Leaving this discussion to the learned, we will say, that after a

succession of wild images, such as we have above described, our hero,

for such we must acknowledge him, so far regained a consciousness of

locality as to remember where he was, and the whole furniture of the

Green Chamber was depicted to his slumbering eye. And here, once more,

let me protest, that if there should be so much old-fashioned faith

left among this shrewd and sceptical generation, as to suppose that

what follows was an impression conveyed rather by the eye than by the

imagination, I do not impugn their doctrine. He was, then, or imagined

himself, broad awake in the Green Chamber, gazing upon the flickering

and occasional flame which the unconsumed remnants of the faggots sent

forth, as, one by one, they fell down upon the red embers, into which

the principal part of the boughs to which they belonged had crumbled

away. Insensibly the legend of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, and his mysterious

visits to the inmates of the chamber, awoke in his mind, and with it,

as we often feel in dreams, an anxious and fearful expectation, which

seldom fails instantly to summon up before our mind's eye the object of

our fear. Brighter sparkles of light flashed from the chimney, with

such intense brilliancy as to enlighten all the room. The tapestry waved

wildly on the wall, till its dusky forms seemed to become animated. The

hunters blew their horns—the stag seemed to fly, the boar to resist,

and the hounds to assail the one and pursue the other; the cry of deer,

mangled by throttling dogs—the shouts of men, and the clatter of horses'

hoofs, seemed at once to surround him—while every group pursued, with

all the fury of the chase, the employment in which the artist had

represented them as engaged. Lovel looked on this strange scene devoid

of wonder (which seldom intrudes itself upon the sleeping fancy), but

with an anxious sensation of awful fear. At length an individual figure

among the tissued huntsmen, as he gazed upon them more fixedly, seemed

to leave the arras and to approach the bed of the slumberer. As he

drew near, his figure appeared to alter. His bugle-horn became a brazen

clasped volume; his hunting-cap changed to such a furred head-gear as

graces the burgomasters of Rembrandt; his Flemish garb remained but his

features, no longer agitated with the fury of the chase, were changed

to such a state of awful and stern composure, as might best portray the

first proprietor of Monkbarns, such as he had been described to Lovel

by his descendants in the course of the preceding evening. As this

metamorphosis took place, the hubbub among the other personages in the

arras disappeared from the imagination of the dreamer, which was now

exclusively bent on the single figure before him. Lovel strove to

interrogate this awful person in the form of exorcism proper for the

occasion; but his tongue, as is usual in frightful dreams, refused its

office, and clung, palsied, to the roof of his mouth. Aldobrand held up

his finger, as if to impose silence upon the guest who had intruded on

his apartment, and began deliberately to unclasp the venerable, volume

which occupied his left hand. When it was unfolded, he turned over the

leaves hastily for a short space, and then raising his figure to its

full dimensions, and holding the book aloft in his left hand, pointed to

a passage in the page which he thus displayed. Although the language was

unknown to our dreamer, his eye and attention were both strongly caught

by the line which the figure seemed thus to press upon his notice, the

words of which appeared to blaze with a supernatural light, and remained

riveted upon his memory. As the vision shut his volume, a strain of

delightful music seemed to fill the apartment—Lovel started, and became

completely awake. The music, however, was still in his ears, nor ceased

till he could distinctly follow the measure of an old Scottish tune.

He sate up in bed, and endeavoured to clear his brain of the phantoms

which had disturbed it during this weary night. The beams of the morning

sun streamed through the half-closed shutters, and admitted a distinct

light into the apartment. He looked round upon the hangings,—but the

mixed groups of silken and worsted huntsmen were as stationary as

tenter-hooks could make them, and only trembled slightly as the early

breeze, which found its way through an open crevice of the latticed

window, glided along their surface. Lovel leapt out of bed, and,

wrapping himself in a morning-gown, that had been considerately laid by

his bedside, stepped towards the window, which commanded a view of the

sea, the roar of whose billows announced it still disquieted by the

storm of the preceding evening, although the morning was fair and

serene. The window of a turret, which projected at an angle with the

wall, and thus came to be very near Lovel's apartment, was half-open,

and from that quarter he heard again the same music which had probably

broken short his dream. With its visionary character it had lost much

of its charms—it was now nothing more than an air on the harpsichord,

tolerably well performed—such is the caprice of imagination as

affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and

great simplicity, something between a song and a hymn, in words to the

following effect:—

"Why sitt'st thou by that ruin'd hall,

Thou aged carle so stern and grey?

