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Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since

by Walter Scott · English · Gutenberg #2034 · 1,084,343 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since

Author: Walter Scott


        
Release date: February 26, 2006 [eBook #2034]
                Most recently updated: March 20, 2015

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2034

Credits: Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAVERLEY; OR, 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE ***




Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger





WAVERLEY or 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE


by SIR WALTER SCOTT BART.




CONTENTS:

     INTRODUCTION
     WAVERLEY or 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE
     NOTES
     GLOSSARY


[Note:

Characters that were in italics in the printed text have been written in
capital letters in this Etext. Accents in quotations in French and other
accented languages have been omitted.

Footnotes in the printed text that were at the bottom of the page have
been placed in square brackets, as near as possible to the place where
they were originally referred to by a suffix.

Numbered notes at the end of the book are referred to by the insertion
of references to those notes in square brackets.]




Under which King, Bezonian? speak, or die! Henry IV, Part II.


INTRODUCTION--(1829)

The plan of this Edition leads me to insert in this place some account
of the incidents on which the Novel of WAVERLEY is founded. They have
been already given to the public, by my late lamented friend, William
Erskine, Esq. (afterwards Lord Kinneder), when reviewing the 'Tales of
My Landlord' for the QUARTERLY REVIEW, in 1817. The particulars were
derived by the Critic from the Author's information. Afterwards they
were published in the Preface to the CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. They
are now inserted in their proper place.

The mutual protection afforded by Waverley and Talbot to each other,
upon which the whole plot depends, is founded upon one of those
anecdotes which soften the features even of civil war; and as it is
equally honourable to the memory of both parties, we have no hesitation
to give their names at length. When the Highlanders, on the morning of
the battle of Preston, 1745, made their memorable attack on Sir John
Cope's army, a battery of four field-pieces was stormed and carried by
the Camerons and the Stewarts of Appine. The late Alexander Stewart
of Invernahyle was one of the foremost in the charge, and observing an
officer of the King's forces, who, scorning to join the flight of all
around, remained with his sword in his hand, as if determined to the
very last to defend the post assigned to him, the Highland gentleman
commanded him to surrender, and received for reply a thrust, which
he caught in his target. The officer was now defenceless, and the
battle-axe of a gigantic Highlander (the miller of Invernahyle's mill)
was uplifted to dash his brains out, when Mr. Stewart with difficulty
prevailed on him to yield. He took charge of his enemy's property,
protected his person, and finally obtained him liberty on his parole.
The officer proved to be Colonel Whitefoord, an Ayrshire gentleman
of high character and influence, and warmly attached to the House
of Hanover; yet such was the confidence existing between these two
honourable men, though of different political principles, that while
the civil war was raging, and straggling officers from the Highland army
were executed without mercy, Invernahyle hesitated not to pay his
late captive a visit, as he returned to the Highlands to raise fresh
recruits, on which occasion he spent a day or two in Ayrshire among
Colonel Whitefoord's Whig friends, as pleasantly and as good-humouredly
as if all had been at peace around him.

After the battle of Culloden had ruined the hopes of Charles Edward, and
dispersed his proscribed adherents, it was Colonel Whitefoord's turn to
strain every nerve to obtain Mr. Stewart's pardon. He went to the Lord
Justice-Clerk, to the Lord-Advocate, and to all the officers of state,
and each application was answered by the production of a list, in which
Invernahyle (as the good old gentleman was wont to express it) appeared
'marked with the sign of the beast!' as a subject unfit for favour or
pardon.

At length Colonel Whitefoord applied to the Duke of Cumberland in
person. From him, also, he received a positive refusal. He then limited
his request, for the present, to a protection for Stewart's house, wife,
children, and property. This was also refused by the Duke; on which
Colonel Whitefoord, taking his commission from his bosom, laid it on the
table before his Royal Highness with much emotion, and asked permission
to retire from the service of a sovereign who did not know how to spare
a vanquished enemy. The Duke was struck, and even affected. He bade the
Colonel take up his commission, and granted the protection he required.
If was issued just in time to save the house, corn, and cattle at
Invernahyle, from the troops who were engaged in laying waste what it
was the fashion to call 'the country of the enemy.' A small encampment
of soldiers was formed on Invernahyle's property, which they spared
while plundering the country around, and searching in every direction
for the leaders of the insurrection, and for Stewart in particular. He
was much nearer them than they suspected; for, hidden in a cave (like
the Baron of Bradwardine), he lay for many days so near the English
sentinels, that he could hear their muster-roll called, His food was
brought to him by one of his daughters, a child of eight years old, whom
Mrs. Stewart was under the necessity of entrusting with this commission;
for her own motions, and those of all her elder inmates, were closely
watched. With ingenuity beyond her years, the child used to stray about
among the soldiers, who were rather kind to her, and thus seize the
moment when she was unobserved, and steal into the thicket, when she
deposited whatever small store of provisions she had in charge at some
marked spot, where her father might find it. Invernahyle supported life
for several weeks by means of these precarious supplies; and as he had
been wounded in the battle of Culloden, the hardships which he endured
were aggravated by great bodily pain. After the soldiers had removed
their quarters, he had another remarkable escape.

As he now ventured to his own house at night, and left it in the
morning, he was espied during the dawn by a party of the enemy, who
fired at and pursued him. The fugitive being fortunate enough to escape
their search, they returned to the house, and charged the family with
harbouring one of the proscribed traitors. An old woman had presence
of mind enough to maintain that the man they had seen was the shepherd.
'Why did he not stop when we called to him?' said the soldier.--'He
is as deaf, poor man, as a peat-stack,' answered the ready-witted
domestic.--'Let him be sent for, directly.' The real shepherd
accordingly was brought from the hill, and as there was time to tutor
him by the way, he was as deaf when he made his appearance, as was
necessary to sustain his character. Invernahyle was afterwards pardoned
under the Act of Indemnity.

The Author knew him well, and has often heard these circumstances
from his own mouth. He was a noble specimen of the old Highlander, far
descended, gallant, courteous, and brave, even to chivalry. He had been
OUT, I believe, in 1715 and 1745; was an active partaker in all the
stirring scenes which passed in the Highlands betwixt these memorable
eras; and, I have heard, was remarkable, among other exploits, for
having fought a duel with the broadsword with the celebrated Rob Roy
MacGregor, at the Clachan of Balquhidder.

Invernahyle chanced to be in Edinburgh when Paul Jones came into the
Frith of Forth, and though then an old man, I saw him in arms, and
heard him exult (to use his own words) in the prospect of 'drawing his
claymore once more before he died.' In fact, on that memorable occasion,
when the capital of Scotland was menaced by three trifling sloops or
brigs, scarce fit to have sacked a fishing village, he was the only
man who seemed to propose a plan of resistance. He offered to the
magistrates, if broadswords and dirks could be obtained, to find as many
Highlanders among the lower classes, as would cut off any boat's-crew
who might be sent into a town full of narrow and winding passages, in
which they were like to disperse in quest of plunder. I know not if
his plan was attended to; I rather think it seemed too hazardous to the
constituted authorities, who might not, even at that time, desire to
see arms in Highland hands. A steady and powerful west wind settled the
matter, by sweeping Paul Jones and his vessels out of the Frith.

If there is something degrading in this recollection, it is not
unpleasant to compare it with those of the last war, when Edinburgh,
besides regular forces and militia, furnished a volunteer brigade of
cavalry, infantry, and artillery, to the amount of six thousand men and
upwards, which was in readiness to meet and repel a force of a far more
formidable description than was commanded by the adventurous American.
Time and circumstances change the character of nations and the fate
of cities; and it is some pride to a Scotchman to reflect, that the
independent and manly character of a country willing to entrust its own
protection to the arms of its children, after having been obscured for
half a century, has, during the course of his own lifetime, recovered
its lustre.

Other illustrations of Waverley will be found in the Notes at the foot
of the pages to which they belong. [In this etext they are embedded in
the text in square brackets.] Those which appeared too long to be so
placed are given at the end of the volume.





