramfeezers in Christendom, let alane the
Mearns, for that it would prejudice the country. And in the
meanwhile ye'll no hinder Gilliewhackit to take the small-pox.
There was not the doctor in Perth or Stirling would look near the
poor lad; and I cannot blame them, for Donald had been misguggled
by ane of these doctors about Paris, and he swore he would fling
the first into the loch that he catched beyond the pass. However
some cailliachs (that is, old women) that were about Donald's hand
nursed Gilliewhackit sae weel that, between the free open air in
the cove and the fresh whey, deil an he did not recover maybe as
weel as if he had been closed in a glazed chamber and a bed with
curtains, and fed with red wine and white meat. And Donald was sae
vexed about it that, when he was stout and weel, he even sent him
free home, and said he would be pleased with onything they would
like to gie him for the plague and trouble which he had about
Gilliewhackit to an unkenn'd degree. And I cannot tell you
precisely how they sorted; but they agreed sae right that Donald
was invited to dance at the wedding in his Highland trews, and
they said that there was never sae meikle siller clinked in his
purse either before or since. And to the boot of all that,
Gilliewhackit said that, be the evidence what it liked, if he had
the luck to be on Donald's inquest, he would bring him in guilty
of nothing whatever, unless it were wilful arson or murder under
trust.'

With such bald and disjointed chat Evan went on illustrating the
existing state of the Highlands, more perhaps to the amusement of
Waverley than that of our readers. At length, after having marched
over bank and brae, moss and heather, Edward, though not
unacquainted with the Scottish liberality in computing distance,
began to think that Evan's five miles were nearly doubled. His
observation on the large measure which the Scottish allowed of
their land, in comparison to the computation of their money, was
readily answered by Evan with the old jest, 'The deil take them
wha have the least pint stoup.'

[Footnote: The Scotch are liberal in computing their land and
liquor; the Scottish pint corresponds to two English quarts. As
for their coin, every one knows the couplet--

         How can the rogues pretend to sense?
         Their pound is only twenty pence.]

And now the report of a gun was heard, and a sportsman was seen,
with his dogs and attendant, at the upper end of the glen.
'Shough,' said Dugald Mahony, 'tat's ta Chief.'

'It is not,' said Evan, imperiously. 'Do you think he would come
to meet a Sassenach duinhe-wassel in such a way as that?'

But as they approached a little nearer, he said, with an
appearance of mortification, 'And it is even he, sure enough; and
he has not his tail on after all; there is no living creature with
him but Callum Beg.'

In fact, Fergus Mac-Ivor, of whom a Frenchman might have said as
truly as of any man in the Highlands, 'Qu'il connoit bien ses
gens' had no idea of raising himself in the eyes of an English
young man of fortune by appearing with a retinue of idle
Highlanders disproportioned to the occasion. He was well aware
that such an unnecessary attendance would seem to Edward rather
ludicrous than respectable; and, while few men were more attached
to ideas of chieftainship and feudal power, he was, for that very
reason, cautious of exhibiting external marks of dignity, unless
at the time and in the manner when they were most likely to
produce an imposing effect. Therefore, although, had he been to
receive a brother chieftain, he would probably have been attended
by all that retinue which Evan described with so much unction, he
judged it more respectable to advance to meet Waverley with a
single attendant, a very handsome Highland boy, who carried his
master's shooting-pouch and his broadsword, without which he
seldom went abroad.

When Fergus and Waverley met, the latter was struck with the
peculiar grace and dignity of the Chieftain's figure. Above the
middle size and finely proportioned, the Highland dress, which he
wore in its simplest mode, set off his person to great advantage.
He wore the trews, or close trowsers, made of tartan, chequed
scarlet and white; in other particulars his dress strictly
resembled Evan's, excepting that he had no weapon save a dirk,
very richly mounted with silver. His page, as we have said,
carried his claymore; and the fowling-piece, which he held in his
hand, seemed only designed for sport. He had shot in the course of
his walk some young wild-ducks, as, though CLOSE TIME was then
unknown, the broods of grouse were yet too young for the
sportsman. His countenance was decidedly Scottish, with all the
peculiarities of the northern physiognomy, but yet had so little
of its harshness and exaggeration that it would have been
pronounced in any country extremely handsome. The martial air of
the bonnet, with a single eagle's feather as a distinction, added
much to the manly appearance of his head, which was besides
ornamented with a far more natural and graceful cluster of close
black curls than ever were exposed to sale in Bond Street.

An air of openness and affability increased the favorable
impression derived from this handsome and dignified exterior. Yet
a skilful physiognomist would have been less satisfied with the
countenance on the second than on the first view. The eyebrow and
upper lip bespoke something of the habit of peremptory command and
decisive superiority. Even his courtesy, though open, frank, and
unconstrained, seemed to indicate a sense of personal importance;
and, upon any check or accidental excitation, a sudden, though
transient lour of the eye showed a hasty, haughty, and vindictive
temper, not less to be dreaded because it seemed much under its
owner's command. In short, the countenance of the Chieftain
resembled a smiling summer's day, in which, notwithstanding, we
are made sensible by certain, though slight signs that it may
thunder and lighten before the close of evening.

It was not, however, upon their first meeting that Edward had an
opportunity of making these less favourable remarks. The Chief
received him as a friend of the Baron of Bradwardine, with the
utmost expression of kindness and obligation for the visit;
upbraided him gently with choosing so rude an abode as he had done
the night before; and entered into a lively conversation with him
about Donald Bean's housekeeping, but without the least hint as to
his predatory habits, or the immediate occasion of Waverley's
visit, a topic which, as the Chief did not introduce it, our hero
also avoided. While they walked merrily on towards the house of
Glennaquoich, Evan, who now fell respectfully into the rear,
followed with Callum Beg and Dugald Mahony.

We shall take the opportunity to introduce the reader to some
particulars of Fergus Mac-Ivor's character and history, which were
not completely known to Waverley till after a connection which,
though arising from a circumstance so casual, had for a length of
time the deepest influence upon his character, actions, and
prospects. But this, being an important subject, must form the
commencement of a new chapter.





CHAPTER XIX

THE CHIEF AND HIS MANSION


The ingenious licentiate Francisco de Ubeda, when he commenced his
history of 'La Picara Justina Diez,'--which, by the way, is one
of the most rare books of Spanish literature,--complained of his
pen having caught up a hair, and forthwith begins, with more
eloquence than common sense, an affectionate expostulation with
that useful implement, upbraiding it with being the quill of a
goose,--a bird inconstant by nature, as frequenting the three
elements of water, earth, and air indifferently, and being, of
course, 'to one thing constant never.' Now I protest to thee,
gentle reader, that I entirely dissent from Francisco de Ubeda in
this matter, and hold it the most useful quality of my pen, that
it can speedily change from grave to gay, and from description and
dialogue to narrative and character. So that if my quill display
no other properties of its mother-goose than her mutability,
truly I shall be well pleased; and I conceive that you, my worthy
friend, will have no occasion for discontent. From the jargon,
therefore, of the Highland gillies I pass to the character of
their Chief. It is an important examination, and therefore, like
Dogberry, we must spare no wisdom.

The ancestor of Fergus Mac-Ivor, about three centuries before, had
set up a claim to be recognised as chief of the numerous and
powerful clan to which he belonged, the name of which it is
unnecessary to mention. Being defeated by an opponent who had more
justice, or at least more force, on his side, he moved southwards,
with those who adhered to him, in quest of new settlements, like a
second AEneas. The state of the Perthshire Highlands favoured his
purpose. A great baron in that country had lately become traitor
to the crown; Ian, which was the name of our adventurer, united
himself with those who were commissioned by the king to chastise
him, and did such good service that he obtained a grant of the
property, upon which he and his posterity afterwards resided. He
followed the king also in war to the fertile regions of England,
where he employed his leisure hours so actively in raising
subsidies among the boors of Northumberland and Durham, that upon
his return he was enabled to erect a stone tower, or fortalice, so
much admired by his dependants and neighbours that he, who had
hitherto been called Ian Mac-Ivor, or John the son of Ivor, was
thereafter distinguished, both in song and genealogy, by the high
title of Ian nan Chaistel, or John of the Tower. The descendants
of this worthy were so proud of him that the reigning chief always
bore the patronymic title of Vich Ian Vohr, i.e. the son of John
the Great; while the clan at large, to distinguish them from that
from which they had seceded, were denominated Sliochd nan Ivor,
the race of Ivor.

The father of Fergus, the tenth in direct descent from John of the
Tower, engaged heart and hand in the insurrection of 1715, and was
forced to fly to France, after the attempt of that year in favour
of the Stuarts had proved unsuccessful. More fortunate than other
fugitives, he obtained employment in the French service, and
married a lady of rank in that kingdom, by whom he had two
children, Fergus and his sister Flora. The Scottish estate had
been forfeited and exposed to sale, but was repurchased for a
small price in the name of the young proprietor, who in
consequence came to reside upon his native domains. [Footnote: See
Note 18.] It was soon perceived that he possessed a character of
uncommon acuteness, fire, and ambition, which, as he became
acquainted with the state of the country, gradually assumed a
mixed and peculiar tone, that could only have been acquired Sixty
Years Since.

Had Fergus Mac-Ivor lived Sixty Years sooner than he did, he would
in all probability have wanted the polished manner and knowledge
of the world which he now possessed; and had he lived Sixty Years
later, his ambition and love of rule would have lacked the fuel
which his situation now afforded. He was indeed, within his little
circle, as perfect a politician as Castruccio Castracani himself.
He applied himself with great earnestness to appease all the feuds
and dissensions which often arose among other clans in his
neighbourhood, so that he became a frequent umpire in their
quarrels. His own patriarchal power he strengthened at every
expense which his fortune would permit, and indeed stretched his
means to the uttermost to maintain the rude and plentiful
hospitality which was the most valued attribute of a chieftain.
For the same reason he crowded his estate with a tenantry, hardy
indeed, and fit for the purposes of war, but greatly outnumbering
what the soil was calculated to maintain. These consisted chiefly
of his own clan, not one of whom he suffered to quit his lands if
he could possibly prevent it. But he maintained, besides, many
adventurers from the mother sept, who deserted a less warlike,
though more wealthy chief to do homage to Fergus Mac-Ivor. Other
individuals, too, who had not even that apology, were nevertheless
received into his allegiance, which indeed was refused to none who
were, like Poins, proper men of their hands, and were willing to
assume the name of Mac-Ivor.

He was enabled to discipline these forces, from having obtained
command of one of the independent companies raised by government
to preserve the peace of the Highlands. While in this capacity he
acted with vigour and spirit, and preserved great order in the
country under his charge. He caused his vassals to enter by
rotation into his company, and serve for a certain space of time,
which gave them all in turn a general notion of military
discipline. In his campaigns against the banditti, it was observed
that he assumed and exercised to the utmost the discretionary
power which, while the law had no free course in the Highlands,
was conceived to belong to the military parties who were called in
to support it. He acted, for example, with great and suspicious
lenity to those freebooters who made restitution on his summons
and offered personal submission to himself, while he rigorously
pursued, apprehended, and sacrificed to justice all such
interlopers as dared to despise his admonitions or commands. On
the other hand, if any officers of justice, military parties, or
others, presumed to pursue thieves or marauders through his
territories, and without applying for his consent and concurrence,
nothing was more certain than that they would meet with some
notable foil or defeat; upon which occasions Fergus Mac-Ivor was
the first to condole with them, and after gently blaming their
rashness, never failed deeply to lament the lawless state of the
country. These lamentations did not exclude suspicion, and matters
were so represented to government that our Chieftain was deprived
of his military command. [Footnote: See Note 19.]

Whatever Fergus Mac-Ivor felt on this occasion, he had the art of
entirely suppressing every appearance of discontent; but in a
short time the neighbouring country began to feel bad effects from
his disgrace. Donald Bean Lean, and others of his class, whose
depredations had hitherto been confined to other districts,
appeared from thenceforward to have made a settlement on this
devoted border; and their ravages were carried on with little
opposition, as the Lowland gentry were chiefly Jacobites, and
disarmed. This forced many of the inhabitants into contracts of
black-mail with Fergus Mac-Ivor, which not only established him
their protector, and gave him great weight in all their
consultations, but, moreover, supplied funds for the waste of his
feudal hospitality, which the discontinuance of his pay might have
otherwise essentially diminished.

In following this course of conduct, Fergus had a further object
than merely being the great man of his neighbourhood, and ruling
despotically over a small clan. From his infancy upward he had
devoted himself to the cause of the exiled family, and had
persuaded himself, not only that their restoration to the crown of
Britain would be speedy, but that those who assisted them would be
raised to honour and rank. It was with this view that he laboured
to reconcile the Highlanders among themselves, and augmented his
own force to the utmost, to be prepared for the first favourable
opportunity of rising. With this purpose also he conciliated the
favour of such Lowland gentlemen in the vicinity as were friends
to the good cause; and for the same reason, having incautiously
quarrelled with Mr. Bradwardine, who, notwithstanding his
peculiarities, was much respected in the country, he took
advantage of the foray of Donald Bean Lean to solder up the
dispute in the manner we have mentioned. Some, indeed, surmised
that he caused the enterprise to be suggested to Donald, on
purpose to pave the way to a reconciliation, which, supposing that
to be the case, cost the Laird of Bradwardine two good milch cows.
This zeal in their behalf the House of Stuart repaid with a
considerable share of their confidence, an occasional supply of
louis-d'or, abundance of fair words, and a parchment, with a huge
waxen seal appended, purporting to be an earl's patent, granted by
no less a person than James the Third King of England, and Eighth
King of Scotland, to his right feal, trusty, and well-beloved
Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, in the county of Perth, and
kingdom of Scotland.

With this future coronet glittering before his eyes, Fergus
plunged deeply into the correspondence and plots of that unhappy
period; and, like all such active agents, easily reconciled his
conscience to going certain lengths in the service of his party,
from which honour and pride would have deterred him had his sole
object been the direct advancement of his own personal interest.
With this insight into a bold, ambitious, and ardent, yet artful
and politic character, we resume the broken thread of our
narrative.

The chief and his guest had by this time reached the house of
Glennaquoich, which consisted of Ian nan Chaistel's mansion, a
high rude-looking square tower, with the addition of a lofted
house, that is, a building of two stories, constructed by Fergus's
grandfather when he returned from that memorable expedition, well
remembered by the western shires under the name of the Highland
Host. Upon occasion of this crusade against the Ayrshire Whigs and
Covenanters, the Vich Ian Vohr of the time had probably been as
successful as his predecessor was in harrying Northumberland, and
therefore left to his posterity a rival edifice as a monument of
his magnificence.

Around the house, which stood on an eminence in the midst of a
narrow Highland valley, there appeared none of that attention to
convenience, far less to ornament and decoration, which usually
surrounds a gentleman's habitation. An inclosure or two, divided
by dry-stone walls, were the only part of the domain that was
fenced; as to the rest, the narrow slips of level ground which lay
by the side of the brook exhibited a scanty crop of barley, liable
to constant depredations from the herds of wild ponies and black
cattle that grazed upon the adjacent hills. These ever and anon
made an incursion upon the arable ground, which was repelled by
the loud, uncouth, and dissonant shouts of half a dozen Highland
swains, all running as if they had been mad, and every one
hallooing a half-starved dog to the rescue of the forage. At a
little distance up the glen was a small and stunted wood of birch;
the hills were high and heathy, but without any variety of
surface; so that the whole view was wild and desolate rather than
grand and solitary. Yet, such as it was, no genuine descendant of
Ian nan Chaistel would have changed the domain for Stow or
Blenheim.

There was a sight, however, before the gate, which perhaps would
have afforded the first owner of Blenheim more pleasure than the
finest view in the domain assigned to him by the gratitude of his
country. This consisted of about a hundred Highlanders, in
complete dress and arms; at sight of whom the Chieftain apologised
to Waverley in a sort of negligent manner. 'He had forgot,' he
said, 'that he had ordered a few of his clan out, for the purpose
of seeing that they were in a fit condition to protect the
country, and prevent such accidents as, he was sorry to learn, had
befallen the Baron of Bradwardine. Before they were dismissed,
perhaps Captain Waverley might choose to see them go through a
part of their exercise.'

Edward assented, and the men executed with agility and precision
some of the ordinary military movements. They then practised
individually at a mark, and showed extraordinary dexterity in the
management of the pistol and firelock. They took aim, standing,
sitting, leaning, or lying prostrate, as they were commanded, and
always with effect upon the target. Next, they paired off for the
broadsword exercise; and, having manifested their individual skill
and dexterity, united in two bodies, and exhibited a sort of mock
encounter, in which the charge, the rally, the flight, the
pursuit, and all the current of a heady fight, were exhibited to
the sound of the great war bagpipe.

On a signal made by the Chief, the skirmish was ended. Matches
were then made for running, wrestling, leaping, pitching the bar,
and other sports, in which this feudal militia displayed
incredible swiftness, strength, and agility; and accomplished the
purpose which their Chieftain had at heart, by impressing on
Waverley no light sense of their merit as soldiers, and of the
power of him who commanded them by his nod. [Footnote: See Note
20.]

'And what number of such gallant fellows have the happiness to
call you leader?' asked Waverley.

'In a good cause, and under a chieftain whom they loved, the race
of Ivor have seldom taken the field under five hundred claymores.
But you are aware, Captain Waverley, that the disarming act,
passed about twenty years ago, prevents their being in the
complete state of preparation as in former times; and I keep no
more of my clan under arms than may defend my own or my friends'
property, when the country is troubled with such men as your last
night's landlord; and government, which has removed other means of
defence, must connive at our protecting ourselves.'

'But, with your force, you might soon destroy or put down such
gangs as that of Donald Bean Lean.'

'Yes, doubtless; and my reward would be a summons to deliver up to
General Blakeney, at Stirling, the few broadswords they have left
us; there were little policy in that, methinks. But come, captain,
the sound of the pipes informs me that dinner is prepared. Let me
have the honour to show you into my rude mansion.'





CHAPTER XX

A HIGHLAND FEAST


Ere Waverley entered the banqueting hall, he was offered the
patriarchal refreshment of a bath for the feet, which the sultry
weather, and the morasses he had traversed, rendered highly
acceptable. He was not, indeed, so luxuriously attended upon this
occasion as the heroic travellers in the Odyssey; the task of
ablution and abstersion being performed, not by a beautiful
damsel, trained

    To chafe the limb, and pour the fragrant oil,

but by a smoke-dried skinny old Highland woman, who did not seem
to think herself much honoured by the duty imposed upon her, but
muttered between her teeth, 'Our fathers' herds did not feed so
near together that I should do you this service.' A small
donation, however, amply reconciled this ancient handmaiden to the
supposed degradation; and, as Edward proceeded to the hall, she
gave him her blessing in the Gaelic proverb, 'May the open hand be
filled the fullest.'

The hall, in which the feast was prepared, occupied all the first
story of lan nan Chaistel's original erection, and a huge oaken
table extended through its whole length. The apparatus for dinner
was simple, even to rudeness, and the company numerous, even to
crowding. At the head of the table was the Chief himself, with
Edward, and two or three Highland visitors of neighbouring clans;
the elders of his own tribe, wadsetters and tacksmen, as they were
called, who occupied portions of his estate as mortgagers or
lessees, sat next in rank; beneath them, their sons and nephews
and foster-brethren; then the officers of the Chief's household,
according to their order; and lowest of all, the tenants who
actually cultivated the ground. Even beyond this long perspective,
Edward might see upon the green, to which a huge pair of folding
doors opened, a multitude of Highlanders of a yet inferior
description, who, nevertheless, were considered as guests, and had
their share both of the countenance of the entertainer and of the
cheer of the day. In the distance, and fluctuating round this
extreme verge of the banquet, was a changeful group of women,
ragged boys and girls, beggars, young and old, large greyhounds,
and terriers, and pointers, and curs of low degree; all of whom
took some interest, more or less immediate, in the main action of
the piece.

This hospitality, apparently unbounded, had yet its line of
economy. Some pains had been bestowed in dressing the dishes of
fish, game, etc., which were at the upper end of the table, and
immediately under the eye of the English stranger. Lower down
stood immense clumsy joints of mutton and beef, which, but for the
absence of pork, [Footnote: See Note 21.] abhorred in the
Highlands, resembled the rude festivity of the banquet of
Penelope's suitors. But the central dish was a yearling lamb,
called 'a hog in har'st,' roasted whole. It was set upon its legs,
with a bunch of parsley in its mouth, and was probably exhibited
in that form to gratify the pride of the cook, who piqued himself
more on the plenty than the elegance of his master's table. The
sides of this poor animal were fiercely attacked by the clansmen,
some with dirks, others with the knives which were usually in the
same sheath with the dagger, so that it was soon rendered a
mangled and rueful spectacle. Lower down still, the victuals
seemed of yet coarser quality, though sufficiently abundant.
Broth, onions, cheese, and the fragments of the feast regaled the
sons of Ivor who feasted in the open air.

The liquor was supplied in the same proportion, and under similar
regulations. Excellent claret and champagne were liberally
distributed among the Chief's immediate neighbours; whisky, plain
or diluted, and strong beer refreshed those who sat near the lower
end. Nor did this inequality of distribution appear to give the
least offence. Every one present understood that his taste was to
be formed according to the rank which he held at table; and,
consequently, the tacksmen and their dependants always professed
the wine was too cold for their stomachs, and called, apparently
out of choice, for the liquor which was assigned to them from
economy. [Footnote: See Note 22.] The bag-pipers, three in number,
screamed, during the whole time of dinner, a tremendous war-tune;
and the echoing of the vaulted roof, and clang of the Celtic
tongue, produced such a Babel of noises that Waverley dreaded his
ears would never recover it. Mac-Ivor, indeed, apologised for the
confusion occasioned by so large a party, and pleaded the
necessity of his situation, on which unlimited hospitality was
imposed as a paramount duty. 'These stout idle kinsmen of mine,'
he said, 'account my estate as held in trust for their support;
and I must find them beef and ale, while the rogues will do
nothing for themselves but practise the broadsword, or wander
about the hills, shooting, fishing, hunting, drinking, and making
love to the lasses of the strath. But what can I do, Captain
Waverley? everything will keep after its kind, whether it be a
hawk or a Highlander.' Edward made the expected answer, in a
compliment upon his possessing so many bold and attached
followers.

'Why, yes,' replied the Chief, 'were I disposed, like my father,
to put myself in the way of getting one blow on the head, or two
on the neck, I believe the loons would stand by me. But who thinks
of that in the present day, when the maxim is, "Better an old
woman with a purse in her hand than three men with belted
brands"?' Then, turning to the company, he proposed the 'Health of
Captain Waverley, a worthy friend of his kind neighbour and ally,
the Baron of Bradwardine.'

'He is welcome hither,' said one of the elders, 'if he come from
Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine.'

'I say nay to that,' said an old man, who apparently did not mean
to pledge the toast; 'I say nay to that. While there is a green
leaf in the forest, there will be fraud in a Comyne.

'There is nothing but honour in the Baron of Bradwardine,'
answered another ancient; 'and the guest that comes hither from
him should be welcome, though he came with blood on his hand,
unless it were blood of the race of Ivor.'

The old man whose cup remained full replied, 'There has been blood
enough of the race of Ivor on the hand of Bradwardine.'

'Ah! Ballenkeiroch,' replied the first, 'you think rather of the
flash of the carbine at the mains of Tully-Veolan than the glance
of the sword that fought for the cause at Preston.'

'And well I may,' answered Ballenkeiroch; 'the flash of the gun
cost me a fair-haired son, and the glance of the sword has done
but little for King James.'

The Chieftain, in two words of French, explained to Waverley that
the Baron had shot this old man's son in a fray near Tully-Veolan,
about seven years before; and then hastened to remove
Ballenkeiroch's prejudice, by informing him that Waverley was an
Englishman, unconnected by birth or alliance with the family of
Bradwardine; upon which the old gentleman raised the hitherto-
untasted cup and courteously drank to his health. This ceremony
being requited in kind, the Chieftain made a signal for the pipes
to cease, and said aloud, 'Where is the song hidden, my friends,
that Mac-Murrough cannot find it?'

Mac-Murrough, the family bhairdh, an aged man, immediately took
the hint, and began to chant, with low and rapid utterance, a
profusion of Celtic verses, which were received by the audience
with all the applause of enthusiasm. As he advanced in his
declamation, his ardour seemed to increase. He had at first spoken
with his eyes fixed on the ground; he now cast them around as if
beseeching, and anon as if commanding, attention, and his tones
rose into wild and impassioned notes, accompanied with appropriate
gestures. He seemed to Edward, who attended to him with much
interest, to recite many proper names, to lament the dead, to
apostrophise the absent, to exhort, and entreat, and animate those
who were present. Waverley thought he even discerned his own name,
and was convinced his conjecture was right from the eyes of the
company being at that moment turned towards him simultaneously.
The ardour of the poet appeared to communicate itself to the
audience. Their wild and sun-burnt countenances assumed a fiercer
and more animated expression; all bent forward towards the
reciter, many sprung up and waved their arms in ecstasy, and some
laid their hands on their swords. When the song ceased, there was
a deep pause, while the aroused feelings of the poet and of the
hearers gradually subsided into their usual channel.

The Chieftain, who, during this scene had appeared rather to watch
the emotions which were excited than to partake their high tone of
enthusiasm, filled with claret a small silver cup which stood by
him. 'Give this,' he said to an attendant, 'to Mac-Murrough nan
Fonn (i.e. of the songs), and when he has drank the juice, bid him
keep, for the sake of Vich Ian Vohr, the shell of the gourd which
contained it.' The gift was received by Mac-Murrough with profound
gratitude; he drank the wine, and, kissing the cup, shrouded it
with reverence in the plaid which was folded on his bosom. He then
burst forth into what Edward justly supposed to be an
extemporaneous effusion of thanks and praises of his Chief. It was
received with applause, but did not produce the effect of his
first poem. It was obvious, however, that the clan regarded the
generosity of their Chieftain with high approbation. Many approved
Gaelic toasts were then proposed, of some of which the Chieftain
gave his guest the following versions:--

'To him that will not turn his back on friend or foe.' 'To him
that never forsook a comrade.' 'To him that never bought or sold
justice.' 'Hospitality to the exile, and broken bones to the
tyrant.' 'The lads with the kilts.' 'Highlanders, shoulder to
shoulder,'--with many other pithy sentiments of the like nature.

Edward was particularly solicitous to know the meaning of that
song which appeared to produce such effect upon the passions of
the company, and hinted his curiosity to his host. 'As I observe,'
said the Chieftain, 'that you have passed the bottle during the
last three rounds, I was about to propose to you to retire to my
sister's tea-table, who can explain these things to you better
than I can. Although I cannot stint my clan in the usual current
of their festivity, yet I neither am addicted myself to exceed in
its amount, nor do I,' added he, smiling, 'keep a Bear to devour
the intellects of such as can make good use of them.'

Edward readily assented to this proposal, and the Chieftain,
saying a few words to those around him, left the table, followed
by Waverley. As the door closed behind them, Edward heard Vich Ian
Vohr's health invoked with a wild and animated cheer, that
expressed the satisfaction of the guests and the depth of their
devotion to his service.





CHAPTER XXI

THE CHIEFTAIN'S SISTER


The drawing-room of Flora Mac-Ivor was furnished in the plainest
and most simple manner; for at Glennaquoich every other sort of
expenditure was retrenched as much as possible, for the purpose of
maintaining, in its full dignity, the hospitality of the
Chieftain, and retaining and multiplying the number of his
dependants and adherents. But there was no appearance of this
parsimony in the dress of the lady herself, which was in texture
elegant, and even rich, and arranged in a manner which partook
partly of the Parisian fashion and partly of the more simple dress
of the Highlands, blended together with great taste. Her hair was
not disfigured by the art of the friseur, but fell in jetty
ringlets on her neck, confined only by a circlet, richly set with
diamonds. This peculiarity she adopted in compliance with the
Highland prejudices, which could not endure that a woman's head
should be covered before wedlock.

Flora Mac-Ivor bore a most striking resemblance to her brother
Fergus; so much so that they might have played Viola and Sebastian
with the same exquisite effect produced by the appearance of Mrs.
Henry Siddons and her brother, Mr. William Murray, in these
characters. They had the same antique and regular correctness of
profile; the same dark eyes, eye-lashes, and eye-brows; the same
clearness of complexion, excepting that Fergus's was embrowned by
exercise and Flora's possessed the utmost feminine delicacy. But
the haughty and somewhat stern regularity of Fergus's features was
beautifully softened in those of Flora. Their voices were also
similar in tone, though differing in the key. That of Fergus,
especially while issuing orders to his followers during their
military exercise, reminded Edward of a favourite passage in the
description of Emetrius:

    --whose voice was heard around,
    Loud as a trumpet with a silver sound.

That of Flora, on the contrary, was soft and sweet--'an excellent
thing in woman'; yet, in urging any favourite topic, which she
often pursued with natural eloquence, it possessed as well the
tones which impress awe and conviction as those of persuasive
insinuation. The eager glance of the keen black eye, which, in the
Chieftain, seemed impatient even of the material obstacles it
encountered, had in his sister acquired a gentle pensiveness. His
looks seemed to seek glory, power, all that could exalt him above
others in the race of humanity; while those of his sister, as if
she were already conscious of mental superiority, seemed to pity,
rather than envy, those who were struggling for any farther
distinction. Her sentiments corresponded with the expression of
her countenance. Early education had impressed upon her mind, as
well as on that of the Chieftain, the most devoted attachment to
the exiled family of Stuart. She believed it the duty of her
brother, of his clan, of every man in Britain, at whatever
personal hazard, to contribute to that restoration which the
partisans of the Chevalier St. George had not ceased to hope for.
For this she was prepared to do all, to suffer all, to sacrifice
all. But her loyalty, as it exceeded her brother's in fanaticism,
excelled it also in purity. Accustomed to petty intrigue, and
necessarily involved in a thousand paltry and selfish discussions,
ambitious also by nature, his political faith was tinctured, at
least, if not tainted, by the views of interest and advancement so
easily combined with it; and at the moment he should unsheathe his
claymore, it might be difficult to say whether it would be most
with the view of making James Stuart a king or Fergus Mac-Ivor an
earl. This, indeed, was a mixture of feeling which he did not avow
even to himself, but it existed, nevertheless, in a powerful
degree.

In Flora's bosom, on the contrary, the zeal of loyalty burnt pure
and unmixed with any selfish feeling; she would have as soon made
religion the mask of ambitious and interested views as have
shrouded them under the opinions which she had been taught to
think patriotism. Such instances of devotion were not uncommon
among the followers of the unhappy race of Stuart, of which many
memorable proofs will recur to the minds of most of my readers.
But peculiar attention on the part of the Chevalier de St. George
and his princess to the parents of Fergus and his sister, and to
themselves when orphans, had riveted their faith. Fergus, upon the
death of his parents, had been for some time a page of honour in
the train of the Chevalier's lady, and, from his beauty and
sprightly temper, was uniformly treated by her with the utmost
distinction. This was also extended to Flora, who was maintained
for some time at a convent of the first order at the princess's
expense, and removed from thence into her own family, where she
spent nearly two years. Both brother and sister retained the
deepest and most grateful sense of her kindness.

Having thus touched upon the leading principle of Flora's
character, I may dismiss the rest more slightly. She was highly
accomplished, and had acquired those elegant manners to be
expected from one who, in early youth, had been the companion of a
princess; yet she had not learned to substitute the gloss of
politeness for the reality of feeling. When settled in the lonely
regions of Glennaquoich, she found that her resources in French,
English, and Italian literature were likely to be few and
interrupted; and, in order to fill up the vacant time, she
bestowed a part of it upon the music and poetical traditions of
the Highlanders, and began really to feel the pleasure in the
pursuit which her brother, whose perceptions of literary merit
were more blunt, rather affected for the sake of popularity than
actually experienced. Her resolution was strengthened in these
researches by the extreme delight which her inquiries seemed to
afford those to whom she resorted for information.

Her love of her clan, an attachment which was almost hereditary in
her bosom, was, like her loyalty, a more pure passion than that of
her brother. He was too thorough a politician, regarded his
patriarchal influence too much as the means of accomplishing his
own aggrandisement, that we should term him the model of a
Highland Chieftain. Flora felt the same anxiety for cherishing and
extending their patriarchal sway, but it was with the generous
desire of vindicating from poverty, or at least from want and
foreign oppression, those whom her brother was by birth, according
to the notions of the time and country, entitled to govern. The
savings of her income, for she had a small pension from the
Princess Sobieski, were dedicated, not to add to the comforts of
the peasantry, for that was a word which they neither knew nor
apparently wished to know, but to relieve their absolute
necessities when in sickness or extreme old age. At every other
period they rather toiled to procure something which they might
share with the Chief, as a proof of their attachment, than
expected other assistance from him save what was afforded by the
rude hospitality of his castle, and the general division and
subdivision of his estate among them. Flora was so much beloved by
them that, when Mac-Murrough composed a song in which he
enumerated all the principal beauties of the district, and
intimated her superiority by concluding, that 'the fairest apple
hung on the highest bough,' he received, in donatives from the
individuals of the clan, more seed-barley than would have sowed
his Highland Parnassus, the bard's croft, as it was called, ten
times over.

From situation as well as choice, Miss Mac-Ivor's society was
extremely limited. Her most intimate friend had been Rose
Bradwardine, to whom she was much attached; and when seen
together, they would have afforded an artist two admirable
subjects for the gay and the melancholy muse. Indeed Rose was so
tenderly watched by her father, and her circle of wishes was so
limited, that none arose but what he was willing to gratify, and
scarce any which did not come within the compass of his power.
With Flora it was otherwise. While almost a girl she had undergone
the most complete change of scene, from gaiety and splendour to
absolute solitude and comparative poverty; and the ideas and
wishes which she chiefly fostered respected great national events,
and changes not to be brought round without both hazard and
bloodshed, and therefore not to be thought of with levity. Her
manner, consequently, was grave, though she readily contributed
her talents to the amusement of society, and stood very high in
the opinion of the old Baron, who used to sing along with her such
French duets of Lindor and Cloris, etc., as were in fashion about
the end of the reign of old Louis le Grand.

It was generally believed, though no one durst have hinted it to
the Baron of Bradwardine, that Flora's entreaties had no small
share in allaying the wrath of Fergus upon occasion of their
quarrel. She took her brother on the assailable side, by dwelling
first upon the Baron's age, and then representing the injury which
the cause might sustain, and the damage which must arise to his
own character in point of prudence--so necessary to a political
agent, if he persisted in carrying it to extremity. Otherwise it
is probable it would have terminated in a duel, both because the
Baron had, on a former occasion, shed blood of the clan, though
the matter had been timely accommodated, and on account of his
high reputation for address at his weapon, which Fergus almost
condescended to envy. For the same reason she had urged their
reconciliation, which the Chieftain the more readily agreed to as
it favoured some ulterior projects of his own.

To this young lady, now presiding at the female empire of the tea-
table, Fergus introduced Captain Waverley, whom she received with
the usual forms of politeness.





CHAPTER XXII

HIGHLAND MINSTRELSY


When the first salutations had passed, Fergus said to his sister,
'My dear Flora, before I return to the barbarous ritual of our
forefathers, I must tell you that Captain Waverley is a worshipper
of the Celtic muse, not the less so perhaps that he does not
understand a word of her language. I have told him you are eminent
as a translator of Highland poetry, and that Mac-Murrough admires
your version of his songs upon the same principle that Captain
Waverley admires the original,--because he does not comprehend
them. Will you have the goodness to read or recite to our guest in
English the extraordinary string of names which Mac-Murrough has
tacked together in Gaelic? My life to a moor-fowl's feather, you
are provided with a version; for I know you are in all the bard's
councils, and acquainted with his songs long before he rehearses
them in the hall.'

'How can you say so, Fergus? You know how little these verses can
possibly interest an English stranger, even if I could translate
them as you pretend.'

