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Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — Volume 1

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Title: Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — Volume 1

Author: Walter Scott


        
Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #4964]
                Most recently updated: January 13, 2012

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAVERLEY; OR, 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE — VOLUME 1 ***




Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online
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[Transcriber's Note:
I feel that it is important to note that this book is part
of the Caledonian series. The Caledonian series is a group
of 50 books comprising all of Sir Walter Scott's works.]




WAVERLEY

OR 'T IS SIXTY YEARS SINCE

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

VOLUME I





PUBLISHERS' NOTE


It has long been the ambition of the present publishers to offer
to the public an ideal edition of the writings of Sir Walter
Scott, the great poet and novelist of whom William Hazlitt said,
'His works are almost like a new edition of human nature.' Secure
in the belief not only that his writings have achieved a permanent
place in the literature of the world, but that succeeding
generations will prize them still more highly, we have, after the
most careful planning and study, undertaken the publication of
this edition of the Waverley Novels and the complete poetical
writings.

It is evident that the ideal edition of a great classic must be
distinguished in typography, must present the best available text,
and must be illustrated in such a way as at once to be beautiful
in itself and to add to the reader's pleasure and his
understanding of the book. As to the typography and text, little
need be said here. The format of the edition has been most
carefully studied, and represents the use of the best resources of
The Riverside Press. The text has been carefully edited in the
light of Scott's own revisions; all of his own latest notes have
been included, glossaries have been added, and full descriptive
notes to the illustrations have been prepared which will, we hope,
add greatly to the reader's interest and instruction in the
reading of the novels and poems.

Of the illustrations, which make the special feature of this
edition, something more may be said. In the case of an author like
Sir Walter Scott, the ideal edition requires that the beautiful
and romantic scenery amid which he lived and of which he wrote
shall be adequately presented to the reader. No other author ever
used more charming backgrounds or employed them to better
advantage. To see Scotland, and to visit in person all the scenes
of the novels and poems, would enable the reader fully to
understand these backgrounds and thereby add materially to his
appreciation of the author.

Before beginning the preparation of this edition, the head of the
department having it in charge made a visit in person to the
scenes of the novels and poems, determined to explore all the
localities referred to by the author, so far as they could be
identified. The field proved even more productive than had been at
first supposed, and photographs were obtained in sufficient
quantity to illustrate all the volumes. These pictures represent
the scenes very much as Scott saw them. The natural scenery--
mountains, woods, lakes, rivers, seashore, and the like--is nearly
the same as in his day. The ruins of ancient castles and abbeys
were found to correspond very closely with his descriptions,
though in many instances he had in imagination rebuilt these ruins
and filled them with the children of his fancy. The scenes of the
stories extend into nearly every county in Scotland and through a
large part of England and Wales. All of these were thoroughly
investigated, and photographs were made of everything of interest.
One of the novels has to do with France and Belgium, one with
Switzerland, one with the Holy Land, one with Constantinople, and
one with India. For all of these lands, which Scott did not visit
in person, and therefore did not describe with the same attention
to detail as in the case of his own country, interesting pictures
of characteristic scenery were secured. By this method the
publishers have hoped to bring before the reader a series of
photographs which will not only please the eye and give a
satisfactory artistic effect to the volumes, but also increase the
reader's knowledge of the country described and add a new charm to
the delightful work of the author. In addition to the photographs,
old engravings and paintings have been reproduced for the
illustration of novels having to do with old buildings, streets,
etc., which have long since disappeared. For this material a
careful search was made in the British Museum, the Advocates'
Library and City Museum, Edinburgh, the Library at Abbotsford, the
Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, and other collections.

It has been thought, too, that the ideal edition of Scott's works
would not be complete without an adequate portrayal of his more
memorable characters. This has been accomplished in a series of
frontispieces specially painted for this edition by twenty of the
most distinguished illustrators of England.

4 PARK STREET, BOSTON.





ADVERTISEMENT TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS


IT has been the occasional occupation of the Author of Waverley,
for several years past, to revise and correct the voluminous
series of Novels which pass under that name, in order that, if
they should ever appear as his avowed productions, he might render
them in some degree deserving of a continuance of the public
favour with which they have been honoured ever since their first
appearance. For a long period, however, it seemed likely that the
improved and illustrated edition which he meditated would be a
posthumous publication. But the course of the events which
occasioned the disclosure of the Author's name having, in a great
measure, restored to him a sort of parental control over these
Works, he is naturally induced to give them to the press in a
corrected, and, he hopes, an improved form, while life and health
permit the task of revising and illustrating them. Such being his
purpose, it is necessary to say a few words on the plan of the
proposed Edition.

In stating it to be revised and corrected, it is not to be
inferred that any attempt is made to alter the tenor of the
stories, the character of the actors, or the spirit of the
dialogue. There is no doubt ample room for emendation in all these
points,--but where the tree falls it must lie. Any attempt to
obviate criticism, however just, by altering a work already in the
hands of the public is generally unsuccessful. In the most
improbable fiction, the reader still desires some air of
vraisemblance, and does not relish that the incidents of a tale
familiar to him should be altered to suit the taste of critics, or
the caprice of the Author himself. This process of feeling is so
natural, that it may be observed even in children, who cannot
endure that a nursery story should be repeated to them differently
from the manner in which it was first told.

But without altering, in the slightest degree, either the story or
the mode of telling it, the Author has taken this opportunity to
correct errors of the press and slips of the pen. That such should
exist cannot be wondered at, when it is considered that the
Publishers found it their interest to hurry through the press a
succession of the early editions of the various Novels, and that
the Author had not the usual opportunity of revision. It is hoped
that the present edition will be found free from errors of that
accidental kind.

The Author has also ventured to make some emendations of a
different character, which, without being such apparent deviations
from the original stories as to disturb the reader's old
associations, will, he thinks, add something to the spirit of the
dialogue, narrative, or description. These consist in occasional
pruning where the language is redundant, compression where the
style is loose, infusion of vigour where it is languid, the
exchange of less forcible for more appropriate epithets--slight
alterations in short, like the last touches of an artist, which
contribute to heighten and finish the picture, though an
inexperienced eye can hardly detect in what they consist.

The General Preface to the new Edition, and the Introductory
Notices to each separate work, will contain an account of such
circumstances attending the first publication of the Novels and
Tales as may appear interesting in themselves, or proper to be
communicated to the public. The Author also proposes to publish,
on this occasion, the various legends, family traditions, or
obscure historical facts which have formed the ground-work of
these Novels, and to give some account of the places where the
scenes are laid, when these are altogether, or in part, real; as
well as a statement of particular incidents founded on fact;
together with a more copious Glossary, and Notes explanatory of
the ancient customs and popular superstitions referred to in the
Romances.

Upon the whole, it is hoped that the Waverley Novels, in their new
dress, will not be found to have lost any part of their
attractions in consequence of receiving illustrations by the
Author, and undergoing his careful revision.

ABBOTSFORD, January, 1829.





GENERAL PREFACE TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS

    ---And must I ravel out
    My weaved-up follies?

    Richard II, Act IV.

Having undertaken to give an Introductory Account of the
compositions which are here offered to the public, with Notes and
Illustrations, the Author, under whose name they are now for the
first time collected, feels that he has the delicate task of
speaking more of himself and his personal concerns than may
perhaps be either graceful or prudent. In this particular he runs
the risk of presenting himself to the public in the relation that
the dumb wife in the jest-book held to her husband, when, having
spent half of his fortune to obtain the cure of her imperfection,
he was willing to have bestowed the other half to restore her to
her former condition. But this is a risk inseparable from the task
which the Author has undertaken, and he can only promise to be as
little of an egotist as the situation will permit. It is perhaps
an indifferent sign of a disposition to keep his word, that,
having introduced himself in the third person singular, he
proceeds in the second paragraph to make use of the first. But it
appears to him that the seeming modesty connected with the former
mode of writing is overbalanced by the inconvenience of stiffness
and affectation which attends it during a narrative of some
length, and which may be observed less or more in every work in
which the third person is used, from the Commentaries of Caesar to
the Autobiography of Alexander the Corrector.

I must refer to a very early period of my life, were I to point
out my first achievements as a tale-teller; but I believe some of
my old schoolfellows can still bear witness that I had a
distinguished character for that talent, at a time when the
applause of my companions was my recompense for the disgraces and
punishments which the future romance-writer incurred for being
idle himself, and keeping others idle, during hours that should
have been employed on our tasks. The chief enjoyment of my
holidays was to escape with a chosen friend, who had the same
taste with myself, and alternately to recite to each other such
wild adventures as we were able to devise. We told, each in turn,
interminable tales of knight-errantry and battles and
enchantments, which were continued from one day to another as
opportunity offered, without our ever thinking of bringing them to
a conclusion. As we observed a strict secrecy on the subject of
this intercourse, it acquired all the character of a concealed
pleasure, and we used to select for the scenes of our indulgence
long walks through the solitary and romantic environs of Arthur's
Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, and similar places in the
vicinity of Edinburgh; and the recollection of those holidays
still forms an oasis in the pilgrimage which I have to look back
upon. I have only to add, that my friend still lives, a prosperous
gentleman, but too much occupied with graver business to thank me
for indicating him more plainly as a confidant of my childish
mystery.

When boyhood advancing into youth required more serious studies
and graver cares, a long illness threw me back on the kingdom of
fiction, as if it were by a species of fatality. My indisposition
arose, in part at least, from my having broken a blood-vessel; and
motion and speech were for a long time pronounced positively
dangerous. For several weeks I was confined strictly to my bed,
during which time I was not allowed to speak above a whisper, to
eat more than a spoonful or two of boiled rice, or to have more
covering than one thin counterpane. When the reader is informed
that I was at this time a growing youth, with the spirits,
appetite, and impatience of fifteen, and suffered, of course,
greatly under this severe regimen, which the repeated return of my
disorder rendered indispensable, he will not be surprised that I
was abandoned to my own discretion, so far as reading (my almost
sole amusement) was concerned, and still less so, that I abused
the indulgence which left my time so much at my own disposal.