WAVERLEY or 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

The title of this work has not been chosen without the grave and solid
deliberation, which matters of importance demand from the prudent. Even
its first, or general denomination, was the result of no common research
or selection, although, according to the example of my predecessors,
I had only to seize upon the most sounding and euphonic surname that
English history or topography affords, and elect it at once as the title
of my work, and the name of my hero. But, alas! what could my readers
have expected from the chivalrous epithets of Howard, Mordaunt,
Mortimer, or Stanley, or from the softer and more sentimental sounds of
Belmour, Belville, Belfield, and Belgrave, but pages of inanity, similar
to those which have been so christened for half a century past? I
must modestly admit I am too diffident of my own merit to place it in
unnecessary opposition to preconceived associations; I have, therefore,
like a maiden knight with his white shield, assumed for my hero,
WAVERLEY, an uncontaminated name, bearing with its sound little of good
or evil, excepting what the reader shall hereafter be pleased to affix
to it. But my second or supplemental title was a matter of much more
difficult election, since that, short as it is, may be held as pledging
the author to some special mode of laying his scene, drawing his
characters, and managing his adventures. Had I, for example, announced
in my frontispiece, 'Waverley, a Tale of other Days,' must not every
novel reader have anticipated a castle scarce less than that of Udolpho,
of which the eastern wing had long been uninhabited, and the keys either
lost, or consigned to the care of some aged butler or housekeeper, whose
trembling steps, about the middle of the second volume, were doomed to
guide the hero, or heroine, to the ruinous precincts? Would not the owl
have shrieked and the cricket cried in my very title-page? and could
it have been possible for me, with a moderate attention to decorum, to
introduce any scene more lively than might be produced by the jocularity
of a clownish but faithful valet, or the garrulous narrative of the
heroine's fille-de-chambre, when rehearsing the stories of blood and
horror which she had heard in the servants' hall? Again, had my title
borne 'Waverley, a Romance from the German,' what head so obtuse as
not to image forth a profligate abbot, an oppressive duke, a secret and
mysterious association of Rosycrucians and Illuminati, with all their
properties of black cowls, caverns, daggers, electrical machines,
trap-doors, and dark-lanterns? Or if I had rather chosen to call my work
a 'Sentimental Tale,' would it not have been a sufficient presage of a
heroine with a profusion of auburn hair, and a harp, the soft solace
of her solitary hours, which she fortunately finds always the means of
transporting from castle to cottage, although she herself be sometimes
obliged to jump out of a two-pair-of-stairs window, and is more than
once bewildered on her journey, alone and on foot, without any guide but
a blowzy peasant girl, whose jargon she hardly can understand? Or again,
if my WAVERLEY had been entitled 'A Tale of the Times,' wouldst thou
not, gentle reader, have demanded from me a dashing sketch of the
fashionable world, a few anecdotes of private scandal thinly veiled,
and if lusciously painted, so much the better? a heroine from Grosvenor
Square, and a hero from the Barouche Club or the Four-in-hand, with a
set of subordinate characters from the elegantes of Queen Anne Street
East, or the dashing heroes of the Bow Street Office? I could proceed in
proving the importance of a title-page, and displaying at the same time
my own intimate knowledge of the particular ingredients necessary to the
composition of romances and novels of various descriptions: but it
is enough, and I scorn to tyrannize longer over the impatience of my
reader, who is doubtless already anxious to know the choice made by an
author so profoundly versed in the different branches of his art.

By fixing, then, the date of my story Sixty Years before the present 1st
November, 1805, I would have my readers understand, that they will meet
in the following pages neither a romance of chivalry, nor a tale of
modern manners; that my hero will neither have iron on his shoulders,
as of yore, nor on the heels of his boots, as is the present fashion of
Bond Street; and that my damsels will neither be clothed 'in purple
and in pall,' like the Lady Alice of an old ballad, nor reduced to the
primitive nakedness of a modern fashionable at a rout. From this my
choice of an era the understanding critic may further presage, that the
object of my tale is more a description of men than manners. A tale of
manners, to be interesting, must either refer to antiquity so great as
to have become venerable, or it must bear a vivid reflection of those
scenes which are passing daily before our eyes, and are interesting
from their novelty. Thus the coat-of-mail of our ancestors, and
the triple-furred pelisse of our modern beaux, may, though for very
different reasons, be equally fit for the array of a fictitious
character; but who, meaning the costume of his hero to be impressive,
would willingly attire him in the court dress of George the Second's
reign, with its no collar, large sleeves, and low pocket-holes? The
same may be urged, with equal truth, of the Gothic hall, which, with its
darkened and tinted windows, its elevated and gloomy roof, and massive
oaken table garnished with boar's-head and rosemary, pheasants and
peacocks, cranes and cygnets, has an excellent effect in fictitious
description. Much may also be gained by a lively display of a modern
fete, such as we have daily recorded in that part of a newspaper
entitled the Mirror of Fashion, if we contrast these, or either of them,
with the splendid formality of an entertainment given Sixty Years since;
and thus it will be readily seen how much the painter of antique or
of fashionable manners gains over him who delineates those of the last
generation.

Considering the disadvantages inseparable from this part of my subject,
I must be understood to have resolved to avoid them as much as possible,
by throwing the force of my narrative upon the characters and passions
of the actors;--those passions common to men in all stages of society,
and which have alike agitated the human heart, whether it throbbed under
the steel corselet of the fifteenth century, the brocaded coat of the
eighteenth, or the blue frock and white dimity waistcoat of the present
day. [Alas! that attire, respectable and gentlemanlike in 1805, or
thereabouts, is now as antiquated as the Author of Waverley has himself
become since that period! The reader of fashion will please to fill up
the costume with an embroidered waistcoat of purple velvet or silk,
and a coat of whatever colour he pleases.] Upon these passions it is
no doubt true that the state of manners and laws casts a necessary
colouring; but the bearings, to use the language of heraldry, remain
the same, though the tincture may be not only different, but opposed in
strong contradistinction. The wrath of our ancestors, for example, was
coloured GULES; it broke forth in acts of open and sanguinary violence
against the objects of its fury. Our malignant feelings, which must
seek gratification through more indirect channels, and undermine the
obstacles which they cannot openly bear down, may be rather said to be
tinctured SABLE. But the deep-ruling impulse is the same in both cases;
and the proud peer who can now only ruin his neighbour according to law,
by protracted suits, is the genuine descendant of the baron who wrapped
the castle of his competitor in flames, and knocked him on the head as
he endeavoured to escape from the conflagration. It is from the great
book of Nature, the same through a thousand editions, whether of
black-letter, or wire-wove and hot-pressed, that I have venturously
essayed to read a chapter to the public. Some favourable opportunities
of contrast have been afforded me, by the state of society in the
northern part of the island at the period of my history, and may serve
at once to vary and to illustrate the moral lessons, which I would
willingly consider as the most important part of my plan; although I
am sensible how short these will fall of their aim, if I shall be found
unable to mix them with amusement,--a task not quite so easy in this
critical generation as it was 'Sixty Years since.'



CHAPTER II

WAVERLEY-HONOUR---A RETROSPECT

It is, then, sixty years since Edward Waverley, the hero of the
following pages, took leave of his family, to join the regiment
of dragoons in which he had lately obtained a commission. It was a
melancholy day at Waverley-Honour when the young officer parted with
Sir Everard, the affectionate old uncle to whose title and estate he was
presumptive heir.

A difference in political opinions had early separated the Baronet
from his younger brother, Richard Waverley, the father of our hero.
Sir Everard had inherited from his sires the whole train of Tory or
High-Church predilections and prejudices, which had distinguished the
house of Waverley since the Great Civil War. Richard, on the contrary,
who was ten years younger, beheld himself born to the fortune of a
second brother, and anticipated neither dignity nor entertainment in
sustaining the character of Will Wimble. He saw early, that, to succeed
in the race of life, it was necessary he should carry as little weight
as possible. Painters talk of the difficulty of expressing the existence
of compound passions in the same features at the same moment: it would
be no less difficult for the moralist to analyse the mixed motives which
unite to form the impulse of our actions. Richard Waverley read and
satisfied himself, from history and sound argument, that, in the words
of the old song,

     Passive obedience was a jest,
     And pshaw!  was non-resistance;

yet reason would have probably been unable to combat and remove
hereditary prejudice, could Richard have anticipated that his elder
brother, Sir Everard, taking to heart an early disappointment, would
have remained a batchelor at seventy-two. The prospect of succession,
however remote, might in that case have led him to endure dragging
through the greater part of his life as 'Master Richard at the Hall,
the baronet's brother,' in the hope that ere its conclusion he should be
distinguished as Sir Richard Waverley of Waverley-Honour, successor to
a princely estate, and to extended political connexions as head of the
county interest in the shire where it lay. But this was a consummation
of things not to be expected at Richard's outset, when Sir Everard was
in the prime of life, and certain to be an acceptable suitor in almost
any family, whether wealth or beauty should be the object of his
pursuit, and when, indeed, his speedy marriage was a report which
regularly amused the neighbourhood once a year. His younger brother saw
no practicable road to independence save that of relying upon his own
exertions, and adopting a political creed more consonant both to reason
and his own interest than the hereditary faith of Sir Everard in High
Church and in the house of Stewart. He therefore read his recantation
at the beginning of his career, and entered life as an avowed Whig, and
friend of the Hanover succession.

The ministry of George the First's time were prudently anxious to
diminish the phalanx of opposition. The Tory nobility, depending for
their reflected lustre upon the sunshine of a court, had for some
time been gradually reconciling themselves to the new dynasty. But the
wealthy country gentlemen of England, a rank which retained, with
much of ancient manners and primitive integrity, a great proportion of
obstinate and unyielding prejudice, stood aloof in haughty and sullen
opposition, and cast many a look of mingled regret and hope to Bois de
Duc, Avignon, and Italy. [Where the Chevalier Saint George, or, as he
was termed, the Old Pretender, held his exiled court, as his situation
compelled him to shift his place of residence.] The accession of the
near relation of one of those steady and inflexible opponents was
considered as a means of bringing over more converts, and therefore
Richard Waverley met with a share of ministerial favour more than
proportioned to his talents or his political importance. It was however,
discovered that he had respectable talents for public business, and the
first admittance to the minister's levee being negotiated, his success
became rapid. Sir Everard learned from the public NEWS-LETTER,--first,
that Richard Waverley, Esquire, was returned for the ministerial borough
of Barterfaith; next, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had taken a
distinguished part in the debate upon the Excise bill in the support
of government; and, lastly, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had been
honoured with a seat at one of those boards, where the pleasure of
serving the country is combined with other important gratifications,
which, to render them the more acceptable, occur regularly once a
quarter.