Dost thou its former pride recall,

Or ponder how it passed away?

"Know'st thou not me!" the Deep Voice cried,

"So long enjoyed, so oft misused—

Alternate, in thy fickle pride,

Desired, neglected, and accused?

"Before my breath, like, blazing flax,

Man and his marvels pass away;

And changing empires wane and wax,

Are founded, flourish and decay.

"Redeem mine hours—the space is brief—

While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,

And measureless thy joy or grief,

When Time and thou shalt part for ever!"

While the verses were yet singing, Lovel had returned to his bed; the

train of ideas which they awakened was romantic and pleasing, such as

his soul delighted in, and, willingly adjourning till more broad day the

doubtful task of determining on his future line of conduct, he abandoned

himself to the pleasing languor inspired by the music, and fell into a

sound and refreshing sleep, from which he was only awakened at a late

hour by old Caxon, who came creeping into the room to render the offices

of a valet-de-chambre.

"I have brushed your coat, sir," said the old man, when he perceived

Lovel was awake; "the callant brought it frae Fairport this morning, for

that ye had on yesterday is scantly feasibly dry, though it's been a'

night at the kitchen fire; and I hae cleaned your shoon. I doubt ye'll

no be wanting me to tie your hair, for" (with a gentle sigh) "a' the

young gentlemen wear crops now; but I hae the curling tangs here to

gie it a bit turn ower the brow, if ye like, before ye gae down to the

leddies."

Lovel, who was by this time once more on his legs, declined the old

man's professional offices, but accompanied the refusal with such a

douceur as completely sweetened Caxon's mortification.

"It's a pity he disna get his hair tied and pouthered," said the ancient

friseur, when he had got once more into the kitchen, in which, on one

pretence or other, he spent three parts of his idle time—that is to

say, of his whole time—"it's a great pity, for he's a comely young

gentleman."

"Hout awa, ye auld gowk," said Jenny Rintherout, "would ye creesh his

bonny brown hair wi' your nasty ulyie, and then moust it like the auld

minister's wig? Ye'll be for your breakfast, I'se warrant?—hae, there's

a soup parritch for ye—it will set ye better tae be slaistering at them

and the lapper-milk than meddling wi' Mr. Lovel's head—ye wad spoil the

maist natural and beautifaest head o' hair in a' Fairport, baith burgh

and county."

The poor barber sighed over the disrespect into which his art had so

universally fallen, but Jenny was a person too important to offend by

contradiction; so, sitting quietly down in the kitchen, he digested at

once his humiliation, and the contents of a bicker which held a Scotch

pint of substantial oatmeal porridge.

CHAPTER ELEVENTH.

Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this pageant sent,

And ordered all the pageants as they went;

Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play,—

The loose and scattered relics of the day.

We must now request our readers to adjourn to the breakfast parlour

of Mr. Oldbuck, who, despising the modern slops of tea and coffee, was

substantially regaling himself, more majorum, with cold roast-beef, and

a glass of a sort of beverage called mum—a species of fat ale, brewed

from wheat and bitter herbs, of which the present generation only know

the name by its occurrence in revenue acts of parliament, coupled with

cider, perry, and other excisable commodities. Lovel, who was seduced to

taste it, with difficulty refrained from pronouncing it detestable, but

did refrain, as he saw he should otherwise give great offence to his

host, who had the liquor annually prepared with peculiar care, according

to the approved recipe bequeathed to him by the so-often mentioned

Aldobrand Oldenbuck. The hospitality of the ladies offered Lovel a

breakfast more suited to modern taste, and while he was engaged in

partaking of it, he was assailed by indirect inquiries concerning the

manner in which he had passed the night.

"We canna compliment Mr. Lovel on his looks this morning, brother—but

he winna condescend on any ground of disturbance he has had in the night

time. I am certain he looks very pale, and when he came here he was as

fresh as a rose."

"Why, sister, consider this rose of yours has been knocked about by sea

and wind all yesterday evening, as if he had been a bunch of kelp or

tangle, and how the devil would you have him retain his colour?"

