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.

VOLUME II

INTRODUCTION

The plan of this edition leads me to insert in this place some account

of the incidents on which the Novel of Waverley is founded. They have

been already given to the public by my late lamented friend, William

Erskine, Esq. (afterwards Lord Kinneder), when reviewing the Tales of

My Landlord for the Quarterly Review in 1817. The particulars were

derived by the critic from the Author's information. Afterwards they

were published in the Preface to the Chronicles of the Canongate. They

are now inserted in their proper place.

The mutual protection afforded by Waverley and Talbot to each other,

upon which the whole plot depends, is founded upon one of those

anecdotes which soften the features even of civil war; and, as it is

equally honourable to the memory of both parties, we have no hesitation

to give their names at length. When the Highlanders, on the morning of

the battle of Preston, 1745, made their memorable attack on Sir John

Cope's army, a battery of four field-pieces was stormed and carried by

the Camerons and the Stewarts of Appine. The late Alexander Stewart of

Invernahylewas one of the foremost in the charge, and observing an

officer of the King's forces, who, scorning to join the flight of all

around, remained with his sword in his hand, as if determined to the

very last to defend the post assigned to him, the Highland gentleman

commanded him to surrender, and received for reply a thrust, which he

caught in his target. The officer was now defenceless, and the

battle-axe of a gigantic Highlander (the miller of Invernahyle's mill)

was uplifted to dash his brains out, when Mr. Stewart with difficulty

prevailed on him to yield. He took charge of his enemy's property,

protected his person, and finally obtained him liberty on his parole.

The officer proved to be Colonel Whitefoord, an Ayrshire gentleman of

high character and influence, and warmly attached to the House of

Hanover; yet such was the confidence existing between these two

honourable men, though of different political principles, that, while

the civil war was raging, and straggling officers from the Highland

army were executed without mercy, Invernahyle hesitated not to pay his

late captive a visit, as he returned to the Highlands to raise fresh

recruits, on which occasion he spent a day or two in Ayrshire among

Colonel Whitefoord's Whig friends, as pleasantly and as good-humouredly

as if all had been at peace around him.

After the battle of Culloden had ruined the hopes of Charles Edward and

dispersed his proscribed adherents, it was Colonel Whitefoord's turn to

strain every nerve to obtain Mr. Stewart's pardon. He went to the Lord

Justice Clerk to the Lord Advocate, and to all the officers of state,

and each application was answered by the production of a list in which

Invernahyle (as the good old gentleman was wont to express it) appeared

'marked with the sign of the beast!' as a subject unfit for favour or

pardon.

At length Colonel Whitefoord applied to the Duke of Cumberland in

person. From him, also, he received a positive refusal. He then limited

his request, for the present, to a protection for Stewart's house,

wife, children, and property. This was also refused by the Duke; on

which Colonel Whitefoord, taking his commission from his bosom, laid it

on the table before his Royal Highness with much emotion, and asked

permission to retire from the service of a sovereign who did not know

how to spare a vanquished enemy. The Duke was struck, and even

affected. He bade the Colonel take up his commission, and granted the

protection he required. It was issued just in time to save the house,

corn, and cattle at Invernahyle from the troops, who were engaged in

laying waste what it was the fashion to call 'the country of the

enemy.' A small encampment of soldiers was formed on Invernahyle's

property, which they spared while plundering the country around, and

searching in every direction for the leaders of the insurrection, and

for Stewart in particular. He was much nearer them than they suspected;

for, hidden in a cave (like the Baron of Bradwardine), he lay for many

days so near the English sentinels that he could hear their muster-roll

called. His food was brought to him by one of his daughters, a child of

eight years old, whom Mrs. Stewart was under the necessity of

entrusting with this commission; for her own motions, and those of all

her elder inmates, were closely watched. With ingenuity beyond her

years, the child used to stray about among the soldiers, who were

rather kind to her, and thus seize the moment when she was unobserved

and steal into the thicket, when she deposited whatever small store of

provisions she had in charge at some marked spot, where her father

might find it. Invernahyle supported life for several weeks by means of

these precarious supplies; and, as he had been wounded in the battle of

Culloden, the hardships which he endured were aggravated by great

bodily pain. After the soldiers had removed their quarters he had

another remarkable escape.

As he now ventured to his own house at night and left it in the

morning, he was espied during the dawn by a party of the enemy, who

fired at and pursued him. The fugitive being fortunate enough to escape

their search, they returned to the house and charged the family with

harbouring one of the proscribed traitors. An old woman had presence of

mind enough to maintain that the man they had seen was the shepherd.

'Why did he not stop when we called to him?' said the soldier. 'He is

as deaf, poor man, as a peat-stack,' answered the ready-witted

domestic. 'Let him be sent for directly.' The real shepherd accordingly

was brought from the hill, and, as there was time to tutor him by the

way, he was as deaf when he made his appearance as was necessary to

sustain his character. Invernahyle was afterwards pardoned under the

Act of Indemnity.

The Author knew him well, and has often heard these circumstances from

his own mouth. He was a noble specimen of the old Highlander, far

descended, gallant, courteous, and brave, even to chivalry. He had been

out, I believe, in 1715 and 1745, was an active partaker in all the

stirring scenes which passed in the Highlands betwixt these memorable

eras; and, I have heard, was remarkable, among other exploits, for

having fought a duel with the broadsword with the celebrated Rob Roy

MacGregor at the clachan of Balquidder.

Invernahyle chanced to be in Edinburgh when Paul Jones came into the

Firth of Forth, and though then an old man, I saw him in arms, and

heard him exult (to use his own words) in the prospect of drawing his

claymore once more before he died.' In fact, on that memorable

occasion, when the capital of Scotland was menaced by three trifling

sloops or brigs, scarce fit to have sacked a fishing village, he was

the only man who seemed to propose a plan of resistance. He offered to

the magistrates, if broadswords and dirks could be obtained, to find as

many Highlanders among the lower classes as would cut off any boat's

crew who might be sent into a town full of narrow and winding passages,

in which they were like to disperse in quest of plunder. I know not if

his plan was attended to, I rather think it seemed too hazardous to the

constituted authorities, who might not, even at that time, desire to

see arms in Highland hands. A steady and powerful west wind settled the

matter by sweeping Paul Jones and his vessels out of the Firth.

If there is something degrading in this recollection, it is not

unpleasant to compare it with those of the last war, when Edinburgh,

besides regular forces and militia, furnished a volunteer brigade of

cavalry, infantry, and artillery to the amount of six thousand men and

upwards, which was in readiness to meet and repel a force of a far more

formidable description than was commanded by the adventurous American.

Time and circumstances change the character of nations and the fate of

cities; and it is some pride to a Scotchman to reflect that the

independent and manly character of a country, willing to entrust its

own protection to the arms of its children, after having been obscured

for half a century, has, during the course of his own lifetime,

recovered its lustre.

Other illustrations of Waverley will be found in the Notes at the foot

of the pages to which they belong. Those which appeared too long to be

so placed are given at the end of the chapters to which they severally

relate. [Footnote: In this edition at the end of the several volumes.]

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION

To this slight attempt at a sketch of ancient Scottish manners the

public have been more favourable than the Author durst have hoped or

expected. He has heard, with a mixture of satisfaction and humility,

his work ascribed to more than one respectable name. Considerations,

which seem weighty in his particular situation, prevent his releasing

those gentlemen from suspicion by placing his own name in the

title-page; so that, for the present at least, it must remain uncertain

whether Waverley be the work of a poet or a critic, a lawyer or a

clergyman, or whether the writer, to use Mrs. Malaprop's phrase, be,

'like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once.' The Author, as he is

unconscious of anything in the work itself (except perhaps its

frivolity) which prevents its finding an acknowledged father, leaves it

to the candour of the public to choose among the many circumstances

peculiar to different situations in life such as may induce him to

suppress his name on the present occasion. He may be a writer new to

publication, and unwilling to avow a character to which he is

unaccustomed; or he may be a hackneyed author, who is ashamed of too

frequent appearance, and employs this mystery, as the heroine of the

old comedy used her mask, to attract the attention of those to whom her

face had become too familiar. He may be a man of a grave profession, to

whom the reputation of being a novel-writer might be prejudicial; or he

may be a man of fashion, to whom writing of any kind might appear

pedantic. He may be too young to assume the character of an author, or

so old as to make it advisable to lay it aside.

The Author of Waverley has heard it objected to this novel, that, in

the character of Callum Beg and in the account given by the Baron of

Bradwardine of the petty trespasses of the Highlanders upon trifling

articles of property, he has borne hard, and unjustly so, upon their

national character. Nothing could be farther from his wish or

intention. The character of Callum Beg is that of a spirit naturally

turned to daring evil, and determined, by the circumstances of his

situation, to a particular species of mischief. Those who have perused

the curious Letters from the Highlands, published about 1726, will find

instances of such atrocious characters which fell under the writer's

own observation, though it would be most unjust to consider such

villains as representatives of the Highlanders of that period, any more

than the murderers of Marr and Williamson can be supposed to represent

the English of the present day. As for the plunder supposed to have

been picked up by some of the insurgents in 1745, it must be remembered

that, although the way of that unfortunate little army was neither

marked by devastation nor bloodshed, but, on the contrary, was orderly

and quiet in a most wonderful degree, yet no army marches through a

country in a hostile manner without committing some depredations; and

several, to the extent and of the nature jocularly imputed to them by

the Baron, were really laid to the charge of the Highland insurgents;

for which many traditions, and particularly one respecting the Knight

of the Mirror, may be quoted as good evidence. [Footnote: A homely

metrical narrative of the events of the period, which contains some

striking particulars, and is still a great favourite with the lower

classes, gives a very correct statement of the behaviour of the

mountaineers respecting this same military license; and, as the verses

are little known, and contain some good sense, we venture to insert

them.]

THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO ALL IN GENERAL

Now, gentle readers, I have let you ken

My very thoughts, from heart and pen,

'Tis needless for to conten'

Or yet controule,

For there's not a word o't I can men';

So ye must thole.

For on both sides some were not good;

I saw them murd'ring in cold blood,

Not the gentlemen, but wild and rude,

The baser sort,

Who to the wounded had no mood

But murd'ring sport!

Ev'n both at Preston and Falkirk,

That fatal night ere it grew mirk,

Piercing the wounded with their durk,

Caused many cry!

Such pity's shown from Savage and Turk

As peace to die.

A woe be to such hot zeal,

To smite the wounded on the fiell!

It's just they got such groats in kail,

Who do the same.

It only teaches crueltys real

To them again.

I've seen the men call'd Highland rogues,

With Lowland men make shangs a brogs,

Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs

Out at the door,

Take cocks, hens, sheep, and hogs,

And pay nought for.

I saw a Highlander,'t was right drole,

With a string of puddings hung on a pole,

Whip'd o'er his shoulder, skipped like a fole,

Caus'd Maggy bann,

Lap o'er the midden and midden-hole,

And aff he ran.

When check'd for this, they'd often tell ye,

'Indeed her nainsell's a tume belly;

You'll no gie't wanting bought, nor sell me;

Hersell will hae't;

Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy's Willie,

I'll hae a meat.'

I saw the soldiers at Linton-brig,

Because the man was not a Whig,

Of meat and drink leave not a skig,

Within his door;

They burnt his very hat and wig,

And thump'd him sore.

And through the Highlands they were so rude,

As leave them neither clothes nor food,

Then burnt their houses to conclude;

'T was tit for tat.

How can her nainsell e'er be good,

To think on that?

And after all, O, shame and grief!

To use some worse than murd'ring thief,

Their very gentleman and chief,

Unhumanly!

Like Popish tortures, I believe,

Such cruelty.

Ev'n what was act on open stage

At Carlisle, in the hottest rage,

When mercy was clapt in a cage,

And pity dead,

Such cruelty approv'd by every age,

I shook my head.

So many to curse, so few to pray,

And some aloud huzza did cry;

They cursed the rebel Scots that day,

As they'd been nowt

Brought up for slaughter, as that way

Too many rowt.

Therefore, alas! dear countrymen,

O never do the like again,

To thirst for vengeance, never ben'

Your gun nor pa',

But with the English e'en borrow and len',

Let anger fa'.

Their boasts and bullying, not worth a louse,

As our King's the best about the house.

'T is ay good to be sober and douce,

To live in peace;

For many, I see, for being o'er crouse,

Gets broken face.

WAVERLEY

OR 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

The title of this work has not been chosen without the grave and solid

deliberation which matters of importance demand from the prudent. Even

its first, or general denomination, was the result of no common

research or selection, although, according to the example of my

predecessors, I had only to seize upon the most sounding and euphonic

surname that English history or topography affords, and elect it at

once as the title of my work and the name of my hero. But, alas! what

could my readers have expected from the chivalrous epithets of Howard,

Mordaunt, Mortimer, or Stanley, or from the softer and more sentimental

sounds of Belmour, Belville, Belfield, and Belgrave, but pages of

inanity, similar to those which have been so christened for half a

century past? I must modestly admit I am too diffident of my own merit

to place it in unnecessary opposition to preconceived associations; I

have, therefore, like a maiden knight with his white shield, assumed

for my hero, WAVERLEY, an uncontaminated name, bearing with its sound

little of good or evil, excepting what the reader shall hereafter be

pleased to affix to it. But my second or supplemental title was a

matter of much more difficult election, since that, short as it is, may

be held as pledging the author to some special mode of laying his

scene, drawing his characters, and managing his adventures. Had I, for

example, announced in my frontispiece, 'Waverley, a Tale of other

Days,' must not every novel-reader have anticipated a castle scarce

less than that of Udolpho, of which the eastern wing had long been

uninhabited, and the keys either lost, or consigned to the care of some

aged butler or housekeeper, whose trembling steps, about the middle of

the second volume, were doomed to guide the hero, or heroine, to the

ruinous precincts? Would not the owl have shrieked and the cricket

cried in my very title-page? and could it have been possible for me,

with a moderate attention to decorum, to introduce any scene more

lively than might be produced by the jocularity of a clownish but

faithful valet, or the garrulous narrative of the heroine's

fille-de-chambre, when rehearsing the stories of blood and horror which

she had heard in the servants' hall? Again, had my title borne,

'Waverley, a Romance from the German,' what head so obtuse as not to

image forth a profligate abbot, an oppressive duke, a secret and

mysterious association of Rosycrucians and Illuminati, with all their

properties of black cowls, caverns, daggers, electrical machines,

trap-doors, and dark-lanterns? Or if I had rather chosen to call my

work a 'Sentimental Tale,' would it not have been a sufficient presage

of a heroine with a profusion of auburn hair, and a harp, the soft

solace of her solitary hours, which she fortunately finds always the

means of transporting from castle to cottage, although she herself be

sometimes obliged to jump out of a two-pair-of-stairs window, and is

more than once bewildered on her journey, alone and on foot, without

any guide but a blowzy peasant girl, whose jargon she hardly can

understand? Or, again, if my Waverley had been entitled 'A Tale of the

Times,' wouldst thou not, gentle reader, have demanded from me a

dashing sketch of the fashionable world, a few anecdotes of private

scandal thinly veiled, and if lusciously painted, so much the better? a

heroine from Grosvenor Square, and a hero from the Barouche Club or the

Four-in-Hand, with a set of subordinate characters from the elegantes

of Queen Anne Street East, or the dashing heroes of the Bow-Street

Office? I could proceed in proving the importance of a title-page, and

displaying at the same time my own intimate knowledge of the particular

ingredients necessary to the composition of romances and novels of

various descriptions;--but it is enough, and I scorn to tyrannise

longer over the impatience of my reader, who is doubtless already

anxious to know the choice made by an author so profoundly versed in

the different branches of his art.

By fixing, then, the date of my story Sixty Years before this present

1st November, 1805, I would have my readers understand, that they will

meet in the following pages neither a romance of chivalry nor a tale of

modern manners; that my hero will neither have iron on his shoulders,

as of yore, nor on the heels of his boots, as is the present fashion of

Bond Street; and that my damsels will neither be clothed 'in purple and

in pall,' like the Lady Alice of an old ballad, nor reduced to the

primitive nakedness of a modern fashionable at a rout. From this my

choice of an era the understanding critic may farther presage that the

object of my tale is more a description of men than manners. A tale of

manners, to be interesting, must either refer to antiquity so great as

to have become venerable, or it must bear a vivid reflection of those

scenes which are passing daily before our eyes, and are interesting

from their novelty. Thus the coat-of-mail of our ancestors, and the

triple-furred pelisse of our modern beaux, may, though for very

different reasons, be equally fit for the array of a fictitious

character; but who, meaning the costume of his hero to be impressive,

would willingly attire him in the court dress of George the Second's

reign, with its no collar, large sleeves, and low pocket-holes? The

same may be urged, with equal truth, of the Gothic hall, which, with

its darkened and tinted windows, its elevated and gloomy roof, and

massive oaken table garnished with boar's-head and rosemary, pheasants

and peacocks, cranes and cygnets, has an excellent effect in fictitious

description. Much may also be gained by a lively display of a modern

fete, such as we have daily recorded in that part of a newspaper

entitled the Mirror of Fashion, if we contrast these, or either of

them, with the splendid formality of an entertainment given Sixty Years

Since; and thus it will be readily seen how much the painter of antique

or of fashionable manners gains over him who delineates those of the

last generation.

Considering the disadvantages inseparable from this part of my subject,

I must be understood to have resolved to avoid them as much as

possible, by throwing the force of my narrative upon the characters and

passions of the actors;--those passions common to men in all stages of

society, and which have alike agitated the human heart, whether it

throbbed under the steel corslet of the fifteenth century, the brocaded

coat of the eighteenth, or the blue frock and white dimity waistcoat of

the present day. [Footnote: Alas' that attire, respectable and

gentlemanlike in 1805, or thereabouts, is now as antiquated as the

Author of Waverley has himself become since that period! The reader of

fashion will please to fill up the costume with an embroidered

waistcoat of purple velvet or silk, and a coat of whatever colour he

pleases.] Upon these passions it is no doubt true that the state of

manners and laws casts a necessary colouring; but the bearings, to use

the language of heraldry, remain the same, though the tincture may be

not only different, but opposed in strong contradistinction. The wrath

of our ancestors, for example, was coloured gules; it broke forth in

acts of open and sanguinary violence against the objects of its fury.

Our malignant feelings, which must seek gratification through more

indirect channels, and undermine the obstacles which they cannot openly

bear down, may be rather said to be tinctured sable. But the

deep-ruling impulse is the same in both cases; and the proud peer, who

can now only ruin his neighbour according to law, by protracted suits,

is the genuine descendant of the baron who wrapped the castle of his

competitor in flames, and knocked him on the head as he endeavoured to

escape from the conflagration. It is from the great book of Nature, the

same through a thousand editions, whether of black-letter, or wire-wove

and hot-pressed, that I have venturously essayed to read a chapter to

the public. Some favourable opportunities of contrast have been

afforded me by the state of society in the northern part of the island

at the period of my history, and may serve at once to vary and to

illustrate the moral lessons, which I would willingly consider as the

most important part of my plan; although I am sensible how short these

will fall of their aim if I shall be found unable to mix them with

amusement--a task not quite so easy in this critical generation as it

was 'Sixty Years Since.'

CHAPTER II

WAVERLEY-HONOUR--A RETROSPECT

It is, then, sixty years since Edward Waverley, the hero of the

following pages, took leave of his family, to join the regiment of

dragoons in which he had lately obtained a commission. It was a

melancholy day at Waverley-Honour when the young officer parted with

Sir Everard, the affectionate old uncle to whose title and estate he

was presumptive heir.

A difference in political opinions had early separated the Baronet from

his younger brother Richard Waverley, the father of our hero. Sir

Everard had inherited from his sires the whole train of Tory or

High-Church predilections and prejudices which had distinguished the

house of Waverley since the Great Civil War. Richard, on the contrary,

who was ten years younger, beheld himself born to the fortune of a

second brother, and anticipated neither dignity nor entertainment in

sustaining the character of Will Wimble. He saw early that, to succeed

in the race of life, it was necessary he should carry as little weight

as possible. Painters talk of the difficulty of expressing the

existence of compound passions in the same features at the same moment;

it would be no less difficult for the moralist to analyse the mixed

motives which unite to form the impulse of our actions. Richard

Waverley read and satisfied himself from history and sound argument

that, in the words of the old song,

Passive obedience was a jest,

And pshaw! was non-resistance;

yet reason would have probably been unable to combat and remove

hereditary prejudice could Richard have anticipated that his elder

brother, Sir Everard, taking to heart an early disappointment, would

have remained a bachelor at seventy-two. The prospect of succession,

however remote, might in that case have led him to endure dragging

through the greater part of his life as 'Master Richard at the Hall,

the Baronet's brother,' in the hope that ere its conclusion he should

be distinguished as Sir Richard Waverley of Waverley-Honour, successor

to a princely estate, and to extended political connections as head of

the county interest in the shire where it lay.

But this was a consummation of things not to be expected at Richard's

outset, when Sir Everard was in the prime of life, and certain to be an

acceptable suitor in almost any family, whether wealth or beauty should

be the object of his pursuit, and when, indeed, his speedy marriage was

a report which regularly amused the neighbourhood once a year. His

younger brother saw no practicable road to independence save that of

relying upon his own exertions, and adopting a political creed more

consonant both to reason and his own interest than the hereditary faith

of Sir Everard in High-Church and in the house of Stuart. He therefore

read his recantation at the beginning of his career, and entered life

as an avowed Whig and friend of the Hanover succession.

The ministry of George the First's time were prudently anxious to

diminish the phalanx of opposition. The Tory nobility, depending for

their reflected lustre upon the sunshine of a court, had for some time

been gradually reconciling themselves to the new dynasty. But the

wealthy country gentlemen of England, a rank which retained, with much

of ancient manners and primitive integrity, a great proportion of

obstinate and unyielding prejudice, stood aloof in haughty and sullen

opposition, and cast many a look of mingled regret and hope to Bois le

Due, Avignon, and Italy. [Footnote: Where the Chevalier St. George, or,

as he was termed, the Old Pretender, held his exiled court, as his

situation compelled him to shift his place of residence.] The accession

of the near relation of one of those steady and inflexible opponents

was considered as a means of bringing over more converts, and therefore

Richard Waverley met with a share of ministerial favour more than

proportioned to his talents or his political importance. It was,

however, discovered that he had respectable talents for public

business, and the first admittance to the minister's levee being

negotiated, his success became rapid. Sir Everard learned from the

public 'News-Letter,' first, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, was

returned for the ministerial borough of Barterfaith; next, that Richard

Waverley, Esquire, had taken a distinguished part in the debate upon

the Excise Bill in the support of government; and, lastly, that Richard

Waverley, Esquire, had been honoured with a seat at one of those boards

where the pleasure of serving the country is combined with other

important gratifications, which, to render them the more acceptable,

occur regularly once a quarter.

Although these events followed each other so closely that the sagacity

of the editor of a modern newspaper would have presaged the two last

even while he announced the first, yet they came upon Sir Everard

gradually, and drop by drop, as it were, distilled through the cool and

procrastinating alembic of Dyer's 'Weekly Letter.' [Footnote: See Note

I. ] For it may be observed in passing, that instead of those

mail-coaches, by means of which every mechanic at his six-penny club,

may nightly learn from twenty contradictory channels the yesterday's

news of the capital, a weekly post brought, in those days, to

Waverley-Honour, a Weekly Intelligencer, which, after it had gratified

Sir Everard's curiosity, his sister's, and that of his aged butler, was

regularly transferred from the Hall to the Rectory, from the Rectory to

Squire Stubbs's at the Grange, from the Squire to the Baronet's steward

at his neat white house on the heath, from the steward to the bailiff,

and from him through a huge circle of honest dames and gaffers, by

whose hard and horny hands it was generally worn to pieces in about a

month after its arrival.

This slow succession of intelligence was of some advantage to Richard

Waverley in the case before us; for, had the sum total of his

enormities reached the ears of Sir Everard at once, there can be no

doubt that the new commissioner would have had little reason to pique

himself on the success of his politics. The Baronet, although the

mildest of human beings, was not without sensitive points in his

character; his brother's conduct had wounded these deeply; the Waverley

estate was fettered by no entail (for it had never entered into the

head of any of its former possessors that one of their progeny could be

guilty of the atrocities laid by Dyer's 'Letter' to the door of

Richard), and if it had, the marriage of the proprietor might have been

fatal to a collateral heir. These various ideas floated through the

brain of Sir Everard without, however, producing any determined

conclusion.

He examined the tree of his genealogy, which, emblazoned with many an

emblematic mark of honour and heroic achievement, hung upon the

well-varnished wainscot of his hall. The nearest descendants of Sir

Hildebrand Waverley, failing those of his eldest son Wilfred, of whom

Sir Everard and his brother were the only representatives, were, as

this honoured register informed him (and, indeed, as he himself well

knew), the Waverleys of Highley Park, com. Hants; with whom the main

branch, or rather stock, of the house had renounced all connection

since the great law-suit in 1670.

This degenerate scion had committed a farther offence against the head

and source of their gentility, by the intermarriage of their

representative with Judith, heiress of Oliver Bradshawe, of Highley

Park, whose arms, the same with those of Bradshawe the regicide, they

had quartered with the ancient coat of Waverley. These offences,

however, had vanished from Sir Everard's recollection in the heat of

his resentment; and had Lawyer Clippurse, for whom his groom was

despatched express, arrived but an hour earlier, he might have had the

benefit of drawing a new settlement of the lordship and manor of

Waverley-Honour, with all its dependencies. But an hour of cool

reflection is a great matter when employed in weighing the comparative

evil of two measures to neither of which we are internally partial.

Lawyer Clippurse found his patron involved in a deep study, which he

was too respectful to disturb, otherwise than by producing his paper

and leathern ink-case, as prepared to minute his honour's commands.

Even this slight manoeuvre was embarrassing to Sir Everard, who felt it

as a reproach to his indecision. He looked at the attorney with some

desire to issue his fiat, when the sun, emerging from behind a cloud,

poured at once its chequered light through the stained window of the

gloomy cabinet in which they were seated. The Baronet's eye, as he

raised it to the splendour, fell right upon the central scutcheon,

inpressed with the same device which his ancestor was said to have

borne in the field of Hastings,--three ermines passant, argent, in a

field azure, with its appropriate motto, Sans tache. 'May our name

rather perish,' exclaimed Sir Everard, 'than that ancient and loyal

symbol should be blended with the dishonoured insignia of a traitorous

Roundhead!'

All this was the effect of the glimpse of a sunbeam, just sufficient to

light Lawyer Clippurse to mend his pen. The pen was mended in vain. The

attorney was dismissed, with directions to hold himself in readiness on

the first summons.

The apparition of Lawyer Clippurse at the Hall occasioned much

speculation in that portion of the world to which Waverley-Honour

formed the centre. But the more judicious politicians of this microcosm

augured yet worse consequences to Richard Waverley from a movement

which shortly followed his apostasy. This was no less than an excursion

of the Baronet in his coach-and-six, with four attendants in rich

liveries, to make a visit of some duration to a noble peer on the

confines of the shire, of untainted descent, steady Tory principles,

and the happy father of six unmarried and accomplished daughters.

Sir Everard's reception in this family was, as it may be easily

conceived, sufficiently favourable; but of the six young ladies, his

taste unfortunately determined him in favour of Lady Emily, the

youngest, who received his attentions with an embarrassment which

showed at once that she durst not decline them, and that they afforded

her anything but pleasure.

Sir Everard could not but perceive something uncommon in the restrained

emotions which the young lady testified at the advances he hazarded;

but, assured by the prudent Countess that they were the natural effects

of a retired education, the sacrifice might have been completed, as

doubtless has happened in many similar instances, had it not been for

the courage of an elder sister, who revealed to the wealthy suitor that

Lady Emily's affections were fixed upon a young soldier of fortune, a

near relation of her own.

Sir Everard manifested great emotion on receiving this intelligence,

which was confirmed to him, in a private interview, by the young lady

herself, although under the most dreadful apprehensions of her father's

indignation.

Honour and generosity were hereditary attributes of the house of

Waverley. With a grace and delicacy worthy the hero of a romance, Sir

Everard withdrew his claim to the hand of Lady Emily. He had even,

before leaving Blandeville Castle, the address to extort from her

father a consent to her union with the object of her choice. What

arguments he used on this point cannot exactly be known, for Sir

Everard was never supposed strong in the powers of persuasion; but the

young officer, immediately after this transaction, rose in the army

with a rapidity far surpassing the usual pace of unpatronised

professional merit, although, to outward appearance, that was all he

had to depend upon.

The shock which Sir Everard encountered upon this occasion, although

diminished by the consciousness of having acted virtuously and

generously had its effect upon his future life. His resolution of

marriage had been adopted in a fit of indignation; the labour of

courtship did not quite suit the dignified indolence of his habits; he

had but just escaped the risk of marrying a woman who could never love

him, and his pride could not be greatly flattered by the termination of

his amour, even if his heart had not suffered. The result of the whole

matter was his return to Waverley-Honour without any transfer of his

affections, notwithstanding the sighs and languishments of the fair

tell-tale, who had revealed, in mere sisterly affection, the secret of

Lady Emily's attachment, and in despite of the nods, winks, and

innuendos of the officious lady mother, and the grave eulogiums which

the Earl pronounced successively on the prudence, and good sense, and

admirable dispositions, of his first, second, third, fourth, and fifth

daughters.

The memory of his unsuccessful amour was with Sir Everard, as with many

more of his temper, at once shy, proud, sensitive, and indolent, a

beacon against exposing himself to similar mortification, pain, and

fruitless exertion for the time to come. He continued to live at

Waverley-Honour in the style of an old English gentleman, of an ancient

descent and opulent fortune. His sister, Miss Rachel Waverley, presided

at his table; and they became, by degrees, an old bachelor and an

ancient maiden lady, the gentlest and kindest of the votaries of

celibacy.

The vehemence of Sir Everard's resentment against his brother was but

short-lived; yet his dislike to the Whig and the placeman, though

unable to stimulate him to resume any active measures prejudicial to

Richard's interest, in the succession to the family estate, continued

to maintain the coldness between them. Richard knew enough of the

world, and of his brother's temper, to believe that by any

ill-considered or precipitate advances on his part, he might turn

passive dislike into a more active principle. It was accident,

therefore, which at length occasioned a renewal of their intercourse.

Richard had married a young woman of rank, by whose family interest and

private fortune he hoped to advance his career. In her right he became

possessor of a manor of some value, at the distance of a few miles from

Waverley-Honour.

Little Edward, the hero of our tale, then in his fifth year, was their

only child. It chanced that the infant with his maid had strayed one

morning to a mile's distance from the avenue of Brerewood Lodge, his

father's seat. Their attention was attracted by a carriage drawn by six

stately long-tailed black horses, and with as much carving and gilding

as would have done honour to my lord mayor's. It was waiting for the

owner, who was at a little distance inspecting the progress of a

half-built farm-house. I know not whether the boy's nurse had been a

Welsh--or a Scotch-woman, or in what manner he associated a shield

emblazoned with three ermines with the idea of personal property, but

he no sooner beheld this family emblem than he stoutly determined on

vindicating his right to the splendid vehicle on which it was

displayed. The Baronet arrived while the boy's maid was in vain

endeavouring to make him desist from his determination to appropriate

the gilded coach-and-six. The rencontre was at a happy moment for

Edward, as his uncle had been just eyeing wistfully, with something of

a feeling like envy, the chubby boys of the stout yeoman whose mansion

was building by his direction. In the round-faced rosy cherub before

him, bearing his eye and his name, and vindicating a hereditary title

to his family, affection, and patronage, by means of a tie which Sir

Everard held as sacred as either Garter or Blue-mantle, Providence

seemed to have granted to him the very object best calculated to fill

up the void in his hopes and affections. Sir Everard returned to

Waverley-Hall upon a led horse, which was kept in readiness for him,

while the child and his attendant were sent home in the carriage to

Brerewood Lodge, with such a message as opened to Richard Waverley a

door of reconciliation with his elder brother.

Their intercourse, however, though thus renewed, continued to be rather

formal and civil than partaking of brotherly cordiality; yet it was

sufficient to the wishes of both parties. Sir Everard obtained, in the

frequent society of his little nephew, something on which his

hereditary pride might found the anticipated pleasure of a continuation

of his lineage, and where his kind and gentle affections could at the

same time fully exercise themselves. For Richard Waverley, he beheld in

the growing attachment between the uncle and nephew the means of

securing his son's, if not his own, succession to the hereditary

estate, which he felt would be rather endangered than promoted by any

attempt on his own part towards a closer intimacy with a man of Sir

Everard's habits and opinions.

Thus, by a sort of tacit compromise, little Edward was permitted to

pass the greater part of the year at the Hall, and appeared to stand in

the same intimate relation to both families, although their mutual

intercourse was otherwise limited to formal messages and more formal

visits. The education of the youth was regulated alternately by the

taste and opinions of his uncle and of his father. But more of this in

a subsequent chapter.

CHAPTER III

EDUCATION

The education of our hero, Edward Waverley, was of a nature somewhat

desultory. In infancy his health suffered, or was supposed to suffer

(which is quite the same thing), by the air of London. As soon,

therefore, as official duties, attendance on Parliament, or the

prosecution of any of his plans of interest or ambition, called his

father to town, which was his usual residence for eight months in the

year, Edward was transferred to Waverley-Honour, and experienced a

total change of instructors and of lessons, as well as of residence.

This might have been remedied had his father placed him under the

superintendence of a permanent tutor. But he considered that one of his

choosing would probably have been unacceptable at Waverley-Honour, and

that such a selection as Sir Everard might have made, were the matter

left to him, would have burdened him with a disagreeable inmate, if not

a political spy, in his family. He therefore prevailed upon his private

secretary, a young man of taste and accomplishments, to bestow an hour

or two on Edward's education while at Brerewood Lodge, and left his

uncle answerable for his improvement in literature while an inmate at

the Hall. This was in some degree respectably provided for. Sir

Everard's chaplain, an Oxonian, who had lost his fellowship for

declining to take the oaths at the accession of George I, was not only

an excellent classical scholar, but reasonably skilled in science, and

master of most modern languages. He was, however, old and indulgent,

and the recurring interregnum, during which Edward was entirely freed

from his discipline, occasioned such a relaxation of authority, that

the youth was permitted, in a great measure, to learn as he pleased,

what he pleased, and when he pleased. This slackness of rule might have

been ruinous to a boy of slow understanding, who, feeling labour in the

acquisition of knowledge, would have altogether neglected it, save for

the command of a taskmaster; and it might have proved equally dangerous

to a youth whose animal spirits were more powerful than his imagination

or his feelings, and whom the irresistible influence of Alma would have

engaged in field-sports from morning till night. But the character of

Edward Waverley was remote from either of these. His powers of

apprehension were so uncommonly quick as almost to resemble intuition,

and the chief care of his preceptor was to prevent him, as a sportsman

would phrase it, from over-running his game--that is, from acquiring

his knowledge in a slight, flimsy, and inadequate manner. And here the

instructor had to combat another propensity too often united with

brilliancy of fancy and vivacity of talent--that indolence, namely, of

disposition, which can only be stirred by some strong motive of

gratification, and which renounces study as soon as curiosity is

gratified, the pleasure of conquering the first difficulties exhausted,

and the novelty of pursuit at an end. Edward would throw himself with

spirit upon any classical author of which his preceptor proposed the

perusal, make himself master of the style so far as to understand the

story, and, if that pleased or interested him, he finished the volume.

But it was in vain to attempt fixing his attention on critical

distinctions of philology, upon the difference of idiom, the beauty of

felicitous expression, or the artificial combinations of syntax. 'I can

read and understand a Latin author,' said young Edward, with the

self-confidence and rash reasoning of fifteen, 'and Scaliger or Bentley

could not do much more.' Alas! while he was thus permitted to read only

for the gratification of his amusement, he foresaw not that he was

losing for ever the opportunity of acquiring habits of firm and

assiduous application, of gaining the art of controlling, directing,

and concentrating the powers of his mind for earnest investigation--an

art far more essential than even that intimate acquaintance with

classical learning which is the primary object of study.

I am aware I may be here reminded of the necessity of rendering

instruction agreeable to youth, and of Tasso's infusion of honey into

the medicine prepared for a child; but an age in which children are

taught the driest doctrines by the insinuating method of instructive

games, has little reason to dread the consequences of study being

rendered too serious or severe. The history of England is now reduced

to a game at cards, the problems of mathematics to puzzles and riddles,

and the doctrines of arithmetic may, we are assured, be sufficiently

acquired by spending a few hours a week at a new and complicated

edition of the Royal Game of the Goose. There wants but one step

further, and the Creed and Ten Commandments may be taught in the same

manner, without the necessity of the grave face, deliberate tone of

recital, and devout attention, hitherto exacted from the well-governed

childhood of this realm. It may, in the meantime, be subject of serious

consideration, whether those who are accustomed only to acquire

instruction through the medium of amusement may not be brought to

reject that which approaches under the aspect of study; whether those

who learn history by the cards may not be led to prefer the means to

the end; and whether, were we to teach religion in the way of sport,

our pupils may not thereby be gradually induced to make sport of their

religion. To our young hero, who was permitted to seek his instruction

only according to the bent of his own mind, and who, of consequence,

only sought it so long as it afforded him amusement, the indulgence of

his tutors was attended with evil consequences, which long continued to

influence his character, happiness, and utility.

Edward's power of imagination and love of literature, although the

former was vivid and the latter ardent, were so far from affording a

remedy to this peculiar evil, that they rather inflamed and increased

its violence. The library at Waverley-Honour, a large Gothic room, with

double arches and a gallery, contained such a miscellaneous and

extensive collection of volumes as had been assembled together, during

the course of two hundred years, by a family which had been always

wealthy, and inclined, of course, as a mark of splendour, to furnish

their shelves with the current literature of the day, without much

scrutiny or nicety of discrimination. Throughout this ample realm

Edward was permitted to roam at large. His tutor had his own studies;

and church politics and controversial divinity, together with a love of

learned ease, though they did not withdraw his attention at stated

times from the progress of his patron's presumptive heir, induced him

readily to grasp at any apology for not extending a strict and

regulated survey towards his general studies. Sir Everard had never

been himself a student, and, like his sister, Miss Rachel Waverley, he

held the common doctrine, that idleness is incompatible with reading of

any kind, and that the mere tracing the alphabetical characters with

the eye is in itself a useful and meritorious task, without

scrupulously considering what ideas or doctrines they may happen to

convey. With a desire of amusement, therefore, which better discipline

might soon have converted into a thirst for knowledge, young Waverley

drove through the sea of books like a vessel without a pilot or a

rudder. Nothing perhaps increases by indulgence more than a desultory

habit of reading, especially under such opportunities of gratifying it.

I believe one reason why such numerous instances of erudition occur

among the lower ranks is, that, with the same powers of mind, the poor

student is limited to a narrow circle for indulging his passion for

books, and must necessarily make himself master of the few he possesses

ere he can acquire more. Edward, on the contrary, like the epicure who

only deigned to take a single morsel from the sunny side of a peach,

read no volume a moment after it ceased to excite his curiosity or

interest; and it necessarily happened, that the habit of seeking only

this sort of gratification rendered it daily more difficult of

attainment, till the passion for reading, like other strong appetites,

produced by indulgence a sort of satiety.

Ere he attained this indifference, however, he had read, and stored in

a memory of uncommon tenacity, much curious, though ill-arranged and

miscellaneous information. In English literature he was master of

Shakespeare and Milton, of our earlier dramatic authors, of many

picturesque and interesting passages from our old historical

chronicles, and was particularly well acquainted with Spenser, Drayton,

and other poets who have exercised themselves on romantic fiction, of

all themes the most fascinating to a youthful imagination, before the

passions have roused themselves and demand poetry of a more sentimental

description. In this respect his acquaintance with Italian opened him

yet a wider range. He had perused the numerous romantic poems, which,

from the days of Pulci, have been a favourite exercise of the wits of

Italy, and had sought gratification in the numerous collections of

novelle, which were brought forth by the genius of that elegant though

luxurious nation, in emulation of the 'Decameron.' In classical

literature, Waverley had made the usual progress, and read the usual

authors; and the French had afforded him an almost exhaustless

collection of memoirs, scarcely more faithful than romances, and of

romances so well written as hardly to be distinguished from memoirs.

The splendid pages of Froissart, with his heart-stirring and

eye-dazzling descriptions of war and of tournaments, were among his

chief favourites; and from those of Brantome and De la Noue he learned

to compare the wild and loose, yet superstitious, character of the

nobles of the League with the stern, rigid, and sometimes turbulent

disposition of the Huguenot party. The Spanish had contributed to his

stock of chivalrous and romantic lore. The earlier literature of the

northern nations did not escape the study of one who read rather to

awaken the imagination than to benefit the understanding. And yet,

knowing much that is known but to few, Edward Waverley might justly be

considered as ignorant, since he knew little of what adds dignity to

man, and qualifies him to support and adorn an elevated situation in

society.

The occasional attention of his parents might indeed have been of

service to prevent the dissipation of mind incidental to such a

desultory course of reading. But his mother died in the seventh year

after the reconciliation between the brothers, and Richard Waverley

himself, who, after this event, resided more constantly in London, was

too much interested in his own plans of wealth and ambition to notice

more respecting Edward than that he was of a very bookish turn, and

probably destined to be a bishop. If he could have discovered and

analysed his son's waking dreams, he would have formed a very different

conclusion.

CHAPTER IV

CASTLE-BUILDING

I have already hinted that the dainty, squeamish, and fastidious taste

acquired by a surfeit of idle reading had not only rendered our hero

unfit for serious and sober study, but had even disgusted him in some

degree with that in which he had hitherto indulged.

He was in his sixteenth year when his habits of abstraction and love of

solitude became so much marked as to excite Sir Everard's affectionate

apprehension. He tried to counterbalance these propensities by engaging

his nephew in field-sports, which had been the chief pleasure of his

own youthful days. But although Edward eagerly carried the gun for one

season, yet when practice had given him some dexterity, the pastime

ceased to afford him amusement.

In the succeeding spring, the perusal of old Isaac Walton's fascinating

volume determined Edward to become 'a brother of the angle.' But of all

diversions which ingenuity ever devised for the relief of idleness,

fishing is the worst qualified to amuse a man who is at once indolent

and impatient; and our hero's rod was speedily flung aside. Society and

example, which, more than any other motives, master and sway the

natural bent of our passions, might have had their usual effect upon

the youthful visionary. But the neighbourhood was thinly inhabited, and

the home-bred young squires whom it afforded were not of a class fit to

form Edward's usual companions, far less to excite him to emulation in

the practice of those pastimes which composed the serious business of

their lives.

There were a few other youths of better education and a more liberal

character, but from their society also our hero was in some degree

excluded. Sir Everard had, upon the death of Queen Anne, resigned his

seat in Parliament, and, as his age increased and the number of his

contemporaries diminished, had gradually withdrawn himself from

society; so that when, upon any particular occasion, Edward mingled

with accomplished and well-educated young men of his own rank and

expectations, he felt an inferiority in their company, not so much from

deficiency of information, as from the want of the skill to command and

to arrange that which he possessed. A deep and increasing sensibility

added to this dislike of society. The idea of having committed the

slightest solecism in politeness, whether real or imaginary, was agony

to him; for perhaps even guilt itself does not impose upon some minds

so keen a sense of shame and remorse, as a modest, sensitive, and

inexperienced youth feels from the consciousness of having neglected

etiquette or excited ridicule. Where we are not at ease, we cannot be

happy; and therefore it is not surprising that Edward Waverley supposed

that he disliked and was unfitted for society, merely because he had

not yet acquired the habit of living in it with ease and comfort, and

of reciprocally giving and receiving pleasure.

The hours he spent with his uncle and aunt were exhausted in listening

to the oft-repeated tale of narrative old age. Yet even there his

imagination, the predominant faculty of his mind, was frequently

excited. Family tradition and genealogical history, upon which much of

Sir Everard's discourse turned, is the very reverse of amber, which,

itself a valuable substance, usually includes flies, straws, and other

trifles; whereas these studies, being themselves very insignificant and

trifling, do nevertheless serve to perpetuate a great deal of what is

rare and valuable in ancient manners, and to record many curious and

minute facts which could have been preserved and conveyed through no

other medium. If, therefore, Edward Waverley yawned at times over the

dry deduction of his line of ancestors, with their various

intermarriages, and inwardly deprecated the remorseless and protracted

accuracy with which the worthy Sir Everard rehearsed the various

degrees of propinquity between the house of Waverley-Honour and the

doughty barons, knights, and squires to whom they stood allied; if

(notwithstanding his obligations to the three ermines passant) he

sometimes cursed in his heart the jargon of heraldry, its griffins, its

moldwarps, its wyverns, and its dragons, with all the bitterness of

Hotspur himself, there were moments when these communications

interested his fancy and rewarded his attention.

The deeds of Wilibert of Waverley in the Holy Land, his long absence

and perilous adventures, his supposed death, and his return on the

evening when the betrothed of his heart had wedded the hero who had

protected her from insult and oppression during his absence; the

generosity with which the Crusader relinquished his claims, and sought

in a neighbouring cloister that peace which passeth not away;

[Footnote: See Note 2.]--to these and similar tales he would hearken

till his heart glowed and his eye glistened. Nor was he less affected

when his aunt, Mrs. Rachel, narrated the sufferings and fortitude of

Lady Alice Waverley during the Great Civil War. The benevolent features

of the venerable spinster kindled into more majestic expression as she

told how Charles had, after the field of Worcester, found a day's

refuge at Waverley-Honour, and how, when a troop of cavalry were

approaching to search the mansion, Lady Alice dismissed her youngest

son with a handful of domestics, charging them to make good with their

lives an hour's diversion, that the king might have that space for

escape. 'And, God help her,' would Mrs. Rachel continue, fixing her

eyes upon the heroine's portrait as she spoke, 'full dearly did she

purchase the safety of her prince with the life of her darling child.

They brought him here a prisoner, mortally wounded; and you may trace

the drops of his blood from the great hall door along the little

gallery, and up to the saloon, where they laid him down to die at his

mother's feet. But there was comfort exchanged between them; for he

knew, from the glance of his mother's eye, that the purpose of his

desperate defence was attained. Ah! I remember,' she continued, 'I

remember well to have seen one that knew and loved him. Miss Lucy Saint

Aubin lived and died a maid for his sake, though one of the most

beautiful and wealthy matches in this country; all the world ran after

her, but she wore widow's mourning all her life for poor William, for

they were betrothed though not married, and died in--I cannot think of

the date; but I remember, in the November of that very year, when she

found herself sinking, she desired to be brought to Waverley-Honour

once more, and visited all the places where she had been with my

grand-uncle, and caused the carpets to be raised that she might trace

the impression of his blood, and if tears could have washed it out, it

had not been there now; for there was not a dry eye in the house. You

would have thought, Edward, that the very trees mourned for her, for

their leaves dropt around her without a gust of wind, and, indeed, she

looked like one that would never see them green again.'

