CHAPTER I

Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team.

[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.'