There was at this time a circulating library in Edinburgh,
founded, I believe, by the celebrated Allan Ramsay, which, besides
containing a most respectable collection of books of every
description, was, as might have been expected, peculiarly rich in
works of fiction. It exhibited specimens of every kind, from the
romances of chivalry and the ponderous folios of Cyrus and
Cassandra, down to the most approved works of later times. I was
plunged into this great ocean of reading without compass or pilot;
and, unless when some one had the charity to play at chess with
me, I was allowed to do nothing save read from morning to night. I
was, in kindness and pity, which was perhaps erroneous, however
natural, permitted to select my subjects of study at my own
pleasure, upon the same principle that the humours of children are
indulged to keep them out of mischief. As my taste and appetite
were gratified in nothing else, I indemnified myself by becoming a
glutton of books. Accordingly, I believe I read almost all the
romances, old plays, and epic poetry in that formidable
collection, and no doubt was unconsciously amassing materials for
the task in which it has been my lot to be so much employed.

At the same time I did not in all respects abuse the license
permitted me. Familiar acquaintance with the specious miracles of
fiction brought with it some degree of satiety, and I began by
degrees to seek in histories, memoirs, voyages and travels, and
the like, events nearly as wonderful as those which were the work
of imagination, with the additional advantage that they were at
least in a great measure true. The lapse of nearly two years,
during which I was left to the exercise of my own free will, was
followed by a temporary residence in the country, where I was
again very lonely but for the amusement which I derived from a
good though old-fashioned library. The vague and wild use which I
made of this advantage I cannot describe better than by referring
my reader to the desultory studies of Waverley in a similar
situation, the passages concerning whose course of reading were
imitated from recollections of my own. It must be understood that
the resemblance extends no farther.

Time, as it glided on, brought the blessings of confirmed health
and personal strength, to a degree which had never been expected
or hoped for. The severe studies necessary to render me fit for my
profession occupied the greater part of my time; and the society
of my friends and companions, who were about to enter life along
with, me, filled up the interval with the usual amusements of
young men. I was in a situation which rendered serious labour
indispensable; for, neither possessing, on the one hand, any of
those peculiar advantages which are supposed to favour a hasty
advance in the profession of the law, nor being, on the other
hand, exposed to unusual obstacles to interrupt my progress, I
might reasonably expect to succeed according to the greater or
less degree of trouble which I should take to qualify myself as a
pleader.

It makes no part of the present story to detail how the success of
a few ballads had the effect of changing all the purpose and tenor
of my life, and of converting a painstaking lawyer of some years'
standing into a follower of literature. It is enough to say, that
I had assumed the latter character for several years before I
seriously thought of attempting a work of imagination in prose,
although one or two of my poetical attempts did not differ from
romances otherwise than by being written in verse. But yet I may
observe, that about this time (now, alas! thirty years since) I
had nourished the ambitious desire of composing a tale of
chivalry, which was to be in the style of the Castle of Otranto,
with plenty of Border characters and supernatural incident. Having
found unexpectedly a chapter of this intended work among some old
papers, I have subjoined it to this introductory essay, thinking
some readers may account as curious the first attempts at romantic
composition by an author who has since written so much in that
department. [Footnote: See Appendix No I.] And those who complain,
not unreasonably, of the profusion of the Tales which have
followed Waverley, may bless their stars at the narrow escape they
have made, by the commencement of the inundation, which had so
nearly taken place in the first year of the century, being
postponed for fifteen years later.

This particular subject was never resumed, but I did not abandon
the idea of fictitious composition in prose, though I determined
to give another turn to the style of the work.

My early recollections of the Highland scenery and customs made so
favourable an impression in the poem called the Lady of the Lake,
that I was induced to think of attempting something of the same
kind in prose. I had been a good deal in the Highlands at a time
when they were much less accessible and much less visited than
they have been of late years, and was acquainted with many of the
old warriors of 1745, who were, like most veterans, easily induced
to fight their battles over again for the benefit of a willing
listener like myself. It naturally occurred to me that the ancient
traditions and high spirit of a people who, living in a civilised
age and country, retained so strong a tincture of manners
belonging to an early period of society, must afford a subject
favourable for romance, if it should not prove a curious tale
marred in the telling.

It was with some idea of this kind that, about the year 1805, I
threw together about one-third part of the first volume of
Waverley. It was advertised to be published by the late Mr. John
Ballantyne, bookseller in Edinburgh, under the name of Waverley;
or, 'Tis Fifty Years Since--a title afterwards altered to 'Tis
Sixty Years Since, that the actual date of publication might be
made to correspond with the period in which the scene was laid.
Having proceeded as far, I think, as the seventh chapter, I showed
my work to a critical friend, whose opinion was unfavourable; and
having then some poetical reputation, I was unwilling to risk the
loss of it by attempting a new style of composition. I therefore
threw aside the work I had commenced, without either reluctance or
remonstrance. I ought to add that, though my ingenious friend's
sentence was afterwards reversed on an appeal to the public, it
cannot be considered as any imputation on his good taste; for the
specimen subjected to his criticism did not extend beyond the
departure of the hero for Scotland, and consequently had not
entered upon the part of the story which was finally found most
interesting.

Be that as it may, this portion of the manuscript was laid aside
in the drawers of an old writing-desk, which, on my first coming
to reside at Abbotsford in 1811, was placed in a lumber garret and
entirely forgotten. Thus, though I sometimes, among other literary
avocations, turned my thoughts to the continuation of the romance
which I had commenced, yet, as I could not find what I had already
written, after searching such repositories as were within my
reach, and was too indolent to attempt to write it anew from
memory, I as often laid aside all thoughts of that nature.

Two circumstances in particular recalled my recollection of the
mislaid manuscript. The first was the extended and well-merited
fame of Miss Edgeworth, whose Irish characters have gone so far to
make the English familiar with the character of their gay and
kind-hearted neighbours of Ireland, that she may be truly said to
have done more towards completing the Union than perhaps all the
legislative enactments by which it has been followed up.

Without being so presumptuous as to hope to emulate the rich
humour, pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact which pervade the
works of my accomplished friend, I felt that something might be
attempted for my own country, of the same kind with that which
Miss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for Ireland--something
which might introduce her natives to those of the sister kingdom
in a more favourable light than they had been placed hitherto, and
tend to procure sympathy for their virtues and indulgence for
their foibles. I thought also, that much of what I wanted in
talent might be made up by the intimate acquaintance with the
subject which I could lay claim to possess, as having travelled
through most parts of Scotland, both Highland and Lowland, having
been familiar with the elder as well as more modern race, and
having had from my infancy free and unrestrained communication
with all ranks of my countrymen, from the Scottish peer to the
Scottish plough-man. Such ideas often occurred to me, and
constituted an ambitious branch of my theory, however far short I
may have fallen of it in practice.

But it was not only the triumphs of Miss Edgeworth which worked in
me emulation, and disturbed my indolence. I chanced actually to
engage in a work which formed a sort of essay piece, and gave me
hope that I might in time become free of the craft of romance-
writing, and be esteemed a tolerable workman.

In the year 1807-08 I undertook, at the request of John Murray,
Esq., of Albemarle Street, to arrange for publication some
posthumous productions of the late Mr. Joseph Strutt,
distinguished as an artist and an antiquary, amongst which was an
unfinished romance, entitled Queenhoo Hall. The scene of the tale
was laid in the reign of Henry VI, and the work was written to
illustrate the manners, customs, and language of the people of
England during that period. The extensive acquaintance which Mr.
Strutt had acquired with such subjects in compiling his laborious
Horda Angel-Cynnan, his Regal and Ecclesiastical Antiquities, and
his Essay on the Sports and Pastimes of the People of England had
rendered him familiar with all the antiquarian lore necessary for
the purpose of composing the projected romance; and although the
manuscript bore the marks of hurry and incoherence natural to the
first rough draught of the author, it evinced (in my opinion)
considerable powers of imagination.

As the work was unfinished, I deemed it my duty, as editor, to
supply such a hasty and inartificial conclusion as could be shaped
out from the story, of which Mr. Strutt had laid the foundation.
This concluding chapter [Footnote: See Appendix No. II.] is also
added to the present Introduction, for the reason already
mentioned regarding the preceding fragment. It was a step in my
advance towards romantic composition; and to preserve the traces
of these is in a great measure the object of this Essay.

Queenhoo Hall was not, however, very successful. I thought I was
aware of the reason, and supposed that, by rendering his language
too ancient, and displaying his antiquarian knowledge too
liberally, the ingenious author had raised up an obstacle to his
own success. Every work designed for mere amusement must be
expressed in language easily comprehended; and when, as is
sometimes the case in QUEENHOO HALL, the author addresses himself
exclusively to the antiquary, he must be content to be dismissed
by the general reader with the criticism of Mungo, in the PADLOCK,
on the Mauritanian music, 'What signifies me hear, if me no
understand?'

I conceived it possible to avoid this error; and, by rendering a
similar work more light and obvious to general comprehension, to
escape the rock on which my predecessor was shipwrecked.

But I was, on the other hand, so far discouraged by the
indifferent reception of Mr. Strutt's romance as to become
satisfied that the manners of the middle ages did not possess the
interest which I had conceived; and was led to form the opinion
that a romance founded on a Highland story and more modern events
would have a better chance of popularity than a tale of chivalry.

My thoughts, therefore, returned more than once to the tale which
I had actually commenced, and accident at length threw the lost
sheets in my way.

I happened to want some fishing-tackle for the use of a guest,
when it occurred to me to search the old writing-desk already
mentioned, in which I used to keep articles of that nature.

I got access to it with some difficulty; and, in looking for lines
and flies, the long-lost manuscript presented itself.

I immediately set to work to complete it according to my original
purpose.

And here I must frankly confess that the mode in which I conducted
the story scarcely deserved the success which the romance
afterwards attained.

The tale of WAVERLEY was put together with so little care that I
cannot boast of having sketched any distinct plan of the work. The
whole adventures of Waverley, in his movements up and down the
country with the Highland cateran Bean Lean, are managed without
much skill. It suited best, however, the road I wanted to travel,
and permitted me to introduce some descriptions of scenery and
manners, to which the reality gave an interest which the powers of
the Author might have otherwise failed to attain for them. And
though I have been in other instances a sinner in this sort, I do
not recollect any of these novels in which I have transgressed so
widely as in the first of the series.

Among other unfounded reports, it has been said that the copyright
of Waverley was, during the book's progress through the press,
offered for sale to various book-sellers in London at a very
inconsiderable price. This was not the case. Messrs. Constable and
Cadell, who published the work, were the only persons acquainted
with the contents of the publication, and they offered a large sum
for it while in the course of printing, which, however, was
declined, the Author not choosing to part with the copyright.