From such legends our hero would steal away to indulge the fancies they

excited. In the corner of the large and sombre library, with no other

light than was afforded by the decaying brands on its ponderous and

ample hearth, he would exercise for hours that internal sorcery by

which past or imaginary events are presented in action, as it were, to

the eye of the muser. Then arose in long and fair array the splendour

of the bridal feast at Waverley-Castle; the tall and emaciated form of

its real lord, as he stood in his pilgrim's weeds, an unnoticed

spectator of the festivities of his supposed heir and intended bride;

the electrical shock occasioned by the discovery; the springing of the

vassals to arms; the astonishment of the bridegroom; the terror and

confusion of the bride; the agony with which Wilibert observed that her

heart as well as consent was in these nuptials; the air of dignity, yet

of deep feeling, with which he flung down the half-drawn sword, and

turned away for ever from the house of his ancestors. Then would he

change the scene, and fancy would at his wish represent Aunt Rachel's

tragedy. He saw the Lady Waverley seated in her bower, her ear strained

to every sound, her heart throbbing with double agony, now listening to

the decaying echo of the hoofs of the king's horse, and when that had

died away, hearing in every breeze that shook the trees of the park,

the noise of the remote skirmish. A distant sound is heard like the

rushing of a swoln stream; it comes nearer, and Edward can plainly

distinguish the galloping of horses, the cries and shouts of men, with

straggling pistol-shots between, rolling forwards to the Hall. The lady

starts up--a terrified menial rushes in--but why pursue such a

description?

As living in this ideal world became daily more delectable to our hero,

interruption was disagreeable in proportion. The extensive domain that

surrounded the Hall, which, far exceeding the dimensions of a park, was

usually termed Waverley-Chase, had originally been forest ground, and

still, though broken by extensive glades, in which the young deer were

sporting, retained its pristine and savage character. It was traversed

by broad avenues, in many places half grown up with brush-wood, where

the beauties of former days used to take their stand to see the stag

coursed with greyhounds, or to gain an aim at him with the crossbow. In

one spot, distinguished by a moss-grown Gothic monument, which retained

the name of Queen's Standing, Elizabeth herself was said to have

pierced seven bucks with her own arrows. This was a very favourite

haunt of Waverley. At other times, with his gun and his spaniel, which

served as an apology to others, and with a book in his pocket, which

perhaps served as an apology to himself, he used to pursue one of these

long avenues, which, after an ascending sweep of four miles, gradually

narrowed into a rude and contracted path through the cliffy and woody

pass called Mirkwood Dingle, and opened suddenly upon a deep, dark, and

small lake, named, from the same cause, Mirkwood-Mere. There stood, in

former times, a solitary tower upon a rock almost surrounded by the

water, which had acquired the name of the Strength of Waverley, because

in perilous times it had often been the refuge of the family. There, in

the wars of York and Lancaster, the last adherents of the Red Rose who

dared to maintain her cause carried on a harassing and predatory

warfare, till the stronghold was reduced by the celebrated Richard of

Gloucester. Here, too, a party of Cavaliers long maintained themselves

under Nigel Waverley, elder brother of that William whose fate Aunt

Rachel commemorated. Through these scenes it was that Edward loved to

'chew the cud of sweet and bitter fancy,' and, like a child among his

toys, culled and arranged, from the splendid yet useless imagery and

emblems with which his imagination was stored, visions as brilliant and

as fading as those of an evening sky. The effect of this indulgence

upon his temper and character will appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER V

CHOICE OF A PROFESSION

From the minuteness with which I have traced Waverley's pursuits, and

the bias which these unavoidably communicated to his imagination, the

reader may perhaps anticipate, in the following tale, an imitation of

the romance of Cervantes. But he will do my prudence injustice in the

supposition. My intention is not to follow the steps of that inimitable

author, in describing such total perversion of intellect as

misconstrues the objects actually presented to the senses, but that

more common aberration from sound judgment, which apprehends

occurrences indeed in their reality, but communicates to them a

tincture of its own romantic tone and colouring. So far was Edward

Waverley from expecting general sympathy with his own feelings, or

concluding that the present state of things was calculated to exhibit

the reality of those visions in which he loved to indulge, that he

dreaded nothing more than the detection of such sentiments as were

dictated by his musings. He neither had nor wished to have a confidant,

with whom to communicate his reveries; and so sensible was he of the

ridicule attached to them, that, had he been to choose between any

punishment short of ignominy, and the necessity of giving a cold and

composed account of the ideal world in which he lived the better part

of his days, I think he would not have hesitated to prefer the former

infliction. This secrecy became doubly precious as he felt in advancing

life the influence of the awakening passions. Female forms of exquisite

grace and beauty began to mingle in his mental adventures; nor was he

long without looking abroad to compare the creatures of his own

imagination with the females of actual life.

The list of the beauties who displayed their hebdomadal finery at the

parish church of Waverley was neither numerous nor select. By far the

most passable was Miss Sissly, or, as she rather chose to be called,

Miss Cecilia Stubbs, daughter of Squire Stubbs at the Grange. I know

not whether it was by the 'merest accident in the world,' a phrase

which, from female lips, does not always exclude malice prepense, or

whether it was from a conformity of taste, that Miss Cecilia more than

once crossed Edward in his favourite walks through Waverley-Chase. He

had not as yet assumed courage to accost her on these occasions; but

the meeting was not without its effect. A romantic lover is a strange

idolater, who sometimes cares not out of what log he frames the object

of his adoration; at least, if nature has given that object any

passable proportion of personal charms, he can easily play the Jeweller

and Dervise in the Oriental tale, [Footnote: See Hoppner's tale of The

Seven Lovers.] and supply her richly, out of the stores of his own

imagination, with supernatural beauty, and all the properties of

intellectual wealth.

But ere the charms of Miss Cecilia Stubbs had erected her into a

positive goddess, or elevated her at least to a level with the saint

her namesake, Mrs. Rachel Waverley gained some intimation which

determined her to prevent the approaching apotheosis. Even the most

simple and unsuspicious of the female sex have (God bless them!) an

instinctive sharpness of perception in such matters, which sometimes

goes the length of observing partialities that never existed, but

rarely misses to detect such as pass actually under their observation.

Mrs. Rachel applied herself with great prudence, not to combat, but to

elude, the approaching danger, and suggested to her brother the

necessity that the heir of his house should see something more of the

world than was consistent with constant residence at Waverley-Honour.

Sir Everard would not at first listen to a proposal which went to

separate his nephew from him. Edward was a little bookish, he admitted,

but youth, he had always heard, was the season for learning, and, no

doubt, when his rage for letters was abated, and his head fully stocked

with knowledge, his nephew would take to field-sports and country

business. He had often, he said, himself regretted that he had not

spent some time in study during his youth: he would neither have shot

nor hunted with less skill, and he might have made the roof of Saint

Stephen's echo to longer orations than were comprised in those zealous

Noes, with which, when a member of the House during Godolphin's

administration, he encountered every measure of government.

Aunt Rachel's anxiety, however, lent her address to carry her point.

Every representative of their house had visited foreign parts, or

served his country in the army, before he settled for life at

Waverley-Honour, and she appealed for the truth of her assertion to the

genealogical pedigree, an authority which Sir Everard was never known

to contradict. In short, a proposal was made to Mr. Richard Waverley,

that his son should travel, under the direction of his present tutor

Mr. Pembroke, with a suitable allowance from the Baronet's liberality.

The father himself saw no objection to this overture; but upon

mentioning it casually at the table of the minister, the great man

looked grave. The reason was explained in private. The unhappy turn of

Sir Everard's politics, the minister observed, was such as would render

it highly improper that a young gentleman of such hopeful prospects

should travel on the Continent with a tutor doubtless of his uncle's

choosing, and directing his course by his instructions. What might Mr.

Edward Waverley's society be at Paris, what at Rome, where all manner

of snares were spread by the Pretender and his sons--these were points

for Mr. Waverley to consider. This he could himself say, that he knew

his Majesty had such a just sense of Mr. Richard Waverley's merits,

that, if his son adopted the army for a few years, a troop, he

believed, might be reckoned upon in one of the dragoon regiments lately

returned from Flanders.

A hint thus conveyed and enforced was not to be neglected with

impunity; and Richard Waverley, though with great dread of shocking his

brother's prejudices, deemed he could not avoid accepting the

commission thus offered him for his son. The truth is, he calculated

much, and justly, upon Sir Everard's fondness for Edward, which made

him unlikely to resent any step that he might take in due submission to

parental authority. Two letters announced this determination to the

Baronet and his nephew. The latter barely communicated the fact, and

pointed out the necessary preparations for joining his regiment. To his

brother, Richard was more diffuse and circuitous. He coincided with

him, in the most flattering manner, in the propriety of his son's

seeing a little more of the world, and was even humble in expressions

of gratitude for his proposed assistance; was, however, deeply

concerned that it was now, unfortunately, not in Edward's power exactly

to comply with the plan which had been chalked out by his best friend

and benefactor. He himself had thought with pain on the boy's

inactivity, at an age when all his ancestors had borne arms; even

Royalty itself had deigned to inquire whether young Waverley was not

now in Flanders, at an age when his grandfather was already bleeding

for his king in the Great Civil War. This was accompanied by an offer

of a troop of horse. What could he do? There was no time to consult his

brother's inclinations, even if he could have conceived there might be

objections on his part to his nephew's following the glorious career of

his predecessors. And, in short, that Edward was now (the intermediate

steps of cornet and lieutenant being overleapt with great agility)

Captain Waverley, of Gardiner's regiment of dragoons, which he must

join in their quarters at Dundee in Scotland, in the course of a month.

Sir Everard Waverley received this intimation with a mixture of

feelings. At the period of the Hanoverian succession he had withdrawn

from parliament, and his conduct in the memorable year 1715 had not

been altogether unsuspected. There were reports of private musters of

tenants and horses in Waverley-Chase by moonlight, and of cases of

carbines and pistols purchased in Holland, and addressed to the

Baronet, but intercepted by the vigilance of a riding officer of the

excise, who was afterwards tossed in a blanket on a moonless night, by

an association of stout yeomen, for his officiousness. Nay, it was even

said, that at the arrest of Sir William Wyndham, the leader of the Tory

party, a letter from Sir Everard was found in the pocket of his

night-gown. But there was no overt act which an attainder could be

founded on, and government, contented with suppressing the insurrection

of 1715, felt it neither prudent nor safe to push their vengeance

farther than against those unfortunate gentlemen who actually took up

arms.

Nor did Sir Everard's apprehensions of personal consequences seem to

correspond with the reports spread among his Whig neighbours. It was

well known that he had supplied with money several of the distressed

Northumbrians and Scotchmen, who, after being made prisoners at Preston

in Lancashire, were imprisoned in Newgate and the Marshalsea, and it

was his solicitor and ordinary counsel who conducted the defence of

some of these unfortunate gentlemen at their trial. It was generally

supposed, however, that, had ministers possessed any real proof of Sir

Everard's accession to the rebellion, he either would not have ventured

thus to brave the existing government, or at least would not have done

so with impunity. The feelings which then dictated his proceedings were

those of a young man, and at an agitating period. Since that time Sir

Everard's Jacobitism had been gradually decaying, like a fire which

burns out for want of fuel. His Tory and High-Church principles were

kept up by some occasional exercise at elections and quarter-sessions;

but those respecting hereditary right were fallen into a sort of

abeyance. Yet it jarred severely upon his feelings, that his nephew

should go into the army under the Brunswick dynasty; and the more so,

as, independent of his high and conscientious ideas of paternal

authority, it was impossible, or at least highly imprudent, to

interfere authoritatively to prevent it. This suppressed vexation gave

rise to many poohs and pshaws which were placed to the account of an

incipient fit of gout, until, having sent for the Army List, the worthy

Baronet consoled himself with reckoning the descendants of the houses

of genuine loyalty, Mordaunts, Granvilles, and Stanleys, whose names

were to be found in that military record; and, calling up all his

feelings of family grandeur and warlike glory, he concluded, with logic

something like Falstaff's, that when war was at hand, although it were

shame to be on any side but one, it were worse shame to be idle than to

be on the worst side, though blacker than usurpation could make it. As

for Aunt Rachel, her scheme had not exactly terminated according to her

wishes, but she was under the necessity of submitting to circumstances;

and her mortification was diverted by the employment she found in

fitting out her nephew for the campaign, and greatly consoled by the

prospect of beholding him blaze in complete uniform. Edward Waverley

himself received with animated and undefined surprise this most

unexpected intelligence. It was, as a fine old poem expresses it, 'like

a fire to heather set,' that covers a solitary hill with smoke, and

illumines it at the same time with dusky fire. His tutor, or, I should

say, Mr. Pembroke, for he scarce assumed the name of tutor, picked up

about Edward's room some fragments of irregular verse, which he

appeared to have composed under the influence of the agitating feelings

occasioned by this sudden page being turned up to him in the book of

life. The doctor, who was a believer in all poetry which was composed

by his friends, and written out in fair straight lines, with a capital

at the beginning of each, communicated this treasure to Aunt Rachel,

who, with her spectacles dimmed with tears, transferred them to her

commonplace book, among choice receipts for cookery and medicine,

favourite texts, and portions from High-Church divines, and a few

songs, amatory and Jacobitical, which she had carolled in her younger

days, from whence her nephew's poetical tentamina were extracted when

the volume itself, with other authentic records of the Waverley family,

were exposed to the inspection of the unworthy editor of this memorable

history. If they afford the reader no higher amusement, they will

serve, at least, better than narrative of any kind, to acquaint him

with the wild and irregular spirit of our hero:--

Late, when the Autumn evening fell

On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell,

The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam,

The purple cloud, the golden beam:

Reflected in the crystal pool,

Headland and bank lay fair and cool;

The weather-tinted rock and tower,

Each drooping tree, each fairy flower,

So true, so soft, the mirror gave,

As if there lay beneath the wave,

Secure from trouble, toil, and care,

A world than earthly world more fair.

But distant winds began to wake,

And roused the Genius of the Lake!

He heard the groaning of the oak,

And donn'd at once his sable cloak,

As warrior, at the battle-cry,

Invests him with his panoply:

Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd

He 'gan to shake his foamy crest

O'er furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek,

And bade his surge in thunder speak.

In wild and broken eddies whirl'd.

Flitted that fond ideal world,

And to the shore in tumult tost

The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

Yet, with a stern delight and strange,

I saw the spirit-stirring change,

As warr'd the wind with wave and wood,

Upon the ruin'd tower I stood,

And felt my heart more strongly bound,

Responsive to the lofty sound,

While, joying in the mighty roar,

I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more.

So, on the idle dreams of youth,

Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth,

Bids each fair vision pass away,

Like landscape on the lake that lay,

As fair, as flitting, and as frail,

As that which fled the Autumn gale.--

For ever dead to fancy's eye

Be each gay form that glided by,

While dreams of love and lady's charms

Give place to honour and to arms!

In sober prose, as perhaps these verses intimate less decidedly, the

transient idea of Miss Cecilia Stubbs passed from Captain Waverley's

heart amid the turmoil which his new destinies excited. She appeared,

indeed, in full splendour in her father's pew upon the Sunday when he

attended service for the last time at the old parish church, upon which

occasion, at the request of his uncle and Aunt Rachel, he was induced

(nothing both, if the truth must be told) to present himself in full

uniform.

There is no better antidote against entertaining too high an opinion of

others than having an excellent one of ourselves at the very same time.

Miss Stubbs had indeed summoned up every assistance which art could

afford to beauty; but, alas! hoop, patches, frizzled locks, and a new

mantua of genuine French silk, were lost upon a young officer of

dragoons who wore for the first time his gold-laced hat, jack-boots,

and broadsword. I know not whether, like the champion of an old

ballad,--

His heart was all on honour bent,

He could not stoop to love;

No lady in the land had power

His frozen heart to move;

or whether the deep and flaming bars of embroidered gold, which now

fenced his breast, defied the artillery of Cecilia's eyes; but every

arrow was launched at him in vain.

Yet did I mark where Cupid's shaft did light;

It lighted not on little western flower,

But on bold yeoman, flower of all the west,

Hight Jonas Culbertfield, the steward's son.

Craving pardon for my heroics (which I am unable in certain cases to

resist giving way to), it is a melancholy fact, that my history must

here take leave of the fair Cecilia, who, like many a daughter of Eve,

after the departure of Edward, and the dissipation of certain idle

visions which she had adopted, quietly contented herself with a

pisaller, and gave her hand, at the distance of six months, to the

aforesaid Jonas, son of the Baronet's steward, and heir (no unfertile

prospect) to a steward's fortune, besides the snug probability of

succeeding to his father's office. All these advantages moved Squire

Stubbs, as much as the ruddy brown and manly form of the suitor

influenced his daughter, to abate somewhat in the article of their

gentry; and so the match was concluded. None seemed more gratified than

Aunt Rachel, who had hitherto looked rather askance upon the

presumptuous damsel (as much so, peradventure, as her nature would

permit), but who, on the first appearance of the new-married pair at

church, honoured the bride with a smile and a profound curtsy, in

presence of the rector, the curate, the clerk, and the whole

congregation of the united parishes of Waverley cum Beverley.

I beg pardon, once and for all, of those readers who take up novels

merely for amusement, for plaguing them so long with old-fashioned

politics, and Whig and Tory, and Hanoverians and Jacobites. The truth

is, I cannot promise them that this story shall be intelligible, not to

say probable, without it. My plan requires that I should explain the

motives on which its action proceeded; and these motives necessarily

arose from the feelings, prejudices, and parties of the times. I do not

invite my fair readers, whose sex and impatience give them the greatest

right to complain of these circumstances, into a flying chariot drawn

by hippogriffs, or moved by enchantment. Mine is a humble English

post-chaise, drawn upon four wheels, and keeping his Majesty's highway.

Such as dislike the vehicle may leave it at the next halt, and wait for

the conveyance of Prince Hussein's tapestry, or Malek the Weaver's

flying sentrybox. Those who are contented to remain with me will be

occasionally exposed to the dulness inseparable from heavy roads, steep

hills, sloughs, and other terrestrial retardations; but with tolerable

horses and a civil driver (as the advertisements have it), I engage to

get as soon as possible into a more picturesque and romantic country,

if my passengers incline to have some patience with me during my first

stages. [Footnote: These Introductory Chapters have been a good deal

censured as tedious and unnecessary. Yet there are circumstances

recorded in them which the author has not been able to persuade himself

to retrench or cancel.]

CHAPTER VI

THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY

It was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir Everard

entered the library, where he narrowly missed surprising our young hero

as he went through the guards of the broadsword with the ancient weapon

of old Sir Hildebrand, which, being preserved as an heirloom, usually

hung over the chimney in the library, beneath a picture of the knight

and his horse, where the features were almost entirely hidden by the

knight's profusion of curled hair, and the Bucephalus which he bestrode

concealed by the voluminous robes of the Bath with which he was

decorated. Sir Everard entered, and after a glance at the picture and

another at his nephew, began a little speech, which, however, soon

dropt into the natural simplicity of his common manner, agitated upon

the present occasion by no common feeling. 'Nephew,' he said; and then,

as mending his phrase, 'My dear Edward, it is God's will, and also the

will of your father, whom, under God, it is your duty to obey, that you

should leave us to take up the profession of arms, in which so many of

your ancestors have been distinguished. I have made such arrangements

as will enable you to take the field as their descendant, and as the

probable heir of the house of Waverley; and, sir, in the field of

battle you will remember what name you bear. And, Edward, my dear boy,

remember also that you are the last of that race, and the only hope of

its revival depends upon you; therefore, as far as duty and honour will

permit, avoid danger--I mean unnecessary danger--and keep no company

with rakes, gamblers, and Whigs, of whom, it is to be feared, there are

but too many in the service into which you are going. Your colonel, as

I am informed, is an excellent man--for a Presbyterian; but you will

remember your duty to God, the Church of England, and the--' (this

breach ought to have been supplied, according to the rubric, with the

word KING; but as, unfortunately, that word conveyed a double and

embarrassing sense, one meaning de facto and the other de jure, the

knight filled up the blank otherwise)--'the Church of England, and all

constituted authorities.' Then, not trusting himself with any further

oratory, he carried his nephew to his stables to see the horses

destined for his campaign. Two were black (the regimental colour),

superb chargers both; the other three were stout active hacks, designed

for the road, or for his domestics, of whom two were to attend him from

the Hall; an additional groom, if necessary, might be picked up in

Scotland.

'You will depart with but a small retinue,' quoth the Baronet,

'compared to Sir Hildebrand, when he mustered before the gate of the

Hall a larger body of horse than your whole regiment consists of. I

could have wished that these twenty young fellows from my estate, who

have enlisted in your troop, had been to march with you on your journey

to Scotland. It would have been something, at least; but I am told

their attendance would be thought unusual in these days, when every new

and foolish fashion is introduced to break the natural dependence of

the people upon their landlords.'

Sir Everard had done his best to correct this unnatural disposition of

the times; for he had brightened the chain of attachment between the

recruits and their young captain, not only by a copious repast of beef

and ale, by way of parting feast, but by such a pecuniary donation to

each individual as tended rather to improve the conviviality than the

discipline of their march. After inspecting the cavalry, Sir Everard

again conducted his nephew to the library, where he produced a letter,

carefully folded, surrounded by a little stripe of flox-silk, according

to ancient form, and sealed with an accurate impression of the Waverley

coat-of-arms. It was addressed, with great formality, 'To Cosmo Comyne

Bradwardine, Esq., of Bradwardine, at his principal mansion of

Tully-Veolan, in Perthshire, North Britain. These--By the hands of

Captain Edward Waverley, nephew of Sir Everard Waverley, of

Waverley-Honour, Bart.'

The gentleman to whom this enormous greeting was addressed, of whom we

shall have more to say in the sequel, had been in arms for the exiled

family of Stuart in the year 1715, and was made prisoner at Preston in

Lancashire. He was of a very ancient family, and somewhat embarrassed

fortune; a scholar, according to the scholarship of Scotchmen, that is,

his learning was more diffuse than accurate, and he was rather a reader

than a grammarian. Of his zeal for the classic authors he is said to

have given an uncommon instance. On the road between Preston and

London, he made his escape from his guards; but being afterwards found

loitering near the place where they had lodged the former night, he was

recognised, and again arrested. His companions, and even his escort,

were surprised at his infatuation, and could not help inquiring, why,

being once at liberty, he had not made the best of his way to a place

of safety; to which he replied, that he had intended to do so, but, in

good faith, he had returned to seek his Titus Livius, which he had

forgot in the hurry of his escape. [Footnote: See Note 3.] The

simplicity of this anecdote struck the gentleman, who, as we before

observed, had managed the defence of some of those unfortunate persons,

at the expense of Sir Everard, and perhaps some others of the party. He

was, besides, himself a special admirer of the old Patavinian, and

though probably his own zeal might not have carried him such

extravagant lengths, even to recover the edition of Sweynheim and

Pannartz (supposed to be the princeps), he did not the less estimate

the devotion of the North Briton, and in consequence exerted himself to

so much purpose to remove and soften evidence, detect legal flaws, et

cetera, that he accomplished the final discharge and deliverance of

Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine from certain very awkward consequences of a

plea before our sovereign lord the king in Westminster.

The Baron of Bradwardine, for he was generally so called in Scotland

(although his intimates, from his place of residence, used to

denominate him Tully-Veolan, or more familiarly, Tully), no sooner

stood rectus in curia than he posted down to pay his respects and make

his acknowledgments at Waverley-Honour. A congenial passion for

field-sports, and a general coincidence in political opinions, cemented

his friendship with Sir Everard, notwithstanding the difference of

their habits and studies in other particulars; and, having spent

several weeks at Waverley-Honour, the Baron departed with many

expressions of regard, warmly pressing the Baronet to return his visit,

and partake of the diversion of grouse-shooting, upon his moors in

Perthshire next season. Shortly after, Mr. Bradwardine remitted from

Scotland a sum in reimbursement of expenses incurred in the King's High

Court of Westminster, which, although not quite so formidable when

reduced to the English denomination, had, in its original form of

Scotch pounds, shillings, and pence, such a formidable effect upon the

frame of Duncan Macwheeble, the laird's confidential factor,

baron-bailie, and man of resource, that he had a fit of the cholic,

which lasted for five days, occasioned, he said, solely and utterly by

becoming the unhappy instrument of conveying such a serious sum of

money out of his native country into the hands of the false English.

But patriotism, as it is the fairest, so it is often the most

suspicious mask of other feelings; and many who knew Bailie Macwheeble

concluded that his professions of regret were not altogether

disinterested, and that he would have grudged the moneys paid to the

LOONS at Westminster much less had they not come from Bradwardine

estate, a fund which he considered as more particularly his own. But

the Bailie protested he was absolutely disinterested--

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

The laird was only rejoiced that his worthy friend, Sir Everard

Waverley of Waverley-Honour, was reimbursed of the expenditure which he

had outlaid on account of the house of Bradwardine. It concerned, he

said, the credit of his own family, and of the kingdom of Scotland at

large, that these disbursements should be repaid forthwith, and, if

delayed, it would be a matter of national reproach. Sir Everard,

accustomed to treat much larger sums with indifference, received the

remittance of L294, 13S. 6D. without being aware that the payment was

an international concern, and, indeed, would probably have forgot the

circumstance altogether, if Bailie Macwheeble had thought of comforting

his cholic by intercepting the subsidy. A yearly intercourse took

place, of a short letter and a hamper or a cask or two, between

Waverley-Honour and Tully-Veolan, the English exports consisting of

mighty cheeses and mightier ale, pheasants, and venison, and the

Scottish returns being vested in grouse, white hares, pickled salmon,

and usquebaugh; all which were meant, sent, and received as pledges of

constant friendship and amity between two important houses. It followed

as a matter of course, that the heir-apparent of Waverley-Honour could

not with propriety visit Scotland without being furnished with

credentials to the Baron of Bradwardine.

When this matter was explained and settled, Mr. Pembroke expressed his

wish to take a private and particular leave of his dear pupil. The good

man's ex hortations to Edward to preserve an unblemished life and

morals, to hold fast the principles of the Christian religion, and to

eschew the profane company of scoffers and latitudinarians, too much

abounding in the army, were not unmingled with his political

prejudices. It had pleased Heaven, he said, to place Scotland

(doubtless for the sins of their ancestors in 1642) in a more

deplorable state of darkness than even this unhappy kingdom of England.

Here, at least, although the candlestick of the Church of England had

been in some degree removed from its place, it yet afforded a

glimmering light; there was a hierarchy, though schismatical, and

fallen from the principles maintained by those great fathers of the

church, Sancroft and his brethren; there was a liturgy, though woefully

perverted in some of the principal petitions. But in Scotland it was

utter darkness; and, excepting a sorrowful, scattered, and persecuted

remnant, the pulpits were abandoned to Presbyterians, and, he feared,

to sectaries of every description. It should be his duty to fortify his

dear pupil to resist such unhallowed and pernicious doctrines in church

and state as must necessarily be forced at times upon his unwilling

ears.

Here he produced two immense folded packets, which appeared each to

contain a whole ream of closely written manuscript. They had been the

labour of the worthy man's whole life; and never were labour and zeal

more absurdly wasted. He had at one time gone to London, with the

intention of giving them to the world, by the medium of a bookseller in

Little Britain, well known to deal in such commodities, and to whom he

was instructed to address himself in a particular phrase and with a

certain sign, which, it seems, passed at that time current among the

initiated Jacobites. The moment Mr. Pembroke had uttered the

Shibboleth, with the appropriate gesture, the bibliopolist greeted him,

notwithstanding every disclamation, by the title of Doctor, and

conveying him into his back shop, after inspecting every possible and

impossible place of concealment, he commenced: 'Eh, Doctor!--Well--all

under the rose--snug--I keep no holes here even for a Hanoverian rat to

hide in. And, what--eh! any good news from our friends over the

water?--and how does the worthy King of France?--Or perhaps you are

more lately from Rome? it must be Rome will do it at last--the church

must light its candle at the old lamp.--Eh--what, cautious? I like you

the better; but no fear.' Here Mr. Pembroke with some difficulty stopt

a torrent of interrogations, eked out with signs, nods, and winks; and,

having at length convinced the bookseller that he did him too much

honour in supposing him an emissary of exiled royalty, he explained his

actual business.

The man of books with a much more composed air proceeded to examine the

manuscripts. The title of the first was 'A Dissent from Dissenters, or

the Comprehension confuted; showing the Impossibility of any

Composition between the Church and Puritans, Presbyterians, or

Sectaries of any Description; illustrated from the Scriptures, the

Fathers of the Church, and the soundest Controversial Divines.' To this

work the bookseller positively demurred. 'Well meant,' he said, 'and

learned, doubtless; but the time had gone by. Printed on small-pica it

would run to eight hundred pages, and could never pay. Begged therefore

to be excused. Loved and honoured the true church from his soul, and,

had it been a sermon on the martyrdom, or any twelve-penny touch--why,

I would venture something for the honour of the cloth. But come, let's

see the other. "Right Hereditary righted!"--Ah! there's some sense in

this. Hum--hum--hum--pages so many, paper so much,

letter-press--Ah--I'll tell you, though, Doctor, you must knock out

some of the Latin and Greek; heavy, Doctor, damn'd heavy--(beg your

pardon) and if you throw in a few grains more pepper--I am he that

never preached my author. I have published for Drake and Charlwood

Lawton, and poor Amhurst [Footnote: See Note 4.]--Ah, Caleb! Caleb!

Well, it was a shame to let poor Caleb starve, and so many fat rectors

and squires among us. I gave him a dinner once a week; but, Lord love

you, what's once a week, when a man does not know where to go the other

six days? Well, but I must show the manuscript to little Tom Alibi the

solicitor, who manages all my law affairs--must keep on the windy side;

the mob were very uncivil the last time I mounted in Old Palace

Yard--all Whigs and Roundheads every man of them, Williamites and

Hanover rats.'

The next day Mr. Pembroke again called on the publisher, but found Tom

Alibi's advice had determined him against undertaking the work. 'Not

but what I would go to--(what was I going to say?) to the Plantations

for the church with pleasure--but, dear Doctor, I have a wife and

family; but, to show my zeal, I'll recommend the job to my neighbour

Trimmel--he is a bachelor, and leaving off business, so a voyage in a

western barge would not inconvenience him.' But Mr. Trimmel was also

obdurate, and Mr. Pembroke, fortunately perchance for himself, was

compelled to return to Waverley-Honour with his treatise in vindication

of the real fundamental principles of church and state safely packed in

his saddle-bags.

As the public were thus likely to be deprived of the benefit arising

from his lucubrations by the selfish cowardice of the trade, Mr.

Pembroke resolved to make two copies of these tremendous manuscripts

for the use of his pupil. He felt that he had been indolent as a tutor,

and, besides, his conscience checked him for complying with the request

of Mr. Richard Waverley, that he would impress no sentiments upon

Edward's mind inconsistent with the present settlement in church and

state. But now, thought he, I may, without breach of my word, since he

is no longer under my tuition, afford the youth the means of judging

for himself, and have only to dread his reproaches for so long

concealing the light which the perusal will flash upon his mind. While

he thus indulged the reveries of an author and a politician, his

darling proselyte, seeing nothing very inviting in the title of the

tracts, and appalled by the bulk and compact lines of the manuscript,

quietly consigned them to a corner of his travelling trunk.

Aunt Rachel's farewell was brief and affectionate. She only cautioned

her dear Edward, whom she probably deemed somewhat susceptible, against

the fascination of Scottish beauty. She allowed that the northern part

of the island contained some ancient families, but they were all Whigs

and Presbyterians except the Highlanders; and respecting them she must

needs say, there could be no great delicacy among the ladies, where the

gentlemen's usual attire was, as she had been assured, to say the

least, very singular, and not at all decorous. She concluded her

farewell with a kind and moving benediction, and gave the young

officer, as a pledge of her regard, a valuable diamond ring (often worn

by the male sex at that time), and a purse of broad gold-pieces, which

also were more common Sixty Years Since than they have been of late.

CHAPTER VII

A HORSE-QUARTER IN SCOTLAND

The next morning, amid varied feelings, the chief of which was a

predominant, anxious, and even solemn impression, that he was now in a

great measure abandoned to his own guidance and direction, Edward

Waverley departed from the Hall amid the blessings and tears of all the

old domestics and the inhabitants of the village, mingled with some sly

petitions for sergeantcies and corporalships, and so forth, on the part

of those who professed that 'they never thoft to ha' seen Jacob, and

Giles, and Jonathan go off for soldiers, save to attend his honour, as

in duty bound.' Edward, as in duty bound, extricated himself from the

supplicants with the pledge of fewer promises than might have been

expected from a young man so little accustomed to the world. After a

short visit to London, he proceeded on horseback, then the general mode

of travelling, to Edinburgh, and from thence to Dundee, a seaport on

the eastern coast of Angus-shire, where his regiment was then quartered.

He now entered upon a new world, where, for a time, all was beautiful

because all was new. Colonel Gardiner, the commanding officer of the

regiment, was himself a study for a romantic, and at the same time an

inquisitive youth. In person he was tall, handsome, and active, though

somewhat advanced in life. In his early years he had been what is

called, by manner of palliative, a very gay young man, and strange

stories were circulated about his sudden conversion from doubt, if not

infidelity, to a serious and even enthusiastic turn of mind. It was

whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even

to the exterior senses, had produced this wonderful change; and though

some mentioned the proselyte as an enthusiast, none hinted at his being

a hypocrite. This singular and mystical circumstance gave Colonel

Gardiner a peculiar and solemn interest in the eyes of the young

soldier. [Footnote: See Note 5.] It may be easily imagined that the

officers, of a regiment commanded by so respectable a person composed a

society more sedate and orderly than a military mess always exhibits;

and that Waverley escaped some temptations to which he might otherwise

have been exposed.

Meanwhile his military education proceeded. Already a good horseman, he

was now initiated into the arts of the manege, which, when carried to

perfection, almost realise the fable of the Centaur, the guidance of

the horse appearing to proceed from the rider's mere volition, rather

than from the use of any external and apparent signal of motion. He

received also instructions in his field duty; but I must own, that when

his first ardour was past, his progress fell short in the latter

particular of what he wished and expected. The duty of an officer, the

most imposing of all others to the inexperienced mind, because

accompanied with so much outward pomp and circumstance, is in its

essence a very dry and abstract task, depending chiefly upon

arithmetical combinations, requiring much attention, and a cool and

reasoning head to bring them into action. Our hero was liable to fits

of absence, in which his blunders excited some mirth, and called down

some reproof. This circumstance impressed him with a painful sense of

inferiority in those qualities which appeared most to deserve and

obtain regard in his new profession. He asked himself in vain, why his

eye could not judge of distance or space so well as those of his

companions; why his head was not always successful in disentangling the

various partial movements necessary to execute a particular evolution;

and why his memory, so alert upon most occasions, did not correctly

retain technical phrases and minute points of etiquette or field

discipline. Waverley was naturally modest, and therefore did not fall

into the egregious mistake of supposing such minuter rules of military

duty beneath his notice, or conceiting himself to be born a general,

because he made an indifferent subaltern. The truth was, that the vague

and unsatisfactory course of reading which he had pursued, working upon

a temper naturally retired and abstracted, had given him that wavering

and unsettled habit of mind which is most averse to study and riveted

attention. Time, in the mean while, hung heavy on his hands. The gentry

of the neighbourhood were disaffected, and showed little hospitality to

the military guests; and the people of the town, chiefly engaged in

mercantile pursuits, were not such as Waverley chose to associate with.

The arrival of summer, and a curiosity to know something more of

Scotland than he could see in a ride from his quarters, determined him

to request leave of absence for a few weeks. He resolved first to visit

his uncle's ancient friend and correspondent, with the purpose of

extending or shortening the time of his residence according to

circumstances. He travelled of course on horse-back, and with a single

attendant, and passed his first night at a miserable inn, where the

landlady had neither shoes nor stockings, and the landlord, who called

himself a gentleman, was disposed to be rude to his guest, because he

had not bespoke the pleasure of his society to supper. [Footnote: See

Note 6.] The next day, traversing an open and uninclosed country,

Edward gradually approached the Highlands of Perthshire, which at first

had appeared a blue outline in the horizon, but now swelled into huge

gigantic masses, which frowned defiance over the more level country

that lay beneath them. Near the bottom of this stupendous barrier, but

still in the Lowland country, dwelt Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of

Bradwardine; and, if grey-haired eld can be in aught believed, there

had dwelt his ancestors, with all their heritage, since the days of the

gracious King Duncan.

CHAPTER VIII

A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE

It was about noon when Captain Waverley entered the straggling village,

or rather hamlet, of Tully-Veolan, close to which was situated the

mansion of the proprietor. The houses seemed miserable in the extreme,

especially to an eye accustomed to the smiling neatness of English

cottages. They stood, without any respect for regularity, on each side

of a straggling kind of unpaved street, where children, almost in a

primitive state of nakedness, lay sprawling, as if to be crushed by the

hoofs of the first passing horse. Occasionally, indeed, when such a

consummation seemed inevitable, a watchful old grandam, with her close

cap, distaff, and spindle, rushed like a sibyl in frenzy out of one of

these miserable cells, dashed into the middle of the path, and

snatching up her own charge from among the sunburnt loiterers, saluted

him with a sound cuff, and transported him back to his dungeon, the

little white-headed varlet screaming all the while, from the very top

of his lungs, a shrilly treble to the growling remonstrances of the

enraged matron. Another part in this concert was sustained by the

incessant yelping of a score of idle useless curs, which followed,

snarling, barking, howling, and snapping at the horses' heels; a

nuisance at that time so common in Scotland, that a French tourist,

who, like other travellers, longed to find a good and rational reason

for everything he saw, has recorded, as one of the memorabilia of

Caledonia, that the state maintained, in each village a relay of curs,

called collies, whose duty it was to chase the chevaux de poste (too

starved and exhausted to move without such a stimulus) from one hamlet

to another, till their annoying convoy drove them to the end of their

stage. The evil and remedy (such as it is) still exist.--But this is

remote from our present purpose, and is only thrown out for

consideration of the collectors under Mr. Dent's Dog Bill.

As Waverley moved on, here and there an old man, bent as much by toil

as years, his eyes bleared with age and smoke, tottered to the door of

his hut, to gaze on the dress of the stranger and the form and motions

of the horses, and then assembled, with his neighbours, in a little

group at the smithy, to discuss the probabilities of whence the

stranger came and where he might be going. Three or four village girls,

returning from the well or brook with pitchers and pails upon their

heads, formed more pleasing objects, and, with their thin short-gowns

and single petticoats, bare arms, legs, and feet, uncovered heads and

braided hair, somewhat resembled Italian forms of landscape. Nor could

a lover of the picturesque have challenged either the elegance of their

costume or the symmetry of their shape; although, to say the truth, a

mere Englishman in search of the COMFORTABLE, a word peculiar to his

native tongue, might have wished the clothes less scanty, the feet and

legs somewhat protected from the weather, the head and complexion

shrouded from the sun, or perhaps might even have thought the whole

person and dress considerably improved by a plentiful application of

spring water, with a quantum sufficit of soap. The whole scene was

depressing; for it argued, at the first glance, at least a stagnation

of industry, and perhaps of intellect. Even curiosity, the busiest

passion of the idle, seemed of a listless cast in the village of

Tully-Veolan: the curs aforesaid alone showed any part of its activity;

with the villagers it was passive. They stood, and gazed at the

handsome young officer and his attendant, but without any of those

quick motions and eager looks that indicate the earnestness with which

those who live in monotonous ease at home look out for amusement

abroad. Yet the physiognomy of the people, when more closely examined,

was far from exhibiting the indifference of stupidity; their features

were rough, but remarkably intelligent; grave, but the very reverse of

stupid; and from among the young women an artist might have chosen more

than one model whose features and form resembled those of Minerva. The

children also, whose skins were burnt black, and whose hair was

bleached white, by the influence of the sun, had a look and manner of

life and interest. It seemed, upon the whole, as if poverty, and

indolence, its too frequent companion, were combining to depress the

natural genius and acquired information of a hardy, intelligent, and

reflecting peasantry.

Some such thoughts crossed Waverley's mind as he paced his horse slowly

through the rugged and flinty street of Tully-Veolan, interrupted only

in his meditations by the occasional caprioles which his charger

exhibited at the reiterated assaults of those canine Cossacks, the

collies before mentioned. The village was more than half a mile long,

the cottages being irregularly divided from each other by gardens, or

yards, as the inhabitants called them, of different sizes, where (for

it is Sixty Years Since) the now universal potato was unknown, but

which were stored with gigantic plants of kale or colewort, encircled

with groves of nettles, and exhibited here and there a huge hemlock, or

the national thistle, overshadowing a quarter of the petty inclosure.

The broken ground on which the village was built had never been

levelled; so that these inclosures presented declivities of every

degree, here rising like terraces, there sinking like tan-pits. The

dry-stone walls which fenced, or seemed to fence (for they were sorely

breached), these hanging gardens of Tully-Veolan were intersected by a

narrow lane leading to the common field, where the joint labour of the

villagers cultivated alternate ridges and patches of rye, oats, barley,

and pease, each of such minute extent that at a little distance the

unprofitable variety of the surface resembled a tailor's book of

patterns. In a few favoured instances, there appeared behind the

cottages a miserable wigwam, compiled of earth, loose stones, and turf,

where the wealthy might perhaps shelter a starved cow or sorely galled

horse. But almost every hut was fenced in front by a huge black stack

of turf on one side of the door, while on the other the family dunghill

ascended in noble emulation.

About a bowshot from the end of the village appeared the inclosures

proudly denominated the Parks of Tully-Veolan, being certain square

fields, surrounded and divided by stone walls five feet in height. In

the centre of the exterior barrier was the upper gate of the avenue,

opening under an archway, battlemented on the top, and adorned with two

large weather-beaten mutilated masses of upright stone, which, if the

tradition of the hamlet could be trusted, had once represented, at

least had been once designed to represent, two rampant Bears, the

supporters of the family of Bradwardine. This avenue was straight and

of moderate length, running between a double row of very ancient

horse-chestnuts, planted alternately with sycamores, which rose to such

huge height, and nourished so luxuriantly, that their boughs completely

over-arched the broad road beneath. Beyond these venerable ranks, and

running parallel to them, were two high walls, of apparently the like

antiquity, overgrown with ivy, honeysuckle, and other climbing plants.

The avenue seemed very little trodden, and chiefly by foot-passengers;

so that being very broad, and enjoying a constant shade, it was clothed

with grass of a deep and rich verdure, excepting where a foot-path,

worn by occasional passengers, tracked with a natural sweep the way

from the upper to the lower gate. This nether portal, like the former,

opened in front of a wall ornamented with some rude sculpture, with

battlements on the top, over which were seen, half-hidden by the trees

of the avenue, the high steep roofs and narrow gables of the mansion,

with lines indented into steps, and corners decorated with small

turrets. One of the folding leaves of the lower gate was open, and as

the sun shone full into the court behind, a long line of brilliancy was

flung upon the aperture up the dark and gloomy avenue. It was one of

those effects which a painter loves to represent, and mingled well with

the struggling light which found its way between the boughs of the

shady arch that vaulted the broad green alley.

The solitude and repose of the whole scene seemed almost monastic; and

Waverley, who had given his horse to his servant on entering the first

gate, walked slowly down the avenue, enjoying the grateful and cooling

shade, and so much pleased with the placid ideas of rest and seclusion

excited by this confined and quiet scene, that he forgot the misery and

dirt of the hamlet he had left behind him. The opening into the paved

court-yard corresponded with the rest of the scene. The house, which

seemed to consist of two or three high, narrow, and steep-roofed

buildings, projecting from each other at right angles, formed one side

of the inclosure. It had been built at a period when castles were no

longer necessary, and when the Scottish architects had not yet acquired

the art of designing a domestic residence. The windows were numberless,

but very small; the roof had some nondescript kind of projections,

called bartizans, and displayed at each frequent angle a small turret,

rather resembling a pepper-box than a Gothic watchtower. Neither did

the front indicate absolute security from danger. There were loop-holes

for musketry, and iron stanchions on the lower windows, probably to

repel any roving band of gypsies, or resist a predatory visit from the

caterans of the neighbouring Highlands. Stables and other offices

occupied another side of the square. The former were low vaults, with

narrow slits instead of windows, resembling, as Edward's groom

observed, 'rather a prison for murderers, and larceners, and such like

as are tried at 'sizes, than a place for any Christian cattle.' Above

these dungeon-looking stables were granaries, called girnels, and other

offices, to which there was access by outside stairs of heavy masonry.

Two battlemented walls, one of which faced the avenue, and the other

divided the court from the garden, completed the inclosure.

Nor was the court without its ornaments. In one corner was a

tun-bellied pigeon-house, of great size and rotundity, resembling in

figure and proportion the curious edifice called Arthur's Oven, which

would have turned the brains of all the antiquaries in England, had not

the worthy proprietor pulled it down for the sake of mending a

neighbouring dam-dyke. This dove-cot, or columbarium, as the owner

called it, was no small resource to a Scottish laird of that period,

whose scanty rents were eked out by the contributions levied upon the

farms by these light foragers, and the conscriptions exacted from the

latter for the benefit of the table.

Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a huge bear,

carved in stone, predominated over a large stone-basin, into which he

disgorged the water. This work of art was the wonder of the country ten

miles round. It must not be forgotten, that all sorts of bears, small

and large, demi or in full proportion, were carved over the windows,

upon the ends of the gables, terminated the spouts, and supported the

turrets, with the ancient family motto, 'Beware the Bear', cut under

each hyperborean form. The court was spacious, well paved, and

perfectly clean, there being probably another entrance behind the

stables for removing the litter. Everything around appeared solitary,

and would have been silent, but for the continued plashing of the

fountain; and the whole scene still maintained the monastic illusion

which the fancy of Waverley had conjured up. And here we beg permission

to close a chapter of still life. [Footnote: See Note 7.]

CHAPTER IX

MORE OF THE MANOR-HOUSE AND ITS ENVIRONS

After having satisfied his curiosity by gazing around him for a few

minutes, Waverley applied himself to the massive knocker of the

hall-door, the architrave of which bore the date 1594. But no answer

was returned, though the peal resounded through a number of apartments,

and was echoed from the court-yard walls without the house, startling

the pigeons from the venerable rotunda which they occupied, and

alarming anew even the distant village curs, which had retired to sleep

upon their respective dunghills. Tired of the din which he created, and

the unprofitable responses which it excited, Waverley began to think

that he had reached the castle of Orgoglio as entered by the victorious

Prince Arthur,--

When 'gan he loudly through the house to call,

But no man cared to answer to his cry;

There reign'd a solemn silence over all,

Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.