'Not less than they interest me, lady fair. To-day your joint
composition, for I insist you had a share in it, has cost me the
last silver cup in the castle, and I suppose will cost me
something else next time I hold cour pleniere, if the muse
descends on Mac-Murrough; for you know our proverb,--"When the
hand of the chief ceases to bestow, the breath of the bard is
frozen in the utterance."--Well, I would it were even so: there
are three things that are useless to a modern Highlander,--a
sword which he must not draw, a bard to sing of deeds which he
dare not imitate, and a large goat-skin purse without a louis-d'or
to put into it.'

'Well, brother, since you betray my secrets, you cannot expect me
to keep yours. I assure you, Captain Waverley, that Fergus is too
proud to exchange his broadsword for a marechal's baton, that he
esteems Mac-Murrough a far greater poet than Homer, and would not
give up his goat-skin purse for all the louis-d'or which it could
contain.'

'Well pronounced, Flora; blow for blow, as Conan [Footnote: See
Note 23.] said to the devil. Now do you two talk of bards and
poetry, if not of purses and claymores, while I return to do the
final honours to the senators of the tribe of Ivor.' So saying, he
left the room.

The conversation continued between Flora and Waverley; for two
well-dressed young women, whose character seemed to hover between
that of companions and dependants, took no share in it. They were
both pretty girls, but served only as foils to the grace and
beauty of their patroness. The discourse followed the turn which
the Chieftain had given it, and Waverley was equally amused and
surprised with the account which the lady gave him of Celtic
poetry.

'The recitation,' she said, 'of poems recording the feats of
heroes, the complaints of lovers, and the wars of contending
tribes, forms the chief amusement of a winter fire-side in the
Highlands. Some of these are said to be very ancient, and if they
are ever translated into any of the languages of civilised Europe,
cannot fail to produce a deep and general sensation. Others are
more modern, the composition of those family bards whom the
chieftains of more distinguished name and power retain as the
poets and historians of their tribes. These, of course, possess
various degrees of merit; but much of it must evaporate in
translation, or be lost on those who do not sympathise with the
feelings of the poet.'

'And your bard, whose effusions seemed to produce such effect upon
the company to-day, is he reckoned among the favourite poets of
the mountains?'

'That is a trying question. His reputation is high among his
countrymen, and you must not expect me to depreciate it.
[Footnote: The Highland poet almost always was an improvisatore.
Captain Burt met one of them at Lovat's table.]

'But the song, Miss Mac-Ivor, seemed to awaken all those warriors,
both young and old.'

'The song is little more than a catalogue of names of the Highland
clans under their distinctive peculiarities, and an exhortation to
them to remember and to emulate the actions of their forefathers.'

'And am I wrong in conjecturing, however extraordinary the guess
appears, that there was some allusion to me in the verses which he
recited?'

'You have a quick observation, Captain Waverley, which in this
instance has not deceived you. The Gaelic language, being
uncommonly vocalic, is well adapted for sudden and extemporaneous
poetry; and a bard seldom fails to augment the effects of a
premeditated song by throwing in any stanzas which may be
suggested by the circumstances attending the recitation.'

'I would give my best horse to know what the Highland bard could
find to say of such an unworthy Southron as myself.'

'It shall not even cost you a lock of his mane. Una, mavourneen!
(She spoke a few words to one of the young girls in attendance,
who instantly curtsied and tripped out of the room.) I have sent
Una to learn from the bard the expressions he used, and you shall
command my skill as dragoman.'

Una returned in a few minutes, and repeated to her mistress a few
lines in Gaelic. Flora seemed to think for a moment, and then,
slightly colouring, she turned to Waverley--'It is impossible to
gratify your curiosity, Captain Waverley, without exposing my own
presumption. If you will give me a few moments for consideration,
I will endeavour to engraft the meaning of these lines upon a rude
English translation which I have attempted of a part of the
original. The duties of the tea-table seem to be concluded, and,
as the evening is delightful, Una will show you the way to one of
my favourite haunts, and Cathleen and I will join you there.'

Una, having received instructions in her native language,
conducted Waverley out by a passage different from that through
which he had entered the apartment. At a distance he heard the
hall of the Chief still resounding with the clang of bagpipes and
the high applause of his guests. Having gained the open air by a
postern door, they walked a little way up the wild, bleak, and
narrow valley in which the house was situated, following the
course of the stream that winded through it. In a spot, about a
quarter of a mile from the castle, two brooks, which formed the
little river, had their junction. The larger of the two came down
the long bare valley, which extended, apparently without any
change or elevation of character, as far as the hills which formed
its boundary permitted the eye to reach. But the other stream,
which had its source among the mountains on the left hand of the
strath, seemed to issue from a very narrow and dark opening
betwixt two large rocks. These streams were different also in
character. The larger was placid, and even sullen in its course,
wheeling in deep eddies, or sleeping in dark blue pools; but the
motions of the lesser brook were rapid and furious, issuing from
between precipices, like a maniac from his confinement, all foam
and uproar.

It was up the course of this last stream that Waverley, like a
knight of romance, was conducted by the fair Highland damsel, his
silent guide. A small path, which had been rendered easy in many
places for Flora's accommodation, led him through scenery of a
very different description from that which he had just quitted.
Around the castle all was cold, bare, and desolate, yet tame even
in desolation; but this narrow glen, at so short a distance,
seemed to open into the land of romance. The rocks assumed a
thousand peculiar and varied forms. In one place a crag of huge
size presented its gigantic bulk, as if to forbid the passenger's
farther progress; and it was not until he approached its very base
that Waverley discerned the sudden and acute turn by which the
pathway wheeled its course around this formidable obstacle. In
another spot the projecting rocks from the opposite sides of the
chasm had approached so near to each other that two pine-trees
laid across, and covered with turf, formed a rustic bridge at the
height of at least one hundred and fifty feet. It had no ledges,
and was barely three feet in breadth.

While gazing at this pass of peril, which crossed, like a single
black line, the small portion of blue sky not intercepted by the
projecting rocks on either side, it was with a sensation of horror
that Waverley beheld Flora and her attendant appear, like
inhabitants of another region, propped, as it were, in mid air,
upon this trembling structure. She stopped upon observing him
below, and, with an air of graceful ease which made him shudder,
waved her handkerchief to him by way of signal. He was unable,
from the sense of dizziness which her situation conveyed, to
return the salute; and was never more relieved than when the fair
apparition passed on from the precarious eminence which she seemed
to occupy with so much indifference, and disappeared on the other
side.

Advancing a few yards, and passing under the bridge which he had
viewed with so much terror, the path ascended rapidly from the
edge of the brook, and the glen widened into a sylvan
amphitheatre, waving with birch, young oaks, and hazels, with here
and there a scattered yew-tree. The rocks now receded, but still
showed their grey and shaggy crests rising among the copse-wood.
Still higher rose eminences and peaks, some bare, some clothed
with wood, some round and purple with heath, and others splintered
into rocks and crags. At a short turning the path, which had for
some furlongs lost sight of the brook, suddenly placed Waverley in
front of a romantic waterfall. It was not so remarkable either for
great height or quantity of water as for the beautiful
accompaniments which made the spot interesting. After a broken
cataract of about twenty feet, the stream was received in a large
natural basin filled to the brim with water, which, where the
bubbles of the fall subsided, was so exquisitely clear that,
although it was of great depth, the eye could discern each pebble
at the bottom. Eddying round this reservoir, the brook found its
way as if over a broken part of the ledge, and formed a second
fall, which seemed to seek the very abyss; then, wheeling out
beneath from among the smooth dark rocks which it had polished for
ages, it wandered murmuring down the glen, forming the stream up
which Waverley had just ascended. [Footnote: See Note 24.] The
borders of this romantic reservoir corresponded in beauty; but it
was beauty of a stern and commanding cast, as if in the act of
expanding into grandeur. Mossy banks of turf were broken and
interrupted by huge fragments of rock, and decorated with trees
and shrubs, some of which had been planted under the direction of
Flora, but so cautiously that they added to the grace without
diminishing the romantic wildness of the scene.

Here, like one of those lovely forms which decorate the landscapes
of Poussin, Waverley found Flora gazing on the waterfall. Two
paces further back stood Cathleen, holding a small Scottish harp,
the use of which had been taught to Flora by Rory Dall, one of the
last harpers of the Western Highlands. The sun, now stooping in
the west, gave a rich and varied tinge to all the objects which
surrounded Waverley, and seemed to add more than human brilliancy
to the full expressive darkness of Flora's eye, exalted the
richness and purity of her complexion, and enhanced the dignity
and grace of her beautiful form. Edward thought he had never, even
in his wildest dreams, imagined a figure of such exquisite and
interesting loveliness. The wild beauty of the retreat, bursting
upon him as if by magic, augmented the mingled feeling of delight
and awe with which he approached her, like a fair enchantress of
Boiardo or Ariosto, by whose nod the scenery around seemed to have
been created an Eden in the wilderness.

Flora, like every beautiful woman, was conscious of her own power,
and pleased with its effects, which she could easily discern from
the respectful yet confused address of the young soldier. But, as
she possessed excellent sense, she gave the romance of the scene
and other accidental circumstances full weight in appreciating the
feelings with which Waverley seemed obviously to be impressed;
and, unacquainted with the fanciful and susceptible peculiarities
of his character, considered his homage as the passing tribute
which a woman of even inferior charms might have expected in such
a situation. She therefore quietly led the way to a spot at such a
distance from the cascade that its sound should rather accompany
than interrupt that of her voice and instrument, and, sitting down
upon a mossy fragment of rock, she took the harp from Cathleen.

'I have given you the trouble of walking to this spot, Captain
Waverley, both because I thought the scenery would interest you,
and because a Highland song would suffer still more from my
imperfect translation were I to introduce it without its own wild
and appropriate accompaniments. To speak in the poetical language
of my country, the seat of the Celtic Muse is in the mist of the
secret and solitary hill, and her voice in the murmur of the
mountain stream. He who woos her must love the barren rock more
than the fertile valley, and the solitude of the desert better
than the festivity of the hall.'

Few could have heard this lovely woman make this declaration, with
a voice where harmony was exalted by pathos, without exclaiming
that the muse whom she invoked could never find a more appropriate
representative. But Waverley, though the thought rushed on his
mind, found no courage to utter it. Indeed, the wild feeling of
romantic delight with which he heard the few first notes she drew
from her instrument amounted almost to a sense of pain. He would
not for worlds have quitted his place by her side; yet he almost
longed for solitude, that he might decipher and examine at leisure
the complication of emotions which now agitated his bosom.

Flora had exchanged the measured and monotonous recitative of the
bard for a lofty and uncommon Highland air, which had been a
battle-song in former ages. A few irregular strains introduced a
prelude of a wild and peculiar tone, which harmonised well with
the distant waterfall, and the soft sigh of the evening breeze in
the rustling leaves of an aspen, which overhung the seat of the
fair harpress. The following verses convey but little idea of the
feelings with which, so sung and accompanied, they were heard by
Waverley:--

    There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,
    But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.
    A stranger commanded--it sunk on the land,
    It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand!

    The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust,
    The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust;
    On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,
    It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.

    The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse,
    Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse!
    Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone,
    That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.

    But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past,
    The morn on our mountains is dawning at last;
    Glenaladale's peaks are illumined with the rays,
    And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze.

[Footnote: The young and daring adventurer, Charles Edward, landed
at Glenaladale, in Moidart, and displayed his standard in the
valley of Glenfinnan, mustering around it the Mac-Donalds, the
Camerons, and other less numerous clans, whom he had prevailed on
to join him. There is a monument erected on the spot, with a Latin
inscription by the late Doctor Gregory.]

    O high-minded Moray! the exiled! the dear!
    In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear!
    Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,
    Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh!

[Footnote: The Marquis of Tullibardine's elder brother, who, long
exiled, returned to Scotland with Charles Edward in 1745.]

    Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break,
    Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake?
    That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' eye,
    But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die.

    O, sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state,
    Proud chiefs of Clan Ranald, Glengarry, and Sleat!
    Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow,
    And resistless in union rush down on the foe!

    True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel,
    Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel!
    Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell,
    Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell!

    Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail,
    Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!
    May the race of Clan Gillean, the fearless and free,
    Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee!

    Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given
    Such heroes to earth and such martyrs to heaven,
    Unite with the race of renown'd Rorri More,
    To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar.

    How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display
    The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey!
    How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murder'd Glencoe
    Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe!

    Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar,
    Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More!
    Mac-Neil of the islands, and Moy of the Lake,
    For honour, for freedom, for vengeance awake!

Here a large greyhound, bounding up the glen, jumped upon Flora
and interrupted her music by his importunate caresses. At a
distant whistle he turned and shot down the path again with the
rapidity of an arrow. 'That is Fergus's faithful attendant,
Captain Waverley, and that was his signal. He likes no poetry but
what is humorous, and comes in good time to interrupt my long
catalogue of the tribes, whom one of your saucy English poets
calls

    Our bootless host of high-born beggars,
    Mac-Leans, Mac-Kenzies, and Mac-Gregors.'

Waverley expressed his regret at the interruption.

'O you cannot guess how much you have lost! The bard, as in duty
bound, has addressed three long stanzas to Vich Ian Vohr of the
Banners, enumerating all his great properties, and not forgetting
his being a cheerer of the harper and bard--"a giver of bounteous
gifts." Besides, you should have heard a practical admonition to
the fair-haired son of the stranger, who lives in the land where
the grass is always green--the rider on the shining pampered
steed, whose hue is like the raven, and whose neigh is like the
scream of the eagle for battle. This valiant horseman is
affectionately conjured to remember that his ancestors were
distinguished by their loyalty as well as by their courage. All
this you have lost; but, since your curiosity is not satisfied, I
judge, from the distant sound of my brother's whistle, I may have
time to sing the concluding stanzas before he comes to laugh at my
translation.'

    Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,
    Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake!
    'T is the bugle--but not for the chase is the call;
    'T is the pibroch's shrill summons--but not to the hall.

    'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death,
    When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath:
    They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe,
    To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.

    Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire!
    May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!
    Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,
    Or die like your sires, and endure it no more!





CHAPTER XXIII

WAVEELEY CONTINUES AT GLENNAQUOICH


As Flora concluded her song, Fergus stood before them. 'I knew I
should find you here, even without the assistance of my friend
Bran. A simple and unsublimed taste now, like my own, would prefer
a jet d'eau at Versailles to this cascade, with all its
accompaniments of rock and roar; but this is Flora's Parnassus,
Captain Waverley, and that fountain her Helicon. It would be
greatly for the benefit of my cellar if she could teach her
coadjutor, Mac-Murrough, the value of its influence: he has just
drunk a pint of usquebaugh to correct, he said, the coldness of
the claret. Let me try its virtues.' He sipped a little water in
the hollow of his hand, and immediately commenced, with a
theatrical air,--

    'O Lady of the desert, hail!
     That lovest the harping of the Gael,
     Through fair and fertile regions borne,
     Where never yet grew grass or corn.

But English poetry will never succeed under the influence of a
Highland Helicon. Allons, courage!

    O vous, qui buvez, a tasse pleine,
    A cette heureuse fontaine,
    Ou on ne voit, sur le rivage,
      Que quelques vilains troupeaux,
    Suivis de nymphes de village,
      Qui les escortent sans sabots--'

'A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid
persons of all Arcadia. Do not, for Heaven's sake, bring down
Coridon and Lindor upon us.'

'Nay, if you cannot relish la houlette et le chalumeau, have with
you in heroic strains.'

'Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of
Mac-Murrough's cup rather than of mine.'

'I disclaim it, ma belle demoiselle, although I protest it would
be the more congenial of the two. Which of your crack-brained
Italian romancers is it that says,

                               Io d'Elicona niente
    Mi curo, in fe de Dio; che'l bere d'acque
    (Bea chi ber ne vuol) sempre mi spiacque!

[Footnote:

    Good sooth, I reck nought of your Helicon;
    Drink water whoso will, in faith I will drink none.]

But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley, here is little
Cathleen shall sing you Drimmindhu. Come, Cathleen, astore (i.e.
my dear), begin; no apologies to the cean-kinne.'

Cathleen sung with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the
burlesque elegy of a countryman on the loss of his cow, the comic
tones of which, though he did not understand the language, made
Waverley laugh more than once. [Footnote: This ancient Gaelic
ditty is still well known, both in the Highlands and in Ireland It
was translated into English, and published, if I mistake not,
under the auspices of the facetious Tom D'Urfey, by the title of
'Colley, my Cow.']

'Admirable, Cathleen!' cried the Chieftain; 'I must find you a
handsome husband among the clansmen one of these days.'

Cathleen laughed, blushed, and sheltered herself behind her
companion.

In the progress of their return to the castle, the Chieftain
warmly pressed Waverley to remain for a week or two, in order to
see a grand hunting party, in which he and some other Highland
gentlemen proposed to join. The charms of melody and beauty were
too strongly impressed in Edward's breast to permit his declining
an invitation so pleasing. It was agreed, therefore, that he
should write a note to the Baron of Bradwardine, expressing his
intention to stay a fortnight at Glennaquoich, and requesting him
to forward by the bearer (a gilly of the Chieftain's) any letters
which might have arrived for him.

This turned the discourse upon the Baron, whom Fergus highly
extolled as a gentleman and soldier. His character was touched
with yet more discrimination by Flora, who observed he was the
very model of the old Scottish cavalier, with all his excellencies
and peculiarities. 'It is a character, Captain Waverley, which is
fast disappearing; for its best point was a self-respect which was
never lost sight of till now. But in the present time the
gentlemen whose principles do not permit them to pay court to the
existing government are neglected and degraded, and many conduct
themselves accordingly; and, like some of the persons you have
seen at Tully-Veolan, adopt habits and companions inconsistent
with their birth and breeding. The ruthless proscription of party
seems to degrade the victims whom it brands, however unjustly. But
let us hope a brighter day is approaching, when a Scottish country
gentleman may be a scholar without the pedantry of our friend the
Baron, a sportsman without the low habits of Mr. Falconer, and a
judicious improver of his property without becoming a boorish two-
legged steer like Killancureit.'

Thus did Flora prophesy a revolution, which time indeed has
produced, but in a manner very different from what she had in her
mind.

The amiable Rose was next mentioned, with the warmest encomium on
her person, manners, and mind. 'That man,' said Flora, 'will find
an inestimable treasure in the affections of Rose Bradwardine who
shall be so fortunate as to become their object. Her very soul is
in home, and in the discharge of all those quiet virtues of which
home is the centre. Her husband will be to her what her father now
is, the object of all her care, solicitude, and affection. She
will see nothing, and connect herself with nothing, but by him and
through him. If he is a man of sense and virtue, she will
sympathise in his sorrows, divert his fatigue, and share his
pleasures. If she becomes the property of a churlish or negligent
husband, she will suit his taste also, for she will not long
survive his unkindness. And, alas! how great is the chance that
some such unworthy lot may be that of my poor friend! O that I
were a queen this moment, and could command the most amiable and
worthy youth of my kingdom to accept happiness with the hand of
Rose Bradwardine!'

'I wish you would command her to accept mine en attendant,' said
Fergus, laughing.

I don't know by what caprice it was that this wish, however
jocularly expressed, rather jarred on Edward's feelings,
notwithstanding his growing inclination to Flora and his
indifference to Miss Bradwardine. This is one of the
inexplicabilities of human nature, which we leave without comment.

'Yours, brother?' answered Flora, regarding him steadily. 'No; you
have another bride--Honour; and the dangers you must run in
pursuit of her rival would break poor Rose's heart.'

With this discourse they reached the castle, and Waverley soon
prepared his despatches for Tully-Veolan. As he knew the Baron was
punctilious in such matters, he was about to impress his billet
with a seal on which his armorial bearings were engraved, but he
did not find it at his watch, and thought he must have left it at
Tully-Veolan. He mentioned his loss, borrowing at the same time
the family seal of the Chieftain.

'Surely,' said Miss Mac-Ivor, 'Donald Bean Lean would not--'

'My life for him in such circumstances,' answered her brother;
'besides, he would never have left the watch behind.'

'After all, Fergus,' said Flora, 'and with every allowance, I am
surprised you can countenance that man.'

'I countenance him? This kind sister of mine would persuade you,
Captain Waverley, that I take what the people of old used to call
"a steakraid," that is, a "collop of the foray," or, in plainer
words, a portion of the robber's booty, paid by him to the Laird,
or Chief, through whose grounds he drove his prey. O, it is
certain that, unless I can find some way to charm Flora's tongue,
General Blakeney will send a sergeant's party from Stirling (this
he said with haughty and emphatic irony) to seize Vich lan Vohr,
as they nickname me, in his own castle.'

'Now, Fergus, must not our guest be sensible that all this is
folly and affectation? You have men enough to serve you without
enlisting banditti, and your own honour is above taint. Why don't
you send this Donald Bean Lean, whom I hate for his smoothness and
duplicity even more than for his rapine, out of your country at
once? No cause should induce me to tolerate such a character.'

'No cause, Flora?' said the Chieftain significantly.

'No cause, Fergus! not even that which is nearest to my heart.
Spare it the omen of such evil supporters!'

'O but, sister,' rejoined the Chief gaily, 'you don't consider my
respect for la belle passion. Evan Dhu Maccombich is in love with
Donald's daughter, Alice, and you cannot expect me to disturb him
in his amours. Why, the whole clan would cry shame on me. You know
it is one of their wise sayings, that a kinsman is part of a man's
body, but a foster-brother is a piece of his heart.'

'Well, Fergus, there is no disputing with you; but I would all
this may end well.'

'Devoutly prayed, my dear and prophetic sister, and the best way
in the world to close a dubious argument. But hear ye not the
pipes, Captain Waverley? Perhaps you will like better to dance to
them in the hall than to be deafened with their harmony without
taking part in the exercise they invite us to.'

Waverley took Flora's hand. The dance, song, and merry-making
proceeded, and closed the day's entertainment at the castle of
Vich Ian Vohr. Edward at length retired, his mind agitated by a
variety of new and conflicting feelings, which detained him from
rest for some time, in that not unpleasing state of mind in which
fancy takes the helm, and the soul rather drifts passively along
with the rapid and confused tide of reflections than exerts itself
to encounter, systematise, or examine them. At a late hour he fell
asleep, and dreamed of Flora Mac-Ivor.





CHAPTER XXIV

A STAG-HUNT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES


Shall this be a long or a short chapter? This is a question in
which you, gentle reader, have no vote, however much you may be
interested in the consequences; just as you may (like myself)
probably have nothing to do with the imposing a new tax, excepting
the trifling circumstance of being obliged to pay it. More happy
surely in the present case, since, though it lies within my
arbitrary power to extend my materials as I think proper, I cannot
call you into Exchequer if you do not think proper to read my
narrative. Let me therefore consider. It is true that the annals
and documents in my hands say but little of this Highland chase;
but then I can find copious materials for description elsewhere.
There is old Lindsay of Pitscottie ready at my elbow, with his
Athole hunting, and his 'lofted and joisted palace of green
timber; with all kind of drink to be had in burgh and land, as
ale, beer, wine, muscadel, malvaise, hippocras, and aquavitae;
with wheat-bread, main-bread, ginge-bread, beef, mutton, lamb,
veal, venison, goose, grice, capon, coney, crane, swan, partridge,
plover, duck, drake, brisselcock, pawnies, black-cock, muir-fowl,
and capercailzies'; not forgetting the 'costly bedding, vaiselle,
and napry,' and least of all the 'excelling stewards, cunning
baxters, excellent cooks, and pottingars, with confections and
drugs for the desserts.' Besides the particulars which may be
thence gleaned for this Highland feast (the splendour of which
induced the Pope's legate to dissent from an opinion which he had
hitherto held, that Scotland, namely, was the--the--the latter end
of the world)--besides these, might I not illuminate my pages
with Taylor the Water Poet's hunting in the Braes of Mar, where,--

    Through heather, mosse,'mong frogs, and bogs, and fogs,
      'Mongst craggy cliffs and thunder-batter'd hills,
    Hares, hinds, bucks, roes, are chased by men and dogs,
      Where two hours' hunting fourscore fat deer kills.
    Lowland, your sports are low as is your seat;
    The Highland games and minds are high and great?

But without further tyranny over my readers, or display of the
extent of my own reading, I shall content myself with borrowing a
single incident from the memorable hunting at Lude, commemorated
in the ingenious Mr. Gunn's essay on the Caledonian Harp, and so
proceed in my story with all the brevity that my natural style of
composition, partaking of what scholars call the periphrastic and
ambagitory, and the vulgar the circumbendibus, will permit me.

The solemn hunting was delayed, from various causes, for about
three weeks. The interval was spent by Waverley with great
satisfaction at Glennaquoich; for the impression which Flora had
made on his mind at their first meeting grew daily stronger. She
was precisely the character to fascinate a youth of romantic
imagination. Her manners, her language, her talents for poetry and
music, gave additional and varied influence to her eminent
personal charms. Even in her hours of gaiety she was in his fancy
exalted above the ordinary daughters of Eve, and seemed only to
stoop for an instant to those topics of amusement and gallantry
which others appear to live for. In the neighbourhood of this
enchantress, while sport consumed the morning and music and the
dance led on the hours of evening, Waverley became daily more
delighted with his hospitable landlord, and more enamoured of his
bewitching sister.

At length the period fixed for the grand hunting arrived, and
Waverley and the Chieftain departed for the place of rendezvous,
which was a day's journey to the northward of Glennaquoich. Fergus
was attended on this occasion by about three hundred of his clan,
well armed and accoutred in their best fashion. Waverley complied
so far with the custom of the country as to adopt the trews (he
could not be reconciled to the kilt), brogues, and bonnet, as the
fittest dress for the exercise in which he was to be engaged, and
which least exposed him to be stared at as a stranger when they
should reach the place of rendezvous. They found on the spot
appointed several powerful Chiefs, to all of whom Waverley was
formally presented, and by all cordially received. Their vassals
and clansmen, a part of whose feudal duty it was to attend on
these parties, appeared in such numbers as amounted to a small
army. These active assistants spread through the country far and
near, forming a circle, technically called the tinchel, which,
gradually closing, drove the deer in herds together towards the
glen where the Chiefs and principal sportsmen lay in wait for
them. In the meanwhile these distinguished personages bivouacked
among the flowery heath, wrapped up in their plaids, a mode of
passing a summer's night which Waverley found by no means
unpleasant.

For many hours after sunrise the mountain ridges and passes
retained their ordinary appearance of silence and solitude, and
the Chiefs, with their followers, amused themselves with various
pastimes, in which the joys of the shell, as Ossian has it, were
not forgotten. 'Others apart sate on a hill retired,' probably as
deeply engaged in the discussion of politics and news as Milton's
spirits in metaphysical disquisition. At length signals of the
approach of the game were descried and heard. Distant shouts
resounded from valley to valley, as the various parties of
Highlanders, climbing rocks, struggling through copses, wading
brooks, and traversing thickets, approached more and more near to
each other, and compelled the astonished deer, with the other wild
animals that fled before them, into a narrower circuit. Every now
and then the report of muskets was heard, repeated by a thousand
echoes. The baying of the dogs was soon added to the chorus, which
grew ever louder and more loud. At length the advanced parties of
the deer began to show themselves; and as the stragglers came
bounding down the pass by two or three at a time, the Chiefs
showed their skill by distinguishing the fattest deer, and their
dexterity in bringing them down with their guns. Fergus exhibited
remarkable address, and Edward was also so fortunate as to attract
the notice and applause of the sportsmen.

But now the main body of the deer appeared at the head of the
glen, compelled into a very narrow compass, and presenting such a
formidable phalanx that their antlers appeared at a distance, over
the ridge of the steep pass, like a leafless grove. Their number
was very great, and from a desperate stand which they made, with
the tallest of the red-deer stags arranged in front, in a sort of
battle-array, gazing on the group which barred their passage down
the glen, the more experienced sportsmen began to augur danger.
The work of destruction, however, now commenced on all sides. Dogs
and hunters were at work, and muskets and fusees resounded from
every quarter. The deer, driven to desperation, made at length a
fearful charge right upon the spot where the more distinguished
sportsmen had taken their stand. The word was given in Gaelic to
fling themselves upon their faces; but Waverley, on whose English
ears the signal was lost, had almost fallen a sacrifice to his
ignorance of the ancient language in which it was communicated.
Fergus, observing his danger, sprung up and pulled him with
violence to the ground, just as the whole herd broke down upon
them. The tide being absolutely irresistible, and wounds from a
stag's horn highly dangerous, the activity of the Chieftain may be
considered, on this occasion, as having saved his guest's life. He
detained him with a firm grasp until the whole herd of deer had
fairly run over them. Waverley then attempted to rise, but found
that he had suffered several very severe contusions, and, upon a
further examination, discovered that he had sprained his ankle
violently.

[Footnote: The thrust from the tynes, or branches, of the stag's
horns was accounted far more dangerous than those of the boar's
tusk:--

    If thou be hurt with horn of stag,
    it brings thee to thy bier,
    But barber's hand shall boar's hurt heal,
    thereof have thou no fear.]

This checked the mirth of the meeting, although the Highlanders,
accustomed to such incidents, and prepared for them, had suffered
no harm themselves. A wigwam was erected almost in an instant,
where Edward was deposited on a couch of heather. The surgeon, or
he who assumed the office, appeared to unite the characters of a
leech and a conjuror. He was an old smoke-dried Highlander,
wearing a venerable grey beard, and having for his sole garment a
tartan frock, the skirts of which descended to the knee, and,
being undivided in front, made the vestment serve at once for
doublet and breeches. [Footnote: This garb, which resembled the
dress often put on children in Scotland, called a polonie (i. e.
polonaise), is a very ancient modification of the Highland garb.
It was, in fact, the hauberk or shirt of mail, only composed of
cloth instead of rings of armour.] He observed great ceremony in
approaching Edward; and though our hero was writhing with pain,
would not proceed to any operation which might assuage it until he
had perambulated his couch three times, moving from east to west,
according to the course of the sun. This, which was called making
the deasil, [Footnote: Old Highlanders will still make the deasil
around those whom they wish well to. To go round a person in the
opposite direction, or withershins (German wider-shins), is
unlucky, and a sort of incantation.] both the leech and the
assistants seemed to consider as a matter of the last importance
to the accomplishment of a cure; and Waverley, whom pain rendered
incapable of expostulation, and who indeed saw no chance of its
being attended to, submitted in silence.

After this ceremony was duly performed, the old Esculapius let his
patient's blood with a cupping-glass with great dexterity, and
proceeded, muttering all the while to himself in Gaelic, to boil
on the fire certain herbs, with which he compounded an
embrocation. He then fomented the parts which had sustained
injury, never failing to murmur prayers or spells, which of the
two Waverley could not distinguish, as his ear only caught the
words Gaspar-Melchior-Balthazar-max-prax-fax, and similar
gibberish. The fomentation had a speedy effect in alleviating the
pain and swelling, which our hero imputed to the virtue of the
herbs or the effect of the chafing, but which was by the
bystanders unanimously ascribed to the spells with which the
operation had been accompanied. Edward was given to understand
that not one of the ingredients had been gathered except during
the full moon, and that the herbalist had, while collecting them,
uniformly recited a charm, which in English ran thus:--

    Hail to thee, thou holy herb,
    That sprung on holy ground!
    All in the Mount Olivet
    First wert thou found.
    Thou art boot for many a bruise,
    And healest many a wound;
    In our Lady's blessed name,
    I take thee from the ground.

[Footnote: This metrical spell, or something very like it, is
preserved by Reginald Scott in his work on Witchcraft.]

Edward observed with some surprise that even Fergus,
notwithstanding his knowledge and education, seemed to fall in
with the superstitious ideas of his countrymen, either because he
deemed it impolitic to affect scepticism on a matter of general
belief, or more probably because, like most men who do not think
deeply or accurately on such subjects, he had in his mind a
reserve of superstition which balanced the freedom of his
expressions and practice upon other occasions. Waverley made no
commentary, therefore, on the manner of the treatment, but
rewarded the professor of medicine with a liberality beyond the
utmost conception of his wildest hopes. He uttered on the occasion
so many incoherent blessings in Gaelic and English that Mac-Ivor,
rather scandalised at the excess of his acknowledgments, cut them
short by exclaiming, Ceud mile mhalloich ort! i.e. 'A hundred
thousand curses on you!' and so pushed the helper of men out of
the cabin.

After Waverley was left alone, the exhaustion of pain and fatigue
--for the whole day's exercise had been severe--threw him into a
profound, but yet a feverish sleep, which he chiefly owed to an
opiate draught administered by the old Highlander from some
decoction of herbs in his pharmacopoeia.

Early the next morning, the purpose of their meeting being over,
and their sports damped by the untoward accident, in which Fergus
and all his friends expressed the greatest sympathy, it became a
question how to dispose of the disabled sportsman. This was
settled by Mac-Ivor, who had a litter prepared, of 'birch and
hazel-grey,'

[FOOTNOTE:

    On the morrow they made their biers
    Of birch and hazel grey. Chevy Chase.]

which was borne by his people with such caution and dexterity as
renders it not improbable that they may have been the ancestors of
some of those sturdy Gael who have now the happiness to transport
the belles of Edinburgh in their sedan-chairs to ten routs in one
evening. When Edward was elevated upon their shoulders he could
not help being gratified with the romantic effect produced by the
breaking up of this sylvan camp. [Footnote: See Note 25.]

The various tribes assembled, each at the pibroch of their native
clan, and each headed by their patriarchal ruler. Some, who had
already begun to retire, were seen winding up the hills, or
descending the passes which led to the scene of action, the sound
of their bagpipes dying upon the ear. Others made still a moving
picture upon the narrow plain, forming various changeful groups,
their feathers and loose plaids waving in the morning breeze, and
their arms glittering in the rising sun. Most of the Chiefs came
to take farewell of Waverley, and to express their anxious hope
they might again, and speedily, meet; but the care of Fergus
abridged the ceremony of taking leave. At length, his own men
being completely assembled and mustered, Mac-Ivor commenced his
march, but not towards the quarter from which they had come. He
gave Edward to understand that the greater part of his followers
now on the field were bound on a distant expedition, and that when
he had deposited him in the house of a gentleman, who he was sure
would pay him every attention, he himself should be under the
necessity of accompanying them the greater part of the way, but
would lose no time in rejoining his friend.

Waverley was rather surprised that Fergus had not mentioned this
ulterior destination when they set out upon the hunting-party; but
his situation did not admit of many interrogatories. The greater
part of the clansmen went forward under the guidance of old
Ballenkeiroch and Evan Dhu Maccombich, apparently in high spirits.
A few remained for the purpose of escorting the Chieftain, who
walked by the side of Edward's litter, and attended him with the
most affectionate assiduity. About noon, after a journey which the
nature of the conveyance, the pain of his bruises, and the
roughness of the way rendered inexpressibly painful, Waverley was
hospitably received into the house of a gentleman related to
Fergus, who had prepared for him every accommodation which the
simple habits of living then universal in the Highlands put in his
power. In this person, an old man about seventy, Edward admired a
relic of primitive simplicity. He wore no dress but what his
estate afforded; the cloth was the fleece of his own sheep, woven
by his own servants, and stained into tartan by the dyes produced
from the herbs and lichens of the hills around him. His linen was
spun by his daughters and maidservants, from his own flax; nor did
his table, though plentiful, and varied with game and fish, offer
an article but what was of native produce.

Claiming himself no rights of clanship or vassalage, he was
fortunate in the alliance and protection of Vich Ian Vohr and
other bold and enterprising Chieftains, who protected him in the
quiet unambitious life he loved. It is true, the youth born on his
grounds were often enticed to leave him for the service of his
more active friends; but a few old servants and tenants used to
shake their grey locks when they heard their master censured for
want of spirit, and observed, 'When the wind is still, the shower
falls soft.' This good old man, whose charity and hospitality were
unbounded, would have received Waverley with kindness had he been
the meanest Saxon peasant, since his situation required
assistance. But his attention to a friend and guest of Vich Ian
Vohr was anxious and unremitted. Other embrocations were applied
to the injured limb, and new spells were put in practice. At
length, after more solicitude than was perhaps for the advantage
of his health, Fergus took farewell of Edward for a few days,
when, he said, he would return to Tomanrait, and hoped by that
time Waverley would be able to ride one of the Highland ponies of
his landlord, and in that manner return to Glennaquoich.