The origin of the story of Waverley, and the particular facts on
which it is founded, are given in the separate introduction
prefixed to that romance in this edition, and require no notice in
this place.

Waverley was published in 1814, and, as the title-page was
without the name of the Author, the work was left to win its way
in the world without any of the usual recommendations. Its
progress was for some time slow; but after the first two or three
months its popularity had increased in a degree which must have
satisfied the expectations of the Author, had these been far more
sanguine than he ever entertained.

Great anxiety was expressed to learn the name of the Author, but
on this no authentic information could be attained. My original
motive for publishing the work anonymously was the consciousness
that it was an experiment on the public taste which might very
probably fail, and therefore there was no occasion to take on
myself the personal risk of discomfiture. For this purpose
considerable precautions were used to preserve secrecy. My old
friend and schoolfellow, Mr. James Ballantyne, who printed these
Novels, had the exclusive task of corresponding with the Author,
who thus had not only the advantage of his professional talents,
but also of his critical abilities. The original manuscript, or,
as it is technically called, copy, was transcribed under Mr.
Ballantyne's eye by confidential persons; nor was there an
instance of treachery during the many years in which these
precautions were resorted to, although various individuals were
employed at different times. Double proof-sheets were regularly
printed off. One was forwarded to the Author by Mr. Ballantyne,
and the alterations which it received were, by his own hand,
copied upon the other proof-sheet for the use of the printers, so
that even the corrected proofs of the Author were never seen in
the printing office; and thus the curiosity of such eager
inquirers as made the most minute investigation was entirely at
fault.

But although the cause of concealing the Author's name in the
first instance, when the reception of Waverley was doubtful, was
natural enough, it is more difficult, it may be thought, to
account for the same desire for secrecy during the subsequent
editions, to the amount of betwixt eleven and twelve thousand
copies, which followed each other close, and proved the success of
the work. I am sorry I can give little satisfaction to queries on
this subject. I have already stated elsewhere that I can render
little better reason for choosing to remain anonymous than by
saying with Shylock, that such was my humour. It will be observed
that I had not the usual stimulus for desiring personal
reputation, the desire, namely, to float amidst the conversation
of men. Of literary fame, whether merited or undeserved, I had
already as much as might have contented a mind more ambitious than
mine; and in entering into this new contest for reputation I might
be said rather to endanger what I had than to have any
considerable chance of acquiring more. I was affected, too, by
none of those motives which, at an earlier period of life, would
doubtless have operated upon me. My friendships were formed, my
place in society fixed, my life had attained its middle course. My
condition in society was higher perhaps than I deserved, certainly
as high as I wished, and there was scarce any degree of literary
success which could have greatly altered or improved my personal
condition.

I was not, therefore, touched by the spur of ambition, usually
stimulating on such occasions; and yet I ought to stand exculpated
from the charge of ungracious or unbecoming indifference to public
applause. I did not the less feel gratitude for the public favour,
although I did not proclaim it; as the lover who wears his
mistress's favour in his bosom is as proud, though not so vain, of
possessing it as another who displays the token of her grace upon
his bonnet. Far from such an ungracious state of mind, I have
seldom felt more satisfaction than when, returning from a pleasure
voyage, I found Waverley in the zenith of popularity, and public
curiosity in full cry after the name of the Author. The knowledge
that I had the public approbation was like having the property of
a hidden treasure, not less gratifying to the owner than if all
the world knew that it was his own. Another advantage was
connected with the secrecy which I observed. I could appear or
retreat from the stage at pleasure, without attracting any
personal notice or attention, other than what might be founded on
suspicion only. In my own person also, as a successful author in
another department of literature, I might have been charged with
too frequent intrusions on the public patience; but the Author of
Waverley was in this respect as impassible to the critic as the
Ghost of Hamlet to the partisan of Marcellus. Perhaps the
curiosity of the public, irritated by the existence of a secret,
and kept afloat by the discussions which took place on the subject
from time to time, went a good way to maintain an unabated
interest in these frequent publications. There was a mystery
concerning the Author which each new novel was expected to assist
in unravelling, although it might in other respects rank lower
than its predecessors.

I may perhaps be thought guilty of affectation, should I allege as
one reason of my silence a secret dislike to enter on personal
discussions concerning my own literary labours. It is in every
case a dangerous intercourse for an author to be dwelling
continually among those who make his writings a frequent and
familiar subject of conversation, but who must necessarily be
partial judges of works composed in their own society. The habits
of self-importance which are thus acquired by authors are highly
injurious to a well-regulated mind; for the cup of flattery, if it
does not, like that of Circe, reduce men to the level of beasts,
is sure, if eagerly drained, to bring the best and the ablest down
to that of fools. This risk was in some degree prevented by the
mask which I wore; and my own stores of self-conceit were left to
their natural course, without being enhanced by the partiality of
friends or adulation of flatterers.

If I am asked further reasons for the conduct I have long
observed, I can only resort to the explanation supplied by a
critic as friendly as he is intelligent; namely, that the mental
organisation of the novelist must be characterised, to speak
craniologically, by an extraordinary development of the passion
for delitescency! I the rather suspect some natural disposition of
this kind; for, from the instant I perceived the extreme curiosity
manifested on the subject, I felt a secret satisfaction in
baffling it, for which, when its unimportance is considered, I do
not well know how to account.

My desire to remain concealed, in the character of the Author of
these Novels, subjected me occasionally to awkward embarrassments,
as it sometimes happened that those who were sufficiently intimate
with me would put the question in direct terms. In this case, only
one of three courses could be followed. Either I must have
surrendered my secret, or have returned an equivocating answer,
or, finally, must have stoutly and boldly denied the fact. The
first was a sacrifice which I conceive no one had a right to force
from me, since I alone was concerned in the matter. The
alternative of rendering a doubtful answer must have left me open
to the degrading suspicion that I was not unwilling to assume the
merit (if there was any) which I dared not absolutely lay claim
to; or those who might think more justly of me must have received
such an equivocal answer as an indirect avowal. I therefore
considered myself entitled, like an accused person put upon trial,
to refuse giving my own evidence to my own conviction, and flatly
to deny all that could not be proved against me. At the same time
I usually qualified my denial by stating that, had I been the
Author of these works, I would have felt myself quite entitled to
protect my secret by refusing my own evidence, when it was asked
for to accomplish a discovery of what I desired to conceal.

The real truth is, that I never expected or hoped to disguise my
connection with these Novels from any one who lived on terms of
intimacy with me. The number of coincidences which necessarily
existed between narratives recounted, modes of expression, and
opinions broached in these Tales and such as were used by their
Author in the intercourse of private life must have been far too
great to permit any of my familiar acquaintances to doubt the
identity betwixt their friend and the Author of Waverley; and I
believe they were all morally convinced of it. But while I was
myself silent, their belief could not weigh much more with the
world than that of others; their opinions and reasoning were
liable to be taxed with partiality, or confronted with opposing
arguments and opinions; and the question was not so much whether I
should be generally acknowledged to be the Author, in spite of my
own denial, as whether even my own avowal of the works, if such
should be made, would be sufficient to put me in undisputed
possession of that character.

I have been often asked concerning supposed cases, in which I was
said to have been placed on the verge of discovery; but, as I
maintained my point with the composure of a lawyer of thirty
years' standing, I never recollect being in pain or confusion on
the subject. In Captain Medwyn's Conversations of Lord Byron the
reporter states himself to have asked my noble and highly gifted
friend,' If he was certain about these Novels being Sir Walter
Scott's?' To which Lord Byron replied, 'Scott as much as owned
himself the Author of Waverley to me in Murray's shop. I was
talking to him about that Novel, and lamented that its Author had
not carried back the story nearer to the time of the Revolution.
Scott, entirely off his guard, replied, "Ay, I might have done so;
but--" there he stopped. It was in vain to attempt to correct
himself; he looked confused, and relieved his embarrassment by a
precipitate retreat.' I have no recollection whatever of this
scene taking place, and I should have thought that I was more
likely to have laughed than to appear confused, for I certainly
never hoped to impose upon Lord Byron in a case of the kind; and
from the manner in which he uniformly expressed himself, I knew
his opinion was entirely formed, and that any disclamations of
mine would only have savoured of affectation. I do not mean to
insinuate that the incident did not happen, but only that it could
hardly have occurred exactly under the circumstances narrated,
without my recollecting something positive on the subject. In
another part of the same volume Lord Byron is reported to have
expressed a supposition that the cause of my not avowing myself
the Author of Waverley may have been some surmise that the
reigning family would have been displeased with the work. I can
only say, it is the last apprehension I should have entertained,
as indeed the inscription to these volumes sufficiently proves.
The sufferers of that melancholy period have, during the last and
present reign, been honoured both with the sympathy and protection
of the reigning family, whose magnanimity can well pardon a sigh
from others, and bestow one themselves, to the memory of brave
opponents, who did nothing in hate, but all in honour.

While those who were in habitual intercourse with the real author
had little hesitation in assigning the literary property to him,
others, and those critics of no mean rank, employed themselves in
investigating with persevering patience any characteristic
features which might seem to betray the origin of these Novels.
Amongst these, one gentleman, equally remarkable for the kind and
liberal tone of his criticism, the acuteness of his reasoning, and
the very gentlemanlike manner in which he conducted his inquiries,
displayed not only powers of accurate investigation, but a temper
of mind deserving to be employed on a subject of much greater
importance; and I have no doubt made converts to his opinion of
almost all who thought the point worthy of consideration.
[Footnote: Letters on the Author of Waverly; Rodwell and Martin,
London, 1822.] Of those letters, and other attempts of the same
kind, the Author could not complain, though his incognito was
endangered. He had challenged the public to a game at bo-peep, and
if he was discovered in his 'hiding-hole,' he must submit to the
shame of detection.

Various reports were of course circulated in various ways; some
founded on an inaccurate rehearsal of what may have been partly
real, some on circumstances having no concern whatever with the
subject, and others on the invention of some importunate persons,
who might perhaps imagine that the readiest mode of forcing the
Author to disclose himself was to assign some dishonourable and
discreditable cause for his silence.

It may be easily supposed that this sort of inquisition was
treated with contempt by the person whom it principally regarded;
as, among all the rumours that were current, there was only one,
and that as unfounded as the others, which had nevertheless some
alliance to probability, and indeed might have proved in some
degree true.