Although these events followed each other so closely that the sagacity
of the editor of a modern newspaper would have presaged the last two
even while he announced the first, yet they came upon Sir Everard
gradually, and drop by drop, as it were, distilled through the cool and
procrastinating alembic of DYER'S WEEKLY LETTER. [Long the oracle of the
country gentlemen of the high Tory party. The ancient NEWS-LETTER was
written in manuscript and copied by clerks, who addressed the copies to
the subscribers. The politician by whom they were compiled picked up
his intelligence at coffee-houses, and often pleaded for an additional
gratuity, in consideration of the extra expense attached to frequenting
such places of fashionable resort.] For it may be observed in passing,
that instead of those mail-coaches, by means of which every mechanic at
his sixpenny club may nightly learn from twenty contradictory channels
the yesterday's news of the capital, a weekly post brought, in those
days, to Waverley-Honour, a WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER, which, after it had
gratified Sir Everard's curiosity, his sister's, and that of his aged
butler, was regularly transferred from the Hall to the Rectory, from
the Rectory to Squire Stubbs' at the Grange, from the Squire to the
Baronet's steward at his neat white house on the heath, from the steward
to the bailiff, and from him through a huge circle of honest dames and
gaffers, by whose hard and horny hands it was generally worn to pieces
in about a month after its arrival.

This slow succession of intelligence was of some advantage to Richard
Waverley in the case before us; for, had the sum total of his enormities
reached the ears of Sir Everard at once, there can be no doubt that the
new commissioner would have had little reason to pique himself on the
success of his politics. The Baronet, although the mildest of human
beings, was not without sensitive points in his character; his brother's
conduct had wounded these deeply; the Waverley estate was fettered by
no entail (for it had never entered into the head of any of its former
possessors that one of their progeny could be guilty of the atrocities
laid by DYER'S LETTER to the door of Richard), and if it had, the
marriage of the proprietor might have been fatal to a collateral heir.
These various ideas floated through the brain of Sir Everard, without,
however, producing any determined conclusion.

He examined the tree of his genealogy, which, emblazoned with many
an emblematic mark of honour and heroic achievement, hung upon the
well-varnished wainscot of his hall. The nearest descendants of Sir
Hildebrand Waverley, failing those of his eldest son Wilfred, of whom
Sir Everard and his brother were the only representatives, were, as this
honoured register informed him (and, indeed, as he himself well knew),
the Waverleys of Highley Park, com. Hants; with whom the main branch, or
rather stock, of the house had renounced all connexion, since the great
lawsuit in 1670.

This degenerate scion had committed a further offence against the
head and source of their gentility, by the intermarriage of their
representative with Judith, heiress of Oliver Bradshawe, of Highley
Park, whose arms, the same with those of Bradshawe the regicide,
they had quartered with the ancient coat of Waverley. These offences,
however, had vanished from Sir Everard's recollection in the heat of his
resentment; and had Lawyer Clippurse, for whom his groom was dispatched
express, arrived but an hour earlier, he might have had the benefit of
drawing a new settlement of the lordship and manor of Waverley-Honour,
with all its dependencies. But an hour of cool reflection is a great
matter, when employed in weighing the comparative evil of two measures,
to neither of which we are internally partial. Lawyer Clippurse found
his patron involved in a deep study, which he was too respectful to
disturb, otherwise than by producing his paper and leathern ink-case, as
prepared to minute his honour's commands. Even this slight manoeuvre
was embarrassing to Sir Everard, who felt it as a reproach to his
indecision. He looked at the attorney with some desire to issue his
fiat, when the sun, emerging from behind a cloud, poured at once its
chequered light through the stained window of the gloomy cabinet in
which they were seated. The Baronet's eye, as he raised it to the
splendour, fell right upon the central scutcheon, impressed with the
same device which his ancestor was said to have borne in the field of
Hastings; three ermines passant, argent, in a field azure, with its
appropriate motto, SANS LACHE. 'May our name rather perish,' exclaimed
Sir Everard, 'than that ancient and loyal symbol should be blended with
the dishonoured insignia of a traitorous Roundhead!'

All this was the effect of the glimpse of a sunbeam, just sufficient to
light Lawyer Clippurse to mend his pen. The pen was mended in vain. The
attorney was dismissed, with directions to hold himself in readiness on
the first summons.

The apparition of Lawyer Clippurse at the Hall occasioned much
speculation in that portion of the world to which Waverley-Honour formed
the centre: but the more judicious politicians of this microcosm augured
yet worse consequences to Richard Waverley from a movement which shortly
followed his apostasy. This was no less than an excursion of the Baronet
in his coach-and-six, with four attendants in rich liveries, to make a
visit of some duration to a noble peer on the confines of the shire, of
untainted descent, steady Tory principles, and the happy father of six
unmarried and accomplished daughters.

Sir Everard's reception in this family was, as it may be easily
conceived, sufficiently favourable; but of the six young ladies,
his taste unfortunately determined him in favour of Lady Emily, the
youngest, who received his attentions with an embarrassment which showed
at once that she durst not decline them, and that they afforded her
anything but pleasure.

Sir Everard could not but perceive something uncommon in the restrained
emotions which the young lady testified at the advances he hazarded;
but, assured by the prudent Countess that they were the natural effects
of a retired education, the sacrifice might have been completed, as
doubtless has happened in many similar instances, had it not been for
the courage of an elder sister, who revealed to the wealthy suitor that
Lady Emily's affections were fixed upon a young soldier of fortune,
a near relation of her own. Sir Everard manifested great emotion on
receiving this intelligence, which was confirmed to him, in a private
interview, by the young lady herself, although under the most dreadful
apprehensions of her father's indignation.

Honour and generosity were hereditary attributes of the house of
Waverley. With a grace and delicacy worthy the hero of a romance, Sir
Everard withdrew his claim to the hand of Lady Emily. He had even,
before leaving Blandeville Castle, the address to extort from her father
a consent to her union with the object of her choice. What arguments he
used on this point cannot exactly be known, for Sir Everard was never
supposed strong in the powers of persuasion; but the young officer,
immediately after this transaction, rose in the army with a rapidity far
surpassing the usual pace of unpatronized professional merit, although,
to outward appearance, that was all he had to depend upon.

The shock which Sir Everard encountered upon this occasion, although
diminished by the consciousness of having acted virtuously and
generously, had its effect upon his future life. His resolution of
marriage had been adopted in a fit of indignation; the labour of
courtship did not quite suit the dignified indolence of his habits; he
had but just escaped the risk of marrying a woman who could never love
him; and his pride could not be greatly flattered by the termination of
his amour, even if his heart had not suffered. The result of the whole
matter was his return to Waverley-Honour without any transfer of his
affections, notwithstanding the sighs and languishments of the fair
tell-tale, who had revealed, in mere sisterly affection, the secret
of Lady Emily's attachment, and in despite of the nods, winks, and
innuendoes of the officious lady mother, and the grave eulogiums which
the Earl pronounced successively on the prudence, and good sense, and
admirable dispositions, of his first, second, third, fourth, and fifth
daughters. The memory of his unsuccessful amour was with Sir Everard,
as with many more of his temper, at once shy, proud, sensitive, and
indolent, a beacon against exposing himself to similar mortification,
pain, and fruitless exertion for the time to come. He continued to
live at Waverley-Honour in the style of an old English gentleman, of an
ancient descent and opulent fortune. His sister, Miss Rachel Waverley,
presided at his table; and they became, by degrees, an old bachelor
and an ancient maiden lady, the gentlest and kindest of the votaries of
celibacy.

The vehemence of Sir Everard's resentment against his brother was but
short-lived; yet his dislike to the Whig and the placeman, though unable
to stimulate him to resume any active measures prejudicial to Richard's
interest in the succession to the family estate, continued to maintain
the coldness between them. Richard knew enough of the world, and of his
brother's temper, to believe that by any ill-considered or precipitate
advances on his part, he might turn passive dislike into a more active
principle. It was accident, therefore, which at length occasioned a
renewal of their intercourse. Richard had married a young woman of rank,
by whose family interest and private fortune he hoped to advance his
career. In her right, he became possessor of a manor of some value, at
the distance of a few miles from Waverley-Honour.

