This is no mine ain house, I ken by the bigging o’t.
_Old Song_.
The nuptial party travelled in great style. There was a coach and six
after the newest pattern, which Sir Everard had presented to his
nephew, that dazzled with its splendour the eyes of one half of
Scotland; there was the family coach of Mr. Rubrick;—both these were
crowded with ladies,—and there were gentlemen on horseback, with their
servants, to the number of a round score. Nevertheless, without having
the fear of famine before his eyes, Bailie Macwheeble met them in the
road to entreat that they would pass by his house at Little Veolan. The
Baron stared, and said his son and he would certainly ride by Little
Veolan and pay their compliments to the Bailie, but could not think of
bringing with them the “haill _comitatus nuptialis_, or matrimonial
procession.” He added, “that, as he understood that the barony had been
sold by its unworthy possessor, he was glad to see his old friend
Duncan had regained his situation under the new _dominus_, or
proprietor.” The Bailie ducked, bowed, and fidgeted, and then again
insisted upon his invitation; until the Baron, though rather piqued at
the pertinacity of his instances, could not nevertheless refuse to
consent without making evident sensations which he was anxious to
conceal.
He fell into a deep study as they approached the top of the avenue, and
was only startled from it by observing that the battlements were
replaced, the ruins cleared away, and (most wonderful of all) that the
two great stone bears, those mutilated Dagons of his idolatry, had
resumed their posts over the gateway. “Now this new proprietor,” said
he to Edward, “has shown mair _gusto_, as the Italians call it, in the
short time he has had this domain, than that hound Malcolm, though I
bred him here mysell, has acquired _vita adhuc durante_. And now I talk
of hounds, is not yon Ban and Buscar who come scouping up the avenue
with Davie Gellatley?”
“I vote we should go to meet them, sir,” said Waverley, “for I believe
the present master of the house is Colonel Talbot, who will expect to
see us. We hesitated to mention to you at first that he had purchased
your ancient patrimonial property, and even yet, if you do not incline
to visit him, we can pass on to the Bailie’s.”
The Baron had occasion for all his magnanimity. However, he drew a long
breath, took a long snuff, and observed, since they had brought him so
far, he could not pass the Colonel’s gate, and he would be happy to see
the new master of his old tenants. He alighted accordingly, as did the
other gentlemen and ladies; he gave his arm to his daughter, and as
they descended the avenue pointed out to her how speedily the _Diva
Pecunia_ of the Southron—their tutelary deity, he might call her—had
removed the marks of spoliation.
In truth, not only had the felled trees been removed, but, their stumps
being grubbed up and the earth round them levelled and sown with grass,
every mark of devastation, unless to an eye intimately acquainted with
the spot, was already totally obliterated. There was a similar
reformation in the outward man of Davie Gellatley, who met them, every
now and then stopping to admire the new suit which graced his person,
in the same colours as formerly, but bedizened fine enough to have
served Touchstone himself. He danced up with his usual ungainly
frolics, first to the Baron and then to Rose, passing his hands over
his clothes, crying, “Bra’, bra’ Davie,” and scarce able to sing a bar
to an end of his thousand-and-one songs for the breathless extravagance
of his joy. The dogs also acknowledged their old master with a thousand
gambols. “Upon my conscience, Rose,” ejaculated the Baron, “the
gratitude o’ thae dumb brutes and of that puir innocent brings the
tears into my auld een, while that schellum Malcolm—but I’m obliged to
Colonel Talbot for putting my hounds into such good condition, and
likewise for puir Davie. But, Rose, my dear, we must not permit them to
be a life-rent burden upon the estate.”
As he spoke, Lady Emily, leaning upon the arm of her husband, met the
party at the lower gate with a thousand welcomes. After the ceremony of
introduction had been gone through, much abridged by the ease and
excellent breeding of Lady Emily, she apologised for having used a
little art to wile them back to a place which might awaken some painful
reflections—“But as it was to change masters, we were very desirous
that the Baron—”
“Mr. Bradwardine, madam, if you please,” said the old gentleman.
“—Mr. Bradwardine, then, and Mr. Waverley should see what we have done
towards restoring the mansion of your fathers to its former state.”