I allude to a report which ascribed a great part, or the whole, of
these Novels to the late Thomas Scott, Esq., of the 70th Regiment,
then stationed in Canada. Those who remember that gentleman will
readily grant that, with general talents at least equal to those
of his elder brother, he added a power of social humour and a deep
insight into human character which rendered him an universally
delightful member of society, and that the habit of composition
alone was wanting to render him equally successful as a writer.
The Author of Waverley was so persuaded of the truth of this, that
he warmly pressed his brother to make such an experiment, and
willingly undertook all the trouble of correcting and
superintending the press. Mr. Thomas Scott seemed at first very
well disposed to embrace the proposal, and had even fixed on a
subject and a hero. The latter was a person well known to both of
us in our boyish years, from having displayed some strong traits
of character. Mr. T. Scott had determined to represent his
youthful acquaintance as emigrating to America, and encountering
the dangers and hardships of the New World, with the same
dauntless spirit which he had displayed when a boy in his native
country. Mr. Scott would probably have been highly successful,
being familiarly acquainted with the manners of the native
Indians, of the old French settlers in Canada, and of the Brules
or Woodsmen, and having the power of observing with accuracy what
I have no doubt he could have sketched with force and expression.
In short, the Author believes his brother would have made himself
distinguished in that striking field in which, since that period,
Mr. Cooper has achieved so many triumphs. But Mr. T. Scott was
already affected by bad health, which wholly unfitted him for
literary labour, even if he could have reconciled his patience to
the task. He never, I believe, wrote a single line of the
projected work; and I only have the melancholy pleasure of
preserving in the Appendix [Footnote: See Appendix No. III.] the
simple anecdote on which he proposed to found it.

To this I may add, I can easily conceive that there may have been
circumstances which gave a colour to the general report of my
brother being interested in these works; and in particular that it
might derive strength from my having occasion to remit to him, in
consequence of certain family transactions, some considerable sums
of money about that period. To which it is to be added that if any
person chanced to evince particular curiosity on such a subject,
my brother was likely enough to divert himself with practising on
their credulity.

It may be mentioned that, while the paternity of these Novels was
from time to time warmly disputed in Britain, the foreign
booksellers expressed no hesitation on the matter, but affixed my
name to the whole of the Novels, and to some besides to which I
had no claim.

The volumes, therefore, to which the present pages form a Preface
are entirely the composition of the Author by whom they are now
acknowledged, with the exception, always, of avowed quotations,
and such unpremeditated and involuntary plagiarisms as can scarce
be guarded against by any one who has read and written a great
deal. The original manuscripts are all in existence, and entirely
written (horresco referens) in the Author's own hand, excepting
during the years 1818 and 1819, when, being affected with severe
illness, he was obliged to employ the assistance of a friendly
amanuensis.

The number of persons to whom the secret was necessarily
entrusted, or communicated by chance, amounted, I should think, to
twenty at least, to whom I am greatly obliged for the fidelity
with which they observed their trust, until the derangement of the
affairs of my publishers, Messrs. Constable and Co., and the
exposure of their account books, which was the necessary
consequence, rendered secrecy no longer possible. The particulars
attending the avowal have been laid before the public in the
Introduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate.

The preliminary advertisement has given a sketch of the purpose of
this edition. I have some reason to fear that the notes which
accompany the tales, as now published, may be thought too
miscellaneous and too egotistical. It maybe some apology for this,
that the publication was intended to be posthumous, and still
more, that old men may be permitted to speak long, because they
cannot in the course of nature have long time to speak. In
preparing the present edition, I have done all that I can do to
explain the nature of my materials, and the use I have made of
them; nor is it probable that I shall again revise or even read
these tales. I was therefore desirous rather to exceed in the
portion of new and explanatory matter which is added to this
edition than that the reader should have reason to complain that
the information communicated was of a general and merely nominal
character. It remains to be tried whether the public (like a child
to whom a watch is shown) will, after having been satiated with
looking at the outside, acquire some new interest in the object
when it is opened and the internal machinery displayed to them.

That Waverly and its successors have had their day of favour and
popularity must be admitted with sincere gratitude; and the Author
has studied (with the prudence of a beauty whose reign has been
rather long) to supply, by the assistance of art, the charms which
novelty no longer affords. The publishers have endeavoured to
gratify the honourable partiality of the public for the
encouragement of British art, by illustrating this edition with
designs by the most eminent living artists. [Footnote: The
illustrations here referred to were made for the edition of 1829]

To my distinguished countryman, David Wilkie, to Edwin Landseer,
who has exercised his talents so much on Scottish subjects and
scenery, to Messrs. Leslie and Newton, my thanks are due, from a
friend as well as an author. Nor am I less obliged to Messrs.
Cooper, Kidd, and other artists of distinction to whom I am less
personally known, for the ready zeal with which they have devoted
their talents to the same purpose.

Farther explanation respecting the Edition is the business of the
publishers, not of the Author; and here, therefore, the latter has
accomplished his task of introduction and explanation. If, like a
spoiled child, he has sometimes abused or trifled with the
indulgence of the public, he feels himself entitled to full belief
when he exculpates himself from the charge of having been at any
time insensible of their kindness.

ABBOTSFORD, 1st January, 1829.





WAVERLEY

OR 'T IS SIXTY YEARS SINCE

    Under which King, Bezonian? speak, or die!

    Henry IV, Part II.


INTRODUCTION


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other illustrations of Waverley will be found in the Notes at the
foot of the pages to which they belong. Those which appeared too
long to be so placed are given at the end of the chapters to which
they severally relate. [Footnote: In this edition at the end of
the several volumes.]





PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION


To this slight attempt at a sketch of ancient Scottish manners the
public have been more favourable than the Author durst have hoped
or expected. He has heard, with a mixture of satisfaction and
humility, his work ascribed to more than one respectable name.
Considerations, which seem weighty in his particular situation,
prevent his releasing those gentlemen from suspicion by placing
his own name in the title-page; so that, for the present at least,
it must remain uncertain whether Waverley be the work of a poet or
a critic, a lawyer or a clergyman, or whether the writer, to use
Mrs. Malaprop's phrase, be, 'like Cerberus, three gentlemen at
once.' The Author, as he is unconscious of anything in the work
itself (except perhaps its frivolity) which prevents its finding
an acknowledged father, leaves it to the candour of the public to
choose among the many circumstances peculiar to different
situations in life such as may induce him to suppress his name on
the present occasion. He may be a writer new to publication, and
unwilling to avow a character to which he is unaccustomed; or he
may be a hackneyed author, who is ashamed of too frequent
appearance, and employs this mystery, as the heroine of the old
comedy used her mask, to attract the attention of those to whom
her face had become too familiar. He may be a man of a grave
profession, to whom the reputation of being a novel-writer might
be prejudicial; or he may be a man of fashion, to whom writing of
any kind might appear pedantic. He may be too young to assume the
character of an author, or so old as to make it advisable to lay
it aside.

The Author of Waverley has heard it objected to this novel, that,
in the character of Callum Beg and in the account given by the
Baron of Bradwardine of the petty trespasses of the Highlanders
upon trifling articles of property, he has borne hard, and
unjustly so, upon their national character. Nothing could be
farther from his wish or intention. The character of Callum Beg is
that of a spirit naturally turned to daring evil, and determined,
by the circumstances of his situation, to a particular species of
mischief. Those who have perused the curious Letters from the
Highlands, published about 1726, will find instances of such
atrocious characters which fell under the writer's own
observation, though it would be most unjust to consider such
villains as representatives of the Highlanders of that period, any
more than the murderers of Marr and Williamson can be supposed to
represent the English of the present day. As for the plunder
supposed to have been picked up by some of the insurgents in 1745,
it must be remembered that, although the way of that unfortunate
little army was neither marked by devastation nor bloodshed, but,
on the contrary, was orderly and quiet in a most wonderful degree,
yet no army marches through a country in a hostile manner without
committing some depredations; and several, to the extent and of
the nature jocularly imputed to them by the Baron, were really
laid to the charge of the Highland insurgents; for which many
traditions, and particularly one respecting the Knight of the
Mirror, may be quoted as good evidence. [Footnote: A homely
metrical narrative of the events of the period, which contains
some striking particulars, and is still a great favourite with the
lower classes, gives a very correct statement of the behaviour of
the mountaineers respecting this same military license; and, as
the verses are little known, and contain some good sense, we
venture to insert them.]





THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO ALL IN GENERAL


    Now, gentle readers, I have let you ken
    My very thoughts, from heart and pen,
    'Tis needless for to conten'
                  Or yet controule,
    For there's not a word o't I can men';
                  So ye must thole.

    For on both sides some were not good;
    I saw them murd'ring in cold blood,
    Not the gentlemen, but wild and rude,
                  The baser sort,
    Who to the wounded had no mood
                  But murd'ring sport!

    Ev'n both at Preston and Falkirk,
    That fatal night ere it grew mirk,
    Piercing the wounded with their durk,
                  Caused many cry!
    Such pity's shown from Savage and Turk
                  As peace to die.

    A woe be to such hot zeal,
    To smite the wounded on the fiell!
    It's just they got such groats in kail,
                  Who do the same.
    It only teaches crueltys real
                  To them again.

    I've seen the men call'd Highland rogues,
    With Lowland men make shangs a brogs,
    Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs
                  Out at the door,
    Take cocks, hens, sheep, and hogs,
                  And pay nought for.

    I saw a Highlander,'t was right drole,
    With a string of puddings hung on a pole,
    Whip'd o'er his shoulder, skipped like a fole,
                        Caus'd Maggy bann,
    Lap o'er the midden and midden-hole,
                        And aff he ran.

    When check'd for this, they'd often tell ye,
    'Indeed her nainsell's a tume belly;
    You'll no gie't wanting bought, nor sell me;
                        Hersell will hae't;
    Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy's Willie,
                        I'll hae a meat.'

    I saw the soldiers at Linton-brig,
    Because the man was not a Whig,
    Of meat and drink leave not a skig,
                        Within his door;
    They burnt his very hat and wig,
                        And thump'd him sore.

    And through the Highlands they were so rude,
    As leave them neither clothes nor food,
    Then burnt their houses to conclude;
                        'T was tit for tat.
    How can her nainsell e'er be good,
                        To think on that?