Filled almost with expectation of beholding some 'old, old man, with

beard as white as snow,' whom he might question concerning this

deserted mansion, our hero turned to a little oaken wicket-door, well

clenched with iron-nails, which opened in the court-yard wall at its

angle with the house. It was only latched, notwithstanding its

fortified appearance, and, when opened, admitted him into the garden,

which presented a pleasant scene. [Footnote: Footnote: At Ravelston may

be seen such a garden, which the taste of the proprietor, the author's

friend and kinsman, Sir Alexander Keith, Knight Mareschal, has

judiciously preserved. That, as well as the house is, however, of

smaller dimensions than the Baron of Bradwardine's mansion and garden

are presumed to have been.] The southern side of the house, clothed

with fruit-trees, and having many evergreens trained upon its walls,

extended its irregular yet venerable front along a terrace, partly

paved, partly gravelled, partly bordered with flowers and choice

shrubs. This elevation descended by three several flights of steps,

placed in its centre and at the extremities, into what might be called

the garden proper, and was fenced along the top by a stone parapet with

a heavy balustrade, ornamented from space to space with huge grotesque

figures of animals seated upon their haunches, among which the

favourite bear was repeatedly introduced. Placed in the middle of the

terrace between a sashed-door opening from the house and the central

flight of steps, a huge animal of the same species supported on his

head and fore-paws a sun-dial of large circumference, inscribed with

more diagrams than Edward's mathematics enabled him to decipher.

The garden, which seemed to be kept with great accuracy, abounded in

fruit-trees, and exhibited a profusion of flowers and evergreens, cut

into grotesque forms. It was laid out in terraces, which descended rank

by rank from the western wall to a large brook, which had a tranquil

and smooth appearance, where it served as a boundary to the garden;

but, near the extremity, leapt in tumult over a strong dam, or

wear-head, the cause of its temporary tranquillity, and there forming a

cascade, was overlooked by an octangular summer-house, with a gilded

bear on the top by way of vane. After this feat, the brook, assuming

its natural rapid and fierce character, escaped from the eye down a

deep and wooded dell, from the copse of which arose a massive, but

ruinous tower, the former habitation of the Barons of Bradwardine. The

margin of the brook, opposite to the garden, displayed a narrow meadow,

or haugh, as it was called, which formed a small washing-green; the

bank, which retired behind it, was covered by ancient trees.

The scene, though pleasing, was not quite equal to the gardens of

Alcina; yet wanted not the 'due donzellette garrule' of that enchanted

paradise, for upon the green aforesaid two bare-legged damsels, each

standing in a spacious tub, performed with their feet the office of a

patent washing-machine. These did not, however, like the maidens of

Armida, remain to greet with their harmony the approaching guest, but,

alarmed at the appearance of a handsome stranger on the opposite side,

dropped their garments (I should say garment, to be quite correct) over

their limbs, which their occupation exposed somewhat too freely, and,

with a shrill exclamation of 'Eh, sirs!' uttered with an accent between

modesty and coquetry, sprung off like deer in different directions.

Waverley began to despair of gaining entrance into this solitary and

seemingly enchanted mansion, when a man advanced up one of the garden

alleys, where he still retained his station. Trusting this might be a

gardener, or some domestic belonging to the house, Edward descended the

steps in order to meet him; but as the figure approached, and long

before he could descry its features, he was struck with the oddity of

its appearance and gestures. Sometimes this mister wight held his hands

clasped over his head, like an Indian Jogue in the attitude of penance;

sometimes he swung them perpendicularly, like a pendulum, on each side;

and anon he slapped them swiftly and repeatedly across his breast, like

the substitute used by a hackney-coachman for his usual flogging

exercise, when his cattle are idle upon the stand, in a clear frosty

day. His gait was as singular as his gestures, for at times he hopped

with great perseverance on the right foot, then exchanged that

supporter to advance in the same manner on the left, and then putting

his feet close together he hopped upon both at once. His attire also

was antiquated and extravagant. It consisted in a sort of grey jerkin,

with scarlet cuffs and slashed sleeves, showing a scarlet lining; the

other parts of the dress corresponded in colour, not forgetting a pair

of scarlet stockings, and a scarlet bonnet, proudly surmounted with a

turkey's feather. Edward, whom he did not seem to observe, now

perceived confirmation in his features of what the mien and gestures

had already announced. It was apparently neither idiocy nor insanity

which gave that wild, unsettled, irregular expression to a face which

naturally was rather handsome, but something that resembled a compound

of both, where the simplicity of the fool was mixed with the

extravagance of a crazed imagination. He sung with great earnestness,

and not without some taste, a fragment of an old Scottish ditty:--

False love, and hast thou play'd me this

In summer among the flowers?

I will repay thee back again

In winter among the showers.

Unless again, again, my love,

Unless you turn again;

As you with other maidens rove,

I'll smile on other men.

[Footnote: This is a genuine ancient fragment, with some alteration in

the two last lines.]

Here lifting up his eyes, which had hitherto been fixed in observing

how his feet kept time to the tune, he beheld Waverley, and instantly

doffed his cap, with many grotesque signals of surprise, respect, and

salutation. Edward, though with little hope of receiving an answer to

any constant question, requested to know whether Mr. Bradwardine were

at home, or where he could find any of the domestics. The questioned

party replied, and, like the witch of Thalaba, 'still his speech was

song,'--

The Knight's to the mountain

His bugle to wind;

The Lady's to greenwood

Her garland to bind.

The bower of Burd Ellen

Has moss on the floor,

That the step of Lord William

Be silent and sure.

This conveyed no information, and Edward, repeating his queries,

received a rapid answer, in which, from the haste and peculiarity of

the dialect, the word 'butler' was alone intelligible. Waverley then

requested to see the butler; upon which the fellow, with a knowing look

and nod of intelligence, made a signal to Edward to follow, and began

to dance and caper down the alley up which he had made his approaches.

A strange guide this, thought Edward, and not much unlike one of

Shakespeare's roynish clowns. I am not over prudent to trust to his

pilotage; but wiser men have been led by fools. By this time he reached

the bottom of the alley, where, turning short on a little parterre of

flowers, shrouded from the east and north by a close yew hedge, he

found an old man at work without his coat, whose appearance hovered

between that of an upper servant and gardener; his red nose and ruffled

shirt belonging to the former profession; his hale and sunburnt visage,

with his green apron, appearing to indicate

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

The major domo, for such he was, and indisputably the second officer of

state in the barony (nay, as chief minister of the interior, superior

even to Bailie Macwheeble in his own department of the kitchen and

cellar)--the major domo laid down his spade, slipped on his coat in

haste, and with a wrathful look at Edward's guide, probably excited by

his having introduced a stranger while he was engaged in this

laborious, and, as he might suppose it, degrading office, requested to

know the gentleman's commands. Being informed that he wished to pay his

respects to his master, that his name was Waverley, and so forth, the

old man's countenance assumed a great deal of respectful importance.

'He could take it upon his conscience to say, his honour would have

exceeding pleasure in seeing him. Would not Mr. Waverley choose some

refreshment after his journey? His honour was with the folk who were

getting doon the dark hag; the twa gardener lads (an emphasis on the

word twa) had been ordered to attend him; and he had been just amusing

himself in the mean time with dressing Miss Rose's flower-bed, that he

might be near to receive his honour's orders, if need were; he was very

fond of a garden, but had little time for such divertisements.'

'He canna get it wrought in abune twa days in the week at no rate

whatever,' said Edward's fantastic conductor.

A grim look from the butler chastised his interference, and he

commanded him, by the name of Davie Gellatley, in a tone which admitted

no discussion, to look for his honour at the dark hag, and tell him

there was a gentleman from the south had arrived at the Ha'.

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

'With all fidelity, sir, to any one whom he respects. I would hardly

trust him with a long message by word of mouth--though he is more knave

than fool.'

Waverley delivered his credentials to Mr. Gellatley, who seemed to

confirm the butler's last observation, by twisting his features at him,

when he was looking another way, into the resemblance of the grotesque

face on the bole of a German tobacco pipe; after which, with an odd

conge to Waverley, he danced off to discharge his errand.

'He is an innocent, sir,' said the butler; 'there is one such in almost

every town in the country, but ours is brought far ben. [Footnote: See

Note 8.] He used to work a day's turn weel enough; but he helped Miss

Rose when she was flemit with the Laird of Killancureit's new English

bull, and since that time we ca' him Davie Do-little; indeed we might

ca' him Davie Do-naething, for since he got that gay clothing, to

please his honour and my young mistress (great folks will have their

fancies), he has done naething but dance up and down about the toun,

without doing a single turn, unless trimming the laird's fishing-wand

or busking his flies, or may be catching a dish of trouts at an orra

time. But here comes Miss Rose, who, I take burden upon me for her,

will be especial glad to see one of the house of Waverley at her

father's mansion of Tully-Veolan.'

But Rose Bradwardine deserves better of her unworthy historian than to

be introduced at the end of a chapter.

In the mean while it may be noticed, that Waverley learned two things

from this colloquy: that in Scotland a single house was called a TOWN,

and a natural fool an INNOCENT.

CHAPTER X

ROSE BRADWARDINE AND HER FATHER

Miss Bradwardine was but seventeen; yet, at the last races of the

county town of ----, upon her health being proposed among a round of

beauties, the Laird of Bumperquaigh, permanent toast-master and

croupier of the Bautherwhillery Club, not only said MORE to the pledge

in a pint bumper of Bourdeaux, but, ere pouring forth the libation,

denominated the divinity to whom it was dedicated, 'the Rose of

Tully-Veolan'; upon which festive occasion three cheers were given by

all the sitting members of that respectable society, whose throats the

wine had left capable of such exertion. Nay, I am well assured, that

the sleeping partners of the company snorted applause, and that

although strong bumpers and weak brains had consigned two or three to

the floor, yet even these, fallen as they were from their high estate,

and weltering--I will carry the parody no farther--uttered divers

inarticulate sounds, intimating their assent to the motion.

Such unanimous applause could not be extorted but by acknowledged

merit; and Rose Bradwardine not only deserved it, but also the

approbation of much more rational persons than the Bautherwhillery Club

could have mustered, even before discussion of the first magnum. She

was indeed a very pretty girl of the Scotch cast of beauty, that is,

with a profusion of hair of paley gold, and a skin like the snow of her

own mountains in whiteness. Yet she had not a pallid or pensive cast of

countenance; her features, as well as her temper, had a lively

expression; her complexion, though not florid, was so pure as to seem

transparent, and the slightest emotion sent her whole blood at once to

her face and neck. Her form, though under the common size, was

remarkably elegant, and her motions light, easy, and unembarrassed. She

came from another part of the garden to receive Captain Waverley, with

a manner that hovered between bashfulness and courtesy.

The first greetings past, Edward learned from her that the dark hag,

which had somewhat puzzled him in the butler's account of his master's

avocations, had nothing to do either with a black cat or a broomstick,

but was simply a portion of oak copse which was to be felled that day.

She offered, with diffident civility, to show the stranger the way to

the spot, which, it seems, was not far distant; but they were prevented

by the appearance of the Baron of Bradwardine in person, who, summoned

by David Gellatley, now appeared, 'on hospitable thoughts intent,'

clearing the ground at a prodigious rate with swift and long strides,

which reminded Waverley of the seven-league boots of the nursery fable.

He was a tall, thin, athletic figure, old indeed and grey-haired, but

with every muscle rendered as tough as whip-cord by constant exercise.

He was dressed carelessly, and more like a Frenchman than an Englishman

of the period, while, from his hard features and perpendicular rigidity

of stature, he bore some resemblance to a Swiss officer of the guards,

who had resided some time at Paris, and caught the costume, but not the

ease or manner, of its inhabitants. The truth was, that his language

and habits were as heterogeneous as his external appearance.

Owing to his natural disposition to study, or perhaps to a very general

Scottish fashion of giving young men of rank a legal education, he had

been bred with a view to the bar. But the politics of his family

precluding the hope of his rising in that profession, Mr. Bradwardine

travelled with high reputation for several years, and made some

campaigns in foreign service. After his demele with the law of high

treason in 1715, he had lived in retirement, conversing almost entirely

with those of his own principles in the vicinage. The pedantry of the

lawyer, superinduced upon the military pride of the soldier, might

remind a modern of the days of the zealous volunteer service, when the

bar-gown of our pleaders was often flung over a blazing uniform. To

this must be added the prejudices of ancient birth and Jacobite

politics, greatly strengthened by habits of solitary and secluded

authority, which, though exercised only within the bounds of his

half-cultivated estate, was there indisputable and undisputed. For, as

he used to observe, 'the lands of Bradwardine, Tully-Veolan, and

others, had been erected into a free barony by a charter from David the

First, cum liberali potest. habendi curias et justicias, cum fossa et

furca (LIE, pit and gallows) et saka et soka, et thol et theam, et

infang-thief et outfang-thief, sive hand-habend. sive bak-barand.' The

peculiar meaning of all these cabalistical words few or none could

explain; but they implied, upon the whole, that the Baron of

Bradwardine might, in case of delinquency, imprison, try, and execute

his vassals at his pleasure. Like James the First, however, the present

possessor of this authority was more pleased in talking about

prerogative than in exercising it; and excepting that he imprisoned two

poachers in the dungeon of the old tower of Tully-Veolan, where they

were sorely frightened by ghosts, and almost eaten by rats, and that he

set an old woman in the jougs (or Scottish pillory) for saying' there

were mair fules in the laird's ha' house than Davie Gellatley,' I do

not learn that he was accused of abusing his high powers. Still,

however, the conscious pride of possessing them gave additional

importance to his language and deportment.

At his first address to Waverley, it would seem that the hearty

pleasure he felt to behold the nephew of his friend had somewhat

discomposed the stiff and upright dignity of the Baron of Bradwardine's

demeanour, for the tears stood in the old gentleman's eyes, when,

having first shaken Edward heartily by the hand in the English fashion,

he embraced him a la mode Francoise, and kissed him on both sides of

his face; while the hardness of his gripe, and the quantity of Scotch

snuff which his accolade communicated, called corresponding drops of

moisture to the eyes of his guest.

'Upon the honour of a gentleman,' he said, 'but it makes me young again

to see you here, Mr. Waverley! A worthy scion of the old stock of

Waverley-Honour--spes altera, as Maro hath it--and you have the look of

the old line, Captain Waverley; not so portly yet as my old friend Sir

Everard--mais cela viendra avec le tems, as my Dutch acquaintance,

Baron Kikkitbroeck, said of the sagesse of Madame son epouse. And so ye

have mounted the cockade? Right, right; though I could have wished the

colour different, and so I would ha' deemed might Sir Everard. But no

more of that; I am old, and times are changed. And how does the worthy

knight baronet, and the fair Mrs. Rachel?--Ah, ye laugh, young man! In

troth she was the fair Mrs. Rachel in the year of grace seventeen

hundred and sixteen; but time passes--et singula praedantur anni--that

is most certain. But once again ye are most heartily welcome to my poor

house of Tully-Veolan! Hie to the house, Rose, and see that Alexander

Saunderson looks out the old Chateau Margaux, which I sent from

Bourdeaux to Dundee in the year 1713.'

Rose tripped off demurely enough till she turned the first corner, and

then ran with the speed of a fairy, that she might gain leisure, after

discharging her father's commission, to put her own dress in order, and

produce all her little finery, an occupation for which the approaching

dinner-hour left but limited time.

'We cannot rival the luxuries of your English table, Captain Waverley,

or give you the epulae lautiores of Waverley-Honour. I say epulae

rather than prandium, because the latter phrase is popular: epulae ad

senatum, prandium vero ad populum attinet, says Suetonius Tranquillus.

But I trust ye will applaud my Bourdeaux; c'est des deux oreilles, as

Captain Vinsauf used to say; vinum primae notae, the principal of Saint

Andrews denominated it. And, once more, Captain Waverley, right glad am

I that ye are here to drink the best my cellar can make forthcoming.'

This speech, with the necessary interjectional answers, continued from

the lower alley where they met up to the door of the house, where four

or five servants in old-fashioned liveries, headed by Alexander

Saunderson, the butler, who now bore no token of the sable stains of

the garden, received them in grand COSTUME,

In an old hall hung round with pikes and with bows,

With old bucklers and corslets that had borne many shrewd

blows.

With much ceremony, and still more real kindness, the Baron, without

stopping in any intermediate apartment, conducted his guest through

several into the great dining parlour, wainscotted with black oak, and

hung round with the pictures of his ancestry, where a table was set

forth in form for six persons, and an old-fashioned beaufet displayed

all the ancient and massive plate of the Bradwardine family. A bell was

now heard at the head of the avenue; for an old man, who acted as

porter upon gala days, had caught the alarm given by Waverley's

arrival, and, repairing to his post, announced the arrival of other

guests.

These, as the Baron assured his young friend, were very estimable

persons. 'There was the young Laird of Balmawhapple, a Falconer by

surname, of the house of Glenfarquhar, given right much to

field-sports--gaudet equis et canibus--but a very discreet young

gentleman. Then there was the Laird of Killancureit, who had devoted

his leisure UNTILL tillage and agriculture, and boasted himself to be

possessed of a bull of matchless merit, brought from the county of

Devon (the Damnonia of the Romans, if we can trust Robert of

Cirencester). He is, as ye may well suppose from such a tendency, but

of yeoman extraction--servabit odorem testa diu--and I believe, between

ourselves, his grandsire was from the wrong side of the Border--one

Bullsegg, who came hither as a steward, or bailiff, or ground-officer,

or something in that department, to the last Girnigo of Killancureit,

who died of an atrophy. After his master's death, sir,--ye would hardly

believe such a scandal, --but this Bullsegg, being portly and comely of

aspect, intermarried with the lady dowager, who was young and amorous,

and possessed himself of the estate, which devolved on this unhappy

woman by a settlement of her umwhile husband, in direct contravention

of an unrecorded taillie, and to the prejudice of the disponer's own

flesh and blood, in the person of his natural heir and seventh cousin,

Girnigo of Tipperhewit, whose family was so reduced by the ensuing

law-suit, that his representative is now serving as a private

gentleman-sentinel in the Highland Black Watch. But this gentleman, Mr.

Bullsegg of Killancureit that now is, has good blood in his veins by

the mother and grandmother, who were both of the family of

Pickletillim, and he is well liked and looked upon, and knows his own

place. And God forbid, Captain Waverley, that we of irreproachable

lineage should exult over him, when it may be, that in the eighth,

ninth, or tenth generation, his progeny may rank, in a manner, with the

old gentry of the country. Rank and ancestry, sir, should be the last

words in the mouths of us of unblemished race--vix ea nostra voco, as

Naso saith. There is, besides, a clergyman of the true (though

suffering) Episcopal church of Scotland. [Footnote: See Note 9.] He was

a confessor in her cause after the year 1715, when a Whiggish mob

destroyed his meeting-house, tore his surplice, and plundered his

dwelling-house of four silver spoons, intromitting also with his mart

and his mealark, and with two barrels, one of single and one of double

ale, besides three bottles of brandy. My baron-bailie and doer, Mr.

Duncan Macwheeble, is the fourth on our list. There is a question,

owing to the incertitude of ancient orthography, whether he belongs to

the clan of Wheedle or of Quibble, but both have produced persons

eminent in the law.'--

As such he described them by person and name,

They enter'd, and dinner was served as they came.

CHAPTER XI

THE BANQUET

The entertainment was ample and handsome, according to the Scotch ideas

of the period, and the guests did great honour to it. The Baron eat

like a famished soldier, the Laird of Balmawhapple like a sportsman,

Bullsegg of Killancureit like a farmer, Waverley himself like a

traveller, and Bailie Macwheeble like all four together; though, either

out of more respect, or in order to preserve that proper declination of

person which showed a sense that he was in the presence of his patron,

he sat upon the edge of his chair, placed at three feet distance from

the table, and achieved a communication with his plate by projecting

his person towards it in a line which obliqued from the bottom of his

spine, so that the person who sat opposite to him could only see the

foretop of his riding periwig.

This stooping position might have been inconvenient to another person;

but long habit made it, whether seated or walking, perfectly easy to

the worthy Bailie. In the latter posture it occasioned, no doubt, an

unseemly projection of the person towards those who happened to walk

behind; but those being at all times his inferiors (for Mr. Macwheeble

was very scrupulous in giving place to all others), he cared very

little what inference of contempt or slight regard they might derive

from the circumstance. Hence, when he waddled across the court to and

from his old grey pony, he somewhat resembled a turnspit walking upon

its hind legs.

The nonjuring clergyman was a pensive and interesting old man, with

much of the air of a sufferer for conscience' sake. He was one of those

Who, undeprived, their benefice forsook.

For this whim, when the Baron was out of hearing, the Bailie used

sometimes gently to rally Mr. Rubrick, upbraiding him with the nicety

of his scruples. Indeed, it must be owned, that he himself, though at

heart a keen partisan of the exiled family, had kept pretty fair with

all the different turns of state in his time; so that Davie Gellatley

once described him as a particularly good man, who had a very quiet and

peaceful conscience, THAT NEVER DID HIM ANY HARM.

When the dinner was removed, the Baron announced the health of the

King, politely leaving to the consciences of his guests to drink to the

sovereign de facto or de jure, as their politics inclined. The

conversation now became general; and, shortly afterwards, Miss

Bradwardine, who had done the honours with natural grace and

simplicity, retired, and was soon followed by the clergyman. Among the

rest of the party, the wine, which fully justified the encomiums of the

landlord, flowed freely round, although Waverley, with some difficulty,

obtained the privilege of sometimes neglecting the glass. At length, as

the evening grew more late, the Baron made a private signal to Mr.

Saunders Saunderson, or, as he facetiously denominated him, Alexander

ab Alexandro, who left the room with a nod, and soon after returned,

his grave countenance mantling with a solemn and mysterious smile, and

placed before his master a small oaken casket, mounted with brass

ornaments of curious form. The Baron, drawing out a private key,

unlocked the casket, raised the lid, and produced a golden goblet of a

singular and antique appearance, moulded into the shape of a rampant

bear, which the owner regarded with a look of mingled reverence, pride,

and delight, that irresistibly reminded Waverley of Ben Jonson's Tom

Otter, with his Bull, Horse, and Dog, as that wag wittily denominated

his chief carousing cups. But Mr. Bradwardine, turning towards him with

complacency, requested him to observe this curious relic of the olden

time.

'It represents,' he said, 'the chosen crest of our family, a bear, as

ye observe, and RAMPANT; because a good herald will depict every animal

in its noblest posture, as a horse SALIENT, a greyhound CURRANT, and,

as may be inferred, a ravenous animal in actu ferociori, or in a

voracious, lacerating, and devouring posture. Now, sir, we hold this

most honourable achievement by the wappen-brief, or concession of arms,

of Frederick Red-beard, Emperor of Germany, to my predecessor, Godmund

Bradwardine, it being the crest of a gigantic Dane, whom he slew in the

lists in the Holy Land, on a quarrel touching the chastity of the

emperor's spouse or daughter, tradition saith not precisely which, and

thus, as Virgilius hath it--

Mutemus clypeos, Danaumque insignia nobis

Aptemus.

Then for the cup, Captain Waverley, it was wrought by the command of

Saint Duthac, Abbot of Aberbrothock, for behoof of another baron of the

house of Bradwardine, who had valiantly defended the patrimony of that

monastery against certain encroaching nobles. It is properly termed the

Blessed Bear of Bradwardine (though old Doctor Doubleit used jocosely

to call it Ursa Major), and was supposed, in old and Catholic times, to

be invested with certain properties of a mystical and supernatural

quality. And though I give not in to such anilia, it is certain it has

always been esteemed a solemn standard cup and heirloom of our house;

nor is it ever used but upon seasons of high festival, and such I hold

to be the arrival of the heir of Sir Everard under my roof; and I

devote this draught to the health and prosperity of the ancient and

highly-to-be-honoured house of Waverley.'

During this long harangue, he carefully decanted a cob-webbed bottle of

claret into the goblet, which held nearly an English pint; and, at the

conclusion, delivering the bottle to the butler, to be held carefully

in the same angle with the horizon, he devoutly quaffed off the

contents of the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine.

Edward, with horror and alarm, beheld the animal making his rounds, and

thought with great anxiety upon the appropriate motto, 'Beware the

Bear'; but, at the same time, plainly foresaw that, as none of the

guests scrupled to do him this extraordinary honour, a refusal on his

part to pledge their courtesy would be extremely ill received.

Resolving, therefore, to submit to this last piece of tyranny, and then

to quit the table, if possible, and confiding in the strength of his

constitution, he did justice to the company in the contents of the

Blessed Bear, and felt less inconvenience from the draught than he

could possibly have expected. The others, whose time had been more

actively employed, began to show symptoms of innovation--'the good wine

did its good office.' [Footnote: Southey's Madoc.] The frost of

etiquette and pride of birth began to give way before the genial

blessings of this benign constellation, and the formal appellatives

with which the three dignitaries had hitherto addressed each other were

now familiarly abbreviated into Tully, Bally, and Killie. When a few

rounds had passed, the two latter, after whispering together, craved

permission (a joyful hearing for Edward) to ask the grace-cup. This,

after some delay, was at length produced, and Waverley concluded the

orgies of Bacchus were terminated for the evening. He was never more

mistaken in his life.

As the guests had left their horses at the small inn, or change-house,

as it was called, of the village, the Baron could not, in politeness,

avoid walking with them up the avenue, and Waverley from the same

motive, and to enjoy after this feverish revel the cool summer evening,

attended the party. But when they arrived at Luckie Macleary's the

Lairds of Balmawhapple and Killancureit declared their determination to

acknowledge their sense of the hospitality of Tully-Veolan by

partaking, with their entertainer and his guest Captain Waverley, what

they technically called deoch an doruis, a stirrup-cup, [Footnote 2:

See Note 10] to the honour of the Baron's roof-tree.

It must be noticed that the Bailie, knowing by experience that the

day's jovialty, which had been hitherto sustained at the expense of his

patron, might terminate partly at his own, had mounted his spavined

grey pony, and, between gaiety of heart and alarm for being hooked into

a reckoning, spurred him into a hobbling canter (a trot was out of the

question), and had already cleared the village. The others entered the

change-house, leading Edward in unresisting submission; for his

landlord whispered him, that to demur to such an overture would be

construed into a high misdemeanour against the leges conviviales, or

regulations of genial compotation. Widow Macleary seemed to have

expected this visit, as well she might, for it was the usual

consummation of merry bouts, not only at Tully-Veolan, but at most

other gentlemen's houses in Scotland, Sixty Years Since. The guests

thereby at once acquitted themselves of their burden of gratitude for

their entertainer's kindness, encouraged the trade of his change-house,

did honour to the place which afforded harbour to their horses, and

indemnified themselves for the previous restraints imposed by private

hospitality, by spending what Falstaff calls the sweet of the night in

the genial license of a tavern.

Accordingly, in full expectation of these distinguished guests, Luckie

Macleary had swept her house for the first time this fortnight,

tempered her turf-fire to such a heat as the season required in her

damp hovel even at Midsummer, set forth her deal table newly washed,

propped its lame foot with a fragment of turf, arranged four or five

stools of huge and clumsy form upon the sites which best suited the

inequalities of her clay floor; and having, moreover, put on her clean

toy, rokelay, and scarlet plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the

company, in full hope of custom and profit. When they were seated under

the sooty rafters of Luckie Macleary's only apartment, thickly

tapestried with cobwebs, their hostess, who had already taken her cue

from the Laird of Balmawhapple, appeared with a huge pewter

measuring-pot, containing at least three English quarts, familiarly

denominated a Tappit Hen, and which, in the language of the hostess,

reamed (i.e., mantled) with excellent claret just drawn from the cask.

It was soon plain that what crumbs of reason the Bear had not devoured

were to be picked up by the Hen; but the confusion which appeared to

prevail favoured Edward's resolution to evade the gaily circling glass.

The others began to talk thick and at once, each performing his own

part in the conversation without the least respect to his neighbour.

The Baron of Bradwardine sung French chansons-a-boire, and spouted

pieces of Latin; Killancureit talked, in a steady unalterable dull key,

of top-dressing and bottom-dressing, [Footnote: This has been censured

as an anachronism; and it must be confessed that agriculture of this

kind was unknown to the Scotch Sixty Years Since.] and year-olds, and

gimmers, and dinmonts, and stots, and runts, and kyloes, and a proposed

turnpike-act; while Balmawhapple, in notes exalted above both, extolled

his horse, his hawks, and a greyhound called Whistler. In the middle of

this din, the Baron repeatedly implored silence; and when at length the

instinct of polite discipline so far prevailed that for a moment he

obtained it, he hastened to beseech their attention 'unto a military

ariette, which was a particular favourite of the Marechal Duc de

Berwick'; then, imitating, as well as he could, the manner and tone of

a French musquetaire, he immediately commenced,--

Mon coeur volage, dit elle,

N'est pas pour vous, garcon;

Est pour un homme de guerre,

Qui a barbe au menton.

Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Qui port chapeau a plume,

Soulier a rouge talon,

Qui joue de la flute,

Aussi du violon.

Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Balmawhapple could hold no longer, but broke in with what he called a

d--d good song, composed by Gibby Gaethroughwi't, the piper of Cupar;

and, without wasting more time, struck up,--

It's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed,

And o'er the bent of Killiebraid,

And mony a weary cast I made,

To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail.

[Footnote: Suum cuique. This snatch of a ballad was composed by Andrew

MacDonald, the ingenious and unfortunate author of Vimonda.]

The Baron, whose voice was drowned in the louder and more obstreperous

strains of Balmawhapple, now dropped the competition, but continued to

hum 'Lon, Lon, Laridon,' and to regard the successful candidate for the

attention of the company with an eye of disdain, while Balmawhapple

proceeded,--

If up a bonny black-cock should spring,

To whistle him down wi' a slug in his wing,

And strap him on to my lunzie string,

Right seldom would I fail.

After an ineffectual attempt to recover the second verse, he sung the

first over again; and, in prosecution of his triumph, declared there

was 'more sense in that than in all the derry-dongs of France, and

Fifeshire to the boot of it.' The Baron only answered with a long pinch

of snuff and a glance of infinite contempt. But those noble allies, the

Bear and the Hen, had emancipated the young laird from the habitual

reverence in which he held Bradwardine at other times. He pronounced

the claret shilpit, and demanded brandy with great vociferation. It was

brought; and now the Demon of Politics envied even the harmony arising

from this Dutch concert, merely because there was not a wrathful note

in the strange compound of sounds which it produced. Inspired by her,

the Laird of Balmawhapple, now superior to the nods and winks with

which the Baron of Bradwardine, in delicacy to Edward, had hitherto

checked his entering upon political discussion, demanded a bumper, with

the lungs of a Stentor, 'to the little gentleman in black velvet who

did such service in 1702, and may the white horse break his neck over a

mound of his making!'

Edward was not at that moment clear-headed enough to remember that King

William's fall, which occasioned his death, was said to be owing to his

horse stumbling at a mole-hill; yet felt inclined to take umbrage at a

toast which seemed, from the glance of Balmawhapple's eye, to have a

peculiar and uncivil reference to the Government which he served. But,

ere he could interfere, the Baron of Bradwardine had taken up the

quarrel. 'Sir,' he said, 'whatever my sentiments tanquam privatus may

be in such matters, I shall not tamely endure your saying anything that

may impinge upon the honourable feelings of a gentleman under my roof.

Sir, if you have no respect for the laws of urbanity, do ye not respect

the military oath, the sacramentum militare, by which every officer is

bound to the standards under which he is enrolled? Look at Titus

Livius, what he says of those Roman soldiers who were so unhappy as

exuere sacramentum, to renounce their legionary oath; but you are

ignorant, sir, alike of ancient history and modern courtesy.'

'Not so ignorant as ye would pronounce me,' roared Balmawhapple. 'I ken

weel that you mean the Solemn League and Covenant; but if a' the Whigs

in hell had taken the--'

Here the Baron and Waverley both spoke at once, the former calling out,

'Be silent, sir! ye not only show your ignorance, but disgrace your

native country before a stranger and an Englishman'; and Waverley, at

the same moment, entreating Mr. Bradwardine to permit him to reply to

an affront which seemed levelled at him personally. But the Baron was

exalted by wine, wrath, and scorn above all sublunary considerations.

'I crave you to be hushed, Captain Waverley; you are elsewhere,

peradventure, sui juris,--foris-familiated, that is, and entitled, it

may be, to think and resent for yourself; but in my domain, in this

poor Barony of Bradwardine, and under this roof, which is quasi mine,

being held by tacit relocation by a tenant at will, I am in loco

parentis to you, and bound to see you scathless. And for you, Mr.

Falconer of Balmawhapple, I warn ye, let me see no more aberrations

from the paths of good manners.'

'And I tell you, Mr. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine and

Tully-Veolan,' retorted the sportsman in huge disdain, 'that I'll make

a moor-cock of the man that refuses my toast, whether it be a

crop-eared English Whig wi' a black ribband at his lug, or ane wha

deserts his ain friends to claw favour wi' the rats of Hanover.'

In an instant both rapiers were brandished, and some desperate passes

exchanged. Balmawhapple was young, stout, and active; but the Baron,

infinitely more master of his weapon, would, like Sir Toby Belch, have

tickled his opponent other gates than he did had he not been under the

influence of Ursa Major.

Edward rushed forward to interfere between the combatants, but the

prostrate bulk of the Laird of Killancureit, over which he stumbled,

intercepted his passage. How Killancureit happened to be in this

recumbent posture at so interesting a moment was never accurately

known. Some thought he was about to insconce himself under the table;

he himself alleged that he stumbled in the act of lifting a

joint-stool, to prevent mischief, by knocking down Balmawhapple. Be

that as it may, if readier aid than either his or Waverley's had not

interposed, there would certainly have been bloodshed. But the

well-known clash of swords, which was no stranger to her dwelling,

aroused Luckie Macleary as she sat quietly beyond the hallan, or

earthen partition of the cottage, with eyes employed on Boston's 'Crook

the Lot,' while her ideas were engaged in summing up the reckoning. She

boldly rushed in, with the shrill expostulation, 'Wad their honours

slay ane another there, and bring discredit on an honest widow-woman's

house, when there was a' the lee-land in the country to fight upon?' a

remonstrance which she seconded by flinging her plaid with great

dexterity over the weapons of the combatants. The servants by this time

rushed in, and being, by great chance, tolerably sober, separated the

incensed opponents, with the assistance of Edward and Killancureit. The

latter led off Balmawhapple, cursing, swearing, and vowing revenge

against every Whig, Presbyterian, and fanatic in England and Scotland,

from John-o'-Groat's to the Land's End, and with difficulty got him to

horse. Our hero, with the assistance of Saunders Saunderson, escorted

the Baron of Bradwardine to his own dwelling, but could not prevail

upon him to retire to bed until he had made a long and learned apology

for the events of the evening, of which, however, there was not a word

intelligible, except something about the Centaurs and the Lapithae.

CHAPTER XII

REPENTANCE AND A RECONCILIATION

Waverley was unaccustomed to the use of wine, excepting with great

temperance. He slept therefore soundly till late in the succeeding

morning, and then awakened to a painful recollection of the scene of

the preceding evening. He had received a personal affront--he, a

gentleman, a soldier, and a Waverley. True, the person who offered it

was not, at the time it was given, possessed of the moderate share of

sense which nature had allotted him; true also, in resenting this

insult, he would break the laws of Heaven as well as of his country;

true, in doing so, he might take the life of a young man who perhaps

respectably discharged the social duties, and render his family

miserable, or he might lose his own--no pleasant alternative even to

the bravest, when it is debated coolly and in private.

All this pressed on his mind; yet the original statement recurred with

the same irresistible force. He had received a personal insult; he was

of the house of Waverley; and he bore a commission. There was no

alternative; and he descended to the breakfast parlour with the

intention of taking leave of the family, and writing to one of his

brother officers to meet him at the inn midway between Tully-Veolan and

the town where they were quartered, in order that he might convey such

a message to the Laird of Balmawhapple as the circumstances seemed to

demand. He found Miss Bradwardine presiding over the tea and coffee,

the table loaded with warm bread, both of flour, oatmeal, and

barleymeal, in the shape of loaves, cakes, biscuits, and other

varieties, together with eggs, reindeer ham, mutton and beef ditto,

smoked salmon, marmalade, and all the other delicacies which induced

even Johnson himself to extol the luxury of a Scotch breakfast above

that of all other countries. A mess of oatmeal porridge, flanked by a

silver jug, which held an equal mixture of cream and butter-milk, was

placed for the Baron's share of this repast; but Rose observed, he had

walked out early in the morning, after giving orders that his guest

should not be disturbed.

Waverley sat down almost in silence, and with an air of absence and

abstraction which could not give Miss Bradwardine a favourable opinion

of his talents for conversation. He answered at random one or two

observations which she ventured to make upon ordinary topics; so that,

feeling herself almost repulsed in her efforts at entertaining him, and

secretly wondering that a scarlet coat should cover no better breeding,

she left him to his mental amusement of cursing Doctor Doubleit's

favourite constellation of Ursa Major as the cause of all the mischief

which had already happened and was likely to ensue. At once he started,

and his colour heightened, as, looking toward the window, he beheld the

Baron and young Balmawhapple pass arm in arm, apparently in deep

conversation; and he hastily asked, 'Did Mr. Falconer sleep here last

night?' Rose, not much pleased with the abruptness of the first

question which the young stranger had addressed to her, answered drily

in the negative, and the conversation again sunk into silence.

At this moment Mr. Saunderson appeared, with a message from his master,

requesting to speak with Captain Waverley in another apartment. With a

heart which beat a little quicker, not indeed from fear, but from

uncertainty and anxiety, Edward obeyed the summons. He found the two

gentlemen standing together, an air of complacent dignity on the brow

of the Baron, while something like sullenness or shame, or both,

blanked the bold visage of Balmawhapple. The former slipped his arm

through that of the latter, and thus seeming to walk with him, while in

reality he led him, advanced to meet Waverley, and, stopping in the

midst of the apartment, made in great state the following oration:

'Captain Waverley--my young and esteemed friend, Mr. Falconer of

Balmawhapple, has craved of my age and experience, as of one not wholly

unskilled in the dependencies and punctilios of the duello or

monomachia, to be his interlocutor in expressing to you the regret with

which he calls to remembrance certain passages of our symposion last

night, which could not but be highly displeasing to you, as serving for

the time under this present existing government. He craves you, sir, to

drown in oblivion the memory of such solecisms against the laws of

politeness, as being what his better reason disavows, and to receive

the hand which he offers you in amity; and I must needs assure you that

nothing less than a sense of being dans son tort, as a gallant French

chevalier, Mons. Le Bretailleur, once said to me on such an occasion,

and an opinion also of your peculiar merit, could have extorted such

concessions; for he and all his family are, and have been, time out of

mind, Mavortia pectora, as Buchanan saith, a bold and warlike sept, or

people.'

Edward immediately, and with natural politeness, accepted the hand

which Balmawhapple, or rather the Baron in his character of mediator,

extended towards him. 'It was impossible,' he said, 'for him to

remember what a gentleman expressed his wish he had not uttered; and he

willingly imputed what had passed to the exuberant festivity of the

day.'

'That is very handsomely said,' answered the Baron; 'for undoubtedly,

if a man be ebrius, or intoxicated, an incident which on solemn and

festive occasions may and will take place in the life of a man of

honour; and if the same gentleman, being fresh and sober, recants the

contumelies which he hath spoken in his liquor, it must be held vinum

locutum est; the words cease to be his own. Yet would I not find this

exculpation relevant in the case of one who was ebriosus, or an

habitual drunkard; because, if such a person choose to pass the greater

part of his time in the predicament of intoxication, he hath no title

to be exeemed from the obligations of the code of politeness, but

should learn to deport himself peaceably and courteously when under

influence of the vinous stimulus. And now let us proceed to breakfast,

and think no more of this daft business.'

I must confess, whatever inference may be drawn from the circumstance,

that Edward, after so satisfactory an explanation, did much greater

honour to the delicacies of Miss Bradwardine's breakfast-table than his

commencement had promised. Balmawhapple, on the contrary, seemed

embarrassed and dejected; and Waverley now, for the first time,

observed that his arm was in a sling, which seemed to account for the

awkward and embarrassed manner with which he had presented his hand. To

a question from Miss Bradwardine, he muttered in answer something about

his horse having fallen; and seeming desirous to escape both from the

subject and the company, he arose as soon as breakfast was over, made

his bow to the party, and, declining the Baron's invitation to tarry

till after dinner, mounted his horse and returned to his own home.

Waverley now announced his purpose of leaving Tully-Veolan early enough

after dinner to gain the stage at which he meant to sleep; but the

unaffected and deep mortification with which the good-natured and

affectionate old gentleman heard the proposal quite deprived him of

courage to persist in it. No sooner had he gained Waverley's consent to

lengthen his visit for a few days than he laboured to remove the

grounds upon which he conceived he had meditated a more early retreat.

'I would not have you opine, Captain Waverley, that I am by practice or

precept an advocate of ebriety, though it may be that, in our festivity

of last night, some of our friends, if not perchance altogether ebrii,

or drunken, were, to say the least, ebrioli, by which the ancients

designed those who were fuddled, or, as your English vernacular and

metaphorical phrase goes, half-seas-over. Not that I would so insinuate

respecting you, Captain Waverley, who, like a prudent youth, did rather

abstain from potation; nor can it be truly said of myself, who, having

assisted at the tables of many great generals and marechals at their

solemn carousals, have the art to carry my wine discreetly, and did

not, during the whole evening, as ye must have doubtless observed,

exceed the bounds of a modest hilarity.'

There was no refusing assent to a proposition so decidedly laid down by

him, who undoubtedly was the best judge; although, had Edward formed

his opinion from his own recollections, he would have pronounced that

the Baron was not only ebriolus, but verging to become ebrius; or, in

plain English, was incomparably the most drunk of the party, except

perhaps his antagonist the Laird of Balmawhapple. However, having

received the expected, or rather the required, compliment on his

sobriety, the Baron proceeded--'No, sir, though I am myself of a strong

temperament, I abhor ebriety, and detest those who swallow wine gulce

causa, for the oblectation of the gullet; albeit I might deprecate the

law of Pittacus of Mitylene, who punished doubly a crime committed

under the influence of 'Liber Pater'; nor would I utterly accede to the

objurgation of the younger Plinius, in the fourteenth book of his

'Historia Naturalis.' No, sir, I distinguish, I discriminate, and

approve of wine so far only as it maketh glad the face, or, in the

language of Flaccus, recepto amico.'

Thus terminated the apology which the Baron of Bradwardine thought it

necessary to make for the superabundance of his hospitality; and it may

be easily believed that he was neither interrupted by dissent nor any

expression of incredulity.

He then invited his guest to a morning ride, and ordered that Davie

Gellatley should meet them at the dern path with Ban and Buscar. 'For,

until the shooting season commence, I would willingly show you some

sport, and we may, God willing, meet with a roe. The roe, Captain

Waverley, may be hunted at all times alike; for never being in what is

called PRIDE OF GREASE, he is also never out of season, though it be a

truth that his venison is not equal to that of either the red or fallow

deer. [Footnote: The learned in cookery dissent from the Baron of

Bradwardine, and hold the roe venison dry and indifferent food, unless

when dressed in soup and Scotch collops.] But he will serve to show how

my dogs run; and therefore they shall attend us with David Gellatley.'

Waverley expressed his surprise that his friend Davie was capable of

such trust; but the Baron gave him to understand that this poor

simpleton was neither fatuous, nec naturaliter idiota, as is expressed

in the brieves of furiosity, but simply a crack-brained knave, who

could execute very well any commission which jumped with his own

humour, and made his folly a plea for avoiding every other. 'He has

made an interest with us,' continued the Baron, 'by saving Rose from a

great danger with his own proper peril; and the roguish loon must

therefore eat of our bread and drink of our cup, and do what he can, or

what he will, which, if the suspicions of Saunderson and the Bailie are

well founded, may perchance in his case be commensurate terms.'

Miss Bradwardine then gave Waverley to understand that this poor

simpleton was dotingly fond of music, deeply affected by that which was

melancholy, and transported into extravagant gaiety by light and lively

airs. He had in this respect a prodigious memory, stored with

miscellaneous snatches and fragments of all tunes and songs, which he

sometimes applied, with considerable address, as the vehicles of

remonstrance, explanation, or satire. Davie was much attached to the

few who showed him kindness; and both aware of any slight or ill usage

which he happened to receive, and sufficiently apt, where he saw

opportunity, to revenge it. The common people, who often judge hardly

of each other as well as of their betters, although they had expressed

great compassion for the poor innocent while suffered to wander in rags

about the village, no sooner beheld him decently clothed, provided for,

and even a sort of favourite, than they called up all the instances of

sharpness and ingenuity, in action and repartee, which his annals

afforded, and charitably bottomed thereupon a hypothesis that David

Gellatley was no farther fool than was necessary to avoid hard labour.

This opinion was not better founded than that of the Negroes, who, from

the acute and mischievous pranks of the monkeys, suppose that they have

the gift of speech, and only suppress their powers of elocution to

escape being set to work. But the hypothesis was entirely imaginary;

David Gellatley was in good earnest the half-crazed simpleton which he

appeared, and was incapable of any constant and steady exertion. He had

just so much solidity as kept on the windy side of insanity, so much

wild wit as saved him from the imputation of idiocy, some dexterity in

field-sports (in which we have known as great fools excel), great

kindness and humanity in the treatment of animals entrusted to him,

warm affections, a prodigious memory, and an ear for music.

The stamping of horses was now heard in the court, and Davie's voice

singing to the two large deer greyhounds,

Hie away, hie away,

Over bank and over brae,

Where the copsewood is the greenest,

Where the fountains glisten sheenest,

Where the lady-fern grows strongest,

Where the morning dew lies longest,

Where the black-cock sweetest sips it,

Where the fairy latest trips it.

Hie to haunts right seldom seen,

Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green,

Over bank and over brae,

Hie away, hie away.

'Do the verses he sings,' asked Waverley, 'belong to old Scottish

poetry, Miss Bradwardine?'

'I believe not,' she replied. 'This poor creature had a brother, and

Heaven, as if to compensate to the family Davie's deficiencies, had

given him what the hamlet thought uncommon talents. An uncle contrived

to educate him for the Scottish kirk, but he could not get preferment

because he came from our GROUND. He returned from college hopeless and

brokenhearted, and fell into a decline. My father supported him till

his death, which happened before he was nineteen. He played beautifully

on the flute, and was supposed to have a great turn for poetry. He was

affectionate and compassionate to his brother, who followed him like

his shadow, and we think that from him Davie gathered many fragments of

songs and music unlike those of this country. But if we ask him where

he got such a fragment as he is now singing, he either answers with

wild and long fits of laughter, or else breaks into tears of

lamentation; but was never heard to give any explanation, or to mention

his brother's name since his death.'

'Surely,' said Edward, who was readily interested by a tale bordering

on the romantic, 'surely more might be learned by more particular

inquiry.'

'Perhaps so,' answered Rose; 'but my father will not permit any one to

practise on his feelings on this subject.'

By this time the Baron, with the help of Mr. Saunderson, had indued a

pair of jack-boots of large dimensions, and now invited our hero to

follow him as he stalked clattering down the ample stair-case, tapping

each huge balustrade as he passed with the butt of his massive

horse-whip, and humming, with the air of a chasseur of Louis Quatorze,--

Pour la chasse ordonnee il faut preparer tout.

Ho la ho! Vite! vite debout!

CHAPTER XIII

A MORE RATIONAL DAY THAN THE LAST

The Baron of Bradwardine, mounted on an active and well-managed horse,

and seated on a demi-pique saddle, with deep housings to agree with his

livery, was no bad representative of the old school. His light-coloured

embroidered coat, and superbly barred waistcoat, his brigadier wig,

surmounted by a small gold-laced cocked-hat, completed his personal

costume; but he was attended by two well-mounted servants on horseback,

armed with holster-pistols.