"I certainly do still feel somewhat fatigued," said Lovel,

"notwithstanding the excellent accommodations with which your

hospitality so amply supplied me."

"Ah, sir!" said Miss Oldbuck looking at him with a knowing smile, or

what was meant to be one, "ye'll not allow of ony inconvenience, out of

civility to us."

"Really, madam," replied Lovel, "I had no disturbance; for I cannot term

such the music with which some kind fairy favoured me."

"I doubted Mary wad waken you wi' her skreighing; she dinna ken I had

left open a chink of your window, for, forbye the ghaist, the Green

Room disna vent weel in a high wind—But I am judging ye heard mair

than Mary's lilts yestreen. Weel, men are hardy creatures—they can gae

through wi' a' thing. I am sure, had I been to undergo ony thing of that

nature,—that's to say that's beyond nature—I would hae skreigh'd out at

once, and raised the house, be the consequence what liket—and, I dare

say, the minister wad hae done as mickle, and sae I hae tauld him,—I ken

naebody but my brother, Monkbarns himsell, wad gae through the like o't,

if, indeed, it binna you, Mr. Lovel."

"A man of Mr. Oldbuck's learning, madam," answered the questioned party,

"would not be exposed to the inconvenience sustained by the Highland

gentleman you mentioned last night."

"Ay, ay—ye understand now where the difficulty lies. Language? he has

ways o' his ain wad banish a' thae sort o' worricows as far as

the hindermost parts of Gideon" (meaning possibly Midian), "as Mr.

Blattergowl says—only ane widna be uncivil to ane's forbear, though he

be a ghaist. I am sure I will try that receipt of yours, brother, that

ye showed me in a book, if onybody is to sleep in that room again,

though I think, in Christian charity, ye should rather fit up the

matted-room—it's a wee damp and dark, to be sure, but then we hae sae

seldom occasion for a spare bed."

"No, no, sister;—dampness and darkness are worse than spectres—ours are

spirits of light, and I would rather have you try the spell."

"I will do that blythely, Monkbarns, an I had the ingredients, as my

cookery book ca's them—There was vervain and dill—I mind that—Davie

Dibble will ken about them, though, maybe, he'll gie them Latin

names—and Peppercorn, we hae walth o' them, for"—

"Hypericon, thou foolish woman!" thundered Oldbuck; "d'ye suppose you're

making a haggis—or do you think that a spirit, though he be formed of

air, can be expelled by a receipt against wind?—This wise Grizel of

mine, Mr. Lovel, recollects (with what accuracy you may judge) a

charm which I once mentioned to her, and which, happening to hit her

superstitious noddle, she remembers better than anything tending to a

useful purpose, I may chance to have said for this ten years. But many

an old woman besides herself"—

"Auld woman, Monkbarns!" said Miss Oldbuck, roused something above her

usual submissive tone; "ye really are less than civil to me."

"Not less than just, Grizel: however, I include in the same class many

a sounding name, from Jamblichus down to Aubrey, who have wasted their

time in devising imaginary remedies for non-existing diseases.—But I

hope, my young friend, that, charmed or uncharmed—secured by the potency

of Hypericon,

With vervain and with dill,

That hinder witches of their will,

or left disarmed and defenceless to the inroads of the invisible world,

you will give another night to the terrors of the haunted apartment, and

another day to your faithful and feal friends."

"I heartily wish I could, but"—

"Nay, but me no buts—I have set my heart upon it."

"I am greatly obliged, my dear sir, but"—

"Look ye there, now—but again!—I hate but; I know no form of expression

in which he can appear, that is amiable, excepting as a butt of sack.

But is to me a more detestable combination of letters than no itself.No

is a surly, honest fellow—speaks his mind rough and round at once.But is

a sneaking, evasive, half-bred, exceptuous sort of a conjunction, which

comes to pull away the cup just when it is at your lips—

—it does allay

The good precedent—fie upon but yet!

But yet is as a jailor to bring forth

Some monstrous malefactor."

"Well, then," answered Lovel, whose motions were really undetermined at

the moment, "you shall not connect the recollection of my name with

so churlish a particle. I must soon think of leaving Fairport, I am

afraid—and I will, since you are good enough to wish it, take this

opportunity of spending another day here."