    And after all, O, shame and grief!
    To use some worse than murd'ring thief,
    Their very gentleman and chief,
                        Unhumanly!
    Like Popish tortures, I believe,
                        Such cruelty.

    Ev'n what was act on open stage
    At Carlisle, in the hottest rage,
    When mercy was clapt in a cage,
                        And pity dead,
    Such cruelty approv'd by every age,
                        I shook my head.

    So many to curse, so few to pray,
    And some aloud huzza did cry;
    They cursed the rebel Scots that day,
                        As they'd been nowt
    Brought up for slaughter, as that way
                        Too many rowt.

    Therefore, alas! dear countrymen,
    O never do the like again,
    To thirst for vengeance, never ben'
                        Your gun nor pa',
    But with the English e'en borrow and len',
                        Let anger fa'.

    Their boasts and bullying, not worth a louse,
    As our King's the best about the house.
    'T is ay good to be sober and douce,
                        To live in peace;
    For many, I see, for being o'er crouse,
                        Gets broken face.





WAVERLEY

OR 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE





CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY


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

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

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





CHAPTER II

WAVERLEY-HONOUR--A RETROSPECT


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

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

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

yet reason would have probably been unable to combat and remove
hereditary prejudice could Richard have anticipated that his elder
brother, Sir Everard, taking to heart an early disappointment,
would have remained a bachelor at seventy-two. The prospect of
succession, however remote, might in that case have led him to
endure dragging through the greater part of his life as 'Master
Richard at the Hall, the Baronet's brother,' in the hope that ere
its conclusion he should be distinguished as Sir Richard Waverley
of Waverley-Honour, successor to a princely estate, and to
extended political connections as head of the county interest in
the shire where it lay.

But this was a consummation of things not to be expected at
Richard's outset, when Sir Everard was in the prime of life, and
certain to be an acceptable suitor in almost any family, whether
wealth or beauty should be the object of his pursuit, and when,
indeed, his speedy marriage was a report which regularly amused
the neighbourhood once a year. His younger brother saw no
practicable road to independence save that of relying upon his own
exertions, and adopting a political creed more consonant both to
reason and his own interest than the hereditary faith of Sir
Everard in High-Church and in the house of Stuart. He therefore
read his recantation at the beginning of his career, and entered
life as an avowed Whig and friend of the Hanover succession.

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

Although these events followed each other so closely that the
sagacity of the editor of a modern newspaper would have presaged
the two last even while he announced the first, yet they came upon
Sir Everard gradually, and drop by drop, as it were, distilled
through the cool and procrastinating alembic of Dyer's 'Weekly
Letter.' [Footnote: See Note I. ] For it may be observed in
passing, that instead of those mail-coaches, by means of which
every mechanic at his six-penny club, may nightly learn from
twenty contradictory channels the yesterday's news of the capital,
a weekly post brought, in those days, to Waverley-Honour, a
Weekly Intelligencer, which, after it had gratified Sir Everard's
curiosity, his sister's, and that of his aged butler, was
regularly transferred from the Hall to the Rectory, from the
Rectory to Squire Stubbs's at the Grange, from the Squire to the
Baronet's steward at his neat white house on the heath, from the
steward to the bailiff, and from him through a huge circle of
honest dames and gaffers, by whose hard and horny hands it was
generally worn to pieces in about a month after its arrival.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Everard could not but perceive something uncommon in the
restrained emotions which the young lady testified at the advances
he hazarded; but, assured by the prudent Countess that they were
the natural effects of a retired education, the sacrifice might
have been completed, as doubtless has happened in many similar
instances, had it not been for the courage of an elder sister, who
revealed to the wealthy suitor that Lady Emily's affections were
fixed upon a young soldier of fortune, a near relation of her own.

Sir Everard manifested great emotion on receiving this
intelligence, which was confirmed to him, in a private interview,
by the young lady herself, although under the most dreadful
apprehensions of her father's indignation.

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

The shock which Sir Everard encountered upon this occasion,
although diminished by the consciousness of having acted
virtuously and generously had its effect upon his future life. His
resolution of marriage had been adopted in a fit of indignation;
the labour of courtship did not quite suit the dignified indolence
of his habits; he had but just escaped the risk of marrying a
woman who could never love him, and his pride could not be greatly
flattered by the termination of his amour, even if his heart had
not suffered. The result of the whole matter was his return to
Waverley-Honour without any transfer of his affections,
notwithstanding the sighs and languishments of the fair tell-tale,
who had revealed, in mere sisterly affection, the secret of Lady
Emily's attachment, and in despite of the nods, winks, and
innuendos of the officious lady mother, and the grave eulogiums
which the Earl pronounced successively on the prudence, and good
sense, and admirable dispositions, of his first, second, third,
fourth, and fifth daughters.

The memory of his unsuccessful amour was with Sir Everard, as with
many more of his temper, at once shy, proud, sensitive, and
indolent, a beacon against exposing himself to similar
mortification, pain, and fruitless exertion for the time to come.
He continued to live at Waverley-Honour in the style of an old
English gentleman, of an ancient descent and opulent fortune. His
sister, Miss Rachel Waverley, presided at his table; and they
became, by degrees, an old bachelor and an ancient maiden lady,
the gentlest and kindest of the votaries of celibacy.

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

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

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

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





CHAPTER III

EDUCATION


The education of our hero, Edward Waverley, was of a nature
somewhat desultory. In infancy his health suffered, or was
supposed to suffer (which is quite the same thing), by the air of
London. As soon, therefore, as official duties, attendance on
Parliament, or the prosecution of any of his plans of interest or
ambition, called his father to town, which was his usual residence
for eight months in the year, Edward was transferred to Waverley-
Honour, and experienced a total change of instructors and of
lessons, as well as of residence. This might have been remedied
had his father placed him under the superintendence of a permanent
tutor. But he considered that one of his choosing would probably
have been unacceptable at Waverley-Honour, and that such a
selection as Sir Everard might have made, were the matter left to
him, would have burdened him with a disagreeable inmate, if not a
political spy, in his family. He therefore prevailed upon his
private secretary, a young man of taste and accomplishments, to
bestow an hour or two on Edward's education while at Brerewood
Lodge, and left his uncle answerable for his improvement in
literature while an inmate at the Hall. This was in some degree
respectably provided for. Sir Everard's chaplain, an Oxonian, who
had lost his fellowship for declining to take the oaths at the
accession of George I, was not only an excellent classical
scholar, but reasonably skilled in science, and master of most
modern languages. He was, however, old and indulgent, and the
recurring interregnum, during which Edward was entirely freed from
his discipline, occasioned such a relaxation of authority, that
the youth was permitted, in a great measure, to learn as he
pleased, what he pleased, and when he pleased. This slackness of
rule might have been ruinous to a boy of slow understanding, who,
feeling labour in the acquisition of knowledge, would have
altogether neglected it, save for the command of a taskmaster; and
it might have proved equally dangerous to a youth whose animal
spirits were more powerful than his imagination or his feelings,
and whom the irresistible influence of Alma would have engaged in
field-sports from morning till night. But the character of Edward
Waverley was remote from either of these. His powers of
apprehension were so uncommonly quick as almost to resemble
intuition, and the chief care of his preceptor was to prevent him,
as a sportsman would phrase it, from over-running his game--that
is, from acquiring his knowledge in a slight, flimsy, and
inadequate manner. And here the instructor had to combat another
propensity too often united with brilliancy of fancy and vivacity
of talent--that indolence, namely, of disposition, which can only
be stirred by some strong motive of gratification, and which
renounces study as soon as curiosity is gratified, the pleasure of
conquering the first difficulties exhausted, and the novelty of
pursuit at an end. Edward would throw himself with spirit upon any
classical author of which his preceptor proposed the perusal, make
himself master of the style so far as to understand the story,
and, if that pleased or interested him, he finished the volume.
But it was in vain to attempt fixing his attention on critical
distinctions of philology, upon the difference of idiom, the
beauty of felicitous expression, or the artificial combinations of
syntax. 'I can read and understand a Latin author,' said young
Edward, with the self-confidence and rash reasoning of fifteen,
'and Scaliger or Bentley could not do much more.' Alas! while he
was thus permitted to read only for the gratification of his
amusement, he foresaw not that he was losing for ever the
opportunity of acquiring habits of firm and assiduous application,
of gaining the art of controlling, directing, and concentrating
the powers of his mind for earnest investigation--an art far more
essential than even that intimate acquaintance with classical
learning which is the primary object of study.

I am aware I may be here reminded of the necessity of rendering
instruction agreeable to youth, and of Tasso's infusion of honey
into the medicine prepared for a child; but an age in which
children are taught the driest doctrines by the insinuating method
of instructive games, has little reason to dread the consequences
of study being rendered too serious or severe. The history of
England is now reduced to a game at cards, the problems of
mathematics to puzzles and riddles, and the doctrines of
arithmetic may, we are assured, be sufficiently acquired by
spending a few hours a week at a new and complicated edition of
the Royal Game of the Goose. There wants but one step further, and
the Creed and Ten Commandments may be taught in the same manner,
without the necessity of the grave face, deliberate tone of
recital, and devout attention, hitherto exacted from the well-
governed childhood of this realm. It may, in the meantime, be
subject of serious consideration, whether those who are accustomed
only to acquire instruction through the medium of amusement may
not be brought to reject that which approaches under the aspect of
study; whether those who learn history by the cards may not be led
to prefer the means to the end; and whether, were we to teach
religion in the way of sport, our pupils may not thereby be
gradually induced to make sport of their religion. To our young
hero, who was permitted to seek his instruction only according to
the bent of his own mind, and who, of consequence, only sought it
so long as it afforded him amusement, the indulgence of his tutors
was attended with evil consequences, which long continued to
influence his character, happiness, and utility.