The next day, when his good old host appeared, Edward learned that
his friend had departed with the dawn, leaving none of his
followers except Callum Beg, the sort of foot-page who used to
attend his person, and who had now in charge to wait upon
Waverley. On asking his host if he knew where the Chieftain was
gone, the old man looked fixedly at him, with something mysterious
and sad in the smile which was his only reply. Waverley repeated
his question, to which his host answered in a proverb,--

    What sent the messengers to hell,
    Was asking what they knew full well.

[Footnote: Corresponding to the Lowland saying, 'Mony ane speirs
the gate they ken fu' weel.']

He was about to proceed, but Callum Beg said, rather pertly, as
Edward thought, that 'Ta Tighearnach (i.e. the Chief) did not like
ta Sassenagh duinhe-wassel to be pingled wi' mickle speaking, as
she was na tat weel.' From this Waverley concluded he should
disoblige his friend by inquiring of a stranger the object of a
journey which he himself had not communicated.

It is unnecessary to trace the progress of our hero's recovery.
The sixth morning had arrived, and he was able to walk about with
a staff, when Fergus returned with about a score of his men. He
seemed in the highest spirits, congratulated Waverley on his
progress towards recovery, and finding he was able to sit on
horseback, proposed their immediate return to Glennaquoich.
Waverley joyfully acceded, for the form of its fair mistress had
lived in his dreams during all the time of his confinement.

    Now he has ridden o'er moor and moss,
        O'er hill and many a glen,

Fergus, all the while, with his myrmidons, striding stoutly by his
side, or diverging to get a shot at a roe or a heath-cock.
Waverley's bosom beat thick when they approached the old tower of
Ian nan Chaistel, and could distinguish the fair form of its
mistress advancing to meet them.

Fergus began immediately, with his usual high spirits, to exclaim,
'Open your gates, incomparable princess, to the wounded Moor
Abindarez, whom Rodrigo de Narvez, constable of Antiquera, conveys
to your castle; or open them, if you like it better, to the
renowned Marquis of Mantua, the sad attendant of his half-slain
friend Baldovinos of the Mountain. Ah, long rest to thy soul,
Cervantes! without quoting thy remnants, how should I frame my
language to befit romantic ears!'

Flora now advanced, and welcoming Waverley with much kindness,
expressed her regret for his accident, of which she had already
heard particulars, and her surprise that her brother should not
have taken better care to put a stranger on his guard against the
perils of the sport in which he engaged him. Edward easily
exculpated the Chieftain, who, indeed, at his own personal risk,
had probably saved his life.

This greeting over, Fergus said three or four words to his sister
in Gaelic. The tears instantly sprung to her eyes, but they seemed
to be tears of devotion and joy, for she looked up to heaven and
folded her hands as in a solemn expression of prayer or gratitude.
After the pause of a minute, she presented to Edward some letters
which had been forwarded from Tully-Veolan during his absence, and
at the same time delivered some to her brother. To the latter she
likewise gave three or four numbers of the Caledonian Mercury, the
only newspaper which was then published to the north of the Tweed.

Both gentlemen retired to examine their despatches, and Edward
speedily found that those which he had received contained matters
of very deep interest.





CHAPTER XXV

NEWS FROM ENGLAND


The letters which Waverley had hitherto received from his
relations in England were not such as required any particular
notice in this narrative. His father usually wrote to him with the
pompous affectation of one who was too much oppressed by public
affairs to find leisure to attend to those of his own family. Now
and then he mentioned persons of rank in Scotland to whom he
wished his son should pay some attention; but Waverley, hitherto
occupied by the amusements which he had found at Tully-Veolan and
Glennaquoich, dispensed with paying any attention to hints so
coldly thrown out, especially as distance, shortness of leave of
absence, and so forth furnished a ready apology. But latterly the
burden of Mr. Richard Waverley's paternal epistles consisted in
certain mysterious hints of greatness and influence which he was
speedily to attain, and which would ensure his son's obtaining the
most rapid promotion, should he remain in the military service.
Sir Everard's letters were of a different tenor. They were short;
for the good Baronet was none of your illimitable correspondents,
whose manuscript overflows the folds of their large post paper,
and leaves no room for the seal; but they were kind and
affectionate, and seldom concluded without some allusion to our
hero's stud, some question about the state of his purse, and a
special inquiry after such of his recruits as had preceded him
from Waverley-Honour. Aunt Rachel charged him to remember his
principles of religion, to take care of his health, to beware of
Scotch mists, which, she had heard, would wet an Englishman
through and through, never to go out at night without his great-
coat, and, above all, to wear flannel next to his skin.

Mr. Pembroke only wrote to our hero one letter, but it was of the
bulk of six epistles of these degenerate days, containing, in the
moderate compass of ten folio pages, closely written, a precis of
a supplementary quarto manuscript of addenda, delenda, et
corrigenda in reference to the two tracts with which he had
presented Waverley. This he considered as a mere sop in the pan to
stay the appetite of Edward's curiosity until he should find an
opportunity of sending down the volume itself, which was much too
heavy for the post, and which he proposed to accompany with
certain interesting pamphlets, lately published by his friend in
Little Britain, with whom he had kept up a sort of literary
correspondence, in virtue of which the library shelves of
Waverley-Honour were loaded with much trash, and a good round
bill, seldom summed in fewer than three figures, was yearly
transmitted, in which Sir Everard Waverley of Waverley-Honour,
Bart., was marked Dr. to Jonathan Grubbet, bookseller and
stationer, Little Britain. Such had hitherto been the style of the
letters which Edward had received from England; but the packet
delivered to him at Glennaquoich was of a different and more
interesting complexion. It would be impossible for the reader,
even were I to insert the letters at full length, to comprehend
the real cause of their being written, without a glance into the
interior of the British cabinet at the period in question.

The ministers of the day happened (no very singular event) to be
divided into two parties; the weakest of which, making up by
assiduity of intrigue their inferiority in real consequence, had
of late acquired some new proselytes, and with them the hope of
superseding their rivals in the favour of their sovereign, and
overpowering them in the House of Commons. Amongst others, they
had thought it worth while to practise upon Richard Waverley. This
honest gentleman, by a grave mysterious demeanour, an attention to
the etiquette of business rather more than to its essence, a
facility in making long dull speeches, consisting of truisms and
commonplaces, hashed up with a technical jargon of office, which
prevented the inanity of his orations from being discovered, had
acquired a certain name and credit in public life, and even
established, with many, the character of a profound politician;
none of your shining orators, indeed, whose talents evaporate in
tropes of rhetoric and flashes of wit, but one possessed of steady
parts for business, which would wear well, as the ladies say in
choosing their silks, and ought in all reason to be good for
common and every-day use, since they were confessedly formed of no
holiday texture.

This faith had become so general that the insurgent party in the
cabinet, of which we have made mention, after sounding Mr. Richard
Waverley, were so satisfied with his sentiments and abilities as
to propose that, in case of a certain revolution in the ministry,
he should take an ostensible place in the new order of things, not
indeed of the very first rank, but greatly higher, in point both
of emolument and influence, than that which he now enjoyed. There
was no resisting so tempting a proposal, notwithstanding that the
Great Man under whose patronage he had enlisted, and by whose
banner he had hitherto stood firm, was the principal object of the
proposed attack by the new allies. Unfortunately this fair scheme
of ambition was blighted in the very bud by a premature movement.
All the official gentlemen concerned in it who hesitated to take
the part of a voluntary resignation were informed that the king
had no further occasion for their services; and in Richard
Waverley's case, which the minister considered as aggravated by
ingratitude, dismissal was accompanied by something like personal
contempt and contumely. The public, and even the party of whom he
shared the fall, sympathised little in the disappointment of this
selfish and interested statesman; and he retired to the country
under the comfortable reflection that he had lost, at the same
time, character, credit, and,--what he at least equally deplored,
--emolument.

Richard Waverley's letter to his son upon this occasion was a
masterpiece of its kind. Aristides himself could not have made out
a harder case. An unjust monarch and an ungrateful country were
the burden of each rounded paragraph. He spoke of long services
and unrequited sacrifices; though the former had been overpaid by
his salary, and nobody could guess in what the latter consisted,
unless it were in his deserting, not from conviction, but for the
lucre of gain, the Tory principles of his family. In the
conclusion, his resentment was wrought to such an excess by the
force of his own oratory, that he could not repress some threats
of vengeance, however vague and impotent, and finally acquainted
his son with his pleasure that he should testify his sense of the
ill-treatment he had sustained by throwing up his commission as
soon as the letter reached him. This, he said, was also his
uncle's desire, as he would himself intimate in due course.

Accordingly, the next letter which Edward opened was from Sir
Everard. His brother's disgrace seemed to have removed from his
well-natured bosom all recollection of their differences, and,
remote as he was from every means of learning that Richard's
disgrace was in reality only the just as well as natural
consequence of his own unsuccessful intrigues, the good but
credulous Baronet at once set it down as a new and enormous
instance of the injustice of the existing government. It was true,
he said, and he must not disguise it even from Edward, that his
father could not have sustained such an insult as was now, for the
first time, offered to one of his house, unless he had subjected
himself to it by accepting of an employment under the present
system. Sir Everard had no doubt that he now both saw and felt the
magnitude of this error, and it should be his (Sir Everard's)
business to take care that the cause of his regret should not
extend itself to pecuniary consequences. It was enough for a
Waverley to have sustained the public disgrace; the patrimonial
injury could easily be obviated by the head of their family. But
it was both the opinion of Mr. Richard Waverley and his own that
Edward, the representative of the family of Waverley-Honour,
should not remain in a situation which subjected him also to such
treatment as that with which his father had been stigmatised. He
requested his nephew therefore to take the fittest, and at the
same time the most speedy, opportunity of transmitting his
resignation to the War Office, and hinted, moreover, that little
ceremony was necessary where so little had been used to his
father. He sent multitudinous greetings to the Baron of
Bradwardine.

A letter from Aunt Rachel spoke out even more plainly. She
considered the disgrace of brother Richard as the just reward of
his forfeiting his allegiance to a lawful though exiled sovereign,
and taking the oaths to an alien; a concession which her
grandfather, Sir Nigel Waverley, refused to make, either to the
Roundhead Parliament or to Cromwell, when his life and fortune
stood in the utmost extremity. She hoped her dear Edward would
follow the footsteps of his ancestors, and as speedily as possible
get rid of the badge of servitude to the usurping family, and
regard the wrongs sustained by his father as an admonition from
Heaven that every desertion of the line of loyalty becomes its own
punishment. She also concluded with her respects to Mr.
Bradwardine, and begged Waverley would inform her whether his
daughter, Miss Rose, was old enough to wear a pair of very
handsome ear-rings, which she proposed to send as a token of her
affection. The good lady also desired to be informed whether Mr.
Bradwardine took as much Scotch snuff and danced as unweariedly as
he did when he was at Waverley-Honour about thirty years ago.

These letters, as might have been expected, highly excited
Waverley's indignation. From the desultory style of his studies,
he had not any fixed political opinion to place in opposition to
the movements of indignation which he felt at his father's
supposed wrongs. Of the real cause of his disgrace Edward was
totally ignorant; nor had his habits at all led him to investigate
the politics of the period in which he lived, or remark the
intrigues in which his father had been so actively engaged.
Indeed, any impressions which he had accidentally adopted
concerning the parties of the times were (owing to the society in
which he had lived at Waverley-Honour) of a nature rather
unfavourable to the existing government and dynasty. He entered,
therefore, without hesitation into the resentful feeling of the
relations who had the best title to dictate his conduct, and not
perhaps the less willingly when he remembered the tedium of his
quarters, and the inferior figure which he had made among the
officers of his regiment. If he could have had any doubt upon the
subject it would have been decided by the following letter from
his commanding officer, which, as it is very short, shall be
inserted verbatim:--

SIR,--

Having carried somewhat beyond the line of my duty an indulgence
which even the lights of nature, and much more those of
Christianity, direct towards errors which may arise from youth and
inexperience, and that altogether without effect, I am reluctantly
compelled, at the present crisis, to use the only remaining remedy
which is in my power. You are, therefore, hereby commanded to
repair to--, the headquarters of the regiment, within three days
after the date of this letter. If you shall fail to do so, I must
report you to the War Office as absent without leave, and also
take other steps, which will be disagreeable to you as well as to,

Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

J. GARDINER, Lieut.-Col.

Commanding the----Regt. Dragoons.

Edward's blood boiled within him as he read this letter. He had
been accustomed from his very infancy to possess in a great
measure the disposal of his own time, and thus acquired habits
which rendered the rules of military discipline as unpleasing to
him in this as they were in some other respects. An idea that in
his own case they would not be enforced in a very rigid manner had
also obtained full possession of his mind, and had hitherto been
sanctioned by the indulgent conduct of his lieutenant-colonel.
Neither had anything occurred, to his knowledge, that should have
induced his commanding officer, without any other warning than the
hints we noticed at the end of the fourteenth chapter, so suddenly
to assume a harsh and, as Edward deemed it, so insolent a tone of
dictatorial authority. Connecting it with the letters he had just
received from his family, he could not but suppose that it was
designed to make him feel, in his present situation, the same
pressure of authority which had been exercised in his father's
case, and that the whole was a concerted scheme to depress and
degrade every member of the Waverley family.

Without a pause, therefore, Edward wrote a few cold lines,
thanking his lieutenant-colonel for past civilities, and
expressing regret that he should have chosen to efface the
remembrance of them by assuming a different tone towards him. The
strain of his letter, as well as what he (Edward) conceived to be
his duty in the present crisis, called upon him to lay down his
commission; and he therefore inclosed the formal resignation of a
situation which subjected him to so unpleasant a correspondence,
and requested Colonel Gardiner would have the goodness to forward
it to the proper authorities.

Having finished this magnanimous epistle, he felt somewhat
uncertain concerning the terms in which his resignation ought to
be expressed, upon which subject he resolved to consult Fergus
Mac-Ivor. It may be observed in passing that the bold and prompt
habits of thinking, acting, and speaking which distinguished this
young Chieftain had given him a considerable ascendency over the
mind of Waverley. Endowed with at least equal powers of
understanding, and with much finer genius, Edward yet stooped to
the bold and decisive activity of an intellect which was sharpened
by the habit of acting on a preconceived and regular system, as
well as by extensive knowledge of the world.

When Edward found his friend, the latter had still in his hand the
newspaper which he had perused, and advanced to meet him with the
embarrassment of one who has unpleasing news to communicate. 'Do
your letters, Captain Waverley, confirm the unpleasing information
which I find in this paper?'

He put the paper into his hand, where his father's disgrace was
registered in the most bitter terms, transferred probably from
some London journal. At the end of the paragraph was this
remarkable innuendo:--

'We understand that "this same RICHARD who hath done all this" is
not the only example of the WAVERING HONOUR of W-v-r-ly H-n-r. See
the Gazette of this day.'

With hurried and feverish apprehension our hero turned to the
place referred to, and found therein recorded, 'Edward Waverley,
captain in----regiment dragoons, superseded for absence without
leave'; and in the list of military promotions, referring to the
same regiment, he discovered this farther article, 'Lieut. Julius
Butler, to be captain, VICE Edward Waverley, superseded.'

Our hero's bosom glowed with the resentment which undeserved and
apparently premeditated insult was calculated to excite in the
bosom of one who had aspired after honour, and was thus wantonly
held up to public scorn and disgrace. Upon comparing the date of
his colonel's letter with that of the article in the Gazette, he
perceived that his threat of making a report upon his absence had
been literally fulfilled, and without inquiry, as it seemed,
whether Edward had either received his summons or was disposed to
comply with it. The whole, therefore, appeared a formed plan to
degrade him in the eyes of the public; and the idea of its having
succeeded filled him with such bitter emotions that, after various
attempts to conceal them, he at length threw himself into Mac-
Ivor's arms, and gave vent to tears of shame and indignation.

It was none of this Chieftain's faults to be indifferent to the
wrongs of his friends; and for Edward, independent of certain
plans with which he was connected, he felt a deep and sincere
interest. The proceeding appeared as extraordinary to him as it
had done to Edward. He indeed knew of more motives than Waverley
was privy to for the peremptory order that he should join his
regiment. But that, without further inquiry into the circumstances
of a necessary delay, the commanding officer, in contradiction to
his known and established character, should have proceeded in so
harsh and unusual a manner was a mystery which he could not
penetrate. He soothed our hero, however, to the best of his power,
and began to turn his thoughts on revenge for his insulted honour.

Edward eagerly grasped at the idea. 'Will you carry a message for
me to Colonel Gardiner, my dear Fergus, and oblige me for ever?'

Fergus paused. 'It is an act of friendship which you should
command, could it be useful, or lead to the righting your honour;
but in the present case I doubt if your commanding officer would
give you the meeting on account of his having taken measures
which, however harsh and exasperating, were still within the
strict bounds of his duty. Besides, Gardiner is a precise
Huguenot, and has adopted certain ideas about the sinfulness of
such rencontres, from which it would be impossible to make him
depart, especially as his courage is beyond all suspicion. And
besides, I--I, to say the truth--I dare not at this moment, for
some very weighty reasons, go near any of the military quarters or
garrisons belonging to this government.'

'And am I,' said Waverley, 'to sit down quiet and contented under
the injury I have received?'

'That will I never advise my friend,' replied Mac-Ivor. 'But I
would have vengeance to fall on the head, not on the hand, on the
tyrannical and oppressive government which designed and directed
these premeditated and reiterated insults, not on the tools of
office which they employed in the execution of the injuries they
aimed at you.'

'On the government!' said Waverley.

'Yes,' replied the impetuous Highlander, 'on the usurping House of
Hanover, whom your grandfather would no more have served than he
would have taken wages of red-hot gold from the great fiend of
hell!'

'But since the time of my grandfather two generations of this
dynasty have possessed the throne,' said Edward coolly.

'True,' replied the Chieftain; 'and because we have passively
given them so long the means of showing their native character,--
because both you and I myself have lived in quiet submission, have
even truckled to the times so far as to accept commissions under
them, and thus have given them an opportunity of disgracing us
publicly by resuming them, are we not on that account to resent
injuries which our fathers only apprehended, but which we have
actually sustained? Or is the cause of the unfortunate Stuart
family become less just, because their title has devolved upon an
heir who is innocent of the charges of misgovernment brought
against his father? Do you remember the lines of your favourite
poet?

    Had Richard unconstrain'd resign'd the throne,
    A king can give no more than is his own;
    The title stood entail'd had Richard had a son.

You see, my dear Waverley, I can quote poetry as well as Flora and
you. But come, clear your moody brow, and trust to me to show you
an honourable road to a speedy and glorious revenge. Let us seek
Flora, who perhaps has more news to tell us of what has occurred
during our absence. She will rejoice to hear that you are relieved
of your servitude. But first add a postscript to your letter,
marking the time when you received this calvinistical colonel's
first summons, and express your regret that the hastiness of his
proceedings prevented your anticipating them by sending your
resignation. Then let him blush for his injustice.'

The letter was sealed accordingly, covering a formal resignation
of the commission, and Mac-Ivor despatched it with some letters of
his own by a special messenger, with charge to put them into the
nearest post-office in the Lowlands.





CHAPTER XXVI

AN ECLAIRCISSEMENT


The hint which the Chieftain had thrown out respecting Flora was
not unpremeditated. He had observed with great satisfaction the
growing attachment of Waverley to his sister, nor did he see any
bar to their union, excepting the situation which Waverley's
father held in the ministry, and Edward's own commission in the
army of George II. These obstacles were now removed, and in a
manner which apparently paved the way for the son's becoming
reconciled to another allegiance. In every other respect the match
would be most eligible. The safety, happiness, and honourable
provision of his sister, whom he dearly loved, appeared to be
ensured by the proposed union; and his heart swelled when he
considered how his own interest would be exalted in the eyes of
the ex-monarch to whom he had dedicated his service, by an
alliance with one of those ancient, powerful, and wealthy English
families of the steady cavalier faith, to awaken whose decayed
attachment to the Stuart family was now a matter of such vital
importance to the Stuart cause. Nor could Fergus perceive any
obstacle to such a scheme. Waverley's attachment was evident; and
as his person was handsome, and his taste apparently coincided
with her own, he anticipated no opposition on the part of Flora.
Indeed, between his ideas of patriarchal power and those which he
had acquired in France respecting the disposal of females in
marriage, any opposition from his sister, dear as she was to him,
would have been the last obstacle on which he would have
calculated, even had the union been less eligible.

Influenced by these feelings, the Chief now led Waverley in quest
of Miss Mac-Ivor, not without the hope that the present agitation
of his guest's spirits might give him courage to cut short what
Fergus termed the romance of the courtship. They found Flora, with
her faithful attendants, Una and Cathleen, busied in preparing
what appeared to Waverley to be white bridal favours. Disguising
as well as he could the agitation of his mind, Waverley asked for
what joyful occasion Miss Mac-Ivor made such ample preparation.

'It is for Fergus's bridal,' she said, smiling.

'Indeed!' said Edward; 'he has kept his secret well. I hope he
will allow me to be his bride's-man.'

'That is a man's office, but not yours, as Beatrice says,'
retorted Flora.

'And who is the fair lady, may I be permitted to ask, Miss Mac-
Ivor?'

'Did not I tell you long since that Fergus wooed no bride but
Honour?' answered Flora.

'And am I then incapable of being his assistant and counsellor in
the pursuit of honour?' said our hero, colouring deeply. 'Do I
rank so low in your opinion?'

'Far from it, Captain Waverley. I would to God you were of our
determination! and made use of the expression which displeased
you, solely

    Because you are not of our quality,
    But stand against us as an enemy.'

'That time is past, sister,' said Fergus; 'and you may wish
Edward Waverley (no longer captain) joy of being freed from the
slavery to an usurper, implied in that sable and ill-omened
emblem.'

'Yes,' said Waverley, undoing the cockade from his hat, 'it has
pleased the king who bestowed this badge upon me to resume it in a
manner which leaves me little reason to regret his service.'

'Thank God for that!' cried the enthusiast; 'and O that they may
be blind enough to treat every man of honour who serves them with
the same indignity, that I may have less to sigh for when the
struggle approaches!'

'And now, sister,' said the Chieftain, 'replace his cockade with
one of a more lively colour. I think it was the fashion of the
ladies of yore to arm and send forth their knights to high
achievement.'

'Not,' replied the lady, 'till the knight adventurer had well
weighed the justice and the danger of the cause, Fergus. Mr.
Waverley is just now too much agitated by feelings of recent
emotion for me to press upon him a resolution of consequence.'

Waverley felt half alarmed at the thought of adopting the badge of
what was by the majority of the kingdom esteemed rebellion, yet he
could not disguise his chagrin at the coldness with which Flora
parried her brother's hint. 'Miss Mac-Ivor, I perceive, thinks the
knight unworthy of her encouragement and favour,' said he,
somewhat bitterly.

'Not so, Mr. Waverley,' she replied, with great sweetness. 'Why
should I refuse my brother's valued friend a boon which I am
distributing to his whole clan? Most willingly would I enlist
every man of honour in the cause to which my brother has devoted
himself. But Fergus has taken his measures with his eyes open. His
life has been devoted to this cause from his cradle; with him its
call is sacred, were it even a summons to the tomb. But how can I
wish you, Mr. Waverley, so new to the world, so far from every
friend who might advise and ought to influence you,--in a moment,
too, of sudden pique and indignation,--how can I wish you to
plunge yourself at once into so desperate an enterprise?'

Fergus, who did not understand these delicacies, strode through
the apartment biting his lip, and then, with a constrained smile,
said, 'Well, sister, I leave you to act your new character of
mediator between the Elector of Hanover and the subjects of your
lawful sovereign and benefactor,' and left the room.

There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by Miss Mac-
Ivor. 'My brother is unjust,' she said, 'because he can bear no
interruption that seems to thwart his loyal zeal.'

'And do you not share his ardour?' asked Waverley,

'Do I not?' answered Flora. 'God knows mine exceeds his, if that
be possible. But I am not, like him, rapt by the bustle of
military preparation, and the infinite detail necessary to the
present undertaking, beyond consideration of the grand principles
of justice and truth, on which our enterprise is grounded; and
these, I am certain, can only be furthered by measures in
themselves true and just. To operate upon your present feelings,
my dear Mr. Waverley, to induce you to an irretrievable step, of
which you have not considered either the justice or the danger,
is, in my poor judgment, neither the one nor the other.'

'Incomparable Flora!' said Edward, taking her hand, 'how much do I
need such a monitor!'

'A better one by far,' said Flora, gently withdrawing her hand,
'Mr. Waverley will always find in his own bosom, when he will give
its small still voice leisure to be heard.'

'No, Miss Mac-Ivor, I dare not hope it; a thousand circumstances
of fatal self-indulgence have made me the creature rather of
imagination than reason. Durst I but hope--could I but think--that
you would deign to be to me that affectionate, that condescending
friend, who would strengthen me to redeem my errors, my future
life--'

'Hush, my dear sir! now you carry your joy at escaping the hands
of a Jacobite recruiting officer to an unparalleled excess of
gratitude.'

'Nay, dear Flora, trifle with me no longer; you cannot mistake the
meaning of those feelings which I have almost involuntarily
expressed; and since I have broken the barrier of silence, let me
profit by my audacity. Or may I, with your permission, mention to
your brother--'

'Not for the world, Mr. Waverley!'

'What am I to understand?' said Edward. 'Is there any fatal bar--
has any prepossession--'

'None, sir,' answered Flora. 'I owe it to myself to say that I
never yet saw the person on whom I thought with reference to the
present subject.'

'The shortness of our acquaintance, perhaps--If Miss Mac-Ivor will
deign to give me time--'

'I have not even that excuse. Captain Waverley's character is so
open--is, in short, of that nature that it cannot be misconstrued,
either in its strength or its weakness.'

'And for that weakness you despise me?' said Edward.

'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley--and remember it is but within this half
hour that there existed between us a barrier of a nature to me
insurmountable, since I never could think of an officer in the
service of the Elector of Hanover in any other light than as a
casual acquaintance. Permit me then to arrange my ideas upon so
unexpected a topic, and in less than an hour I will be ready to
give you such reasons for the resolution I shall express as may be
satisfactory at least, if not pleasing to you.' So saying Flora
withdrew, leaving Waverley to meditate upon the manner in which
she had received his addresses.

Ere he could make up his mind whether to believe his suit had been
acceptable or no, Fergus re-entered the apartment. 'What, a la
mort, Waverley?' he cried. 'Come down with me to the court, and
you shall see a sight worth all the tirades of your romances. An
hundred firelocks, my friend, and as many broadswords, just
arrived from good friends; and two or three hundred stout fellows
almost fighting which shall first possess them. But let me look at
you closer. Why, a true Highlander would say you had been blighted
by an evil eye. Or can it be this silly girl that has thus blanked
your spirit. Never mind her, dear Edward; the wisest of her sex
are fools in what regards the business of life.'

'Indeed, my good friend,' answered Waverley, 'all that I can
charge against your sister is, that she is too sensible, too
reasonable.'

'If that be all, I ensure you for a louis-d'or against the mood
lasting four-and-twenty hours. No woman was ever steadily sensible
for that period; and I will engage, if that will please you, Flora
shall be as unreasonable to-morrow as any of her sex. You must
learn, my dear Edward, to consider women en mousquetaire.' So
saying, he seized Waverley's arm and dragged him off to review his
military preparations.





CHAPTER XXVII

UPON THE SAME SUBJECT


Fergus Mac-Ivor had too much tact and delicacy to renew the
subject which he had interrupted. His head was, or appeared to be,
so full of guns, broadswords, bonnets, canteens, and tartan hose
that Waverley could not for some time draw his attention to any
other topic.

'Are you to take the field so soon, Fergus,' he asked, 'that you
are making all these martial preparations?'

'When we have settled that you go with me, you shall know all; but
otherwise, the knowledge might rather be prejudicial to you.'

'But are you serious in your purpose, with such inferior forces,
to rise against an established government? It is mere frenzy.'

'Laissez faire a Don Antoine; I shall take good care of myself. We
shall at least use the compliment of Conan, who never got a stroke
but he gave one. I would not, however,' continued the Chieftain,
'have you think me mad enough to stir till a favourable
opportunity: I will not slip my dog before the game's afoot. But,
once more, will you join with us, and you shall know all?'

'How can I?' said Waverley; 'I, who have so lately held that
commission which is now posting back to those that gave it? My
accepting it implied a promise of fidelity, and an acknowledgment
of the legality of the government.'

'A rash promise,' answered Fergus, 'is not a steel handcuff, it
may be shaken off, especially when it was given under deception,
and has been repaid by insult. But if you cannot immediately make
up your mind to a glorious revenge, go to England, and ere you
cross the Tweed you will hear tidings that will make the world
ring; and if Sir Everard be the gallant old cavalier I have heard
him described by some of our HONEST gentlemen of the year one
thousand seven hundred and fifteen, he will find you a better
horse-troop and a better cause than you have lost.'

'But your sister, Fergus?'

'Out, hyperbolical fiend!' replied the Chief, laughing; 'how
vexest thou this man! Speak'st thou of nothing but of ladies?'

'Nay, be serious, my dear friend,' said Waverley; 'I feel that the
happiness of my future life must depend upon the answer which Miss
Mac-Ivor shall make to what I ventured to tell her this morning.'

'And is this your very sober earnest,' said Fergus, more gravely,
'or are we in the land of romance and fiction?'

'My earnest, undoubtedly. How could you suppose me jesting on such
a subject?'

'Then, in very sober earnest,' answered his friend, 'I am very
glad to hear it; and so highly do I think of Flora, that you are
the only man in England for whom I would say so much. But before
you shake my hand so warmly, there is more to be considered. Your
own family--will they approve your connecting yourself with the
sister of a high-born Highland beggar?'

'My uncle's situation,' said Waverley, 'his general opinions, and
his uniform indulgence, entitle me to say, that birth and personal
qualities are all he would look to in such a connection. And where
can I find both united in such excellence as in your sister?'

'O nowhere! cela va sans dire,' replied Fergus, with a smile. 'But
your father will expect a father's prerogative in being
consulted.'

'Surely; but his late breach with the ruling powers removes all
apprehension of objection on his part, especially as I am
convinced that my uncle will be warm in my cause.'

'Religion perhaps,' said Fergus, 'may make obstacles, though we
are not bigotted Catholics.'

'My grandmother was of the Church of Rome, and her religion was
never objected to by my family. Do not think of MY friends, dear
Fergus; let me rather have your influence where it may be more
necessary to remove obstacles--I mean with your lovely sister.'

'My lovely sister,' replied Fergus, 'like her loving brother, is
very apt to have a pretty decisive will of her own, by which, in
this case, you must be ruled; but you shall not want my interest,
nor my counsel. And, in the first place, I will give you one hint
--Loyalty is her ruling passion; and since she could spell an
English book she has been in love with the memory of the gallant
Captain Wogan, who renounced the service of the usurper Cromwell
to join the standard of Charles II, marched a handful of cavalry
from London to the Highlands to join Middleton, then in arms for
the king, and at length died gloriously in the royal cause. Ask
her to show you some verses she made on his history and fate; they
have been much admired, I assure you. The next point is--I think
I saw Flora go up towards the waterfall a short time since;
follow, man, follow! don't allow the garrison time to strengthen
its purposes of resistance. Alerte a la muraille! Seek Flora out,
and learn her decision as soon as you can, and Cupid go with you,
while I go to look over belts and cartouch-boxes.'

Waverley ascended the glen with an anxious and throbbing heart.
Love, with all its romantic train of hopes, fears, and wishes, was
mingled with other feelings of a nature less easily defined. He
could not but remember how much this morning had changed his fate,
and into what a complication of perplexity it was likely to plunge
him. Sunrise had seen him possessed of an esteemed rank in the
honourable profession of arms, his father to all appearance
rapidly rising in the favour of his sovereign. All this had passed
away like a dream: he himself was dishonoured, his father
disgraced, and he had become involuntarily the confidant at least,
if not the accomplice, of plans, dark, deep, and dangerous, which
must infer either the subversion of the government he had so
lately served or the destruction of all who had participated in
them. Should Flora even listen to his suit favourably, what
prospect was there of its being brought to a happy termination
amid the tumult of an impending insurrection? Or how could he make
the selfish request that she should leave Fergus, to whom she was
so much attached, and, retiring with him to England, wait, as a
distant spectator, the success of her brother's undertaking, or
the ruin of all his hopes and fortunes? Or, on the other hand, to
engage himself, with no other aid than his single arm, in the
dangerous and precipitate counsels of the Chieftain, to be whirled
along by him, the partaker of all his desperate and impetuous
motions, renouncing almost the power of judging, or deciding upon
the rectitude or prudence of his actions, this was no pleasing
prospect for the secret pride of Waverley to stoop to. And yet
what other conclusion remained, saving the rejection of his
addresses by Flora, an alternative not to be thought of in the
present high-wrought state of his feelings with anything short of
mental agony. Pondering the doubtful and dangerous prospect before
him, he at length arrived near the cascade, where, as Fergus had
augured, he found Flora seated.

She was quite alone, and as soon as she observed his approach she
rose and came to meet him. Edward attempted to say something
within the verge of ordinary compliment and conversation, but
found himself unequal to the task. Flora seemed at first equally
embarrassed, but recovered herself more speedily, and (an
unfavourable augury for Waverley's suit) was the first to enter
upon the subject of their last interview. 'It is too important, in
every point of view, Mr. Waverley, to permit me to leave you in
doubt on my sentiments.'

'Do not speak them speedily,' said Waverley, much agitated,
'unless they are such as I fear, from your manner, I must not dare
to anticipate. Let time--let my future conduct--let your brother's
influence--'

'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley,' said Flora, her complexion a little
heightened, but her voice firm and composed. 'I should incur my
own heavy censure did I delay expressing my sincere conviction
that I can never regard you otherwise than as a valued friend. I
should do you the highest injustice did I conceal my sentiments
for a moment. I see I distress you, and I grieve for it, but
better now than later; and O, better a thousand times, Mr.
Waverley, that you should feel a present momentary disappointment
than the long and heart-sickening griefs which attend a rash and
ill-assorted marriage!'

'Good God!' exclaimed Waverley, 'why should you anticipate such
consequences from a union where birth is equal, where fortune is
favourable, where, if I may venture to say so, the tastes are
similar, where you allege no preference for another, where you
even express a favourable opinion of him whom you reject?'

'Mr. Waverley, I HAVE that favourable opinion,' answered Flora;
'and so strongly that, though I would rather have been silent on
the grounds of my resolution, you shall command them, if you exact
such a mark of my esteem and confidence.'

She sat down upon a fragment of rock, and Waverley, placing
himself near her, anxiously pressed for the explanation she
offered.

'I dare hardly,' she said, 'tell you the situation of my feelings,
they are so different from those usually ascribed to young women
at my period of life; and I dare hardly touch upon what I
conjecture to be the nature of yours, lest I should give offence
where I would willingly administer consolation. For myself, from
my infancy till this day I have had but one wish--the restoration
of my royal benefactors to their rightful throne. It is impossible
to express to you the devotion of my feelings to this single
subject; and I will frankly confess that it has so occupied my
mind as to exclude every thought respecting what is called my own
settlement in life. Let me but live to see the day of that happy
restoration, and a Highland cottage, a French convent, or an
English palace will be alike indifferent to me.'

'But, dearest Flora, how is your enthusiastic zeal for the exiled
family inconsistent with my happiness?'

'Because you seek, or ought to seek, in the object of your
attachment a heart whose principal delight should be in augmenting
your domestic felicity and returning your affection, even to the
height of romance. To a man of less keen sensibility, and less
enthusiastic tenderness of disposition, Flora Mac-Ivor might give
content, if not happiness; for, were the irrevocable words spoken,
never would she be deficient in the duties which she vowed.'

'And why,--why, Miss Mac-Ivor, should you think yourself a more
valuable treasure to one who is less capable of loving, of
admiring you, than to me?'