"And you shall be rewarded, my boy. First, you shall see John o' the

Girnel's grave, and then we'll walk gently along the sands, the state

of the tide being first ascertained (for we will have no more

Peter Wilkins' adventures, no more Glum and Gawrie work), as far as

Knockwinnock Castle, and inquire after the old knight and my fair

foe—which will but be barely civil, and then"—

"I beg pardon, my dear sir; but, perhaps, you had better adjourn your

visit till to-morrow—I am a stranger, you know."

"And are, therefore, the more bound to show civility, I should suppose.

But I beg your pardon for mentioning a word that perhaps belongs only to

a collector of antiquities—I am one of the old school,

When courtiers galloped o'er four counties

The ball's fair partner to behold,

And humbly hope she caught no cold."

"Why, if—if—if you thought it would be expected—but I believe I had

better stay."

"Nay, nay, my good friend, I am not so old-fashioned as to press you to

what is disagreeable, neither—it is sufficient that I see there is some

remora, some cause of delay, some mid impediment, which I have no title

to inquire into. Or you are still somewhat tired, perhaps;—I warrant I

find means to entertain your intellects without fatiguing your limbs—I

am no friend to violent exertion myself—a walk in the garden once

a-day is exercise, enough for any thinking being—none but a fool or a

fox-hunter would require more. Well, what shall we set about?—my Essay

on Castrametation—but I have that in petto for our afternoon cordial;—or

I will show you the controversy upon Ossian's Poems between Mac-Cribb

and me. I hold with the acute Orcadian—he with the defenders of the

authenticity;—the controversy began in smooth, oily, lady-like terms,

but is now waxing more sour and eager as we get on—it already partakes

somewhat of old Scaliger's style. I fear the rogue will get some scent

of that story of Ochiltree's—but at worst, I have a hard repartee for

him on the affair of the abstracted Antigonus—I will show you his last

epistle and the scroll of my answer—egad, it is a trimmer!"

So saying, the Antiquary opened a drawer, and began rummaging among a

quantity of miscellaneous papers, ancient and modern. But it was the

misfortune of this learned gentleman, as it may be that of many learned

and unlearned, that he frequently experienced, on such occasions, what

Harlequin calls l'embarras des richesses; in other words, the abundance

of his collection often prevented him from finding the article he sought

for. "Curse the papers!—I believe," said Oldbuck, as he shuffled them to

and fro—"I believe they make themselves wings like grasshoppers, and fly

away bodily—but here, in the meanwhile, look at that little treasure."

So saying, he put into his hand a case made of oak, fenced at the corner

with silver roses and studs—"Pr'ythee, undo this button," said he, as

he observed Lovel fumbling at the clasp. He did so,—the lid opened, and

discovered a thin quarto, curiously bound in black shagreen—"There, Mr.

Lovel—there is the work I mentioned to you last night—the rare quarto of

the Augsburg Confession, the foundation at once and the bulwark of the

Reformation drawn up by the learned and venerable Melancthon, defended

by the Elector of Saxony, and the other valiant hearts who stood up

for their faith, even against the front of a powerful and victorious

emperor, and imprinted by the scarcely less venerable and praiseworthy

Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my happy progenitor, during the yet more tyrannical

attempts of Philip II. to suppress at once civil and religious liberty.

Yes, sir—for printing this work, that eminent man was expelled from his

ungrateful country, and driven to establish his household gods even here

at Monkbarns, among the ruins of papal superstition and domination.—Look

upon his venerable effigies, Mr. Lovel, and respect the honourable

occupation in which it presents him, as labouring personally at the

press for the diffusion of Christian and political knowledge.—And see

here his favourite motto, expressive of his independence and self-

reliance, which scorned to owe anything to patronage that was not earned

by desert—expressive also of that firmness of mind and tenacity of

purpose recommended by Horace. He was indeed a man who would have stood

firm, had his whole printing-house, presses, fonts, forms, great

and small pica, been shivered to pieces around him—Read, I say, his

motto,—for each printer had his motto, or device, when that illustrious

art was first practised. My ancestor's was expressed, as you see, in

the Teutonic phrase, Kunst macht Gunst—that is, skill, or prudence, in

availing ourselves of our natural talents and advantages, will compel

favour and patronage, even where it is withheld from prejudice or

ignorance."

"And that," said Lovel, after a moment's thoughtful silence—"that, then,

is the meaning of these German words?"

