Waverley, Or 'Tis Sixty Years Hence, Complete
by
Sir Walter Scott

Part 3 out of 12

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 IV

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 exhortations 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, which 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,

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Waverley, Or 'Tis Sixty Years Hence, CompletebySir Walter Scott

Part 3 out of 12

Waverley, Or 'Tis Sixty Years Hence, Complete
by
Sir Walter Scott