The Baron answered with a low bow. Indeed, when he entered the court,
excepting that the heavy stables, which had been burnt down, were
replaced by buildings of a lighter and more picturesque appearance, all
seemed as much as possible restored to the state in which he had left
it when he assumed arms some months before. The pigeon-house was
replenished; the fountain played with its usual activity, and not only
the bear who predominated over its basin, but all the other bears
whatsoever, were replaced on their several stations, and renewed or
repaired with so much care that they bore no tokens of the violence
which had so lately descended upon them. While these _minutiæ_ had been
so needfully attended to, it is scarce necessary to add that the house
itself had been thoroughly repaired, as well as the gardens, with the
strictest attention to maintain the original character of both, and to
remove as far as possible all appearance of the ravage they had
sustained. The Baron gazed in silent wonder; at length he addressed
Colonel Talbot—
“While I acknowledge my obligation to you, sir, for the restoration of
the badge of our family, I cannot but marvel that you have nowhere
established your own crest, whilk is, I believe, a mastiff, anciently
called a talbot; as the poet has it,
“‘A talbot strong,—a sturdy tyke.’
At least such a dog is the crest of the martial and renowned Earls of
Shrewsbury, to whom your family are probably blood-relations.”
“I believe,” said the Colonel, smiling, “our dogs are whelps of the
same litter; for my part, if crests were to dispute precedence, I
should be apt to let them, as the proverb says, ‘fight dog, fight
bear.’”
As he made this speech, at which the Baron took another long pinch of
snuff, they had entered the house, that is, the Baron, Rose, and Lady
Emily, with young Stanley and the Bailie, for Edward and the rest of
the party remained on the terrace to examine a new greenhouse stocked
with the finest plants. The Baron resumed his favourite topic—“However
it may please you to derogate from the honour of your burgonet, Colonel
Talbot, which is doubtless your humour, as I have seen in other
gentlemen of birth and honour in your country, I must again repeat it
as a most ancient and distinguished bearing, as well as that of my
young friend Francis Stanley, which is the eagle and child.”
“The bird and bantling they call it in Derbyshire, sir,” said Stanley.
“Ye’re a daft callant, sir,” said the Baron, who had a great liking to
this young man, perhaps because he sometimes teased him—“Ye’re a daft
callant, and I must correct you some of these days,” shaking his great
brown fist at him. “But what I meant to say, Colonel Talbot, is, that
yours is an ancient _prosapia_, or descent, and since you have lawfully
and justly acquired the estate for you and yours which I have lost for
me and mine, I wish it may remain in your name as many centuries as it
has done in that of the late proprietor’s.”
“That,” answered the Colonel, “is very handsome, Mr. Bradwardine,
indeed.”
“And yet, sir, I cannot but marvel that you, Colonel, whom I noted to
have so much of the _amor patritæ_, when we met in Edinburgh as even to
vilipend other countries, should have chosen to establish your Lares,
or household gods, _procul a patriæ finibus_, and in a manner to
expatriate yourself.”
“Why really, Baron, I do not see why, to keep the secret of these
foolish boys, Waverley and Stanley, and of my wife, who is no wiser,
one old soldier should continue to impose upon another. You must know,
then, that I have so much of that same prejudice in favour of my native
country, that the sum of money which I advanced to the seller of this
extensive barony has only purchased for me a box in ——shire, called
Brerewood Lodge, with about two hundred and fifty acres of land, the
chief merit of which is, that it is within a very few miles of
Waverley-Honour.”
“And who, then, in the name of Heaven, has bought this property?”
“That,” said the Colonel, “it is this gentleman’s profession to
explain.”
The Bailie, whom this reference regarded, and who had all this while
shifted from one foot to another with great impatience, “like a hen,”
as he afterwards said, “upon a het girdle”; and chuckling, he might
have added, like the said hen in all the glory of laying an egg, now
pushed forward. “That I can, that I can, your Honour,” drawing from his
pocket a budget of papers, and untying the red tape with a hand
trembling with eagerness. “Here is the disposition and assignation by
Malcolm Bradwardine of Inch-Grabbit, regularly signed and tested in
terms of the statute, whereby, for a certain sum of sterling money
presently contented and paid to him, he has disponed, alienated, and
conveyed the whole estate and barony of Bradwardine, Tully-Veolan, and
others, with the fortalice and manor-place—”
“For God’s sake, to the point, sir; I have all that by heart,” said the
Colonel.
“—To Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq.,” pursued the Bailie, “his heirs and
assignees, simply and irredeemably, to be held either _a me vel de
me_—”
“Pray read short, sir.”
“On the conscience of an honest man, Colonel, I read as short as is
consistent with style—under the burden and reservation always—”
“Mr. Macwheeble, this would outlast a Russian winter; give me leave. In
short, Mr. Bradwardine, your family estate is your own once more in
full property, and at your absolute disposal, but only burdened with
the sum advanced to re-purchase it, which I understand is utterly
disproportioned to its value.”