Edward's power of imagination and love of literature, although the
former was vivid and the latter ardent, were so far from affording
a remedy to this peculiar evil, that they rather inflamed and
increased its violence. The library at Waverley-Honour, a large
Gothic room, with double arches and a gallery, contained such a
miscellaneous and extensive collection of volumes as had been
assembled together, during the course of two hundred years, by a
family which had been always wealthy, and inclined, of course, as
a mark of splendour, to furnish their shelves with the current
literature of the day, without much scrutiny or nicety of
discrimination. Throughout this ample realm Edward was permitted
to roam at large. His tutor had his own studies; and church
politics and controversial divinity, together with a love of
learned ease, though they did not withdraw his attention at stated
times from the progress of his patron's presumptive heir, induced
him readily to grasp at any apology for not extending a strict and
regulated survey towards his general studies. Sir Everard had
never been himself a student, and, like his sister, Miss Rachel
Waverley, he held the common doctrine, that idleness is
incompatible with reading of any kind, and that the mere tracing
the alphabetical characters with the eye is in itself a useful and
meritorious task, without scrupulously considering what ideas or
doctrines they may happen to convey. With a desire of amusement,
therefore, which better discipline might soon have converted into
a thirst for knowledge, young Waverley drove through the sea of
books like a vessel without a pilot or a rudder. Nothing perhaps
increases by indulgence more than a desultory habit of reading,
especially under such opportunities of gratifying it. I believe
one reason why such numerous instances of erudition occur among
the lower ranks is, that, with the same powers of mind, the poor
student is limited to a narrow circle for indulging his passion
for books, and must necessarily make himself master of the few he
possesses ere he can acquire more. Edward, on the contrary, like
the epicure who only deigned to take a single morsel from the
sunny side of a peach, read no volume a moment after it ceased to
excite his curiosity or interest; and it necessarily happened,
that the habit of seeking only this sort of gratification rendered
it daily more difficult of attainment, till the passion for
reading, like other strong appetites, produced by indulgence a
sort of satiety.

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

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





CHAPTER IV

CASTLE-BUILDING


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

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

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

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

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

The deeds of Wilibert of Waverley in the Holy Land, his long
absence and perilous adventures, his supposed death, and his
return on the evening when the betrothed of his heart had wedded
the hero who had protected her from insult and oppression during
his absence; the generosity with which the Crusader relinquished
his claims, and sought in a neighbouring cloister that peace which
passeth not away; [Footnote: See Note 2.]--to these and similar
tales he would hearken till his heart glowed and his eye
glistened. Nor was he less affected when his aunt, Mrs. Rachel,
narrated the sufferings and fortitude of Lady Alice Waverley
during the Great Civil War. The benevolent features of the
venerable spinster kindled into more majestic expression as she
told how Charles had, after the field of Worcester, found a day's
refuge at Waverley-Honour, and how, when a troop of cavalry were
approaching to search the mansion, Lady Alice dismissed her
youngest son with a handful of domestics, charging them to make
good with their lives an hour's diversion, that the king might
have that space for escape. 'And, God help her,' would Mrs. Rachel
continue, fixing her eyes upon the heroine's portrait as she
spoke, 'full dearly did she purchase the safety of her prince with
the life of her darling child. They brought him here a prisoner,
mortally wounded; and you may trace the drops of his blood from
the great hall door along the little gallery, and up to the
saloon, where they laid him down to die at his mother's feet. But
there was comfort exchanged between them; for he knew, from the
glance of his mother's eye, that the purpose of his desperate
defence was attained. Ah! I remember,' she continued, 'I remember
well to have seen one that knew and loved him. Miss Lucy Saint
Aubin lived and died a maid for his sake, though one of the most
beautiful and wealthy matches in this country; all the world ran
after her, but she wore widow's mourning all her life for poor
William, for they were betrothed though not married, and died in--
I cannot think of the date; but I remember, in the November of
that very year, when she found herself sinking, she desired to be
brought to Waverley-Honour once more, and visited all the places
where she had been with my grand-uncle, and caused the carpets to
be raised that she might trace the impression of his blood, and if
tears could have washed it out, it had not been there now; for
there was not a dry eye in the house. You would have thought,
Edward, that the very trees mourned for her, for their leaves
dropt around her without a gust of wind, and, indeed, she looked
like one that would never see them green again.'

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

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





CHAPTER V

CHOICE OF A PROFESSION


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

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

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

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

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

A hint thus conveyed and enforced was not to be neglected with
impunity; and Richard Waverley, though with great dread of
shocking his brother's prejudices, deemed he could not avoid
accepting the commission thus offered him for his son. The truth
is, he calculated much, and justly, upon Sir Everard's fondness
for Edward, which made him unlikely to resent any step that he
might take in due submission to parental authority. Two letters
announced this determination to the Baronet and his nephew. The
latter barely communicated the fact, and pointed out the necessary
preparations for joining his regiment. To his brother, Richard was
more diffuse and circuitous. He coincided with him, in the most
flattering manner, in the propriety of his son's seeing a little
more of the world, and was even humble in expressions of gratitude
for his proposed assistance; was, however, deeply concerned that
it was now, unfortunately, not in Edward's power exactly to comply
with the plan which had been chalked out by his best friend and
benefactor. He himself had thought with pain on the boy's
inactivity, at an age when all his ancestors had borne arms; even
Royalty itself had deigned to inquire whether young Waverley was
not now in Flanders, at an age when his grandfather was already
bleeding for his king in the Great Civil War. This was accompanied
by an offer of a troop of horse. What could he do? There was no
time to consult his brother's inclinations, even if he could have
conceived there might be objections on his part to his nephew's
following the glorious career of his predecessors. And, in short,
that Edward was now (the intermediate steps of cornet and
lieutenant being overleapt with great agility) Captain Waverley,
of Gardiner's regiment of dragoons, which he must join in their
quarters at Dundee in Scotland, in the course of a month.

Sir Everard Waverley received this intimation with a mixture of
feelings. At the period of the Hanoverian succession he had
withdrawn from parliament, and his conduct in the memorable year
1715 had not been altogether unsuspected. There were reports of
private musters of tenants and horses in Waverley-Chase by
moonlight, and of cases of carbines and pistols purchased in
Holland, and addressed to the Baronet, but intercepted by the
vigilance of a riding officer of the excise, who was afterwards
tossed in a blanket on a moonless night, by an association of
stout yeomen, for his officiousness. Nay, it was even said, that
at the arrest of Sir William Wyndham, the leader of the Tory
party, a letter from Sir Everard was found in the pocket of his
night-gown. But there was no overt act which an attainder could be
founded on, and government, contented with suppressing the
insurrection of 1715, felt it neither prudent nor safe to push
their vengeance farther than against those unfortunate gentlemen
who actually took up arms.

Nor did Sir Everard's apprehensions of personal consequences seem
to correspond with the reports spread among his Whig neighbours.
It was well known that he had supplied with money several of the
distressed Northumbrians and Scotchmen, who, after being made
prisoners at Preston in Lancashire, were imprisoned in Newgate and
the Marshalsea, and it was his solicitor and ordinary counsel who
conducted the defence of some of these unfortunate gentlemen at
their trial. It was generally supposed, however, that, had
ministers possessed any real proof of Sir Everard's accession to
the rebellion, he either would not have ventured thus to brave the
existing government, or at least would not have done so with
impunity. The feelings which then dictated his proceedings were
those of a young man, and at an agitating period. Since that time
Sir Everard's Jacobitism had been gradually decaying, like a fire
which burns out for want of fuel. His Tory and High-Church
principles were kept up by some occasional exercise at elections
and quarter-sessions; but those respecting hereditary right were
fallen into a sort of abeyance. Yet it jarred severely upon his
feelings, that his nephew should go into the army under the
Brunswick dynasty; and the more so, as, independent of his high
and conscientious ideas of paternal authority, it was impossible,
or at least highly imprudent, to interfere authoritatively to
prevent it. This suppressed vexation gave rise to many poohs and
pshaws which were placed to the account of an incipient fit of
gout, until, having sent for the Army List, the worthy Baronet
consoled himself with reckoning the descendants of the houses of
genuine loyalty, Mordaunts, Granvilles, and Stanleys, whose names
were to be found in that military record; and, calling up all his
feelings of family grandeur and warlike glory, he concluded, with
logic something like Falstaff's, that when war was at hand,
although it were shame to be on any side but one, it were worse
shame to be idle than to be on the worst side, though blacker than
usurpation could make it. As for Aunt Rachel, her scheme had not
exactly terminated according to her wishes, but she was under the
necessity of submitting to circumstances; and her mortification
was diverted by the employment she found in fitting out her nephew
for the campaign, and greatly consoled by the prospect of
beholding him blaze in complete uniform. Edward Waverley himself
received with animated and undefined surprise this most unexpected
intelligence. It was, as a fine old poem expresses it, 'like a
fire to heather set,' that covers a solitary hill with smoke, and
illumines it at the same time with dusky fire. His tutor, or, I
should say, Mr. Pembroke, for he scarce assumed the name of tutor,
picked up about Edward's room some fragments of irregular verse,
which he appeared to have composed under the influence of the
agitating feelings occasioned by this sudden page being turned up
to him in the book of life. The doctor, who was a believer in all
poetry which was composed by his friends, and written out in fair
straight lines, with a capital at the beginning of each,
communicated this treasure to Aunt Rachel, who, with her
spectacles dimmed with tears, transferred them to her commonplace
book, among choice receipts for cookery and medicine, favourite
texts, and portions from High-Church divines, and a few songs,
amatory and Jacobitical, which she had carolled in her younger
days, from whence her nephew's poetical tentamina were extracted
when the volume itself, with other authentic records of the
Waverley family, were exposed to the inspection of the unworthy
editor of this memorable history. If they afford the reader no
higher amusement, they will serve, at least, better than narrative
of any kind, to acquaint him with the wild and irregular spirit of
our hero:--

    Late, when the Autumn evening fell
    On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell,
    The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam,
    The purple cloud, the golden beam:
    Reflected in the crystal pool,
    Headland and bank lay fair and cool;
    The weather-tinted rock and tower,
    Each drooping tree, each fairy flower,
    So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
    As if there lay beneath the wave,
    Secure from trouble, toil, and care,
    A world than earthly world more fair.


    But distant winds began to wake,
    And roused the Genius of the Lake!
    He heard the groaning of the oak,
    And donn'd at once his sable cloak,
    As warrior, at the battle-cry,
    Invests him with his panoply:
    Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd
    He 'gan to shake his foamy crest
    O'er furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek,
    And bade his surge in thunder speak.
    In wild and broken eddies whirl'd.
    Flitted that fond ideal world,
    And to the shore in tumult tost
    The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

    Yet, with a stern delight and strange,
    I saw the spirit-stirring change,
    As warr'd the wind with wave and wood,
    Upon the ruin'd tower I stood,
    And felt my heart more strongly bound,
    Responsive to the lofty sound,
    While, joying in the mighty roar,
    I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more.