"Unquestionably. You perceive the appropriate application to a

consciousness of inward worth, and of eminence in a useful and

honourable art.—Each printer in those days, as I have already informed

you, had his device, his impresa, as I may call it, in the same manner

as the doughty chivalry of the age, who frequented tilt and tournament.

My ancestor boasted as much in his, as if he had displayed it over

a conquered field of battle, though it betokened the diffusion of

knowledge, not the effusion of blood. And yet there is a family

tradition which affirms him to have chosen it from a more romantic

circumstance."

"And what is that said to have been, my good sir?" inquired his young

friend.

"Why, it rather encroaches on my respected predecessor's fame for

prudence and wisdom—Sed semel insanivimus omnes—everybody has played the

fool in their turn. It is said, my ancestor, during his apprenticeship

with the descendant of old Faust, whom popular tradition hath sent to

the devil under the name of Faustus, was attracted by a paltry slip of

womankind, his master's daughter, called Bertha—they broke rings, or

went through some idiotical ceremony, as is usual on such idle occasions

as the plighting of a true-love troth, and Aldobrand set out on his

journey through Germany, as became an honest hand-werker; for such was

the custom of mechanics at that time, to make a tour through the empire,

and work at their trade for a time in each of the most eminent towns,

before they finally settled themselves for life. It was a wise custom;

for, as such travellers were received like brethren in each town by

those of their own handicraft, they were sure, in every case, to have

the means either of gaining or communicating knowledge. When my ancestor

returned to Nuremburg, he is said to have found his old master newly

dead, and two or three gallant young suitors, some of them half-starved

sprigs of nobility forsooth, in pursuit of the Yung-fraw Bertha, whose

father was understood to have bequeathed her a dowry which might weigh

against sixteen armorial quarters. But Bertha, not a bad sample of

womankind, had made a vow she would only marry that man who would work

her father's press. The skill, at that time, was as rare as wonderful;

besides that the expedient rid her at once of most of her gentle

suitors, who would have as soon wielded a conjuring wand as a composing

stick. Some of the more ordinary typographers made the attempt: but none

were sufficiently possessed of the mystery—But I tire you."

"By no means; pray, proceed, Mr. Oldbuck—I listen with uncommon

interest."

"Ah! it is all folly. However—Aldobrand arrived in the ordinary dress,

as we would say, of a journeyman printer—the same in which he had

traversed Germany, and conversed with Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus, and

other learned men, who disdained not his knowledge, and the power he

possessed of diffusing it, though hid under a garb so homely. But what

appeared respectable in the eyes of wisdom, religion, learning, and

philosophy, seemed mean, as might readily be supposed, and disgusting,

in those of silly and affected womankind, and Bertha refused to

acknowledge her former lover, in the torn doublet, skin cap, clouted

shoes, and leathern apron, of a travelling handicraftsman or mechanic.

He claimed his privilege, however, of being admitted to a trial; and

when the rest of the suitors had either declined the contest, or made

such work as the devil could not read if his pardon depended on it, all

eyes were bent on the stranger. Aldobrand stepped gracefully forward,

arranged the types without omission of a single letter, hyphen, or

comma, imposed them without deranging a single space, and pulled off the

first proof as clear and free from errors, as if it had been a triple

revise! All applauded the worthy successor of the immortal Faustus—the

blushing maiden acknowledged her error in trusting to the eye more than

the intellect—and the elected bridegroom thenceforward chose for his

impress or device the appropriate words, Skill wins favour.'—But what is

the matter with you?—you are in a brown study! Come, I told you this was

but trumpery conversation for thinking people—and now I have my hand on

the Ossianic Controversy."

"I beg your pardon," said Lovel; "I am going to appear very silly and

changeable in your eyes, Mr. Oldbuck—but you seemed to think Sir Arthur

might in civility expect a call from me?"

"Psha! psha! I can make your apology; and if you must leave us so soon

as you say, what signifies how you stand in his honours good graces?—And

I warn you that the Essay on Castrametation is something prolix, and

will occupy the time we can spare after dinner, so you may lose the

Ossianic Controversy if we do not dedicate this morning to it. We will

go out to my ever-green bower, my sacred holly-tree yonder, and have it

fronde super viridi.

Sing heigh-ho! heigh-ho! for the green holly,

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.