“An auld sang—an auld sang, if it please your Honours,” cried the
Bailie, rubbing his hands; “look at the rental book.”
“—Which sum being advanced, by Mr. Edward Waverley, chiefly from the
price of his father’s property which I bought from him, is secured to
his lady your daughter and her family by this marriage.”
“It is a catholic security,” shouted the Bailie, “to Rose Comyne
Bradwardine, _alias_ Wauverley, in life-rent, and the children of the
said marriage in fee; and I made up a wee bit minute of an antenuptial
contract, _intuitu matrimonij_, so it cannot be subject to reduction
hereafter, as a donation _inter virum et uxorem_.”
It is difficult to say whether the worthy Baron was most delighted with
the restitution of his family property or with the delicacy and
generosity that left him unfettered to pursue his purpose in disposing
of it after his death, and which avoided as much as possible even the
appearance of laying him under pecuniary obligation. When his first
pause of joy and astonishment was over, his thoughts turned to the
unworthy heir-male, who, he pronounced, had sold his birthright, like
Esau, for a mess o’ pottage.
“But wha cookit the parritch for him?” exclaimed the Bailie; “I wad
like to ken that;—wha but your Honour’s to command, Duncan Macwheeble?
His Honour, young Mr. Wauverley, put it a’ into my hand frae the
beginning—frae the first calling o’ the summons, as I may say. I
circumvented them—I played at bogle about the bush wi’ them—I cajolled
them; and if I havena gien Inch-Grabbit and Jamie Howie a bonnie
begunk, they ken themselves. Him a writer! I didna gae slapdash to them
wi’ our young bra’ bridegroom, to gar them baud up the market. Na, na;
I scared them wi’ our wild tenantry, and the Mac-Ivors, that are but
ill settled yet, till they durstna on ony errand whatsoever gang ower
the doorstane after gloaming, for fear John Heatherblutter, or some
siccan dare-the-deil, should tak a baff at them; then, on the other
hand, I beflummed them wi’ Colonel Talbot; wad they offer to keep up
the price again’ the Duke’s friend? did they na ken wha was master? had
they na seen eneugh, by the sad example of mony a puir misguided
unhappy body—”
“Who went to Derby, for example, Mr. Macwheeble?” said the Colonel to
him aside.
“O whisht, Colonel, for the love o’ God! let that flee stick i’ the
wa’. There were mony good folk at Derby; and it’s ill speaking of
halters”—with a sly cast of his eye toward the Baron, who was in a deep
reverie.
Starting out of it at once, he took Macwheeble by the button and led
him into one of the deep window recesses, whence only fragments of
their conversation reached the rest of the party. It certainly related
to stamp-paper and parchment; for no other subject, even from the mouth
of his patron, and he once more an efficient one, could have arrested
so deeply the Bailie’s reverent and absorbed attention.
“I understand your Honour perfectly; it can be dune as easy as taking
out a decreet in absence.”
“To her and him, after my demise, and to their heirs-male, but
preferring the second son, if God shall bless them with two, who is to
carry the name and arms of Bradwardine of that ilk, without any other
name or armorial bearings whatsoever.”
“Tut, your Honour!” whispered the Bailie, “I’ll mak a slight jotting
the morn; it will cost but a charter of resignation _in favorem;_ and
I’ll hae it ready for the next term in Exchequer.”
Their private conversation ended, the Baron was now summoned to do the
honours of Tully-Veolan to new guests. These were Major Melville of
Cairnvreckan and the Reverend Mr. Morton, followed by two or three
others of the Baron’s acquaintances, who had been made privy to his
having again acquired the estate of his fathers. The shouts of the
villagers were also heard beneath in the courtyard; for Saunders
Saunderson, who had kept the secret for several days with laudable
prudence, had unloosed his tongue upon beholding the arrival of the
carriages.
But, while Edward received Major Melville with politeness and the
clergyman with the most affectionate and grateful kindness, his
father-in-law looked a little awkward, as uncertain how he should
answer the necessary claims of hospitality to his guests, and forward
the festivity of his tenants. Lady Emily relieved him by intimating
that, though she must be an indifferent representative of Mrs. Edward
Waverley in many respects, she hoped the Baron would approve of the
entertainment she had ordered in expectation of so many guests; and
that they would find such other accommodations provided as might in
some degree support the ancient hospitality of Tully-Veolan. It is
impossible to describe the pleasure which this assurance gave the
Baron, who, with an air of gallantry half appertaining to the stiff
Scottish laird and half to the officer in the French service, offered
his arm to the fair speaker, and led the way, in something between a
stride and a minuet step, into the large dining parlour, followed by
all the rest of the good company.