'Simply because the tone of our affections would be more in
unison, and because his more blunted sensibility would not require
the return of enthusiasm which I have not to bestow. But you, Mr.
Waverley, would for ever refer to the idea of domestic happiness
which your imagination is capable of painting, and whatever fell
short of that ideal representation would be construed into
coolness and indifference, while you might consider the enthusiasm
with which I regarded the success of the royal family as
defrauding your affection of its due return.'

'In other words, Miss Mac-Ivor, you cannot love me?' said her
suitor dejectedly.

'I could esteem you, Mr. Waverley, as much, perhaps more, than any
man I have ever seen; but I cannot love you as you ought to be
loved. O! do not, for your own sake, desire so hazardous an
experiment! The woman whom you marry ought to have affections and
opinions moulded upon yours. Her studies ought to be your studies;
her wishes, her feelings, her hopes, her fears, should all mingle
with yours. She should enhance your pleasures, share your sorrows,
and cheer your melancholy.'

'And why will not you, Miss Mac-Ivor, who can so well describe a
happy union, why will not you be yourself the person you
describe?'

'Is it possible you do not yet comprehend me?' answered Flora.
'Have I not told you that every keener sensation of my mind is
bent exclusively towards an event upon which, indeed, I have no
power but those of my earnest prayers?'

'And might not the granting the suit I solicit,' said Waverley,
too earnest on his purpose to consider what he was about to say,
'even advance the interest to which you have devoted yourself? My
family is wealthy and powerful, inclined in principles to the
Stuart race, and should a favourable opportunity--'

'A favourable opportunity!' said Flora--somewhat scornfully.
'Inclined in principles! Can such lukewarm adherence be honourable
to yourselves, or gratifying to your lawful sovereign? Think, from
my present feelings, what I should suffer when I held the place of
member in a family where the rights which I hold most sacred are
subjected to cold discussion, and only deemed worthy of support
when they shall appear on the point of triumphing without it!'

'Your doubts,' quickly replied Waverley, 'are unjust as far as
concerns myself. The cause that I shall assert, I dare support
through every danger, as undauntedly as the boldest who draws
sword in its behalf.'

'Of that,' answered Flora, 'I cannot doubt for a moment. But
consult your own good sense and reason rather than a prepossession
hastily adopted, probably only because you have met a young woman
possessed of the usual accomplishments in a sequestered and
romantic situation. Let your part in this great and perilous drama
rest upon conviction, and not on a hurried and probably a
temporary feeling.'

Waverley attempted to reply, but his words failed him. Every
sentiment that Flora had uttered vindicated the strength of his
attachment; for even her loyalty, although wildly enthusiastic,
was generous and noble, and disdained to avail itself of any
indirect means of supporting the cause to which she was devoted.

After walking a little way in silence down the path, Flora thus
resumed the conversation.--'One word more, Mr. Waverley, ere we
bid farewell to this topic for ever; and forgive my boldness if
that word have the air of advice. My brother Fergus is anxious
that you should join him in his present enterprise. But do not
consent to this; you could not, by your single exertions, further
his success, and you would inevitably share his fall, if it be
God's pleasure that fall he must. Your character would also suffer
irretrievably. Let me beg you will return to your own country;
and, having publicly freed yourself from every tie to the usurping
government, I trust you will see cause, and find opportunity, to
serve your injured sovereign with effect, and stand forth, as your
loyal ancestors, at the head of your natural followers and
adherents, a worthy representative of the house of Waverley.'

'And should I be so happy as thus to distinguish myself, might I
not hope--'

'Forgive my interruption,' said Flora. 'The present time only is
ours, and I can but explain to you with candour the feelings which
I now entertain; how they might be altered by a train of events
too favourable perhaps to be hoped for, it were in vain even to
conjecture. Only be assured, Mr. Waverley, that, after my
brother's honour and happiness, there is none which I shall more
sincerely pray for than for yours.'

With these words she parted from him, for they were now arrived
where two paths separated. Waverley reached the castle amidst a
medley of conflicting passions. He avoided any private interview
with Fergus, as he did not find himself able either to encounter
his raillery or reply to his solicitations. The wild revelry of
the feast, for Mac-Ivor kept open table for his clan, served in
some degree to stun reflection. When their festivity was ended, he
began to consider how he should again meet Miss Mac-Ivor after the
painful and interesting explanation of the morning. But Flora did
not appear. Fergus, whose eyes flashed when he was told by
Cathleen that her mistress designed to keep her apartment that
evening, went himself in quest of her; but apparently his
remonstrances were in vain, for he returned with a heightened
complexion and manifest symptoms of displeasure. The rest of the
evening passed on without any allusion, on the part either of
Fergus or Waverley, to the subject which engrossed the reflections
of the latter, and perhaps of both.

When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavoured to sum up
the business of the day. That the repulse he had received from
Flora would be persisted in for the present, there was no doubt.
But could he hope for ultimate success in case circumstances
permitted the renewal of his suit? Would the enthusiastic loyalty,
which at this animating moment left no room for a softer passion,
survive, at least in its engrossing force, the success or the
failure of the present political machinations? And if so, could he
hope that the interest which she had acknowledged him to possess
in her favour might be improved into a warmer attachment? He taxed
his memory to recall every word she had used, with the appropriate
looks and gestures which had enforced them, and ended by finding
himself in the same state of uncertainty. It was very late before
sleep brought relief to the tumult of his mind, after the most
painful and agitating day which he had ever passed.





CHAPTER XXVIII

A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN


In the morning, when Waverley's troubled reflections had for some
time given way to repose, there came music to his dreams, but not
the voice of Selma. He imagined himself transported back to Tully-
Veolan, and that he heard Davie Gellatley singing in the court
those matins which used generally to be the first sounds that
disturbed his repose while a guest of the Baron of Bradwardine.
The notes which suggested this vision continued, and waxed louder,
until Edward awoke in earnest. The illusion, however, did not seem
entirely dispelled. The apartment was in the fortress of lan nan
Chaistel, but it was still the voice of Davie Gellatley that made
the following lines resound under the window:--

    My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
    My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
    A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
    My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

[Footnote: These lines form the burden of an old song to which
Burns wrote additional verses.]

Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellatley on an
excursion of such unwonted extent, Edward began to dress himself
in all haste, during which operation the minstrelsy of Davie
changed its tune more than once:--

    There's nought in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,
    And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks,
    Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon,
    But we'll a'win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.

[Footnote: These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune
of          We'll never hae peace till Jamie comes hame, to which
Burns likewise wrote some verses.]

By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth, David had
associated himself with two or three of the numerous Highland
loungers who always graced the gates of the castle with their
presence, and was capering and dancing full merrily in the doubles
and full career of a Scotch foursome reel, to the music of his own
whistling. In this double capacity of dancer and musician he
continued, until an idle piper, who observed his zeal, obeyed the
unanimous call of seid suas (i.e. blow up), and relieved him from
the latter part of his trouble. Young and old then mingled in the
dance as they could find partners. The appearance of Waverley did
not interrupt David's exercise, though he contrived, by grinning,
nodding, and throwing one or two inclinations of the body into the
graces with which he performed the Highland fling, to convey to
our hero symptoms of recognition. Then, while busily employed in
setting, whooping all the while, and snapping his fingers over his
head, he of a sudden prolonged his side-step until it brought him
to the place where Edward was standing, and, still keeping time to
the music like Harlequin in a pantomime, he thrust a letter into
our hero's hand, and continued his saltation without pause or
intermission. Edward, who perceived that the address was in Rose's
hand-writing, retired to peruse it, leaving the faithful bearer to
continue his exercise until the piper or he should be tired out.

The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had
originally commenced with 'Dear Sir'; but these words had been
carefully erased, and the monosyllable 'Sir' substituted in their
place. The rest of the contents shall be given in Rose's own
language.

I fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon you, yet I
cannot trust to any one else to let you know some things which
have happened here, with which it seems necessary you should be
acquainted. Forgive me, if I am wrong in what I am doing; for,
alas! Mr. Waverley, I have no better advice than that of my own
feelings; my dear father is gone from this place, and when he can
return to my assistance and protection, God alone knows. You have
probably heard that, in consequence of some troublesome news from
the Highlands, warrants were sent out for apprehending several
gentlemen in these parts, and, among others, my dear father. In
spite of all my tears and entreaties that he would surrender
himself to the government, he joined with Mr. Falconer and some
other gentlemen, and they have all gone northwards, with a body of
about forty horsemen. So I am not so anxious concerning his
immediate safety as about what may follow afterwards, for these
troubles are only beginning. But all this is nothing to you, Mr.
Waverley, only I thought you would be glad to learn that my father
has escaped, in case you happen to have heard that he was in
danger.

The day after my father went off there came a party of soldiers to
Tully-Veolan, and behaved very rudely to Bailie Macwheeble; but
the officer was very civil to me, only said his duty obliged him
to search for arms and papers. My father had provided against this
by taking away all the arms except the old useless things which
hung in the hall, and he had put all his papers out of the way.
But O! Mr. Waverley, how shall I tell you, that they made strict
inquiry after you, and asked when you had been at Tully-Veolan,
and where you now were. The officer is gone back with his party,
but a non-commissioned officer and four men remain as a sort of
garrison in the house. They have hitherto behaved very well, as we
are forced to keep them in good-humour. But these soldiers have
hinted as if, on your falling into their hands, you would be in
great danger; I cannot prevail on myself to write what wicked
falsehoods they said, for I am sure they are falsehoods; but you
will best judge what you ought to do. The party that returned
carried off your servant prisoner, with your two horses, and
everything that you left at Tully-Veolan. I hope God will protect
you, and that you will get safe home to England, where you used to
tell me there was no military violence nor fighting among clans
permitted, but everything was done according to an equal law that
protected all who were harmless and innocent. I hope you will
exert your indulgence as to my boldness in writing to you, where
it seems to me, though perhaps erroneously, that your safety and
honour are concerned. I am sure--at least I think, my father
would approve of my writing; for Mr. Rubrick is fled to his
cousin's at the Duchran, to to be out of danger from the soldiers
and the Whigs, and Bailie Macwheeble does not like to meddle (he
says) in other men's concerns, though I hope what may serve my
father's friend at such a time as this cannot be termed improper
interference. Farewell, Captain Waverley! I shall probaby never
see you more; for it would be very improper to wish you to call at
Tully-Veolan just now, even if these men were gone; but I will
always remember with gratitude your kindness in assisting so poor
a scholar as myself, and your attentions to my dear, dear father.

I remain, your obliged servant,

ROSE COMYNE BRADWARDINE.

P.S.--I hope you will send me a line by David Gellatley, just to
say you have received this and that you will take care of
yourself; and forgive me if I entreat you, for your own sake, to
join none of these unhappy cabals, but escape, as fast as
possible, to your own fortunate country. My compliments to my dear
Flora and to Glennaquoich. Is she not as handsome and accomplished
as I have described her?

Thus concluded the letter of Rose Bradwardine, the contents of
which both surprised and affected Waverley. That the Baron should
fall under the suspicions of government, in consequence of the
present stir among the partisans of the house of Stuart, seemed
only the natural consequence of his political predilections; but
how HE himself should have been involved in such suspicions,
conscious that until yesterday he had been free from harbouring a
thought against the prosperity of the reigning family, seemed
inexplicable. Both at Tully-Veolan and Glennaquoich his hosts had
respected his engagements with the existing government, and though
enough passed by accidental innuendo that might induce him to
reckon the Baron and the Chief among those disaffected gentlemen
who were still numerous in Scotland, yet until his own connection
with the army had been broken off by the resumption of his
commission, he had no reason to suppose that they nourished any
immediate or hostile attempts against the present establishment.
Still he was aware that, unless he meant at once to embrace the
proposal of Fergus Mac-Ivor, it would deeply concern him to leave
the suspicious neighbourhood without delay, and repair where his
conduct might undergo a satisfactory examination. Upon this he the
rather determined, as Flora's advice favoured his doing so, and
because he felt inexpressible repugnance at the idea of being
accessary to the plague of civil war. Whatever were the original
rights of the Stuarts, calm reflection told him that, omitting the
question how far James the Second could forfeit those of his
posterity, he had, according to the united voice of the whole
nation, justly forfeited his own. Since that period four monarchs
had reigned in peace and glory over Britain, sustaining and
exalting the character of the nation abroad and its liberties at
home. Reason asked, was it worth while to disturb a government so
long settled and established, and to plunge a kingdom into all the
miseries of civil war, for the purpose of replacing upon the
throne the descendants of a monarch by whom it had been wilfully
forfeited? If, on the other hand, his own final conviction of the
goodness of their cause, or the commands of his father or uncle,
should recommend to him allegiance to the Stuarts, still it was
necessary to clear his own character by showing that he had not,
as seemed to be falsely insinuated, taken any step to this purpose
during his holding the commission of the reigning monarch,

The affectionate simplicity of Rose and her anxiety for his
safety, his sense too of her unprotected state, and of the terror
and actual dangers to which she might be exposed, made an
impression upon his mind, and he instantly wrote to thank her in
the kindest terms for her solicitude on his account, to express
his earnest good wishes for her welfare and that of her father,
and to assure her of his own safety. The feelings which this task
excited were speedily lost in the necessity which he now saw of
bidding farewell to Flora Mac-Ivor, perhaps for ever. The pang
attending this reflection was inexpressible; for her high-minded
elevation of character, her self-devotion to the cause which she
had embraced, united to her scrupulous rectitude as to the means
of serving it, had vindicated to his judgment the choice adopted
by his passions. But time pressed, calumny was busy with his fame,
and every hour's delay increased the power to injure it. His
departure must be instant.

With this determination he sought out Fergus, and communicated to
him the contents of Rose's letter, with his own resolution
instantly to go to Edinburgh, and put into the hands of some one
or other of those persons of influence to whom he had letters from
his father his exculpation from any charge which might be
preferred against him.

'You run your head into the lion's mouth,' answered Mac-Ivor. 'You
do not know the severity of a government harassed by just
apprehensions, and a consciousness of their own illegality and
insecurity. I shall have to deliver you from some dungeon in
Stirling or Edinburgh Castle.'

'My innocence, my rank, my father's intimacy with Lord M--,
General G--, etc., will be a sufficient protection,' said
Waverley.

'You will find the contrary,' replied the Chieftain, 'these
gentlemen will have enough to do about their own matters. Once
more, will you take the plaid, and stay a little while with us
among the mists and the crows, in the bravest cause ever sword was
drawn in?'

[Footnote: A Highland rhyme on Glencairn's Expedition, in 1650,
has these lines--

      We'll bide a while amang ta crows,
      We'll wiske ta sword and bend ta bows]

'For many reasons, my dear Fergus, you must hold me excused.'

'Well then,' said Mac-Ivor, 'I shall certainly find you exerting
your poetical talents in elegies upon a prison, or your
antiquarian researches in detecting the Oggam [Footnote: The Oggam
is a species of the old Irish character. The idea of the
correspondence betwixt the Celtic and Punic, founded on a scene in
Plautus, was not started till General Vallancey set up his theory,
long after the date of Fergus Mac-Ivor] character or some Punic
hieroglyphic upon the keystones of a vault, curiously arched. Or
what say you to un petit pendement bien joli? against which
awkward ceremony I don't warrant you, should you meet a body of
the armed West-Country Whigs.'

'And why should they use me so?' said Waverley.

'For a hundred good reasons,' answered Fergus. 'First, you are an
Englishman; secondly, a gentleman; thirdly, a prelatist abjured;
and, fourthly, they have not had an opportunity to exercise their
talents on such a subject this long while. But don't be cast down,
beloved; all will be done in the fear of the Lord.'

'Well, I must run my hazard.'

'You are determined, then?'

'I am.'

'Wilful will do't' said Fergus. 'But you cannot go on foot, and I
shall want no horse, as I must march on foot at the head of the
children of Ivor; you shall have brown Dermid.'

'If you will sell him, I shall certainly be much obliged.'

'If your proud English heart cannot be obliged by a gift or loan,
I will not refuse money at the entrance of a campaign: his price
is twenty guineas. [Remember, reader, it was Sixty Years Since.]
And when do you propose to depart?'

'The sooner the better,' answered Waverley.

'You are right, since go you must, or rather, since go you will. I
will take Flora's pony and ride with you as far as Bally-Brough.
Callum Beg, see that our horses are ready, with a pony for
yourself, to attend and carry Mr. Waverley's baggage as far as--
(naming a small town), where he can have a horse and guide to
Edinburgh. Put on a Lowland dress, Callum, and see you keep your
tongue close, if you would not have me cut it out. Mr. Waverley
rides Dermid.' Then turning to Edward, 'You will take leave of my
sister?'

'Surely--that is, if Miss Mac-Ivor will honour me so far.'

'Cathleen, let my sister know Mr. Waverley wishes to bid her
farewell before he leaves us. But Rose Bradwardine, her situation
must be thought of; I wish she were here. And why should she not?
There are but four red-coats at Tully-Veolan, and their muskets
would be very useful to us.'

To these broken remarks Edward made no answer; his ear indeed
received them, but his soul was intent upon the expected entrance
of Flora. The door opened. It was but Cathleen, with her lady's
excuse, and wishes for Captain Waverley's health and happiness.





CHAPTER XXIX

WAVERLEY'S RECEPTION IN THE LOWLANDS AFTER HIS HIGHLAND TOUR


It was noon when the two friends stood at the top of the pass of
Bally-Brough. 'I must go no farther,' said Fergus Mac-Ivor, who
during the journey had in vain endeavoured to raise his friend's
spirits. 'If my cross-grained sister has any share in your
dejection, trust me she thinks highly of you, though her present
anxiety about the public cause prevents her listening to any other
subject. Confide your interest to me; I will not betray it,
providing you do not again assume that vile cockade.'

'No fear of that, considering the manner in which it has been
recalled. Adieu, Fergus; do not permit your sister to forget me.'

'And adieu, Waverley; you may soon hear of her with a prouder
title. Get home, write letters, and make friends as many and as
fast as you can; there will speedily be unexpected guests on the
coast of Suffolk, or my news from France has deceived
me.' [Footnote: The sanguine Jacobites, during the eventful years
1745-46, kept up the spirits of their party by the rumour of
descents from France on behalf of the Chevalier St. George.]

Thus parted the friends; Fergus returning back to his castle,
while Edward, followed by Callum Beg, the latter transformed from
point to point into a Low-Country groom, proceeded to the little
town of--.

Edward paced on under the painful and yet not altogether
embittered feelings which separation and uncertainty produce in
the mind of a youthful lover. I am not sure if the ladies
understand the full value of the influence of absence, nor do I
think it wise to teach it them, lest, like the Clelias and
Mandanes of yore, they should resume the humour of sending their
lovers into banishment. Distance, in truth, produces in idea the
same effect as in real perspective. Objects are softened, and
rounded, and rendered doubly graceful; the harsher and more
ordinary points of character are mellowed down, and those by which
it is remembered are the more striking outlines that mark
sublimity, grace, or beauty. There are mists too in the mental as
well as the natural horizon, to conceal what is less pleasing in
distant objects, and there are happy lights, to stream in full
glory upon those points which can profit by brilliant
illumination.

Waverley forgot Flora Mac-Ivor's prejudices in her magnanimity,
and almost pardoned her indifference towards his affection when he
recollected the grand and decisive object which seemed to fill her
whole soul. She, whose sense of duty so wholly engrossed her in
the cause of a benefactor, what would be her feelings in favour of
the happy individual who should be so fortunate as to awaken them?
Then came the doubtful question, whether he might not be that
happy man,--a question which fancy endeavoured to answer in the
affirmative, by conjuring up all she had said in his praise, with
the addition of a comment much more flattering than the text
warranted. All that was commonplace, all that belonged to the
every-day world, was melted away and obliterated in those dreams
of imagination, which only remembered with advantage the points of
grace and dignity that distinguished Flora from the generality of
her sex, not the particulars which she held in common with them.
Edward was, in short, in the fair way of creating a goddess out of
a high-spirited, accomplished, and beautiful young woman; and the
time was wasted in castle-building until, at the descent of a
steep hill, he saw beneath him the market-town of ----.

The Highland politeness of Callum Beg--there are few nations, by
the way, who can boast of so much natural politeness as the
Highlanders [Footnote: The Highlander, in former times, had always
a high idea of his own gentility, and was anxious to impress the
same upon those with whom he conversed. His language abounded in
the phrases of courtesy and compliment; and the habit of carrying
arms, and mixing with those who did so, made it particularly
desirable they should use cautious politeness in their intercourse
with each other.]--the Highland civility of his attendant had not
permitted him to disturb the reveries of our hero. But observing
him rouse himself at the sight of the village, Callum pressed
closer to his side, and hoped 'when they cam to the public, his
honour wad not say nothing about Vich Ian Vohr, for ta people were
bitter Whigs, deil burst tem.'

Waverley assured the prudent page that he would be cautious; and
as he now distinguished, not indeed the ringing of bells, but the
tinkling of something like a hammer against the side of an old
mossy, green, inverted porridge-pot that hung in an open booth, of
the size and shape of a parrot's cage, erected to grace the east
end of a building resembling an old barn, he asked Callum Beg if
it were Sunday.

'Could na say just preceesely; Sunday seldom cam aboon the pass of
Bally-Brough.'

On entering the town, however, and advancing towards the most
apparent public-house which presented itself, the numbers of old
women, in tartan screens and red cloaks, who streamed from the
barn-resembling building, debating as they went the comparative
merits of the blessed youth Jabesh Rentowel and that chosen vessel
Maister Goukthrapple, induced Callum to assure his temporary
master 'that it was either ta muckle Sunday hersell, or ta little
government Sunday that they ca'd ta fast.'

On alighting at the sign of the Seven-branched Golden Candlestick,
which, for the further delectation of the guests, was graced with
a short Hebrew motto, they were received by mine host, a tall thin
puritanical figure, who seemed to debate with himself whether he
ought to give shelter to those who travelled on such a day.
Reflecting, however, in all probability, that he possessed the
power of mulcting them for this irregularity, a penalty which they
might escape by passing into Gregor Duncanson's, at the sign of
the Highlander and the Hawick Gill, Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks
condescended to admit them into his dwelling.

To this sanctified person Waverley addressed his request that he
would procure him a guide, with a saddle-horse, to carry his
portmanteau to Edinburgh.

'And whar may ye be coming from?' demanded mine host of the
Candlestick.

'I have told you where I wish to go; I do not conceive any further
information necessary either for the guide or his saddle-horse.'

'Hem! Ahem!' returned he of the Candlestick, somewhat disconcerted
at this rebuff. 'It's the general fast, sir, and I cannot enter
into ony carnal transactions on sic a day, when the people should
be humbled and the backsliders should return, as worthy Mr.
Goukthrapple said; and moreover when, as the precious Mr. Jabesh
Rentowel did weel observe, the land was mourning for covenants
burnt, broken, and buried.'

'My good friend,' said Waverley, 'if you cannot let me have a
horse and guide, my servant shall seek them elsewhere.'

'Aweel! Your servant? and what for gangs he not forward wi' you
himsell?'

Waverley had but very little of a captain of horse's spirit within
him--I mean of that sort of spirit which I have been obliged to
when I happened, in a mail coach or diligence, to meet some
military man who has kindly taken upon him the disciplining of the
waiters and the taxing of reckonings. Some of this useful talent
our hero had, however, acquired during his military service, and
on this gross provocation it began seriously to arise. 'Look ye,
sir; I came here for my own accommodation, and not to answer
impertinent questions. Either say you can, or cannot, get me what
I want; I shall pursue my course in either case.'

Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks left the room with some indistinct
mutterings; but whether negative or acquiescent, Edward could not
well distinguish. The hostess, a civil, quiet, laborious drudge,
came to take his orders for dinner, but declined to make answer on
the subject of the horse and guide; for the Salique law, it seems,
extended to the stables of the Golden Candlestick.

From a window which overlooked the dark and narrow court in which
Callum Beg rubbed down the horses after their journey, Waverley
heard the following dialogue betwixt the subtle foot-page of Vich
Ian Vohr and his landlord:--

'Ye'll be frae the north, young man?' began the latter.

'And ye may say that,' answered Callum.

'And ye'll hae ridden a lang way the day, it may weel be?'

'Sae lang, that I could weel tak a dram.'

'Gudewife, bring the gill stoup.'

Here some compliments passed fitting the occasion, when my host of
the Golden Candlestick, having, as he thought, opened his guest's
heart by this hospitable propitiation, resumed his scrutiny.

'Ye'll no hae mickle better whisky than that aboon the Pass?'

'I am nae frae aboon the Pass.'

'Ye're a Highlandman by your tongue?'

'Na; I am but just Aberdeen-a-way.'

'And did your master come frae Aberdeen wi' you?'

'Ay; that's when I left it mysell,' answered the cool and
impenetrable Callum Beg.

'And what kind of a gentleman is he?'

'I believe he is ane o' King George's state officers; at least
he's aye for ganging on to the south, and he has a hantle siller,
and never grudges onything till a poor body, or in the way of a
lawing.'

'He wants a guide and a horse frae hence to Edinburgh?'

'Ay, and ye maun find it him forthwith.'

'Ahem! It will be chargeable.'

'He cares na for that a bodle.'

'Aweel, Duncan--did ye say your name was Duncan, or Donald?'

'Na, man--Jamie--Jamie Steenson--I telt ye before.'

This last undaunted parry altogether foiled Mr. Cruickshanks, who,
though not quite satisfied either with the reserve of the master
or the extreme readiness of the man, was contented to lay a tax on
the reckoning and horse-hire that might compound for his
ungratified curiosity. The circumstance of its being the fast day
was not forgotten in the charge, which, on the whole, did not,
however, amount to much more than double what in fairness it
should have been.

Callum Beg soon after announced in person the ratification of this
treaty, adding, 'Ta auld deevil was ganging to ride wi' ta duinhe-
wassel hersell.'

'That will not be very pleasant, Callum, nor altogether safe, for
our host seems a person of great curiosity; but a traveller must
submit to these inconveniences. Meanwhile, my good lad, here is a
trifle for you to drink Vich Ian Vohr's health.'

The hawk's eye of Callum flashed delight upon a golden guinea,
with which these last words were accompanied. He hastened, not
without a curse on the intricacies of a Saxon breeches pocket, or
spleuchan, as he called it, to deposit the treasure in his fob;
and then, as if he conceived the benevolence called for some
requital on his part, he gathered close up to Edward, with an
expression of countenance peculiarly knowing, and spoke in an
undertone, 'If his honour thought ta auld deevil Whig carle was a
bit dangerous, she could easily provide for him, and teil ane ta
wiser.'

'How, and in what manner?'

'Her ain sell,' replied Callum, 'could wait for him a wee bit frae
the toun, and kittle his quarters wi'her skene-occle.'

'Skene-occle! what's that?'

Callum unbuttoned his coat, raised his left arm, and, with an
emphatic nod, pointed to the hilt of a small dirk, snugly
deposited under it, in the lining of his jacket. Waverley thought
he had misunderstood his meaning; he gazed in his face, and
discovered in Callum's very handsome though embrowned features
just the degree of roguish malice with which a lad of the same age
in England would have brought forward a plan for robbing an
orchard.

'Good God, Callum, would you take the man's life?'

'Indeed,' answered the young desperado, 'and I think he has had
just a lang enough lease o 't, when he's for betraying honest folk
that come to spend siller at his public.'

Edward saw nothing was to be gained by argument, and therefore
contented himself with enjoining Callum to lay aside all practices
against the person of Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks; in which
injunction the page seemed to acquiesce with an air of great
indifference.

'Ta duinhe-wassel might please himsell; ta auld rudas loon had
never done Callum nae ill. But here's a bit line frae ta
Tighearna, tat he bade me gie your honour ere I came back.'

The letter from the Chief contained Flora's lines on the fate of
Captain Wogan, whose enterprising character is so well drawn by
Clarendon. He had originally engaged in the service of the
Parliament, but had abjured that party upon the execution of
Charles I; and upon hearing that the royal standard was set up by
the Earl of Glencairn and General Middleton in the Highlands of
Scotland, took leave of Charles II, who was then at Paris, passed
into England, assembled a body of Cavaliers in the neighbourhood
of London, and traversed the kingdom, which had been so long under
domination of the usurper, by marches conducted with such skill,
dexterity, and spirit that he safely united his handful of
horsemen with the body of Highlanders then in arms. After several
months of desultory warfare, in which Wogan's skill and courage
gained him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be
wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being
within reach he terminated his short but glorious career.

There were obvious reasons why the politic Chieftain was desirous
to place the example of this young hero under the eye of Waverley,
with whose romantic disposition it coincided so peculiarly. But
his letter turned chiefly upon some trifling commissions which
Waverley had promised to execute for him in England, and it was
only toward the conclusion that Edward found these words: 'I owe
Flora a grudge for refusing us her company yesterday; and, as I am
giving you the trouble of reading these lines, in order to keep in
your memory your promise to procure me the fishing-tackle and
cross-bow from London, I will enclose her verses on the Grave of
Wogan. This I know will tease her; for, to tell you the truth, I
think her more in love with the memory of that dead hero than she
is likely to be with any living one, unless he shall tread a
similar path. But English squires of our day keep their oak-trees
to shelter their deer parks, or repair the losses of an evening at
White's, and neither invoke them to wreathe their brows nor
shelter their graves. Let me hope for one brilliant exception in a
dear friend, to whom I would most gladly give a dearer title.'

The verses were inscribed,

    To an Oak Tree

    In the Church-Yard of ----, in the Highlands of Scotland,
    said to mark the Grave of Captain Wogan, killed in 1649.

    Emblem of England's ancient faith,
      Full proudly may thy branches wave,
    Where loyalty lies low in death,
      And valour fills a timeless grave.

    And thou, brave tenant of the tomb!
      Repine not if our clime deny,
    Above thine honour'd sod to bloom
      The flowerets of a milder sky.

    These owe their birth to genial May;
      Beneath a fiercer sun they pine,
    Before the winter storm decay;
      And can their worth be type of thine?

    No! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing,
      Still higher swell'd thy dauntless heart,
    And, while Despair the scene was closing,
      Commenced thy brief but brilliant part.

    'T was then thou sought'st on Albyn's hill,
      (When England's sons the strife resign'd)
    A rugged race resisting still,
      And unsubdued though unrefined.

    Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail,
      No holy knell thy requiem rung;
    Thy mourners were the plaided Gael,
      Thy dirge the clamourous pibroch sung.

    Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine
      To waste life's longest term away,
    Would change that glorious dawn of thine,
      Though darken'd ere its noontide day!

    Be thine the tree whose dauntless boughs
      Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom.
    Rome bound with oak her patriots' brows,
      As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb.

Whatever might be the real merit of Flora Mac-Ivor's
poetry, the enthusiasm which it intimated was well calculated to
make a corresponding impression upon her lover. The lines were
read--read again, then deposited in Waverley's bosom, then again
drawn out, and read line by line, in a low and smothered voice,
and with frequent pauses which prolonged the mental treat, as an
epicure protracts, by sipping slowly, the enjoyment of a delicious
beverage. The entrance of Mrs. Cruickshanks with the sublunary
articles of dinner and wine hardly interrupted this pantomime of
affectionate enthusiasm.

At length the tall ungainly figure and ungracious visage of
Ebenezer presented themselves. The upper part of his form,
notwithstanding the season required no such defence, was shrouded
in a large great-coat, belted over his under habiliments, and
crested with a huge cowl of the same stuff, which, when drawn over
the head and hat, completely overshadowed both, and, being
buttoned beneath the chin, was called a trot-cozy. His hand
grasped a huge jockey-whip, garnished with brassmounting. His thin
legs tenanted a pair of gambadoes, fastened at the sides with
rusty clasps. Thus accoutred, he stalked into the midst of the
apartment, and announced his errand in brief phrase: 'Yer horses
are ready.'

'You go with me yourself then, landlord?'

'I do, as far as Perth; where ye may be supplied with a guide to
Embro', as your occasions shall require.'

Thus saying, he placed under Waverley's eye the bill which he held
in his hand; and at the same time, self-invited, filled a glass
of wine and drank devoutly to a blessing on their journey.
Waverley stared at the man's impudence, but, as their connection
was to be short and promised to be convenient, he made no
observation upon it; and, having paid his reckoning, expressed his
intention to depart immediately. He mounted Dermid accordingly and
sallied forth from the Golden Candlestick, followed by the
puritanical figure we have described, after he had, at the expense
of some time and difficulty, and by the assistance of a 'louping-
on-stane,' or structure of masonry erected for the traveller's
convenience in front of the house, elevated his person to the back
of a long-backed, raw-boned, thin-gutted phantom of a broken-down
blood-horse, on which Waverley's portmanteau was deposited. Our
hero, though not in a very gay humour, could hardly help laughing
at the appearance of his new squire, and at imagining the
astonishment which his person and equipage would have excited at
Waverley-Honour.

Edward's tendency to mirth did not escape mine host of the
Candlestick, who, conscious of the cause, infused a double portion
of souring into the pharisaical leaven of his countenance, and
resolved internally that, in one way or other, the young
'Englisher' should pay dearly for the contempt with which he
seemed to regard him. Callum also stood at the gate and enjoyed,
with undissembled glee, the ridiculous figure of Mr. Cruickshanks.
As Waverley passed him he pulled off his hat respectfully, and,
approaching his stirrup, bade him 'Tak heed the auld whig deevil
played him nae cantrip.'

Waverley once more thanked and bade him farewell, and then rode
briskly onward, not sorry to be out of hearing of the shouts of
the children, as they beheld old Ebenezer rise and sink in his
stirrups to avoid the concussions occasioned by a hard trot upon a
half-paved street. The village of--was soon several miles behind
him.





CHAPTER XXX

SHOWS THAT THE LOSS OF A HORSE'S SHOE MAY BE A SERIOUS
INCONVENIENCE


The manner and air of Waverley, but, above all, the glittering
contents of his purse, and the indifference with which he seemed
to regard them, somewhat overawed his companion, and deterred him
from making any attempts to enter upon conversation. His own
reflections were moreover agitated by various surmises, and by
plans of self-interest with which these were intimately connected.
The travellers journeyed, therefore, in silence, until it was
interrupted by the annunciation, on the part of the guide, that
his 'naig had lost a fore-foot shoe, which, doubtless, his honour
would consider it was his part to replace.'

This was what lawyers call a fishing question, calculated to
ascertain how far Waverley was disposed to submit to petty
imposition. 'My part to replace your horse's shoe, you rascal!'
said Waverley, mistaking the purport of the intimation.

'Indubitably,' answered Mr. Cruickshanks; 'though there was no
preceese clause to that effect, it canna be expected that I am to
pay for the casualties whilk may befall the puir naig while in
your honour's service. Nathless, if your honour--'

'O, you mean I am to pay the farrier; but where shall we find
one?'

Rejoiced at discerning there would be no objection made on the
part of his temporary master, Mr. Cruickshanks assured him that
Cairnvreckan, a village which they were about to enter, was happy
in an excellent blacksmith; 'but as he was a professor, he would
drive a nail for no man on the Sabbath or kirk-fast, unless it
were in a case of absolute necessity, for which he always charged
sixpence each shoe.' The most important part of this
communication, in the opinion of the speaker, made a very slight
impression on the hearer, who only internally wondered what
college this veterinary professor belonged to, not aware that the
word was used to denote any person who pretended to uncommon
sanctity of faith and manner.

As they entered the village of Cairnvreckan, they speedily
distinguished the smith's house. Being also a public, it was two
stories high, and proudly reared its crest, covered with grey
slate, above the thatched hovels by which it was surrounded. The
adjoining smithy betokened none of the Sabbatical silence and
repose which Ebenezer had augured from the sanctity of his friend.
On the contrary, hammer clashed and anvil rang, the bellows
groaned, and the whole apparatus of Vulcan appeared to be in full
activity. Nor was the labour of a rural and pacific nature. The
master smith, benempt, as his sign intimated, John Mucklewrath,
with two assistants, toiled busily in arranging, repairing, and
furbishing old muskets, pistols, and swords, which lay scattered
around his workshop in military confusion. The open shed,
containing the forge, was crowded with persons who came and went
as if receiving and communicating important news, and a single
glance at the aspect of the people who traversed the street in
haste, or stood assembled in groups, with eyes elevated and hands
uplifted, announced that some extraordinary intelligence was
agitating the public mind of the municipality of Cairnvreckan.
'There is some news,' said mine host of the Candlestick, pushing
his lantern-jawed visage and bare-boned nag rudely forward into
the crowd--'there is some news; and, if it please my Creator, I
will forthwith obtain speirings thereof.'