    So, on the idle dreams of youth,
    Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth,
    Bids each fair vision pass away,
    Like landscape on the lake that lay,
    As fair, as flitting, and as frail,
    As that which fled the Autumn gale.--
    For ever dead to fancy's eye
    Be each gay form that glided by,
    While dreams of love and lady's charms
    Give place to honour and to arms!

In sober prose, as perhaps these verses intimate less decidedly,
the transient idea of Miss Cecilia Stubbs passed from Captain
Waverley's heart amid the turmoil which his new destinies excited.
She appeared, indeed, in full splendour in her father's pew upon
the Sunday when he attended service for the last time at the old
parish church, upon which occasion, at the request of his uncle
and Aunt Rachel, he was induced (nothing both, if the truth must
be told) to present himself in full uniform.

There is no better antidote against entertaining too high an
opinion of others than having an excellent one of ourselves at the
very same time. Miss Stubbs had indeed summoned up every
assistance which art could afford to beauty; but, alas! hoop,
patches, frizzled locks, and a new mantua of genuine French silk,
were lost upon a young officer of dragoons who wore for the first
time his gold-laced hat, jack-boots, and broadsword. I know not
whether, like the champion of an old ballad,--

    His heart was all on honour bent,
    He could not stoop to love;
    No lady in the land had power
    His frozen heart to move;

or whether the deep and flaming bars of embroidered gold, which
now fenced his breast, defied the artillery of Cecilia's eyes; but
every arrow was launched at him in vain.

    Yet did I mark where Cupid's shaft did light;
    It lighted not on little western flower,
    But on bold yeoman, flower of all the west,
    Hight Jonas Culbertfield, the steward's son.

Craving pardon for my heroics (which I am unable in certain cases
to resist giving way to), it is a melancholy fact, that my history
must here take leave of the fair Cecilia, who, like many a
daughter of Eve, after the departure of Edward, and the
dissipation of certain idle visions which she had adopted, quietly
contented herself with a pisaller, and gave her hand, at the
distance of six months, to the aforesaid Jonas, son of the
Baronet's steward, and heir (no unfertile prospect) to a steward's
fortune, besides the snug probability of succeeding to his
father's office. All these advantages moved Squire Stubbs, as much
as the ruddy brown and manly form of the suitor influenced his
daughter, to abate somewhat in the article of their gentry; and so
the match was concluded. None seemed more gratified than Aunt
Rachel, who had hitherto looked rather askance upon the
presumptuous damsel (as much so, peradventure, as her nature would
permit), but who, on the first appearance of the new-married pair
at church, honoured the bride with a smile and a profound curtsy,
in presence of the rector, the curate, the clerk, and the whole
congregation of the united parishes of Waverley cum Beverley.

I beg pardon, once and for all, of those readers who take up
novels merely for amusement, for plaguing them so long with old-
fashioned politics, and Whig and Tory, and Hanoverians and
Jacobites. The truth is, I cannot promise them that this story
shall be intelligible, not to say probable, without it. My plan
requires that I should explain the motives on which its action
proceeded; and these motives necessarily arose from the feelings,
prejudices, and parties of the times. I do not invite my fair
readers, whose sex and impatience give them the greatest right to
complain of these circumstances, into a flying chariot drawn by
hippogriffs, or moved by enchantment. Mine is a humble English
post-chaise, drawn upon four wheels, and keeping his Majesty's
highway. Such as dislike the vehicle may leave it at the next
halt, and wait for the conveyance of Prince Hussein's tapestry, or
Malek the Weaver's flying sentrybox. Those who are contented to
remain with me will be occasionally exposed to the dulness
inseparable from heavy roads, steep hills, sloughs, and other
terrestrial retardations; but with tolerable horses and a civil
driver (as the advertisements have it), I engage to get as soon as
possible into a more picturesque and romantic country, if my
passengers incline to have some patience with me during my first
stages. [Footnote: These Introductory Chapters have been a good
deal censured as tedious and unnecessary. Yet there are
circumstances recorded in them which the author has not been able
to persuade himself to retrench or cancel.]





CHAPTER VI

THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY


It was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir Everard
entered the library, where he narrowly missed surprising our young
hero as he went through the guards of the broadsword with the
ancient weapon of old Sir Hildebrand, which, being preserved as an
heirloom, usually hung over the chimney in the library, beneath a
picture of the knight and his horse, where the features were
almost entirely hidden by the knight's profusion of curled hair,
and the Bucephalus which he bestrode concealed by the voluminous
robes of the Bath with which he was decorated. Sir Everard
entered, and after a glance at the picture and another at his
nephew, began a little speech, which, however, soon dropt into the
natural simplicity of his common manner, agitated upon the present
occasion by no common feeling. 'Nephew,' he said; and then, as
mending his phrase, 'My dear Edward, it is God's will, and also
the will of your father, whom, under God, it is your duty to obey,
that you should leave us to take up the profession of arms, in
which so many of your ancestors have been distinguished. I have
made such arrangements as will enable you to take the field as
their descendant, and as the probable heir of the house of
Waverley; and, sir, in the field of battle you will remember what
name you bear. And, Edward, my dear boy, remember also that you
are the last of that race, and the only hope of its revival
depends upon you; therefore, as far as duty and honour will
permit, avoid danger--I mean unnecessary danger--and keep no
company with rakes, gamblers, and Whigs, of whom, it is to be
feared, there are but too many in the service into which you are
going. Your colonel, as I am informed, is an excellent man--for a
Presbyterian; but you will remember your duty to God, the Church
of England, and the--' (this breach ought to have been supplied,
according to the rubric, with the word KING; but as,
unfortunately, that word conveyed a double and embarrassing sense,
one meaning de facto and the other de jure, the knight filled up
the blank otherwise)--'the Church of England, and all constituted
authorities.' Then, not trusting himself with any further oratory,
he carried his nephew to his stables to see the horses destined
for his campaign. Two were black (the regimental colour), superb
chargers both; the other three were stout active hacks, designed
for the road, or for his domestics, of whom two were to attend him
from the Hall; an additional groom, if necessary, might be picked
up in Scotland.

'You will depart with but a small retinue,' quoth the Baronet,
'compared to Sir Hildebrand, when he mustered before the gate of
the Hall a larger body of horse than your whole regiment consists
of. I could have wished that these twenty young fellows from my
estate, who have enlisted in your troop, had been to march with
you on your journey to Scotland. It would have been something, at
least; but I am told their attendance would be thought unusual in
these days, when every new and foolish fashion is introduced to
break the natural dependence of the people upon their landlords.'

Sir Everard had done his best to correct this unnatural
disposition of the times; for he had brightened the chain of
attachment between the recruits and their young captain, not only
by a copious repast of beef and ale, by way of parting feast, but
by such a pecuniary donation to each individual as tended rather
to improve the conviviality than the discipline of their march.
After inspecting the cavalry, Sir Everard again conducted his
nephew to the library, where he produced a letter, carefully
folded, surrounded by a little stripe of flox-silk, according to
ancient form, and sealed with an accurate impression of the
Waverley coat-of-arms. It was addressed, with great formality, 'To
Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq., of Bradwardine, at his principal
mansion of Tully-Veolan, in Perthshire, North Britain. These--By
the hands of Captain Edward Waverley, nephew of Sir Everard
Waverley, of Waverley-Honour, Bart.'

The gentleman to whom this enormous greeting was addressed, of
whom we shall have more to say in the sequel, had been in arms for
the exiled family of Stuart in the year 1715, and was made
prisoner at Preston in Lancashire. He was of a very ancient
family, and somewhat embarrassed fortune; a scholar, according to
the scholarship of Scotchmen, that is, his learning was more
diffuse than accurate, and he was rather a reader than a
grammarian. Of his zeal for the classic authors he is said to have
given an uncommon instance. On the road between Preston and
London, he made his escape from his guards; but being afterwards
found loitering near the place where they had lodged the former
night, he was recognised, and again arrested. His companions, and
even his escort, were surprised at his infatuation, and could not
help inquiring, why, being once at liberty, he had not made the
best of his way to a place of safety; to which he replied, that he
had intended to do so, but, in good faith, he had returned to seek
his Titus Livius, which he had forgot in the hurry of his escape.
[Footnote: See Note 3.] The simplicity of this anecdote struck the
gentleman, who, as we before observed, had managed the defence of
some of those unfortunate persons, at the expense of Sir Everard,
and perhaps some others of the party. He was, besides, himself a
special admirer of the old Patavinian, and though probably his own
zeal might not have carried him such extravagant lengths, even to
recover the edition of Sweynheim and Pannartz (supposed to be the
princeps), he did not the less estimate the devotion of the North
Briton, and in consequence exerted himself to so much purpose to
remove and soften evidence, detect legal flaws, et cetera, that he
accomplished the final discharge and deliverance of Cosmo Comyne
Bradwardine from certain very awkward consequences of a plea
before our sovereign lord the king in Westminster.

The Baron of Bradwardine, for he was generally so called in
Scotland (although his intimates, from his place of residence,
used to denominate him Tully-Veolan, or more familiarly, Tully),
no sooner stood rectus in curia than he posted down to pay his
respects and make his acknowledgments at Waverley-Honour. A
congenial passion for field-sports, and a general coincidence in
political opinions, cemented his friendship with Sir Everard,
notwithstanding the difference of their habits and studies in
other particulars; and, having spent several weeks at Waverley-
Honour, the Baron departed with many expressions of regard, warmly
pressing the Baronet to return his visit, and partake of the
diversion of grouse-shooting, upon his moors in Perthshire next
season. Shortly after, Mr. Bradwardine remitted from Scotland a
sum in reimbursement of expenses incurred in the King's High Court
of Westminster, which, although not quite so formidable when
reduced to the English denomination, had, in its original form of
Scotch pounds, shillings, and pence, such a formidable effect upon
the frame of Duncan Macwheeble, the laird's confidential factor,
baron-bailie, and man of resource, that he had a fit of the
cholic, which lasted for five days, occasioned, he said, solely
and utterly by becoming the unhappy instrument of conveying such a
serious sum of money out of his native country into the hands of
the false English. But patriotism, as it is the fairest, so it is
often the most suspicious mask of other feelings; and many who
knew Bailie Macwheeble concluded that his professions of regret
were not altogether disinterested, and that he would have grudged
the moneys paid to the LOONS at Westminster much less had they not
come from Bradwardine estate, a fund which he considered as more
particularly his own. But the Bailie protested he was absolutely
disinterested--

    'Woe, woe, for Scotland, not a whit for me!'