By dint of Saunderson’s directions and exertions, all here, as well as
in the other apartments, had been disposed as much as possible
according to the old arrangement; and where new movables had been
necessary, they had been selected in the same character with the old
furniture. There was one addition to this fine old apartment, however,
which drew tears into the Baron’s eyes. It was a large and spirited
painting, representing Fergus Mac-Ivor and Waverley in their Highland
dress, the scene a wild, rocky, and mountainous pass, down which the
clan were descending in the background. It was taken from a spirited
sketch, drawn while they were in Edinburgh by a young man of high
genius, and had been painted on a full-length scale by an eminent
London artist. Raeburn himself (whose “Highland Chiefs” do all but walk
out of the canvas) could not have done more justice to the subject; and
the ardent, fiery, and impetuous character of the unfortunate Chief of
Glennaquoich was finely contrasted with the contemplative, fanciful,
and enthusiastic expression of his happier friend. Beside this painting
hung the arms which Waverley had borne in the unfortunate civil war.
The whole piece was beheld with admiration and deeper feelings.
Men must, however, eat, in spite both of sentiment and _vertu;_ and the
Baron, while he assumed the lower end of the table, insisted that Lady
Emily should do the honours of the head, that they might, he said, set
a meet example to the _young folk_. After a pause of deliberation,
employed in adjusting in his own brain the precedence between the
Presbyterian kirk and Episcopal church of Scotland, he requested Mr.
Morton, as the stranger, would crave a blessing, observing that Mr.
Rubrick, who was at _home_, would return thanks for the distinguished
mercies it had been his lot to experience. The dinner was excellent.
Saunderson attended in full costume, with all the former domestics, who
had been collected, excepting one or two, that had not been heard of
since the affair of Culloden. The cellars were stocked with wine which
was pronounced to be superb, and it had been contrived that the Bear of
the Fountain, in the courtyard, should (for that night only) play
excellent brandy punch for the benefit of the lower orders.
When the dinner was over the Baron, about to propose a toast, cast a
somewhat sorrowful look upon the sideboard, which, however, exhibited
much of his plate, that had either been secreted or purchased by
neighbouring gentlemen from the soldiery, and by them gladly restored
to the original owner.
“In the late times,” he said, “those must be thankful who have saved
life and land; yet when I am about to pronounce this toast, I cannot
but regret an old heirloom, Lady Emily, a _poculum potatorium_, Colonel
Talbot—”
Here the Baron’s elbow was gently touched by his major-domo, and,
turning round, he beheld in the hands of Alexander ab Alexandro the
celebrated cup of Saint Duthac, the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine! I
question if the recovery of his estate afforded him more rapture. “By
my honour,” he said, “one might almost believe in brownies and fairies,
Lady Emily, when your ladyship is in presence!”
“I am truly happy,” said Colonel Talbot, “that, by the recovery of this
piece of family antiquity, it has fallen within my power to give you
some token of my deep interest in all that concerns my young friend
Edward. But that you may not suspect Lady Emily for a sorceress, or me
for a conjuror, which is no joke in Scotland, I must tell you that
Frank Stanley, your friend, who has been seized with a tartan fever
ever since he heard Edward’s tales of old Scottish manners, happened to
describe to us at second-hand this remarkable cup. My servant,
Spontoon, who, like a true old soldier, observes everything and says
little, gave me afterwards to understand that he thought he had seen
the piece of plate Mr. Stanley mentioned in the possession of a certain
Mrs. Nosebag, who, having been originally the helpmate of a pawnbroker,
had found opportunity during the late unpleasant scenes in Scotland to
trade a little in her old line, and so became the depositary of the
more valuable part of the spoil of half the army. You may believe the
cup was speedily recovered; and it will give me very great pleasure if
you allow me to suppose that its value is not diminished by having been
restored through my means.”
A tear mingled with the wine which the Baron filled, as he proposed a
cup of gratitude to Colonel Talbot, and “The Prosperity of the united
Houses of Waverley-Honour and Bradwardine!”
It only remains for me to say that, as no wish was ever uttered with
more affectionate sincerity, there are few which, allowing for the
necessary mutability of human events, have been upon the whole more
happily fulfilled.