Waverley, with better regulated curiosity than his attendant's,
dismounted and gave his horse to a boy who stood idling near. It
arose, perhaps, from the shyness of his character in early youth,
that he felt dislike at applying to a stranger even for casual
information, without previously glancing at his physiognomy and
appearance. While he looked about in order to select the person
with whom he would most willingly hold communication, the buzz
around saved him in some degree the trouble of interrogatories.
The names of Lochiel, Clanronald, Glengarry, and other
distinguished Highland Chiefs, among whom Vich Ian Vohr was
repeatedly mentioned, were as familiar in men's mouths as
household words; and from the alarm generally expressed, he easily
conceived that their descent into the Lowlands, at the head of
their armed tribes, had either already taken place or was
instantly apprehended.

Ere Waverley could ask particulars, a strong, large-boned, hard-
featured woman, about forty, dressed as if her clothes had been
flung on with a pitchfork, her cheeks flushed with a scarlet red
where they were not smutted with soot and lamp-black, jostled
through the crowd, and, brandishing high a child of two years old,
which she danced in her arms without regard to its screams of
terror, sang forth with all her might,--

    Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling,
    Charlie is my darling,
    The young Chevalier!

'D' ye hear what's come ower ye now,' continued the virago, 'ye
whingeing Whig carles? D'ye hear wha's coming to cow yer cracks?

    Little wot ye wha's coming,
    Little wot ye wha's coming,
    A' the wild Macraws are coming.'

The Vulcan of Cairnvreckan, who acknowledged his Venus in this
exulting Bacchante, regarded her with a grim and ire-foreboding
countenance, while some of the senators of the village hastened to
interpose. 'Whisht, gudewife; is this a time or is this a day to
be singing your ranting fule sangs in?--a time when the wine of
wrath is poured out without mixture in the cup of indignation, and
a day when the land should give testimony against popery, and
prelacy, and quakerism, and independency, and supremacy, and
erastianism, and antinomianism, and a' the errors of the church?'

'And that's a' your Whiggery,' reechoed the Jacobite heroine;
'that's a' your Whiggery, and your presbytery, ye cut-lugged,
graning carles! What! d' ye think the lads wi' the kilts will care
for yer synods and yer presbyteries, and yer buttock-mail, and yer
stool o' repentance? Vengeance on the black face o't! mony an
honester woman's been set upon it than streeks doon beside ony
Whig in the country. I mysell--'

Here John Mucklewrath, who dreaded her entering upon a detail of
personal experience, interposed his matrimonial authority. 'Gae
hame, and be d--(that I should say sae), and put on the sowens
for supper.'

'And you, ye doil'd dotard,' replied his gentle helpmate, her
wrath, which had hitherto wandered abroad over the whole assembly,
being at once and violently impelled into its natural channel, 'YE
stand there hammering dog-heads for fules that will never snap
them at a Highlandman, instead of earning bread for your family
and shoeing this winsome young gentleman's horse that's just come
frae the north! I'se warrant him nane of your whingeing King
George folk, but a gallant Gordon, at the least o' him.'

The eyes of the assembly were now turned upon Waverley, who took
the opportunity to beg the smith to shoe his guide's horse with
all speed, as he wished to proceed on his journey; for he had
heard enough to make him sensible that there would be danger in
delaying long in this place. The smith's eyes rested on him with a
look of displeasure and suspicion, not lessened by the eagerness
with which his wife enforced Waverley's mandate. 'D'ye hear what
the weel-favoured young gentleman says, ye drunken ne'er-do-good?'

'And what may your name be, sir?' quoth Mucklewrath.

'It is of no consequence to you, my friend, provided I pay your
labour.'

'But it may be of consequence to the state, sir,' replied an old
farmer, smelling strongly of whisky and peat-smoke; 'and I doubt
we maun delay your journey till you have seen the Laird.'

'You certainly,' said Waverley, haughtily, 'will find it both
difficult and dangerous to detain me, unless you can produce some
proper authority.'

There was a pause and a whisper among the crowd--'Secretary
Murray'--'Lord Lewis Gordon'--'Maybe the Chevalier himsell!' Such
were the surmises that passed hurriedly among them, and there was
obviously an increased disposition to resist Waverley's departure.
He attempted to argue mildly with them, but his voluntary ally,
Mrs. Mucklewrath, broke in upon and drowned his expostulations,
taking his part with an abusive violence which was all set down to
Edward's account by those on whom it was bestowed. 'YE'LL stop ony
gentleman that's the Prince's freend?' for she too, though with
other feelings, had adopted the general opinion respecting
Waverley. 'I daur ye to touch him,' spreading abroad her long and
muscular fingers, garnished with claws which a vulture might have
envied. 'I'll set my ten commandments in the face o' the first
loon that lays a finger on him.'

'Gae hame, gudewife,' quoth the farmer aforesaid; 'it wad better
set you to be nursing the gudeman's bairns than to be deaving us
here.'

'HIS bairns?' retorted the Amazon, regarding her husband with a
grin of ineffable contempt--'HIS bairns!

    O gin ye were dead, gudeman,
      And a green turf on your head, gudeman!
    Then I wad ware my widowhood
      Upon a ranting Highlandman'

This canticle, which excited a suppressed titter among the younger
part of the audience, totally overcame the patience of the taunted
man of the anvil. 'Deil be in me but I'll put this het gad down
her throat!' cried he in an ecstasy of wrath, snatching a bar from
the forge; and he might have executed his threat, had he not been
withheld by a part of the mob, while the rest endeavoured to force
the termagant out of his presence.

Waverley meditated a retreat in the confusion, but his horse was
nowhere to be seen. At length he observed at some distance his
faithful attendant, Ebenezer, who, as soon as he had perceived the
turn matters were likely to take, had withdrawn both horses from
the press, and, mounted on the one and holding the other, answered
the loud and repeated calls of Waverley for his horse. 'Na, na! if
ye are nae friend to kirk and the king, and are detained as siccan
a person, ye maun answer to honest men of the country for breach
of contract; and I maun keep the naig and the walise for damage
and expense, in respect my horse and mysell will lose to-morrow's
day's wark, besides the afternoon preaching.'

Edward, out of patience, hemmed in and hustled by the rabble on
every side, and every moment expecting personal violence, resolved
to try measures of intimidation, and at length drew a pocket-
pistol, threatening, on the one hand, to shoot whomsoever dared to
stop him, and, on the other, menacing Ebenezer with a similar doom
if he stirred a foot with the horses. The sapient Partridge says
that one man with a pistol is equal to a hundred unarmed, because,
though he can shoot but one of the multitude, yet no one knows but
that he himself may be that luckless individual. The levy en masse
of Cairnvreckan would therefore probably have given way, nor would
Ebenezer, whose natural paleness had waxed three shades more
cadaverous, have ventured to dispute a mandate so enforced, had
not the Vulcan of the village, eager to discharge upon some more
worthy object the fury which his helpmate had provoked, and not
ill satisfied to find such an object in Waverley, rushed at him
with the red-hot bar of iron with such determination as made the
discharge of his pistol an act of self-defence. The unfortunate
man fell; and while Edward, thrilled with a natural horror at the
incident, neither had presence of mind to unsheathe his sword nor
to draw his remaining pistol, the populace threw themselves upon
him, disarmed him, and were about to use him with great violence,
when the appearance of a venerable clergyman, the pastor of the
parish, put a curb on their fury.

This worthy man (none of the Goukthrapples or Rentowels)
maintained his character with the common people, although he
preached the practical fruits of Christian faith as well as its
abstract tenets, and was respected by the higher orders,
notwithstanding he declined soothing their speculative errors by
converting the pulpit of the gospel into a school of heathen
morality. Perhaps it is owing to this mixture of faith and
practice in his doctrine that, although his memory has formed a
sort of era in the annals of Cairnvreckan, so that the
parishioners, to denote what befell Sixty Years Since, still say
it happened 'in good Mr. Morton's time,' I have never been able to
discover which he belonged to, the evangelical or the moderate
party in the kirk. Nor do I hold the circumstance of much moment,
since, in my own remembrance, the one was headed by an Erskine,
the other by a Robertson.

[Footnote: The Reverend John Erskine, D. D, an eminent Scottish
divine and a most excellent man, headed the Evangelical party in
the Church of Scotland at the time when the celebrated Doctor
Robertson, the historian, was the leader of the Moderate party.
These two distinguished persons were colleagues in the Old Grey
Friars' Church, Edinburgh; and, however much they differed in
church politics, preserved the most perfect harmony as private
friends and as clergymen serving the same cure]

Mr. Morton had been alarmed by the discharge of the pistol and the
increasing hubbub around the smithy. His first attention, after he
had directed the bystanders to detain Waverley, but to abstain
from injuring him, was turned to the body of Mucklewrath, over
which his wife, in a revulsion of feeling, was weeping, howling,
and tearing her elf-locks in a state little short of distraction.
On raising up the smith, the first discovery was that he was
alive; and the next that he was likely to live as long as if he
had never heard the report of a pistol in his life. He had made a
narrow escape, however; the bullet had grazed his head and stunned
him for a moment or two, which trance terror and confusion of
spirit had prolonged somewhat longer. He now arose to demand
vengeance on the person of Waverley, and with difficulty
acquiesced in the proposal of Mr. Morton that he should be carried
before the Laird, as a justice of peace, and placed at his
disposal. The rest of the assistants unanimously agreed to the
measure recommended; even Mrs. Mucklewrath, who had begun to
recover from her hysterics, whimpered forth, 'She wadna say
naething against what the minister proposed; he was e'en ower gude
for his trade, and she hoped to see him wi' a dainty decent
bishop's gown on his back; a comelier sight than your Geneva
cloaks and bands, I wis.'

All controversy being thus laid aside, Waverley, escorted by the
whole inhabitants of the village who were not bed-ridden, was
conducted to the house of Cairnvreckan, which was about half a
mile distant.





CHAPTER XXXI

AN EXAMINATION


Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, an elderly gentleman, who had
spent his youth in the military service, received Mr. Morton with
great kindness, and our hero with civility, which the equivocal
circumstances wherein Edward was placed rendered constrained and
distant.

The nature of the smith's hurt was inquired into, and, as the
actual injury was likely to prove trifling, and the circumstances
in which it was received rendered the infliction on Edward's part
a natural act of self-defence, the Major conceived he might
dismiss that matter on Waverley's depositing in his hands a small
sum for the benefit of the wounded person.

'I could wish, sir,' continued the Major, 'that my duty terminated
here; but it is necessary that we should have some further inquiry
into the cause of your journey through the country at this
unfortunate and distracted time.'

Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks now stood forth, and communicated to the
magistrate all he knew or suspected from the reserve of Waverley
and the evasions of Callum Beg. The horse upon which Edward rode,
he said, he knew to belong to Vich Ian Vohr, though he dared not
tax Edward's former attendant with the fact, lest he should have
his house and stables burnt over his head some night by that
godless gang, the Mac-Ivors. He concluded by exaggerating his own
services to kirk and state, as having been the means, under God
(as he modestly qualified the assertion), of attaching this
suspicious and formidable delinquent. He intimated hopes of future
reward, and of instant reimbursement for loss of time, and even of
character, by travelling on the state business on the fast-day.

To this Major Melville answered, with great composure, that so far
from claiming any merit in this affair, Mr. Cruickshanks ought to
deprecate the imposition of a very heavy fine for neglecting to
lodge, in terms of the recent proclamation, an account with the
nearest magistrate of any stranger who came to his inn; that, as
Mr. Cruickshanks boasted so much of religion and loyalty, he
should not impute this conduct to disaffection, but only suppose
that his zeal for kirk and state had been lulled asleep by the
opportunity of charging a stranger with double horse-hire; that,
however, feeling himself incompetent to decide singly upon the
conduct of a person of such importance, he should reserve it for
consideration of the next quarter-sessions. Now our history for
the present saith no more of him of the Candlestick, who wended
dolorous and malcontent back to his own dwelling.

Major Melville then commanded the villagers to return to their
homes, excepting two, who officiated as constables, and whom he
directed to wait below. The apartment was thus cleared of every
person but Mr. Morton, whom the Major invited to remain; a sort of
factor, who acted as clerk; and Waverley himself. There ensued a
painful and embarrassed pause, till Major Melville, looking upon
Waverley with much compassion, and often consulting a paper or
memorandum which he held in his hand, requested to know his name.

'Edward Waverley.'

'I thought so; late of the--dragoons, and nephew of Sir Everard
Waverley of Waverley-Honour?'

'The same.'

'Young gentleman, I am extremely sorry that this painful duty has
fallen to my lot.'

'Duty, Major Melville, renders apologies superfluous.'

'True, sir; permit me, therefore, to ask you how your time has
been disposed of since you obtained leave of absence from your
regiment, several weeks ago, until the present moment?'

'My reply,' said Waverley, 'to so general a question must be
guided by the nature of the charge which renders it necessary. I
request to know what that charge is, and upon what authority I am
forcibly detained to reply to it?'

'The charge, Mr. Waverley, I grieve to say, is of a very high
nature, and affects your character both as a soldier and a
subject. In the former capacity you are charged with spreading
mutiny and rebellion among the men you commanded, and setting them
the example of desertion, by prolonging your own absence from the
regiment, contrary to the express orders of your commanding
officer. The civil crime of which you stand accused is that of
high treason and levying war against the king, the highest
delinquency of which a subject can be guilty.'

'And by what authority am I detained to reply to such heinous
calumnies?'

'By one which you must not dispute, nor I disobey.'

He handed to Waverley a warrant from the Supreme Criminal Court of
Scotland, in full form, for apprehending and securing the person
of Edward Waverley, Esq., suspected of treasonable practices and
other high crimes and misdemeanours.

The astonishment which Waverley expressed at this communication
was imputed by Major Melville to conscious guilt, while Mr. Morton
was rather disposed to construe it into the surprise of innocence
unjustly suspected. There was something true in both conjectures;
for although Edward's mind acquitted him of the crime with which
he was charged, yet a hasty review of his own conduct convinced
him he might have great difficulty in establishing his innocence
to the satisfaction of others.

'It is a very painful part of this painful business,' said Major
Melville, after a pause, 'that, under so grave a charge, I must
necessarily request to see such papers as you have on your
person.'

'You shall, sir, without reserve,' said Edward, throwing his
pocket-book and memorandums upon the table; 'there is but one with
which I could wish you would dispense.'

'I am afraid, Mr. Waverley, I can indulge you with no
reservation,'

'You shall see it then, sir; and as it can be of no service, I beg
it may be returned.'

He took from his bosom the lines he had that morning received, and
presented them with the envelope. The Major perused them in
silence, and directed his clerk to make a copy of them. He then
wrapped the copy in the envelope, and placing it on the table
before him, returned the original to Waverley, with an air of
melancholy gravity.

After indulging the prisoner, for such our hero must now be
considered, with what he thought a reasonable time for reflection,
Major Melville resumed his examination, premising that, as Mr.
Waverley seemed to object to general questions, his
interrogatories should be as specific as his information
permitted. He then proceeded in his investigation, dictating, as
he went on, the import of the questions and answers to the
amanuensis, by whom it was written down.

'Did Mr. Waverley know one Humphry Houghton, a non-commissioned
officer in Gardiner's dragoons?'

'Certainly; he was sergeant of my troop, and son of a tenant of my
uncle.'

'Exactly--and had a considerable share of your confidence, and an
influence among his comrades?'

'I had never occasion to repose confidence in a person of his
description,' answered Waverley. 'I favoured Sergeant Houghton as
a clever, active young fellow, and I believe his fellow-soldiers
respected him accordingly.'

'But you used through this man,' answered Major Melville, 'to
communicate with such of your troop as were recruited upon
Waverley-Honour?'

'Certainly; the poor fellows, finding themselves in a regiment
chiefly composed of Scotch or Irish, looked up to me in any of
their little distresses, and naturally made their countryman and
sergeant their spokesman on such occasions.'

'Sergeant Houghton's influence,' continued the Major, 'extended,
then, particularly over those soldiers who followed you to the
regiment from your uncle's estate?'

'Surely; but what is that to the present purpose?'

'To that I am just coming, and I beseech your candid reply. Have
you, since leaving the regiment, held any correspondence, direct
or indirect, with this Sergeant Houghton?'

'I!--I hold correspondence with a man of his rank and situation!
How, or for what purpose?'

'That you are to explain. But did you not, for example, send to
him for some books?'

'You remind me of a trifling commission,' said Waverley, 'which I
gave Sergeant Houghton, because my servant could not read. I do
recollect I bade him, by letter, select some books, of which I
sent him a list, and send them to me at Tully-Veolan.'

'And of what description were those books?'

'They related almost entirely to elegant literature; they were
designed for a lady's perusal.'

'Were there not, Mr. Waverley, treasonable tracts and pamphlets
among them?'

'There were some political treatises, into which I hardly looked.
They had been sent to me by the officiousness of a kind friend,
whose heart is more to be esteemed than his prudence or political
sagacity; they seemed to be dull compositions.'

'That friend,' continued the persevering inquirer, 'was a Mr.
Pembroke, a nonjuring clergyman, the author of two treasonable
works, of which the manuscripts were found among your baggage?'

'But of which, I give you my honour as a gentleman,' replied
Waverley, 'I never read six pages.'

'I am not your judge, Mr. Waverley; your examination will be
transmitted elsewhere. And now to proceed. Do you know a person
that passes by the name of Wily Will, or Will Ruthven?'

'I never heard of such a name till this moment.'

'Did you never through such a person, or any other person,
communicate with Sergeant Humphry Houghton, instigating him to
desert, with as many of his comrades as he could seduce to join
him, and unite with the Highlanders and other rebels now in arms
under the command of the Young Pretender?'

'I assure you I am not only entirely guiltless of the plot you
have laid to my charge, but I detest it from the very bottom of my
soul, nor would I be guilty of such treachery to gain a throne,
either for myself or any other man alive.'

'Yet when I consider this envelope in the handwriting of one of
those misguided gentlemen who are now in arms against their
country, and the verses which it enclosed, I cannot but find some
analogy between the enterprise I have mentioned and the exploit of
Wogan, which the writer seems to expect you should imitate.'

Waverley was struck with the coincidence, but denied that the
wishes or expectations of the letter-writer were to be regarded as
proofs of a charge otherwise chimerical.

'But, if I am rightly informed, your time was spent, during your
absence from the regiment, between the house of this Highland
Chieftain and that of Mr. Bradwardine of Bradwardine, also in arms
for this unfortunate cause?'

'I do not mean to disguise it; but I do deny, most resolutely,
being privy to any of their designs against the government.'

'You do not, however, I presume, intend to deny that you attended
your host Glennaquoich to a rendezvous, where, under a pretence of
a general hunting match, most of the accomplices of his treason
were assembled to concert measures for taking arms?'

'I acknowledge having been at such a meeting,' said Waverley; 'but
I neither heard nor saw anything which could give it the character
you affix to it.'

'From thence you proceeded,' continued the magistrate, 'with
Glennaquoich and a part of his clan to join the army of the Young
Pretender, and returned, after having paid your homage to him, to
discipline and arm the remainder, and unite them to his bands on
their way southward?'

'I never went with Glennaquoich on such an errand. I never so much
as heard that the person whom you mention was in the country.'

He then detailed the history of his misfortune at the hunting
match, and added, that on his return he found himself suddenly
deprived of his commission, and did not deny that he then, for the
first time, observed symptoms which indicated a disposition in the
Highlanders to take arms; but added that, having no inclination to
join their cause, and no longer any reason for remaining in
Scotland, he was now on his return to his native country, to which
he had been summoned by those who had a right to direct his
motions, as Major Melville would perceive from the letters on the
table.

Major Melville accordingly perused the letters of Richard
Waverley, of Sir Everard, and of Aunt Rachel; but the inferences
he drew from them were different from what Waverley expected. They
held the language of discontent with government, threw out no
obscure hints of revenge, and that of poor Aunt Rachel, which
plainly asserted the justice of the Stuart cause, was held to
contain the open avowal of what the others only ventured to
insinuate.

'Permit me another question, Mr. Waverley,' said Major Melville.
'Did you not receive repeated letters from your commanding
officer, warning you and commanding you to return to your post,
and acquainting you with the use made of your name to spread
discontent among your soldiers?'

'I never did, Major Melville. One letter, indeed, I received from
him, containing a civil intimation of his wish that I would employ
my leave of absence otherwise than in constant residence at
Bradwardine, as to which, I own, I thought he was not called on to
interfere; and, finally, I received, on the same day on which I
observed myself superseded in the "Gazette," a second letter from
Colonel Gardiner, commanding me to join the regiment, an order
which, owing to my absence, already mentioned and accounted for, I
received too late to be obeyed. If there were any intermediate
letters, and certainly from the Colonel's high character I think
it probable that there were, they have never reached me.'

'I have omitted, Mr. Waverley,' continued Major Melville, 'to
inquire after a matter of less consequence, but which has
nevertheless been publicly talked of to your disadvantage. It is
said that a treasonable toast having been proposed in your hearing
and presence, you, holding his Majesty's commission, suffered the
task of resenting it to devolve upon another gentleman of the
company. This, sir, cannot be charged against you in a court of
justice; but if, as I am informed, the officers of your regiment
requested an explanation of such a rumour, as a gentleman and
soldier I cannot but be surprised that you did not afford it to
them.'

This was too much. Beset and pressed on every hand by accusations,
in which gross falsehoods were blended with such circumstances of
truth as could not fail to procure them credit,--alone,
unfriended, and in a strange land, Waverley almost gave up his
life and honour for lost, and, leaning his head upon his hand,
resolutely refused to answer any further questions, since the fair
and candid statement he had already made had only served to
furnish arms against him.

Without expressing either surprise or displeasure at the change in
Waverley's manner, Major Melville proceeded composedly to put
several other queries to him.

'What does it avail me to answer you?' said Edward sullenly. 'You
appear convinced of my guilt, and wrest every reply I have made to
support your own preconceived opinion. Enjoy your supposed
triumph, then, and torment me no further. If I am capable of the
cowardice and treachery your charge burdens me with, I am not
worthy to be believed in any reply I can make to you. If I am not
deserving of your suspicion--and God and my own conscience bear
evidence with me that it is so--then I do not see why I should, by
my candour, lend my accusers arms against my innocence. There is
no reason I should answer a word more, and I am determined to
abide by this resolution.'

And again he resumed his posture of sullen and determined silence.

'Allow me,' said the magistrate, 'to remind you of one reason that
may suggest the propriety of a candid and open confession. The
inexperience of youth, Mr. Waverley, lays it open to the plans of
the more designing and artful; and one of your friends at least--I
mean Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich--ranks high in the latter class, as,
from your apparent ingenuousness, youth, and unacquaintance with
the manners of the Highlands, I should be disposed to place you
among the former. In such a case, a false step or error like
yours, which I shall be happy to consider as involuntary, may be
atoned for, and I would willingly act as intercessor. But, as you
must necessarily be acquainted with the strength of the
individuals in this country who have assumed arms, with their
means and with their plans, I must expect you will merit this
mediation on my part by a frank and candid avowal of all that has
come to your knowledge upon these heads; in which case, I think I
can venture to promise that a very short personal restraint will
be the only ill consequence that can arise from your accession to
these unhappy intrigues.'

Waverley listened with great composure until the end of this
exhortation, when, springing from his seat with an energy he had
not yet displayed, he replied, 'Major Melville, since that is your
name, I have hitherto answered your questions with candour, or
declined them with temper, because their import concerned myself
alone; but, as you presume to esteem me mean enough to commence
informer against others, who received me, whatever may be their
public misconduct, as a guest and friend, I declare to you that I
consider your questions as an insult infinitely more offensive
than your calumnious suspicions; and that, since my hard fortune
permits me no other mode of resenting them than by verbal
defiance, you should sooner have my heart out of my bosom than a
single syllable of information on subjects which I could only
become acquainted with in the full confidence of unsuspecting
hospitality.'

Mr. Morton and the Major looked at each other; and the former,
who, in the course of the examination, had been repeatedly
troubled with a sorry rheum, had recourse to his snuff-box and his
handkerchief.

'Mr. Waverley,' said the Major, 'my present situation prohibits me
alike from giving or receiving offence, and I will not protract a
discussion which approaches to either. I am afraid I must sign a
warrant for detaining you in custody, but this house shall for the
present be your prison. I fear I cannot persuade you to accept a
share of our supper?--(Edward shook his head)--but I will order
refreshments in your apartment.'

Our hero bowed and withdrew, under guard of the officers of
justice, to a small but handsome room, where, declining all offers
of food or wine, he flung himself on the bed, and, stupified by
the harassing events and mental fatigue of this miserable day, he
sunk into a deep and heavy slumber. This was more than he himself
could have expected; but it is mentioned of the North-American
Indians, when at the stake of torture, that on the least
intermission of agony they will sleep until the fire is applied to
awaken them.





CHAPTER XXXII

A CONFERENCE AND THE CONSEQUENCE


Major Melville had detained Mr. Morton during his examination of
Waverley, both because he thought he might derive assistance from
his practical good sense and approved loyalty, and also because it
was agreeable to have a witness of unimpeached candour and
veracity to proceedings which touched the honour and safety of a
young Englishman of high rank and family, and the expectant heir
of a large fortune. Every step he knew would be rigorously
canvassed, and it was his business to place the justice and
integrity of his own conduct beyond the limits of question.

When Waverley retired, the laird and clergyman of Cairnvreckan sat
down in silence to their evening meal. While the servants were in
attendance neither chose to say anything on the circumstances
which occupied their minds, and neither felt it easy to speak upon
any other. The youth and apparent frankness of Waverley stood in
strong contrast to the shades of suspicion which darkened around
him, and he had a sort of naivete and openness of demeanour that
seemed to belong to one unhackneyed in the ways of intrigue, and
which pleaded highly in his favour.

Each mused over the particulars of the examination, and each
viewed it through the medium of his own feelings. Both were men of
ready and acute talent, and both were equally competent to combine
various parts of evidence, and to deduce from them the necessary
conclusions. But the wide difference of their habits and education
often occasioned a great discrepancy in their respective
deductions from admitted premises.

Major Melville had been versed in camps and cities; he was
vigilant by profession and cautious from experience, had met with
much evil in the world, and therefore, though himself an upright
magistrate and an honourable man, his opinions of others were
always strict, and sometimes unjustly severe. Mr. Morton, on the
contrary, had passed from the literary pursuits of a college,
where he was beloved by his companions and respected by his
teachers, to the ease and simplicity of his present charge, where
his opportunities of witnessing evil were few, and never dwelt
upon but in order to encourage repentance and amendment; and where
the love and respect of his parishioners repaid his affectionate
zeal in their behalf by endeavouring to disguise from him what
they knew would give him the most acute pain, namely, their own
occasional transgressions of the duties which it was the business
of his life to recommend. Thus it was a common saying in the
neighbourhood (though both were popular characters), that the
laird knew only the ill in the parish and the minister only the
good.

A love of letters, though kept in subordination to his clerical
studies and duties, also distinguished the pastor of Cairnvreckan,
and had tinged his mind in earlier days with a slight feeling of
romance, which no after incidents of real life had entirely
dissipated. The early loss of an amiable young woman whom he had
married for love, and who was quickly followed to the grave by an
only child, had also served, even after the lapse of many years,
to soften a disposition naturally mild and contemplative. His
feelings on the present occasion were therefore likely to differ
from those of the severe disciplinarian, strict magistrate, and
distrustful man of the world.

When the servants had withdrawn, the silence of both parties
continued, until Major Melville, filling his glass and pushing the
bottle to Mr. Morton, commenced--

'A distressing affair this, Mr. Morton. I fear this youngster has
brought himself within the compass of a halter.'

'God forbid!' answered the clergyman.

'Marry, and amen,' said the temporal magistrate; 'but I think even
your merciful logic will hardly deny the conclusion.'

'Surely, Major,' answered the clergyman, 'I should hope it might
be averted, for aught we have heard tonight?'

'Indeed!' replied Melville. 'But, my good parson, you are one of
those who would communicate to every criminal the benefit of
clergy.'

'Unquestionably I would. Mercy and long-suffering are the grounds
of the doctrine I am called to teach.'

'True, religiously speaking; but mercy to a criminal may be gross
injustice to the community. I don't speak of this young fellow in
particular, who I heartily wish may be able to clear himself, for
I like both his modesty and his spirit. But I fear he has rushed
upon his fate.'

'And why? Hundreds of misguided gentlemen are now in arms against
the government, many, doubtless, upon principles which education
and early prejudice have gilded with the names of patriotism and
heroism; Justice, when she selects her victims from such a
multitude (for surely all will not be destroyed), must regard the
moral motive. He whom ambition or hope of personal advantage has
led to disturb the peace of a well-ordered government, let him
fall a victim to the laws; but surely youth, misled by the wild
visions of chivalry and imaginary loyalty, may plead for pardon.'

'If visionary chivalry and imaginary loyalty come within the
predicament of high treason,' replied the magistrate, 'I know no
court in Christendom, my dear Mr. Morton, where they can sue out
their Habeas Corpus.'

'But I cannot see that this youth's guilt is at all established to
my satisfaction,' said the clergyman.

'Because your good-nature blinds your good sense,' replied Major
Melville. 'Observe now: This young man, descended of a family of
hereditary Jacobites, his uncle the leader of the Tory interest in
the county of ----, his father a disobliged and discontented
courtier, his tutor a nonjuror and the author of two treasonable
volumes--this youth, I say, enters into Gardiner's dragoons,
bringing with him a body of young fellows from his uncle's estate,
who have not stickled at avowing in their way the High-Church
principles they learned at Waverley-Honour, in their disputes with
their comrades. To these young men Waverley is unusually
attentive; they are supplied with money beyond a soldier's wants
and inconsistent with his discipline; and are under the management
of a favourite sergeant, through whom they hold an unusually close
communication with their captain, and affect to consider
themselves as independent of the other officers, and superior to
their comrades.'

'All this, my dear Major, is the natural consequence of their
attachment to their young landlord, and of their finding
themselves in a regiment levied chiefly in the north of Ireland
and the west of Scotland, and of course among comrades disposed to
quarrel with them, both as Englishmen and as members of the Church
of England.'

'Well said, parson!' replied the magistrate. 'I would some of your
synod heard you. But let me go on. This young man obtains leave of
absence, goes to Tully-Veolan--the principles of the Baron of
Bradwardine are pretty well known, not to mention that this lad's
uncle brought him off in the year fifteen; he engages there in a
brawl, in which he is said to have disgraced the commission he
bore; Colonel Gardiner writes to him, first mildly, then more
sharply--I think you will not doubt his having done so, since he
says so; the mess invite him to explain the quarrel in which he is
said to have been involved; he neither replies to his commander
nor his comrades. In the meanwhile his soldiers become mutinous
and disorderly, and at length, when the rumour of this unhappy
rebellion becomes general, his favourite Sergeant Houghton and
another fellow are detected in correspondence with a French
emissary, accredited, as he says, by Captain Waverley, who urges
him, according to the men's confession, to desert with the troop
and join their captain, who was with Prince Charles. In the
meanwhile this trusty captain is, by his own admission, residing
at Glennaquoich with the most active, subtle, and desperate
Jacobite in Scotland; he goes with him at least as far as their
famous hunting rendezvous, and I fear a little farther. Meanwhile
two other summonses are sent him; one warning him of the
disturbances in his troop, another peremptorily ordering him to
repair to the regiment, which, indeed, common sense might have
dictated, when he observed rebellion thickening all round him. He
returns an absolute refusal, and throws up his commission.'

'He had been already deprived of it,' said Mr. Morton.

'But he regrets,' replied Melville, 'that the measure had
anticipated his resignation. His baggage is seized at his quarters
and at Tully-Veolan, and is found to contain a stock of pestilent
Jacobitical pamphlets, enough to poison a whole country, besides
the unprinted lucubrations of his worthy friend and tutor Mr.
Pembroke.'

'He says he never read them,' answered the minister.

'In an ordinary case I should believe him,' replied the
magistrate, 'for they are as stupid and pedantic in composition as
mischievous in their tenets. But can you suppose anything but
value for the principles they maintain would induce a young man of
his age to lug such trash about with him? Then, when news arrive
of the approach of the rebels, he sets out in a sort of disguise,
refusing to tell his name; and, if yon old fanatic tell truth,
attended by a very suspicious character, and mounted on a horse
known to have belonged to Glennaquoich, and bearing on his person
letters from his family expressing high rancour against the house
of Brunswick, and a copy of verses in praise of one Wogan, who
abjured the service of the Parliament to join the Highland
insurgents, when in arms to restore the house of Stuart, with a
body of English cavalry--the very counterpart of his own plot--and
summed up with a "Go thou and do likewise" from that loyal
subject, and most safe and peaceable character, Fergus Mac-Ivor of
Glennaquoich, Vich Ian Vohr, and so forth. And, lastly,' continued
Major Melville, warming in the detail of his arguments, 'where do
we find this second edition of Cavalier Wogan? Why, truly, in the
very track most proper for execution of his design, and pistolling
the first of the king's subjects who ventures to question his
intentions.'

Mr. Morton prudently abstained from argument, which he perceived
would only harden the magistrate in his opinion, and merely asked
how he intended to dispose of the prisoner?

'It is a question of some difficulty, considering the state of the
country,' said Major Melville.

'Could you not detain him (being such a gentleman-like young man)
here in your own house, out of harm's way, till this storm blow
over?'

'My good friend,' said Major Melville, 'neither your house nor
mine will be long out of harm's way, even were it legal to confine
him here. I have just learned that the commander-in-chief, who
marched into the Highlands to seek out and disperse the
insurgents, has declined giving them battle at Coryarrick, and
marched on northward with all the disposable force of government
to Inverness, John-o'-Groat's House, or the devil, for what I
know, leaving the road to the Low Country open and undefended to
the Highland army.'

'Good God!' said the clergyman. 'Is the man a coward, a traitor,
or an idiot?'

'None of the three, I believe,' answered Melville. 'Sir John has
the commonplace courage of a common soldier, is honest enough,
does what he is commanded, and understands what is told him, but
is as fit to act for himself in circumstances of importance as I,
my dear parson, to occupy your pulpit.'

This important public intelligence naturally diverted the
discourse from Waverley for some time; at length, however, the
subject was resumed.

'I believe,' said Major Melville, 'that I must give this young man
in charge to some of the detached parties of armed volunteers who
were lately sent out to overawe the disaffected districts. They
are now recalled towards Stirling, and a small body comes this way
to-morrow or next day, commanded by the westland man--what's his
name? You saw him, and said he was the very model of one of
Cromwell's military saints.'

'Gilfillan, the Cameronian,' answered Mr. Morton. 'I wish the
young gentleman may be safe with him. Strange things are done in
the heat and hurry of minds in so agitating a crisis, and I fear
Gilfillan is of a sect which has suffered persecution without
learning mercy.'

'He has only to lodge Mr. Waverley in Stirling Castle,' said the
Major; 'I will give strict injunctions to treat him well. I really
cannot devise any better mode for securing him, and I fancy you
would hardly advise me to encounter the responsibility of setting
him at liberty.'

'But you will have no objection to my seeing him tomorrow in
private?' said the minister.

'None, certainly; your loyalty and character are my warrant. But
with what view do you make the request?'

'Simply,' replied Mr. Morton, 'to make the experiment whether he
may not be brought to communicate to me some circumstances which
may hereafter be useful to alleviate, if not to exculpate, his
conduct.'

The friends now parted and retired to rest, each filled with the
most anxious reflections on the state of the country.