Little Edward, the hero of our tale, then in his fifth year, was their
only child. It chanced that the infant with his maid had strayed one
morning to a mile's distance from the avenue of Brere-wood Lodge, his
father's seat. Their attention was attracted by a carriage drawn by six
stately long-failed black horses, and with as much carving and gilding
as would have done honour to my lord mayor's. It was waiting for
the owner, who was at a little distance inspecting the progress of a
half-built farm-house. I know not whether the boy's nurse had been
a Welsh or a Scotch woman, or in what manner he associated a shield
emblazoned with three ermines with the idea of personal property, but
he no sooner beheld this family emblem, than he stoutly determined on
vindicating his right to the splendid vehicle on which it was displayed.
The Baronet arrived while the boy's maid was in vain endeavouring to
make him desist from his determination to appropriate the gilded coach
and six. The rencontre was at a happy moment for Edward, as his uncle
had been just eyeing wistfully, with something of a feeling like envy,
the chubby boys of the stout yeoman whose mansion was building by his
direction. In the round-faced rosy cherub before him, bearing his eye
and his name, and vindicating a hereditary title to his family affection
and patronage, by means of a tie which Sir Everard held as sacred as
either Garter or Blue Mantle, Providence seemed to have granted to him
the very object best calculated to fill up the void in his hopes and
affections. Sir Everard returned to Waverley Hall upon a led horse which
was kept in readiness for him, while the child and his attendant were
sent home in the carriage to Brere-wood Lodge, with such a message
as opened to Richard Waverley a door of reconciliation with his elder
brother.

Their intercourse, however, though thus renewed, continued to be rather
formal and civil, than partaking of brotherly cordiality; yet it was
sufficient to the wishes of both parties. Sir Everard obtained, in the
frequent society of his little nephew, something on which his hereditary
pride might found the anticipated pleasure of a continuation of his
lineage, and where his kind and gentle affections could at the same
time fully exercise themselves. For Richard Waverley, he beheld in the
growing attachment between the uncle and nephew the means of securing
his son's, if not his own, succession to the hereditary estate, which he
felt would be rather endangered than promoted by any attempt on his own
part towards a closer intimacy with a man of Sir Everard's habits and
opinions.

Thus, by a sort of tacit compromise, little Edward was permitted to pass
the greater part of the year at the Hall, and appeared to stand in
the same intimate relation to both families, although their mutual
intercourse was otherwise limited to formal messages, and more formal
visits. The education of the youth was regulated alternately by the
taste and opinions of his uncle and of his father. But more of this in a
subsequent chapter.



CHAPTER III

EDUCATION

The education of our hero, Edward Waverley, was of a nature somewhat
desultory. In infancy, his health suffered, or was supposed to suffer
(which is quite the same thing), by the air of London. As soon,
therefore, as official duties, attendance on Parliament, or the
prosecution of any of his plans of interest or ambition, called his
father to town, which was his usual residence for eight months in the
year, Edward was transferred to Waverley-Honour, and experienced a total
change of instructors and of lessons, as well as of residence.
This might have been remedied, had his father placed him under the
superintendence of a permanent tutor. But he considered that one of his
choosing would probably have been unacceptable at Waverley-Honour, and
that such a selection as Sir Everard might have made, were the matter
left to him, would have burdened him with a disagreeable inmate, if not
a political spy, in his family. He therefore prevailed upon his private
secretary, a young man of taste and accomplishments, to bestow an hour
or two on Edward's education while at Brere-wood Lodge, and left his
uncle answerable for his improvement in literature while an inmate at
the Hall.

This was in some degree respectably provided for. Sir Everard's
chaplain, an Oxonian, who had lost his fellowship for declining to
take the oaths at the accession of George I, was not only an excellent
classical scholar, but reasonably skilled in science, and master of most
modern languages. He was, however, old and indulgent, and the recurring
interregnum, during which Edward was entirely freed from his discipline,
occasioned such a relaxation of authority, that the youth was permitted,
in a great measure, to learn as he pleased, what he pleased, and when he
pleased. This slackness of rule might have been ruinous to a boy of
slow understanding, who, feeling labour in the acquisition of
knowledge, would have altogether neglected it, save for the command of a
task-master; and it might have proved equally dangerous to a youth whose
animal spirits were more powerful than his imagination or his feelings,
and whom the irresistible influence of Alma would have engaged in field
sports from morning till night. But the character of Edward Waverley
was remote from either of these. His powers of apprehension were so
uncommonly quick, as almost to resemble intuition, and the chief care of
his preceptor was to prevent him, as a sportsman would phrase it, from
overrunning his game, that is, from acquiring his knowledge in a slight,
flimsy, and inadequate manner. And here the instructor had to combat
another propensity too often united with brilliancy of fancy and
vivacity of talent,--that indolence, namely, of disposition, which
can only be stirred by some strong motive of gratification, and which
renounces study as soon as curiosity is gratified, the pleasure of
conquering the first difficulties exhausted, and the novelty of pursuit
at an end. Edward would throw himself with spirit upon any classical
author of which his preceptor proposed the perusal, make himself master
of the style so far as to understand the story, and if that pleased or
interested him, he finished the volume. But it was in vain to attempt
fixing his attention on critical distinctions of philology, upon
the difference of idiom, the beauty of felicitous expression, or the
artificial combinations of syntax. 'I can read and understand a Latin
author,' said young Edward, with the self-confidence and rash reasoning
of fifteen, 'and Scaliger or Bentley could not do much more.' Alas!
while he was thus permitted to read only for the gratification of his
amusement, he foresaw not that he was losing for ever the opportunity of
acquiring habits of firm and assiduous application, of gaining the art
of controlling, directing, and concentrating the powers of his mind
for earnest investigation,--an art far more essential than even that
intimate acquaintance with classical learning, which is the primary
object of study.

I am aware I may be here reminded of the necessity of rendering
instruction agreeable to youth, and of Tasso's infusion of honey into
the medicine prepared for a child; but an age in which children are
taught the driest doctrines by the insinuating method of instructive
games, has little reason to dread the consequences of study being
rendered too serious or severe. The history of England is now reduced
to a game at cards,--the problems of mathematics to puzzles and
riddles,--and the doctrines of arithmetic may, we are assured, be
sufficiently acquired, by spending a few hours a week at a new and
complicated edition of the Royal Game of the Goose. There wants but one
step further, and the Creed and Ten Commandments may be taught in the
same manner, without the necessity of the grave face, deliberate tone of
recital, and devout attention, hitherto exacted from the well governed
childhood of this realm. It may, in the meantime, be subject of
serious consideration, whether those who are accustomed only to acquire
instruction through the medium of amusement, may not be brought to
reject that which approaches under the aspect of study; whether those
who learn history by the cards, may not be led to prefer the means to
the end; and whether, were we to teach religion in the way of sport,
our pupils may not thereby be gradually induced to make sport of their
religion. To our young hero, who was permitted to seek his instruction
only according to the bent of his own mind, and who, of consequence,
only sought it so long as it afforded him amusement, the indulgence of
his tutors was attended with evil consequences, which long continued
to influence his character, happiness, and utility. Edward's power of
imagination and love of literature, although the former was vivid, and
the latter ardent, were so far from affording a remedy to this peculiar
evil, that they rather inflamed and increased its violence. The library
at Waverley-Honour, a large Gothic room, with double arches and a
gallery, contained such a miscellaneous and extensive collection of
volumes as had been assembled together, during the course of two hundred
years, by a family which had been always wealthy, and inclined, of
course, as a mark of splendour, to furnish their shelves with the
current literature of the day, without much scrutiny, or nicety of
discrimination. Throughout this ample realm Edward was permitted to
roam at large. His tutor had his own studies; and church politics and
controversial divinity, together with a love of learned ease, though
they did not withdraw his attention at stated times from the progress
of his patron's presumptive heir, induced him readily to grasp at any
apology for not extending a strict and regulated survey towards his
general studies. Sir Everard had never been himself a student, and,
like his sister Miss Rachel Waverley, he held the common doctrine, that
idleness is incompatible with reading of any kind, and that the mere
tracing the alphabetical characters with the eye is in itself a useful
and meritorious task, without scrupulously considering what ideas
or doctrines they may happen to convey. With a desire of amusement,
therefore, which better discipline might soon have converted into a
thirst for knowledge, young Waverley drove through the sea of books,
like a vessel without a pilot or a rudder. Nothing perhaps increases by
indulgence more than a desultory habit of reading, especially under such
opportunities of gratifying it. I believe one reason why such numerous
instances of erudition occur among the lower ranks is, that, with the
same powers of mind, the poor student is limited to a narrow circle
for indulging his passion for books, and must necessarily make himself
master of the few he possesses ere he can acquire more. Edward, on the
contrary, like the epicure who only deigned to take a single morsel from
the sunny side of a peach, read no volume a moment after it ceased to
excite his curiosity or interest; and it necessarily happened, that the
habit of seeking only this sort of gratification rendered it daily more
difficult of attainment, till the passion for reading, like other strong
appetites, produced by indulgence a sort of satiety.