In this guise he ambled forth over hill and valley, the admiration of

every farm-yard which they passed in their progress, till, 'low down in

a grassy vale,' they found David Gellatley leading two very tall deer

greyhounds, and presiding over half a dozen curs, and about as many

bare-legged and bare-headed boys, who, to procure the chosen

distinction of attending on the chase, had not failed to tickle his

ears with the dulcet appellation of Maister Gellatley, though probably

all and each had hooted him on former occasions in the character of

daft Davie. But this is no uncommon strain of flattery to persons in

office, nor altogether confined to the barelegged villagers of

Tully-Veolan; it was in fashion Sixty Years Since, is now, and will be

six hundred years hence, if this admirable compound of folly and

knavery, called the world, shall be then in existence.

These Gillie-wet-foots, as they were called, were destined to beat the

bushes, which they performed with so much success, that, after half an

hour's search, a roe was started, coursed, and killed; the Baron

following on his white horse, like Earl Percy of yore, and

magnanimously flaying and embowelling the slain animal (which, he

observed, was called by the French chasseurs, faire la curee) with his

own baronial couteau de chasse. After this ceremony, he conducted his

guest homeward by a pleasant and circuitous route, commanding an

extensive prospect of different villages and houses, to each of which

Mr. Bradwardine attached some anecdote of history or genealogy, told in

language whimsical from prejudice and pedantry, but often respectable

for the good sense and honourable feelings which his narrative

displayed, and almost always curious, if not valuable, for the

information they contained.

The truth is, the ride seemed agreeable to both gentlemen, because they

found amusement in each other's conversation, although their characters

and habits of thinking were in many respects totally opposite. Edward,

we have informed the reader, was warm in his feelings, wild and

romantic in his ideas and in his taste of reading, with a strong

disposition towards poetry. Mr Bradwardine was the reverse of all this,

and piqued himself upon stalking through life with the same upright,

starched, stoical gravity which distinguished his evening promenade

upon the terrace of Tully-Veolan, where for hours together--the very

model of old Hardyknute--

Stately stepp'd he east the wa',

And stately stepp'd he west

As for literature, he read the classic poets, to be sure, and the

'Epithalamium' of Georgius Buchanan and Arthur Johnston's Psalms, of a

Sunday; and the 'Deliciae Poetarum Scotorum,' and Sir David Lindsay's

'Works', and Barbour's 'Brace', and Blind Harry's 'Wallace', and 'The

Gentle Shepherd', and 'The Cherry and The Slae.'

But though he thus far sacrificed his time to the Muses, he would, if

the truth must be spoken, have been much better pleased had the pious

or sapient apothegms, as well as the historical narratives, which these

various works contained, been presented to him in the form of simple

prose. And he sometimes could not refrain from expressing contempt of

the 'vain and unprofitable art of poem-making', in which, he said,'the

only one who had excelled in his time was Allan Ramsay, the

periwigmaker.'

[Footnote: The Baron ought to have remembered that the joyous Allan

literally drew his blood from the house of the noble earl whom he

terms--

Dalhousie of an old descent

My stoup, my pride, my ornament.]

But although Edward and he differed TOTO COELO, as the Baron would have

said, upon this subject, yet they met upon history as on a neutral

ground, in which each claimed an interest. The Baron, indeed, only

cumbered his memory with matters of fact, the cold, dry, hard outlines

which history delineates. Edward, on the contrary, loved to fill up and

round the sketch with the colouring of a warm and vivid imagination,

which gives light and life to the actors and speakers in the drama of

past ages. Yet with tastes so opposite, they contributed greatly to

each other's amusement. Mr. Bradwardine's minute narratives and

powerful memory supplied to Waverley fresh subjects of the kind upon

which his fancy loved to labour, and opened to him a new mine of

incident and of character. And he repaid the pleasure thus communicated

by an earnest attention, valuable to all story-tellers, more especially

to the Baron, who felt his habits of self-respect flattered by it; and

sometimes also by reciprocal communications, which interested Mr.

Bradwardine, as confirming or illustrating his own favourite anecdotes.

Besides, Mr. Bradwardine loved to talk of the scenes of his youth,

whichl had been spent in camps and foreign lands, and had many

interesting particulars to tell of the generals under whom he had

served and the actions he had witnessed.

Both parties returned to Tully-Veolan in great good-humour with each

other; Waverley desirous of studying more attentively what he

considered as a singular and interesting character, gifted with a

memory containing a curious register of ancient and modern anecdotes;

and Bradwardine disposed to regard Edward as puer (or rather juvenis)

bonae spei et magnae indolis, a youth devoid of that petulant

volatility which is impatient of, or vilipends, the conversation and

advice of his seniors, from which he predicted great things of his

future success and deportment in life. There was no other guest except

Mr. Rubrick, whose information and discourse, as a clergyman and a

scholar, harmonised very well with that of the Baron and his guest.

Shortly after dinner, the Baron, as if to show that his temperance was

not entirely theoretical, proposed a visit to Rose's apartment, or, as

he termed it, her troisieme etage. Waverley was accordingly conducted

through one or two of those long awkward passages with which ancient

architects studied to puzzle the inhabitants of the houses which they

planned, at the end of which Mr. Bradwardine began to ascend, by two

steps at once, a very steep, narrow, and winding stair, leaving Mr.

Rubrick and Waverley to follow at more leisure, while he should

announce their approach to his daughter.

After having climbed this perpendicular corkscrew until their brains

were almost giddy, they arrived in a little matted lobby, which served

as an anteroom to Rose's sanctum sanctorum, and through which they

entered her parlour. It was a small, but pleasant apartment, opening to

the south, and hung with tapestry; adorned besides with two pictures,

one of her mother, in the dress of a shepherdess, with a bell-hoop; the

other of the Baron, in his tenth year, in a blue coat, embroidered

waistcoat, laced hat, and bag-wig, with a bow in his hand. Edward could

not help smiling at the costume, and at the odd resemblance between the

round, smooth, red-cheeked, staring visage in the portrait, and the

gaunt, bearded, hollow-eyed, swarthy features, which travelling,

fatigues of war, and advanced age, had bestowed on the original. The

Baron joined in the laugh. 'Truly,' he said,'that picture was a woman's

fantasy of my good mother's (a daughter of the Laird of Tulliellum,

Captain Waverley; I indicated the house to you when we were on the top

of the Shinnyheuch; it was burnt by the Dutch auxiliaries brought in by

the Government in 1715); I never sate for my pourtraicture but once

since that was painted, and it was at the special and reiterated

request of the Marechal Duke of Berwick.'

The good old gentleman did not mention what Mr. Rubrick afterwards told

Edward, that the Duke had done him this honour on account of his being

the first to mount the breach of a fort in Savoy during the memorable

campaign of 1709, and his having there defended himself with his

half-pike for nearly ten minutes before any support reached him. To do

the Baron justice, although sufficiently prone to dwell upon, and even

to exaggerate, his family dignity and consequence, he was too much a

man of real courage ever to allude to such personal acts of merit as he

had himself manifested.

Miss Rose now appeared from the interior room of her apartment, to

welcome her father and his friends. The little labours in which she had

been employed obviously showed a natural taste, which required only

cultivation. Her father had taught her French and Italian, and a few of

the ordinary authors in those languages ornamented her shelves. He had

endeavoured also to be her preceptor in music; but as he began with the

more abstruse doctrines of the science, and was not perhaps master of

them himself, she had made no proficiency farther than to be able to

accompany her voice with the harpsichord; but even this was not very

common in Scotland at that period. To make amends, she sung with great

taste and feeling, and with a respect to the sense of what she uttered

that might be proposed in example to ladies of much superior musical

talent. Her natural good sense taught her that, if, as we are assured

by high authority, music be 'married to immortal verse,' they are very

often divorced by the performer in a most shameful manner. It was

perhaps owing to this sensibility to poetry, and power of combining its

expression with those of the musical notes, that her singing gave more

pleasure to all the unlearned in music, and even to many of the

learned, than could have been communicated by a much finer voice and

more brilliant execution unguided by the same delicacy of feeling.

A bartizan, or projecting gallery, before the windows of her parlour,

served to illustrate another of Rose's pursuits; for it was crowded

with flowers of different kinds, which she had taken under her special

protection. A projecting turret gave access to this Gothic balcony,

which commanded a most beautiful prospect. The formal garden, with its

high bounding walls, lay below, contracted, as it seemed, to a mere

parterre; while the view extended beyond them down a wooded glen, where

the small river was sometimes visible, sometimes hidden in copse. The

eye might be delayed by a desire to rest on the rocks, which here and

there rose from the dell with massive or spiry fronts, or it might

dwell on the noble, though ruined tower, which was here beheld in all

its dignity, frowning from a promontory over the river. To the left

were seen two or three cottages, a part of the village, the brow of the

hill concealed the others. The glen, or dell, was terminated by a sheet

of water, called Loch Veolan, into which the brook discharged itself,

and which now glistened in the western sun. The distant country seemed

open and varied in surface, though not wooded; and there was nothing to

interrupt the view until the scene was bounded by a ridge of distant

and blue hills, which formed the southern boundary of the strath or

valley. To this pleasant station Miss Bradwardine had ordered coffee.

The view of the old tower, or fortalice, introduced some family

anecdotes and tales of Scottish chivalry, which the Baron told with

great enthusiasm. The projecting peak of an impending crag which rose

near it had acquired the name of Saint Swithin's Chair. It was the

scene of a peculiar superstition, of which Mr. Rubrick mentioned some

curious particulars, which reminded Waverley of a rhyme quoted by Edgar

in King Lear; and Rose was called upon to sing a little legend, in

which they had been interwoven by some village poet,

Who, noteless as the race from which he sprung,

Saved others' names, but left his own unsung.

The sweetness of her voice, and the simple beauty of her music, gave

all the advantage which the minstrel could have desired, and which his

poetry so much wanted. I almost doubt if it can be read with patience,

destitute of these advantages, although I conjecture the following copy

to have been somewhat corrected by Waverley, to suit the taste of those

who might not relish pure antiquity.

Saint Swithin's Chair

On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest,

Ever beware that your couch be bless'd;

Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead,

Sing the Ave, and say the Creed.

For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will ride,

And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side,

Whether the wind sing lowly or loud,

Sailing through moonshine or swath'd in the cloud.

The Lady she sat in Saint Swithin's Chair,

The dew of the night has damp'd her hair:

Her cheek was pale; but resolved and high

Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye.

She mutter'd the spell of Swithin bold,

When his naked foot traced the midnight wold,

When he stopp'd the Hag as she rode the night,

And bade her descend, and her promise plight.

He that dare sit on Saint Swithin's Chair,

When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air,

Questions three, when he speaks the spell,

He may ask, and she must tell.

The Baron has been with King Robert his liege

These three long years in battle and siege;

News are there none of his weal or his woe,

And fain the Lady his fate would know.

She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks;--

Is it the moody owl that shrieks?

Or is it that sound, betwixt laughter and scream,

The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream?

The moan of the wind sunk silent and low,

And the roaring torrent had ceased to flow;

The calm was more dreadful than raging storm,

When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly Form!

'I am sorry to disappoint the company, especially Captain Waverley, who

listens with such laudable gravity; it is but a fragment, although I

think there are other verses, describing the return of the Baron from

the wars, and how the lady was found "clay-cold upon the grounsill

ledge.'"

'It is one of those figments,' observed Mr. Bradwardine, 'with which

the early history of distinguished families was deformed in the times

of superstition; as that of Rome, and other ancient nations, had their

prodigies, sir, the which you may read in ancient histories, or in the

little work compiled by Julius Obsequens, and inscribed by the learned

Scheffer, the editor, to his patron, Benedictus Skytte, Baron of

Dudershoff.'

'My father has a strange defiance of the marvellous, Captain Waverley,'

observed Rose, 'and once stood firm when a whole synod of Presbyterian

divines were put to the rout by a sudden apparition of the foul fiend.'

Waverley looked as if desirous to hear more.

'Must I tell my story as well as sing my song? Well--Once upon a time

there lived an old woman, called Janet Gellatley, who was suspected to

be a witch, on the infallible grounds that she was very old, very ugly,

very poor, and had two sons, one of whom was a poet and the other a

fool, which visitation, all the neighbourhood agreed, had come upon her

for the sin of witchcraft. And she was imprisoned for a week in the

steeple of the parish church, and sparely supplied with food, and not

permitted to sleep until she herself became as much persuaded of her

being a witch as her accusers; and in this lucid and happy state of

mind was brought forth to make a clean breast, that is, to make open

confession of her sorceries, before all the Whig gentry and ministers

in the vicinity, who were no conjurors themselves. My father went to

see fair play between the witch and the clergy; for the witch had been

born on his estate. And while the witch was confessing that the Enemy

appeared, and made his addresses to her as a handsome black

man,--which, if you could have seen poor old blear-eyed Janet,

reflected little honour on Apollyon's taste,--and while the auditors

listened with astonished ears, and the clerk recorded with a trembling

hand, she, all of a sudden, changed the low mumbling tone with which

she spoke into a shrill yell, and exclaimed, "Look to yourselves! look

to yourselves! I see the Evil One sitting in the midst of ye." The

surprise was general, and terror and flight its immediate consequences.

Happy were those who were next the door; and many were the disasters

that befell hats, bands, cuffs, and wigs, before they could get out of

the church, where they left the obstinate prelatist to settle matters

with the witch and her admirer at his own peril or pleasure.'

'Risu solvuntur tabulae,' said the Baron; 'when they recovered their

panic trepidation they were too much ashamed to bring any wakening of

the process against Janet Gellatley.' [Footnote: See Note 11]

This anecdote led to a long discussion of

All those idle thoughts and fantasies,

Devices, dreams, opinions unsound,

Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies,

And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies.

With such conversation, and the romantic legends which it introduced,

closed our hero's second evening in the house of Tully-Veolan.

CHAPTER XIV

A DISCOVERY--WAVERLEY BECOMES DOMESTICATED AT TULLY-VEOLAN

The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a morning walk around the

house and its vicinity came suddenly upon a small court in front of the

dog-kennel, where his friend Davie was employed about his four-footed

charge. One quick glance of his eye recognised Waverley, when,

instantly turning his back, as if he had not observed him, he began to

sing part of an old ballad:--

Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?

Old men's love the longest will last,

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?

But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire,

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

The young man will brawl at the evening board;

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?

But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

Waverley could not avoid observing that Davie laid something like a

satirical emphasis on these lines. He therefore approached, and

endeavoured, by sundry queries, to elicit from him what the innuendo

might mean; but Davie had no mind to explain, and had wit enough to

make his folly cloak his knavery. Edward could collect nothing from

him, excepting that the Laird of Balmawhapple had gone home yesterday

morning 'wi' his boots fu' o' bluid.' In the garden, however, he met

the old butler, who no longer attempted to conceal that, having been

bred in the nursery line with Sumack and Co. of Newcastle, he sometimes

wrought a turn in the flower-borders to oblige the Laird and Miss Rose.

By a series of queries, Edward at length discovered, with a painful

feeling of surprise and shame, that Balmawhapple's submission and

apology had been the consequence of a rencontre with the Baron before

his guest had quitted his pillow, in which the younger combatant had

been disarmed and wounded in the sword arm.

Greatly mortified at this information, Edward sought out his friendly

host, and anxiously expostulated with him upon the injustice he had

done him in anticipating his meeting with Mr. Falconer, a circumstance

which, considering his youth and the profession of arms which he had

just adopted, was capable of being represented much to his prejudice.

The Baron justified himself at greater length than I choose to repeat.

He urged that the quarrel was common to them, and that Balmawhapple

could not, by the code of honour, evite giving satisfaction to both,

which he had done in his case by an honourable meeting, and in that of

Edward by such a palinode as rendered the use of the sword unnecessary,

and which, being made and accepted, must necessarily sopite the whole

affair.

With this excuse, or explanation, Waverley was silenced, if not

satisfied; but he could not help testifying some displeasure against

the Blessed Bear, which had given rise to the quarrel, nor refrain from

hinting that the sanctified epithet was hardly appropriate. The Baron

observed, he could not deny that 'the Bear, though allowed by heralds

as a most honourable ordinary, had, nevertheless, somewhat fierce,

churlish, and morose in his disposition (as might be read in Archibald

Simson, pastor of Dalkeith's 'Hieroglyphica Animalium') and had thus

been the type of many quarrels and dissensions which had occurred in

the house of Bradwardine; of which,' he continued, 'I might commemorate

mine own unfortunate dissension with my third cousin by the mother's

side, Sir Hew Halbert, who was so unthinking as to deride my family

name, as if it had been QUASI BEAR-WARDEN; a most uncivil jest, since

it not only insinuated that the founder of our house occupied such a

mean situation as to be a custodier of wild beasts, a charge which, ye

must have observed, is only entrusted to the very basest plebeians;

but, moreover, seemed to infer that our coat-armour had not been

achieved by honourable actions in war, but bestowed by way of

paranomasia, or pun, upon our family appellation,--a sort of bearing

which the French call armoires parlantes, the Latins arma cantantia,

and your English authorities canting heraldry, [Footnote: See Note 12]

being indeed a species of emblazoning more befitting canters,

gaberlunzies, and such like mendicants, whose gibberish is formed upon

playing upon the word, than the noble, honourable, and useful science

of heraldry, which assigns armorial bearings as the reward of noble and

generous actions, and not to tickle the ear with vain quodlibets, such

as are found in jestbooks.' Of his quarrel with Sir Hew he said nothing

more than that it was settled in a fitting manner.

Having been so minute with respect to the diversions of Tully-Veolan on

the first days of Edward's arrival, for the purpose of introducing its

inmates to the reader's acquaintance, it becomes less necessary to

trace the progress of his intercourse with the same accuracy. It is

probable that a young man, accustomed to more cheerful society, would

have tired of the conversation of so violent an assertor of the 'boast

of heraldry' as the Baron; but Edward found an agreeable variety in

that of Miss Bradwardine, who listened with eagerness to his remarks

upon literature, and showed great justness of taste in her answers. The

sweetness of her disposition had made her submit with complacency, and

even pleasure, to the course of reading prescribed by her father,

although it not only comprehended several heavy folios of history, but

certain gigantic tomes in high-church polemics. In heraldry he was

fortunately contented to give her only such a slight tincture as might

be acquired by perusal of the two folio volumes of Nisbet. Rose was

indeed the very apple of her father's eye. Her constant liveliness, her

attention to all those little observances most gratifying to those who

would never think of exacting them, her beauty, in which he recalled

the features of his beloved wife, her unfeigned piety, and the noble

generosity of her disposition, would have justified the affection of

the most doting father.

His anxiety on her behalf did not, however, seem to extend itself in

that quarter where, according to the general opinion, it is most

efficiently displayed, in labouring, namely, to establish her in life,

either by a large dowry or a wealthy marriage. By an old settlement,

almost all the landed estates of the Baron went, after his death, to a

distant relation; and it was supposed that Miss Bradwardine would

remain but slenderly provided for, as the good gentleman's cash matters

had been too long under the exclusive charge of Bailie Macwheeble to

admit of any great expectations from his personal succession. It is

true, the said Bailie loved his patron and his patron's daughter next

(though at an incomparable distance) to himself. He thought it was

possible to set aside the settlement on the male line, and had actually

procured an opinion to that effect (and, as he boasted, without a fee)

from an eminent Scottish counsel, under whose notice he contrived to

bring the point while consulting him regularly on some other business.

But the Baron would not listen to such a proposal for an instant. On

the contrary, he used to have a perverse pleasure in boasting that the

barony of Bradwardine was a male fief, the first charter having been

given at that early period when women were not deemed capable to hold a

feudal grant; because, according to Les coustusmes de Normandie, c'est

l'homme ki se bast et ki conseille; or, as is yet more ungallantly

expressed by other authorities, all of whose barbarous names he

delighted to quote at full length, because a woman could not serve the

superior, or feudal lord, in war, on account of the decorum of her sex,

nor assist him with advice, because of her limited intellect, nor keep

his counsel, owing to the infirmity of her disposition. He would

triumphantly ask, how it would become a female, and that female a

Bradwardine, to be seen employed in servitio exuendi, seu detrahendi,

caligas regis post battaliam? that is, in pulling off the king's boots

after an engagement, which was the feudal service by which he held the

barony of Bradwardine. 'No,' he said, 'beyond hesitation, procul dubio,

many females, as worthy as Rose, had been excluded, in order to make

way for my own succession, and Heaven forbid that I should do aught

that might contravene the destination of my forefathers, or impinge

upon the right of my kinsman, Malcolm Bradwardine of Inchgrabbit, an

honourable, though decayed branch of my own family.'

The Bailie, as prime minister, having received this decisive

communication from his sovereign, durst not press his own opinion any

farther, but contented himself with deploring, on all suitable

occasions, to Saunderson, the minister of the interior, the laird's

self-willedness, and with laying plans for uniting Rose with the young

Laird of Balmawhapple, who had a fine estate, only moderately burdened,

and was a faultless young gentleman, being as sober as a saint--if you

keep brandy from him and him from brandy--and who, in brief, had no

imperfection but that of keeping light company at a time; such as

Jinker, the horse-couper, and Gibby Gaethroughwi't, the piper o' Cupar;

'o' whilk follies, Mr. Saunderson, he'll mend, he'll mend,' pronounced

the Bailie.

'Like sour ale in simmer,' added Davie Gellatley, who happened to be

nearer the conclave than they were aware of.

Miss Bradwardine, such as we have described her, with all the

simplicity and curiosity of a recluse, attached herself to the

opportunities of increasing her store of literature which Edward's

visit afforded her. He sent for some of his books from his quarters,

and they opened to her sources of delight of which she had hitherto had

no idea. The best English poets, of every description, and other works

on belles-lettres, made a part of this precious cargo. Her music, even

her flowers, were neglected, and Saunders not only mourned over, but

began to mutiny against, the labour for which he now scarce received

thanks. These new pleasures became gradually enhanced by sharing them

with one of a kindred taste. Edward's readiness to comment, to recite,

to explain difficult passages, rendered his assistance invaluable; and

the wild romance of his spirit delighted a character too young and

inexperienced to observe its deficiencies. Upon subjects which

interested him, and when quite at ease, he possessed that flow of

natural, and somewhat florid eloquence, which has been supposed as

powerful even as figure, fashion, fame, or fortune, in winning the

female heart. There was, therefore, an increasing danger in this

constant intercourse to poor Rose's peace of mind, which was the more

imminent as her father was greatly too much abstracted in his studies,

and wrapped up in his own dignity, to dream of his daughter's incurring

it. The daughters of the house of Bradwardine were, in his opinion,

like those of the house of Bourbon or Austria, placed high above the

clouds of passion which might obfuscate the intellects of meaner

females; they moved in another sphere, were governed by other feelings,

and amenable to other rules than those of idle and fantastic affection.

In short, he shut his eyes so resolutely to the natural consequences of

Edward's intimacy with Miss Bradwardine, that the whole neighbourhood

concluded that he had opened them to the advantages of a match between

his daughter and the wealthy young Englishman, and pronounced him much

less a fool than he had generally shown himself in cases where his own

interest was concerned.

If the Baron, however, had really meditated such an alliance, the

indifference of Waverley would have been an insuperable bar to his

project. Our hero, since mixing more freely with the world, had learned

to think with great shame and confusion upon his mental legend of Saint

Cecilia, and the vexation of these reflections was likely, for some

time at least, to counterbalance the natural susceptibility of his

disposition. Besides, Rose Bradwardine, beautiful and amiable as we

have described her, had not precisely the sort of beauty or merit which

captivates a romantic imagination in early youth. She was too frank,

too confiding, too kind; amiable qualities, undoubtedly, but

destructive of the marvellous, with which a youth of imagination

delights to dress the empress of his affections. Was it possible to

bow, to tremble, and to adore, before the timid, yet playful little

girl, who now asked Edward to mend her pen, now to construe a stanza in

Tasso, and now how to spell a very--very long word in her version of

it? All these incidents have their fascination on the mind at a certain

period of life, but not when a youth is entering it, and rather looking

out for some object whose affection may dignify him in his own eyes

than stooping to one who looks up to him for such distinction. Hence,

though there can be no rule in so capricious a passion, early love is

frequently ambitious in choosing its object; or, which comes to the

same, selects her (as in the case of Saint Cecilia aforesaid) from a

situation that gives fair scope for le beau ideal, which the reality of

intimate and familiar life rather tends to limit and impair. I knew a

very accomplished and sensible young man cured of a violent passion for

a pretty woman, whose talents were not equal to her face and figure, by

being permitted to bear her company for a whole afternoon. Thus, it is

certain, that had Edward enjoyed such an opportunity of conversing with

Miss Stubbs, Aunt Rachel's precaution would have been unnecessary, for

he would as soon have fallen in love with the dairy-maid. And although

Miss Bradwardine was a very different character, it seems probable that

the very intimacy of their intercourse prevented his feeling for her

other sentiments than those of a brother for an amiable and

accomplished sister; while the sentiments of poor Rose were gradually,

and without her being conscious, assuming a shade of warmer affection.

I ought to have said that Edward, when he sent to Dundee for the books

before mentioned, had applied for, and received permission, extending

his leave of absence. But the letter of his commanding officer

contained a friendly recommendation to him not to spend his time

exclusively with persons who, estimable as they might be in a general

sense, could not be supposed well affected to a government which they

declined to acknowledge by taking the oath of allegiance. The letter

further insinuated, though with great delicacy, that although some

family connections might be supposed to render it necessary for Captain

Waverley to communicate with gentlemen who were in this unpleasant

state of suspicion, yet his father's situation and wishes ought to

prevent his prolonging those attentions into exclusive intimacy. And it

was intimated, that, while his political principles were endangered by

communicating with laymen of this description, he might also receive

erroneous impressions in religion from the prelatic clergy, who so

perversely laboured to set up the royal prerogative in things sacred.

This last insinuation probably induced Waverley to set both down to the

prejudices of his commanding officer. He was sensible that Mr.

Bradwardine had acted with the most scrupulous delicacy, in never

entering upon any discussion that had the most remote tendency to bias

his mind in political opinions, although he was himself not only a

decided partisan of the exiled family, but had been trusted at

different times with important commissions for their service. Sensible,

therefore, that there was no risk of his being perverted from his

allegiance, Edward felt as if he should do his uncle's old friend

injustice in removing from a house where he gave and received pleasure

and amusement, merely to gratify a prejudiced and ill-judged suspicion.

He therefore wrote a very general answer, assuring his commanding

officer that his loyalty was not in the most distant danger of

contamination, and continued an honoured guest and inmate of the house

of Tully-Veolan.

CHAPTER XV

A CREAGH, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

When Edward had been a guest at Tully-Veolan nearly six weeks, he

descried, one morning, as he took his usual walk before the breakfast

hour, signs of uncommon perturbation in the family. Four bare-legged

dairy-maids, with each an empty milk-pail in her hand, ran about with

frantic gestures, and uttering loud exclamations of surprise, grief,

and resentment. From their appearance, a pagan might have conceived

them a detachment of the celebrated Belides, just come from their

baling penance. As nothing was to be got from this distracted chorus,

excepting 'Lord guide us!' and 'Eh sirs!' ejaculations which threw no

light upon the cause of their dismay, Waverley repaired to the

fore-court, as it was called, where he beheld Bailie Macwheeble

cantering his white pony down the avenue with all the speed it could

muster. He had arrived, it would seem, upon a hasty summons, and was

followed by half a score of peasants from the village who had no great

difficulty in keeping pace with him.

The Bailie, greatly too busy and too important to enter into

explanations with Edward, summoned forth Mr. Saunderson, who appeared

with a countenance in which dismay was mingled with solemnity, and they

immediately entered into close conference. Davie Gellatley was also

seen in the group, idle as Diogenes at Sinope while his countrymen were

preparing for a siege. His spirits always rose with anything, good or

bad, which occasioned tumult, and he continued frisking, hopping,

dancing, and singing the burden of an old ballad--

'Our gear's a' gane,'

until, happening to pass too near the Bailie, he received an admonitory

hint from his horse-whip, which converted his songs into lamentation.

Passing from thence towards the garden, Waverley beheld the Baron in

person, measuring and re-measuring, with swift and tremendous strides,

the length of the terrace; his countenance clouded with offended pride

and indignation, and the whole of his demeanour such as seemed to

indicate, that any inquiry concerning the cause of his discomposure

would give pain at least, if not offence. Waverley therefore glided

into the house, without addressing him, and took his way to the

breakfast-parlour, where he found his young friend Rose, who, though

she neither exhibited the resentment of her father, the turbid

importance of Bailie Macwheeble, nor the despair of the handmaidens,

seemed vexed and thoughtful. A single word explained the mystery. 'Your

breakfast will be a disturbed one, Captain Waverley. A party of

Caterans have come down upon us last night, and have driven off all our

milch cows.'

'A party of Caterans?'

'Yes; robbers from the neighbouring Highlands. We used to be quite free

from them while we paid blackmail to Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr; but

my father thought it unworthy of his rank and birth to pay it any

longer, and so this disaster has happened. It is not the value of the

cattle, Captain Waverley, that vexes me; but my father is so much hurt

at the affront, and is so bold and hot, that I fear he will try to

recover them by the strong hand; and if he is not hurt himself, he will

hurt some of these wild people, and then there will be no peace between

them and us perhaps for our life-time; and we cannot defend ourselves

as in old times, for the government have taken all our arms; and my

dear father is so rash--O what will become of us!'--Here poor Rose lost

heart altogether, and burst into a flood of tears.

The Baron entered at this moment, and rebuked her with more asperity

than Waverley had ever heard him use to any one. 'Was it not a shame,'

he said, 'that she should exhibit herself before any gentleman in such

a light, as if she shed tears for a drove of horned nolt and milch

kine, like the daughter of a Cheshire yeoman!--Captain Waverley, I must

request your favourable construction of her grief, which may, or ought

to proceed, solely from seeing her father's estate exposed to spulzie

and depredation from common thieves and sorners, while we are not

allowed to keep half a score of muskets, whether for defence or rescue.'

Bailie Macwheeble entered immediately afterwards, and by his report of

arms and ammunition confirmed this statement, informing the Baron, in a

melancholy voice, that though the people would certainly obey his

honour's orders, yet there was no chance of their following the gear to

ony guid purpose, in respect there were only his honour's body servants

who had swords and pistols, and the depredators were twelve

Highlanders, completely armed after the manner of their country. Having

delivered this doleful annunciation, he assumed a posture of silent

dejection, shaking his head slowly with the motion of a pendulum when

it is ceasing to vibrate, and then remained stationary, his body

stooping at a more acute angle than usual, and the latter part of his

person projecting in proportion.

The Baron, meanwhile, paced the room in silent indignation, and at

length fixing his eye upon an old portrait, whose person was clad in

armour, and whose features glared grimly out of a huge bush of hair,

part of which descended from his head to his shoulders, and part from

his chin and upper-lip to his breast-plate,--'That gentleman, Captain

Waverley, my grandsire,' he said, 'with two hundred horse,--whom he

levied within his own bounds, discomfited and put to the rout more than

five hundred of these Highland reivers, who have been ever lapis

offensionis et petra scandali, a stumbling-block and a rock of offence,

to the Lowland vicinage--he discomfited them, I say, when they had the

temerity to descend to harry this country, in the time of the civil

dissensions, in the year of grace sixteen hundred forty and two. And

now, sir, I, his grandson, am thus used at such unworthy hands.'

Here there was an awful pause; after which all the company, as is usual

in cases of difficulty, began to give separate and inconsistent

counsel. Alexander ab Alexandro proposed they should send some one to

compound with the Caterans, who would readily, he said, give up their

prey for a dollar a head. The Bailie opined that this transaction would

amount to theft-boot, or composition of felony; and he recommended that

some canny hand should be sent up to the glens to make the best bargain

he could, as it were for himself, so that the Laird might not be seen

in such a transaction. Edward proposed to send off to the nearest

garrison for a party of soldiers and a magistrate's warrant; and Rose,

as far as she dared, endeavoured to insinuate the course of paying the

arrears of tribute money to Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr, who, they

all knew, could easily procure restoration of the cattle, if he were

properly propitiated.

None of these proposals met the Baron's approbation. The idea of

composition, direct or implied, was absolutely ignominious; that of

Waverley only showed that he did not understand the state of the

country, and of the political parties which divided it; and, standing

matters as they did with Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr, the Baron would

make no concession to him, were it, he said, 'to procure restitution in

integrum of every stirk and stot that the chief, his forefathers, and

his clan, had stolen since the days of Malcolm Canmore.'

In fact his voice was still for war, and he proposed to send expresses

to Balmawhapple, Killancureit, Tulliellum, and other lairds, who were

exposed to similar depredations, inviting them to join in the pursuit;

'and then, sir, shall these nebulones nequissimi, as Leslaeus calls

them, be brought to the fate of their predecessor Cacus,

"Elisos oculos, et siccum sanguine guttur."'

The Bailie, who by no means relished these warlike counsels, here

pulled forth an immense watch, of the colour, and nearly of the size,

of a pewter warming-pan, and observed it was now past noon, and that

the Caterans had been seen in the pass of Ballybrough soon after

sunrise; so that, before the allied forces could assemble, they and

their prey would be far beyond the reach of the most active pursuit,

and sheltered in those pathless deserts, where it was neither advisable

to follow, nor indeed possible to trace them.

This proposition was undeniable. The council therefore broke up without

coming to any conclusion, as has occurred to councils of more

importance; only it was determined that the Bailie should send his own

three milkcows down to the mains for the use of the Baron's family, and

brew small ale, as a substitute for milk, in his own. To this

arrangement, which was suggested by Saunderson, the Bailie readily

assented, both from habitual deference to the family, and an internal

consciousness that his courtesy would, in some mode or other, be repaid

tenfold.

The Baron having also retired to give some necessary directions,

Waverley seized the opportunity to ask, whether this Fergus, with the

unpronounceable name, was the chief thief-taker of the district?

'Thief-taker!' answered Rose, laughing; 'he is a gentleman of great

honour and consequence, the chieftain of an independent branch of a

powerful Highland clan, and is much respected, both for his own power

and that of his kith, kin, and allies.'

'And what has he to do with the thieves, then? Is he a magistrate, or

in the commission of the peace?' asked Waverley.

'The commission of war rather, if there be such a thing,' said Rose;

'for he is a very unquiet neighbour to his unfriends, and keeps a

greater following on foot than many that have thrice his estate. As to

his connection with the thieves, that I cannot well explain; but the

boldest of them will never steal a hoof from any one that pays

black-mail to Vich lan Vohr.'

'And what is black-mail?'

'A sort of protection-money that Low-Country gentlemen and heritors,

lying near the Highlands, pay to some Highland chief, that he may

neither do them harm himself, nor suffer it to be done to them by

others; and then if your cattle are stolen, you have only to send him

word, and he will recover them; or it may be, he will drive away cows

from some distant place, where he has a quarrel, and give them to you

to make up your loss.' [Footnote: See note 13.]

'And is this sort of Highland Jonathan Wild admitted into society, and

called a gentleman?'

'So much so,' said Rose, 'that the quarrel between my father and Fergus

Mac-Ivor began at a county meeting, where he wanted to take precedence

of all the Lowland gentlemen then present, only my father would not

suffer it. And then he upbraided my father that he was under his

banner, and paid him tribute; and my father was in a towering passion,

for Bailie Macwheeble, who manages such things his own way, had

contrived to keep this black-mail a secret from him, and passed it in

his account for cess-money. And they would have fought; but Fergus

Mac-Ivor said, very gallantly, he would never raise his hand against a

grey head that was so much respected as my father's.--O I wish, I wish

they had continued friends!'

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

Bradwardine?'

'No, that is not his name; and he would consider MASTER as a sort of

affront, only that you are an Englishman, and know no better. But the

Lowlanders call him, like other gentlemen, by the name of his estate,

Glennaquoich; and the Highlanders call him Vich Ian Vohr, that is, the

son of John the Great; and we upon the braes here call him by both

names indifferently.'

'I am afraid I shall never bring my English tongue to call him by

either one or other.'

'But he is a very polite, handsome man,' continued Rose; 'and his

sister Flora is one of the most beautiful and accomplished young ladies

in this country; she was bred in a convent in France, and was a great

friend of mine before this unhappy dispute. Dear Captain Waverley, try

your influence with my father to make matters up. I am sure this is but

the beginning of our troubles; for Tully-Veolan has never been a safe

or quiet residence when we have been at feud with the Highlanders. When

I was a girl about ten, there was a skirmish fought between a party of

twenty of them and my father and his servants behind the mains; and the

bullets broke several panes in the north windows, they were so near.

Three of the Highlanders were killed, and they brought them in wrapped

in their plaids, and laid them on the stone floor of the hall; and next

morning, their wives and daughters came, clapping their hands, and

crying the coronach, and shrieking, and carried away the dead bodies,

with the pipes playing before them. I could not sleep for six weeks

without starting and thinking I heard these terrible cries, and saw the

bodies lying on the steps, all stiff and swathed up in their bloody

tartans. But since that time there came a party from the garrison at

Stirling, with a warrant from the Lord Justice Clerk, or some such

great man, and took away all our arms; and now, how are we to protect

ourselves if they come down in any strength?'

Waverley could not help starting at a story which bore so much

resemblance to one of his own day-dreams. Here was a girl scarce

seventeen, the gentlest of her sex, both in temper and appearance, who

had witnessed with her own eyes such a scene as he had used to conjure

up in his imagination, as only occurring in ancient times, and spoke of

it coolly, as one very likely to recur. He felt at once the impulse of

curiosity, and that slight sense of danger which only serves to

heighten its interest. He might have said with Malvolio, '"I do not now

fool myself, to let imagination jade me!" I am actually in the land of

military and romantic adventures, and it only remains to be seen what

will be my own share in them.'

The whole circumstances now detailed concerning the state of the

country seemed equally novel and extraordinary. He had indeed often

heard of Highland thieves, but had no idea of the systematic mode in

which their depredations were conducted; and that the practice was

connived at, and even encouraged, by many of the Highland chieftains,

who not only found the creaghs, or forays, useful for the purpose of

training individuals of their clan to the practice of arms, but also of

maintaining a wholesome terror among their Lowland neighbours, and

levying, as we have seen, a tribute from them, under colour of

protection-money.

Bailie Macwheeble, who soon afterwards entered, expatiated still more

at length upon the same topic. This honest gentleman's conversation was

so formed upon his professional practice, that Davie Gellatley once

said his discourse was like a 'charge of horning.' He assured our hero,

that 'from the maist ancient times of record, the lawless thieves,

limmers, and broken men of the Highlands, had been in fellowship

together by reason of their surnames, for the committing of divers

thefts, reifs, and herships upon the honest men of the Low Country,

when they not only intromitted with their whole goods and gear, corn,

cattle, horse, nolt, sheep, outsight and insight plenishing, at their

wicked pleasure, but moreover made prisoners, ransomed them, or

concussed them into giving borrows (pledges) to enter into captivity

again;--all which was directly prohibited in divers parts of the

Statute Book, both by the act one thousand five hundred and

sixty-seven, and various others; the whilk statutes, with all that had

followed and might follow thereupon, were shamefully broken and

vilipended by the said sorners, limmers, and broken men, associated

into fellowships, for the aforesaid purposes of theft, stouthreef,

fire-raising, murther, raptus mulierum, or forcible abduction of women,

and such like as aforesaid.'

It seemed like a dream to Waverley that these deeds of violence should

be familiar to men's minds, and currently talked of as falling within

the common order of things, and happening daily in the immediate

vicinity, without his having crossed the seas, and while he was yet in

the otherwise well-ordered island of Great Britain.

CHAPTER XVI

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY APPEARS

The Baron returned at the dinner-hour, and had in a great measure

recovered his composure and good-humour. He not only confirmed the

stories which Edward had heard from Rose and Bailie Macwheeble, but

added many anecdotes from his own experience, concerning the state of

the Highlands and their inhabitants. The chiefs he pronounced to be, in

general, gentlemen of great honour and high pedigree, whose word was

accounted as a law by all those of their own sept, or clan. 'It did not

indeed,' he said, 'become them, as had occurred in late instances, to

propone their prosapia, a lineage which rested for the most part on the

vain and fond rhymes of their seannachies or bhairds, as aequiponderate

with the evidence of ancient charters and royal grants of antiquity,

conferred upon distinguished houses in the Low Country by divers

Scottish monarchs; nevertheless, such was their outrecuidance and

presumption, as to undervalue those who possessed such evidents, as if

they held their lands in a sheep's skin.'

This, by the way, pretty well explained the cause of quarrel between

the Baron and his Highland ally. But he went on to state so many

curious particulars concerning the manners, customs, and habits of this

patriarchal race that Edward's curiosity became highly interested, and

he inquired whether it was possible to make with safety an excursion

into the neighbouring Highlands, whose dusky barrier of mountains had

already excited his wish to penetrate beyond them. The Baron assured

his guest that nothing would be more easy, providing this quarrel were

first made up, since he could himself give him letters to many of the

distinguished chiefs, who would receive him with the utmost courtesy

and hospitality.

While they were on this topic, the door suddenly opened, and, ushered

by Saunders Saunderson, a Highlander, fully armed and equipped, entered

the apartment. Had it not been that Saunders acted the part of master

of the ceremonies to this martial apparition, without appearing to

deviate from his usual composure, and that neither Mr. Bradwardine nor

Rose exhibited any emotion, Edward would certainly have thought the

intrusion hostile. As it was, he started at the sight of what he had

not yet happened to see, a mountaineer in his full national costume.

The individual Gael was a stout, dark, young man, of low stature, the

ample folds of whose plaid added to the appearance of strength which

his person exhibited. The short kilt, or petticoat, showed his sinewy

and clean-made limbs; the goatskin purse, flanked by the usual

defences, a dirk and steel-wrought pistol, hung before him; his bonnet

had a short feather, which indicated his claim to be treated as a

duinhe-wassel, or sort of gentleman; a broadsword dangled by his side,

a target hung upon his shoulder, and a long Spanish fowling-piece

occupied one of his hands. With the other hand he pulled off his

bonnet, and the Baron, who well knew their customs, and the proper mode

of addressing them, immediately said, with an air of dignity, but

without rising, and much, as Edward thought, in the manner of a prince

receiving an embassy, 'Welcome, Evan Dhu Maccombich; what news from

Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich lan Vohr?'

'Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich lan Vohr,' said the ambassador, in good English,

'greets you well, Baron of Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan, and is sorry

there has been a thick cloud interposed between you and him, which has

kept you from seeing and considering the friendship and alliances that

have been between your houses and forebears of old; and he prays you

that the cloud may pass away, and that things may be as they have been

heretofore between the clan Ivor and the house of Bradwardine, when

there was an egg between them for a flint and a knife for a sword. And

he expects you will also say, you are sorry for the cloud, and no man

shall hereafter ask whether it descended from the bill to the valley,

or rose from the valley to the hill; for they never struck with the

scabbard who did not receive with the sword, and woe to him who would

lose his friend for the stormy cloud of a spring morning.'

To this the Baron of Bradwardine answered with suitable dignity, that

he knew the chief of Clan Ivor to be a well-wisher to the King, and he

was sorry there should have been a cloud between him and any gentleman

of such sound principles, 'for when folks are banding together, feeble

is he who hath no brother.'

This appearing perfectly satisfactory, that the peace between these

august persons might be duly solemnised, the Baron ordered a stoup of

usquebaugh, and, filling a glass, drank to the health and prosperity of

Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich; upon which the Celtic ambassador, to requite

his politeness, turned down a mighty bumper of the same generous

liquor, seasoned with his good wishes to the house of Bradwardine.

Having thus ratified the preliminaries of the general treaty of

pacification, the envoy retired to adjust with Mr. Macwheeble some

subordinate articles with which it was not thought necessary to trouble

the Baron. These probably referred to the discontinuance of the

subsidy, and apparently the Bailie found means to satisfy their ally,

without suffering his master to suppose that his dignity was

compromised. At least, it is certain, that after the plenipotentiaries

had drunk a bottle of brandy in single drams, which seemed to have no

more effect upon such seasoned vessels than if it had been poured upon

the two bears at the top of the avenue, Evan Dhu Maccombich, having

possessed himself of all the information which he could procure

respecting the robbery of the preceding night, declared his intention

to set off immediately in pursuit of the cattle, which he pronounced to

be 'no that far off; they have broken the bone,' he observed, 'but they

have had no tune to suck the marrow.'

Our hero, who had attended Evan Dhu during his perquisitions, was much

struck with the ingenuity which he displayed in collecting information,

and the precise and pointed conclusions which he drew from it. Evan

Dhu, on his part, was obviously flattered with the attention of

Waverley, the interest he seemed to take in his inquiries, and his

curiosity about the customs and scenery of the Highlands. Without much

ceremony he invited Edward to accompany him on a short walk of ten or

fifteen miles into the mountains, and see the place where the cattle

were conveyed to; adding, 'If it be as I suppose, you never saw such a

place in your life, nor ever will, unless you go with me or the like of

me.'

Our hero, feeling his curiosity considerably excited by the idea of

visiting the den of a Highland Cacus, took, however, the precaution to

inquire if his guide might be trusted. He was assured that the

invitation would on no account have been given had there been the least

danger, and that all he had to apprehend was a little fatigue; and, as

Evan proposed he should pass a day at his Chieftain's house in

returning, where he would be sure of good accommodation and an

excellent welcome, there seemed nothing very formidable in the task he

undertook. Rose, indeed, turned pale when she heard of it; but her

father, who loved the spirited curiosity of his young friend, did not

attempt to damp it by an alarm of danger which really did not exist,

and a knapsack, with a few necessaries, being bound on the shoulders of

a sort of deputy gamekeeper, our hero set forth with a fowling-piece in

his hand, accompanied by his new friend Evan Dhu, and followed by the

gamekeeper aforesaid, and by two wild Highlanders, the attendants of

Evan, one of whom had upon his shoulder a hatchet at the end of a pole,

called a Lochaber-axe, [Footnote: See Note 14] and the other a long

ducking-gun. Evan, upon Edward's inquiry, gave him to understand that

this martial escort was by no means necessary as a guard, but merely,

as he said, drawing up and adjusting his plaid with an air of dignity,

that he might appear decently at Tully-Veolan, and as Vich Ian Vohr's

foster-brother ought to do. 'Ah!' said he, 'if you Saxon duinhe-wassel

(English gentleman) saw but the Chief with his tail on!'

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

'Yes--that is, with all his usual followers, when he visits those of

the same rank. There is,' he continued, stopping and drawing himself

proudly up, while he counted upon his fingers the several officers of

his chief's retinue; 'there is his hanchman, or right-hand man; then

his bard, or poet; then his bladier, or orator, to make harangues to

the great folks whom he visits; then his gilly-more, or armour-bearer,

to carry his sword and target, and his gun; then his gilly-casfliuch,

who carries him on his back through the sikes and brooks; then his

gilly-comstrian, to lead his horse by the bridle in steep and difficult

paths; then his gilly-trushharnish, to carry his knapsack; and the

piper and the piper's man, and it may be a dozen young lads beside,

that have no business, but are just boys of the belt, to follow the

Laird and do his honour's bidding.'