CHAPTER XXXIII

A CONFIDANT


Waverley awoke in the morning from troubled dreams and
unrefreshing slumbers to a full consciousness of the horrors of
his situation. How it might terminate he knew not. He might be
delivered up to military law, which, in the midst of civil war,
was not likely to be scrupulous in the choice of its victims or
the quality of the evidence. Nor did he feel much more comfortable
at the thoughts of a trial before a Scottish court of justice,
where he knew the laws and forms differed in many respects from
those of England, and had been taught to believe, however
erroneously, that the liberty and rights of the subject were less
carefully protected. A sentiment of bitterness rose in his mind
against the government, which he considered as the cause of his
embarrassment and peril, and he cursed internally his scrupulous
rejection of Mac-Ivor's invitation to accompany him to the field.

'Why did not I,' he said to himself, 'like other men of honour,
take the earliest opportunity to welcome to Britain the descendant
of her ancient kings and lineal heir of her throne? Why did not I--

    Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
    And welcome home again discarded faith,
    Seek out Prince Charles, and fall before his feet?

All that has been recorded of excellence and worth in the house of
Waverley has been founded upon their loyal faith to the house of
Stuart. From the interpretation which this Scotch magistrate has
put upon the letters of my uncle and father, it is plain that I
ought to have understood them as marshalling me to the course of
my ancestors; and it has been my gross dulness, joined to the
obscurity of expression which they adopted for the sake of
security, that has confounded my judgment. Had I yielded to the
first generous impulse of indignation when I learned that my
honour was practised upon, how different had been my present
situation! I had then been free and in arms fighting, like my
forefathers, for love, for loyalty, and for fame. And now I am
here, netted and in the toils, at the disposal of a suspicious,
stern, and cold-hearted man, perhaps to be turned over to the
solitude of a dungeon or the infamy of a public execution. O,
Fergus! how true has your prophecy proved; and how speedy, how
very speedy, has been its accomplishment!'

While Edward was ruminating on these painful subjects of
contemplation, and very naturally, though not quite so justly,
bestowing upon the reigning dynasty that blame which was due to
chance, or, in part at least, to his own unreflecting conduct, Mr.
Morton availed himself of Major Melville's permission to pay him
an early visit.

Waverley's first impulse was to intimate a desire that he might
not be disturbed with questions or conversation; but he suppressed
it upon observing the benevolent and reverend appearance of the
clergyman who had rescued him from the immediate violence of the
villagers.

'I believe, sir,' said the unfortunate young man,'that in any
other circumstances I should have had as much gratitude to express
to you as the safety of my life may be worth; but such is the
present tumult of my mind, and such is my anticipation of what I
am yet likely to endure, that I can hardly offer you thanks for
your interposition.'

Mr. Morton replied, that, far from making any claim upon his good
opinion, his only wish and the sole purpose of his visit was to
find out the means of deserving it. 'My excellent friend, Major
Melville,' he continued, 'has feelings and duties as a soldier and
public functionary by which I am not fettered; nor can I always
coincide in opinions which he forms, perhaps with too little
allowance for the imperfections of human nature.' He paused and
then proceeded: 'I do not intrude myself on your confidence, Mr.
Waverley, for the purpose of learning any circumstances the
knowledge of which can be prejudicial either to yourself or to
others; but I own my earnest wish is that you would intrust me
with any particulars which could lead to your exculpation. I can
solemnly assure you they will be deposited with a faithful and, to
the extent of his limited powers, a zealous agent.'

'You are, sir, I presume, a Presbyterian clergyman?' Mr. Morton
bowed. 'Were I to be guided by the prepossessions of education, I
might distrust your friendly professions in my case; but I have
observed that similar prejudices are nourished in this country
against your professional brethren of the Episcopal persuasion,
and I am willing to believe them equally unfounded in both cases.'

'Evil to him that thinks otherwise,' said Mr. Morton; 'or who
holds church government and ceremonies as the exclusive gage of
Christian faith or moral virtue.'

'But,' continued Waverley, 'I cannot perceive why I should trouble
you with a detail of particulars, out of which, after revolving
them as carefully as possible in my recollection, I find myself
unable to explain much of what is charged against me. I know,
indeed, that I am innocent, but I hardly see how I can hope to
prove myself so.'

'It is for that very reason, Mr. Waverley,' said the clergyman,
'that I venture to solicit your confidence. My knowledge of
individuals in this country is pretty general, and can upon
occasion be extended. Your situation will, I fear, preclude your
taking those active steps for recovering intelligence or tracing
imposture which I would willingly undertake in your behalf; and if
you are not benefited by my exertions, at least they cannot be
prejudicial to you.'

Waverley, after a few minutes' reflection, was convinced that his
reposing confidence in Mr. Morton, so far as he himself was
concerned, could hurt neither Mr. Bradwardine nor Fergus Mac-Ivor,
both of whom had openly assumed arms against the government, and
that it might possibly, if the professions of his new friend
corresponded in sincerity with the earnestness of his expression,
be of some service to himself. He therefore ran briefly over most
of the events with which the reader is already acquainted,
suppressing his attachment to Flora, and indeed neither mentioning
her nor Rose Bradwardine in the course of his narrative.

Mr. Morton seemed particularly struck with the account of
Waverley's visit to Donald Bean Lean. 'I am glad,' he said, 'you
did not mention this circumstance to the Major. It is capable of
great misconstruction on the part of those who do not consider the
power of curiosity and the influence of romance as motives of
youthful conduct. When I was a young man like you, Mr. Waverley,
any such hair-brained expedition (I beg your pardon for the
expression) would have had inexpressible charms for me. But there
are men in the world who will not believe that danger and fatigue
are often incurred without any very adequate cause, and therefore
who are sometimes led to assign motives of action entirely foreign
to the truth. This man Bean Lean is renowned through the country
as a sort of Robin Hood, and the stories which are told of his
address and enterprise are the common tales of the winter
fireside. He certainly possesses talents beyond the rude sphere in
which he moves; and, being neither destitute of ambition nor
encumbered with scruples, he will probably attempt, by every
means, to distinguish himself during the period of these unhappy
commotions.' Mr. Morton then made a careful memorandum of the
various particulars of Waverley's interview with Donald Bean Lean
and the other circumstances which he had communicated.

The interest which this good man seemed to take in his
misfortunes, above all, the full confidence he appeared to repose
in his innocence, had the natural effect of softening Edward's
heart, whom the coldness of Major Melville had taught to believe
that the world was leagued to oppress him. He shook Mr. Morton
warmly by the hand, and, assuring him that his kindness and
sympathy had relieved his mind of a heavy load, told him that,
whatever might be his own fate, he belonged to a family who had
both gratitude and the power of displaying it. The earnestness of
his thanks called drops to the eyes of the worthy clergyman, who
was doubly interested in the cause for which he had volunteered
his services, by observing the genuine and undissembled feelings
of his young friend.

Edward now inquired if Mr. Morton knew what was likely to be his
destination.

'Stirling Castle,' replied his friend; 'and so far I am well
pleased for your sake, for the governor is a man of honour and
humanity. But I am more doubtful of your treatment upon the road;
Major Melville is involuntarily obliged to intrust the custody of
your person to another.'

'I am glad of it,' answered Waverley. 'I detest that cold-blooded
calculating Scotch magistrate. I hope he and I shall never meet
more. He had neither sympathy with my innocence nor with my
wretchedness; and the petrifying accuracy with which he attended
to every form of civility, while he tortured me by his questions,
his suspicions, and his inferences, was as tormenting as the racks
of the Inquisition. Do not vindicate him, my dear sir, for that I
cannot bear with patience; tell me rather who is to have the
charge of so important a state prisoner as I am.'

'I believe a person called Gilfillan, one of the sect who are
termed Cameronians.'

'I never heard of them before.'

'They claim,' said the clergyman, 'to represent the more strict
and severe Presbyterians, who, in Charles Second's and James
Second's days, refused to profit by the Toleration, or Indulgence,
as it was called, which was extended to others of that religion.
They held conventicles in the open fields, and, being treated with
great violence and cruelty by the Scottish government, more than
once took arms during those reigns. They take their name from
their leader, Richard Cameron.'

'I recollect,' said Waverley; 'but did not the triumph of
Presbytery at the Revolution extinguish that sect?'

'By no means,' replied Morton; 'that great event fell yet far
short of what they proposed, which was nothing less than the
complete establishment of the Presbyterian Church upon the grounds
of the old Solemn League and Covenant. Indeed, I believe they
scarce knew what they wanted; but being a numerous body of men,
and not unacquainted with the use of arms, they kept themselves
together as a separate party in the state, and at the time of the
Union had nearly formed a most unnatural league with their old
enemies the Jacobites to oppose that important national measure.
Since that time their numbers have gradually diminished; but a
good many are still to be found in the western counties, and
several, with a better temper than in 1707, have now taken arms
for government. This person, whom they call Gifted Gilfillan, has
been long a leader among them, and now heads a small party, which
will pass here to-day or to-morrow on their march towards
Stirling, under whose escort Major Melville proposes you shall
travel. I would willingly speak to Gilfillan in your behalf; but,
having deeply imbibed all the prejudices of his sect, and being of
the same fierce disposition, he would pay little regard to the
remonstrances of an Erastian divine, as he would politely term me.
And now, farewell, my young friend; for the present I must not
weary out the Major's indulgence, that I may obtain his permission
to visit you again in the course of the day.'





CHAPTER XXXIV

THINGS MEND A LITTLE


About noon Mr. Morton returned and brought an invitation from
Major Melville that Mr. Waverley would honour him with his company
to dinner, notwithstanding the unpleasant affair which detained
him at Cairnvreckan, from which he should heartily rejoice to see
Mr. Waverley completely extricated. The truth was that Mr.
Morton's favourable report and opinion had somewhat staggered the
preconceptions of the old soldier concerning Edward's supposed
accession to the mutiny in the regiment; and in the unfortunate
state of the country the mere suspicion of disaffection or an
inclination to join the insurgent Jacobites might infer
criminality indeed, but certainly not dishonour. Besides, a person
whom the Major trusted had reported to him (though, as it proved,
inaccurately) a contradiction of the agitating news of the
preceding evening. According to this second edition of the
intelligence, the Highlanders had withdrawn from the Lowland
frontier with the purpose of following the army in their march to
Inverness. The Major was at a loss, indeed, to reconcile his
information with the well-known abilities of some of the gentlemen
in the Highland army, yet it was the course which was likely to be
most agreeable to others. He remembered the same policy had
detained them in the north in the year 1715, and he anticipated a
similar termination to the insurrection as upon that occasion.

This news put him in such good-humour that he readily acquiesced
in Mr. Morton's proposal to pay some hospitable attention to his
unfortunate guest, and voluntarily added, he hoped the whole
affair would prove a youthful escapade, which might be easily
atoned by a short confinement. The kind mediator had some trouble
to prevail on his young friend to accept the invitation. He dared
not urge to him the real motive, which was a good-natured wish to
secure a favourable report of Waverley's case from Major Melville
to Governor Blakeney. He remarked, from the flashes of our hero's
spirit, that touching upon this topic would be sure to defeat his
purpose. He therefore pleaded that the invitation argued the
Major's disbelief of any part of the accusation which was
inconsistent with Waverley's conduct as a soldier and a man of
honour, and that to decline his courtesy might be interpreted into
a consciousness that it was unmerited. In short, he so far
satisfied Edward that the manly and proper course was to meet the
Major on easy terms that, suppressing his strong dislike again to
encounter his cold and punctilious civility, Waverley agreed to be
guided by his new friend.

The meeting at first was stiff and formal enough. But Edward,
having accepted the invitation, and his mind being really soothed
and relieved by the kindness of Morton, held himself bound to
behave with ease, though he could not affect cordiality. The Major
was somewhat of a bon vivant, and his wine was excellent. He told
his old campaign stories, and displayed much knowledge of men and
manners. Mr. Morton had an internal fund of placid and quiet
gaiety, which seldom failed to enliven any small party in which he
found himself pleasantly seated. Waverley, whose life was a dream,
gave ready way to the predominating impulse and became the most
lively of the party. He had at all times remarkable natural powers
of conversation, though easily silenced by discouragement. On the
present occasion he piqued himself upon leaving on the minds of
his companions a favourable impression of one who, under such
disastrous circumstances, could sustain his misfortunes with ease
and gaiety. His spirits, though not unyielding, were abundantly
elastic, and soon seconded his efforts. The trio were engaged in
very lively discourse, apparently delighted with each other, and
the kind host was pressing a third bottle of Burgundy, when the
sound of a drum was heard at some distance. The Major, who, in the
glee of an old soldier, had forgot the duties of a magistrate,
cursed, with a muttered military oath, the circumstances which
recalled him to his official functions. He rose and went towards
the window, which commanded a very near view of the highroad, and
he was followed by his guests.

The drum advanced, beating no measured martial tune, but a kind of
rub-a-dub-dub, like that with which the fire-drum startles the
slumbering artizans of a Scotch burgh. It is the object of this
history to do justice to all men; I must therefore record, in
justice to the drummer, that he protested he could beat any known
march or point of war known in the British army, and had
accordingly commenced with 'Dumbarton's Drums,' when he was
silenced by Gifted Gilfillan, the commander of the party, who
refused to permit his followers to move to this profane, and even,
as he said, persecutive tune, and commanded the drummer to beat
the 119th Psalm. As this was beyond the capacity of the drubber of
sheepskin, he was fain to have recourse to the inoffensive row-de-
dow as a harmless substitute for the sacred music which his
instrument or skill were unable to achieve. This may be held a
trifling anecdote, but the drummer in question was no less than
town-drummer of Anderton. I remember his successor in office, a
member of that enlightened body, the British Convention. Be his
memory, therefore, treated with due respect.





CHAPTER XXXV

A VOLUNTEER SIXTY YEARS SINCE


On hearing the unwelcome sound of the drum, Major Melville hastily
opened a sashed door and stepped out upon a sort of terrace which
divided his house from the highroad from which the martial music
proceeded. Waverley and his new friend followed him, though
probably he would have dispensed with their attendance. They soon
recognised in solemn march, first, the performer upon the drum;
secondly, a large flag of four compartments, on which were
inscribed the words, COVENANT, KIRK, KING, KINGDOMS. The person
who was honoured with this charge was followed by the commander of
the party, a thin, dark, rigid-looking man, about sixty years old.
The spiritual pride, which in mine host of the Candlestick mantled
in a sort of supercilious hypocrisy, was in this man's face
elevated and yet darkened by genuine and undoubting fanaticism. It
was impossible to behold him without imagination placing him in
some strange crisis, where religious zeal was the ruling
principle. A martyr at the stake, a soldier in the field, a lonely
and banished wanderer consoled by the intensity and supposed
purity of his faith under every earthly privation, perhaps a
persecuting inquisitor, as terrific in power as unyielding in
adversity; any of these seemed congenial characters to this
personage. With these high traits of energy, there was something
in the affected precision and solemnity of his deportment and
discourse that bordered upon the ludicrous; so that, according to
the mood of the spectator's mind and the light under which Mr.
Gilfillan presented himself, one might have feared, admired, or
laughed at him. His dress was that of a West-Country peasant, of
better materials indeed than that of the lower rank, but in no
respect affecting either the mode of the age or of the Scottish
gentry at any period. His arms were a broadsword and pistols,
which, from the antiquity of their appearance, might have seen the
rout of Pentland or Bothwell Brigg.

As he came up a few steps to meet Major Melville, and touched
solemnly, but slightly, his huge and over-brimmed blue bonnet, in
answer to the Major, who had courteously raised a small triangular
gold-laced hat, Waverley was irresistibly impressed with the idea
that he beheld a leader of the Roundheads of yore in conference
with one of Marlborough's captains.

The group of about thirty armed men who followed this gifted
commander was of a motley description. They were in ordinary
Lowland dresses, of different colours, which, contrasted with the
arms they bore, gave them an irregular and mobbish appearance; so
much is the eye accustomed to connect uniformity of dress with the
military character. In front were a few who apparently partook of
their leader's enthusiasm, men obviously to be feared in a combat,
where their natural courage was exalted by religious zeal. Others
puffed and strutted, filled with the importance of carrying arms
and all the novelty of their situation, while the rest, apparently
fatigued with their march, dragged their limbs listlessly along,
or straggled from their companions to procure such refreshments as
the neighbouring cottages and alehouses afforded. Six grenadiers
of Ligonier's, thought the Major to himself, as his mind reverted
to his own military experience, would have sent all these fellows
to the right about.

Greeting, however, Mr. Gilfillan civilly, he requested to know if
he had received the letter he had sent to him upon his march, and
could undertake the charge of the state prisoner whom he there
mentioned as far as Stirling Castle. 'Yea,' was the concise reply
of the Cameronian leader, in a voice which seemed to issue from
the very penetralia of his person.

'But your escort, Mr. Gilfillan, is not so strong as I expected,'
said Major Melville.

'Some of the people,' replied Gilfillan, 'hungered and were
athirst by the way, and tarried until their poor souls were
refreshed with the word.'

'I am sorry, sir,' replied the Major, 'you did not trust to your
refreshing your men at Cairnvreckan; whatever my house contains is
at the command of persons employed in the service.'

'It was not of creature-comforts I spake,' answered the
Covenanter, regarding Major Melville with something like a smile
of contempt; 'howbeit, I thank you; but the people remained
waiting upon the precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel for the out-pouring
of the afternoon exhortation.'

'And have you, sir,' said the Major, 'when the rebels are about to
spread themselves through this country, actually left a great part
of your command at a fieldpreaching?'

Gilfillan again smiled scornfully as he made this indirect answer
--'Even thus are the children of this world wiser in their
generation than the children of light!'

'However, sir,' said the Major, 'as you are to take charge of this
gentleman to Stirling, and deliver him, with these papers, into
the hands of Governor Blakeney, I beseech you to observe some
rules of military discipline upon your march. For example, I would
advise you to keep your men more closely together, and that each
in his march should cover his file-leader, instead of straggling
like geese upon a common; and, for fear of surprise, I further
recommend to you to form a small advance-party of your best men,
with a single vidette in front of the whole march, so that when
you approach a village or a wood'--(here the Major interrupted
himself)--'But as I don't observe you listen to me, Mr.
Gilfillan, I suppose I need not give myself the trouble to say
more upon the subject. You are a better judge, unquestionably,
than I am of the measures to be pursued; but one thing I would
have you well aware of, that you are to treat this gentleman, your
prisoner, with no rigour nor incivility, and are to subject him to
no other restraint than is necessary for his security.'

'I have looked into my commission,' said Mr. Gilfillan,'
subscribed by a worthy and professing nobleman, William, Earl of
Glencairn; nor do I find it therein set down that I am to receive
any charges or commands anent my doings from Major William
Melville of Cairnvreckan.'

Major Melville reddened even to the well-powdered ears which
appeared beneath his neat military sidecurls, the more so as he
observed Mr. Morton smile at the same moment. 'Mr. Gilfillan,' he
answered, with some asperity, 'I beg ten thousand pardons for
interfering with a person of your importance. I thought, however,
that as you have been bred a grazier, if I mistake not, there
might be occasion to remind you of the difference between
Highlanders and Highland cattle; and if you should happen to meet
with any gentleman who has seen service, and is disposed to speak
upon the subject, I should still imagine that listening to him
would do you no sort of harm. But I have done, and have only once
more to recommend this gentleman to your civility as well as to
your custody. Mr. Waverley, I am truly sorry we should part in
this way; but I trust, when you are again in this country, I may
have an opportunity to render Cairnvreckan more agreeable than
circumstances have permitted on this occasion.'

So saying, he shook our hero by the hand. Morton also took an
affectionate farewell, and Waverley, having mounted his horse,
with a musketeer leading it by the bridle and a file upon each
side to prevent his escape, set forward upon the march with
Gilfillan and his party. Through the little village they were
accompanied with the shouts of the children, who cried out, 'Eh!
see to the Southland gentleman that's gaun to be hanged for
shooting lang John Mucklewrath, the smith!





APPENDICES TO THE GENERAL PREFACE


NO. I

FRAGMENT [Footnote: It is not to be supposed that these fragments
are given in possessing any intrinsic value of themselves; but
there may be some curiosity attached to them, as to the first
etchings of a plate, which are accounted interesting by those who
have, in any degree, been interested in the more finished works of
the artist.] OF A ROMANCE WHICH WAS TO HAVE BEEN ENTITLED

THOMAS THE RHYMER

CHAPTER I

THE sun was nearly set behind the distant mountains of Liddesdale,
when a few of the scattered and terrified inhabitants of the
village of Hersildoune, which had four days before been burned by
a predatory band of English Borderers, were now busied in
repairing their ruined dwellings. One high tower in the centre of
the village alone exhibited no appearance of devastation. It was
surrounded with court walls, and the outer gate was barred and
bolted. The bushes and brambles which grew around, and had even
insinuated their branches beneath the gate, plainly showed that it
must have been many years since it had been opened. While the
cottages around lay in smoking ruins, this pile, deserted and
desolate as it seemed to be, had suffered nothing from the
violence of the invaders; and the wretched beings who were
endeavouring to repair their miserable huts against nightfall
seemed to neglect the preferable shelter which it might have
afforded them without the necessity of labour.

Before the day had quite gone down, a knight, richly armed and
mounted upon an ambling hackney, rode slowly into the village. His
attendants were a lady, apparently young and beautiful, who rode
by his side upon a dappled palfrey; his squire, who carried his
helmet and lance, and led his battlehorse, a noble steed, richly
caparisoned. A page and four yeomen bearing bows and quivers,
short swords, and targets of a span breadth, completed his
equipage, which, though small, denoted him to be a man of high
rank.

He stopped and addressed several of the inhabitants whom curiosity
had withdrawn from their labour to gaze at him; but at the sound
of his voice, and still more on perceiving the St. George's Cross
in the caps of his followers, they fled, with a loud cry, 'that
the Southrons were returned.' The knight endeavoured to
expostulate with the fugitives, who were chiefly aged men, women,
and children; but their dread of the English name accelerated
their flight, and in a few minutes, excepting the knight and his
attendants, the place was deserted by all. He paced through the
village to seek a shelter for the night, and, despairing to find
one either in the inaccessible tower or the plundered huts of the
peasantry, he directed his course to the left hand, where he spied
a small decent habitation, apparently the abode of a man
considerably above the common rank. After much knocking, the
proprietor at length showed himself at the window, and speaking in
the English dialect, with great signs of apprehension, demanded
their business. The warrior replied that his quality was an
English knight and baron, and that he was travelling to the court
of the King of Scotland on affairs of consequence to both
kingdoms.

'Pardon my hesitation, noble Sir Knight,' said the old man, as he
unbolted and unbarred his doors--'Pardon my hesitation, but we are
here exposed to too many intrusions to admit of our exercising
unlimited and unsuspicious hospitality. What I have is yours; and
God send your mission may bring back peace and the good days of
our old Queen Margaret!'

'Amen, worthy Franklin,' quoth the Knight--'Did you know her?'

'I came to this country in her train,' said the Franklin; 'and the
care of some of her jointure lands which she devolved on me
occasioned my settling here.'

'And how do you, being an Englishman,' said the Knight, 'protect
your life and property here, when one of your nation cannot obtain
a single night's lodging, or a draught of water were he thirsty?'

'Marry, noble sir,' answered the Franklin, 'use, as they say, will
make a man live in a lion's den; and as I settled here in a quiet
time, and have never given cause of offence, I am respected by my
neighbours, and even, as you see, by our FORAYERS from England.'

'I rejoice to hear it, and accept your hospitality. Isabella, my
love, our worthy host will provide you a bed. My daughter, good
Franklin, is ill at ease. We will occupy your house till the
Scottish King shall return from his northern expedition; meanwhile
call me Lord Lacy of Chester.'

The attendants of the Baron, assisted by the Franklin, were now
busied in disposing of the horses, and arranging the table for
some refreshment for Lord Lacy and his fair companion. While they
sat down to it, they were attended by their host and his daughter,
whom custom did not permit to eat in their presence, and who
afterwards withdrew to an outer chamber, where the squire and page
(both young men of noble birth) partook of supper, and were
accommodated with beds. The yeomen, after doing honour to the
rustic cheer of Queen Margaret's bailiff, withdrew to the stable,
and each, beside his favourite horse, snored away the fatigues of
their journey.

Early on the following morning the travellers were roused by a
thundering knocking at the door of the house, accompanied with
many demands for instant admission in the roughest tone. The
squire and page of Lord Lacy, after buckling on their arms, were
about to sally out to chastise these intruders, when the old host,
after looking out at a private casement, contrived for
reconnoitring his visitors, entreated them, with great signs of
terror, to be quiet, if they did not mean that all in the house
should be murdered.

He then hastened to the apartment of Lord Lacy, whom he met
dressed in a long furred gown and the knightly cap called a
MORTIER, irritated at the noise, and demanding to know the cause
which had disturbed the repose of the household.

'Noble sir,' said the Franklin, 'one of the most formidable and
bloody of the Scottish Border riders is at hand; he is never
seen,' added he, faltering with terror, 'so far from the hills but
with some bad purpose, and the power of accomplishing it; so hold
yourself to your guard, for--'

A loud crash here announced that the door was broken down, and the
knight just descended the stair in time to prevent bloodshed
betwixt his attendants and the intruders. They were three in
number; their chief was tall, bony, and athletic, his spare and
muscular frame, as well as the hardness of his features, marked
the course of his life to have been fatiguing and perilous. The
effect of his appearance was aggravated by his dress, which
consisted of a jack or jacket, composed of thick buff leather, on
which small plates of iron of a lozenge form were stitched in such
a manner as to overlap each other and form a coat of mail, which
swayed with every motion of the wearer's body. This defensive
armour covered a doublet of coarse grey cloth, and the Borderer
had a few half-rusted plates of steel on his shoulders, a two-
edged sword, with a dagger hanging beside it, in a buff belt; a
helmet, with a few iron bars, to cover the face instead of a
visor, and a lance of tremendous and uncommon length, completed
his appointments. The looks of the man were as wild and rude as
his attire: his keen black eyes never rested one moment fixed upon
a single object, but constantly traversed all around, as if they
ever sought some danger to oppose, some plunder to seize, or some
insult to revenge. The latter seemed to be his present object,
for, regardless of the dignified presence of Lord Lacy, he uttered
the most incoherent threats against the owner of the house and his
guests.

'We shall see--ay, marry shall we--if an English hound is to
harbour and reset the Southrons here. Thank the Abbot of Melrose
and the good Knight of Coldingnow that have so long kept me from
your skirts. But those days are gone, by Saint Mary, and you shall
find it!'

It is probable the enraged Borderer would not have long continued
to vent his rage in empty menaces, had not the entrance of the
four yeomen with their bows bent convinced him that the force was
not at this moment on his own side.

Lord Lacy now advanced towards him. 'You intrude upon my privacy,
soldier; withdraw yourself and your followers. There is peace
betwixt our nations, or my servants should chastise thy
presumption.'

'Such peace as ye give such shall ye have,' answered the moss-
trooper, first pointing with his lance towards the burned village
and then almost instantly levelling it against Lord Lacy. The
squire drew his sword and severed at one blow the steel head from
the truncheon of the spear.

'Arthur Fitzherbert,' said the Baron, 'that stroke has deferred
thy knighthood for one year; never must that squire wear the spurs
whose unbridled impetuosity can draw unbidden his sword in the
presence of his master. Go hence and think on what I have said.'

The squire left the chamber abashed.

'It were vain,' continued Lord Lacy, 'to expect that courtesy from
a mountain churl which even my own followers can forget. Yet,
before thou drawest thy brand (for the intruder laid his hand upon
the hilt of his sword), thou wilt do well to reflect that I came
with a safe-conduct from thy king, and have no time to waste in
brawls with such as thou.'

'From MY king--from my king!' re-echoed the mountaineer. 'I care
not that rotten truncheon (striking the shattered spear furiously
on the ground) for the King of Fife and Lothian. But Habby of
Cessford will be here belive; and we shall soon know if he will
permit an English churl to occupy his hostelrie.'

Having uttered these words, accompanied with a lowering glance
from under his shaggy black eyebrows, he turned on his heel and
left the house with his two followers. They mounted their horses,
which they had tied to an outer fence, and vanished in an instant.

'Who is this discourteous ruffian?' said Lord Lacy to the
Franklin, who had stood in the most violent agitation during this
whole scene.

'His name, noble lord, is Adam Kerr of the Moat, but he is
commonly called by his companions the Black Rider of Cheviot. I
fear, I fear, he comes hither for no good; but if the Lord of
Cessford be near, he will not dare offer any unprovoked outrage.'

'I have heard of that chief,' said the Baron. 'Let me know when he
approaches, and do thou, Rodulph (to the eldest yeoman), keep a
strict watch. Adelbert (to the page), attend to arm me.' The page
bowed, and the Baron withdrew to the chamber of the Lady Isabella
to explain the cause of the disturbance.

No more of the proposed tale was ever written; but the Author's
purpose was that it should turn upon a fine legend of superstition
which is current in the part of the Borders where he had his
residence, where, in the reign of Alexander III of Scotland, that
renowned person Thomas of Hersildoune, called the Rhymer, actually
flourished. This personage, the Merlin of Scotland, and to whom
some of the adventures which the British bards assigned to Merlin
Caledonius, or the Wild, have been transferred by tradition, was,
as is well known, a magician, as well as a poet and prophet. He is
alleged still to live in the land of Faery, and is expected to
return at some great convulsion of society, in which he is to act
a distinguished part, a tradition common to all nations, as the
belief of the Mahomedans respecting their twelfth Imaum
demonstrates.

Now, it chanced many years since that there lived on the Borders a
jolly, rattling horse-cowper, who was remarkable for a reckless
and fearless temper, which made him much admired and a little
dreaded amongst his neighbours. One moonlight night, as he rode
over Bowden Moor, on the west side of the Eildon Hills, the scene
of Thomas the Rhymer's prophecies, and often mentioned in his
story, having a brace of horses along with him which he had not
been able to dispose of, he met a man of venerable appearance and
singularly antique dress, who, to his great surprise, asked the
price of his horses, and began to chaffer with him on the subject.
To Canobie Dick, for so shall we call our Border dealer, a chap
was a chap, and he would have sold a horse to the devil himself,
without minding his cloven hoof, and would have probably cheated
Old Nick into the bargain. The stranger paid the price they agreed
on, and all that puzzled Dick in the transaction was, that the
gold which he received was in unicorns, bonnet-pieces, and other
ancient coins, which would have been invaluable to collectors, but
were rather troublesome in modern currency. It was gold, however,
and therefore Dick contrived to get better value for the coin than
he perhaps gave to his customer. By the command of so good a
merchant, he brought horses to the same spot more than once, the
purchaser only stipulating that he should always come, by night,
and alone. I do not know whether it was from mere curiosity, or
whether some hope of gain mixed with it, but after Dick had sold
several horses in this way, he began to complain that dry bargains
were unlucky, and to hint that, since his chap must live in the
neighbourhood, he ought, in the courtesy of dealing, to treat him
to half a mutchkin.

'You may see my dwelling if you will,' said the stranger; 'but if
you lose courage at what you see there, you will rue it all your
life.'

Dicken, however, laughed the warning to scorn, and, having
alighted to secure his horse, he followed the stranger up a narrow
foot-path, which led them up the hills to the singular eminence
stuck betwixt the most southern and the centre peaks, and called
from its resemblance to such an animal in its form the Lucken
Hare. At the foot of this eminence, which is almost as famous for
witch meetings as the neighbouring wind-mill of Kippilaw, Dick was
somewhat startled to observe that his conductor entered the
hillside by a passage or cavern, of which he himself, though well
acquainted with the spot, had never seen or heard.

'You may still return,' said his guide, looking ominously back
upon him; but Dick scorned to show the white feather, and on they
went. They entered a very long range of stables; in every stall
stood a coal-black horse; by every horse lay a knight in coal-
black armour, with a drawn sword in his hand; but all were as
silent, hoof and limb, as if they had been cut out of marble. A
great number of torches lent a gloomy lustre to the hall, which,
like those of the Caliph Vathek, was of large dimensions. At the
upper end, however, they at length arrived, where a sword and horn
lay on an antique table.

'He that shall sound that horn and draw that sword,' said the
stranger, who now intimated that he was the famous Thomas of
Hersildoune, 'shall, if his heart fail him not, be king over all
broad Britain. So speaks the tongue that cannot lie. But all
depends on courage, and much on your taking the sword or the horn
first.'

Dick was much disposed to take the sword, but his bold spirit was
quailed by the supernatural terrors of the hall, and he thought to
unsheath the sword first might be construed into defiance, and
give offence to the powers of the Mountain. He took the bugle with
a trembling hand, and [sounded] a feeble note, but loud enough to
produce a terrible answer. Thunder rolled in stunning peals
through the immense hall; horses and men started to life; the
steeds snorted, stamped, grinded their bits, and tossed on high
their heads; the warriors sprung to their feet, clashed their
armour, and brandished their swords. Dick's terror was extreme at
seeing the whole army, which had been so lately silent as the
grave, in uproar, and about to rush on him. He dropped the horn,
and made a feeble attempt to seize the enchanted sword; but at the
same moment a voice pronounced aloud the mysterious words:

    'Woe to the coward, that ever he was born,
    Who did not draw the sword before he blew the horn!'

At the same time a whirlwind of irresistible fury howled through
the long hall, bore the unfortunate horse-jockey clear out of the
mouth of the cavern, and precipitated him over a steep bank of
loose stones, where the shepherds found him the next morning, with
just breath sufficient to tell his fearful tale, after concluding
which he expired.

This legend, with several variations, is found in many parts of
Scotland and England; the scene is sometimes laid in some
favourite glen of the Highlands, sometimes in the deep coal-mines
of Northumberland and Cumberland, which run so far beneath the
ocean. It is also to be found in Reginald Scott's book on
"Witchcraft," which was written in the sixteenth century. It would
be in vain to ask what was the original of the tradition. The
choice between the horn and sword, may perhaps, include as a moral
that it is foolhardy to awaken danger before we have arms in our
hands to resist it.

Although admitting of much poetical ornament, it is clear that
this legend would have formed but an unhappy foundation for a
prose story, and must have degenerated into a mere fairy tale.
Doctor John Leyden has beautifully introduced the tradition in his
Scenes of Infancy:--

    Mysterious Rhymer, doom'd by fate's decree,
    Still to revisit Eildon's fated tree;
    Where oft the swain, at dawn of Hallow-day,
    Hears thy fleet barb with wild impatience neigh;
    Say who is he, with summons long and high.
    Shall bid the charmed sleep of ages fly,
    Roll the long sound through Eildon's caverns vast,
    While each dark warrior kindles at the blast:
    The horn, the falchion grasp with mighty hand,
    And peal proud Arthur's march from Fairy-land?

    Scenes of Infancy, Part I.

In the same cabinet with the preceding fragment, the following
occurred among other disjecta membra. It seems to be an attempt at
a tale of a different description from the last, but was almost
instantly abandoned. The introduction points out the time of the
composition to have been about the end of the eighteenth century.

THE LORD OF ENNERDALE

A FRAGMENT OF A LETTER FROM JOHN B----, ESQ., OF THAT ILK, TO
WILLIAM G----, F.R.S.E.

'FILL a bumper,' said the Knight; 'the ladies may spare us a
little longer. Fill a bumper to the Archduke Charles.'

The company did due honour to the toast of their landlord.

'The success of the Archduke,' said the muddy Vicar, 'will tend to
further our negotiation at Paris; and if--'

'Pardon the interruption, Doctor,' quoth a thin emaciated figure,
with somewhat of a foreign accent; 'but why should you connect
those events, unless to hope that the bravery and victories of our
allies may supersede the necessity of a degrading treaty?'

'We begin to feel, Monsieur L'Abbe,' answered the Vicar, with some
asperity, 'that a Continental war entered into for the defence of
an ally who was unwilling to defend himself, and for the
restoration of a royal family, nobility, and priesthood who tamely
abandoned their own rights, is a burden too much even for the
resources of this country.'

'And was the war then on the part of Great Britain,' rejoined the
Abbe, 'a gratuitous exertion of generosity? Was there no fear of
the wide-wasting spirit of innovation which had gone abroad? Did
not the laity tremble for their property, the clergy for their
religion, and every loyal heart for the Constitution? Was it not
thought necessary to destroy the building which was on fire, ere
the conflagration spread around the vicinity?'