Ere he attained this indifference, however, he had read, and stored in
a memory of uncommon tenacity, much curious, though ill-arranged and
miscellaneous information. In English literature he was master of
Shakespeare and Milton, of our earlier dramatic authors; of many
picturesque and interesting passages from our old historical chronicles;
and was particularly well acquainted with Spenser, Drayton, and other
poets who have exercised themselves on romantic fiction, of all themes
the most fascinating to a youthful imagination, before the passions have
roused themselves, and demand poetry of a more sentimental description.
In this respect his acquaintance with Italian opened him yet a wider
range. He had perused the numerous romantic poems, which, from the days
of Pulci, have been a favourite exercise of the wits of Italy; and had
sought gratification in the numerous collections of NOVELLE, which were
brought forth by the genius of that elegant though luxurious nation, in
emulation of the DECAMERON. In classical literature, Waverley had made
the usual progress, and read the usual authors; and the French had
afforded him an almost exhaustless collection of memoirs, scarcely more
faithful than romances, and of romances so well written as hardly to be
distinguished from memoirs. The splendid pages of Froissart, with his
heart-stirring and eye-dazzling descriptions of war and of tournaments,
were among his chief favourites; and from those of Brantome and de
la Noue he learned to compare the wild and loose yet superstitious
character of the nobles of the League, with the stern, rigid, and
sometimes turbulent disposition of the Huguenot party. The Spanish had
contributed to his stock of chivalrous and romantic lore. The earlier
literature of the northern nations did not escape the study of one who
read rather to awaken the imagination than to benefit the understanding.
And yet, knowing much that is known but to few, Edward Waverley might
justly be considered as ignorant, since he knew little of what adds
dignify to man, and qualifies him to support and adorn an elevated
situation in society.

The occasional attention of his parents might indeed have been of
service, to prevent the dissipation of mind incidental to such a
desultory course of reading. But his mother died in the seventh year
after the reconciliation between the brothers, and Richard Waverley
himself, who, after this event, resided more constantly in London, was
too much interested in his own plans of wealth and ambition, to notice
more respecting Edward, than that he was of a very bookish turn, and
probably destined to be a bishop. If he could have discovered and
analysed his son's waking dreams, he would have formed a very different
conclusion.



CHAPTER IV

CASTLE-BUILDING

I have already hinted, that the dainty, squeamish, and fastidious taste
acquired by a surfeit of idle reading, had not only rendered our hero
unfit for serious and sober study, it had even disgusted him in some
degree with that in which he had hitherto indulged.

He was in his sixteenth year, when his habits of abstraction and love of
solitude became so much marked, as to excite Sir Everard's affectionate
apprehension. He tried to counterbalance these propensities, by engaging
his nephew in field sports, which had been the chief pleasure of his
own youthful days. But although Edward eagerly carried the gun for one
season, yet when practice had given him some dexterity, the pastime
ceased to afford him amusement.

In the succeeding spring, the perusal of old Isaac Walton's fascinating
volume determined Edward to become 'a brother of the angle.' But of
all diversions which ingenuity ever devised for the relief of idleness,
fishing is the worst qualified to amuse a man who is at once indolent
and impatient; and our hero's rod was speedily flung aside. Society and
example, which, more than any other motives, master and sway the
natural bent of our passions, might have had their usual effect upon the
youthful visionary: but the neighbourhood was thinly inhabited, and the
homebred young squires whom it afforded, were not of a class fit to form
Edward's usual companions, far less to excite him to emulation in the
practice of those pastimes which composed the serious business of their
lives.

There were a few other youths of better education, and a more liberal
character; but from their society also our hero was in some degree
excluded. Sir Everard had, upon the death of Queen Anne, resigned his
seat in Parliament, and, as his age increased and the number of his
contemporaries diminished, had gradually withdrawn himself from
society; so that when, upon any particular occasion, Edward mingled
with accomplished and well-educated young men of his own rank and
expectations, he felt an inferiority in their company, not so much from
deficiency of information, as from the want of the skill to command and
to arrange that which he possessed. A deep and increasing sensibility
added to this dislike of society. The idea of having committed the
slightest solecism in politeness, whether real or imaginary, was agony
to him; for perhaps even guilt itself does not impose upon some minds
so keen a sense of shame and remorse, as a modest, sensitive, and
inexperienced youth feels from the consciousness of having neglected
etiquette, or excited ridicule. Where we are not at ease, we cannot be
happy; and therefore it is not surprising, that Edward Waverley supposed
that he disliked and was unfitted for society, merely because he had
not yet acquired the habit of living in it with ease and comfort, and of
reciprocally giving and receiving pleasure.

The hours he spent with his uncle and aunt were exhausted in listening
to the oft-repeated tale of narrative old age. Yet even there his
imagination, the predominant faculty of his mind, was frequently
excited. Family tradition and genealogical history, upon which much of
Sir Everard's discourse turned, is the very reverse of amber, which,
itself a valuable substance, usually includes flies, straws, and other
trifles; whereas these studies, being themselves very insignificant and
trifling, do nevertheless serve to perpetuate a great deal of what is
rare and valuable in ancient manners, and to record many curious and
minute facts, which could have been preserved and conveyed through no
other medium. If, therefore, Edward Waverley yawned at times over
the dry deduction of his line of ancestors, with their various
intermarriages, and inwardly deprecated the remorseless and protracted
accuracy with which the worthy Sir Everard rehearsed the various degrees
of propinquity between the house of Waverley-Honour and the
doughty barons, knights, and squires, to whom they stood allied; if
(notwithstanding his obligations to the three ermines passant) he
sometimes cursed in his heart the jargon of heraldry, its griffins,
its moldwarps, its wyverns, and its dragons with all the bitterness of
Hotspur himself, there were moments when these communications interested
his fancy and rewarded his attention.

The deeds of Wilibert of Waverley in the Holy Land, his long absence and
perilous adventures, his supposed death, and his return in the evening
when the betrothed of his heart had wedded the hero who had protected
her from insult and oppression during his absence; the generosity with
which the Crusader relinquished his claims, and sought in a neighbouring
cloister that peace which passeth not away; [1]--to these
and similar tales he would hearken till his heart glowed and his
eye glistened. Nor was he less affected, when his aunt, Mrs. Rachel,
narrated the sufferings and fortitude of Lady Alice Waverley during
the Great Civil War. The benevolent features of the venerable spinster
kindled into more majestic expression, as she told how Charles had,
after the field of Worcester, found a day's refuge at Waverley-Honour;
and how, when a troop of cavalry were approaching to search the mansion,
Lady Alice dismissed her youngest son with a handful of domestics,
charging them to make good with their lives an hour's diversion, that
the king might have that space for escape, 'And, God help her,' would
Mrs. Rachel continue, fixing her eyes upon the heroine's portrait as she
spoke, 'full dearly did she purchase the safety of her prince with the
life of her darling child. They brought him here a prisoner, mortally
wounded; and you may trace the drops of his blood from the great hall
door along the little gallery, and up to the saloon, where they laid
him down to die at his mother's feet. But there was comfort exchanged
between them; for he knew from the glance of his mother's eye, that
the purpose of his desperate defence was attained. Ah! I remember,' she
continued, 'I remember well to have seen one that knew and loved him.
Miss Lucy St. Aubin lived and died a maid for his sake, though one of
the most beautiful and wealthy matches in this country; all the world
ran after her, but she wore widow's mourning all her life for poor
William, for they were betrothed though not married, and died in--I
cannot think of the date; but I remember, in the November of that very
year, when she found herself sinking, she desired to be brought to
Waverley-Honour once more, and visited all the places where she had been
with my grand-uncle, and caused the carpets to be raised that she might
trace the impression of his blood, and if tears could have washed it
out, it had not been there now; for there was not a dry eye in the
house. You would have thought, Edward, that the very trees mourned for
her, for their leaves dropped around her without a gust of wind; and,
indeed, she looked like one that would never see them green again.'

From such legends our hero would steal away to indulge the fancies they
excited. In the corner of the large and sombre library, with no other
light than was afforded by the decaying brands on its ponderous and
ample hearth, he would exercise for hours that internal sorcery, by
which past or imaginary events are presented in action, as it were, to
the eye of the muser. Then arose in long and fair array the splendour of
the bridal feast at Waverley Castle; the tall and emaciated form of its
real lord, as he stood in his pilgrim's weeds, an unnoticed spectator of
the festivities of his supposed heir and intended bride; the electrical
shock occasioned by the discovery; the springing of the vassals to arms;
the astonishment of the bridegroom; the terror and confusion of the
bride; the agony with which Wilibert observed that her heart as well as
consent was in these nuptials; the air of dignity, yet of deep feeling,
with which he flung down the half-drawn sword, and turned away for ever
from the house of his ancestors. Then would he change the scene, and
fancy would at his wish represent Aunt Rachel's tragedy. He saw the Lady
Waverley seated in her bower, her ear strained to every sound, her heart
throbbing with double agony, now listening to the decaying echo of the
hoofs of the king's horse, and when that had died away, hearing in
every breeze that shook the trees of the park, the noise of the remote
skirmish. A distant sound is heard like the rushing of a swollen stream;
it comes nearer, and Edward can plainly distinguish the galloping
of horses, the cries and shouts of men, with straggling pistol-shots
between, rolling forwards to the Hall. The lady starts up--a terrified
menial rushes in--but why pursue such a description?