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

Waverley.

'All these?' replied Evan; 'ay, and many a fair head beside, that would

not ken where to lay itself, but for the mickle barn at Glennaquoich.'

With similar tales of the grandeur of the Chief in peace and war, Evan

Dhu beguiled the way till they approached more closely those huge

mountains which Edward had hitherto only seen at a distance. It was

towards evening as they entered one of the tremendous passes which

afford communication between the high and low country; the path, which

was extremely steep and rugged, winded up a chasm between two

tremendous rocks, following the passage which a foaming stream, that

brawled far below, appeared to have worn for itself in the course of

ages. A few slanting beams of the sun, which was now setting, reached

the water in its darksome bed, and showed it partially, chafed by a

hundred rocks and broken by a hundred falls. The descent from the path

to the stream was a mere precipice, with here and there a projecting

fragment of granite, or a scathed tree, which had warped its twisted

roots into the fissures of the rock. On the right hand, the mountain

rose above the path with almost equal inaccessibility; but the hill on

the opposite side displayed a shroud of copsewood, with which some

pines were intermingled.

'This,' said Evan, 'is the pass of Bally-Brough, which was kept in

former times by ten of the clan Donnochie against a hundred of the

Low-Country carles. The graves of the slain are still to be seen in

that little corrie, or bottom, on the opposite side of the burn; if

your eyes are good, you may see the green specks among the heather.

See, there is an earn, which you Southrons call an eagle. You have no

such birds as that in England. He is going to fetch his supper from the

Laird of Bradwardine's braes, but I 'll send a slug after him.'

He fired his piece accordingly, but missed the superb monarch of the

feathered tribes, who, without noticing the attempt to annoy him,

continued his majestic flight to the southward. A thousand birds of

prey, hawks, kites, carrion-crows, and ravens, disturbed from the

lodgings which they had just taken up for the evening, rose at the

report of the gun, and mingled their hoarse and discordant notes with

the echoes which replied to it, and with the roar of the mountain

cataracts. Evan, a little disconcerted at having missed his mark, when

he meant to have displayed peculiar dexterity, covered his confusion by

whistling part of a pibroch as he reloaded his piece, and proceeded in

silence up the pass.

It issued in a narrow glen, between two mountains, both very lofty and

covered with heath. The brook continued to be their companion, and they

advanced up its mazes, crossing them now and then, on which occasions

Evan Dhu uniformly offered the assistance of his attendants to carry

over Edward; but our hero, who had been always a tolerable pedestrian,

declined the accommodation, and obviously rose in his guide's opinion,

by showing that he did not fear wetting his feet. Indeed he was

anxious, so far as he could without affectation, to remove the opinion

which Evan seemed to entertain of the effeminacy of the Lowlanders, and

particularly of the English.

Through the gorge of this glen they found access to a black bog, of

tremendous extent, full of large pit-holes, which they traversed with

great difficulty and some danger, by tracks which no one but a

Highlander could have followed. The path itself, or rather the portion

of more solid ground on which the travellers half walked, half waded,

was rough, broken, and in many places quaggy and unsound. Sometimes the

ground was so completely unsafe that it was necessary to spring from

one hillock to another, the space between being incapable of bearing

the human weight. This was an easy matter to the Highlanders, who wore

thin-soled brogues fit for the purpose, and moved with a peculiar

springing step; but Edward began to find the exercise, to which he was

unaccustomed, more fatiguing than he expected. The lingering twilight

served to show them through this Serbonian bog, but deserted them

almost totally at the bottom of a steep and very stony hill, which it

was the travellers' next toilsome task to ascend. The night, however,

was pleasant, and not dark; and Waverley, calling up mental energy to

support personal fatigue, held on his march gallantly, though envying

in his heart his Highland attendants, who continued, without a symptom

of abated vigour, the rapid and swinging pace, or rather trot, which,

according to his computation, had already brought them fifteen miles

upon their journey.

After crossing this mountain and descending on the other side towards a

thick wood, Evan Dhu held some conference with his Highland attendants,

in consequence of which Edward's baggage was shifted from the shoulders

of the gamekeeper to those of one of the gillies, and the former was

sent off with the other mountaineer in a direction different from that

of the three remaining travellers. On asking the meaning of this

separation, Waverley was told that the Lowlander must go to a hamlet

about three miles off for the night; for unless it was some very

particular friend, Donald Bean Lean, the worthy person whom they

supposed to be possessed of the cattle, did not much approve of

strangers approaching his retreat. This seemed reasonable, and silenced

a qualm of suspicion which came across Edward's mind when he saw

himself, at such a place and such an hour, deprived of his only Lowland

companion. And Evan immediately afterwards added,'that indeed he

himself had better get forward, and announce their approach to Donald

Bean Lean, as the arrival of a sidier roy (red soldier) might otherwise

be a disagreeable surprise.' And without waiting for an answer, in

jockey phrase, he trotted out, and putting himself to a very round

pace, was out of sight in an instant.

Waverley was now left to his own meditations, for his attendant with

the battle-axe spoke very little English. They were traversing a thick,

and, as it seemed, an endless wood of pines, and consequently the path

was altogether indiscernible in the murky darkness which surrounded

them. The Highlander, however, seemed to trace it by instinct, without

the hesitation of a moment, and Edward followed his footsteps as close

as he could.

After journeying a considerable time in silence, he could not help

asking, 'Was it far to the end of their journey?'

'Ta cove was tree, four mile; but as duinhe-wassel was a wee taiglit,

Donald could, tat is, might--would--should send ta curragh.'

This conveyed no information. The curragh which was promised might be a

man, a horse, a cart, or chaise; and no more could be got from the man

with the battle-axe but a repetition of 'Aich ay! ta curragh.'

But in a short time Edward began to conceive his meaning, when, issuing

from the wood, he found himself on the banks of a large river or lake,

where his conductor gave him to understand they must sit down for a

little while. The moon, which now began to rise, showed obscurely the

expanse of water which spread before them, and the shapeless and

indistinct forms of mountains with which it seemed to be surrounded.

The cool and yet mild air of the summer night refreshed Waverley after

his rapid and toilsome walk; and the perfume which it wafted from the

birch trees, [Footnote: It is not the weeping birch, the most common

species in the Highlands, but the woolly-leaved Lowland birch, that is

distinguished by this fragrance.] bathed in the evening dew, was

exquisitely fragrant.

He had now time to give himself up to the full romance of his

situation. Here he sate on the banks of an unknown lake, under the

guidance of a wild native, whose language was unknown to him, on a

visit to the den of some renowned outlaw, a second Robin Hood, perhaps,

or Adam o' Gordon, and that at deep midnight, through scenes of

difficulty and toil, separated from his attendant, left by his guide.

What a variety of incidents for the exercise of a romantic imagination,

and all enhanced by the solemn feeling of uncertainty at least, if not

of danger! The only circumstance which assorted ill with the rest was

the cause of his journey--the Baron's milk-cows! this degrading

incident he kept in the background.

While wrapt in these dreams of imagination, his companion gently

touched him, and, pointing in a direction nearly straight across the

lake, said, 'Yon's ta cove.' A small point of light was seen to twinkle

in the direction in which he pointed, and, gradually increasing in size

and lustre, seemed to flicker like a meteor upon the verge of the

horizon. While Edward watched this phenomenon, the distant dash of oars

was heard. The measured sound approached near and more near, and

presently a loud whistle was heard in the same direction. His friend

with the battle-axe immediately whistled clear and shrill, in reply to

the signal, and a boat, manned with four or five Highlanders, pushed

for a little inlet, near which Edward was sitting. He advanced to meet

them with his attendant, was immediately assisted into the boat by the

officious attention of two stout mountaineers, and had no sooner seated

himself than they resumed their oars, and began to row across the lake

with great rapidity.

CHAPTER XVII

THE HOLD OF A HIGHLAND ROBBER

The party preserved silence, interrupted only by the monotonous and

murmured chant of a Gaelic song, sung in a kind of low recitative by

the steersman, and by the dash of the oars, which the notes seemed to

regulate, as they dipped to them in cadence. The light, which they now

approached more nearly, assumed a broader, redder and more irregular

splendour. It appeared plainly to be a large fire, but whether kindled

upon an island or the mainland Edward could not determine. As he saw

it, the red glaring orb seemed to rest on the very surface of the lake

itself, and resembled the fiery vehicle in which the Evil Genius of an

Oriental tale traverses land and sea. They approached nearer, and the

light of the fire sufficed to show that it was kindled at the bottom of

a huge dark crag or rock, rising abruptly from the very edge of the

water; its front, changed by the reflection to dusky red, formed a

strange and even awful contrast to the banks around, which were from

time to time faintly and partially illuminated by pallid moonlight.

The boat now neared the shore, and Edward could discover that this

large fire, amply supplied with branches of pine-wood by two figures,

who, in the red reflection of its light, appeared like demons, was

kindled in the jaws of a lofty cavern, into which an inlet from the

lake seemed to advance; and he conjectured, which was indeed true, that

the fire had been lighted as a beacon to the boatmen on their return.

They rowed right for the mouth of the cave, and then, shifting their

oars, permitted the boat to enter in obedience to the impulse which it

had received. The skiff passed the little point or platform of rock on

which the fire was blazing, and running about two boats' lengths

farther, stopped where the cavern (for it was already arched overhead)

ascended from the water by five or six broad ledges of rock, so easy

and regular that they might be termed natural steps. At this moment a

quantity of water was suddenly flung upon the fire, which sunk with a

hissing noise, and with it disappeared the light it had hitherto

afforded. Four or five active arms lifted Waverley out of the boat,

placed him on his feet, and almost carried him into the recesses of the

cave. He made a few paces in darkness, guided in this manner; and

advancing towards a hum of voices, which seemed to sound from the

centre of the rock, at an acute turn Donald Bean Lean and his whole

establishment were before his eyes.

The interior of the cave, which here rose very high, was illuminated by

torches made of pine-tree, which emitted a bright and bickering light,

attended by a strong though not unpleasant odour. Their light was

assisted by the red glare of a large charcoal fire, round which were

seated five or six armed Highlanders, while others were indistinctly

seen couched on their plaids in the more remote recesses of the cavern.

In one large aperture, which the robber facetiously called his SPENCE

(or pantry), there hung by the heels the carcasses of a sheep, or ewe,

and two cows lately slaughtered. The principal inhabitant of this

singular mansion, attended by Evan Dhu as master of the ceremonies,

came forward to meet his guest, totally different in appearance and

manner from what his imagination had anticipated. The profession which

he followed, the wilderness in which he dwelt, the wild warrior forms

that surrounded him, were all calculated to inspire terror. From such

accompaniments, Waverley prepared himself to meet a stern, gigantic,

ferocious figure, such as Salvator would have chosen to be the central

object of a group of banditti. [Footnote: See Note 15.]

Donald Bean Lean was the very reverse of all these. He was thin in

person and low in stature, with light sandy-coloured hair, and small

pale features, from which he derived his agnomen of BEAN or white; and

although his form was light, well proportioned and active, he appeared,

on the whole, rather a diminutive and insignificant figure. He had

served in some inferior capacity in the French army, and in order to

receive his English visitor in great form, and probably meaning, in his

way, to pay him a compliment, he had laid aside the Highland dress for

the time, to put on an old blue and red uniform and a feathered hat, in

which he was far from showing to advantage, and indeed looked so

incongruous, compared with all around him, that Waverley would have

been tempted to laugh, had laughter been either civil or safe. The

robber received Captain Waverley with a profusion of French politeness

and Scottish hospitality, seemed perfectly to know his name and

connections, and to be particularly acquainted with his uncle's

political principles. On these he bestowed great applause, to which

Waverley judged it prudent to make a very general reply.

Being placed at a convenient distance from the charcoal fire, the heat

of which the season rendered oppressive, a strapping Highland damsel

placed before Waverley, Evan, and Donald Bean three cogues, or wooden

vessels composed of staves and hoops, containing eanaruich, [Footnote:

This was the regale presented by Rob Roy to the Laird of Tullibody.] a

sort of strong soup, made out of a particular part of the inside of the

beeves. After this refreshment, which, though coarse, fatigue and

hunger rendered palatable, steaks, roasted on the coals, were supplied

in liberal abundance, and disappeared before Evan Dhu and their host

with a promptitude that seemed like magic, and astonished Waverley, who

was much puzzled to reconcile their voracity with what he had heard of

the abstemiousness of the Highlanders. He was ignorant that this

abstinence was with the lower ranks wholly compulsory, and that, like

some animals of prey, those who practise it were usually gifted with

the power of indemnifying themselves to good purpose when chance threw

plenty in their way. The whisky came forth in abundance to crown the

cheer. The Highlanders drank it copiously and undiluted; but Edward,

having mixed a little with water, did not find it so palatable as to

invite him to repeat the draught. Their host bewailed himself

exceedingly that he could offer him no wine: 'Had he but known

four-and-twenty hours before, he would have had some, had it been

within the circle of forty miles round him. But no gentleman could do

more to show his sense of the honour of a visit from another than to

offer him the best cheer his house afforded. Where there are no bushes

there can be no nuts, and the way of those you live with is that you

must follow,'

He went on regretting to Evan Dhu the death of an aged man, Donnacha an

Amrigh, or Duncan with the Cap, 'a gifted seer,' who foretold, through

the second sight, visitors of every description who haunted their

dwelling, whether as friends or foes.

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

'Nothing equal to his father,' replied Donald Bean. 'He told us the

other day, we were to see a great gentleman riding on a horse, and

there came nobody that whole day but Shemus Beg, the blind harper, with

his dog. Another time he advertised us of a wedding, and behold it

proved a funeral; and on the creagh, when he foretold to us we should

bring home a hundred head of horned cattle, we gripped nothing but a

fat bailie of Perth.'

From this discourse he passed to the political and military state of

the country; and Waverley was astonished, and even alarmed, to find a

person of this description so accurately acquainted with the strength

of the various garrisons and regiments quartered north of the Tay. He

even mentioned the exact number of recruits who had joined Waverley's

troop from his uncle's estate, and observed they were PRETTY MEN,

meaning, not handsome, but stout warlike fellows. He put Waverley in

mind of one or two minute circumstances which had happened at a general

review of the regiment, which satisfied him that the robber had been an

eye-witness of it; and Evan Dhu having by this time retired from the

conversation, and wrapped himself up in his plaid to take some repose,

Donald asked Edward, in a very significant manner, whether he had

nothing particular to say to him.

Waverley, surprised and somewhat startled at this question from such a

character, answered, he had no motive in visiting him but curiosity to

see his extraordinary place of residence. Donald Bean Lean looked him

steadily in the face for an instant, and then said, with a significant

nod, 'You might as well have confided in me; I am as much worthy of

trust as either the Baron of Bradwardine or Vich Ian Vohr. But you are

equally welcome to my house.'

Waverley felt an involuntary shudder creep over him at the mysterious

language held by this outlawed and lawless bandit, which, in despite of

his attempts to master it, deprived him of the power to ask the meaning

of his insinuations. A heath pallet, with the flowers stuck uppermost,

had been prepared for him in a recess of the cave, and here, covered

with such spare plaids as could be mustered, he lay for some time

watching the motions of the other inhabitants of the cavern. Small

parties of two or three entered or left the place, without any other

ceremony than a few words in Gaelic to the principal outlaw, and, when

he fell asleep, to a tall Highlander who acted as his lieutenant, and

seemed to keep watch during his repose. Those who entered seemed to

have returned from some excursion, of which they reported the success,

and went without farther ceremony to the larder, where, cutting with

their dirks their rations from the carcasses which were there

suspended, they proceeded to broil and eat them at their own pleasure

and leisure. The liquor was under strict regulation, being served out

either by Donald himself, his lieutenant, or the strapping Highland

girl aforesaid, who was the only female that appeared. The allowance of

whisky, however, would have appeared prodigal to any but Highlanders,

who, living entirely in the open air and in a very moist climate, can

consume great quantities of ardent spirits without the usual baneful

effects either upon the brain or constitution.

At length the fluctuating groups began to swim before the eyes of our

hero as they gradually closed; nor did he re-open them till the morning

sun was high on the lake without, though there was but a faint and

glimmering twilight in the recesses of Uaimh an Ri, or the King's

Cavern, as the abode of Donald Bean Lean was proudly denominated.

CHAPTER XVIII

WAVERLEY PROCEEDS ON HIS JOURNEY

When Edward had collected his scattered recollection, he was surprised

to observe the cavern totally deserted. Having arisen and put his dress

in some order, he looked more accurately round him; but all was still

solitary. If it had not been for the decayed brands of the fire, now

sunk into grey ashes, and the remnants of the festival, consisting of

bones half burnt and half gnawed, and an empty keg or two, there

remained no traces of Donald and his band. When Waverley sallied forth

to the entrance of the cave, he perceived that the point of rock, on

which remained the marks of last night's beacon, was accessible by a

small path, either natural or roughly hewn in the rock, along the

little inlet of water which ran a few yards up into the cavern, where,

as in a wetdock, the skiff which brought him there the night before was

still lying moored. When he reached the small projecting platform on

which the beacon had been established, he would have believed his

further progress by land impossible, only that it was scarce probable

but what the inhabitants of the cavern had some mode of issuing from it

otherwise than by the lake. Accordingly, he soon observed three or four

shelving steps, or ledges of rock, at the very extremity of the little

platform; and, making use of them as a staircase, he clambered by their

means around the projecting shoulder of the crag on which the cavern

opened, and, descending with some difficulty on the other side, he

gained the wild and precipitous shores of a Highland loch, about four

miles in length and a mile and a half across, surrounded by heathy and

savage mountains, on the crests of which the morning mist was still

sleeping.

Looking back to the place from which he came, he could not help

admiring the address which had adopted a retreat of such seclusion and

secrecy. The rock, round the shoulder of which he had turned by a few

imperceptible notches, that barely afforded place for the foot, seemed,

in looking back upon it, a huge precipice, which barred all further

passage by the shores of the lake in that direction. There could be no

possibility, the breadth of the lake considered, of descrying the

entrance of the narrow and low-browed cave from the other side; so

that, unless the retreat had been sought for with boats, or disclosed

by treachery, it might be a safe and secret residence to its garrison

as long as they were supplied with provisions. Having satisfied his

curiosity in these particulars, Waverley looked around for Evan Dhu and

his attendants, who, he rightly judged, would be at no great distance,

whatever might have become of Donald Bean Lean and his party, whose

mode of life was, of course, liable to sudden migrations of abode.

Accordingly, at the distance of about half a mile, he beheld a

Highlander (Evan apparently) angling in the lake, with another

attending him, whom, from the weapon which he shouldered, he recognised

for his friend with the battle-axe.

Much nearer to the mouth of the cave he heard the notes of a lively

Gaelic song, guided by which, in a sunny recess, shaded by a glittering

birch-tree, and carpeted with a bank of firm white sand, he found the

damsel of the cavern, whose lay had already reached him, busy, to the

best of her power, in arranging to advantage a morning repast of milk,

eggs, barley-bread, fresh butter, and honey-comb. The poor girl had

already made a circuit of four miles that morning in search of the

eggs, of the meal which baked her cakes, and of the other materials of

the breakfast, being all delicacies which she had to beg or borrow from

distant cottagers. The followers of Donald Bean Lean used little food

except the flesh of the animals which they drove away from the

Lowlands; bread itself was a delicacy seldom thought of, because hard

to be obtained, and all the domestic accommodations of milk, poultry,

butter, etc., were out of the question in this Scythian camp. Yet it

must not be omitted that, although Alice had occupied a part of the

morning in providing those accommodations for her guest which the

cavern did not afford, she had secured time also to arrange her own

person in her best trim. Her finery was very simple. A short

russet-coloured jacket and a petticoat of scanty longitude was her

whole dress; but these were clean, and neatly arranged. A piece of

scarlet embroidered cloth, called the snood, confined her hair, which

fell over it in a profusion of rich dark curls. The scarlet plaid,

which formed part of her dress, was laid aside, that it might not

impede her activity in attending the stranger. I should forget Alice's

proudest ornament were I to omit mentioning a pair of gold ear-rings

and a, golden rosary, which her father (for she was the daughter of

Donald Bean Lean) had brought from France, the plunder, probably, of

some battle or storm.

Her form, though rather large for her years, was very well

proportioned, and her demeanour had a natural and rustic grace, with

nothing of the sheepishness of an ordinary peasant. The smiles,

displaying a row of teeth of exquisite whiteness, and the laughing

eyes, with which, in dumb show, she gave Waverley that morning greeting

which she wanted English words to express, might have been interpreted

by a coxcomb, or perhaps by a young soldier who, without being such,

was conscious of a handsome person, as meant to convey more than the

courtesy of an hostess. Nor do I take it upon me to say that the little

wild mountaineer would have welcomed any staid old gentleman advanced

in life, the Baron of Bradwardine, for example, with the cheerful pains

which she bestowed upon Edward's accommodation. She seemed eager to

place him by the meal which she had so sedulously arranged, and to

which she now added a few bunches of cranberries, gathered in an

adjacent morass. Having had the satisfaction of seeing him seated at

his breakfast, she placed herself demurely upon a stone at a few yards'

distance, and appeared to watch with great complacency for some

opportunity of serving him.

Evan and his attendant now returned slowly along the beach, the latter

bearing a large salmon-trout, the produce of the morning's sport,

together with the angling-rod, while Evan strolled forward, with an

easy, self-satisfied, and important gait, towards the spot where

Waverley was so agreeably employed at the breakfast-table. After

morning greetings had passed on both sides, and Evan, looking at

Waverley, had said something in Gaelic to Alice, which made her laugh,

yet colour up to her eyes, through a complexion well en-browned by sun

and wind, Evan intimated his commands that the fish should be prepared

for breakfast. A spark from the lock of his pistol produced a light,

and a few withered fir branches were quickly in flame, and as speedily

reduced to hot embers, on which the trout was broiled in large slices.

To crown the repast, Evan produced from the pocket of his short jerkin

a large scallop shell, and from under the folds of his plaid a ram's

horn full of whisky. Of this he took a copious dram, observing he had

already taken his MORNING with Donald Bean Lean before his departure;

he offered the same cordial to Alice and to Edward, which they both

declined. With the bounteous air of a lord, Evan then proffered the

scallop to Dugald Mahony, his attendant, who, without waiting to be

asked a second time, drank it off with great gusto. Evan then prepared

to move towards the boat, inviting Waverley to attend him. Meanwhile,

Alice had made up in a small basket what she thought worth removing,

and flinging her plaid around her, she advanced up to Edward, and with

the utmost simplicity, taking hold of his hand, offered her cheek to

his salute, dropping at the same time her little curtsy. Evan, who was

esteemed a wag among the mountain fair, advanced as if to secure a

similar favour; but Alice, snatching up her basket, escaped up the

rocky bank as fleetly as a roe, and, turning round and laughing, called

something out to him in Gaelic, which he answered in the same tone and

language; then, waving her hand to Edward, she resumed her road, and

was soon lost among the thickets, though they continued for some time

to hear her lively carol, as she proceeded gaily on her solitary

journey.

They now again entered the gorge of the cavern, and stepping into the

boat, the Highlander pushed off, and, taking advantage of the morning

breeze, hoisted a clumsy sort of sail, while Evan assumed the helm,

directing their course, as it appeared to Waverley, rather higher up

the lake than towards the place of his embarkation on the preceding

night. As they glided along the silver mirror, Evan opened the

conversation with a panegyric upon Alice, who, he said, was both CANNY

and FENDY; and was, to the boot of all that, the best dancer of a

strathspey in the whole strath. Edward assented to her praises so far

as he understood them, yet could not help regretting that she was

condemned to such a perilous and dismal life.

'Oich! for that,' said Evan, 'there is nothing in Perthshire that she

need want, if she ask her father to fetch it, unless it be too hot or

too heavy.'

'But to be the daughter of a cattle-stealer--a common thief!' 'Common

thief!--no such thing: Donald Bean Lean never LIFTED less than a drove

in his life.'

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

'No; he that steals a cow from a poor widow, or a stirk from a cotter,

is a thief; he that lifts a drove from a Sassenach laird is a

gentleman-drover. And, besides, to take a tree from the forest, a

salmon from the river, a deer from the hill, or a cow from a Lowland

strath, is what no Highlander need ever think shame upon.'

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

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

before him.'

'Die for the law!'

'Ay; that is, with the law, or by the law; be strapped up on the KIND

gallows of Crieff, [Footnote: See Note 16.] where his father died, and

his goodsire died, and where I hope he'll live to die himsell, if he's

not shot, or slashed, in a creagh.'

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

'And that do I e'en; would you have me wish him to die on a bundle of

wet straw in yon den of his, like a mangy tyke?'

'But what becomes of Alice, then?'

'Troth, if such an accident were to happen, as her father would not

need her help ony langer, I ken nought to hinder me to marry her

mysell.'

'Gallantly resolved,' said Edward; 'but, in the meanwhile, Evan, what

has your father-in-law (that shall be, if he have the good fortune to

be hanged) done with the Baron's cattle?'

'Oich,' answered Evan,'they were all trudging before your lad and Allan

Kennedy before the sun blinked ower Ben Lawers this morning; and

they'll be in the pass of Bally-Brough by this time, in their way back

to the parks of Tully-Veolan, all but two, that were unhappily

slaughtered before I got last night to Uaimh an Ri.'

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

Waverley.

'Where would you be ganging, but to the Laird's ain house of

Glennaquoich? Ye would not think to be in his country, without ganging

to see him? It would be as much as a man's life's worth.'

'And are we far from Glennaquoich?'

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

In about half an hour they reached the upper end of the lake, where,

after landing Waverley, the two Highanders drew the boat into a little

creek among thick flags and reeds, where it lay perfectly concealed.

The oars they put in another place of concealment, both for the use of

Donald Bean Lean probably, when his occasions should next bring him to

that place.

The travellers followed for some time a delightful opening into the

hills, down which a little brook found its way to the lake. When they

had pursued their walk a short distance, Waverley renewed his questions

about their host of the cavern.

'Does he always reside in that cave?'

'Out, no! it's past the skill of man to tell where he's to be found at

a' times; there's not a dern nook, or cove, or corrie, in the whole

country that he's not acquainted with.'

'And do others beside your master shelter him?'

'My master? MY master is in Heaven,' answered Evan, haughtily; and then

immediately assuming his usual civility of manner, 'but you mean my

Chief;--no, he does not shelter Donald Bean Lean, nor any that are like

him; he only allows him (with a smile) wood and water.'

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

'Ah! but ye dinna see through it. When I say wood and water, I mean the

loch and the land; and I fancy Donald would be put till 't if the Laird

were to look for him wi' threescore men in the wood of Kailychat

yonder; and if our boats, with a score or twa mair, were to come down

the loch to Uaimh an Ri, headed by mysell, or ony other pretty man.'

'But suppose a strong party came against him from the Low Country,

would not your Chief defend him?'

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

the law.'

'And what must Donald do, then?'

'He behoved to rid this country of himsell, and fall back, it may be,

over the mount upon Letter Scriven.'

'And if he were pursued to that place?'

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

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

'That,' quoth Evan, 'is beyond all belief; and, indeed, to tell you the

truth, there durst not a Lowlander in all Scotland follow the fray a

gun-shot beyond Bally-Brough, unless he had the help of the Sidier Dhu.'

'Whom do you call so?'

'The Sidier Dhu? the black soldier; that is what they call the

independent companies that were raised to keep peace and law in the

Highlands. Vich Ian Vohr commanded one of them for five years, and I

was sergeant mysell, I shall warrant ye. They call them Sidier Dhu

because they wear the tartans, as they call your men--King George's

men--Sidier Roy, or red soldiers.'

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

King George's soldiers?'

'Troth, and you must ask Vich Ian Vohr about that; for we are for his

king, and care not much which o' them it is. At ony rate, nobody can

say we are King George's men now, when we have not seen his pay this

twelve-month.'

This last argument admitted of no reply, nor did Edward attempt any; he

rather chose to bring back the discourse to Donald Bean Lean. 'Does

Donald confine himself to cattle, or does he LIFT, as you call it,

anything else that comes in his way?'

'Troth, he's nae nice body, and he'll just tak onything, but most

readily cattle, horse, or live Christians; for sheep are slow of

travel, and inside plenishing is cumbrous to carry, and not easy to put

away for siller in this country.'

'But does he carry off men and women?'

'Out, ay. Did not ye hear him speak o' the Perth bailie? It cost that

body five hundred merks ere he got to the south of Bally-Brough. And

ance Donald played a pretty sport. [Footnote: See Note 17.] There was

to be a blythe bridal between the Lady Cramfeezer, in the howe o' the

Mearns (she was the auld laird's widow, and no sae young as she had

been hersell), and young Gilliewhackit, who had spent his heirship and

movables, like a gentleman, at cock-matches, bull-baitings,

horse-races, and the like. Now, Donald Bean Lean, being aware that the

bridegroom was in request, and wanting to cleik the cunzie (that is, to

hook the siller), he cannily carried off Gilliewhackit ae night when he

was riding dovering hame (wi' the malt rather abune the meal), and with

the help of his gillies he gat him into the hills with the speed of

light, and the first place he wakened in was the cove of Uaimh an Ri.

So there was old to do about ransoming the bridegroom; for Donald would

not lower a farthing of a thousand punds--'

'The devil!'

'Punds Scottish, ye shall understand. And the lady had not the siller

if she had pawned her gown; and they applied to the governor o'

Stirling castle, and to the major o' the Black Watch; and the governor

said it was ower far to the northward, and out of his district; and the

major said his men were gane hame to the shearing, and he would not

call them out before the victual was got in for all the Cramfeezers in

Christendom, let alane the Mearns, for that it would prejudice the

country. And in the meanwhile ye'll no hinder Gilliewhackit to take the

small-pox. There was not the doctor in Perth or Stirling would look

near the poor lad; and I cannot blame them, for Donald had been

misguggled by ane of these doctors about Paris, and he swore he would

fling the first into the loch that he catched beyond the pass. However

some cailliachs (that is, old women) that were about Donald's hand

nursed Gilliewhackit sae weel that, between the free open air in the

cove and the fresh whey, deil an he did not recover maybe as weel as if

he had been closed in a glazed chamber and a bed with curtains, and fed

with red wine and white meat. And Donald was sae vexed about it that,

when he was stout and weel, he even sent him free home, and said he

would be pleased with onything they would like to gie him for the

plague and trouble which he had about Gilliewhackit to an unkenn'd

degree. And I cannot tell you precisely how they sorted; but they

agreed sae right that Donald was invited to dance at the wedding in his

Highland trews, and they said that there was never sae meikle siller

clinked in his purse either before or since. And to the boot of all

that, Gilliewhackit said that, be the evidence what it liked, if he had

the luck to be on Donald's inquest, he would bring him in guilty of

nothing whatever, unless it were wilful arson or murder under trust.'

With such bald and disjointed chat Evan went on illustrating the

existing state of the Highlands, more perhaps to the amusement of

Waverley than that of our readers. At length, after having marched over

bank and brae, moss and heather, Edward, though not unacquainted with

the Scottish liberality in computing distance, began to think that

Evan's five miles were nearly doubled. His observation on the large

measure which the Scottish allowed of their land, in comparison to the

computation of their money, was readily answered by Evan with the old

jest, 'The deil take them wha have the least pint stoup.'

[Footnote: The Scotch are liberal in computing their land and liquor;

the Scottish pint corresponds to two English quarts. As for their coin,

every one knows the couplet--

How can the rogues pretend to sense?

Their pound is only twenty pence.]

And now the report of a gun was heard, and a sportsman was seen, with

his dogs and attendant, at the upper end of the glen. 'Shough,' said

Dugald Mahony, 'tat's ta Chief.'

'It is not,' said Evan, imperiously. 'Do you think he would come to

meet a Sassenach duinhe-wassel in such a way as that?'

But as they approached a little nearer, he said, with an appearance of

mortification, 'And it is even he, sure enough; and he has not his tail

on after all; there is no living creature with him but Callum Beg.'

In fact, Fergus Mac-Ivor, of whom a Frenchman might have said as truly

as of any man in the Highlands, 'Qu'il connoit bien ses gens' had no

idea of raising himself in the eyes of an English young man of fortune

by appearing with a retinue of idle Highlanders disproportioned to the

occasion. He was well aware that such an unnecessary attendance would

seem to Edward rather ludicrous than respectable; and, while few men

were more attached to ideas of chieftainship and feudal power, he was,

for that very reason, cautious of exhibiting external marks of dignity,

unless at the time and in the manner when they were most likely to

produce an imposing effect. Therefore, although, had he been to receive

a brother chieftain, he would probably have been attended by all that

retinue which Evan described with so much unction, he judged it more

respectable to advance to meet Waverley with a single attendant, a very

handsome Highland boy, who carried his master's shooting-pouch and his

broadsword, without which he seldom went abroad.

When Fergus and Waverley met, the latter was struck with the peculiar

grace and dignity of the Chieftain's figure. Above the middle size and

finely proportioned, the Highland dress, which he wore in its simplest

mode, set off his person to great advantage. He wore the trews, or

close trowsers, made of tartan, chequed scarlet and white; in other

particulars his dress strictly resembled Evan's, excepting that he had

no weapon save a dirk, very richly mounted with silver. His page, as we

have said, carried his claymore; and the fowling-piece, which he held

in his hand, seemed only designed for sport. He had shot in the course

of his walk some young wild-ducks, as, though CLOSE TIME was then

unknown, the broods of grouse were yet too young for the sportsman. His

countenance was decidedly Scottish, with all the peculiarities of the

northern physiognomy, but yet had so little of its harshness and

exaggeration that it would have been pronounced in any country

extremely handsome. The martial air of the bonnet, with a single

eagle's feather as a distinction, added much to the manly appearance of

his head, which was besides ornamented with a far more natural and

graceful cluster of close black curls than ever were exposed to sale in

Bond Street.

An air of openness and affability increased the favorable impression

derived from this handsome and dignified exterior. Yet a skilful

physiognomist would have been less satisfied with the countenance on

the second than on the first view. The eyebrow and upper lip bespoke

something of the habit of peremptory command and decisive superiority.

Even his courtesy, though open, frank, and unconstrained, seemed to

indicate a sense of personal importance; and, upon any check or

accidental excitation, a sudden, though transient lour of the eye

showed a hasty, haughty, and vindictive temper, not less to be dreaded

because it seemed much under its owner's command. In short, the

countenance of the Chieftain resembled a smiling summer's day, in

which, notwithstanding, we are made sensible by certain, though slight

signs that it may thunder and lighten before the close of evening.

It was not, however, upon their first meeting that Edward had an

opportunity of making these less favourable remarks. The Chief received

him as a friend of the Baron of Bradwardine, with the utmost expression

of kindness and obligation for the visit; upbraided him gently with

choosing so rude an abode as he had done the night before; and entered

into a lively conversation with him about Donald Bean's housekeeping,

but without the least hint as to his predatory habits, or the immediate

occasion of Waverley's visit, a topic which, as the Chief did not

introduce it, our hero also avoided. While they walked merrily on

towards the house of Glennaquoich, Evan, who now fell respectfully into

the rear, followed with Callum Beg and Dugald Mahony.

We shall take the opportunity to introduce the reader to some

particulars of Fergus Mac-Ivor's character and history, which were not

completely known to Waverley till after a connection which, though

arising from a circumstance so casual, had for a length of time the

deepest influence upon his character, actions, and prospects. But this,

being an important subject, must form the commencement of a new chapter.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CHIEF AND HIS MANSION

The ingenious licentiate Francisco de Ubeda, when he commenced his

history of 'La Picara Justina Diez,'--which, by the way, is one of the

most rare books of Spanish literature,--complained of his pen having

caught up a hair, and forthwith begins, with more eloquence than common

sense, an affectionate expostulation with that useful implement,

upbraiding it with being the quill of a goose,--a bird inconstant by

nature, as frequenting the three elements of water, earth, and air

indifferently, and being, of course, 'to one thing constant never.' Now

I protest to thee, gentle reader, that I entirely dissent from

Francisco de Ubeda in this matter, and hold it the most useful quality

of my pen, that it can speedily change from grave to gay, and from

description and dialogue to narrative and character. So that if my

quill display no other properties of its mother-goose than her

mutability, truly I shall be well pleased; and I conceive that you, my

worthy friend, will have no occasion for discontent. From the jargon,

therefore, of the Highland gillies I pass to the character of their

Chief. It is an important examination, and therefore, like Dogberry, we

must spare no wisdom.

The ancestor of Fergus Mac-Ivor, about three centuries before, had set

up a claim to be recognised as chief of the numerous and powerful clan

to which he belonged, the name of which it is unnecessary to mention.

Being defeated by an opponent who had more justice, or at least more

force, on his side, he moved southwards, with those who adhered to him,

in quest of new settlements, like a second AEneas. The state of the

Perthshire Highlands favoured his purpose. A great baron in that

country had lately become traitor to the crown; Ian, which was the name

of our adventurer, united himself with those who were commissioned by

the king to chastise him, and did such good service that he obtained a

grant of the property, upon which he and his posterity afterwards

resided. He followed the king also in war to the fertile regions of

England, where he employed his leisure hours so actively in raising

subsidies among the boors of Northumberland and Durham, that upon his

return he was enabled to erect a stone tower, or fortalice, so much

admired by his dependants and neighbours that he, who had hitherto been

called Ian Mac-Ivor, or John the son of Ivor, was thereafter

distinguished, both in song and genealogy, by the high title of Ian nan

Chaistel, or John of the Tower. The descendants of this worthy were so

proud of him that the reigning chief always bore the patronymic title

of Vich Ian Vohr, i.e. the son of John the Great; while the clan at

large, to distinguish them from that from which they had seceded, were

denominated Sliochd nan Ivor, the race of Ivor.

The father of Fergus, the tenth in direct descent from John of the

Tower, engaged heart and hand in the insurrection of 1715, and was

forced to fly to France, after the attempt of that year in favour of

the Stuarts had proved unsuccessful. More fortunate than other

fugitives, he obtained employment in the French service, and married a

lady of rank in that kingdom, by whom he had two children, Fergus and

his sister Flora. The Scottish estate had been forfeited and exposed to

sale, but was repurchased for a small price in the name of the young

proprietor, who in consequence came to reside upon his native domains.

[Footnote: See Note 18.] It was soon perceived that he possessed a

character of uncommon acuteness, fire, and ambition, which, as he

became acquainted with the state of the country, gradually assumed a

mixed and peculiar tone, that could only have been acquired Sixty Years

Since.

Had Fergus Mac-Ivor lived Sixty Years sooner than he did, he would in

all probability have wanted the polished manner and knowledge of the

world which he now possessed; and had he lived Sixty Years later, his

ambition and love of rule would have lacked the fuel which his

situation now afforded. He was indeed, within his little circle, as

perfect a politician as Castruccio Castracani himself. He applied

himself with great earnestness to appease all the feuds and dissensions

which often arose among other clans in his neighbourhood, so that he

became a frequent umpire in their quarrels. His own patriarchal power

he strengthened at every expense which his fortune would permit, and

indeed stretched his means to the uttermost to maintain the rude and

plentiful hospitality which was the most valued attribute of a

chieftain. For the same reason he crowded his estate with a tenantry,

hardy indeed, and fit for the purposes of war, but greatly outnumbering

what the soil was calculated to maintain. These consisted chiefly of

his own clan, not one of whom he suffered to quit his lands if he could

possibly prevent it. But he maintained, besides, many adventurers from

the mother sept, who deserted a less warlike, though more wealthy chief

to do homage to Fergus Mac-Ivor. Other individuals, too, who had not

even that apology, were nevertheless received into his allegiance,

which indeed was refused to none who were, like Poins, proper men of

their hands, and were willing to assume the name of Mac-Ivor.

He was enabled to discipline these forces, from having obtained command

of one of the independent companies raised by government to preserve

the peace of the Highlands. While in this capacity he acted with vigour

and spirit, and preserved great order in the country under his charge.

He caused his vassals to enter by rotation into his company, and serve

for a certain space of time, which gave them all in turn a general

notion of military discipline. In his campaigns against the banditti,

it was observed that he assumed and exercised to the utmost the

discretionary power which, while the law had no free course in the

Highlands, was conceived to belong to the military parties who were

called in to support it. He acted, for example, with great and

suspicious lenity to those freebooters who made restitution on his

summons and offered personal submission to himself, while he rigorously

pursued, apprehended, and sacrificed to justice all such interlopers as

dared to despise his admonitions or commands. On the other hand, if any

officers of justice, military parties, or others, presumed to pursue

thieves or marauders through his territories, and without applying for

his consent and concurrence, nothing was more certain than that they

would meet with some notable foil or defeat; upon which occasions

Fergus Mac-Ivor was the first to condole with them, and after gently

blaming their rashness, never failed deeply to lament the lawless state

of the country. These lamentations did not exclude suspicion, and

matters were so represented to government that our Chieftain was

deprived of his military command. [Footnote: See Note 19.]

Whatever Fergus Mac-Ivor felt on this occasion, he had the art of

entirely suppressing every appearance of discontent; but in a short

time the neighbouring country began to feel bad effects from his

disgrace. Donald Bean Lean, and others of his class, whose depredations

had hitherto been confined to other districts, appeared from

thenceforward to have made a settlement on this devoted border; and

their ravages were carried on with little opposition, as the Lowland

gentry were chiefly Jacobites, and disarmed. This forced many of the

inhabitants into contracts of black-mail with Fergus Mac-Ivor, which

not only established him their protector, and gave him great weight in

all their consultations, but, moreover, supplied funds for the waste of

his feudal hospitality, which the discontinuance of his pay might have

otherwise essentially diminished.

In following this course of conduct, Fergus had a further object than

merely being the great man of his neighbourhood, and ruling

despotically over a small clan. From his infancy upward he had devoted

himself to the cause of the exiled family, and had persuaded himself,

not only that their restoration to the crown of Britain would be

speedy, but that those who assisted them would be raised to honour and

rank. It was with this view that he laboured to reconcile the

Highlanders among themselves, and augmented his own force to the

utmost, to be prepared for the first favourable opportunity of rising.

With this purpose also he conciliated the favour of such Lowland

gentlemen in the vicinity as were friends to the good cause; and for

the same reason, having incautiously quarrelled with Mr. Bradwardine,

who, notwithstanding his peculiarities, was much respected in the

country, he took advantage of the foray of Donald Bean Lean to solder

up the dispute in the manner we have mentioned. Some, indeed, surmised

that he caused the enterprise to be suggested to Donald, on purpose to

pave the way to a reconciliation, which, supposing that to be the case,

cost the Laird of Bradwardine two good milch cows. This zeal in their

behalf the House of Stuart repaid with a considerable share of their

confidence, an occasional supply of louis-d'or, abundance of fair

words, and a parchment, with a huge waxen seal appended, purporting to

be an earl's patent, granted by no less a person than James the Third

King of England, and Eighth King of Scotland, to his right feal,

trusty, and well-beloved Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, in the county

of Perth, and kingdom of Scotland.

With this future coronet glittering before his eyes, Fergus plunged

deeply into the correspondence and plots of that unhappy period; and,

like all such active agents, easily reconciled his conscience to going

certain lengths in the service of his party, from which honour and

pride would have deterred him had his sole object been the direct

advancement of his own personal interest. With this insight into a

bold, ambitious, and ardent, yet artful and politic character, we

resume the broken thread of our narrative.

The chief and his guest had by this time reached the house of

Glennaquoich, which consisted of Ian nan Chaistel's mansion, a high

rude-looking square tower, with the addition of a lofted house, that

is, a building of two stories, constructed by Fergus's grandfather when

he returned from that memorable expedition, well remembered by the

western shires under the name of the Highland Host. Upon occasion of

this crusade against the Ayrshire Whigs and Covenanters, the Vich Ian

Vohr of the time had probably been as successful as his predecessor was

in harrying Northumberland, and therefore left to his posterity a rival

edifice as a monument of his magnificence.

Around the house, which stood on an eminence in the midst of a narrow

Highland valley, there appeared none of that attention to convenience,

far less to ornament and decoration, which usually surrounds a

gentleman's habitation. An inclosure or two, divided by dry-stone

walls, were the only part of the domain that was fenced; as to the

rest, the narrow slips of level ground which lay by the side of the

brook exhibited a scanty crop of barley, liable to constant

depredations from the herds of wild ponies and black cattle that grazed

upon the adjacent hills. These ever and anon made an incursion upon the

arable ground, which was repelled by the loud, uncouth, and dissonant

shouts of half a dozen Highland swains, all running as if they had been

mad, and every one hallooing a half-starved dog to the rescue of the

forage. At a little distance up the glen was a small and stunted wood

of birch; the hills were high and heathy, but without any variety of

surface; so that the whole view was wild and desolate rather than grand

and solitary. Yet, such as it was, no genuine descendant of Ian nan

Chaistel would have changed the domain for Stow or Blenheim.

There was a sight, however, before the gate, which perhaps would have

afforded the first owner of Blenheim more pleasure than the finest view

in the domain assigned to him by the gratitude of his country. This

consisted of about a hundred Highlanders, in complete dress and arms;

at sight of whom the Chieftain apologised to Waverley in a sort of

negligent manner. 'He had forgot,' he said, 'that he had ordered a few

of his clan out, for the purpose of seeing that they were in a fit

condition to protect the country, and prevent such accidents as, he was

sorry to learn, had befallen the Baron of Bradwardine. Before they were

dismissed, perhaps Captain Waverley might choose to see them go through

a part of their exercise.'

Edward assented, and the men executed with agility and precision some

of the ordinary military movements. They then practised individually at

a mark, and showed extraordinary dexterity in the management of the

pistol and firelock. They took aim, standing, sitting, leaning, or

lying prostrate, as they were commanded, and always with effect upon

the target. Next, they paired off for the broadsword exercise; and,

having manifested their individual skill and dexterity, united in two

bodies, and exhibited a sort of mock encounter, in which the charge,

the rally, the flight, the pursuit, and all the current of a heady

fight, were exhibited to the sound of the great war bagpipe.

On a signal made by the Chief, the skirmish was ended. Matches were

then made for running, wrestling, leaping, pitching the bar, and other

sports, in which this feudal militia displayed incredible swiftness,

strength, and agility; and accomplished the purpose which their

Chieftain had at heart, by impressing on Waverley no light sense of

their merit as soldiers, and of the power of him who commanded them by

his nod. [Footnote: See Note 20.]

'And what number of such gallant fellows have the happiness to call you

leader?' asked Waverley.

'In a good cause, and under a chieftain whom they loved, the race of

Ivor have seldom taken the field under five hundred claymores. But you

are aware, Captain Waverley, that the disarming act, passed about

twenty years ago, prevents their being in the complete state of

preparation as in former times; and I keep no more of my clan under

arms than may defend my own or my friends' property, when the country

is troubled with such men as your last night's landlord; and

government, which has removed other means of defence, must connive at

our protecting ourselves.'

'But, with your force, you might soon destroy or put down such gangs as

that of Donald Bean Lean.'

'Yes, doubtless; and my reward would be a summons to deliver up to

General Blakeney, at Stirling, the few broadswords they have left us;

there were little policy in that, methinks. But come, captain, the

sound of the pipes informs me that dinner is prepared. Let me have the

honour to show you into my rude mansion.'