'Yet, if upon trial,' said the Doctor,' the walls were found to
resist our utmost efforts, I see no great prudence in persevering
in our labour amid the smouldering ruins.'

'What, Doctor,' said the Baronet,'must I call to your recollection
your own sermon on the late general fast? Did you not encourage us
to hope that the Lord of Hosts would go forth with our armies, and
that our enemies, who blasphemed him, should be put to shame?'

'It may please a kind father to chasten even his beloved
children,' answered the Vicar.

'I think,' said a gentleman near the foot of the table,'that the
Covenanters made some apology of the same kind for the failure of
their prophecies at the battle of Dunbar, when their mutinous
preachers compelled the prudent Lesley to go down against the
Philistines in Gilgal.'

The Vicar fixed a scrutinizing and not a very complacent eye upon
this intruder. He was a young man, of mean stature, and rather a
reserved appearance. Early and severe study had quenched in his
features the gaiety peculiar to his age, and impressed upon them a
premature cast of thoughtfulness. His eye had, however, retained
its fire, and his gesture its animation. Had he remained silent,
he would have been long unnoticed; but when he spoke there was
something in his manner which arrested attention.

'Who is this young man?' said the Vicar in a low voice to his
neighbour.

'A Scotchman called Maxwell, on a visit to Sir Henry,' was the
answer.

'I thought so, from his accent and his manners,' said the Vicar.

It may be here observed that the northern English retain rather
more of the ancient hereditary aversion to their neighbours than
their countrymen of the south. The interference of other
disputants, each of whom urged his opinion with all the vehemence
of wine and politics, rendered the summons to the drawing-room
agreeable to the more sober part of the company.

The company dispersed by degrees, and at length the Vicar and the
young Scotchman alone remained, besides the Baronet, his lady,
daughters, and myself. The clergyman had not, it would seem,
forgot the observation which ranked him with the false prophets of
Dunbar, for he addressed Mr. Maxwell upon the first opportunity.

'Hem! I think, sir, you mentioned something about the civil wars
of last century? You must be deeply skilled in them, indeed, if
you can draw any parallel betwixt those and the present evil days
--days which I am ready to maintain are the most gloomy that ever
darkened the prospects of Britain.'

'God forbid, Doctor, that I should draw a comparison between the
present times and those you mention. I am too sensible of the
advantages we enjoy over our ancestors. Faction and ambition have
introduced division among us; but we are still free from the guilt
of civil bloodshed, and from all the evils which flow from it. Our
foes, sir, are not those of our own household; and while we
continue united and firm, from the attacks of a foreign enemy,
however artful, or however inveterate, we have, I hope, little to
dread.'

'Have you found anything curious, Mr. Maxwell, among the dusty
papers?' said Sir Henry, who seemed to dread a revival of
political discussion.

'My investigation amongst them led to reflections at which I have
just now hinted,' said Maxwell; 'and I think they are pretty
strongly exemplified by a story which I have been endeavouring to
arrange from some of your family manuscripts.'

'You are welcome to make what use of them you please,' said Sir
Henry;' they have been undisturbed for many a day, and I have
often wished for some person as well skilled as you in these old
pot-hooks to tell me their meaning.'

'Those I just mentioned,' answered Maxwell, 'relate to a piece of
private history, savouring not a little of the marvellous, and
intimately connected with your family; if it is agreeable, I can
read to you the anecdotes in the modern shape into which I have
been endeavouring to throw them, and you can then judge of the
value of the originals.'

There was something in this proposal agreeable to all parties. Sir
Henry had family pride, which prepared him to take an interest in
whatever related to his ancestors. The ladies had dipped deeply
into the fashionable reading of the present day. Lady Ratcliff and
her fair daughters had climbed every pass, viewed every pine-
shrouded ruin, heard every groan, and lifted every trap-door in
company with the noted heroine of Udolpho. They had been heard,
however, to observe that the famous incident of the Black Veil
singularly resembled the ancient apologue of the mountain in
labour, so that they were unquestionably critics as well as
admirers. Besides all this, they had valorously mounted en croupe
behind the ghostly horseman of Prague, through all his seven
translators, and followed the footsteps of Moor through the forest
of Bohemia. Moreover, it was even hinted (but this was a greater
mystery than all the rest) that a certain performance called the
'Monk,' in three neat volumes, had been seen by a prying eye in
the right hand drawer of the Indian cabinet of Lady Ratcliff's
dressing-room. Thus predisposed for wonders and signs, Lady
Ratcliff and her nymphs drew their chairs round a large blazing
wood-fire and arranged themselves to listen to the tale. To that
fire I also approached, moved thereunto partly by the inclemency
of the season, and partly that my deafness, which you know,
cousin, I acquired during my campaign under Prince Charles Edward,
might be no obstacle to the gratification of my curiosity, which
was awakened by what had any reference to the fate of such
faithful followers of royalty as you well know the house of
Ratcliff have ever been. To this wood-fire the Vicar likewise drew
near, and reclined himself conveniently in his chair, seemingly
disposed to testify his disrespect for the narration and narrator
by falling asleep as soon as he conveniently could. By the side of
Maxwell (by the way, I cannot learn that he is in the least
related to the Nithsdale family) was placed a small table and a
couple of lights, by the assistance of which he read as follows:--

'Journal of Jan Van Eulen

'On the 6th November 1645, I, Jan Van Eulen, merchant in
Rotterdam, embarked with my only daughter on board of the good
vessel Vryheid of Amsterdam, in order to pass into the unhappy and
disturbed kingdom of England. 7th November--a brisk gale--
daughter sea-sick--myself unable to complete the calculation which
I have begun of the inheritance left by Jane Lansache of Carlisle,
my late dear wife's sister, the collection of which is the object
of my voyage. 8th November--wind still stormy and adverse--a
horrid disaster nearly happened--my dear child washed overboard as
the vessel lurched to leeward. Memorandum--to reward the young
sailor who saved her out of the first moneys which I can recover
from the inheritance of her aunt Lansache. 9th November--calm--
P.M. light breezes from N. N. W. I talked with the captain about
the inheritance of my sister-in-law, Jane Lansache. He says he
knows the principal subject, which will not exceed L1000 in value.
N. B. He is a cousin to a family of Petersons, which was the name
of the husband of my sister-in-law; so there is room to hope it
may be worth more than he reports. 10th November, 10 A.M. May God
pardon all our sins!--An English frigate, bearing the Parliament
flag, has appeared in the offing, and gives chase.--11 A.M. She
nears us every moment, and the captain of our vessel prepares to
clear for action.--May God again have mercy upon us!'

'Here,' said Maxwell, 'the journal with which I have opened the
narration ends somewhat abruptly.'

'I am glad of it,' said Lady Ratcliff.

'But, Mr. Maxwell,' said young Frank, Sir Henry's grandchild,
'shall we not hear how the battle ended?'

I do not know, cousin, whether I have not formerly made you
acquainted with the abilities of Frank Ratcliff. There is not a
battle fought between the troops of the Prince and of the
Government during the years 1745-46, of which he is not able to
give an account. It is true, I have taken particular pains to fix
the events of this important period upon his memory by frequent
repetition.

'No, my dear,' said Maxwell, in answer to young Frank Ratcliff--
'No, my dear, I cannot tell you the exact particulars of the
engagement, but its consequences appear from the following letter,
despatched by Garbonete Von Eulen, daughter of our journalist, to
a relation in England, from whom she implored assistance. After
some general account of the purpose of the voyage and of the
engagement her narrative proceeds thus:--

'The noise of the cannon had hardly ceased before the sounds of a
language to me but half known, and the confusion on board our
vessel, informed me that the captors had boarded us and taken
possession of our vessel. I went on deck, where the first
spectacle that met my eyes was a young man, mate of our vessel,
who, though disfigured and covered with blood, was loaded with
irons, and whom they were forcing over the side of the vessel into
a boat. The two principal persons among our enemies appeared to be
a man of a tall thin figure, with a high-crowned hat and long
neckband, and short-cropped head of hair, accompanied by a bluff,
open-looking elderly man in a naval uniform. "Yarely! yarely! pull
away, my hearts," said the latter, and the boat bearing the
unlucky young man soon carried him on board the frigate. Perhaps
you will blame me for mentioning this circumstance; but consider,
my dear cousin, this man saved my life, and his fate, even when my
own and my father's were in the balance, could not but affect me
nearly.

'"In the name of Him who is jealous, even to slaying," said the
first--'

CETERA DESUNT





NO. II

CONCLUSION OF MR. STRUTT'S ROMANCE OF QUEENHOO-HALL

BY THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY

CHAPTER IV

A HUNTING PARTY--AN ADVENTURE--A DELIVERANCE

THE next morning the bugles were sounded by daybreak in the court
of Lord Boteler's mansion, to call the inhabitants from their
slumbers to assist in a splendid chase with which the Baron had
resolved to entertain his neighbour Fitzallen and his noble
visitor St. Clare. Peter Lanaret, the falconer, was in attendance,
with falcons for the knights and teircelets for the ladies, if
they should choose to vary their sport from hunting to hawking.
Five stout yeomen keepers, with their attendants, called Ragged
Robins, all meetly arrayed in Kendal green, with bugles and short
hangers by their sides, and quarter-staffs in their hands, led the
slow-hounds or brachets by which the deer were to be put up. Ten
brace of gallant greyhounds, each of which was fit to pluck down,
singly, the tallest red deer, were led in leashes, by as many of
Lord Boteler's foresters. The pages, squires, and other attendants
of feudal splendour well attired, in their best hunting-gear, upon
horseback or foot, according to their rank, with their boar-
spears, long bows, and cross-bows, were in seemly waiting.

A numerous train of yeomen, called in the language of the times
retainers, who yearly received a livery coat and a small pension
for their attendance on such solemn occasions, appeared in
cassocks of blue, bearing upon their arms the cognisance of the
house of Boteler, as a badge of their adherence. They were the
tallest men of their hands that the neighbouring villages could
supply, with every man his good buckler on his shoulder, and a
bright burnished broadsword dangling from his leathern belt. On
this occasion they acted as rangers for beating up the thickets
and rousing the game. These attendants filled up the court of the
castle, spacious as it was.

On the green without you might have seen the motley assemblage of
peasantry convened by report of the splendid hunting, including
most of our old acquaintances from Tewin, as well as the jolly
partakers of good cheer at Hob Filcher's. Gregory the jester, it
may well be guessed, had no great mind to exhibit himself in
public after his recent disaster; but Oswald the steward, a great
formalist in whatever concerned the public exhibition of his
master's household state, had positively enjoined his attendance.
'What,' quoth he,'shall the house of the brave Lord Boteler, on
such a brave day as this, be without a fool? Certes, the good Lord
Saint Clere and his fair lady sister might think our housekeeping
as niggardly as that of their churlish kinsman at Gay Bowers, who
sent his father's jester to the hospital, sold the poor sot's
bells for hawk-jesses, and made a nightcap of his long-eared
bonnet. And, sirrah, let me see thee fool handsomely--speak squibs
and crackers, instead of that dry, barren, musty gibing which thou
hast used of late; or, by the bones! the porter shall have thee to
his lodge, and cob thee with thine own wooden sword till thy skin
is as motley as thy doublet.'

To this stern injunction Gregory made no reply, any more than to
the courteous offer of old Albert Drawslot, the chief parkkeeper,
who proposed to blow vinegar in his nose to sharpen his wit, as he
had done that blessed morning to Bragger, the old hound, whose
scent was failing. There was, indeed, little time for reply, for
the bugles, after a lively flourish, were now silent, and Peretto,
with his two attendant minstrels, stepping beneath the windows of
the strangers' apartments, joined in the following roundelay, the
deep voices of the rangers and falconers making up a chorus that
caused the very battlements to ring again:--

    Waken, lords and ladies gay,
    On the mountain dawns the day;
    All the jolly chase is here,
    With hawk and horse, and hunting spear;
    Hounds are in their couples yelling,
    Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
    Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
    'Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

    Waken, lords and ladies gay,
    The mist has left the mountain grey;
    Springlets in the dawn are streaming,
    Diamonds on the brake are gleaming,

    And foresters have busy been,
    To track the buck in thicket green;
    Now we come to chant our lay,
    'Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

    Waken, lords and ladies gay,
    To the green-wood haste away;
    We can show you where he lies,
    Fleet of foot and tall of size;
    We can show the marks he made,
    When 'gamst the oak his antlers frayed;
    You shall see him brought to bay,
    'Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

    Louder, louder chant the lay,
    Waken, lords and ladies gay;
    Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee
    Run a course as well as we;
    Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk,
    Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk?
    Think of this and rise with day,
    Gentle lords and ladies gay.

By the time this lay was finished, Lord Boteler, with his daughter
and kinsman, Fitzallen of Harden, and other noble guests, had
mounted their palfreys, and the hunt set forward in due order. The
huntsmen, having carefully observed the traces of a large stag on
the preceding evening, were able, without loss of time, to conduct
the company, by the marks which they had made upon the trees, to
the side of the thicket in which, by the report of Drawslot, he
had harboured all night. The horsemen, spreading themselves along
the side of the cover, waited until the keeper entered, leading
his ban-dog, a large blood-hound tied in a learn or band, from
which he takes his name.

But it befell thus. A hart of the second year, which was in the
same cover with the proper object of their pursuit, chanced to be
unharboured first, and broke cover very near where the Lady Emma
and her brother were stationed. An inexperienced varlet, who was
nearer to them, instantly unloosed two tall greyhounds, who sprung
after the fugitive with all the fleetness of the north wind.
Gregory, restored a little to spirits by the enlivening scene
around him, followed, encouraging the hounds with a loud layout,
for which he had the hearty curses of the huntsman, as well as of
the Baron, who entered into the spirit of the chase with all the
juvenile ardour of twenty. 'May the foul fiend, booted and
spurred, ride down his bawling throat with a scythe at his
girdle,' quoth Albert Drawslot; 'here have I been telling him that
all the marks were those of a buck of the first head, and he has
hallooed the hounds upon a velvet-headed knobbler! By Saint
Hubert, if I break not his pate with my cross-bow, may I never
cast off hound more! But to it, my lords and masters! the noble
beast is here yet, and, thank the saints, we have enough of
hounds.'

The cover being now thoroughly beat by the attendants, the stag
was compelled to abandon it and trust to his speed for his safety.
Three greyhounds were slipped upon him, whom he threw out, after
running a couple of miles, by entering an extensive furzy brake,
which extended along the side of a hill. The horsemen soon came
up, and casting off a sufficient number of slow-hounds, sent them
with the prickers into the cover, in order to drive the game from
his strength. This object being accomplished, afforded another
severe chase of several miles, in a direction almost circular,
during which the poor animal tried every wile to get rid of his
persecutors. He crossed and traversed all such dusty paths as were
likely to retain the least scent of his footsteps; he laid himself
close to the ground, drawing his feet under his belly, and
clapping his nose close to the earth, lest he should be betrayed
to the hounds by his breath and hoofs. When all was in vain, and
he found the hounds coming fast in upon him, his own strength
failing, his mouth embossed with foam, and the tears dropping from
his eyes, he turned in despair upon his pursuers, who then stood
at gaze, making an hideous clamour, and awaiting their two-footed
auxiliaries. Of these, it chanced that the Lady Eleanor, taking
more pleasure in the sport than Matilda, and being a less burden
to her palfrey than the Lord Boteler, was the first who arrived at
the spot, and taking a cross-bow from an attendant, discharged a
bolt at the stag. When the infuriated animal felt himself wounded,
he pushed frantically towards her from whom he had received the
shaft, and Lady Eleanor might have had occasion to repent of her
enterprise, had not young Fitzallen, who had kept near her during
the whole day, at that instant galloped briskly in, and, ere the
stag could change his object of assault, despatched him with his
short hunting-sword.

Albert Drawslot, who had just come up in terror for the young
lady's safety, broke out into loud encomiums upon Fitzallen's
strength and gallantry. 'By 'r Lady,' said he, taking off his cap
and wiping his sun-burnt face with his sleeve, 'well struck, and
in good time! But now, boys, doff your bonnets and sound the
mort.'

The sportsmen then sounded a treble mort, and set up a general
whoop, which, mingled with the yelping of the dogs, made the
welkin ring again. The huntsman then offered his knife to Lord
Boteler, that he might take the say of the deer, but the Baron
courteously insisted upon Fitzallen going through that ceremony.
The Lady Matilda was now come up, with most of the attendants; and
the interest of the chase being ended, it excited some surprise
that neither Saint Clere nor his sister made their appearance. The
Lord Boteler commanded the horns again to sound the recheat, in
hopes to call in the stragglers, and said to Fitzallen, 'Methinks
Saint Clere so distinguished for service in war, should have been
more forward in the chase.'

'I trow,' said Peter Lanaret, 'I know the reason of the noble
lord's absence; for, when that mooncalf Gregory hallooed the dogs
upon the knobbler, and galloped like a green hilding, as he is,
after them, I saw the Lady Emma's palfrey follow apace after that
varlet, who should be thrashed for overrunning, and I think her
noble brother has followed her, lest she should come to harm. But
here, by the rood, is Gregory to answer for himself.'

At this moment Gregory entered the circle which had been formed
round the deer, out of breath, and his face covered with blood. He
kept for some time uttering inarticulate cries of 'Harrow!' and
'Wellaway!' and other exclamations of distress and terror,
pointing all the while to a thicket at some distance from the spot
where the deer had been killed.

'By my honour,' said the Baron, 'I would gladly know who has dared
to array the poor knave thus; and I trust he should dearly abye
his outrecuidance, were he the best, save one, in England.'

Gregory, who had now found more breath, cried, 'Help, an ye be
men! Save Lady Emma and her brother, whom they are murdering in
Brokenhurst thicket.'

This put all in motion. Lord Boteler hastily commanded a small
party of his men to abide for the defence of the ladies, while he
himself, Fitzallen, and the rest made what speed they could
towards the thicket, guided by Gregory, who for that purpose was
mounted behind Fabian. Pushing through a narrow path, the first
object they encountered was a man of small stature lying on the
ground, mastered and almost strangled by two dogs, which were
instantly recognised to be those that had accompanied Gregory. A
little farther was an open space, where lay three bodies of dead
or wounded men; beside these was Lady Emma, apparently lifeless,
her brother and a young forester bending over and endeavouring to
recover her. By employing the usual remedies, this was soon
accomplished; while Lord Boteler, astonished at such a scene,
anxiously inquired at Saint Clere the meaning of what he saw, and
whether more danger was to be expected.

'For the present I trust not,' said the young warrior, who they
now observed was slightly wounded; 'but I pray you, of your
nobleness, let the woods here be searched; for we were assaulted
by four of these base assassins, and I see three only on the
sward.'

The attendants now brought forwaid the person whom they had
rescued from the dogs, and Henry, with disgust, shame, and
astonishment, recognised his kinsman, Gaston Saint Clere. This
discovery he communicated in a whisper to Lord Boteler, who
commanded the prisoner to be conveyed to Queenhoo-Hall, and
closely guarded; meanwhile he anxiously inquired of young Saint
Clere about his wound.

'A scratch, a trifle!' cried Henry. 'I am in less haste to bind it
than to introduce to you one without whose aid that of the leech
would have come too late. Where is he? where is my brave
deliverer?'

'Here, most noble lord,' said Gregory, sliding from his palfrey
and stepping forward, 'ready to receive the guerdon which your
bounty would heap on him.'

'Truly, friend Gregory,' answered the young warrior,'thou shalt
not be forgotten, for thou didst run speedily, and roar manfully
for aid, without which, I think verily, we had not received it.
But the brave forester, who came to my rescue when these three
ruffians had nigh overpowered me, where is he?'

Every one looked around, but though all had seen him on entering
the thicket, he was not now to be found. They could only
conjecture that he had retired during the confusion occasioned by
the detention of Gaston.

'Seek not for him,' said the Lady Emma, who had now in some degree
recovered her composure, 'he will not be found of mortal, unless
at his own season.'

The Baron, convinced from this answer that her terror had for the
time somewhat disturbed her reason, forbore to question her; and
Matilda and Eleanor, to whom a message had been despatched with
the result of this strange adventure, arriving, they took the Lady
Emma between them, and all in a body returned to the castle.

The distance was, however, considerable, and before reaching it
they had another alarm. The prickers, who rode foremost in the
troop, halted and announced to the Lord Boteler, that they
perceived advancing towards them a body of armed men. The
followers of the Baron were numerous, but they were arrayed for
the chase, not for battle, and it was with great pleasure that he
discerned, on the pennon of the advancing body of men-at-arms,
instead of the cognisance of Gaston, as he had some reason to
expect, the friendly bearings of Fitzosborne of Diggswell, the
same young lord who was present at the May-games with Fitzallen of
Harden. The knight himself advanced, sheathed in armour, and,
without raising his visor, informed Lord Boteler that, having
heard of a base attempt made upon a part of his train by ruffianly
assassins, he had mounted and armed a small party of his retainers
to escort them to Queenhoo-Hall. Having received and accepted an
invitation to attend them thither, they prosecuted their journey
in confidence and security, and arrived safe at home without any
further accident.

CHAPTER V

INVESTIGATION OF THE ADVENTURE OF THE HUNTING--A DISCOVERY--
GREGORY'S MANHOOD--PATE OF GASTON SAINT CLERE--CONCLUSION

So soon as they arrived at the princely mansion of Boteler, the
Lady Emma craved permission to retire to her chamber, that she
might compose her spirits after the terror she had undergone.
Henry Saint Clere, in a few words, proceeded to explain the
adventure to the curious audience. 'I had no sooner seen my
sister's palfrey, in spite of her endeavours to the contrary,
entering with spirit into the chase set on foot by the worshipful
Gregory, than I rode after to give her assistance. So long was the
chase that, when the greyhounds pulled down the knobbler, we were
out of hearing of your bugles; and having rewarded and coupled the
dogs, I gave them to be led by the jester, and we wandered in
quest of our company, whom it would seem the sport had led in a
different direction. At length, passing through the thicket where
you found us, I was surprised by a cross-bow bolt whizzing past
mine head. I drew my sword and rushed into the thicket, but was
instantly assailed by two ruffians, while other two made towards
my sister and Gregory. The poor knave fled, crying for help,
pursued by my false kinsman, now your prisoner; and the designs of
the other on my poor Emma (murderous no doubt) were prevented by
the sudden apparition of a brave woodsman, who, after a short
encounter, stretched the miscreant at his feet and came to my
assistance. I was already slightly wounded, and nearly overlaid
with odds. The combat lasted some time, for the caitiffs were both
well armed, strong, and desperate; at length, however, we had each
mastered our antagonist, when your retinue, my Lord Boteler,
arrived to my relief. So ends my story; but, by my knighthood, I
would give an earl's ransom for an opportunity of thanking the
gallant forester by whose aid I live to tell it.'

'Fear not,' said Lord Boteler, 'he shall be found, if this or the
four adjacent counties hold him. And now Lord Fitzosborne will be
pleased to doff the armour he has so kindly assumed for our sakes,
and we will all bowne ourselves for the banquet.'

When the hour of dinner approached, the Lady Matilda and her
cousin visited the chamber of the fair Darcy. They found her in a
composed but melancholy postmire. She turned the discourse upon
the misfortunes of her life, and hinted, that having recovered her
brother, and seeing him look forward to the society of one who
would amply repay to him the loss of hers, she had thoughts of
dedicating her remaining life to Heaven, by whose providential
interference it had been so often preserved.

Matilda coloured deeply at something in this speech, and her
cousin inveighed loudly against Emma's resolution. 'Ah, my dear
lady Eleanor,' replied she, 'I have to-day witnessed what I cannot
but judge a supernatural visitation, and to what end can it call
me but to give myself to the altar? That peasant who guided me to
Baddow through the Park of Danbury, the same who appeared before
me at different times and in different forms during that eventful
journey--that youth, whose features are imprinted on my memory, is
the very individual forester who this day rescued us in the
forest. I cannot be mistaken; and, connecting these marvellous
appearances with the spectre which I saw while at Gay Bowers, I
cannot resist the conviction that Heaven has permitted my guardian
angel to assume mortal shape for my relief and protection.'

The fair cousins, after exchanging looks which implied a fear that
her mind was wandering, answered her in soothing terms, and
finally prevailed upon her to accompany them to the banqueting-
hall. Here the first person they encountered was the Baron
Fitzosborne of Diggswell, now divested of his armour, at the sight
of whom the Lady Emma changed colour, and exclaiming, 'It is the
same!' sunk senseless into the arms of Matilda.

'She is bewildered by the terrors of the day,' said Eleanor;' and
we have done ill in obliging her to descend.'

'And I,'said Fitzosborne, 'have done madly in presenting before
her one whose presence must recall moments the most alarming in
her life.'

While the ladies supported Emma from the hall, Lord Boteler and
Saint Clere requested an explanation from Fitzosborne of the words
he had used.

'Trust me, gentle lords,' said the Baron of Diggswell, 'ye shall
have what ye demand when I learn that Lady Emma Darcy has not
suffered from my imprudence.'

At this moment Lady Matilda, returning, said that her fair friend,
on her recovery, had calmly and deliberately insisted that she had
seen Fitzosborne before, in the most dangerous crisis of her life.

'I dread,' said she, 'her disordered mind connects all that her
eye beholds with the terrible passages that she has witnessed.'

'Nay,' said Fitzosborne, 'if noble Saint Clere can pardon the
unauthorized interest which, with the purest and most honourable
intentions, I have taken in his sister's fate, it is easy for me
to explain this mysterious impression.'

He proceeded to say that, happening to be in the hostelry called
the Griffin, near Baddow, while upon a journey in that country, he
had met with the old nurse of the Lady Emma Darcy, who, being just
expelled from Gay Bowers, was in the height of her grief and
indignation, and made loud and public proclamation of Lady Emma's
wrongs. From the description she gave of the beauty of her foster-
child, as well as from the spirit of chivalry, Fitzosborne became
interested in her fate. This interest was deeply enhanced when, by
a bribe to old Gaunt the Reve, he procured a view of the Lady Emma
as she walked near the castle of Gay Bowers. The aged churl
refused to give him access to the castle; yet dropped some hints
as if he thought the lady in danger, and wished she were well out
of it. His master, he said, had heard she had a brother in life,
and since that deprived him of all chance of gaining her domains
by purchase, he--in short, Gaunt wished they were safely
separated. 'If any injury,' quoth he, 'should happen to the damsel
here, it were ill for us all. I tried by an innocent stratagem to
frighten her from the castle, by introducing a figure through a
trap-door, and warning her, as if by a voice from the dead, to
retreat from thence; but the giglet is wilful, and is running upon
her fate.'

Finding Gaunt, although covetous and communicative, too faithful a
servant to his wicked master to take any active steps against his
commands, Fitzosborne applied himself to old Ursely, whom he found
more tractable. Through her he learned the dreadful plot Gaston
had laid to rid himself of his kinswoman, and resolved to effect
her deliverance. But aware of the delicacy of Emma's situation, he
charged Ursely to conceal from her the interest he took in her
distress, resolving to watch over her in disguise until he saw her
in a place of safety. Hence the appearance he made before her in
various dresses during her journey, in the course of which he was
never far distant; and he had always four stout yeomen within
hearing of his bugle, had assistance been necessary. When she was
placed in safety at the lodge, it was Fitzosborne's intention to
have prevailed upon his sisters to visit and take her under their
protection; but he found them absent from Diggswell, having gone
to attend an aged relation who lay dangerously ill in a distant
county. They did not return until the day before the May-games;
and the other events followed too rapidly to permit Fitzosborne to
lay any plan for introducing them to Lady Emma Darcy. On the day
of the chase he resolved to preserve his romantic disguise, and
attend the Lady Emma as a forester, partly to have the pleasure of
being near her and partly to judge whether, according to an idle
report in the country, she favoured his friend and comrade
Fitzallen of Marden. This last motive, it may easily be believed,
he did not declare to the company. After the skirmish with the
ruffians, he waited till the Baron and the hunters arrived, and
then, still doubting the farther designs of Gaston, hastened to
his castle to arm the band which had escorted them to Queenhoo-
Hall.

Fitzosborne's story being finished, he received the thanks of all
the company, particularly of Saint Clere, who felt deeply the
respectful delicacy with which he had conducted himself towards
his sister. The lady was carefully informed of her obligations to
him; and it is left to the well-judging reader whether even the
raillery of Lady Eleanor made her regret that Heaven had only
employed natural means for her security, and that the guardian
angel was converted into a handsome, gallant, and enamoured
knight.

The joy of the company in the hall extended itself to the buttery,
where Gregory the jester narrated such feats of arms done by
himself in the fray of the morning as might have shamed Bevis and
Guy of Warwick. He was, according to his narrative, singled out
for destruction by the gigantic Baron himself, while he abandoned
to meaner hands the destruction of Saint Clere and Fitzosborne.

'But certes,' said he, 'the foul paynim met his match; for, ever
as he foined at me with his brand, I parried his blows with my
bauble, and, closing with him upon the third veny, threw him to
the ground, and made him cry recreant to an unarmed man.'

'Tush, man,' said Drawslot, 'thou forgettest thy best auxiliaries,
the good greyhounds, Help and Holdfast! I warrant thee, that when
the hump-backed Baron caught thee by the cowl, which he hath
almost torn off, thou hadst been in a fair plight had they not
remembered an old friend, and come in to the rescue. Why, man, I
found them fastened on him myself; and there was odd staving and
stickling to make them "ware haunch!" Their mouths were full of
the flex, for I pulled a piece of the garment from their jaws. I
warrant thee, that when they brought him to ground thou fledst
like a frighted pricket.'

'And as for Gregory's gigantic paynim,' said Fabian, 'why, he lies
yonder in the guard-room, the very size, shape, and colour of a
spider in a yew-hedge.'

'It is false!' said Gregory. 'Colbrand the Dane was a dwarf to
him.'

'It is as true,' returned Fabian, 'as that the Tasker is to be
married on Tuesday to pretty Margery. Gregory, thy sheet hath
brought them between a pair of blankets.'

'I care no more for such a gillflirt,' said the jester,' than I do
for thy leasings. Marry, thou hop-o'-my-thumb, happy wouldst thou
be could thy head reach the captive Baron's girdle.'

'By the mass,' said Peter Lanaret, 'I will have one peep at this
burly gallant'; and, leaving the buttery, he went to the guard-
room where Gaston Saint Clere was confined. A man-at-arms, who
kept sentinel on the strong studded door of the apartment, said he
believed he slept; for that, after raging, stamping, and uttering
the most horrid imprecations, he had been of late perfectly still.
The falconer gently drew back a sliding board of a foot square
towards the top of the door, which covered a hole of the same
size, strongly latticed, through which the warder, without opening
the door, could look in upon his prisoner. From this aperture he
beheld the wretched Gaston suspended by the neck by his own girdle
to an iron ring in the side of his prison. He had clambered to it
by means of the table on which his food had been placed; and, in
the agonies of shame and disappointed malice, had adopted this
mode of ridding himself of a wretched life. He was found yet warm,
but totally lifeless. A proper account of the manner of his death
was drawn up and certified. He was buried that evening in the
chapel of the castle, out of respect to his high birth; and the
chaplain of Fitzallen of Marden, who said the service upon the
occasion, preached the next Sunday an excellent sermon upon the
text, 'Radix malorum est cupiditas,' which we have here
transcribed.

Here the manuscript, from which we have painfully transcribed, and
frequently, as it were, translated, this tale for the reader's
edification, is so indistinct and defaced, that, excepting certain
howbeits, nathlesses, lo ye's! etc., we can pick out little that
is intelligible, saving that avarice is defined 'a likourishness
of heart after earthly things.' A little farther there seems to
have been a gay account of Margery's wedding with Ralph the
Tasker, the running at the quintain, and other rural games
practised on the occasion. There are also fragments of a mock
sermon preached by Gregory upon that occasion, as for example:--

'My dear cursed caitiffs, there was once a king, and he wedded a
young old queen, and she had a child; and this child was sent to
Solomon the Sage, praying he would give it the same blessing which
he got from the witch of Endor when she bit him by the heel.
Hereof speaks the worthy Doctor Radigundus Potator; why should not
mass be said for all the roasted shoe souls served up in the
king's dish on Saturday; for true it is, that Saint Peter asked
Father Adam, as they journeyed to Camelot, an high, great, and
doubtful question, "Adam, Adam, why eated'st thou the apple
without paring?"

[Footnote: This tirade of gibberish is literally taken or selected
from a mock discourse pronounced by a professed jester, which
occurs in an ancient manuscript in the Advocates' Library, the
same from which the late ingenious Mr. Weber published the curious
comic romance of the Hunting of the Hare. It was introduced in
compliance with Mr Strutt's plan of rendering his tale an
illustration of ancient manners A similar burlesque sermon is
pronounced by the fool in Sir David Lindesay's satire of the Three
Estates. The nonsense and vulgar burlesque of that composition
illustrate the ground of Sir Andrew Aguecheek's eulogy on the
exploits of the jester in Twelfth Night, who, reserving his
sharper jests for Sir Toby, had doubtless enough of the jargon of
his calling to captivate the imbecility of his brother knight, who
is made to exclaim--'In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling
last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogremitus, and of the vapours
passing the equinoctials of Quenbus; 't was very good, i' faith!'
It is entertaining to find commentators seeking to discover some
meaning in the professional jargon of such a passage as this.]

With much goodly gibberish to the same effect; which display of
Gregory's ready wit not only threw the whole company into
convulsions of laughter, but made such an impression on Rose, the
Potter's daughter, that it was thought it would be the Jester's
own fault if Jack was long without his Jill. Much pithy matter,
concerning the bringing the bride to bed, the loosing the
bridegroom's points, the scramble which ensued for them, and the
casting of the stocking, is also omitted from its obscurity.

The following song which has been since borrowed by the worshipful
author of the famous History of Fryar Bacon, has been with
difficulty deciphered. It seems to have been sung on occasion of
carrying home the bride

    Bridal Song

    To the tune of--'I have been a Fiddler,' etc,

    And did you not hear of a mirth befell
      The morrow after a wedding day,
    And carrying a bride at home to dwell?
      And away to Tewin, away, away!

    The quintain was set, and the garlands were made,
      'T is pity old customs should ever decay;
    And woe be to him that was horsed on a jade,
      For he carried no credit away, away.

    We met a consort of fiddle-de-dees;
      We set them a cockhorse, and made them play
    The winning of Bullen and Upsey-frees,
      And away to Tewin, away, away!

    There was ne'er a lad in all the parish
      That would go to the plough that day;
    But on his fore-horse his wench he carries.
      And away to Tewin, away, away!

    The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap,
      The maidens did make the chamber full gay;
    The servants did give me a fuddling cup,
      And I did carry't away, away.

    The smith of the town his liquor so took,
      That he was persuaded that the ground look'd blue;
    And I dare boldly be sworn on a book,
      Such smiths as he there's but a few.

    A posset was made, and the women did sip,
      And simpering said, they could eat no more;
    Full many a maiden was laid on the lip,--
      I'll say no more, but give o'er (give o'er).

But what our fair readers will chiefly regret is the loss of three
declarations of love; the first by Saint Clere to Matilda; which,
with the lady's answer, occupies fifteen closely written pages of
manuscript. That of Fitzosborne to Emma is not much shorter; but
the amours of Fitzallen and Eleanor, being of a less romantic
cast, are closed in three pages only. The three noble couples were
married in Queenhoo-Hall upon the same day, being the twentieth
Sunday after Easter. There is a prolix account of the marriage-
feast, of which we can pick out the names of a few dishes, such as
peterel, crane, sturgeon, swan, etc. etc., with a profusion of
wild-fowl and venison. We also see that a suitable song was
produced by Peretto on the occasion; and that the bishop who
blessed the bridal beds which received the happy couples was no
niggard of his holy water, bestowing half a gallon upon each of
the couches. We regret we cannot give these curiosities to the
reader in detail, but we hope to expose the manuscript to abler
antiquaries so soon as it shall be framed and glazed by the
ingenious artist who rendered that service to Mr. Ireland's
Shakspeare MSS. And so (being unable to lay aside the style to
which our pen is habituated), gentle reader, we bid thee heartily
farewell.