As living in this ideal world became daily more delectable to our hero,
interruption was disagreeable in proportion. The extensive domain that
surrounded the Hall, which, far exceeding the dimensions of a park, was
usually termed Waverley-Chase, had originally been forest ground, and
still, though broken by extensive glades, in which the young deer were
sporting, retained its pristine and savage character. It was traversed
by broad avenues, in many places half grown up with brushwood, where the
beauties of former days used to take their stand to see the stag course
with greyhounds, or to gain an aim at him with the crossbow. In one
spot, distinguished by a moss-grown Gothic monument, which retained the
name of Queen's Standing, Elizabeth herself was said to have pierced
seven bucks with her own arrows. This was a very favourite haunt of
Waverley. At other times, with his gun and his spaniel, which served
as an apology to others, and with a book in his pocket, which perhaps
served as an apology to himself, he used to pursue one of these long
avenues, which, after an ascending sweep of four miles, gradually
narrowed into a rude and contracted path through the cliffy and woody
pass called Mirkwood Dingle, and opened suddenly upon a deep, dark, and
small lake, named, from the same cause, Mirkwood Mere. There stood,
in former times, a solitary tower upon a rock almost surrounded by the
water, which had acquired the name of the Strength of Waverley, because,
in perilous times, it had often been the refuge of the family. There, in
the wars of York and Lancaster, the last adherents of the Red Rose
who dared to maintain her cause, carried on a harassing and predatory
warfare, till the stronghold was reduced by the celebrated Richard of
Gloucester. Here, too, a party of cavaliers long maintained themselves
under Nigel Waverley, elder brother of that William whose fate Aunt
Rachel commemorated. Through these scenes it was that Edward loved to
'chew the cud of sweet and bitter fancy,' and, like a child among his
toys, culled and arranged, from the splendid yet useless imagery and
emblems with which his imagination was stored, visions as brilliant and
as fading as those of an evening sky. The effect of this indulgence upon
his temper and character will appear in the next chapter.



CHAPTER V

CHOICE OF A PROFESSION

From the minuteness with which I have traced Waverley's pursuits, and
the bias which these unavoidably communicated to his imagination, the
reader may perhaps anticipate, in the following tale, an imitation of
the romance of Cervantes. But he will do my prudence injustice in the
supposition. My intention is not to follow the steps of that inimitable
author, in describing such total perversion of intellect as misconstrues
the objects actually presented to the senses, but that more common
aberration from sound judgement, which apprehends occurrences indeed in
their reality, but communicates to them a tincture of its own romantic
tone and colouring. So far was Edward Waverley from expecting general
sympathy with his own feelings, or concluding that the present state of
things was calculated to exhibit the reality of those visions in which
he loved to indulge, that he dreaded nothing more than the detection
of such sentiments as were dictated by his musings, he neither had nor
wished to have a confidant, with whom to communicate his reveries; and
so sensible was he of the ridicule attached to them, that, had he been
to choose between any punishment short of ignominy, and the necessity of
giving a cold and composed account of the ideal world in which he lived
the better part of his days, I think he would not have hesitated to
prefer the former infliction. This secrecy became doubly precious, as he
felt in advancing life the influence of the awakening passions. Female
forms of exquisite grace and beauty began to mingle in his mental
adventures; nor was he long without looking abroad to compare the
creatures of his own imagination with the females of actual life.

The list of the beauties who displayed their hebdomadal finery at the
parish church of Waverley was neither numerous nor select. By far the
most passable was Miss Sissly, or, as she rather chose to be called,
Miss Cecilia Stubbs, daughter of Squire Stubbs at the Grange. I know not
whether it was by the 'merest accident in the world,' a phrase which,
from female lips, does not always exclude MALICE PREPENSE, or whether it
was from a conformity of taste, that Miss Cecilia more than once crossed
Edward in his favourite walks through Waverley-Chase. He had not as yet
assumed courage to accost her on these occasions; but the meeting was
not without its effect. A romantic lover is a strange idolater,
who sometimes cares not out of what log he frames the object of his
adoration; at least, if nature has given that object any passable
proportion of personal charms, he can easily play the jeweller and
Dervise in the Oriental tale, [See Hoppner's tale of The Seven Lovers.]
and supply her richly, out of the stores of his own imagination, with
supernatural beauty, and all the properties of intellectual wealth.

But ere the charms of Miss Cecilia Stubbs had erected her into a
positive goddess, or elevated her at least to a level with the saint her
namesake, Mrs. Rachel Waverley gained some intimation which determined
her to prevent the approaching apotheosis. Even the most simple and
unsuspicious of the female sex have (God bless them!) an instinctive
sharpness of perception in such matters, which sometimes goes the length
of observing partialities that never existed, but rarely misses to
detect such as pass actually under their observation. Mrs. Rachel
applied herself with great prudence, not to combat, but to elude, the
approaching danger, and suggested to her brother the necessity that
the heir of his house should see something more of the world than was
consistent with constant residence at Waverley-Honour.

Sir Everard would not at first listen to a proposal which went to
separate his nephew from him. Edward was a little bookish, he admitted;
but youth, he had always heard, was the season for learning, and, no
doubt, when his rage for letters was abated, and his head fully stocked
with knowledge, his nephew would take to field sports and country
business. He had often, he said, himself regretted that he had not spent
some time in study during his youth: he would neither have shot nor
hunted with less skill, and he might have made the roof of St. Stephen's
echo to longer orations than were comprised in those zealous Noes, with
which, when a member of the House during Godolphin's administration, he
encountered every measure of government.

Aunt Rachel's anxiety, however, lent her address to carry her point.
Every representative of their house had visited foreign parts, or served
his country in the army, before he settled for life at Waverley-Honour,
and she appealed for the truth of her assertion to the genealogical
pedigree, an authority which Sir Everard was never known to contradict.
In short, a proposal was made to Mr. Richard Waverley that his son
should travel, under the direction of his present tutor, Mr. Pembroke,
with a suitable allowance from the baronet's liberality. The father
himself saw no objection to this overture; but upon mentioning it
casually at the table of the Minister, the great man looked grave.
The reason was explained in private. The unhappy turn of Sir Everard's
politics, the Minister observed, was such as would render it highly
improper that a young gentleman of such hopeful prospects should travel
on the Continent with a tutor doubtless of his uncle's choosing,
and directing his course by his instructions. What might Mr. Edward
Waverley's society be at Paris, what at Rome, where all manner of snares
were spread by the Pretender and his sons--these were points for Mr.
Waverley to consider. This he could himself say, that he knew his
Majesty had such a just sense of Mr. Richard Waverley's merits, that if
his son adopted the army for a few years, a troop, he believed, might
be reckoned upon in one of the dragoon regiments lately returned from
Flanders.

A hint thus conveyed and enforced was not to be neglected with impunity;
and Richard Waverley, though with great dread of shocking his brother's
prejudices, deemed he could not avoid accepting the commission thus
offered him for his son. The truth is, he calculated much, and justly,
upon Sir Everard's fondness for Edward, which made him unlikely to
resent any step that he might take in due submission to parental
authority. Two letters announced this determination to the Baronet and
his nephew. The latter barely communicated the fact, and pointed out the
necessary preparation 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
further 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 returned, in chastened gleam,
     The purple cloud, the golden beam:
     Reflected in the crystal pool,
     Headand 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 donned at once his sable cloak,
     As warrior, at the battle-cry,
     Invests him with his panoply:
     Then as the whirlwind nearer pressed,
     He 'gan to shake his foamy crest
     O'er furrowed brow and blackened cheek,
     And bade his surge in thunder speak.
     In wild and broken eddies whirled,
     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 warred the wind with wave and wood.
     Upon the ruined tower I stood,
     And felt my heart more strongly bound,
     Responsive to the lofty sound,
     While, joying in the mighty roar,
     I mourned 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 loth, 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
PIS-ALLER, 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 brow 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 sentry-box. Those who are contented to remain with me will be
occasionally exposed to the dullness 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. [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 retract or
cancel.]



CHAPTER VI

THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY

It was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir Everard
entered the library, where he narrowly missed surprising our young hero
as he went through the guards of the broadsword with the ancient weapon
of old Sir Hildebrand, which, being preserved as an heirloom, usually
hung over the chimney in the library, beneath a picture of the knight
and his horse, where the features were almost entirely hidden by the
knight's profusion of curled hair, and the Bucephalus which he bestrode
concealed by the voluminous robes of the Bath with which he was
decorated. Sir Everard entered, and after a glance at the picture and
another at his nephew, began a little speech, which, however, soon
dropped 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
recognized, 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. [2] 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
acknowledgements 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 colic 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, if
would be a matter of national reproach. Sir Everard, accustomed to treat
much larger sums with indifference, received the remittance of 294l.
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 colic 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 wofully 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, stopped 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, letterpress--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 peached my author--I have
published for Drake, and Charlwood Lawton, and poor Amhurst. [3]--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. [4]
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 realize 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 passed, 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 meanwhile, 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 horseback, 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. [5] The
next day, traversing an open and unenclosed 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 & 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 enclosure. The
broken ground on which the village was built had never been levelled; so
that these enclosures 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 peas,
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 dung-hill ascended in noble
emulation.

About a bow-shot from the end of the village appeared the enclosures,
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
flourished 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 footpath, 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 romantic; 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
courtyard 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 enclosure. 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 watch-tower. 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 gipsies, 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 enclosure.

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 dovecot, 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 'BEWAR THE BAR,' 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. [There is no particular mansion described under the
name of Tully-Veolan; but the peculiarities of the description occur
in various old Scottish seats. The House of Warrender upon Bruntsfield
Links, and that of Old Ravelston, belonging, the former to Sir George
Warrender, the latter to Sir Alexander Keith, have both contributed
several hints to the description in the text. The House of Dean, near
Edinburgh, has also some points of resemblance with Tully-Veolan.
The author has, however, been informed, that the House of Grandtully
resembles that of the Baron of Bradwardine still more than any of the
above.]