CHAPTER XX

A HIGHLAND FEAST

Ere Waverley entered the banqueting hall, he was offered the

patriarchal refreshment of a bath for the feet, which the sultry

weather, and the morasses he had traversed, rendered highly acceptable.

He was not, indeed, so luxuriously attended upon this occasion as the

heroic travellers in the Odyssey; the task of ablution and abstersion

being performed, not by a beautiful damsel, trained

To chafe the limb, and pour the fragrant oil,

but by a smoke-dried skinny old Highland woman, who did not seem to

think herself much honoured by the duty imposed upon her, but muttered

between her teeth, 'Our fathers' herds did not feed so near together

that I should do you this service.' A small donation, however, amply

reconciled this ancient handmaiden to the supposed degradation; and, as

Edward proceeded to the hall, she gave him her blessing in the Gaelic

proverb, 'May the open hand be filled the fullest.'

The hall, in which the feast was prepared, occupied all the first story

of lan nan Chaistel's original erection, and a huge oaken table

extended through its whole length. The apparatus for dinner was simple,

even to rudeness, and the company numerous, even to crowding. At the

head of the table was the Chief himself, with Edward, and two or three

Highland visitors of neighbouring clans; the elders of his own tribe,

wadsetters and tacksmen, as they were called, who occupied portions of

his estate as mortgagers or lessees, sat next in rank; beneath them,

their sons and nephews and foster-brethren; then the officers of the

Chief's household, according to their order; and lowest of all, the

tenants who actually cultivated the ground. Even beyond this long

perspective, Edward might see upon the green, to which a huge pair of

folding doors opened, a multitude of Highlanders of a yet inferior

description, who, nevertheless, were considered as guests, and had

their share both of the countenance of the entertainer and of the cheer

of the day. In the distance, and fluctuating round this extreme verge

of the banquet, was a changeful group of women, ragged boys and girls,

beggars, young and old, large greyhounds, and terriers, and pointers,

and curs of low degree; all of whom took some interest, more or less

immediate, in the main action of the piece.

This hospitality, apparently unbounded, had yet its line of economy.

Some pains had been bestowed in dressing the dishes of fish, game,

etc., which were at the upper end of the table, and immediately under

the eye of the English stranger. Lower down stood immense clumsy joints

of mutton and beef, which, but for the absence of pork, [Footnote: See

Note 21.] abhorred in the Highlands, resembled the rude festivity of

the banquet of Penelope's suitors. But the central dish was a yearling

lamb, called 'a hog in har'st,' roasted whole. It was set upon its

legs, with a bunch of parsley in its mouth, and was probably exhibited

in that form to gratify the pride of the cook, who piqued himself more

on the plenty than the elegance of his master's table. The sides of

this poor animal were fiercely attacked by the clansmen, some with

dirks, others with the knives which were usually in the same sheath

with the dagger, so that it was soon rendered a mangled and rueful

spectacle. Lower down still, the victuals seemed of yet coarser

quality, though sufficiently abundant. Broth, onions, cheese, and the

fragments of the feast regaled the sons of Ivor who feasted in the open

air.

The liquor was supplied in the same proportion, and under similar

regulations. Excellent claret and champagne were liberally distributed

among the Chief's immediate neighbours; whisky, plain or diluted, and

strong beer refreshed those who sat near the lower end. Nor did this

inequality of distribution appear to give the least offence. Every one

present understood that his taste was to be formed according to the

rank which he held at table; and, consequently, the tacksmen and their

dependants always professed the wine was too cold for their stomachs,

and called, apparently out of choice, for the liquor which was assigned

to them from economy. [Footnote: See Note 22.] The bag-pipers, three in

number, screamed, during the whole time of dinner, a tremendous

war-tune; and the echoing of the vaulted roof, and clang of the Celtic

tongue, produced such a Babel of noises that Waverley dreaded his ears

would never recover it. Mac-Ivor, indeed, apologised for the confusion

occasioned by so large a party, and pleaded the necessity of his

situation, on which unlimited hospitality was imposed as a paramount

duty. 'These stout idle kinsmen of mine,' he said, 'account my estate

as held in trust for their support; and I must find them beef and ale,

while the rogues will do nothing for themselves but practise the

broadsword, or wander about the hills, shooting, fishing, hunting,

drinking, and making love to the lasses of the strath. But what can I

do, Captain Waverley? everything will keep after its kind, whether it

be a hawk or a Highlander.' Edward made the expected answer, in a

compliment upon his possessing so many bold and attached followers.

'Why, yes,' replied the Chief, 'were I disposed, like my father, to put

myself in the way of getting one blow on the head, or two on the neck,

I believe the loons would stand by me. But who thinks of that in the

present day, when the maxim is, "Better an old woman with a purse in

her hand than three men with belted brands"?' Then, turning to the

company, he proposed the 'Health of Captain Waverley, a worthy friend

of his kind neighbour and ally, the Baron of Bradwardine.'

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

Comyne Bradwardine.'

'I say nay to that,' said an old man, who apparently did not mean to

pledge the toast; 'I say nay to that. While there is a green leaf in

the forest, there will be fraud in a Comyne.

'There is nothing but honour in the Baron of Bradwardine,' answered

another ancient; 'and the guest that comes hither from him should be

welcome, though he came with blood on his hand, unless it were blood of

the race of Ivor.'

The old man whose cup remained full replied, 'There has been blood

enough of the race of Ivor on the hand of Bradwardine.'

'Ah! Ballenkeiroch,' replied the first, 'you think rather of the flash

of the carbine at the mains of Tully-Veolan than the glance of the

sword that fought for the cause at Preston.'

'And well I may,' answered Ballenkeiroch; 'the flash of the gun cost me

a fair-haired son, and the glance of the sword has done but little for

King James.'

The Chieftain, in two words of French, explained to Waverley that the

Baron had shot this old man's son in a fray near Tully-Veolan, about

seven years before; and then hastened to remove Ballenkeiroch's

prejudice, by informing him that Waverley was an Englishman,

unconnected by birth or alliance with the family of Bradwardine; upon

which the old gentleman raised the hitherto-untasted cup and

courteously drank to his health. This ceremony being requited in kind,

the Chieftain made a signal for the pipes to cease, and said aloud,

'Where is the song hidden, my friends, that Mac-Murrough cannot find

it?'

Mac-Murrough, the family bhairdh, an aged man, immediately took the

hint, and began to chant, with low and rapid utterance, a profusion of

Celtic verses, which were received by the audience with all the

applause of enthusiasm. As he advanced in his declamation, his ardour

seemed to increase. He had at first spoken with his eyes fixed on the

ground; he now cast them around as if beseeching, and anon as if

commanding, attention, and his tones rose into wild and impassioned

notes, accompanied with appropriate gestures. He seemed to Edward, who

attended to him with much interest, to recite many proper names, to

lament the dead, to apostrophise the absent, to exhort, and entreat,

and animate those who were present. Waverley thought he even discerned

his own name, and was convinced his conjecture was right from the eyes

of the company being at that moment turned towards him simultaneously.

The ardour of the poet appeared to communicate itself to the audience.

Their wild and sun-burnt countenances assumed a fiercer and more

animated expression; all bent forward towards the reciter, many sprung

up and waved their arms in ecstasy, and some laid their hands on their

swords. When the song ceased, there was a deep pause, while the aroused

feelings of the poet and of the hearers gradually subsided into their

usual channel.

The Chieftain, who, during this scene had appeared rather to watch the

emotions which were excited than to partake their high tone of

enthusiasm, filled with claret a small silver cup which stood by him.

'Give this,' he said to an attendant, 'to Mac-Murrough nan Fonn (i.e.

of the songs), and when he has drank the juice, bid him keep, for the

sake of Vich Ian Vohr, the shell of the gourd which contained it.' The

gift was received by Mac-Murrough with profound gratitude; he drank the

wine, and, kissing the cup, shrouded it with reverence in the plaid

which was folded on his bosom. He then burst forth into what Edward

justly supposed to be an extemporaneous effusion of thanks and praises

of his Chief. It was received with applause, but did not produce the

effect of his first poem. It was obvious, however, that the clan

regarded the generosity of their Chieftain with high approbation. Many

approved Gaelic toasts were then proposed, of some of which the

Chieftain gave his guest the following versions:--

'To him that will not turn his back on friend or foe.' 'To him that

never forsook a comrade.' 'To him that never bought or sold justice.'

'Hospitality to the exile, and broken bones to the tyrant.' 'The lads

with the kilts.' 'Highlanders, shoulder to shoulder,'--with many other

pithy sentiments of the like nature.

Edward was particularly solicitous to know the meaning of that song

which appeared to produce such effect upon the passions of the company,

and hinted his curiosity to his host. 'As I observe,' said the

Chieftain, 'that you have passed the bottle during the last three

rounds, I was about to propose to you to retire to my sister's

tea-table, who can explain these things to you better than I can.

Although I cannot stint my clan in the usual current of their

festivity, yet I neither am addicted myself to exceed in its amount,

nor do I,' added he, smiling, 'keep a Bear to devour the intellects of

such as can make good use of them.'

Edward readily assented to this proposal, and the Chieftain, saying a

few words to those around him, left the table, followed by Waverley. As

the door closed behind them, Edward heard Vich Ian Vohr's health

invoked with a wild and animated cheer, that expressed the satisfaction

of the guests and the depth of their devotion to his service.

CHAPTER XXI

THE CHIEFTAIN'S SISTER

The drawing-room of Flora Mac-Ivor was furnished in the plainest and

most simple manner; for at Glennaquoich every other sort of expenditure

was retrenched as much as possible, for the purpose of maintaining, in

its full dignity, the hospitality of the Chieftain, and retaining and

multiplying the number of his dependants and adherents. But there was

no appearance of this parsimony in the dress of the lady herself, which

was in texture elegant, and even rich, and arranged in a manner which

partook partly of the Parisian fashion and partly of the more simple

dress of the Highlands, blended together with great taste. Her hair was

not disfigured by the art of the friseur, but fell in jetty ringlets on

her neck, confined only by a circlet, richly set with diamonds. This

peculiarity she adopted in compliance with the Highland prejudices,

which could not endure that a woman's head should be covered before

wedlock.

Flora Mac-Ivor bore a most striking resemblance to her brother Fergus;

so much so that they might have played Viola and Sebastian with the

same exquisite effect produced by the appearance of Mrs. Henry Siddons

and her brother, Mr. William Murray, in these characters. They had the

same antique and regular correctness of profile; the same dark eyes,

eye-lashes, and eye-brows; the same clearness of complexion, excepting

that Fergus's was embrowned by exercise and Flora's possessed the

utmost feminine delicacy. But the haughty and somewhat stern regularity

of Fergus's features was beautifully softened in those of Flora. Their

voices were also similar in tone, though differing in the key. That of

Fergus, especially while issuing orders to his followers during their

military exercise, reminded Edward of a favourite passage in the

description of Emetrius:

--whose voice was heard around,

Loud as a trumpet with a silver sound.

That of Flora, on the contrary, was soft and sweet--'an excellent thing

in woman'; yet, in urging any favourite topic, which she often pursued

with natural eloquence, it possessed as well the tones which impress

awe and conviction as those of persuasive insinuation. The eager glance

of the keen black eye, which, in the Chieftain, seemed impatient even

of the material obstacles it encountered, had in his sister acquired a

gentle pensiveness. His looks seemed to seek glory, power, all that

could exalt him above others in the race of humanity; while those of

his sister, as if she were already conscious of mental superiority,

seemed to pity, rather than envy, those who were struggling for any

farther distinction. Her sentiments corresponded with the expression of

her countenance. Early education had impressed upon her mind, as well

as on that of the Chieftain, the most devoted attachment to the exiled

family of Stuart. She believed it the duty of her brother, of his clan,

of every man in Britain, at whatever personal hazard, to contribute to

that restoration which the partisans of the Chevalier St. George had

not ceased to hope for. For this she was prepared to do all, to suffer

all, to sacrifice all. But her loyalty, as it exceeded her brother's in

fanaticism, excelled it also in purity. Accustomed to petty intrigue,

and necessarily involved in a thousand paltry and selfish discussions,

ambitious also by nature, his political faith was tinctured, at least,

if not tainted, by the views of interest and advancement so easily

combined with it; and at the moment he should unsheathe his claymore,

it might be difficult to say whether it would be most with the view of

making James Stuart a king or Fergus Mac-Ivor an earl. This, indeed,

was a mixture of feeling which he did not avow even to himself, but it

existed, nevertheless, in a powerful degree.

In Flora's bosom, on the contrary, the zeal of loyalty burnt pure and

unmixed with any selfish feeling; she would have as soon made religion

the mask of ambitious and interested views as have shrouded them under

the opinions which she had been taught to think patriotism. Such

instances of devotion were not uncommon among the followers of the

unhappy race of Stuart, of which many memorable proofs will recur to

the minds of most of my readers. But peculiar attention on the part of

the Chevalier de St. George and his princess to the parents of Fergus

and his sister, and to themselves when orphans, had riveted their

faith. Fergus, upon the death of his parents, had been for some time a

page of honour in the train of the Chevalier's lady, and, from his

beauty and sprightly temper, was uniformly treated by her with the

utmost distinction. This was also extended to Flora, who was maintained

for some time at a convent of the first order at the princess's

expense, and removed from thence into her own family, where she spent

nearly two years. Both brother and sister retained the deepest and most

grateful sense of her kindness.

Having thus touched upon the leading principle of Flora's character, I

may dismiss the rest more slightly. She was highly accomplished, and

had acquired those elegant manners to be expected from one who, in

early youth, had been the companion of a princess; yet she had not

learned to substitute the gloss of politeness for the reality of

feeling. When settled in the lonely regions of Glennaquoich, she found

that her resources in French, English, and Italian literature were

likely to be few and interrupted; and, in order to fill up the vacant

time, she bestowed a part of it upon the music and poetical traditions

of the Highlanders, and began really to feel the pleasure in the

pursuit which her brother, whose perceptions of literary merit were

more blunt, rather affected for the sake of popularity than actually

experienced. Her resolution was strengthened in these researches by the

extreme delight which her inquiries seemed to afford those to whom she

resorted for information.

Her love of her clan, an attachment which was almost hereditary in her

bosom, was, like her loyalty, a more pure passion than that of her

brother. He was too thorough a politician, regarded his patriarchal

influence too much as the means of accomplishing his own

aggrandisement, that we should term him the model of a Highland

Chieftain. Flora felt the same anxiety for cherishing and extending

their patriarchal sway, but it was with the generous desire of

vindicating from poverty, or at least from want and foreign oppression,

those whom her brother was by birth, according to the notions of the

time and country, entitled to govern. The savings of her income, for

she had a small pension from the Princess Sobieski, were dedicated, not

to add to the comforts of the peasantry, for that was a word which they

neither knew nor apparently wished to know, but to relieve their

absolute necessities when in sickness or extreme old age. At every

other period they rather toiled to procure something which they might

share with the Chief, as a proof of their attachment, than expected

other assistance from him save what was afforded by the rude

hospitality of his castle, and the general division and subdivision of

his estate among them. Flora was so much beloved by them that, when

Mac-Murrough composed a song in which he enumerated all the principal

beauties of the district, and intimated her superiority by concluding,

that 'the fairest apple hung on the highest bough,' he received, in

donatives from the individuals of the clan, more seed-barley than would

have sowed his Highland Parnassus, the bard's croft, as it was called,

ten times over.

From situation as well as choice, Miss Mac-Ivor's society was extremely

limited. Her most intimate friend had been Rose Bradwardine, to whom

she was much attached; and when seen together, they would have afforded

an artist two admirable subjects for the gay and the melancholy muse.

Indeed Rose was so tenderly watched by her father, and her circle of

wishes was so limited, that none arose but what he was willing to

gratify, and scarce any which did not come within the compass of his

power. With Flora it was otherwise. While almost a girl she had

undergone the most complete change of scene, from gaiety and splendour

to absolute solitude and comparative poverty; and the ideas and wishes

which she chiefly fostered respected great national events, and changes

not to be brought round without both hazard and bloodshed, and

therefore not to be thought of with levity. Her manner, consequently,

was grave, though she readily contributed her talents to the amusement

of society, and stood very high in the opinion of the old Baron, who

used to sing along with her such French duets of Lindor and Cloris,

etc., as were in fashion about the end of the reign of old Louis le

Grand.

It was generally believed, though no one durst have hinted it to the

Baron of Bradwardine, that Flora's entreaties had no small share in

allaying the wrath of Fergus upon occasion of their quarrel. She took

her brother on the assailable side, by dwelling first upon the Baron's

age, and then representing the injury which the cause might sustain,

and the damage which must arise to his own character in point of

prudence--so necessary to a political agent, if he persisted in

carrying it to extremity. Otherwise it is probable it would have

terminated in a duel, both because the Baron had, on a former occasion,

shed blood of the clan, though the matter had been timely accommodated,

and on account of his high reputation for address at his weapon, which

Fergus almost condescended to envy. For the same reason she had urged

their reconciliation, which the Chieftain the more readily agreed to as

it favoured some ulterior projects of his own.

To this young lady, now presiding at the female empire of the

tea-table, Fergus introduced Captain Waverley, whom she received with

the usual forms of politeness.

CHAPTER XXII

HIGHLAND MINSTRELSY

When the first salutations had passed, Fergus said to his sister, 'My

dear Flora, before I return to the barbarous ritual of our forefathers,

I must tell you that Captain Waverley is a worshipper of the Celtic

muse, not the less so perhaps that he does not understand a word of her

language. I have told him you are eminent as a translator of Highland

poetry, and that Mac-Murrough admires your version of his songs upon

the same principle that Captain Waverley admires the original,--because

he does not comprehend them. Will you have the goodness to read or

recite to our guest in English the extraordinary string of names which

Mac-Murrough has tacked together in Gaelic? My life to a moor-fowl's

feather, you are provided with a version; for I know you are in all the

bard's councils, and acquainted with his songs long before he rehearses

them in the hall.'

'How can you say so, Fergus? You know how little these verses can

possibly interest an English stranger, even if I could translate them

as you pretend.'

'Not less than they interest me, lady fair. To-day your joint

composition, for I insist you had a share in it, has cost me the last

silver cup in the castle, and I suppose will cost me something else

next time I hold cour pleniere, if the muse descends on Mac-Murrough;

for you know our proverb,--"When the hand of the chief ceases to

bestow, the breath of the bard is frozen in the utterance."--Well, I

would it were even so: there are three things that are useless to a

modern Highlander,--a sword which he must not draw, a bard to sing of

deeds which he dare not imitate, and a large goat-skin purse without a

louis-d'or to put into it.'

'Well, brother, since you betray my secrets, you cannot expect me to

keep yours. I assure you, Captain Waverley, that Fergus is too proud to

exchange his broardsword for a marechal's baton, that he esteems

Mac-Murrough a far greater poet than Homer, and would not give up his

goat-skin purse for all the louis-d'or which it could contain.'

'Well pronounced, Flora; blow for blow, as Conan [Footnote: See Note

23.] said to the devil. Now do you two talk of bards and poetry, if not

of purses and claymores, while I return to do the final honours to the

senators of the tribe of Ivor.' So saying, he left the room.

The conversation continued between Flora and Waverley; for two

well-dressed young women, whose character seemed to hover between that

of companions and dependants, took no share in it. They were both

pretty girls, but served only as foils to the grace and beauty of their

patroness. The discourse followed the turn which the Chieftain had

given it, and Waverley was equally amused and surprised with the

account which the lady gave him of Celtic poetry.

'The recitation,' she said, 'of poems recording the feats of heroes,

the complaints of lovers, and the wars of contending tribes, forms the

chief amusement of a winter fire-side in the Highlands. Some of these

are said to be very ancient, and if they are ever translated into any

of the languages of civilised Europe, cannot fail to produce a deep and

general sensation. Others are more modern, the composition of those

family bards whom the chieftains of more distinguished name and power

retain as the poets and historians of their tribes. These, of course,

possess various degrees of merit; but much of it must evaporate in

translation, or be lost on those who do not sympathise with the

feelings of the poet.'

'And your bard, whose effusions seemed to produce such effect upon the

company to-day, is he reckoned among the favourite poets of the

mountains?'

'That is a trying question. His reputation is high among his

countrymen, and you must not expect me to depreciate it. [Footnote: The

Highland poet almost always was an improvisatore. Captain Burt met one

of them at Lovat's table.]

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

young and old.'

'The song is little more than a catalogue of names of the Highland

clans under their distinctive peculiarities, and an exhortation to them

to remember and to emulate the actions of their forefathers.'

'And am I wrong in conjecturing, however extraordinary the guess

appears, that there was some allusion to me in the verses which he

recited?'

'You have a quick observation, Captain Waverley, which in this instance

has not deceived you. The Gaelic language, being uncommonly vocalic, is

well adapted for sudden and extemporaneous poetry; and a bard seldom

fails to augment the effects of a premeditated song by throwing in any

stanzas which may be suggested by the circumstances attending the

recitation.'

'I would give my best horse to know what the Highland bard could find

to say of such an unworthy Southron as myself.'

'It shall not even cost you a lock of his mane. Una, mavourneen! (She

spoke a few words to one of the young girls in attendance, who

instantly curtsied and tripped out of the room.) I have sent Una to

learn from the bard the expressions he used, and you shall command my

skill as dragoman.'

Una returned in a few minutes, and repeated to her mistress a few lines

in Gaelic. Flora seemed to think for a moment, and then, slightly

colouring, she turned to Waverley--'It is impossible to gratify your

curiosity, Captain Waverley, without exposing my own presumption. If

you will give me a few moments for consideration, I will endeavour to

engraft the meaning of these lines upon a rude English translation

which I have attempted of a part of the original. The duties of the

tea-table seem to be concluded, and, as the evening is delightful, Una

will show you the way to one of my favourite haunts, and Cathleen and I

will join you there.'

Una, having received instructions in her native language, conducted

Waverley out by a passage different from that through which he had

entered the apartment. At a distance he heard the hall of the Chief

still resounding with the clang of bagpipes and the high applause of

his guests. Having gained the open air by a postern door, they walked a

little way up the wild, bleak, and narrow valley in which the house was

situated, following the course of the stream that winded through it. In

a spot, about a quarter of a mile from the castle, two brooks, which

formed the little river, had their junction. The larger of the two came

down the long bare valley, which extended, apparently without any

change or elevation of character, as far as the hills which formed its

boundary permitted the eye to reach. But the other stream, which had

its source among the mountains on the left hand of the strath, seemed

to issue from a very narrow and dark opening betwixt two large rocks.

These streams were different also in character. The larger was placid,

and even sullen in its course, wheeling in deep eddies, or sleeping in

dark blue pools; but the motions of the lesser brook were rapid and

furious, issuing from between precipices, like a maniac from his

confinement, all foam and uproar.

It was up the course of this last stream that Waverley, like a knight

of romance, was conducted by the fair Highland damsel, his silent

guide. A small path, which had been rendered easy in many places for

Flora's accommodation, led him through scenery of a very different

description from that which he had just quitted. Around the castle all

was cold, bare, and desolate, yet tame even in desolation; but this

narrow glen, at so short a distance, seemed to open into the land of

romance. The rocks assumed a thousand peculiar and varied forms. In one

place a crag of huge size presented its gigantic bulk, as if to forbid

the passenger's farther progress; and it was not until he approached

its very base that Waverley discerned the sudden and acute turn by

which the pathway wheeled its course around this formidable obstacle.

In another spot the projecting rocks from the opposite sides of the

chasm had approached so near to each other that two pine-trees laid

across, and covered with turf, formed a rustic bridge at the height of

at least one hundred and fifty feet. It had no ledges, and was barely

three feet in breadth.

While gazing at this pass of peril, which crossed, like a single black

line, the small portion of blue sky not intercepted by the projecting

rocks on either side, it was with a sensation of horror that Waverley

beheld Flora and her attendant appear, like inhabitants of another

region, propped, as it were, in mid air, upon this trembling structure.

She stopped upon observing him below, and, with an air of graceful ease

which made him shudder, waved her handkerchief to him by way of signal.

He was unable, from the sense of dizziness which her situation

conveyed, to return the salute; and was never more relieved than when

the fair apparition passed on from the precarious eminence which she

seemed to occupy with so much indifference, and disappeared on the

other side.

Advancing a few yards, and passing under the bridge which he had viewed

with so much terror, the path ascended rapidly from the edge of the

brook, and the glen widened into a sylvan amphitheatre, waving with

birch, young oaks, and hazels, with here and there a scattered

yew-tree. The rocks now receded, but still showed their grey and shaggy

crests rising among the copse-wood. Still higher rose eminences and

peaks, some bare, some clothed with wood, some round and purple with

heath, and others splintered into rocks and crags. At a short turning

the path, which had for some furlongs lost sight of the brook, suddenly

placed Waverley in front of a romantic waterfall. It was not so

remarkable either for great height or quantity of water as for the

beautiful accompaniments which made the spot interesting. After a

broken cataract of about twenty feet, the stream was received in a

large natural basin filled to the brim with water, which, where the

bubbles of the fall subsided, was so exquisitely clear that, although

it was of great depth, the eye could discern each pebble at the bottom.

Eddying round this reservoir, the brook found its way as if over a

broken part of the ledge, and formed a second fall, which seemed to

seek the very abyss; then, wheeling out beneath from among the smooth

dark rocks which it had polished for ages, it wandered murmuring down

the glen, forming the stream up which Waverley had just ascended.

[Footnote: See Note 24.] The borders of this romantic reservoir

corresponded in beauty; but it was beauty of a stern and commanding

cast, as if in the act of expanding into grandeur. Mossy banks of turf

were broken and interrupted by huge fragments of rock, and decorated

with trees and shrubs, some of which had been planted under the

direction of Flora, but so cautiously that they added to the grace

without diminishing the romantic wildness of the scene.

Here, like one of those lovely forms which decorate the landscapes of

Poussin, Waverley found Flora gazing on the waterfall. Two paces

further back stood Cathleen, holding a small Scottish harp, the use of

which had been taught to Flora by Rory Dall, one of the last harpers of

the Western Highlands. The sun, now stooping in the west, gave a rich

and varied tinge to all the objects which surrounded Waverley, and

seemed to add more than human brilliancy to the full expressive

darkness of Flora's eye, exalted the richness and purity of her

complexion, and enhanced the dignity and grace of her beautiful form.

Edward thought he had never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined a

figure of such exquisite and interesting loveliness. The wild beauty of

the retreat, bursting upon him as if by magic, augmented the mingled

feeling of delight and awe with which he approached her, like a fair

enchantress of Boiardo or Ariosto, by whose nod the scenery around

seemed to have been created an Eden in the wilderness.

Flora, like every beautiful woman, was conscious of her own power, and

pleased with its effects, which she could easily discern from the

respectful yet confused address of the young soldier. But, as she

possessed excellent sense, she gave the romance of the scene and other

accidental circumstances full weight in appreciating the feelings with

which Waverley seemed obviously to be impressed; and, unacquainted with

the fanciful and susceptible peculiarities of his character, considered

his homage as the passing tribute which a woman of even inferior charms

might have expected in such a situation. She therefore quietly led the

way to a spot at such a distance from the cascade that its sound should

rather accompany than interrupt that of her voice and instrument, and,

sitting down upon a mossy fragment of rock, she took the harp from

Cathleen.

'I have given you the trouble of walking to this spot, Captain

Waverley, both because I thought the scenery would interest you, and

because a Highland song would suffer still more from my imperfect

translation were I to introduce it without its own wild and appropriate

accompaniments. To speak in the poetical language of my country, the

seat of the Celtic Muse is in the mist of the secret and solitary hill,

and her voice in the murmur of the mountain stream. He who woos her

must love the barren rock more than the fertile valley, and the

solitude of the desert better than the festivity of the hall.'

Few could have heard this lovely woman make this declaration, with a

voice where harmony was exalted by pathos, without exclaiming that the

muse whom she invoked could never find a more appropriate

representative. But Waverley, though the thought rushed on his mind,

found no courage to utter it. Indeed, the wild feeling of romantic

delight with which he heard the few first notes she drew from her

instrument amounted almost to a sense of pain. He would not for worlds

have quitted his place by her side; yet he almost longed for solitude,

that he might decipher and examine at leisure the complication of

emotions which now agitated his bosom.

Flora had exchanged the measured and monotonous recitative of the bard

for a lofty and uncommon Highland air, which had been a battle-song in

former ages. A few irregular strains introduced a prelude of a wild and

peculiar tone, which harmonised well with the distant waterfall, and

the soft sigh of the evening breeze in the rustling leaves of an aspen,

which overhung the seat of the fair harpress. The following verses

convey but little idea of the feelings with which, so sung and

accompanied, they were heard by Waverley:--

There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,

But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.

A stranger commanded--it sunk on the land,

It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand!

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust,

The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust;

On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,

It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.

The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse,

Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse!

Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone,

That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past,

The morn on our mountains is dawning at last;

Glenaladale's peaks are illumined with the rays,

And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze.

[Footnote: The young and daring adventurer, Charles Edward, landed at

Glenaladale, in Moidart, and displayed his standard in the valley of

Glenfinnan, mustering around it the Mac-Donalds, the Camerons, and

other less numerous clans, whom he had prevailed on to join him. There

is a monument erected on the spot, with a Latin inscription by the late

Doctor Gregory.]

O high-minded Moray! the exiled! the dear!

In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear!

Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,

Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh!

[Footnote: The Marquis of Tullibardine's elder brother, who, long

exiled, returned to Scotland with Charles Edward in 1745.]

Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break,

Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake?

That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' eye,

But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die.

O, sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state,

Proud chiefs of Clan Ranald, Glengarry, and Sleat!

Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow,

And resistless in union rush down on the foe!

True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel,

Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel!

Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell,

Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell!

Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail,

Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!

May the race of Clan Gillean, the fearless and free,

Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee!

Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given

Such heroes to earth and such martyrs to heaven,

Unite with the race of renown'd Rorri More,

To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar.

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display

The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey!

How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murder'd Glencoe

Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe!

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar,

Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More!

Mac-Neil of the islands, and Moy of the Lake,

For honour, for freedom, for vengeance awake!

Here a large greyhound, bounding up the glen, jumped upon Flora and

interrupted her music by his importunate caresses. At a distant whistle

he turned and shot down the path again with the rapidity of an arrow.

'That is Fergus's faithful attendant, Captain Waverley, and that was

his signal. He likes no poetry but what is humorous, and comes in good

time to interrupt my long catalogue of the tribes, whom one of your

saucy English poets calls

Our bootless host of high-born beggars,

Mac-Leans, Mac-Kenzies, and Mac-Gregors.'

Waverley expressed his regret at the interruption.

'O you cannot guess how much you have lost! The bard, as in duty bound,

has addressed three long stanzas to Vich Ian Vohr of the Banners,

enumerating all his great properties, and not forgetting his being a

cheerer of the harper and bard--"a giver of bounteous gifts." Besides,

you should have heard a practical admonition to the fair-haired son of

the stranger, who lives in the land where the grass is always

green--the rider on the shining pampered steed, whose hue is like the

raven, and whose neigh is like the scream of the eagle for battle. This

valiant horseman is affectionately conjured to remember that his

ancestors were distinguished by their loyalty as well as by their

courage. All this you have lost; but, since your curiosity is not

satisfied, I judge, from the distant sound of my brother's whistle, I

may have time to sing the concluding stanzas before he comes to laugh

at my translation.'

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,

Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake!

'T is the bugle--but not for the chase is the call;

'T is the pibroch's shrill summons--but not to the hall.

'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death,

When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath:

They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe,

To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire!

May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!

Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,

Or die like your sires, and endure it no more!

CHAPTER XXIII

WAVEELEY CONTINUES AT GLENNAQUOICH

As Flora concluded her song, Fergus stood before them. 'I knew I should

find you here, even without the assistance of my friend Bran. A simple

and unsublimed taste now, like my own, would prefer a jet d'eau at

Versailles to this cascade, with all its accompaniments of rock and

roar; but this is Flora's Parnassus, Captain Waverley, and that

fountain her Helicon. It would be greatly for the benefit of my cellar

if she could teach her coadjutor, Mac-Murrough, the value of its

influence: he has just drunk a pint of usquebaugh to correct, he said,

the coldness of the claret. Let me try its virtues.' He sipped a little

water in the hollow of his hand, and immediately commenced, with a

theatrical air,--

'O Lady of the desert, hail!

That lovest the harping of the Gael,

Through fair and fertile regions borne,

Where never yet grew grass or corn.

But English poetry will never succeed under the influence of a Highland

Helicon. Allons, courage!

O vous, qui buvez, a tasse pleine,

A cette heureuse f ontaine,

Ou on ne voit, sur le rivage,

Que quelques vilains troupeaux,

Suivis de nymphes de village,

Qui les escortent sans sabots--'

'A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid persons

of all Arcadia. Do not, for Heaven's sake, bring down Coridon and

Lindor upon us.'

'Nay, if you cannot relish la houlette et le chalumeau, have with you

in heroic strains.'

'Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of

Mac-Murrough's cup rather than of mine.'

'I disclaim it, ma belle demoiselle, although I protest it would be the

more congenial of the two. Which of your crack-brained Italian

romancers is it that says,

Io d'Elicona niente

Mi curo, in fe de Dio; che'l bere d'acque

(Bea chi ber ne vuol) sempre mi spiacque!

[Footnote:

Good sooth, I reck nought of your Helicon;

Drink water whoso will, in faith I will drink none.]

But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley, here is little Cathleen

shall sing you Drimmindhu. Come, Cathleen, astore (i.e. my dear),

begin; no apologies to the cean-kinne.'

Cathleen sung with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the burlesque

elegy of a countryman on the loss of his cow, the comic tones of which,

though he did not understand the language, made Waverley laugh more

than once. [Footnote: This ancient Gaelic ditty is still well known,

both in the Highlands and in Ireland It was translated into English,

and published, if I mistake not, under the auspices of the facetious

Tom D'Urfey, by the title of 'Colley, my Cow.']

'Admirable, Cathleen!' cried the Chieftain; 'I must find you a handsome

husband among the clansmen one of these days.'

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

In the progress of their return to the castle, the Chieftain warmly

pressed Waverley to remain for a week or two, in order to see a grand

hunting party, in which he and some other Highland gentlemen proposed

to join. The charms of melody and beauty were too strongly impressed in

Edward's breast to permit his declining an invitation so pleasing. It

was agreed, therefore, that he should write a note to the Baron of

Bradwardine, expressing his intention to stay a fortnight at

Glennaquoich, and requesting him to forward by the bearer (a gilly of

the Chieftain's) any letters which might have arrived for him.

This turned the discourse upon the Baron, whom Fergus highly extolled

as a gentleman and soldier. His character was touched with yet more

discrimination by Flora, who observed he was the very model of the old

Scottish cavalier, with all his excellencies and peculiarities. 'It is

a character, Captain Waverley, which is fast disappearing; for its best

point was a self-respect which was never lost sight of till now. But in

the present time the gentlemen whose principles do not permit them to

pay court to the existing government are neglected and degraded, and

many conduct themselves accordingly; and, like some of the persons you

have seen at Tully-Veolan, adopt habits and companions inconsistent

with their birth and breeding. The ruthless proscription of party seems

to degrade the victims whom it brands, however unjustly. But let us

hope a brighter day is approaching, when a Scottish country gentleman

may be a scholar without the pedantry of our friend the Baron, a

sportsman without the low habits of Mr. Falconer, and a judicious

improver of his property without becoming a boorish two-legged steer

like Killancureit.'

Thus did Flora prophesy a revolution, which time indeed has produced,

but in a manner very different from what she had in her mind.

The amiable Rose was next mentioned, with the warmest encomium on her

person, manners, and mind. 'That man,' said Flora, 'will find an

inestimable treasure in the affections of Rose Bradwardine who shall be

so fortunate as to become their object. Her very soul is in home, and

in the discharge of all those quiet virtues of which home is the

centre. Her husband will be to her what her father now is, the object

of all her care, solicitude, and affection. She will see nothing, and

connect herself with nothing, but by him and through him. If he is a

man of sense and virtue, she will sympathise in his sorrows, divert his

fatigue, and share his pleasures. If she becomes the property of a

churlish or negligent husband, she will suit his taste also, for she

will not long survive his unkindness. And, alas! how great is the

chance that some such unworthy lot may be that of my poor friend! O

that I were a queen this moment, and could command the most amiable and

worthy youth of my kingdom to accept happiness with the hand of Rose

Bradwardine!'

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

Fergus, laughing.

I don't know by what caprice it was that this wish, however jocularly

expressed, rather jarred on Edward's feelings, notwithstanding his

growing inclination to Flora and his indifference to Miss Bradwardine.

This is one of the inexplicabilities of human nature, which we leave

without comment.

'Yours, brother?' answered Flora, regarding him steadily. 'No; you have

another bride--Honour; and the dangers you must run in pursuit of her

rival would break poor Rose's heart.'

With this discourse they reached the castle, and Waverley soon prepared

his despatches for Tully-Veolan. As he knew the Baron was punctilious

in such matters, he was about to impress his billet with a seal on

which his armorial bearings were engraved, but he did not find it at

his watch, and thought he must have left it at Tully-Veolan. He

mentioned his loss, borrowing at the same time the family seal of the

Chieftain.

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

'My life for him in such circumstances,' answered her brother;

'besides, he would never have left the watch behind.'

'After all, Fergus,' said Flora, 'and with every allowance, I am

surprised you can countenance that man.'

'I countenance him? This kind sister of mine would persuade you,

Captain Waverley, that I take what the people of old used to call "a

steakraid," that is, a "collop of the foray," or, in plainer words, a

portion of the robber's booty, paid by him to the Laird, or Chief,

through whose grounds he drove his prey. O, it is certain that, unless

I can find some way to charm Flora's tongue, General Blakeney will send

a sergeant's party from Stirling (this he said with haughty and

emphatic irony) to seize Vich lan Vohr, as they nickname me, in his own

castle.'

'Now, Fergus, must not our guest be sensible that all this is folly and

affectation? You have men enough to serve you without enlisting

banditti, and your own honour is above taint. Why don't you send this

Donald Bean Lean, whom I hate for his smoothness and duplicity even

more than for his rapine, out of your country at once? No cause should

induce me to tolerate such a character.'

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

'No cause, Fergus! not even that which is nearest to my heart. Spare it

the omen of such evil supporters!'

'O but, sister,' rejoined the Chief gaily, 'you don't consider my

respect for la belle passion. Evan Dhu Maccombich is in love with

Donald's daughter, Alice, and you cannot expect me to disturb him in

his amours. Why, the whole clan would cry shame on me. You know it is

one of their wise sayings, that a kinsman is part of a man's body, but

a foster-brother is a piece of his heart.'

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

end well.'

'Devoutly prayed, my dear and prophetic sister, and the best way in the

world to close a dubious argument. But hear ye not the pipes, Captain

Waverley? Perhaps you will like better to dance to them in the hall

than to be deafened with their harmony without taking part in the

exercise they invite us to.'

Waverley took Flora's hand. The dance, song, and merry-making

proceeded, and closed the day's entertainment at the castle of Vich Ian

Vohr. Edward at length retired, his mind agitated by a variety of new

and conflicting feelings, which detained him from rest for some time,

in that not unpleasing state of mind in which fancy takes the helm, and

the soul rather drifts passively along with the rapid and confused tide

of reflections than exerts itself to encounter, systematise, or examine

them. At a late hour he fell asleep, and dreamed of Flora Mac-Ivor.

CHAPTER XXIV

A STAG-HUNT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

Shall this be a long or a short chapter? This is a question in which

you, gentle reader, have no vote, however much you may be interested in

the consequences; just as you may (like myself) probably have nothing

to do with the imposing a new tax, excepting the trifling circumstance

of being obliged to pay it. More happy surely in the present case,

since, though it lies within my arbitrary power to extend my materials

as I think proper, I cannot call you into Exchequer if you do not think

proper to read my narrative. Let me therefore consider. It is true that

the annals and documents in my hands say but little of this Highland

chase; but then I can find copious materials for description elsewhere.

There is old Lindsay of Pitscottie ready at my elbow, with his Athole

hunting, and his 'lofted and joisted palace of green timber; with all

kind of drink to be had in burgh and land, as ale, beer, wine,

muscadel, malvaise, hippocras, and aquavitae; with wheat-bread,

main-bread, ginge-bread, beef, mutton, lamb, veal, venison, goose,

grice, capon, coney, crane, swan, partridge, plover, duck, drake,

brisselcock, pawnies, black-cock, muir-fowl, and capercailzies'; not

forgetting the 'costly bedding, vaiselle, and napry,' and least of all

the 'excelling stewards, cunning baxters, excellent cooks, and

pottingars, with confections and drugs for the desserts.' Besides the

particulars which may be thence gleaned for this Highland feast (the

splendour of which induced the Pope's legate to dissent from an opinion

which he had hitherto held, that Scotland, namely, was the--the--the

latter end of the world)--besides these, might I not illuminate my

pages with Taylor the Water Poet's hunting in the Braes of Mar, where,--

Through heather, mosse,'mong frogs, and bogs, and fogs,

'Mongst craggy cliffs and thunder-batter'd hills,

Hares, hinds, bucks, roes, are chased by men and dogs,

Where two hours' hunting fourscore fat deer kills.

Lowland, your sports are low as is your seat;

The Highland games and minds are high and great?

But without further tyranny over my readers, or display of the extent

of my own reading, I shall content myself with borrowing a single

incident from the memorable hunting at Lude, commemorated in the

ingenious Mr. Gunn's essay on the Caledonian Harp, and so proceed in my

story with all the brevity that my natural style of composition,

partaking of what scholars call the periphrastic and ambagitory, and

the vulgar the circumbendibus, will permit me.

The solemn hunting was delayed, from various causes, for about three

weeks. The interval was spent by Waverley with great satisfaction at

Glennaquoich; for the impression which Flora had made on his mind at

their first meeting grew daily stronger. She was precisely the

character to fascinate a youth of romantic imagination. Her manners,

her language, her talents for poetry and music, gave additional and

varied influence to her eminent personal charms. Even in her hours of

gaiety she was in his fancy exalted above the ordinary daughters of

Eve, and seemed only to stoop for an instant to those topics of

amusement and gallantry which others appear to live for. In the

neighbourhood of this enchantress, while sport consumed the morning and

music and the dance led on the hours of evening, Waverley became daily

more delighted with his hospitable landlord, and more enamoured of his

bewitching sister.

At length the period fixed for the grand hunting arrived, and Waverley

and the Chieftain departed for the place of rendezvous, which was a

day's journey to the northward of Glennaquoich. Fergus was attended on

this occasion by about three hundred of his clan, well armed and

accoutred in their best fashion. Waverley complied so far with the

custom of the country as to adopt the trews (he could not be reconciled

to the kilt), brogues, and bonnet, as the fittest dress for the

exercise in which he was to be engaged, and which least exposed him to

be stared at as a stranger when they should reach the place of

rendezvous. They found on the spot appointed several powerful Chiefs,

to all of whom Waverley was formally presented, and by all cordially

received. Their vassals and clansmen, a part of whose feudal duty it

was to attend on these parties, appeared in such numbers as amounted to

a small army. These active assistants spread through the country far

and near, forming a circle, technically called the tinchel, which,

gradually closing, drove the deer in herds together towards the glen

where the Chiefs and principal sportsmen lay in wait for them. In the

meanwhile these distinguished personages bivouacked among the flowery

heath, wrapped up in their plaids, a mode of passing a summer's night

which Waverley found by no means unpleasant.

For many hours after sunrise the mountain ridges and passes retained

their ordinary appearance of silence and solitude, and the Chiefs, with

their followers, amused themselves with various pastimes, in which the

joys of the shell, as Ossian has it, were not forgotten. 'Others apart

sate on a hill retired,' probably as deeply engaged in the discussion

of politics and news as Milton's spirits in metaphysical disquisition.

At length signals of the approach of the game were descried and heard.

Distant shouts resounded from valley to valley, as the various parties

of Highlanders, climbing rocks, struggling through copses, wading

brooks, and traversing thickets, approached more and more near to each

other, and compelled the astonished deer, with the other wild animals

that fled before them, into a narrower circuit. Every now and then the

report of muskets was heard, repeated by a thousand echoes. The baying

of the dogs was soon added to the chorus, which grew ever louder and

more loud. At length the advanced parties of the deer began to show

themselves; and as the stragglers came bounding down the pass by two or

three at a time, the Chiefs showed their skill by distinguishing the

fattest deer, and their dexterity in bringing them down with their

guns. Fergus exhibited remarkable address, and Edward was also so

fortunate as to attract the notice and applause of the sportsmen.

But now the main body of the deer appeared at the head of the glen,

compelled into a very narrow compass, and presenting such a formidable

phalanx that their antlers appeared at a distance, over the ridge of

the steep pass, like a leafless grove. Their number was very great, and

from a desperate stand which they made, with the tallest of the

red-deer stags arranged in front, in a sort of battle-array, gazing on

the group which barred their passage down the glen, the more

experienced sportsmen began to augur danger. The work of destruction,

however, now commenced on all sides. Dogs and hunters were at work, and

muskets and fusees resounded from every quarter. The deer, driven to

desperation, made at length a fearful charge right upon the spot where

the more distinguished sportsmen had taken their stand. The word was

given in Gaelic to fling themselves upon their faces; but Waverley, on

whose English ears the signal was lost, had almost fallen a sacrifice

to his ignorance of the ancient language in which it was communicated.

Fergus, observing his danger, sprung up and pulled him with violence to

the ground, just as the whole herd broke down upon them. The tide being

absolutely irresistible, and wounds from a stag's horn highly

dangerous, the activity of the Chieftain may be considered, on this

occasion, as having saved his guest's life. He detained him with a firm

grasp until the whole herd of deer had fairly run over them. Waverley

then attempted to rise, but found that he had suffered several very

severe contusions, and, upon a further examination, discovered that he

had sprained his ankle violently.

[Footnote: The thrust from the tynes, or branches, of the stag's horns

was accounted far more dangerous than those of the boar's tusk:--

If thou be hurt with horn of stag,

it brings thee to thy bier,

But barber's hand shall boar's hurt heal,

thereof have thou no fear.]

This checked the mirth of the meeting, although the Highlanders,

accustomed to such incidents, and prepared for them, had suffered no

harm themselves. A wigwam was erected almost in an instant, where

Edward was deposited on a couch of heather. The surgeon, or he who

assumed the office, appeared to unite the characters of a leech and a

conjuror. He was an old smoke-dried Highlander, wearing a venerable

grey beard, and having for his sole garment a tartan frock, the skirts

of which descended to the knee, and, being undivided in front, made the

vestment serve at once for doublet and breeches. [Footnote: This garb,

which resembled the dress often put on children in Scotland, called a

polonie (i. e. polonaise), is a very ancient modification of the

Highland garb. It was, in fact, the hauberk or shirt of mail, only

composed of cloth instead of rings of armour.] He observed great

ceremony in approaching Edward; and though our hero was writhing with

pain, would not proceed to any operation which might assuage it until

he had perambulated his couch three times, moving from east to west,

according to the course of the sun. This, which was called making the

deasil, [Footnote: Old Highlanders will still make the deasil around

those whom they wish well to. To go round a person in the opposite

direction, or withershins (German wider-shins), is unlucky, and a sort

of incantation.] both the leech and the assistants seemed to consider

as a matter of the last importance to the accomplishment of a cure; and

Waverley, whom pain rendered incapable of expostulation, and who indeed

saw no chance of its being attended to, submitted in silence.