NO. III

ANECDOTE OF SCHOOL DAYS

UPON WHICH MR. THOMAS SCOTT PROPOSED TO FOUND A TALE OF FICTION

It is well known in the South that there is little or no boxing at
the Scottish schools. About forty or fifty years ago, however, a
far more dangerous mode of fighting, in parties or factions, was
permitted in the streets of Edinburgh, to the great disgrace of
the police and danger of the parties concerned. These parties were
generally formed from the quarters of the town in which the
combatants resided, those of a particular square or district
fighting against those of an adjoining one. Hence it happened that
the children of the higher classes were often pitted against those
of the lower, each taking their side according to the residence of
their friends. So far as I recollect, however, it was unmingled
either with feelings of democracy or aristocracy, or indeed with
malice or ill-will of any kind towards the opposite party. In
fact, it was only a rough mode of play. Such contests were,
however, maintained with great vigour with stones and sticks and
fisticuffs, when one party dared to charge and the other stood
their ground. Of course mischief sometimes happened; boys are said
to have been killed at these bickers, as they were called, and
serious accidents certainly took place, as many contemporaries can
bear witness.

The author's father residing in George Square, in the southern
side of Edinburgh, the boys belonging to that family, with others
in the square, were arranged into a sort of company, to which a
lady of distinction presented a handsome set of colours. Now this
company or regiment, as a matter of course, was engaged in weekly
warfare with the boys inhabiting the Crosscauseway, Bristo Street,
the Potterrow--in short, the neighbouring suburbs. These last were
chiefly of the lower rank, but hardy loons, who threw stones to a
hair's-breadth and were very rugged antagonists at close quarters.
The skirmish sometimes lasted for a whole evening, until one party
or the other was victorious, when, if ours were successful, we
drove the enemy to their quarters, and were usually chased back by
the reinforcement of bigger lads who came to their assistance. If,
on the contrary, we were pursued, as was often the case, into the
precincts of our square, we were in our turn supported by our
elder brothers, domestic servants, and similar auxiliaries.

It followed, from our frequent opposition to each other, that,
though not knowing the names of our enemies, we were yet well
acquainted with their appearance, and had nicknames for the most
remarkable of them. One very active and spirited boy might be
considered as the principal leader in the cohort of the suburbs.
He was, I suppose, thirteen or fourteen years old, finely made,
tall, blue-eyed, with long fair hair, the very picture of a
youthful Goth. This lad was always first in the charge and last in
the retreat--the Achilles, at once, and Ajax of the
Crosscauseway. He was too formidable to us not to have a cognomen,
and, like that of a knight of old, it was taken from the most
remarkable part of his dress, being a pair of old green livery
breeches, which was the principal part of his clothing; for, like
Pentapolin, according to Don Quixote's account, Green-Breeks, as
we called him, always entered the battle with bare arms, legs, and
feet.

It fell, that once upon a time, when the combat was at the
thickest, this plebeian champion headed a sudden charge, so rapid
and furious that all fled before him. He was several paces before
his comrades, and had actually laid his hands on the patrician
standard, when one of our party, whom some misjudging friend had
entrusted with a couleau de chasse, or hanger, inspired with a
zeal for the honour of the corps worthy of Major Sturgeon himself,
struck poor Green-Breeks over the head with strength sufficient to
cut him down. When this was seen, the casualty was so far beyond
what had ever taken place before, that both parties fled different
ways, leaving poor Green-Breeks, with his bright hair plentifully
dabbled in blood, to the care of the watchman, who (honest man)
took care not to know who had done the mischief. The bloody hanger
was flung into one of the Meadow ditches, and solemn secrecy was
sworn on all hands; but the remorse and terror of the actor were
beyond all bounds, and his apprehensions of the most dreadful
character. The wounded hero was for a few days in the Infirmary,
the case being only a trifling one. But, though inquiry was
strongly pressed on him, no argument could make him indicate the
person from whom he had received the wound, though he must have
been perfectly well known to him. When he recovered and was
dismissed, the author and his brothers opened a communication with
him, through the medium of a popular ginger-bread baker, of whom
both parties were customers, in order to tender a subsidy in name
of smart-money. The sum would excite ridicule were I to name it;
but sure I am that the pockets of the noted Green-Breeks never
held as much money of his own. He declined the remittance, saying
that he would not sell his blood; but at the same time reprobated
the idea of being an informer, which he said was clam, i.e. base
or mean. With much urgency he accepted a pound of snuff for the
use of some old woman--aunt, grandmother, or the like--with whom
he lived. We did not become friends, for the bickers were more
agreeable to both parties than any more pacific amusement; but we
conducted them ever after under mutual assurances of the highest
consideration for each other.

Such was the hero whom Mr. Thomas Scott proposed to carry to
Canada, and involve in adventures with the natives and colonists
of that country. Perhaps the youthful generosity of the lad will
not seem so great in the eyes of others as to those whom it was
the means of screening from severe rebuke and punishment. But it
seemed to those concerned to argue a nobleness of sentiment far
beyond the pitch of most minds; and however obscurely the lad who
showed such a frame of noble spirit may have lived or died, I
cannot help being of opinion that, if fortune had placed him in
circumstances calling for gallantry or generosity, the man would
have fulfilled the promise of the boy. Long afterwards, when the
story was told to my father, he censured us severely for not
telling the truth at the time, that he might have attempted to be
of use to the young man in entering on life. But our alarms for
the consequences of the drawn sword, and the wound inflicted with
such a weapon, were far too predominant at the time for such a
pitch of generosity.

Perhaps I ought not to have inserted this schoolboy tale; but,
besides the strong impression made by the incident at the time,
the whole accompaniments of the story are matters to me of solemn
and sad recollection. Of all the little band who were concerned in
those juvenile sports or brawls, I can scarce recollect a single
survivor. Some left the ranks of mimic war to die in the active
service of their country. Many sought distant lands to return no
more. Others, dispersed in different paths of life,'my dim eyes
now seek for in vain.' Of five brothers, all healthy and promising
in a degree far beyond one whose infancy was visited by personal
infirmity, and whose health after this period seemed long very
precarious, I am, nevertheless, the only survivor. The best loved,
and the best deserving to be loved, who had destined this incident
to be the foundation of literary composition, died 'before his
day' in a distant and foreign land; and trifles assume an
importance not their own when connected with those who have been
loved and lost.





NOTES


NOTE I

LONG the oracle of the country gentlemen of the high Tory party.
The ancient News-Letter was written in manuscript and copied by
clerks, who addressed the copies to the subscribers. The
politician by whom they were compiled picked up his intelligence
at coffee-houses, and often pleaded for an additional gratuity in
consideration of the extra expense attached to frequenting such
places of fashionable resort.

NOTE 2

There is a family legend to this purpose, belonging to the
knightly family of Bradshaigh, the proprietors of Haigh Hall, in
Lancashire, where, I have been told, the event is recorded on a
painted glass window. The German ballad of the Noble Moringer
turns upon a similar topic. But undoubtedly many such incidents
may have taken place, where, the distance being great and the
intercourse infrequent, false reports concerning the fate of the
absent Crusaders must have been commonly circulated, and sometimes
perhaps rather hastily credited at home.

NOTE 3

The attachment to this classic was, it is said, actually displayed
in the manner mentioned in the text by an unfortunate Jacobite in
that unhappy period. He escaped from the jail in which he was
confined for a hasty trial and certain condemnation, and was
retaken as he hovered around the place in which he had been
imprisoned, for which he could give no better reason than the hope
of recovering his favourite Titus Livius. I am sorry to add that
the simplicity of such a character was found to form no apology
for his guilt as a rebel, and that he was condemned and executed.

NOTE 4

Nicholas Amhurst, a noted political writer, who conducted for many
years a paper called the Craftsman, under the assumed name of
Caleb D'Anvers. He was devoted to the Tory interest, and seconded
with much ability the attacks of Pulteney on Sir Robert Walpole.
He died in 1742, neglected by his great patrons and in the most
miserable circumstances.

'Amhurst survived the downfall of Walpole's power, and had reason
to expect a reward for his labours. If we excuse Bolingbroke, who
had only saved the shipwreck of his fortunes, we shall be at a
loss to justify Pulteney, who could with ease have given this man
a considerable income. The utmost of his generosity to Amhurst
that I ever heard of was a hogshead of claret! He died, it is
supposed, of a broken heart; and was buried at the charge of his
honest printer, Richard Francklin.'--Lord Chesterfield's
Characters Reviewed, p. 42.

NOTE 5

I have now given in the text the full name of this gallant and
excellent man, and proceed to copy the account of his remarkable
conversion, as related by Doctor Doddridge.

'This memorable event,' says the pious writer, 'happened towards
the middle of July 1719. The major had spent the evening (and, if
I mistake not, it was the Sabbath) in some gay company, and had an
unhappy assignation with a married woman, whom he was to attend
exactly at twelve. The company broke up about eleven, and, not
judging it convenient to anticipate the time appointed, he went
into his chamber to kill the tedious hour, perhaps with some
amusing book, or some other way. But it very accidentally happened
that he took up a religious book, which his good mother or aunt
had, without his knowledge, slipped into his portmanteau. It was
called, if I remember the title exactly, The Christian Soldier, or
Heaven taken by Storm, and it was written by Mr. Thomas Watson.
Guessing by the title of it that he would find some phrases of his
own profession spiritualised in a manner which he thought might
afford him some diversion, he resolved to dip into it, but he took
no serious notice of anything it had in it; and yet, while this
book was in his hand, an impression was made upon his mind
(perhaps God only knows how) which drew after it a train of the
most important and happy consequences. He thought he saw an
unusual blaze of light fall upon the book which he was reading,
which he at first imagined might happen by some accident in the
candle, but, lifting up his eyes, he apprehended to his extreme
amazement that there was before him, as it were suspended in the
air, a visible representation of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the
cross, surrounded on all sides with a glory; and was impressed as
if a voice, or something equivalent to a voice, had come to him,
to this effect (for he was not confident as to the words), "Oh,
sinner! did I suffer this for thee, and are these thy returns?"
Struck with so amazing a phenomenon as this, there remained hardly
any life in him, so that he sunk down in the arm-chair in which he
sat, and continued, he knew not how long, insensible.'

'With regard to this vision,' says the ingenious Dr. Hibbert, 'the
appearance of our Saviour on the cross, and the awful words
repeated, can be considered in no other light than as so many
recollected images of the mind, which probably had their origin in
the language of some urgent appeal to repentance that the colonel
might have casually read or heard delivered. From what cause,
however, such ideas were rendered as vivid as actual impressions,
we have no information to be depended upon. This vision was
certainly attended with one of the most important of consequences
connected with the Christian dispensation--the conversion of a
sinner. And hence no single narrative has, perhaps, done more to
confirm the superstitious opinion that apparitions of this awful
kind cannot arise without a divine fiat.' Doctor Hibbert adds in a
note--'A short time before the vision, Colonel Gardiner had
received a severe fall from his horse. Did the brain receive some
slight degree of injury from the accident, so as to predispose him
to this spiritual illusion?'--Hibbert's Philosophy of Apparitions,
Edinburgh, 1824, p. 190.

NOTE 6

The courtesy of an invitation to partake a traveller's meal, or at
least that of being invited to share whatever liquor the guest
called for, was expected by certain old landlords in Scotland even
in the youth of the author. In requital mine host was always
furnished with the news of the country, and was probably a little
of a humorist to boot. The devolution of the whole actual business
and drudgery of the inn upon the poor gudewife was very common
among the Scottish Bonifaces. There was in ancient times, in the
city of Edinburgh, a gentleman of good family who condescended, in
order to gain a livelihood, to become the nominal keeper of a
coffee-house, one of the first places of the kind which had been
opened in the Scottish metropolis. As usual, it was entirely
managed by the careful and industrious Mrs. B--; while her husband
amused himself with field sports, without troubling his head about
the matter. Once upon a time, the premises having taken fire, the
husband was met walking up the High Street loaded with his guns
and fishing-rods, and replied calmly to someone who inquired after
his wife, 'that the poor woman was trying to save a parcel of
crockery and some trumpery books'; the last being those which
served her to conduct the business of the house.

There were many elderly gentlemen in the author's younger days who
still held it part of the amusement of a journey 'to parley with
mine host,' who often resembled, in his quaint humour, mine Host
of the Garter in the Merry Wives of Windsor; or Blague of the
George in the Merry Devil of Edmonton. Sometimes the landlady took
her share of entertaining the company. In either case the omitting
to pay them due attention gave displeasure, and perhaps brought
down a smart jest, as on the following occasion:

A jolly dame who, not 'Sixty Years Since,' kept the principal
caravansary at Greenlaw, in Berwickshire, had the honour to
receive under her roof a very worthy clergyman, with three sons of
the same profession, each having a cure of souls; be it said in
passing, none of the reverend party were reckoned powerful in the
pulpit. After dinner was over, the worthy senior, in the pride of
his heart, asked Mrs. Buchan whether she ever had had such a party
in her house before. 'Here sit I,' he said, 'a placed minister of
the Kirk of Scotland, and here sit my three sons, each a placed
minister of the same kirk. Confess, Luckie Buchan, you never had
such a party in your house before.' The question was not premised
by any invitation to sit down and take a glass of wine or the
like, so Mrs. B. answered drily, 'Indeed, sir, I cannot just say
that ever I had such a party in my house before, except once in
the forty-five, when I had a Highland piper here, with his three
sons, all Highland pipers; and deil a spring they could play amang
them.'

NOTE 7

There is no particular mansion described under the name of Tully-
Veolan; but the peculiarities of the description occur in various
old Scottish seats. The House of Warrender upon Bruntsfield Links
and that of Old Ravelston, belonging, the former to Sir George
Warrender, the latter to Sir Alexander Keith, have both
contributed several hints to the description in the text. The
House of Dean, near Edinburgh, has also some points of resemblance
with Tully-Veolan. The author has, however, been informed that the
House of Grandtully resembles that of the Baron of Bradwardine
still more than any of the above.

NOTE 8

I am ignorant how long the ancient and established custom of
keeping fools has been disused in England. Swift writes an epitaph
on the Earl of Suffolk's fool--

Whose name was Dickie Pearce

In Scotland, the custom subsisted till late in the last century;
at Glamis Castle is preserved the dress of one of the jesters,
very handsome, and ornamented with many bells. It is not above
thirty years since such a character stood by the sideboard of a
nobleman of the first rank in Scotland, and occasionally mixed in
the conversation, till he carried the joke rather too far, in
making proposals to one of the young ladies of the family, and
publishing the bans betwixt her and himself in the public church.

NOTE 9

After the Revolution of 1688, and on some occasions when the
spirit of the Presbyterians had been unusually animated against
their opponents, the Episcopal clergymen, who were chiefly
nonjurors, were exposed to be mobbed, as we should now say, or
rabbled, as the phrase then went, to expiate their political
heresies. But notwithstanding that the Presbyterians had the
persecution in Charles II and his brother's time to exasperate
them, there was little mischief done beyond the kind of petty
violence mentioned in the text.

NOTE 10

I may here mention that the fashion of compotation described in
the text was still occasionally practised in Scotland in the
author's youth. A company, after having taken leave of their host,
often went to finish the evening at the clachan or village, in
'womb of tavern.' Their entertainer always accompanied them to
take the stirrup-cup, which often occasioned a long and late
revel.

The poculum potatorium of the valiant Baron, his blessed Bear, has
a prototype at the fine old Castle of Glamis, so rich in memorials
of ancient times; it is a massive beaker of silver, double gilt,
moulded into the shape of a lion, and holding about an English
pint of wine. The form alludes to the family name of Strathmore,
which is Lyon, and, when exhibited, the cup must necessarily be
emptied to the Earl's health. The author ought perhaps to be
ashamed of recording that he has had the honour of swallowing the
contents of the Lion; and the recollection of the feat served to
suggest the story of the Bear of Bradwardine. In the family of
Scott of Thirlestane (not Thirlestane in the Forest, but the place
of the same name in Roxburghshire) was long preserved a cup of the
same kind, in the form of a jack-boot. Each guest was obliged to
empty this at his departure. If the guest's name was Scott, the
necessity was doubly imperative.

When the landlord of an inn presented his guests with deoch an
doruis, that is, the drink at the door, or the stirrup-cup, the
draught was not charged in the reckoning. On this point a learned
bailie of the town of Forfar pronounced a very sound judgment.

A., an ale-wife in Forfar, had brewed her 'peck of malt' and set
the liquor out of doors to cool; the cow of B., a neighbour of A.,
chanced to come by, and seeing the good beverage, was allured to
taste it, and finally to drink it up. When A. came to take in her
liquor, she found her tub empty, and from the cow's staggering and
staring, so as to betray her intemperance, she easily divined the
mode in which her 'browst' had disappeared. To take vengeance on
Crummie's ribs with a stick was her first effort. The roaring of
the cow brought B., her master, who remonstrated with his angry
neighbour, and received in reply a demand for the value of the ale
which Crummie had drunk up. B. refused payment, and was conveyed
before C., the bailie, or sitting magistrate. He heard the case
patiently; and then demanded of the plaintiff A. whether the cow
had sat down to her potation or taken it standing. The plaintiff
answered, she had not seen the deed committed, but she supposed
the cow drank the ale while standing on her feet, adding, that had
she been near she would have made her use them to some purpose.
The bailie, on this admission, solemnly adjudged the cow's drink
to be deoch an doruis, a stirrup-cup, for which no charge could be
made without violating the ancient hospitality of Scotland.

NOTE 11

The story last told was said to have happened in the south of
Scotland; but cedant arma togae and let the gown have its dues. It
was an old clergyman, who had wisdom and firmness enough to resist
the panic which seized his brethren, who was the means of rescuing
a poor insane creature from the cruel fate which would otherwise
have overtaken her. The accounts of the trials for witchcraft form
one of the most deplorable chapters in Scottish story.

NOTE 12

Although canting heraldry is generally reprobated, it seems
nevertheless to have been adopted in the arms and mottos of many
honourable families. Thus the motto of the Vernons, Ver non semper
viret, is a perfect pun, and so is that of the Onslows, Festina
lente. The Periissem ni per-iissem of the Anstruthers is liable to
a similar objection. One of that ancient race, finding that an
antagonist, with whom he had fixed a friendly meeting, was
determined to take the opportunity of assassinating him, prevented
the hazard by dashing out his brains with a battle-axe. Two sturdy
arms, brandishing such a weapon, form the usual crest of the
family, with the above motto, Periissem ni per-iissem--I had died,
unless I had gone through with it.

NOTE 13

Mac-Donald of Barrisdale, one of the very last Highland gentlemen
who carried on the plundering system to any great extent, was a
scholar and a well-bred gentleman. He engraved on his broad-
swords the well-known lines--

    Hae tibi erunt artes pacisque imponere morem,
    Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.

Indeed, the levying of black-mail was, before 1745, practised by
several chiefs of very high rank, who, in doing so, contended that
they were lending the laws the assistance of their arms and
swords, and affording a protection which could not be obtained
from the magistracy in the disturbed state of the country. The
author has seen a Memoir of Mac-Pherson of Cluny, chief of that
ancient clan, from which it appears that he levied protection-
money to a very large amount, which was willingly paid even by
some of his most powerful neighbours. A gentleman of this clan,
hearing a clergyman hold forth to his congregation on the crime of
theft, interrupted the preacher to assure him, he might leave the
enforcement of such doctrines to Cluny Mac-Pherson, whose
broadsword would put a stop to theft sooner than all the sermons
of all the ministers of the synod.

NOTE 14

The Town-guard of Edinburgh were, till a late period, armed with
this weapon when on their police-duty. There was a hook at the
back of the axe, which the ancient Highlanders used to assist them
to climb over walls, fixing the hook upon it and raising
themselves by the handle. The axe, which was also much used by the
natives of Ireland, is supposed to have been introduced into both
countries from Scandinavia.

NOTE 15

An adventure very similar to what is here stated actually befell
the late Mr. Abercromby of Tullibody, grandfather of the present
Lord Abercromby, and father of the celebrated Sir Ralph. When this
gentleman, who lived to a very advanced period of life, first
settled in Stirlingshire, his cattle were repeatedly driven off by
the celebrated Rob Roy, or some of his gang; and at length he was
obliged, after obtaining a proper safe-conduct, to make the
cateran such a visit as that of Waverley to Bean Lean in the text.
Rob received him with much courtesy, and made many apologies for
the accident, which must have happened, he said, through some
mistake. Mr. Abercromby was regaled with collops from two of his
own cattle, which were hung up by the heels in the cavern, and was
dismissed in perfect safety, after having agreed to pay in future
a small sum of black-mail, in consideration of which Rob Roy not
only undertook to forbear his herds in future, but to replace any
that should be stolen from him by other freebooters. Mr.
Abercromby said Rob Roy affected to consider him as a friend to
the Jacobite interest and a sincere enemy to the Union. Neither of
these circumstances were true; but the laird thought it quite
unnecessary to undeceive his Highland host at the risk of bringing
on a political dispute in such a situation. This anecdote I
received many years since (about 1792) from the mouth of the
venerable gentleman who was concerned in it.

NOTE 16

This celebrated gibbet was, in the memory of the last generation,
still standing at the western end of the town of Crieff, in
Perthshire. Why it was called the kind gallows we are unable to
inform the reader with certainty; but it is alleged that the
Highlanders used to touch their bonnets as they passed a place
which had been fatal to many of their countrymen, with the
ejaculation 'God bless her nain sell, and the Teil tamn you!' It
may therefore have been called kind, as being a sort of native or
kindred place of doom to those who suffered there, as in
fulfilment of a natural destiny.

NOTE 17

The story of the bridegroom carried off by caterans on his bridal-
day is taken from one which was told to the author by the late
Laird of Mac-Nab many years since. To carry off persons from the
Lowlands, and to put them to ransom, was a common practice with
the wild Highlanders, as it is said to be at the present day with
the banditti in the south of Italy. Upon the occasion alluded to,
a party of caterans carried off the bridegroom and secreted him in
some cave near the mountain of Schiehallion. The young man caught
the small-pox before his ransom could be agreed on; and whether it
was the fine cool air of the place, or the want of medical
attendance, Mac-Nab did not pretend to be positive; but so it was,
that the prisoner recovered, his ransom was paid, and he was
restored to his friends and bride, but always considered the
Highland robbers as having saved his life by their treatment of
his malady.

NOTE 18

This happened on many occasions. Indeed, it was not till after the
total destruction of the clan influence, after 1745, that
purchasers could be found who offered a fair price for the estates
forfeited in 1715, which were then brought to sale by the
creditors of the York Buildings Company, who had purchased the
whole, or greater part, from government at a very small price.
Even so late as the period first mentioned, the prejudices of the
public in favour of the heirs of the forfeited families threw
various impediments in the way of intending purchasers of such
property.

NOTE 19

This sort of political game ascribed to Mac-Ivor was in reality
played by several Highland chiefs, the celebrated Lord Lovat in
particular, who used that kind of finesse to the uttermost. The
Laird of Mac---was also captain of an independent company, but
valued the sweets of present pay too well to incur the risk of
losing them in the Jacobite cause. His martial consort raised his
clan and headed it in 1745. But the chief himself would have
nothing to do with king-making, declaring himself for that
monarch, and no other, who gave the Laird of Mac ---- 'half-a-guinea
the day and half-a-guinea the morn.'

NOTE 20

In explanation of the military exercise observed at the Castle of
Glennaquoich, the author begs to remark that the Highlanders were
not only well practised in the use of the broadsword, firelock,
and most of the manly sports and trials of strength common
throughout Scotland, but also used a peculiar sort of drill,
suited to their own dress and mode of warfare. There were, for
instance, different modes of disposing the plaid, one when on a
peaceful journey, another when danger was apprehended; one way of
enveloping themselves in it when expecting undisturbed repose, and
another which enabled them to start up with sword and pistol in
hand on the slightest alarm.

Previous to 1720 or thereabouts, the belted plaid was universally
worn, in which the portion which surrounded the middle of the
wearer and that which was flung around his shoulders were all of
the same piece of tartan. In a desperate onset all was thrown
away, and the clan charged bare beneath the doublet, save for an
artificial arrangement of the shirt, which, like that of the
Irish, was always ample, and for the sporran-mollach, or goat's-
skin purse.

The manner of handling the pistol and dirk was also part of the
Highland manual exercise, which the author has seen gone through
by men who had learned it in their youth.

NOTE 21

Pork or swine's flesh, in any shape, was, till of late years, much
abominated by the Scotch, nor is it yet a favourite food amongst
them. King Jamie carried this prejudice to England, and is known
to have abhorred pork almost as much as he did tobacco. Ben Jonson
has recorded this peculiarity, where the gipsy in a masque,
examining the king's hand, says--

You should, by this line,

Love a horse and a hound, but no part of a swine.

The Gipsies Metamorphosed.

James's own proposed banquet for the Devil was a loin of pork and
a poll of ling, with a pipe of tobacco for digestion.

NOTE 22

In the number of persons of all ranks who assembled at the same
table, though by no means to discuss the same fare, the Highland
chiefs only retained a custom which had been formerly universally
observed throughout Scotland. 'I myself,' says the traveller,
Fynes Morrison, in the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, the scene
being the Lowlands of Scotland, 'was at a knight's house, who had
many servants to attend him, that brought in his meat with their
heads covered with blue caps, the table being more than half
furnished with great platters of porridge, each having a little
piece of sodden meat. And when the table was served, the servants
did sit down with us; but the upper mess, instead of porridge, had
a pullet, with some prunes in the broth.'--Travels, p. 155.

Till within this last century the farmers, even of a respectable
condition, dined with their work-people. The difference betwixt
those of high degree was ascertained by the place of the party
above or below the salt, or sometimes by a line drawn with chalk
on the dining-table. Lord Lovat, who knew well how to feed the
vanity and restrain the appetites of his clansmen, allowed each
sturdy Fraser who had the slightest pretensions to be a
Duinhewassel the full honour of the sitting, but at the same time
took care that his young kinsmen did not acquire at his table any
taste for outlandish luxuries. His lordship was always ready with
some honourable apology why foreign wines and French brandy,
delicacies which he conceived might sap the hardy habits of his
cousins, should not circulate past an assigned point on the table.

NOTE 23

In the Irish ballads relating to Fion (the Fingal of Mac-Pherson)
there occurs, as in the primitive poetry of most nations, a cycle
of heroes, each of whom has some distinguishing attribute; upon
these qualities, and the adventures of those possessing them, many
proverbs are formed, which are still current in the Highlands.
Among other characters, Conan is distinguished as in some respects
a kind of Thersites, but brave and daring even to rashness. He had
made a vow that he would never take a blow without returning it;
and having, like other heroes of antiquity, descended to the
infernal regions, he received a cuff from the Arch-fiend who
presided there, which he instantly returned, using the expression
in the text. Sometimes the proverb is worded thus--'Claw for claw,
and the devil take the shortest nails, as Conan said to the
devil.'

NOTE 24

The description of the waterfall mentioned in this chapter is
taken from that of Ledeard, at the farm so called, on the northern
side of Lochard, and near the head of the lake, four or five miles
from Aberfoyle. It is upon a small scale, but otherwise one of the
most exquisite cascades it is possible to behold. The appearance
of Flora with the harp, as described, has been justly censured as
too theatrical and affected for the lady-like simplicity of her
character. But something may be allowed to her French education,
in which point and striking effect always make a considerable
object.

NOTE 25

The author has been sometimes accused of confounding fiction with
reality. He therefore thinks it necessary to state that the
circumstance of the hunting described in the text as preparatory
to the insurrection of 1745 is, so far as he knows, entirely
imaginary. But it is well known such a great hunting was held in
the Forest of Brae-Mar, under the auspices of the Earl of Mar, as
preparatory to the Rebellion of 1715; and most of the Highland
chieftains who afterwards engaged in that civil commotion were
present on this occasion.





GLOSSARY


A', all.

ABOON, abune, above.

ABY, abye, endure, suffer.

ACCOLADE, the salutation marking the bestowal of knighthood.

AIN, own.

ALANE, alone.

AN, if.

ANE, one.

ARRAY, annoy, trouble.

AULD, old.

AWEEL, well.

AYE, always.

BAILIE, a city magistrate in Scotland.

BAN, curse.

BAWTY, sly, cunning.

BAXTER, a baker.

BEES, in the, stupefied, bewildered.

BELIVE, belyve, by and by.

BEN, in, inside.

BENT, an open field.

BHAIRD, a bard.

BLACK-FISHING, fishing by torchlight poaching.

BLINKED, glanced.

BLUDE, braid, blood.

BLYTHE, gay, glad.

BODLE, a copper coin worth a third of an English penny.

BOLE, a bowl.

BOOT-KETCH, a boot-jack.

BRAE, the side of a hill.

BRISSEL-COCK, a turkey cock.

BREEKS, breeches.

BROGUES, Highland shoes.

BROKEN MEN, outlaws.

BROUGHT FAR BEN, held in special favor

BROWST, a brewing.

BRUIK, enjoy.

BUCKIE, a perverse or refractory person.

BULLSEGG, a gelded bull.

BURD, bird, a term of familiarity.

BURN, a brook.

BUSKING, dress, decoration.

BUTTOCK-MAIL, a fine for fornication.

BYDAND, awaiting.

CAILLIACHS, old women on whom devolved the duty of lamenting for
the dead, which the Irish call keening.

CALLANT, a young lad, a fine fellow.

CANNY, prudent, skillful, lucky.

CANTER, a canting, whining beggar.

CANTRIP, a trick.

CARLE, a churl, an old man.

CATERAN, a Highland irregular soldier, a freebooter.

CHAP, a customer.

CLACHAN, a hamlet.

CLAW FAVOUR, curry favour.

CLAYMORE, a broad sword.

CLEEK, a hook.

CLEIK the cunzie, steal the silver.

COB, beat.

COBLE, a small fishing boat.

COGS, wooden vessels.

COGUE, a round wooden vessel.

CONCUSSED, violently shaken, disturbed, forced.

CORONACH, a dirge.

CORRIE, a mountain hollow.

COVE, a cave.

CRAME, a booth, a merchant's shop.

CREAGH, an incursion for plunder, termed on the Borders a raid.

CROUSE, bold, courageous.

CRUMMY, a cow with crooked horns.

CUITTLE, tickle.

CURRAGH, a Highland boat.

DAFT, mad, foolish.

DEBINDED, bound down.

DECREET, an order of decree.

DEOCH AN DORUIS, the stirrup-cup or parting drink.

DERN, concealed, secret.

DINMONTS, wethers in the second year.

DOER, an agent, a manager.

DOON, doun, down.

DOVERING, dozing.

DUINHE-WASSEL, dunniewassal, a Highland gentleman, usually the
cadet of a family of rank.

EANARUICH, the regalia presented by Rob Roy to the Laird of
Tullibody.

ENEUGH, eneuch, enough.

ERGASTULO, in a penitentiary.

EXEEMED, exempt.

FACTORY, stewardship.

FEAL AND DIVOT, turf and thatch.

FECK, a quantity.

FEIFTEEN, the Jacobite rebellion of 1715.

FENDY, good at making a shift.

FIRE-RAISING, setting an incendiary fire.

FLEMIT, frightened,

FRAE, from.

FU, full.

FULE, fool.

GABERLUNZIE, a kind of professional beggar.

GANE, gone.

GANG, go.

GAR, make.

GATE, gait, way.

GAUN, going.

GAY, gey, very.

GEAR, goods, property.

GILLFLIRT, a flirty girl.

GILLIE, a servant, an attendant.

GILLIE-WET-FOOT, a barefooted Highland lad.

GIMMER, a ewe from one to two years old.

GLISKED, glimpsed.

GRIPPLE, rapacious, niggardly.

GULPIN, a simpleton.

HA', hall.

HAG, a portion of copse marked off for cutting.

HAIL, whole.

HALLAN, a partition, a screen.

HAME, home.

HANTLE, a great deal.

HARST, harvest.

HERSHIPS, plunder.

HILDING, a coward.

HIRSTS, knolls.

HORNING, charge of, a summons to pay a debt, on pain of being
pronounced a rebel, to the sound of a horn.

HOWE, a hollow.

HOULERYING AND POULERYING, hustling and pulling.

HURLEY-HOUSE, a brokendown manor house.

ILK, same; of that ilk, of the same name or place.

ILKA, each, every.

IN THE BEES, stupefied.

INTROMIT, meddle with.

KEN, know.

KITTLE, tickle, ticklish.

KNOBBLER, a male deer in its second year.

KYLOE, a small Highland cow.

LAIRD, squire, lord of the manor.

LANG-LEGGIT, long-legged.

LAWING, a tavern reckoning.

LEE LAND, pasture land.

LIE, a word used in old Scottish legal documents to call attention
to the following word or phrase.

LIFT, capture, carry off by theft.

LIMMER, a jade.

LOCH, a lake.

LOON, an idle fellow, a lout, a rogue.

LUCKIE, an elderly woman.

LUG, an ear, a handle.

LUNZIE, the loins, the waist.

MAE, mair, more.

MAINS, the chief farm of an estate.

MALT ABUNE THE MEAL, the drink above the food, half-seas over.

MAUN, must.

MEAL ARK, a meal chest.

MERK, 13 1/3 pence in English money.

MICKLE, much, great.

MISGUGGLED, mangled, rumpled.

MONY, many.

MORN, the morn, tomorrow.

MORNING, a morning dram.

MUCKLE, much, great.

MUIR, moor.

NA, nae, no, not.

NAINSELL, own self.

NICE, simple.

NOLT, black cattle. ony, any.

ORRA, odd, unemployed.

ORRA-TIME, occasionally.

OWER, over.

PEEL-HOUSE, a fortified tower.

PENDICLE, a small piece of ground.

PINGLE, a fuss, trouble.

PLENISHING, furnishings.

PLOY, sport, entertainment.

PRETTY MEN, stout, warlike fellows.

REIFS, robberies.

REIVERS, robbers.

RIGGS, ridges, ploughed ground.

ROKELAY, a short cloak.

RUDAS, coarse, hag-like.

SAIN, mark with the sign of the cross, bless.

SAIR, sore, very.

SAUMON, salmon.

SAUT, salt.

SAY, a sample.

SCHELLUM, a rascal.

SCOUPING, scowping, skipping, leaping, running.

SEANNACHIE, a Highland antiquary.

SHEARING, reaping, harvest.

SHILPIT, weak, sickly.

SHOON, shoes.

SIC, siccan, such.

SIDIER DHU, black soldiers, independent companies raised to keep
peace in the Highlands; named from the tartans they wore.

SIDIER ROY, red soldiers, King George's men.

SIKES, small brooks.

SILLER, silver, money.

SIMMER, summer.

SLIVER, slice, slit.

SMOKY, suspicious.

SNECK, cut.

SNOOD, a fillet worn by young women.

SOPITE, quiet a brawl.

SORNERS, sornars, sojourners, sturdy beggars, especially those
unwelcome visitors who exact lodgings and victuals by force.

SORTED, arranged, adjusted.

SPEIR, ask, investigate.

SPORRAN-MOLLACH, a Highland purse of goatskin.

SPRACK, animated, lively.

SPRING, a cheerful tune.

SPURRZIE, spoil.

STIEVE, stiff, firm.

STIRK, a young steer or heifer.

STOT, a bullock.

STOUP, a jug, a pitcher.

STOUTHREEF, robbery.

STRAE, straw.

STRATH, a valley through which a river runs.

SYBOES, onions.

TA, the. TAIGLIT, harassed, loitered.

TAILZIE, taillie, a deed of entail.

TAPPIT-HEN, a pewter pot that holds three English quarts.

TAYOUT, tailliers-hors; in modern phrase, Tally-ho!

TEIL, the devil.

TEINDS, tithes.

TELT, told.

TILL, to. TOUN, a hamlet, a farm.

TREWS, trousers.

TROW, believe, suppose.

TWA, two.

TYKE, a dog, a snarling fellow.

UNCO, strange, very.

UNKENN'D, unknown.

USQUEBAUGH, whiskey.

WA', wall.

WARE, spend.

WEEL, well.

WHA, who.

WHAR, where.

WHAT FOR, why.

WHILK, which.

WISKE, whisk, brandish.





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