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 courtyard 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 dung-hills. 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 reigned 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 courtyard 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. [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 sundial 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 weir-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, sprang 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 sang with great earnestness, and not without some taste,
a fragment of an old Scottish ditty:--

     False love, and hast thou played me thus
     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.

[This is a genuine ancient fragment, with some alteration in the last
two lines.]

Here lifting up his eyes, which had hither&o 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 ruffed 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
meantime 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 bowl 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. He used to work
a day's turn weel eneugh; but he help'd 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 maybe
catching a dish of trouts at an orra-time. But here comes Miss Rose,
who, I take burden upon me for her, will be especially glad to see one
of the house of Waverley at her father's mansion at Tully-Veolan.'

But Rose Bradwardine deserves better of her unworthy historian, than to
be introduced at the end of a chapter.

In the meanwhile 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. [6]



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 feast-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 further--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 hung 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 FRANCAISE, and kissed him on both sides of his face; while
the hardness of his grip, 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 TEMPS, 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 leaks 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 Wavery-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 D'UNE OREILLE, as Captain
Vinsauf used to say--VINUM PRIMAE NOTAE, the Principal of St. 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 corselets 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, wainscoted 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--GAUDAT 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 lawsuit, 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. 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 meal-ark, and with two
barrels, one of single, and one of double ale, besides three bottles of
brandy. [7] 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 entered, 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 ate 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
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, fuming 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 Redbeard, 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 St.
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 Dr. 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 cobwebbed 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.'
[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 that 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, to the honour of
the Baron's roof-tree. [8]

It must be noticed, that the Bailie, knowing by experience that the
day's joviality, 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 hist neighbour. The
Baron of Bradwardine sang French CHANSONS-A-BOIRE, and spouted pieces
of Latin; Killancureit talked, in a steady unalterable dull key,
of top-dressing and bottom-dressing, [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 mousquetaire, 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 ports 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 muirfowl's tail.

[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 sang 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 ensconce 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 OF 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 had 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 mid-way 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 barley-meal,
in the shape of leaves, cakes, biscuits, and other varieties, together
with eggs, reindeer ham, mutton and beef, ditto, smoked salmon,
marmalade, and all 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 Dr. 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 sank 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 the 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 GULAE 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 super-abundance 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 commenced, 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. [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 Davie 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 doatingly 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 Davie
Gellatley was no further 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:
Davie 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
broken-hearted, 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 staircase, tapping
each huge balustrade as he passed with the butt of his massive
horsewhip, and humming, with the air of a chasseur of Louis Quatorze,

     Pour la chasse ordonnee il faut preparer tout,
     Hola 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 farmyard which they passed in their progress, till, 'low down in
a grassy vale,' they found Davie 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 booted 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 bare-legged 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, [A bare-footed Highland lad is called a
gillie-wet-foot. Gillie, in general, means servant or attendant.] 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 old
Hardyknute--

     Stately stepped he east the wa',
     And stately stepped 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 BRUCE, 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 periwig-maker.'

[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, harmonized 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 ante-room 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-checked, 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 sat 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 further 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 sang 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 St. 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:--

     ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIR.

     On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest,
     Ever beware that your couch be blessed;
     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 swathed in the cloud.

     The Lady she sat in St. Swithin's Chair,
     The dew of the night has damped her hair:
     Her cheek was pale--but resolved and high
     Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye.

     She muttered the spell of Swithin bold,
     When his naked foot traced the midnight wold,
     When he stopped the Hag as she rode the night,
     And bade her descend, and her promise plight.

     He that dare sit on St. 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 ceased to flow;
     The calm was more dreadful than raging storm,
     Then the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form!

     .   .   .   .   .   .

'I am sorry to disappoint the company, especially Captain Waverley, who
listens with such laudable gravity; it is but a fragment, although I
think there are other verses, describing the return of the Baron from
the wars, and how the lady was found "clay-cold upon the grounsill
ledge."'

'It is one of those figments,' observed Mr. Bradwardine, 'with which
the early history of distinguished families was deformed in the times
of superstition; as that of Rome, and other ancient nations, had their
prodigies, sir, the which you may read in ancient histories, or in the
little work compiled by Julius Obsequens, and inscribed by the learned
Scheffer, the editor, to his patron, Benedictus Skytte, Baron of
Dudershoff.'

'My father has a strange defiance of the marvellous, Captain Waverley,'
observed Rose, 'and once stood firm when a whole synod of Presbyterian
divines were put to the rout by a sudden apparition of the foul fiend.'

Waverley looked as if desirous to hear more.

Must I tell my story as well as sing my song?--Well.--Once upon a time
there lived an old woman, called Janet Gellatley, who was suspected to
be a witch, on the infallible grounds that she was very old, very ugly,
very poor, and had two sons, one of whom was a poet, and the other a
fool, which visitation, all the neighbourhood agreed, had come upon
her for the sin of witchcraft. And she was imprisoned for a week in the
steeple of the parish church, and sparingly supplied with food, and not
permitted to sleep, until she herself became as much persuaded of her
being a witch as her accusers; and in this lucid and happy state of
mind was brought forth to make a clean breast, that is, to make open
confession of her sorceries, before all the Whig gentry and ministers
in the vicinity, who were no conjurers themselves. My father went to see
fair play between the witch and the clergy; for the witch had been
born on his estate. 'And while the witch was confessing that the Enemy
appeared, and made his addresses to her as a handsome black man,--which,
if you could have seen poor old blear-eyed Janet, reflected little
honour on Apollyon's taste,--and while the auditors listened with
astonished ears, and the clerk recorded with a trembling hand, she, all
of a sudden, changed the low mumbling tone with which she spoke into a
shrill yell, and exclaimed, "Look to yourselves! look to yourselves! I
see the Evil One sitting in the midst of ye." The surprise was general,
and terror and flight its immediate consequences. Happy were those who
were next the door; and many were the disasters that befell hats, bands,
cuffs, and wigs, before they could get out of the church, where they
left the obstinate prelatist to settle matters with the witch and her
admirer, at his own peril or pleasure.'

'RISU SOLVUNTUR TABULAE,' said the Baron: 'when they recovered their
panic trepidation, they were too much ashamed to bring any wakening of
the process against Janet Gellatley.' [The story last told was said to
have happened in the south of Scotland; but--CEDANT ARMA TOGAE--and
let the gown have its dues. It was an old clergyman, who had wisdom and
firmness enough to resist the panic which seized his brethren, who was
the means of rescuing a poor insane creature from the cruel fate which
would otherwise have overtaken her. The accounts of the trials for
witchcraft form one of the most deplorable chapters in Scottish story.]

This anecdote led to a long discussion of

     All those idle thoughts and fantasies,
     Devices, dreams, opinions unsound,
     Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies,
     And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies.

With such conversation, and the romantic legends which it produced,
closed our hero's second evening in the house of Tully-Veolan.



CHAPTER XIV

A DISCOVERY--WAVERLEY BECOMES DOMESTICATED AT TULLY-VEOLAN

The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a morning walk around the
house and its vicinity, came suddenly upon a small court in front of the
dog-kennel, where his friend Davie was employed about his four-footed
charge. One quick glance of his eye recognized Waverley, when, instantly
turning his back, as if he had not observed him, he began to sing part
of an old ballad:--

     Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;
     HEARD YE SO MERRY THE LITTLE BIRD SING?
     Old men's love the longest will last,
     AND THE THROSTLE-COCK'S HEAD IS UNDER HIS WING.

     The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;
     HEARD YE SO MERRY THE LITTLE BIRD SING?
     But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire,
     AND THE THROSTLE-COCK'S HEAD IS UNDER HIS WING.

     The young man will brawl at the evening board;
     HEARD YE SO MERRY THE LITTLE BIRD SING?
     But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
     AND THE THROSTLE-COCK'S HEAD IS UNDER HIS WING.

Waverley could not avoid observing that Davie laid something like
a satirical emphasis on these lines. He therefore approached, and
endeavoured, by sundry queries, to elicit from him what the innuendo
might mean; but Davie had no mind to explain, and had wit enough to
make his folly cloak his knavery. Edward could collect nothing from
him, excepting that the Laird of Balmawhapple had gone home yesterday
morning, 'wi' his boots fu' o' bluid.' In the garden, however, he met
the old butler, who no longer attempted to conceal, that, having been
bred in the nursery line with Sumack & Co., of Newcastle, he sometimes
wrought a turn in the flower-borders to oblige the Laird and Miss Rose.
By a series of queries, Edward at length discovered, with a painful
feeling of surprise and shame, that Balmawhapple's submission and
apology had been the consequence of a rencontre with the Baron before
his guest had quitted his pillow, in which the younger combatant had
been disarmed and wounded in the sword-arm.