After this ceremony was duly performed, the old Esculapius let his

patient's blood with a cupping-glass with great dexterity, and

proceeded, muttering all the while to himself in Gaelic, to boil on the

fire certain herbs, with which he compounded an embrocation. He then

fomented the parts which had sustained injury, never failing to murmur

prayers or spells, which of the two Waverley could not distinguish, as

his ear only caught the words Gaspar-Melchior-Balthazar-max-prax-fax,

and similar gibberish. The fomentation had a speedy effect in

alleviating the pain and swelling, which our hero imputed to the virtue

of the herbs or the effect of the chafing, but which was by the

bystanders unanimously ascribed to the spells with which the operation

had been accompanied. Edward was given to understand that not one of

the ingredients had been gathered except during the full moon, and that

the herbalist had, while collecting them, uniformly recited a charm,

which in English ran thus:--

Hail to thee, them holy herb,

That sprung on holy ground!

All in the Mount Olivet

First wert thou found.

Thou art boot for many a bruise,

And healest many a wound;

In our Lady's blessed name,

I take thee from the ground.

[Footnote: This metrical spell, or something very like it, is preserved

by Reginald Scott in his work on Witchcraft.]

Edward observed with some surprise that even Fergus, notwithstanding

his knowledge and education, seemed to fall in with the superstitious

ideas of his countrymen, either because he deemed it impolitic to

affect scepticism on a matter of general belief, or more probably

because, ike most men who do not think deeply or accurately on such

subjects, he had in his mind a reserve of superstition which balanced

the freedom of his expressions and practice upon other occasions.

Waverley made no commentary, therefore, on the manner of the treatment,

but rewarded the professor of medicine with a liberality beyond the

utmost conception of his wildest hopes. He uttered on the occasion so

many incoherent blessings in Gaelic and English that Mac-Ivor, rather

scandalised at the excess of his acknowledgments, cut them short by

exclaiming, Ceud mile mhalloich ort! i.e. 'A hundred thousand curses on

you!' and so pushed the helper of men out of the cabin.

After Waverley was left alone, the exhaustion of pain and fatigue--for

the whole day's exercise had been severe--threw him into a profound,

but yet a feverish sleep, which he chiefly owed to an opiate draught

administered by the old Highlander from some decoction of herbs in his

pharmacopoeia.

Early the next morning, the purpose of their meeting being over, and

their sports damped by the untoward accident, in which Fergus and all

his friends expressed the greatest sympathy, it became a question how

to dispose of the disabled sportsman. This was settled by Mac-Ivor, who

had a litter prepared, of 'birch and hazel-grey,'

[FOOTNOTE:

On the morrow they made their biers

Of birch and hazel grey. Chevy Chase.]

which was borne by his people with such caution and dexterity as

renders it not improbable that they may have been the ancestors of some

of those sturdy Gael who have now the happiness to transport the belles

of Edinburgh in their sedan-chairs to ten routs in one evening. When

Edward was elevated upon their shoulders he could not help being

gratified with the romantic effect produced by the breaking up of this

sylvan camp. [Footnote: See Note 25.]

The various tribes assembled, each at the pibroch of their native clan,

and each headed by their patriarchal ruler. Some, who had already begun

to retire, were seen winding up the hills, or descending the passes

which led to the scene of action, the sound of their bagpipes dying

upon the ear. Others made still a moving picture upon the narrow plain,

forming various changeful groups, their feathers and loose plaids

waving in the morning breeze, and their arms glittering in the rising

sun. Most of the Chiefs came to take farewell of Waverley, and to

express their anxious hope they might again, and speedily, meet; but

the care of Fergus abridged the ceremony of taking leave. At length,

his own men being completely assembled and mustered, Mac-Ivor commenced

his march, but not towards the quarter from which they had come. He

gave Edward to understand that the greater part of his followers now on

the field were bound on a distant expedition, and that when he had

deposited him in the house of a gentleman, who he was sure would pay

him every attention, he himself should be under the necessity of

accompanying them the greater part of the way, but would lose no time

in rejoining his friend.

Waverley was rather surprised that Fergus had not mentioned this

ulterior destination when they set out upon the hunting-party; but his

situation did not admit of many interrogatories. The greater part of

the clansmen went forward under the guidance of old Ballenkeiroch and

Evan Dhu Maccombich, apparently in high spirits. A few remained for the

purpose of escorting the Chieftain, who walked by the side of Edward's

litter, and attended him with the most affectionate assiduity. About

noon, after a journey which the nature of the conveyance, the pain of

his bruises, and the roughness of the way rendered inexpressibly

painful, Waverley was hospitably received into the house of a gentleman

related to Fergus, who had prepared for him every accommodation which

the simple habits of living then universal in the Highlands put in his

power. In this person, an old man about seventy, Edward admired a relic

of primitive simplicity. He wore no dress but what his estate afforded;

the cloth was the fleece of his own sheep, woven by his own servants,

and stained into tartan by the dyes produced from the herbs and lichens

of the hills around him. His linen was spun by his daughters and

maidservants, from his own flax; nor did his table, though plentiful,

and varied with game and fish, offer an article but what was of native

produce.

Claiming himself no rights of clanship or vassalage, he was fortunate

in the alliance and protection of Vich Ian Vohr and other bold and

enterprising Chieftains, who protected him in the quiet unambitious

life he loved. It is true, the youth born on his grounds were often

enticed to leave him for the service of his more active friends; but a

few old servants and tenants used to shake their grey locks when they

heard their master censured for want of spirit, and observed, 'When the

wind is still, the shower falls soft.' This good old man, whose charity

and hospitality were unbounded, would have received Waverley with

kindness had he been the meanest Saxon peasant, since his situation

required assistance. But his attention to a friend and guest of Vich

Ian Vohr was anxious and unremitted. Other embrocations were applied to

the injured limb, and new spells were put in practice. At length, after

more solicitude than was perhaps for the advantage of his health,

Fergus took farewell of Edward for a few days, when, he said, he would

return to Tomanrait, and hoped by that time Waverley would be able to

ride one of the Highland ponies of his landlord, and in that manner

return to Glennaquoich.

The next day, when his good old host appeared, Edward learned that his

friend had departed with the dawn, leaving none of his followers except

Callum Beg, the sort of foot-page who used to attend his person, and

who had now in charge to wait upon Waverley. On asking his host if he

knew where the Chieftain was gone, the old man looked fixedly at him,

with something mysterious and sad in the smile which was his only

reply. Waverley repeated his question, to which his host answered in a

proverb,--

What sent the messengers to hell,

Was asking what they knew full well.

[Footnote: Corresponding to the Lowland saying, 'Mony ane speirs the

gate they ken fu' weel.']

He was about to proceed, but Callum Beg said, rather pertly, as Edward

thought, that 'Ta Tighearnach (i.e. the Chief) did not like ta

Sassenagh duinhe-wassel to be pingled wi' mickle speaking, as she was

na tat weel.' From this Waverley concluded he should disoblige his

friend by inquiring of a stranger the object of a journey which he

himself had not communicated.

It is unnecessary to trace the progress of our hero's recovery. The

sixth morning had arrived, and he was able to walk about with a staff,

when Fergus returned with about a score of his men. He seemed in the

highest spirits, congratulated Waverley on his progress towards

recovery, and finding he was able to sit on horseback, proposed their

immediate return to Glennaquoich. Waverley joyfully acceded, for the

form of its fair mistress had lived in his dreams during all the time

of his confinement.

Now he has ridden o'er moor and moss,

O'er hill and many a glen,

Fergus, all the while, with his myrmidons, striding stoutly by his

side, or diverging to get a shot at a roe or a heath-cock. Waverley's

bosom beat thick when they approached the old tower of Ian nan

Chaistel, and could distinguish the fair form of its mistress advancing

to meet them.

Fergus began immediately, with his usual high spirits, to exclaim,

'Open your gates, incomparable princess, to the wounded Moor Abindarez,

whom Rodrigo de Narvez, constable of Antiquera, conveys to your castle;

or open them, if you like it better, to the renowned Marquis of Mantua,

the sad attendant of his half-slain friend Baldovinos of the Mountain.

Ah, long rest to thy soul, Cervantes! without quoting thy remnants, how

should I frame my language to befit romantic ears!'

Flora now advanced, and welcoming Waverley with much kindness,

expressed her regret for his accident, of which she had already heard

particulars, and her surprise that her brother should not have taken

better care to put a stranger on his guard against the perils of the

sport in which he engaged him. Edward easily exculpated the Chieftain,

who, indeed, at his own personal risk, had probably saved his life.

This greeting over, Fergus said three or four words to his sister in

Gaelic. The tears instantly sprung to her eyes, but they seemed to be

tears of devotion and joy, for she looked up to heaven and folded her

hands as in a solemn expression of prayer or gratitude. After the pause

of a minute, she presented to Edward some letters which had been

forwarded from Tully-Veolan during his absence, and at the same time

delivered some to her brother. To the latter she likewise gave three or

four numbers of the Caledonian Mercury, the only newspaper which was

then published to the north of the Tweed.

Both gentlemen retired to examine their despatches, and Edward speedily

found that those which he had received contained matters of very deep

interest.

CHAPTER XXV

NEWS FROM ENGLAND

The letters which Waverley had hitherto received from his relations in

England were not such as required any particular notice in this

narrative. His father usually wrote to him with the pompous affectation

of one who was too much oppressed by public affairs to find leisure to

attend to those of his own family. Now and then he mentioned persons of

rank in Scotland to whom he wished his son should pay some attention;

but Waverley, hitherto occupied by the amusements which he had found at

Tully-Veolan and Glennaquoich, dispensed with paying any attention to

hints so coldly thrown out, especially as distance, shortness of leave

of absence, and so forth furnished a ready apology. But latterly the

burden of Mr. Richard Waverley's paternal epistles consisted in certain

mysterious hints of greatness and influence which he was speedily to

attain, and which would ensure his son's obtaining the most rapid

promotion, should he remain in the military service. Sir Everard's

letters were of a different tenor. They were short; for the good

Baronet was none of your illimitable correspondents, whose manuscript

overflows the folds of their large post paper, and leaves no room for

the seal; but they were kind and affectionate, and seldom concluded

without some allusion to our hero's stud, some question about the state

of his purse, and a special inquiry after such of his recruits as had

preceded him from Waverley-Honour. Aunt Rachel charged him to remember

his principles of religion, to take care of his health, to beware of

Scotch mists, which, she had heard, would wet an Englishman through and

through, never to go out at night without his great-coat, and, above

all, to wear flannel next to his skin.

Mr. Pembroke only wrote to our hero one letter, but it was of the bulk

of six epistles of these degenerate days, containing, in the moderate

compass of ten folio pages, closely written, a precis of a

supplementary quarto manuscript of addenda, delenda, et corrigenda in

reference to the two tracts with which he had presented Waverley. This

he considered as a mere sop in the pan to stay the appetite of Edward's

curiosity until he should find an opportunity of sending down the

volume itself, which was much too heavy for the post, and which he

proposed to accompany with certain interesting pamphlets, lately

published by his friend in Little Britain, with whom he had kept up a

sort of literary correspondence, in virtue of which the library shelves

of Waverley-Honour were loaded with much trash, and a good round bill,

seldom summed in fewer than three figures, was yearly transmitted, in

which Sir Everard Waverley of Waverley-Honour, Bart., was marked Dr. to

Jonathan Grubbet, bookseller and stationer, Little Britain. Such had

hitherto been the style of the letters which Edward had received from

England; but the packet delivered to him at Glennaquoich was of a

different and more interesting complexion. It would be impossible for

the reader, even were I to insert the letters at full length, to

comprehend the real cause of their being written, without a glance into

the interior of the British cabinet at the period in question.

The ministers of the day happened (no very singular event) to be

divided into two parties; the weakest of which, making up by assiduity

of intrigue their inferiority in real consequence, had of late acquired

some new proselytes, and with them the hope of superseding their rivals

in the favour of their sovereign, and overpowering them in the House of

Commons. Amongst others, they had thought it worth while to practise

upon Richard Waverley. This honest gentleman, by a grave mysterious

demeanour, an attention to the etiquette of business rather more than

to its essence, a facility in making long dull speeches, consisting of

truisms and commonplaces, hashed up with a technical jargon of office,

which prevented the inanity of his orations from being discovered, had

acquired a certain name and credit in public life, and even

established, with many, the character of a profound politician; none of

your shining orators, indeed, whose talents evaporate in tropes of

rhetoric and flashes of wit, but one possessed of steady parts for

business, which would wear well, as the ladies say in choosing their

silks, and ought in all reason to be good for common and every-day use,

since they were confessedly formed of no holiday texture.

This faith had become so general that the insurgent party in the

cabinet, of which we have made mention, after sounding Mr. Richard

Waverley, were so satisfied with his sentiments and abilities as to

propose that, in case of a certain revolution in the ministry, he

should take an ostensible place in the new order of things, not indeed

of the very first rank, but greatly higher, in point both of emolument

and influence, than that which he now enjoyed. There was no resisting

so tempting a proposal, notwithstanding that the Great Man under whose

patronage he had enlisted, and by whose banner he had hitherto stood

firm, was the principal object of the proposed attack by the new

allies. Unfortunately this fair scheme of ambition was blighted in the

very bud by a premature movement. All the official gentlemen concerned

in it who hesitated to take the part of a voluntary resignation were

informed that the king had no further occasion for their services; and

in Richard Waverley's case, which the minister considered as aggravated

by ingratitude, dismissal was accompanied by something like personal

contempt and contumely. The public, and even the party of whom he

shared the fall, sympathised little in the disappointment of this

selfish and interested statesman; and he retired to the country under

the comfortable reflection that he had lost, at the same time,

character, credit, and,--what he at least equally deplored,--emolument.

Richard Waverley's letter to his son upon this occasion was a

masterpiece of its kind. Aristides himself could not have made out a

harder case. An unjust monarch and an ungrateful country were the

burden of each rounded paragraph. He spoke of long services and

unrequited sacrifices; though the former had been overpaid by his

salary, and nobody could guess in what the latter consisted, unless it

were in his deserting, not from conviction, but for the lucre of gain,

the Tory principles of his family. In the conclusion, his resentment

was wrought to such an excess by the force of his own oratory, that he

could not repress some threats of vengeance, however vague and

impotent, and finally acquainted his son with his pleasure that he

should testify his sense of the ill-treatment he had sustained by

throwing up his commission as soon as the letter reached him. This, he

said, was also his uncle's desire, as he would himself intimate in due

course.

Accordingly, the next letter which Edward opened was from Sir Everard.

His brother's disgrace seemed to have removed from his well-natured

bosom all recollection of their differences, and, remote as he was from

every means of learning that Richard's disgrace was in reality only the

just as well as natural consequence of his own unsuccessful intrigues,

the good but credulous Baronet at once set it down as a new and

enormous instance of the injustice of the existing government. It was

true, he said, and he must not disguise it even from Edward, that his

father could not have sustained such an insult as was now, for the

first time, offered to one of his house, unless he had subjected

himself to it by accepting of an employment under the present system.

Sir Everard had no doubt that he now both saw and felt the magnitude of

this error, and it should be his (Sir Everard's) business to take care

that the cause of his regret should not extend itself to pecuniary

consequences. It was enough for a Waverley to have sustained the public

disgrace; the patrimonial injury could easily be obviated by the head

of their family. But it was both the opinion of Mr. Richard Waverley

and his own that Edward, the representative of the family of

Waverley-Honour, should not remain in a situation which subjected him

also to such treatment as that with which his father had been

stigmatised. He requested his nephew therefore to take the fittest, and

at the same time the most speedy, opportunity of transmitting his

resignation to the War Office, and hinted, moreover, that little

ceremony was necessary where so little had been used to his father. He

sent multitudinous greetings to the Baron of Bradwardine.

A letter from Aunt Rachel spoke out even more plainly. She considered

the disgrace of brother Richard as the just reward of his forfeiting

his allegiance to a lawful though exiled sovereign, and taking the

oaths to an alien; a concession which her grandfather, Sir Nigel

Waverley, refused to make, either to the Roundhead Parliament or to

Cromwell, when his life and fortune stood in the utmost extremity. She

hoped her dear Edward would follow the footsteps of his ancestors, and

as speedily as possible get rid of the badge of servitude to the

usurping family, and regard the wrongs sustained by his father as an

admonition from Heaven that every desertion of the line of loyalty

becomes its own punishment. She also concluded with her respects to Mr.

Bradwardine, and begged Waverley would inform her whether his daughter,

Miss Rose, was old enough to wear a pair of very handsome ear-rings,

which she proposed to send as a token of her affection. The good lady

also desired to be informed whether Mr. Bradwardine took as much Scotch

snuff and danced as unweariedly as he did when he was at

Waverley-Honour about thirty years ago.

These letters, as might have been expected, highly excited Waverley's

indignation. From the desultory style of his studies, he had not any

fixed political opinion to place in opposition to the movements of

indignation which he felt at his father's supposed wrongs. Of the real

cause of his disgrace Edward was totally ignorant; nor had his habits

at all led him to investigate the politics of the period in which he

lived, or remark the intrigues in which his father had been so actively

engaged. Indeed, any impressions which he had accidentally adopted

concerning the parties of the times were (owing to the society in which

he had lived at Waverley-Honour) of a nature rather unfavourable to the

existing government and dynasty. He entered, therefore, without

hesitation into the resentful feeling of the relations who had the best

title to dictate his conduct, and not perhaps the less willingly when

he remembered the tedium of his quarters, and the inferior figure which

he had made among the officers of his regiment. If he could have had

any doubt upon the subject it would have been decided by the following

letter from his commanding officer, which, as it is very short, shall

be inserted verbatim:--

SIR,--

Having carried somewhat beyond the line of my duty an indulgence which

even the lights of nature, and much more those of Christianity, direct

towards errors which may arise from youth and inexperience, and that

altogether without effect, I am reluctantly compelled, at the present

crisis, to use the only remaining remedy which is in my power. You are,

therefore, hereby commanded to repair to--, the headquarters of the

regiment, within three days after the date of this letter. If you shall

fail to do so, I must report you to the War Office as absent without

leave, and also take other steps, which will be disagreeable to you as

well as to,

Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

J. GARDINER, Lieut.-Col.

Commanding the ----Regt. Dragoons.

Edward's blood boiled within him as he read this letter. He had been

accustomed from his very infancy to possess in a great measure the

disposal of his own time, and thus acquired habits which rendered the

rules of military discipline as unpleasing to him in this as they were

in some other respects. An idea that in his own case they would not be

enforced in a very rigid manner had also obtained full possession of

his mind, and had hitherto been sanctioned by the indulgent conduct of

his lieutenant-colonel. Neither had anything occurred, to his

knowledge, that should have induced his commanding officer, without any

other warning than the hints we noticed at the end of the fourteenth

chapter, so suddenly to assume a harsh and, as Edward deemed it, so

insolent a tone of dictatorial authority. Connecting it with the

letters he had just received from his family, he could not but suppose

that it was designed to make him feel, in his present situation, the

same pressure of authority which had been exercised in his father's

case, and that the whole was a concerted scheme to depress and degrade

every member of the Waverley family.

Without a pause, therefore, Edward wrote a few cold lines, thanking his

lieutenant-colonel for past civilities, and expressing regret that he

should have chosen to efface the remembrance of them by assuming a

different tone towards him. The strain of his letter, as well as what

he (Edward) conceived to be his duty in the present crisis, called upon

him to lay down his commission; and he therefore inclosed the formal

resignation of a situation which subjected him to so unpleasant a

correspondence, and requested Colonel Gardiner would have the goodness

to forward it to the proper authorities.

Having finished this magnanimous epistle, he felt somewhat uncertain

concerning the terms in which his resignation ought to be expressed,

upon which subject he resolved to consult Fergus Mac-Ivor. It may be

observed in passing that the bold and prompt habits of thinking,

acting, and speaking which distinguished this young Chieftain had given

him a considerable ascendency over the mind of Waverley. Endowed with

at least equal powers of understanding, and with much finer genius,

Edward yet stooped to the bold and decisive activity of an intellect

which was sharpened by the habit of acting on a preconceived and

regular system, as well as by extensive knowledge of the world.

When Edward found his friend, the latter had still in his hand the

newspaper which he had perused, and advanced to meet him with the

embarrassment of one who has unpleasing news to communicate. 'Do your

letters, Captain Waverley, confirm the unpleasing information which I

find in this paper?'

He put the paper into his hand, where his father's disgrace was

registered in the most bitter terms, transferred probably from some

London journal. At the end of the paragraph was this remarkable

innuendo:--

'We understand that "this same RICHARD who hath done all this" is not

the only example of the WAVERING HONOUR of W-v-r-ly H-n-r. See the

Gazette of this day.'

With hurried and feverish apprehension our hero turned to the place

referred to, and found therein recorded, 'Edward Waverley, captain in

---- regiment dragoons, superseded for absence without leave'; and in

the list of military promotions, referring to the same regiment, he

discovered this farther article, 'Lieut. Julius Butler, to be captain,

VICE Edward Waverley, superseded.'

Our hero's bosom glowed with the resentment which undeserved and

apparently premeditated insult was calculated to excite in the bosom of

one who had aspired after honour, and was thus wantonly held up to

public scorn and disgrace. Upon comparing the date of his colonel's

letter with that of the article in the Gazette, he perceived that his

threat of making a report upon his absence had been literally

fulfilled, and without inquiry, as it seemed, whether Edward had either

received his summons or was disposed to comply with it. The whole,

therefore, appeared a formed plan to degrade him in the eyes of the

public; and the idea of its having succeeded filled him with such

bitter emotions that, after various attempts to conceal them, he at

length threw himself into Mac-Ivor's arms, and gave vent to tears of

shame and indignation.

It was none of this Chieftain's faults to be indifferent to the wrongs

of his friends; and for Edward, independent of certain plans with which

he was connected, he felt a deep and sincere interest. The proceeding

appeared as extraordinary to him as it had done to Edward. He indeed

knew of more motives than Waverley was privy to for the peremptory

order that he should join his regiment. But that, without further

inquiry into the circumstances of a necessary delay, the commanding

officer, in contradiction to his known and established character,

should have proceeded in so harsh and unusual a manner was a mystery

which he could not penetrate. He soothed our hero, however, to the best

of his power, and began to turn his thoughts on revenge for his

insulted honour.

Edward eagerly grasped at the idea. 'Will you carry a message for me to

Colonel Gardiner, my dear Fergus, and oblige me for ever?'

Fergus paused. 'It is an act of friendship which you should command,

could it be useful, or lead to the righting your honour; but in the

present case I doubt if your commanding officer would give you the

meeting on account of his having taken measures which, however harsh

and exasperating, were still within the strict bounds of his duty.

Besides, Gardiner is a precise Huguenot, and has adopted certain ideas

about the sinfulness of such rencontres, from which it would be

impossible to make him depart, especially as his courage is beyond all

suspicion. And besides, I--I, to say the truth--I dare not at this

moment, for some very weighty reasons, go near any of the military

quarters or garrisons belonging to this government.'

'And am I,' said Waverley, 'to sit down quiet and contented under the

injury I have received?'

'That will I never advise my friend,' replied Mac-Ivor. 'But I would

have vengeance to fall on the head, not on the hand, on the tyrannical

and oppressive government which designed and directed these

premeditated and reiterated insults, not on the tools of office which

they employed in the execution of the injuries they aimed at you.'

'On the government!' said Waverley.

'Yes,' replied the impetuous Highlander, 'on the usurping House of

Hanover, whom your grandfather would no more have served than he would

have taken wages of red-hot gold from the great fiend of hell!'

'But since the time of my grandfather two generations of this dynasty

have possessed the throne,' said Edward coolly.

'True,' replied the Chieftain; 'and because we have passively given

them so long the means of showing their native character,--because both

you and I myself have lived in quiet submission, have even truckled to

the times so far as to accept commissions under them, and thus have

given them an opportunity of disgracing us publicly by resuming them,

are we not on that account to resent injuries which our fathers only

apprehended, but which we have actually sustained? Or is the cause of

the unfortunate Stuart family become less just, because their title has

devolved upon an heir who is innocent of the charges of misgovernment

brought against his father? Do you remember the lines of your favourite

poet?

Had Richard unconstrain'd resign'd the throne,

A king can give no more than is his own;

The title stood entail'd had Richard had a son.

You see, my dear Waverley, I can quote poetry as well as Flora and you.

But come, clear your moody brow, and trust to me to show you an

honourable road to a speedy and glorious revenge. Let us seek Flora,

who perhaps has more news to tell us of what has occurred during our

absence. She will rejoice to hear that you are relieved of your

servitude. But first add a postscript to your letter, marking the time

when you received this calvinistical colonel's first summons, and

express your regret that the hastiness of his proceedings prevented

your anticipating them by sending your resignation. Then let him blush

for his injustice.'

The letter was sealed accordingly, covering a formal resignation of the

commission, and Mac-Ivor despatched it with some letters of his own by

a special messenger, with charge to put them into the nearest

post-office in the Lowlands.

CHAPTER XXVI

AN ECLAIRCISSEMENT

The hint which the Chieftain had thrown out respecting Flora was not

unpremeditated. He had observed with great satisfaction the growing

attachment of Waverley to his sister, nor did he see any bar to their

union, excepting the situation which Waverley's father held in the

ministry, and Edward's own commission in the army of George II. These

obstacles were now removed, and in a manner which apparently paved the

way for the son's becoming reconciled to another allegiance. In every

other respect the match would be most eligible. The safety, happiness,

and honourable provision of his sister, whom he dearly loved, appeared

to be ensured by the proposed union; and his heart swelled when he

considered how his own interest would be exalted in the eyes of the

ex-monarch to whom he had dedicated his service, by an alliance with

one of those ancient, powerful, and wealthy English families of the

steady cavalier faith, to awaken whose decayed attachment to the Stuart

family was now a matter of such vital importance to the Stuart cause.

Nor could Fergus perceive any obstacle to such a scheme. Waverley's

attachment was evident; and as his person was handsome, and his taste

apparently coincided with her own, he anticipated no opposition on the

part of Flora. Indeed, between his ideas of patriarchal power and those

which he had acquired in France respecting the disposal of females in

marriage, any opposition from his sister, dear as she was to him, would

have been the last obstacle on which he would have calculated, even had

the union been less eligible.

Influenced by these feelings, the Chief now led Waverley in quest of

Miss Mac-Ivor, not without the hope that the present agitation of his

guest's spirits might give him courage to cut short what Fergus termed

the romance of the courtship. They found Flora, with her faithful

attendants, Una and Cathleen, busied in preparing what appeared to

Waverley to be white bridal favours. Disguising as well as he could the

agitation of his mind, Waverley asked for what joyful occasion Miss

Mac-Ivor made such ample preparation.

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

'Indeed!' said Edward; 'he has kept his secret well. I hope he will

allow me to be his bride's-man.'

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

Flora.

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

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

answered Flora.

'And am I then incapable of being his assistant and counsellor in the

pursuit of honour?' said our hero, colouring deeply. 'Do I rank so low

in your opinion?'

'Far from it, Captain Waverley. I would to God you were of our

determination! and made use of the expression which displeased you,

solely

Because you are not of our quality,

But stand against us as an enemy.'

'That time is past, sister,' said Fergus; 'and you may wish Edward

Waverley (no longer captain) joy of being freed from the slavery to an

usurper, implied in that sable and ill-omened emblem.'

'Yes,' said Waverley, undoing the cockade from his hat, 'it has pleased

the king who bestowed this badge upon me to resume it in a manner which

leaves me little reason to regret his service.'

'Thank God for that!' cried the enthusiast; 'and O that they may be

blind enough to treat every man of honour who serves them with the same

indignity, that I may have less to sigh for when the struggle

approaches!'

'And now, sister,' said the Chieftain, 'replace his cockade with one of

a more lively colour. I think it was the fashion of the ladies of yore

to arm and send forth their knights to high achievement.'

'Not,' replied the lady, 'till the knight adventurer had well weighed

the justice and the danger of the cause, Fergus. Mr. Waverley is just

now too much agitated by feelings of recent emotion for me to press

upon him a resolution of consequence.'

Waverley felt half alarmed at the thought of adopting the badge of what

was by the majority of the kingdom esteemed rebellion, yet he could not

disguise his chagrin at the coldness with which Flora parried her

brother's hint. 'Miss Mac-Ivor, I perceive, thinks the knight unworthy

of her encouragement and favour,' said he, somewhat bitterly.

'Not so, Mr. Waverley,' she replied, with great sweetness. 'Why should

I refuse my brother's valued friend a boon which I am distributing to

his whole clan? Most willingly would I enlist every man of honour in

the cause to which my brother has devoted himself. But Fergus has taken

his measures with his eyes open. His life has been devoted to this

cause from his cradle; with him its call is sacred, were it even a

summons to the tomb. But how can I wish you, Mr. Waverley, so new to

the world, so far from every friend who might advise and ought to

influence you,--in a moment, too, of sudden pique and indignation,--how

can I wish you to plunge yourself at once into so desperate an

enterprise?'

Fergus, who did not understand these delicacies, strode through the

apartment biting his lip, and then, with a constrained smile, said,

'Well, sister, I leave you to act your new character of mediator

between the Elector of Hanover and the subjects of your lawful

sovereign and benefactor,' and left the room.

There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by Miss Mac-Ivor.

'My brother is unjust,' she said, 'because he can bear no interruption

that seems to thwart his loyal zeal.'

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

'Do I not?' answered Flora. 'God knows mine exceeds his, if that be

possible. But I am not, like him, rapt by the bustle of military

preparation, and the infinite detail necessary to the present

undertaking, beyond consideration of the grand principles of justice

and truth, on which our enterprise is grounded; and these, I am

certain, can only be furthered by measures in themselves true and just.

To operate upon your present feelings, my dear Mr. Waverley, to induce

you to an irretrievable step, of which you have not considered either

the justice or the danger, is, in my poor judgment, neither the one nor

the other.'

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

such a monitor!'

'A better one by far,' said Flora, gently withdrawing her hand, 'Mr.

Waverley will always find in his own bosom, when he will give its small

still voice leisure to be heard.'

'No, Miss Mac-Ivor, I dare not hope it; a thousand circumstances of

fatal self-indulgence have made me the creature rather of imagination

than reason. Durst I but hope--could I but think--that you would deign

to be to me that affectionate, that condescending friend, who would

strengthen me to redeem my errors, my future life--'

'Hush, my dear sir! now you carry your joy at escaping the hands of a

Jacobite recruiting officer to an unparalleled excess of gratitude.'

'Nay, dear Flora, trifle with me no longer; you cannot mistake the

meaning of those feelings which I have almost involuntarily expressed;

and since I have broken the barrier of silence, let me profit by my

audacity. Or may I, with your permission, mention to your brother--'

'Not for the world, Mr. Waverley!'

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

any prepossession--'

'None, sir,' answered Flora. 'I owe it to myself to say that I never

yet saw the person on whom I thought with reference to the present

subject.'

'The shortness of our acquaintance, perhaps--If Miss Mac-Ivor will

deign to give me time--'

'I have not even that excuse. Captain Waverley's character is so

open--is, in short, of that nature that it cannot be misconstrued,

either in its strength or its weakness.'

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

'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley--and remember it is but within this half hour

that there existed between us a barrier of a nature to me

insurmountable, since I never could think of an officer in the service

of the Elector of Hanover in any other light than as a casual

acquaintance. Permit me then to arrange my ideas upon so unexpected a

topic, and in less than an hour I will be ready to give you such

reasons for the resolution I shall express as may be satisfactory at

least, if not pleasing to you.' So saying Flora withdrew, leaving

Waverley to meditate upon the manner in which she had received his

addresses.

Ere he could make up his mind whether to believe his suit had been

acceptable or no, Fergus re-entered the apartment. 'What, a la mort,

Waverley?' he cried. 'Come down with me to the court, and you shall see

a sight worth all the tirades of your romances. An hundred firelocks,

my friend, and as many broadswords, just arrived from good friends; and

two or three hundred stout fellows almost fighting which shall first

possess them. But let me look at you closer. Why, a true Highlander

would say you had been blighted by an evil eye. Or can it be this silly

girl that has thus blanked your spirit. Never mind her, dear Edward;

the wisest of her sex are fools in what regards the business of life.'

'Indeed, my good friend,' answered Waverley, 'all that I can charge

against your sister is, that she is too sensible, too reasonable.'

'If that be all, I ensure you for a louis-d'or against the mood lasting

four-and-twenty hours. No woman was ever steadily sensible for that

period; and I will engage, if that will please you, Flora shall be as

unreasonable to-morrow as any of her sex. You must learn, my dear

Edward, to consider women en mousquetaire.' So saying, he seized

Waverley's arm and dragged him off to review his military preparations.

CHAPTER XXVII

UPON THE SAME SUBJECT

Fergus Mac-Ivor had too much tact and delicacy to renew the subject

which he had interrupted. His head was, or appeared to be, so full of

guns, broadswords, bonnets, canteens, and tartan hose that Waverley

could not for some time draw his attention to any other topic.

'Are you to take the field so soon, Fergus,' he asked, 'that you are

making all these martial preparations?'

'When we have settled that you go with me, you shall know all; but

otherwise, the knowledge might rather be prejudicial to you.'

'But are you serious in your purpose, with such inferior forces, to

rise against an established government? It is mere frenzy.'

'Laissez faire a Don Antoine; I shall take good care of myself. We

shall at least use the compliment of Conan, who never got a stroke but

he gave one. I would not, however,' continued the Chieftain, 'have you

think me mad enough to stir till a favourable opportunity: I will not

slip my dog before the game's afoot. But, once more, will you join with

us, and you shall know all?'

'How can I?' said Waverley; 'I, who have so lately held that commission

which is now posting back to those that gave it? My accepting it

implied a promise of fidelity, and an acknowledgment of the legality of

the government.'

'A rash promise,' answered Fergus, 'is not a steel handcuff, it may be

shaken off, especially when it was given under deception, and has been

repaid by insult. But if you cannot immediately make up your mind to a

glorious revenge, go to England, and ere you cross the Tweed you will

hear tidings that will make the world ring; and if Sir Everard be the

gallant old cavalier I have heard him described by some of our HONEST

gentlemen of the year one thousand seven hundred and fifteen, he will

find you a better horse-troop and a better cause than you have lost.'

'But your sister, Fergus?'

'Out, hyperbolical fiend!' replied the Chief, laughing; 'how vexest

thou this man! Speak'st thou of nothing but of ladies?'

'Nay, be serious, my dear friend,' said Waverley; 'I feel that the

happiness of my future life must depend upon the answer which Miss

Mac-Ivor shall make to what I ventured to tell her this morning.'

'And is this your very sober earnest,' said Fergus, more gravely, 'or

are we in the land of romance and fiction?'

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

subject?'

'Then, in very sober earnest,' answered his friend, 'I am very glad to

hear it; and so highly do I think of Flora, that you are the only man

in England for whom I would say so much. But before you shake my hand

so warmly, there is more to be considered. Your own family--will they

approve your connecting yourself with the sister of a high-born

Highland beggar?'

'My uncle's situation,' said Waverley, 'his general opinions, and his

uniform indulgence, entitle me to say, that birth and personal

qualities are all he would look to in such a connection. And where can

I find both united in such excellence as in your sister?'

'O nowhere! cela va sans dire,' replied Fergus, with a smile. 'But your

father will expect a father's prerogative in being consulted.'

'Surely; but his late breach with the ruling powers removes all

apprehension of objection on his part, especially as I am convinced

that my uncle will be warm in my cause.'

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

bigotted Catholics.'

'My grandmother was of the Church of Rome, and her religion was never

objected to by my family. Do not think of MY friends, dear Fergus; let

me rather have your influence where it may be more necessary to remove

obstacles--I mean with your lovely sister.'

'My lovely sister,' replied Fergus, 'like her loving brother, is very

apt to have a pretty decisive will of her own, by which, in this case,

you must be ruled; but you shall not want my interest, nor my counsel.

And, in the first place, I will give you one hint--Loyalty is her

ruling passion; and since she could spell an English book she has been

in love with the memory of the gallant Captain Wogan, who renounced the

service of the usurper Cromwell to join the standard of Charles II,

marched a handful of cavalry from London to the Highlands to join

Middleton, then in arms for the king, and at length died gloriously in

the royal cause. Ask her to show you some verses she made on his

history and fate; they have been much admired, I assure you. The next

point is--I think I saw Flora go up towards the waterfall a short time

since; follow, man, follow! don't allow the garrison time to strengthen

its purposes of resistance. Alerte a la muraille! Seek Flora out, and

learn her decision as soon as you can, and Cupid go with you, while I

go to look over belts and cartouch-boxes.'

Waverley ascended the glen with an anxious and throbbing heart. Love,

with all its romantic train of hopes, fears, and wishes, was mingled

with other feelings of a nature less easily defined. He could not but

remember how much this morning had changed his fate, and into what a

complication of perplexity it was likely to plunge him. Sunrise had

seen him possessed of an esteemed rank in the honourable profession of

arms, his father to all appearance rapidly rising in the favour of his

sovereign. All this had passed away like a dream: he himself was

dishonoured, his father disgraced, and he had become involuntarily the

confidant at least, if not the accomplice, of plans, dark, deep, and

dangerous, which must infer either the subversion of the government he

had so lately served or the destruction of all who had participated in

them. Should Flora even listen to his suit favourably, what prospect

was there of its being brought to a happy termination amid the tumult

of an impending insurrection? Or how could he make the selfish request

that she should leave Fergus, to whom she was so much attached, and,

retiring with him to England, wait, as a distant spectator, the success

of her brother's undertaking, or the ruin of all his hopes and

fortunes? Or, on the other hand, to engage himself, with no other aid

than his single arm, in the dangerous and precipitate counsels of the

Chieftain, to be whirled along by him, the partaker of all his

desperate and impetuous motions, renouncing almost the power of

judging, or deciding upon the rectitude or prudence of his actions,

this was no pleasing prospect for the secret pride of Waverley to stoop

to. And yet what other conclusion remained, saving the rejection of his

addresses by Flora, an alternative not to be thought of in the present

high-wrought state of his feelings with anything short of mental agony.

Pondering the doubtful and dangerous prospect before him, he at length

arrived near the cascade, where, as Fergus had augured, he found Flora

seated.

She was quite alone, and as soon as she observed his approach she rose

and came to meet him. Edward attempted to say something within the

verge of ordinary compliment and conversation, but found himself

unequal to the task. Flora seemed at first equally embarrassed, but

recovered herself more speedily, and (an unfavourable augury for

Waverley's suit) was the first to enter upon the subject of their last

interview. 'It is too important, in every point of view, Mr. Waverley,

to permit me to leave you in doubt on my sentiments.'

'Do not speak them speedily,' said Waverley, much agitated, 'unless

they are such as I fear, from your manner, I must not dare to

anticipate. Let time--let my future conduct--let your brother's

influence--'

'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley,' said Flora, her complexion a little

heightened, but her voice firm and composed. 'I should incur my own

heavy censure did I delay expressing my sincere conviction that I can

never regard you otherwise than as a valued friend. I should do you the

highest injustice did I conceal my sentiments for a moment. I see I

distress you, and I grieve for it, but better now than later; and O,

better a thousand times, Mr. Waverley, that you should feel a present

momentary disappointment than the long and heart-sickening griefs which

attend a rash and ill-assorted marriage!'

'Good God!' exclaimed Waverley, 'why should you anticipate such

consequences from a union where birth is equal, where fortune is

favourable, where, if I may venture to say so, the tastes are similar,

where you allege no preference for another, where you even express a

favourable opinion of him whom you reject?'

'Mr. Waverley, I HAVE that favourable opinion,' answered Flora; 'and so

strongly that, though I would rather have been silent on the grounds of

my resolution, you shall command them, if you exact such a mark of my

esteem and confidence.'

She sat down upon a fragment of rock, and Waverley, placing himself

near her, anxiously pressed for the explanation she offered.

'I dare hardly,' she said, 'tell you the situation of my feelings, they

are so different from those usually ascribed to young women at my

period of life; and I dare hardly touch upon what I conjecture to be

the nature of yours, lest I should give offence where I would willingly

administer consolation. For myself, from my infancy till this day I

have had but one wish--the restoration of my royal benefactors to their

rightful throne. It is impossible to express to you the devotion of my

feelings to this single subject; and I will frankly confess that it has

so occupied my mind as to exclude every thought respecting what is

called my own settlement in life. Let me but live to see the day of

that happy restoration, and a Highland cottage, a French convent, or an

English palace will be alike indifferent to me.'

'But, dearest Flora, how is your enthusiastic zeal for the exiled

family inconsistent with my happiness?'

'Because you seek, or ought to seek, in the object of your attachment a

heart whose principal delight should be in augmenting your domestic

felicity and returning your affection, even to the height of romance.

To a man of less keen sensibility, and less enthusiastic tenderness of

disposition, Flora Mac-Ivor might give content, if not happiness; for,

were the irrevocable words spoken, never would she be deficient in the

duties which she vowed.'

'And why,--why, Miss Mac-Ivor, should you think yourself a more

valuable treasure to one who is less capable of loving, of admiring

you, than to me?'

'Simply because the tone of our affections would be more in unison, and

because his more blunted sensibility would not require the return of

enthusiasm which I have not to bestow. But you, Mr. Waverley, would for

ever refer to the idea of domestic happiness which your imagination is

capable of painting, and whatever fell short of that ideal

representation would be construed into coolness and indifference, while

you might consider the enthusiasm with which I regarded the success of

the royal family as defrauding your affection of its due return.'

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

dejectedly.

'I could esteem you, Mr. Waverley, as much, perhaps more, than any man

I have ever seen; but I cannot love you as you ought to be loved. O! do

not, for your own sake, desire so hazardous an experiment! The woman

whom you marry ought to have affections and opinions moulded upon

yours. Her studies ought to be your studies; her wishes, her feelings,

her hopes, her fears, should all mingle with yours. She should enhance

your pleasures, share your sorrows, and cheer your melancholy.'

'And why will not you, Miss Mac-Ivor, who can so well describe a happy

union, why will not you be yourself the person you describe?'

'Is it possible you do not yet comprehend me?' answered Flora. 'Have I

not told you that every keener sensation of my mind is bent exclusively

towards an event upon which, indeed, I have no power but those of my

earnest prayers?'

'And might not the granting the suit I solicit,' said Waverley, too

earnest on his purpose to consider what he was about to say, 'even

advance the interest to which you have devoted yourself? My family is

wealthy and powerful, inclined in principles to the Stuart race, and

should a favourable opportunity--'

'A favourable opportunity!' said Flora--somewhat scornfully. 'Inclined

in principles! Can such lukewarm adherence be honourable to yourselves,

or gratifying to your lawful sovereign? Think, from my present

feelings, what I should suffer when I held the place of member in a

family where the rights which I hold most sacred are subjected to cold

discussion, and only deemed worthy of support when they shall appear on

the point of triumphing without it!'

'Your doubts,' quickly replied Waverley, 'are unjust as far as concerns

myself. The cause that I shall assert, I dare support through every

danger, as undauntedly as the boldest who draws sword in its behalf.'

'Of that,' answered Flora, 'I cannot doubt for a moment. But consult

your own good sense and reason rather than a prepossession hastily

adopted, probably only because you have met a young woman possessed of

the usual accomplishments in a sequestered and romantic situation. Let

your part in this great and perilous drama rest upon conviction, and

not on a hurried and probably a temporary feeling.'

Waverley attempted to reply, but his words failed him. Every sentiment

that Flora had uttered vindicated the strength of his attachment; for

even her loyalty, although wildly enthusiastic, was generous and noble,

and disdained to avail itself of any indirect means of supporting the

cause to which she was devoted.

After walking a little way in silence down the path, Flora thus resumed

the conversation.--'One word more, Mr. Waverley, ere we bid farewell to

this topic for ever; and forgive my boldness if that word have the air

of advice. My brother Fergus is anxious that you should join him in his

present enterprise. But do not consent to this; you could not, by your

single exertions, further his success, and you would inevitably share

his fall, if it be God's pleasure that fall he must. Your character

would also suffer irretrievably. Let me beg you will return to your own

country; and, having publicly freed yourself from every tie to the

usurping government, I trust you will see cause, and find opportunity,

to serve your injured sovereign with effect, and stand forth, as your

loyal ancestors, at the head of your natural followers and adherents, a

worthy representative of the house of Waverley.'

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

hope--'

'Forgive my interruption,' said Flora. 'The present time only is ours,

and I can but explain to you with candour the feelings which I now

entertain; how they might be altered by a train of events too

favourable perhaps to be hoped for, it were in vain even to conjecture.

Only be assured, Mr. Waverley, that, after my brother's honour and

happiness, there is none which I shall more sincerely pray for than for

yours.'

With these words she parted from him, for they were now arrived where

two paths separated. Waverley reached the castle amidst a medley of

conflicting passions. He avoided any private interview with Fergus, as

he did not find himself able either to encounter his raillery or reply

to his solicitations. The wild revelry of the feast, for Mac-Ivor kept

open table for his clan, served in some degree to stun reflection. When

their festivity was ended, he began to consider how he should again

meet Miss Mac-Ivor after the painful and interesting explanation of the

morning. But Flora did not appear. Fergus, whose eyes flashed when he

was told by Cathleen that her mistress designed to keep her apartment

that evening, went himself in quest of her; but apparently his

remonstrances were in vain, for he returned with a heightened

complexion and manifest symptoms of displeasure. The rest of the

evening passed on without any allusion, on the part either of Fergus or

Waverley, to the subject which engrossed the reflections of the latter,

and perhaps of both.

When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavoured to sum up the

business of the day. That the repulse he had received from Flora would

be persisted in for the present, there was no doubt. But could he hope

for ultimate success in case circumstances permitted the renewal of his

suit? Would the enthusiastic loyalty, which at this animating moment

left no room for a softer passion, survive, at least in its engrossing

force, the success or the failure of the present political

machinations? And if so, could he hope that the interest which she had

acknowledged him to possess in her favour might be improved into a

warmer attachment? He taxed his memory to recall every word she had

used, with the appropriate looks and gestures which had enforced them,

and ended by finding himself in the same state of uncertainty. It was

very late before sleep brought relief to the tumult of his mind, after

the most painful and agitating day which he had ever passed.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN

In the morning, when Waverley's troubled reflections had for some time

given way to repose, there came music to his dreams, but not the voice

of Selma. He imagined himself transported back to Tully-Veolan, and

that he heard Davie Gellatley singing in the court those matins which

used generally to be the first sounds that disturbed his repose while a

guest of the Baron of Bradwardine. The notes which suggested this

vision continued, and waxed louder, until Edward awoke in earnest. The

illusion, however, did not seem entirely dispelled. The apartment was

in the fortress of lan nan Chaistel, but it was still the voice of

Davie Gellatley that made the following lines resound under the

window:--

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

[Footnote: These lines form the burden of an old song to which Burns

wrote additional verses.]

Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellatley on an

excursion of such unwonted extent, Edward began to dress himself in all

haste, during which operation the minstrelsy of Davie changed its tune

more than once:--

There's nought in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,

And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks,

Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon,

But we'll a'win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.

[Footnote: These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune of

We'll never hae peace till Jamie comes hame, to which Burns likewise

wrote some verses.]

By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth, David had

associated himself with two or three of the numerous Highland loungers

who always graced the gates of the castle with their presence, and was

capering and dancing full merrily in the doubles and full career of a

Scotch foursome reel, to the music of his own whistling. In this double

capacity of dancer and musician he continued, until an idle piper, who

observed his zeal, obeyed the unanimous call of seid suas (i.e. blow

up), and relieved him from the latter part of his trouble. Young and

old then mingled in the dance as they could find partners. The

appearance of Waverley did not interrupt David's exercise, though he

contrived, by grinning, nodding, and throwing one or two inclinations

of the body into the graces with which he performed the Highland fling,

to convey to our hero symptoms of recognition. Then, while busily

employed in setting, whooping all the while, and snapping his fingers

over his head, he of a sudden prolonged his side-step until it brought

him to the place where Edward was standing, and, still keeping time to

the music like Harlequin in a pantomime, he thrust a letter into our

hero's hand, and continued his saltation without pause or intermission.

Edward, who perceived that the address was in Rose's hand-writing,

retired to peruse it, leaving the faithful bearer to continue his

exercise until the piper or he should be tired out.

The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had originally

commenced with 'Dear Sir'; but these words had been carefully erased,

and the monosyllable 'Sir' substituted in their place. The rest of the

contents shall be given in Rose's own language.

I fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon you, yet I

cannot trust to any one else to let you know some things which have

happened here, with which it seems necessary you should be acquainted.

Forgive me, if I am wrong in what I am doing; for, alas! Mr. Waverley,

I have no better advice than that of my own feelings; my dear father is

gone from this place, and when he can return to my assistance and

protection, God alone knows. You have probably heard that, in

consequence of some troublesome news from the Highlands, warrants were

sent out for apprehending several gentlemen in these parts, and, among

others, my dear father. In spite of all my tears and entreaties that he

would surrender himself to the government, he joined with Mr. Falconer

and some other gentlemen, and they have all gone northwards, with a

body of about forty horsemen. So I am not so anxious concerning his

immediate safety as about what may follow afterwards, for these

troubles are only beginning. But all this is nothing to you, Mr.

Waverley, only I thought you would be glad to learn that my father has

escaped, in case you happen to have heard that he was in danger.

The day after my father went off there came a party of soldiers to

Tully-Veolan, and behaved very rudely to Bailie Macwheeble; but the

officer was very civil to me, only said his duty obliged him to search

for arms and papers. My father had provided against this by taking away

all the arms except the old useless things which hung in the hall, and

he had put all his papers out of the way. But O! Mr. Waverley, how

shall I tell you, that they made strict inquiry after you, and asked

when you had been at Tully-Veolan, and where you now were. The officer

is gone back with his party, but a non-commissioned officer and four

men remain as a sort of garrison in the house. They have hitherto

behaved very well, as we are forced to keep them in good-humour. But

these soldiers have hinted as if, on your falling into their hands, you

would be in great danger; I cannot prevail on myself to write what

wicked falsehoods they said, for I am sure they are falsehoods; but you

will best judge what you ought to do. The party that returned carried

off your servant prisoner, with your two horses, and everything that

you left at Tully-Veolan. I hope God will protect you, and that you

will get safe home to England, where you used to tell me there was no

military violence nor fighting among clans permitted, but everything

was done according to an equal law that protected all who were harmless

and innocent. I hope you will exert your indulgence as to my boldness

in writing to you, where it seems to me, though perhaps erroneously,

that your safety and honour are concerned. I am sure--at least I think,

my father would approve of my writing; for Mr. Rubrick is fled to his

cousin's at the Duchran, to to be out of danger from the soldiers and

the Whigs, and Bailie Macwheeble does not like to meddle (he says) in

other men's concerns, though I hope what may serve my father's friend

at such a time as this cannot be termed improper interference.

Farewell, Captain Waverley! I shall probaby never see you more; for it

would be very improper to wish you to call at Tully-Veolan just now,

even if these men were gone; but I will always remember with gratitude

your kindness in assisting so poor a scholar as myself, and your

attentions to my dear, dear father.

I remain, your obliged servant,

ROSE COMYNE BRADWARDINE.

P.S.--I hope you will send me a line by David Gellatley, just to say

you have received this and that you will take care of yourself; and

forgive me if I entreat you, for your own sake, to join none of these

unhappy cabals, but escape, as fast as possible, to your own fortunate

country. My compliments to my dear Flora and to Glennaquoich. Is she

not as handsome and accomplished as I have described her?

Thus concluded the letter of Rose Bradwardine, the contents of which

both surprised and affected Waverley. That the Baron should fall under

the suspicions of government, in consequence of the present stir among

the partisans of the house of Stuart, seemed only the natural

consequence of his political predilections; but how HE himself should

have been involved in such suspicions, conscious that until yesterday

he had been free from harbouring a thought against the prosperity of

the reigning family, seemed inexplicable. Both at Tully-Veolan and

Glennaquoich his hosts had respected his engagements with the existing

government, and though enough passed by accidental innuendo that might

induce him to reckon the Baron and the Chief among those disaffected

gentlemen who were still numerous in Scotland, yet until his own

connection with the army had been broken off by the resumption of his

commission, he had no reason to suppose that they nourished any

immediate or hostile attempts against the present establishment. Still

he was aware that, unless he meant at once to embrace the proposal of

Fergus Mac-Ivor, it would deeply concern him to leave the suspicious

neighbourhood without delay, and repair where his conduct might undergo

a satisfactory examination. Upon this he the rather determined, as

Flora's advice favoured his doing so, and because he felt inexpressible

repugnance at the idea of being accessary to the plague of civil war.

Whatever were the original rights of the Stuarts, calm reflection told

him that, omitting the question how far James the Second could forfeit

those of his posterity, he had, according to the united voice of the

whole nation, justly forfeited his own. Since that period four monarchs

had reigned in peace and glory over Britain, sustaining and exalting

the character of the nation abroad and its liberties at home. Reason

asked, was it worth while to disturb a government so long settled and

established, and to plunge a kingdom into all the miseries of civil

war, for the purpose of replacing upon the throne the descendants of a

monarch by whom it had been wilfully forfeited? If, on the other hand,

his own final conviction of the goodness of their cause, or the

commands of his father or uncle, should recommend to him allegiance to

the Stuarts, still it was necessary to clear his own character by

showing that he had not, as seemed to be falsely insinuated, taken any

step to this purpose during his holding the commission of the reigning

monarch,

The affectionate simplicity of Rose and her anxiety for his safety, his

sense too of her unprotected state, and of the terror and actual

dangers to which she might be exposed, made an impression upon his

mind, and he instantly wrote to thank her in the kindest terms for her

solicitude on his account, to express his earnest good wishes for her

welfare and that of her father, and to assure her of his own safety.

The feelings which this task excited were speedily lost in the

necessity which he now saw of bidding farewell to Flora Mac-Ivor,

perhaps for ever. The pang attending this reflection was inexpressible;

for her high-minded elevation of character, her self-devotion to the

cause which she had embraced, united to her scrupulous rectitude as to

the means of serving it, had vindicated to his judgment the choice

adopted by his passions. But time pressed, calumny was busy with his

fame, and every hour's delay increased the power to injure it. His

departure must be instant.

With this determination he sought out Fergus, and communicated to him

the contents of Rose's letter, with his own resolution instantly to go

to Edinburgh, and put into the hands of some one or other of those

persons of influence to whom he had letters from his father his

exculpation from any charge which might be preferred against him.

'You run your head into the lion's mouth,' answered Mac-Ivor. 'You do

not know the severity of a government harassed by just apprehensions,

and a consciousness of their own illegality and insecurity. I shall

have to deliver you from some dungeon in Stirling or Edinburgh Castle.'

'My innocence, my rank, my father's intimacy with Lord M--, General

G--, etc., will be a sufficient protection,' said Waverley.

'You will find the contrary,' replied the Chieftain, 'these gentlemen

will have enough to do about their own matters. Once more, will you

take the plaid, and stay a little while with us among the mists and the

crows, in the bravest cause ever sword was drawn in?'

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

these lines--

We'll bide a while amang ta crows,

We'll wiske ta sword and bend ta bows]

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

'Well then,' said Mac-Ivor, 'I shall certainly find you exerting your

poetical talents in elegies upon a prison, or your antiquarian

researches in detecting the Oggam [Footnote: The Oggam is a species of

the old Irish character. The idea of the correspondence betwixt the

Celtic and Punic, founded on a scene in Plautus, was not started till

General Vallancey set up his theory, long after the date of Fergus

Mac-Ivor] character or some Punic hieroglyphic upon the keystones of a

vault, curiously arched. Or what say you to un petit pendement bien

joli? against which awkward ceremony I don't warrant you, should you

meet a body of the armed West-Country Whigs.'

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

'For a hundred good reasons,' answered Fergus. 'First, you are an

Englishman; secondly, a gentleman; thirdly, a prelatist abjured; and,

fourthly, they have not had an opportunity to exercise their talents on

such a subject this long while. But don't be cast down, beloved; all

will be done in the fear of the Lord.'

'Well, I must run my hazard.'

'You are determined, then?'

'I am.'

'Wilful will do't' said Fergus. 'But you cannot go on foot, and I shall

want no horse, as I must march on foot at the head of the children of

Ivor; you shall have brown Dermid.'

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

'If your proud English heart cannot be obliged by a gift or loan, I

will not refuse money at the entrance of a campaign: his price is

twenty guineas. [Remember, reader, it was Sixty Years Since.] And when

do you propose to depart?'

'The sooner the better,' answered Waverley.

'You are right, since go you must, or rather, since go you will. I will

take Flora's pony and ride with you as far as Bally-Brough. Callum Beg,

see that our horses are ready, with a pony for yourself, to attend and

carry Mr. Waverley's baggage as far as--(naming a small town), where he

can have a horse and guide to Edinburgh. Put on a Lowland dress,

Callum, and see you keep your tongue close, if you would not have me

cut it out. Mr. Waverley rides Dermid.' Then turning to Edward, 'You

will take leave of my sister?'

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

'Cathleen, let my sister know Mr. Waverley wishes to bid her farewell

before he leaves us. But Rose Bradwardine, her situation must be

thought of; I wish she were here. And why should she not? There are but

four red-coats at Tully-Veolan, and their muskets would be very useful

to us.'

To these broken remarks Edward made no answer; his ear indeed received

them, but his soul was intent upon the expected entrance of Flora. The

door opened. It was but Cathleen, with her lady's excuse, and wishes

for Captain Waverley's health and happiness.

CHAPTER XXIX

WAVERLEY'S RECEPTION IN THE LOWLANDS AFTER HIS HIGHLAND TOUR

It was noon when the two friends stood at the top of the pass of

Bally-Brough. 'I must go no farther,' said Fergus Mac-Ivor, who during

the journey had in vain endeavoured to raise his friend's spirits. 'If

my cross-grained sister has any share in your dejection, trust me she

thinks highly of you, though her present anxiety about the public cause

prevents her listening to any other subject. Confide your interest to

me; I will not betray it, providing you do not again assume that vile

cockade.'

'No fear of that, considering the manner in which it has been recalled.

Adieu, Fergus; do not permit your sister to forget me.'

'And adieu, Waverley; you may soon hear of her with a prouder title.

Get home, write letters, and make friends as many and as fast as you

can; there will speedily be unexpected guests on the coast of Suffolk,

or my news from France has deceived me.' [Footnote: The sanguine

Jacobites, during the eventful years 1745-46, kept up the spirits of

their party by the rumour of descents from France on behalf of the

Chevalier St. George.]

Thus parted the friends; Fergus returning back to his castle, while

Edward, followed by Callum Beg, the latter transformed from point to

point into a Low-Country groom, proceeded to the little town of--.

Edward paced on under the painful and yet not altogether embittered

feelings which separation and uncertainty produce in the mind of a

youthful lover. I am not sure if the ladies understand the full value

of the influence of absence, nor do I think it wise to teach it them,

lest, like the Clelias and Mandanes of yore, they should resume the

humour of sending their lovers into banishment. Distance, in truth,

produces in idea the same effect as in real perspective. Objects are

softened, and rounded, and rendered doubly graceful; the harsher and

more ordinary points of character are mellowed down, and those by which

it is remembered are the more striking outlines that mark sublimity,

grace, or beauty. There are mists too in the mental as well as the

natural horizon, to conceal what is less pleasing in distant objects,

and there are happy lights, to stream in full glory upon those points

which can profit by brilliant illumination.

Waverley forgot Flora Mac-Ivor's prejudices in her magnanimity, and

almost pardoned her indifference towards his affection when he

recollected the grand and decisive object which seemed to fill her

whole soul. She, whose sense of duty so wholly engrossed her in the

cause of a benefactor, what would be her feelings in favour of the

happy individual who should be so fortunate as to awaken them? Then

came the doubtful question, whether he might not be that happy man,--a

question which fancy endeavoured to answer in the affirmative, by

conjuring up all she had said in his praise, with the addition of a

comment much more flattering than the text warranted. All that was

commonplace, all that belonged to the every-day world, was melted away

and obliterated in those dreams of imagination, which only remembered

with advantage the points of grace and dignity that distinguished Flora

from the generality of her sex, not the particulars which she held in

common with them. Edward was, in short, in the fair way of creating a

goddess out of a high-spirited, accomplished, and beautiful young

woman; and the time was wasted in castle-building until, at the descent

of a steep hill, he saw beneath him the market-town of ----.

The Highland politeness of Callum Beg--there are few nations, by the

way, who can boast of so much natural politeness as the Highlanders

[Footnote: The Highlander, in former times, had always a high idea of

his own gentility, and was anxious to impress the same upon those with

whom he conversed. His language abounded in the phrases of courtesy and

compliment; and the habit of carrying arms, and mixing with those who

did so, made it particularly desirable they should use cautious

politeness in their intercourse with each other.]--the Highland

civility of his attendant had not permitted him to disturb the reveries

of our hero. But observing him rouse himself at the sight of the

village, Callum pressed closer to his side, and hoped 'when they cam to

the public, his honour wad not say nothing about Vich Ian Vohr, for ta

people were bitter Whigs, deil burst tem.'

Waverley assured the prudent page that he would be cautious; and as he

now distinguished, not indeed the ringing of bells, but the tinkling of

something like a hammer against the side of an old mossy, green,

inverted porridge-pot that hung in an open booth, of the size and shape

of a parrot's cage, erected to grace the east end of a building

resembling an old barn, he asked Callum Beg if it were Sunday.

'Could na say just preceesely; Sunday seldom cam aboon the pass of

Bally-Brough.'

On entering the town, however, and advancing towards the most apparent

public-house which presented itself, the numbers of old women, in

tartan screens and red cloaks, who streamed from the barn-resembling

building, debating as they went the comparative merits of the blessed

youth Jabesh Rentowel and that chosen vessel Maister Goukthrapple,

induced Callum to assure his temporary master 'that it was either ta

muckle Sunday hersell, or ta little government Sunday that they ca'd ta

fast.'

On alighting at the sign of the Seven-branched Golden Candlestick,

which, for the further delectation of the guests, was graced with a

short Hebrew motto, they were received by mine host, a tall thin

puritanical figure, who seemed to debate with himself whether he ought

to give shelter to those who travelled on such a day. Reflecting,

however, in all probability, that he possessed the power of mulcting

them for this irregularity, a penalty which they might escape by

passing into Gregor Duncanson's, at the sign of the Highlander and the

Hawick Gill, Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks condescended to admit them into

his dwelling.

To this sanctified person Waverley addressed his request that he would

procure him a guide, with a saddle-horse, to carry his portmanteau to

Edinburgh.

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

'I have told you where I wish to go; I do not conceive any further

information necessary either for the guide or his saddle-horse.'

'Hem! Ahem!' returned he of the Candlestick, somewhat disconcerted at

this rebuff. 'It's the general fast, sir, and I cannot enter into ony

carnal transactions on sic a day, when the people should be humbled and

the backsliders should return, as worthy Mr. Goukthrapple said; and

moreover when, as the precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel did weel observe,

the land was mourning for covenants burnt, broken, and buried.'

'My good friend,' said Waverley, 'if you cannot let me have a horse and

guide, my servant shall seek them elsewhere.'

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

himsell?'

Waverley had but very little of a captain of horse's spirit within

him--I mean of that sort of spirit which I have been obliged to when I

happened, in a mail coach or diligence, to meet some military man who

has kindly taken upon him the disciplining of the waiters and the

taxing of reckonings. Some of this useful talent our hero had, however,

acquired during his military service, and on this gross provocation it

began seriously to arise. 'Look ye, sir; I came here for my own

accommodation, and not to answer impertinent questions. Either say you

can, or cannot, get me what I want; I shall pursue my course in either

case.'

Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks left the room with some indistinct

mutterings; but whether negative or acquiescent, Edward could not well

distinguish. The hostess, a civil, quiet, laborious drudge, came to

take his orders for dinner, but declined to make answer on the subject

of the horse and guide; for the Salique law, it seems, extended to the

stables of the Golden Candlestick.

From a window which overlooked the dark and narrow court in which

Callum Beg rubbed down the horses after their journey, Waverley heard

the following dialogue betwixt the subtle foot-page of Vich Ian Vohr

and his landlord:--

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

'And ye may say that,' answered Callum.

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

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

'Gudewife, bring the gill stoup.'

Here some compliments passed fitting the occasion, when my host of the

Golden Candlestick, having, as he thought, opened his guest's heart by

this hospitable propitiation, resumed his scrutiny.

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

'I am nae frae aboon the Pass.'

'Ye're a Highlandman by your tongue?'

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

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

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

Callum Beg.

'And what kind of a gentleman is he?'

'I believe he is ane o' King George's state officers; at least he's aye

for ganging on to the south, and he has a hantle siller, and never

grudges onything till a poor body, or in the way of a lawing.'

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

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

'Ahem! It will be chargeable.'

'He cares na for that a bodle.'

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

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

This last undaunted parry altogether foiled Mr. Cruickshanks, who,

though not quite satisfied either with the reserve of the master or the

extreme readiness of the man, was contented to lay a tax on the

reckoning and horse-hire that might compound for his ungratified

curiosity. The circumstance of its being the fast day was not forgotten

in the charge, which, on the whole, did not, however, amount to much

more than double what in fairness it should have been.

Callum Beg soon after announced in person the ratification of this

treaty, adding, 'Ta auld deevil was ganging to ride wi' ta

duinhe-wassel hersell.'

'That will not be very pleasant, Callum, nor altogether safe, for our

host seems a person of great curiosity; but a traveller must submit to

these inconveniences. Meanwhile, my good lad, here is a trifle for you

to drink Vich Ian Vohr's health.'

The hawk's eye of Callum flashed delight upon a golden guinea, with

which these last words were accompanied. He hastened, not without a

curse on the intricacies of a Saxon breeches pocket, or spleuchan, as

he called it, to deposit the treasure in his fob; and then, as if he

conceived the benevolence called for some requital on his part, he

gathered close up to Edward, with an expression of countenance

peculiarly knowing, and spoke in an undertone, 'If his honour thought

ta auld deevil Whig carle was a bit dangerous, she could easily provide

for him, and teil ane ta wiser.'

'How, and in what manner?'

'Her ain sell,' replied Callum, 'could wait for him a wee bit frae the

toun, and kittle his quarters wi'her skene-occle.'

'Skene-occle! what's that?'

Callum unbuttoned his coat, raised his left arm, and, with an emphatic

nod, pointed to the hilt of a small dirk, snugly deposited under it, in

the lining of his jacket. Waverley thought he had misunderstood his

meaning; he gazed in his face, and discovered in Callum's very handsome

though embrowned features just the degree of roguish malice with which

a lad of the same age in England would have brought forward a plan for

robbing an orchard.

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

'Indeed,' answered the young desperado, 'and I think he has had just a

lang enough lease o 't, when he's for betraying honest folk that come

to spend siller at his public.'

Edward saw nothing was to be gained by argument, and therefore

contented himself with enjoining Callum to lay aside all practices

against the person of Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks; in which injunction

the page seemed to acquiesce with an air of great indifference.

'Ta duinhe-wassel might please himsell; ta auld rudas loon had never

done Callum nae ill. But here's a bit line frae ta Tighearna, tat he

bade me gie your honour ere I came back.'

The letter from the Chief contained Flora's lines on the fate of

Captain Wogan, whose enterprising character is so well drawn by

Clarendon. He had originally engaged in the service of the Parliament,

but had abjured that party upon the execution of Charles I; and upon

hearing that the royal standard was set up by the Earl of Glencairn and

General Middleton in the Highlands of Scotland, took leave of Charles

II, who was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled a body of

Cavaliers in the neighbourhood of London, and traversed the kingdom,

which had been so long under domination of the usurper, by marches

conducted with such skill, dexterity, and spirit that he safely united

his handful of horsemen with the body of Highlanders then in arms.

After several months of desultory warfare, in which Wogan's skill and

courage gained him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be

wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being within

reach he terminated his short but glorious career.

There were obvious reasons why the politic Chieftain was desirous to

place the example of this young hero under the eye of Waverley, with

whose romantic disposition it coincided so peculiarly. But his letter

turned chiefly upon some trifling commissions which Waverley had

promised to execute for him in England, and it was only toward the

conclusion that Edward found these words: 'I owe Flora a grudge for

refusing us her company yesterday; and, as I am giving you the trouble

of reading these lines, in order to keep in your memory your promise to

procure me the fishing-tackle and cross-bow from London, I will enclose

her verses on the Grave of Wogan. This I know will tease her; for, to

tell you the truth, I think her more in love with the memory of that

dead hero than she is likely to be with any living one, unless he shall

tread a similar path. But English squires of our day keep their

oak-trees to shelter their deer parks, or repair the losses of an

evening at White's, and neither invoke them to wreathe their brows nor

shelter their graves. Let me hope for one brilliant exception in a dear

friend, to whom I would most gladly give a dearer title.'

The verses were inscribed,

To an Oak Tree

In the Church-Yard of ----, in the Highlands of Scotland,

said to mark the Grave of Captain Wogan, killed in 1649.

Emblem of England's ancient faith,

Full proudly may thy branches wave,

Where loyalty lies low in death,

And valour fills a timeless grave.

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb!

Repine not if our clime deny,

Above thine honour'd sod to bloom

The flowerets of a milder sky.

These owe their birth to genial May;

Beneath a fiercer sun they pine,

Before the winter storm decay;

And can their worth be type of thine?

No! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing,

Still higher swell'd thy dauntless heart,

And, while Despair the scene was closing,

Commenced thy brief but brilliant part.

'T was then thou sought'st on Albyn's hill,

(When England's sons the strife resign'd)

A rugged race resisting still,

And unsubdued though unrefined.

Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail,

No holy knell thy requiem rung;

Thy mourners were the plaided Gael,

Thy dirge the clamourous pibroch sung.

Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine

To waste life's longest term away,

Would change that glorious dawn of thine,

Though darken'd ere its noontide day!

Be thine the tree whose dauntless boughs

Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom.

Rome bound with oak her patriots' brows,

As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb.

Whatever might be the real merit of Flora Mac-Ivor's poetry, the

enthusiasm which it intimated was well calculated to make a

corresponding impression upon her lover. The lines were read--read

again, then deposited in Waverley's bosom, then again drawn out, and

read line by line, in a low and smothered voice, and with frequent

pauses which prolonged the mental treat, as an epicure protracts, by

sipping slowly, the enjoyment of a delicious beverage. The entrance of

Mrs. Cruickshanks with the sublunary articles of dinner and wine hardly

interrupted this pantomime of affectionate enthusiasm.

At length the tall ungainly figure and ungracious visage of Ebenezer

presented themselves. The upper part of his form, notwithstanding the

season required no such defence, was shrouded in a large great-coat,

belted over his under habiliments, and crested with a huge cowl of the

same stuff, which, when drawn over the head and hat, completely

overshadowed both, and, being buttoned beneath the chin, was called a

trot-cozy. His hand grasped a huge jockey-whip, garnished with

brassmounting. His thin legs tenanted a pair of gambadoes, fastened at

the sides with rusty clasps. Thus accoutred, he stalked into the midst

of the apartment, and announced his errand in brief phrase: 'Yer horses

are ready.'

'You go with me yourself then, landlord?'

'I do, as far as Perth; where ye may be supplied with a guide to

Embro', as your occasions shall require.'

Thus saying, he placed under Waverley's eye the bill which he held in

his hand; and at the same time, self-invited, filled a glass of wine

and drank devoutly to a blessing on their journey. Waverley stared at

the man's impudence, but, as their connection was to be short and

promised to be convenient, he made no observation upon it; and, having

paid his reckoning, expressed his intention to depart immediately. He

mounted Dermid accordingly and sallied forth from the Golden

Candlestick, followed by the puritanical figure we have described,

after he had, at the expense of some time and difficulty, and by the

assistance of a 'louping-on-stane,' or structure of masonry erected for

the traveller's convenience in front of the house, elevated his person

to the back of a long-backed, raw-boned, thin-gutted phantom of a

broken-down blood-horse, on which Waverley's portmanteau was deposited.

Our hero, though not in a very gay humour, could hardly help laughing

at the appearance of his new squire, and at imagining the astonishment

which his person and equipage would have excited at Waverley-Honour.

Edward's tendency to mirth did not escape mine host of the Candlestick,

who, conscious of the cause, infused a double portion of souring into

the pharisaical leaven of his countenance, and resolved internally

that, in one way or other, the young 'Englisher' should pay dearly for

the contempt with which he seemed to regard him. Callum also stood at

the gate and enjoyed, with undissembled glee, the ridiculous figure of

Mr. Cruickshanks. As Waverley passed him he pulled off his hat

respectfully, and, approaching his stirrup, bade him 'Tak heed the auld

whig deevil played him nae cantrip.'

Waverley once more thanked and bade him farewell, and then rode briskly

onward, not sorry to be out of hearing of the shouts of the children,

as they beheld old Ebenezer rise and sink in his stirrups to avoid the

concussions occasioned by a hard trot upon a half-paved street. The

village of--was soon several miles behind him.

CHAPTER XXX

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

The manner and air of Waverley, but, above all, the glittering contents

of his purse, and the indifference with which he seemed to regard them,

somewhat overawed his companion, and deterred him from making any

attempts to enter upon conversation. His own reflections were moreover

agitated by various surmises, and by plans of self-interest with which

these were intimately connected. The travellers journeyed, therefore,

in silence, until it was interrupted by the annunciation, on the part

of the guide, that his 'naig had lost a fore-foot shoe, which,

doubtless, his honour would consider it was his part to replace.'

This was what lawyers call a fishing question, calculated to ascertain

how far Waverley was disposed to submit to petty imposition. 'My part

to replace your horse's shoe, you rascal!' said Waverley, mistaking the

purport of the intimation.

'Indubitably,' answered Mr. Cruickshanks; 'though there was no preceese

clause to that effect, it canna be expected that I am to pay for the

casualties whilk may befall the puir naig while in your honour's

service. Nathless, if your honour--'

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

Rejoiced at discerning there would be no objection made on the part of

his temporary master, Mr. Cruickshanks assured him that Cairnvreckan, a

village which they were about to enter, was happy in an excellent

blacksmith; 'but as he was a professor, he would drive a nail for no

man on the Sabbath or kirk-fast, unless it were in a case of absolute

necessity, for which he always charged sixpence each shoe.' The most

important part of this communication, in the opinion of the speaker,

made a very slight impression on the hearer, who only internally

wondered what college this veterinary professor belonged to, not aware

that the word was used to denote any person who pretended to uncommon

sanctity of faith and manner.

As they entered the village of Cairnvreckan, they speedily

distinguished the smith's house. Being also a public, it was two

stories high, and proudly reared its crest, covered with grey slate,

above the thatched hovels by which it was surrounded. The adjoining

smithy betokened none of the Sabbatical silence and repose which

Ebenezer had augured from the sanctity of his friend. On the contrary,

hammer clashed and anvil rang, the bellows groaned, and the whole

apparatus of Vulcan appeared to be in full activity. Nor was the labour

of a rural and pacific nature. The master smith, benempt, as his sign

intimated, John Mucklewrath, with two assistants, toiled busily in

arranging, repairing, and furbishing old muskets, pistols, and swords,

which lay scattered around his workshop in military confusion. The open

shed, containing the forge, was crowded with persons who came and went

as if receiving and communicating important news, and a single glance

at the aspect of the people who traversed the street in haste, or stood

assembled in groups, with eyes elevated and hands uplifted, announced

that some extraordinary intelligence was agitating the public mind of

the municipality of Cairnvreckan. 'There is some news,' said mine host

of the Candlestick, pushing his lantern-jawed visage and bare-boned nag

rudely forward into the crowd--'there is some news; and, if it please

my Creator, I will forthwith obtain speirings thereof.'

Waverley, with better regulated curiosity than his attendant's,

dismounted and gave his horse to a boy who stood idling near. It arose,

perhaps, from the shyness of his character in early youth, that he felt

dislike at applying to a stranger even for casual information, without

previously glancing at his physiognomy and appearance. While he looked

about in order to select the person with whom he would most willingly

hold communication, the buzz around saved him in some degree the

trouble of interrogatories. The names of Lochiel, Clanronald,

Glengarry, and other distinguished Highland Chiefs, among whom Vich Ian

Vohr was repeatedly mentioned, were as familiar in men's mouths as

household words; and from the alarm generally expressed, he easily

conceived that their descent into the Lowlands, at the head of their

armed tribes, had either already taken place or was instantly

apprehended.

Ere Waverley could ask particulars, a strong, large-boned,

hard-featured woman, about forty, dressed as if her clothes had been

flung on with a pitchfork, her cheeks flushed with a scarlet red where

they were not smutted with soot and lamp-black, jostled through the

crowd, and, brandishing high a child of two years old, which she danced

in her arms without regard to its screams of terror, sang forth with

all her might,--

Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling,

Charlie is my darling,

The young Chevalier!

'D' ye hear what's come ower ye now,' continued the virago, 'ye

whingeing Whig carles? D'ye hear wha's coming to cow yer cracks?

Little wot ye wha's coming,

Little wot ye wha's coming,

A' the wild Macraws are coming.'

The Vulcan of Cairnvreckan, who acknowledged his Venus in this exulting

Bacchante, regarded her with a grim and ire-foreboding countenance,

while some of the senators of the village hastened to interpose.

'Whisht, gudewife; is this a time or is this a day to be singing your

ranting fule sangs in?--a time when the wine of wrath is poured out

without mixture in the cup of indignation, and a day when the land

should give testimony against popery, and prelacy, and quakerism, and

independency, and supremacy, and erastianism, and antinomianism, and a'

the errors of the church?'

'And that's a' your Whiggery,' reechoed the Jacobite heroine; 'that's

a' your Whiggery, and your presbytery, ye cut-lugged, graning carles!

What! d' ye think the lads wi' the kilts will care for yer synods and

yer presbyteries, and yer buttock-mail, and yer stool o' repentance?

Vengeance on the black face o't! mony an honester woman's been set upon

it than streeks doon beside ony Whig in the country. I mysell--'

Here John Mucklewrath, who dreaded her entering upon a detail of

personal experience, interposed his matrimonial authority. 'Gae hame,

and be d--(that I should say sae), and put on the sowens for supper.'

'And you, ye doil'd dotard,' replied his gentle helpmate, her wrath,

which had hitherto wandered abroad over the whole assembly, being at

once and violently impelled into its natural channel, 'YE stand there

hammering dog-heads for fules that will never snap them at a

Highlandman, instead of earning bread for your family and shoeing this

winsome young gentleman's horse that's just come frae the north! I'se

warrant him nane of your whingeing King George folk, but a gallant

Gordon, at the least o' him.'

The eyes of the assembly were now turned upon Waverley, who took the

opportunity to beg the smith to shoe his guide's horse with all speed,

as he wished to proceed on his journey; for he had heard enough to make

him sensible that there would be danger in delaying long in this place.

The smith's eyes rested on him with a look of displeasure and

suspicion, not lessened by the eagerness with which his wife enforced

Waverley's mandate. 'D'ye hear what the weel-favoured young gentleman

says, ye drunken ne'er-do-good?'

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

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

'But it may be of consequence to the state, sir,' replied an old

farmer, smelling strongly of whisky and peat-smoke; 'and I doubt we

maun delay your journey till you have seen the Laird.'

'You certainly,' said Waverley, haughtily, 'will find it both difficult

and dangerous to detain me, unless you can produce some proper

authority.'

There was a pause and a whisper among the crowd--'Secretary

Murray'--'Lord Lewis Gordon'--'Maybe the Chevalier himsell!' Such were

the surmises that passed hurriedly among them, and there was obviously

an increased disposition to resist Waverley's departure. He attempted

to argue mildly with them, but his voluntary ally, Mrs. Mucklewrath,

broke in upon and drowned his expostulations, taking his part with an

abusive violence which was all set down to Edward's account by those on

whom it was bestowed. 'YE'LL stop ony gentleman that's the Prince's

freend?' for she too, though with other feelings, had adopted the

general opinion respecting Waverley. 'I daur ye to touch him,'

spreading abroad her long and muscular fingers, garnished with claws

which a vulture might have envied. 'I'll set my ten commandments in the

face o' the first loon that lays a finger on him.'

'Gae hame, gudewife,' quoth the farmer aforesaid; 'it wad better set

you to be nursing the gudeman's bairns than to be deaving us here.'

'HIS bairns?' retorted the Amazon, regarding her husband with a grin of

ineffable contempt--'HIS bairns!

O gin ye were dead, gudeman,

And a green turf on your head, gudeman!

Then I wad ware my widowhood

Upon a ranting Highlandman'

This canticle, which excited a suppressed titter among the younger part

of the audience, totally overcame the patience of the taunted man of

the anvil. 'Deil be in me but I'll put this het gad down her throat!'

cried he in an ecstasy of wrath, snatching a bar from the forge; and he

might have executed his threat, had he not been withheld by a part of

the mob, while the rest endeavoured to force the termagant out of his

presence.

Waverley meditated a retreat in the confusion, but his horse was

nowhere to be seen. At length he observed at some distance his faithful

attendant, Ebenezer, who, as soon as he had perceived the turn matters

were likely to take, had withdrawn both horses from the press, and,

mounted on the one and holding the other, answered the loud and

repeated calls of Waverley for his horse. 'Na, na! if ye are nae friend

to kirk and the king, and are detained as siccan a person, ye maun

answer to honest men of the country for breach of contract; and I maun

keep the naig and the walise for damage and expense, in respect my

horse and mysell will lose to-morrow's day's wark, besides the

afternoon preaching.'

Edward, out of patience, hemmed in and hustled by the rabble on every

side, and every moment expecting personal violence, resolved to try

measures of intimidation, and at length drew a pocket-pistol,

threatening, on the one hand, to shoot whomsoever dared to stop him,

and, on the other, menacing Ebenezer with a similar doom if he stirred

a foot with the horses. The sapient Partridge says that one man with a

pistol is equal to a hundred unarmed, because, though he can shoot but

one of the multitude, yet no one knows but that he himself may be that

luckless individual. The levy en masse of Cairnvreckan would therefore

probably have given way, nor would Ebenezer, whose natural paleness had

waxed three shades more cadaverous, have ventured to dispute a mandate

so enforced, had not the Vulcan of the village, eager to discharge upon

some more worthy object the fury which his helpmate had provoked, and

not ill satisfied to find such an object in Waverley, rushed at him

with the red-hot bar of iron with such determination as made the

discharge of his pistol an act of self-defence. The unfortunate man

fell; and while Edward, thrilled with a natural horror at the incident,

neither had presence of mind to unsheathe his sword nor to draw his

remaining pistol, the populace threw themselves upon him, disarmed him,

and were about to use him with great violence, when the appearance of a

venerable clergyman, the pastor of the parish, put a curb on their fury.

This worthy man (none of the Goukthrapples or Rentowels) maintained his

character with the common people, although he preached the practical

fruits of Christian faith as well as its abstract tenets, and was

respected by the higher orders, notwithstanding he declined soothing

their speculative errors by converting the pulpit of the gospel into a

school of heathen morality. Perhaps it is owing to this mixture of

faith and practice in his doctrine that, although his memory has formed

a sort of era in the annals of Cairnvreckan, so that the parishioners,

to denote what befell Sixty Years Since, still say it happened 'in good

Mr. Morton's time,' I have never been able to discover which he

belonged to, the evangelical or the moderate party in the kirk. Nor do

I hold the circumstance of much moment, since, in my own remembrance,

the one was headed by an Erskine, the other by a Robertson.

[Footnote: The Reverend John Erskine, D. D, an eminent Scottish divine

and a most excellent man, headed the Evangelical party in the Church of

Scotland at the time when the celebrated Doctor Robertson, the

historian, was the leader of the Moderate party. These two

distinguished persons were colleagues in the Old Grey Friars' Church,

Edinburgh; and, however much they differed in church politics,

preserved the most perfect harmony as private friends and as clergymen

serving the same cure]

Mr. Morton had been alarmed by the discharge of the pistol and the

increasing hubbub around the smithy. His first attention, after he had

directed the bystanders to detain Waverley, but to abstain from

injuring him, was turned to the body of Mucklewrath, over which his

wife, in a revulsion of feeling, was weeping, howling, and tearing her

elf-locks in a state little short of distraction. On raising up the

smith, the first discovery was that he was alive; and the next that he

was likely to live as long as if he had never heard the report of a

pistol in his life. He had made a narrow escape, however; the bullet

had grazed his head and stunned him for a moment or two, which trance

terror and confusion of spirit had prolonged somewhat longer. He now

arose to demand vengeance on the person of Waverley, and with

difficulty acquiesced in the proposal of Mr. Morton that he should be

carried before the Laird, as a justice of peace, and placed at his

disposal. The rest of the assistants unanimously agreed to the measure

recommended; even Mrs. Mucklewrath, who had begun to recover from her

hysterics, whimpered forth, 'She wadna say naething against what the

minister proposed; he was e'en ower gude for his trade, and she hoped

to see him wi' a dainty decent bishop's gown on his back; a comelier

sight than your Geneva cloaks and bands, I wis.'

All controversy being thus laid aside, Waverley, escorted by the whole

inhabitants of the village who were not bed-ridden, was conducted to

the house of Cairnvreckan, which was about half a mile distant.

CHAPTER XXXI

AN EXAMINATION

Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, an elderly gentleman, who had spent his

youth in the military service, received Mr. Morton with great kindness,

and our hero with civility, which the equivocal circumstances wherein

Edward was placed rendered constrained and distant.

The nature of the smith's hurt was inquired into, and, as the actual

injury was likely to prove trifling, and the circumstances in which it

was received rendered the infliction on Edward's part a natural act of

self-defence, the Major conceived he might dismiss that matter on

Waverley's depositing in his hands a small sum for the benefit of the

wounded person.

'I could wish, sir,' continued the Major, 'that my duty terminated

here; but it is necessary that we should have some further inquiry into

the cause of your journey through the country at this unfortunate and

distracted time.'

Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks now stood forth, and communicated to the

magistrate all he knew or suspected from the reserve of Waverley and

the evasions of Callum Beg. The horse upon which Edward rode, he said,

he knew to belong to Vich Ian Vohr, though he dared not tax Edward's

former attendant with the fact, lest he should have his house and

stables burnt over his head some night by that godless gang, the

Mac-Ivors. He concluded by exaggerating his own services to kirk and

state, as having been the means, under God (as he modestly qualified

the assertion), of attaching this suspicious and formidable delinquent.

He intimated hopes of future reward, and of instant reimbursement for

loss of time, and even of character, by travelling on the state

business on the fast-day.

To this Major Melville answered, with great composure, that so far from

claiming any merit in this affair, Mr. Cruickshanks ought to deprecate

the imposition of a very heavy fine for neglecting to lodge, in terms

of the recent proclamation, an account with the nearest magistrate of

any stranger who came to his inn; that, as Mr. Cruickshanks boasted so

much of religion and loyalty, he should not impute this conduct to

disaffection, but only suppose that his zeal for kirk and state had

been lulled asleep by the opportunity of charging a stranger with

double horse-hire; that, however, feeling himself incompetent to decide

singly upon the conduct of a person of such importance, he should

reserve it for consideration of the next quarter-sessions. Now our

history for the present saith no more of him of the Candlestick, who

wended dolorous and malcontent back to his own dwelling.

Major Melville then commanded the villagers to return to their homes,

excepting two, who officiated as constables, and whom he directed to

wait below. The apartment was thus cleared of every person but Mr.

Morton, whom the Major invited to remain; a sort of factor, who acted

as clerk; and Waverley himself. There ensued a painful and embarrassed

pause, till Major Melville, looking upon Waverley with much compassion,

and often consulting a paper or memorandum which he held in his hand,

requested to know his name.

'Edward Waverley.'

'I thought so; late of the--dragoons, and nephew of Sir Everard

Waverley of Waverley-Honour?'

'The same.'

'Young gentleman, I am extremely sorry that this painful duty has

fallen to my lot.'

'Duty, Major Melville, renders apologies superfluous.'

'True, sir; permit me, therefore, to ask you how your time has been

disposed of since you obtained leave of absence from your regiment,

several weeks ago, until the present moment?'

'My reply,' said Waverley, 'to so general a question must be guided by

the nature of the charge which renders it necessary. I request to know

what that charge is, and upon what authority I am forcibly detained to

reply to it?'

'The charge, Mr. Waverley, I grieve to say, is of a very high nature,

and affects your character both as a soldier and a subject. In the

former capacity you are charged with spreading mutiny and rebellion

among the men you commanded, and setting them the example of desertion,

by prolonging your own absence from the regiment, contrary to the

express orders of your commanding officer. The civil crime of which you

stand accused is that of high treason and levying war against the king,

the highest delinquency of which a subject can be guilty.'

'And by what authority am I detained to reply to such heinous

calumnies?'

'By one which you must not dispute, nor I disobey.'

He handed to Waverley a warrant from the Supreme Criminal Court of

Scotland, in full form, for apprehending and securing the person of

Edward Waverley, Esq., suspected of treasonable practices and other

high crimes and misdemeanours.

The astonishment which Waverley expressed at this communication was

imputed by Major Melville to conscious guilt, while Mr. Morton was

rather disposed to construe it into the surprise of innocence unjustly

suspected. There was something true in both conjectures; for although

Edward's mind acquitted him of the crime with which he was charged, yet

a hasty review of his own conduct convinced him he might have great

difficulty in establishing his innocence to the satisfaction of others.

'It is a very painful part of this painful business,' said Major

Melville, after a pause, 'that, under so grave a charge, I must

necessarily request to see such papers as you have on your person.'

'You shall, sir, without reserve,' said Edward, throwing his

pocket-book and memorandums upon the table; 'there is but one with

which I could wish you would dispense.'

'I am afraid, Mr. Waverley, I can indulge you with no reservation,'

'You shall see it then, sir; and as it can be of no service, I beg it

may be returned.'

He took from his bosom the lines he had that morning received, and

presented them with the envelope. The Major perused them in silence,

and directed his clerk to make a copy of them. He then wrapped the copy

in the envelope, and placing it on the table before him, returned the

original to Waverley, with an air of melancholy gravity.

After indulging the prisoner, for such our hero must now be considered,

with what he thought a reasonable time for reflection, Major Melville

resumed his examination, premising that, as Mr. Waverley seemed to

object to general questions, his interrogatories should be as specific

as his information permitted. He then proceeded in his investigation,

dictating, as he went on, the import of the questions and answers to

the amanuensis, by whom it was written down.

'Did Mr. Waverley know one Humphry Houghton, a non-commissioned officer

in Gardiner's dragoons?'

'Certainly; he was sergeant of my troop, and son of a tenant of my

uncle.'

'Exactly--and had a considerable share of your confidence, and an

influence among his comrades?'

'I had never occasion to repose confidence in a person of his

description,' answered Waverley. 'I favoured Sergeant Houghton as a

clever, active young fellow, and I believe his fellow-soldiers

respected him accordingly.'

'But you used through this man,' answered Major Melville, 'to

communicate with such of your troop as were recruited upon

Waverley-Honour?'

'Certainly; the poor fellows, finding themselves in a regiment chiefly

composed of Scotch or Irish, looked up to me in any of their little

distresses, and naturally made their countryman and sergeant their

spokesman on such occasions.'

'Sergeant Houghton's influence,' continued the Major, 'extended, then,

particularly over those soldiers who followed you to the regiment from

your uncle's estate?'

'Surely; but what is that to the present purpose?'

'To that I am just coming, and I beseech your candid reply. Have you,

since leaving the regiment, held any correspondence, direct or

indirect, with this Sergeant Houghton?'

'I!--I hold correspondence with a man of his rank and situation! How,

or for what purpose?'

'That you are to explain. But did you not, for example, send to him for

some books?'

'You remind me of a trifling commission,' said Waverley, 'which I gave

Sergeant Houghton, because my servant could not read. I do recollect I

bade him, by letter, select some books, of which I sent him a list, and

send them to me at Tully-Veolan.'

'And of what description were those books?'

'They related almost entirely to elegant literature; they were designed

for a lady's perusal.'

'Were there not, Mr. Waverley, treasonable tracts and pamphlets among

them?'

'There were some political treatises, into which I hardly looked. They

had been sent to me by the officiousness of a kind friend, whose heart

is more to be esteemed than his prudence or political sagacity; they

seemed to be dull compositions.'

'That friend,' continued the persevering inquirer, 'was a Mr. Pembroke,

a nonjuring clergyman, the author of two treasonable works, of which

the manuscripts were found among your baggage?'

'But of which, I give you my honour as a gentleman,' replied Waverley,

'I never read six pages.'

'I am not your judge, Mr. Waverley; your examination will be

transmitted elsewhere. And now to proceed. Do you know a person that

passes by the name of Wily Will, or Will Ruthven?'

'I never heard of such a name till this moment.'

'Did you never through such a person, or any other person, communicate

with Sergeant Humphry Houghton, instigating him to desert, with as many

of his comrades as he could seduce to join him, and unite with the

Highlanders and other rebels now in arms under the command of the Young

Pretender?'

'I assure you I am not only entirely guiltless of the plot you have

laid to my charge, but I detest it from the very bottom of my soul, nor

would I be guilty of such treachery to gain a throne, either for myself

or any other man alive.'

'Yet when I consider this envelope in the handwriting of one of those

misguided gentlemen who are now in arms against their country, and the

verses which it enclosed, I cannot but find some analogy between the

enterprise I have mentioned and the exploit of Wogan, which the writer

seems to expect you should imitate.'

Waverley was struck with the coincidence, but denied that the wishes or

expectations of the letter-writer were to be regarded as proofs of a

charge otherwise chimerical.

'But, if I am rightly informed, your time was spent, during your

absence from the regiment, between the house of this Highland Chieftain

and that of Mr. Bradwardine of Bradwardine, also in arms for this

unfortunate cause?'