Greatly mortified at this information, Edward sought out his friendly
host, and anxiously expostulated with him upon the injustice he had done
him in anticipating his meeting with Mr. Falconer, a circumstance which,
considering his youth and the profession of arms which he had just
adopted, was capable of being represented much to his prejudice. The
Baron justified himself at greater length than I choose to repeat. He
urged that the quarrel was common to them, and that Balmawhapple could
not, by the code of honour, EVITE giving satisfaction to both, which he
had done in his case by an honourable meeting, and in that of Edward by
such a PALINODE as rendered the use of the sword unnecessary, and which,
being made and accepted, must necessarily SOPITE the whole affair.

With this excuse or explanation, Waverley was silenced, if not
satisfied; but he could not help testifying some displeasure against
the Blessed Bear, which had given rise to the quarrel, nor refrain from
hinting, that the sanctified epithet was hardly appropriate. The Baron
observed, he could not deny that 'the Bear, though allowed by heralds
as a most honourable ordinary, had, nevertheless, somewhat fierce,
churlish, and morose in his disposition (as might be read in Archibald
Simson, pastor of Dalkeith's HIEROGLYPHICA ANIMALIUM), and had thus
been the type of many quarrels and dissensions which had occurred in the
house of Bradwardine; of which,' he continued, 'I might commemorate mine
own unfortunate dissension with my third cousin by the mother's side,
Sir Hew Halbert, who was so unthinking as to deride my family name, as
if it had been QUASI BEARWARDEN; a most uncivil jest, since it not only
insinuated that the founder of our house occupied such a mean situation
as to be a custodier of wild beasts, a charge which, ye must have
observed, is only entrusted to the very basest plebeians; but, moreover,
seemed to infer that our coat-armour had not been achieved by honourable
actions in war, but bestowed by way of PARONOMASIA, or pun upon our
family appellation,--a sort of bearing which the French call ARMOIRES
PARLANTES; the Latins ARMA CANTANTIA; and your English authorities,
canting heraldry; being indeed a species of emblazoning more befitting
canters, gaberlunzies, and such-like mendicants, whose gibberish is
formed upon playing upon the word, than the noble, honourable, and
useful science of heraldry, which assigns armorial bearings as the
reward of noble and generous actions, and not to tickle the ear with
vain quodlibets, such as are found in jest-books.' [9] Of his
quarrel with Sir Hew, he said nothing more, than that it was settled in
a fitting manner.

Having been so minute with respect to the diversions of Tully-Veolan, on
the first days of Edward's arrival, for the purpose of introducing its
inmates to the reader's acquaintance, it becomes less necessary to trace
the progress of his intercourse with the same accuracy. It is probable
that a young man, accustomed to more cheerful society, would have tired
of the conversation of so violent an asserter of the 'boast of heraldry'
as the Baron; but Edward found an agreeable variety in that of Miss
Bradwardine, who listened with eagerness to his remarks upon literature,
and showed great justness of taste in her answers. The sweetness of her
disposition had made her submit with complacency, and even pleasure,
to the course of reading prescribed by her father, although it not only
comprehended several heavy folios of history, but certain gigantic tomes
in High Church polemics. In heraldry he was fortunately contented to
give her only such a slight tincture as might be acquired by perusal of
the two folio volumes of Nisbet. Rose was indeed the very apple of her
father's eye. Her constant liveliness, her attention to all those little
observances most gratifying to those who would never think of exacting
them, her beauty, in which he recalled the features of his beloved wife,
her unfeigned piety, and the noble generosity of her disposition, would
have justified the affection of the most doting father.

His anxiety on her behalf did not, however, seem to extend itself
in that quarter, where, according to the general opinion, it is most
efficiently displayed; in labouring, namely, to establish her in life,
either by a large dowry or a wealthy marriage. By an old settlement,
almost all the landed estates of the Baron went, after his death, to a
distant relation; and it was supposed that Miss Bradwardine would remain
but slenderly provided for, as the good gentleman's cash matters had
been too long under the exclusive charge of Bailie Macwheeble, to admit
of any great expectations from his personal succession. It is true, the
said Bailie loved his patron and his patron's daughter next (although at
an incomparable distance) to himself. He thought it was possible to
set aside the settlement on the male line, and had actually procured
an opinion to that effect (and, as he boasted, without a fee) from an
eminent Scottish counsel, under whose notice he contrived to bring the
point while consulting him regularly on some other business. But
the Baron would not listen to such a proposal for an instant. On the
contrary, he used to have a perverse pleasure in boasting that the
barony of Bradwardine was a male fief, the first charter having been
given at that early period when women were not deemed capable to hold a
feudal grant; because, according to Les COUSTUSMES DE NORMANDIE, C'EST
L'HOMME KI SE BAST ET KI CONSEILLE; or, as is yet more ungallantly
expressed by other authorities, all of whose barbarous names he
delighted to quote at full length, because a woman could not serve the
superior, or feudal lord, in war, on account of the decorum of her sex,
nor assist him with advice, because of her limited intellect, nor
keep his counsel, owing to the infirmity of her disposition. He would
triumphantly ask, how it would become a female, and that female a
Bradwardine, to be seen employed in, SERVITIO EXUENDI, SEU DETRAHENDI,
CALIGAS REGIS POST BATTALIAM? that is, in pulling off the king's boots
after an engagement, which was the feudal service by which he held the
barony of Bradwardine. 'No,' he said, 'beyond hesitation, PROCUL DUBIO,
many females, as worthy as Rose, had been excluded, in order to make
way for my own succession, and Heaven forbid that I should do aught that
might contravene the destination of my forefathers, or impinge upon the
right of my kinsman, Malcolm Bradwardine of Inchgrabbit, an honourable
though decayed branch of my own family.'

The Bailie, as prime minister, having received this decisive
communication from his sovereign, durst not press his own opinion
any further, but contented himself with deploring, on all suitable
occasions, to Saunderson, the minister of the interior, the Laird's
self-willedness, and with laying plans for uniting Rose with the young
laird of Balmawhapple, who had a fine estate, only moderately burdened,
and was a faultless young gentleman, being as sober as a saint--if you
keep brandy from him, and him from brandy--and who, in brief, had
no imperfection but that of keeping light company at a time; such as
Jinker, the horse-couper, and Gibby Gaethroughwi't, the piper o' Cupar;
o' whilk follies, Mr. Saunderson, he'll mend, he'll mend,'--pronounced
the Bailie.

'Like sour ale in simmer,' added Davie Gellatley, who happened to be
nearer the conclave than they were aware of.

Miss Bradwardine, such as we have described her, with all the simplicity
and curiosity of a recluse, attached herself to the opportunities of
increasing her store of literature which Edward's visit afforded her.
He sent for some of his books from his quarters, and they opened to
her sources of delight of which she had hitherto had no idea. The best
English poets, of every description, and other works on belles lettres,
made a part of this precious cargo. Her music, even her flowers, were
neglected, and Saunders not only mourned over, but began to mutiny
against the labour for which he now scarce received thanks. These
new pleasures became gradually enhanced by sharing them with one of
a kindred taste. Edward's readiness to comment, to recite, to explain
difficult passages, rendered his assistance invaluable; and the wild
romance of his spirit delighted a character too young and inexperienced
to observe its deficiencies. Upon subjects which interested him, and
when quite at ease, he possessed that flow of natural, and somewhat
florid eloquence, which has been supposed as powerful even as figure,
fashion, fame, or fortune, in winning the female heart. There was,
therefore, an increasing danger in this constant intercourse, to poor
Rose's peace of mind, which was the more imminent, as her father was
greatly too much abstracted in his studies, and wrapped up in his own
dignity, to dream of his daughter's incurring it. The daughters of the
house of Bradwardine were, in his opinion, like those of the house of
Bourbon or Austria, placed high above the clouds of passion which
might obfuscate the intellects of meaner females; they moved in another
sphere, were governed by other feelings, and amenable to other rules,
than those of idle and fantastic affection. In short, he shut his eyes
so resolutely to the natural consequences of Edward's intimacy with Miss
Bradwardine, that the whole neighbourhood concluded that he had opened
them to the advantages of a match between his daughter and the wealthy
young Englishman, and pronounced him much less a fool than he had
generally shown himself in cases where his own interest was concerned.

If the Baron, however, had really meditated such an alliance, the
indifference of Waverley would have been an insuperable bar to his
project. Our hero, since mixing more freely with the world, had learned
to think with great shame and confusion upon his mental legend of Saint
Cecilia, and the vexation of these reflections was likely, for some
time at least, to counterbalance the natural susceptibility of his
disposition. Besides, Rose Bradwardine, beautiful and amiable as we
have described her, had not precisely the sort of beauty or merit which
captivates a romantic imagination in early youth. She was too frank, too
confiding, too kind; amiable qualities, undoubtedly, but destructive of
the marvellous, with which a youth of imagination delights to address
the empress of his affections. Was it possible to bow, to tremble,
and to adore, before the timid, yet playful little girl, who now asked
Edward to mend her pen, now to construe a stanza in Tasso, and now
how to spell a very--very long word in her version of it? All these
incidents have their fascination on the mind at a certain period of
life, but not when a youth is entering it, and rather looking out
for some object whose affection may dignify him in his own eyes, than
stooping to one who looks up to him for such distinction. Hence,
though there can be no rule in so capricious a passion, early love is
fr

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