The laird was only rejoiced that his worthy friend, Sir Everard
Waverley of Waverley-Honour, was reimbursed of the expenditure
which he had outlaid on account of the house of Bradwardine. It
concerned, he said, the credit of his own family, and of the
kingdom of Scotland at large, that these disbursements should be
repaid forthwith, and, if delayed, it would be a matter of
national reproach. Sir Everard, accustomed to treat much larger
sums with indifference, received the remittance of L294, 13S. 6D.
without being aware that the payment was an international concern,
and, indeed, would probably have forgot the circumstance
altogether, if Bailie Macwheeble had thought of comforting his
cholic by intercepting the subsidy. A yearly intercourse took
place, of a short letter and a hamper or a cask or two, between
Waverley-Honour and Tully-Veolan, the English exports consisting
of mighty cheeses and mightier ale, pheasants, and venison, and
the Scottish returns being vested in grouse, white hares, pickled
salmon, and usquebaugh; all which were meant, sent, and received
as pledges of constant friendship and amity between two important
houses. It followed as a matter of course, that the heir-apparent
of Waverley-Honour could not with propriety visit Scotland without
being furnished with credentials to the Baron of Bradwardine.

When this matter was explained and settled, Mr. Pembroke expressed
his wish to take a private and particular leave of his dear pupil.
The good man's ex hortations to Edward to preserve an unblemished
life and morals, to hold fast the principles of the Christian
religion, and to eschew the profane company of scoffers and
latitudinarians, too much abounding in the army, were not
unmingled with his political prejudices. It had pleased Heaven, he
said, to place Scotland (doubtless for the sins of their ancestors
in 1642) in a more deplorable state of darkness than even this
unhappy kingdom of England. Here, at least, although the
candlestick of the Church of England had been in some degree
removed from its place, it yet afforded a glimmering light; there
was a hierarchy, though schismatical, and fallen from the
principles maintained by those great fathers of the church,
Sancroft and his brethren; there was a liturgy, though woefully
perverted in some of the principal petitions. But in Scotland it
was utter darkness; and, excepting a sorrowful, scattered, and
persecuted remnant, the pulpits were abandoned to Presbyterians,
and, he feared, to sectaries of every description. It should be
his duty to fortify his dear pupil to resist such unhallowed and
pernicious doctrines in church and state as must necessarily be
forced at times upon his unwilling ears.

Here he produced two immense folded packets, which appeared each
to contain a whole ream of closely written manuscript. They had
been the labour of the worthy man's whole life; and never were
labour and zeal more absurdly wasted. He had at one time gone to
London, with the intention of giving them to the world, by the
medium of a bookseller in Little Britain, well known to deal in
such commodities, and to whom he was instructed to address himself
in a particular phrase and with a certain sign, which, it seems,
passed at that time current among the initiated Jacobites. The
moment Mr. Pembroke had uttered the Shibboleth, with the
appropriate gesture, the bibliopolist greeted him, notwithstanding
every disclamation, by the title of Doctor, and conveying him into
his back shop, after inspecting every possible and impossible
place of concealment, he commenced: 'Eh, Doctor!--Well--all under
the rose--snug--I keep no holes here even for a Hanoverian rat to
hide in. And, what--eh! any good news from our friends over the
water?--and how does the worthy King of France?--Or perhaps you
are more lately from Rome? it must be Rome will do it at last--the
church must light its candle at the old lamp.--Eh--what, cautious?
I like you the better; but no fear.' Here Mr. Pembroke with some
difficulty stopt a torrent of interrogations, eked out with signs,
nods, and winks; and, having at length convinced the bookseller
that he did him too much honour in supposing him an emissary of
exiled royalty, he explained his actual business.

The man of books with a much more composed air proceeded to
examine the manuscripts. The title of the first was 'A Dissent
from Dissenters, or the Comprehension confuted; showing the
Impossibility of any Composition between the Church and Puritans,
Presbyterians, or Sectaries of any Description; illustrated from
the Scriptures, the Fathers of the Church, and the soundest
Controversial Divines.' To this work the bookseller positively
demurred. 'Well meant,' he said, 'and learned, doubtless; but the
time had gone by. Printed on small-pica it would run to eight
hundred pages, and could never pay. Begged therefore to be
excused. Loved and honoured the true church from his soul, and,
had it been a sermon on the martyrdom, or any twelve-penny touch--
why, I would venture something for the honour of the cloth. But
come, let's see the other. "Right Hereditary righted!"--Ah!
there's some sense in this. Hum--hum--hum--pages so many, paper so
much, letter-press--Ah--I'll tell you, though, Doctor, you must
knock out some of the Latin and Greek; heavy, Doctor, damn'd
heavy--(beg your pardon) and if you throw in a few grains more
pepper--I am he that never preached my author. I have published for
Drake and Charlwood Lawton, and poor Amhurst [Footnote: See Note
4.]--Ah, Caleb! Caleb! Well, it was a shame to let poor Caleb
starve, and so many fat rectors and squires among us. I gave him a
dinner once a week; but, Lord love you, what's once a week, when a
man does not know where to go the other six days? Well, but I must
show the manuscript to little Tom Alibi the solicitor, who manages
all my law affairs--must keep on the windy side; the mob were very
uncivil the last time I mounted in Old Palace Yard--all Whigs and
Roundheads every man of them, Williamites and Hanover rats.'

The next day Mr. Pembroke again called on the publisher, but found
Tom Alibi's advice had determined him against undertaking the
work. 'Not but what I would go to--(what was I going to say?) to
the Plantations for the church with pleasure--but, dear Doctor, I
have a wife and family; but, to show my zeal, I'll recommend the
job to my neighbour Trimmel--he is a bachelor, and leaving off
business, so a voyage in a western barge would not inconvenience
him.' But Mr. Trimmel was also obdurate, and Mr. Pembroke,
fortunately perchance for himself, was compelled to return to
Waverley-Honour with his treatise in vindication of the real
fundamental principles of church and state safely packed in his
saddle-bags.

As the public were thus likely to be deprived of the benefit
arising from his lucubrations by the selfish cowardice of the
trade, Mr. Pembroke resolved to make two copies of these
tremendous manuscripts for the use of his pupil. He felt that he
had been indolent as a tutor, and, besides, his conscience checked
him for complying with the request of Mr. Richard Waverley, that
he would impress no sentiments upon Edward's mind inconsistent
with the present settlement in church and state. But now, thought
he, I may, without breach of my word, since he is no longer under
my tuition, afford the youth the means of judging for himself, and
have only to dread his reproaches for so long concealing the light
which the perusal will flash upon his mind. While he thus indulged
the reveries of an author and a politician, his darling proselyte,
seeing nothing very inviting in the title of the tracts, and
appalled by the bulk and compact lines of the manuscript, quietly
consigned them to a corner of his travelling trunk.

Aunt Rachel's farewell was brief and affectionate. She only
cautioned her dear Edward, whom she probably deemed somewhat
susceptible, against the fascination of Scottish beauty. She
allowed that the northern part of the island contained some
ancient families, but they were all Whigs and Presbyterians except
the Highlanders; and respecting them she must needs say, there
could be no great delicacy among the ladies, where the gentlemen's
usual attire was, as she had been assured, to say the least, very
singular, and not at all decorous. She concluded her farewell with
a kind and moving benediction, and gave the young officer, as a
pledge of her regard, a valuable diamond ring (often worn by the
male sex at that time), and a purse of broad gold-pieces, which
also were more common Sixty Years Since than they have been of
late.





CHAPTER VII

A HORSE-QUARTER IN SCOTLAND


The next morning, amid varied feelings, the chief of which was a
predominant, anxious, and even solemn impression, that he was now
in a great measure abandoned to his own guidance and direction,
Edward Waverley departed from the Hall amid the blessings and
tears of all the old domestics and the inhabitants of the village,
mingled with some sly petitions for sergeantcies and
corporalships, and so forth, on the part of those who professed
that 'they never thoft to ha' seen Jacob, and Giles, and Jonathan
go off for soldiers, save to attend his honour, as in duty bound.'
Edward, as in duty bound, extricated himself from the supplicants
with the pledge of fewer promises than might have been expected
from a young man so little accustomed to the world. After a short
visit to London, he proceeded on horseback, then the general mode
of travelling, to Edinburgh, and from thence to Dundee, a seaport
on the eastern coast of Angus-shire, where his regiment was then
quartered.

He now entered upon a new world, where, for a time, all was
beautiful because all was new. Colonel Gardiner, the commanding
officer of the regiment, was himself a study for a romantic, and
at the same time an inquisitive youth. In person he was tall,
handsome, and active, though somewhat advanced in life. In his
early years he had been what is called, by manner of palliative, a
very gay young man, and strange stories were circulated about his
sudden conversion from doubt, if not infidelity, to a serious and
even enthusiastic turn of mind. It was whispered that a
supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even to the
exterior senses, had produced this wonderful change; and though
some mentioned the proselyte as an enthusiast, none hinted at his
being a hypocrite. This singular and mystical circumstance gave
Colonel Gardiner a peculiar and solemn interest in the eyes of the
young soldier. [Footnote: See Note 5.] It may be easily imagined
that the officers, of a regiment commanded by so respectable a
person composed a society more sedate and orderly than a military
mess always exhibits; and that Waverley escaped some temptations
to which he might otherwise have been exposed.

Meanwhile his military education proceeded. Already a good
horseman, he was now initiated into the arts of the manege, which,
when carried to perfection, almost realise the fable of the
Centaur, the guidance of the horse appearing to proceed from the
rider's mere volition, rather than from the use of any external
and apparent signal of motion. He received also instructions in
his field duty; but I must own, that when his first ardour was
past, his progress fell short in the latter particular of what he
wished and expected. The duty of an officer, the most imposing of
all others to the inexperienced mind, because accompanied with so
much outward pomp and circumstance, is in its essence a very dry
and abstract task, depending chiefly upon arithmetical
combinations, requiring much attention, and a cool and reasoning
head to bring them into action. Our hero was liable to fits of
absence, in which his blunders excited some mirth, and called down
some reproof. This circumstance impressed him with a painful sense
of inferiority in those qualities which appeared most to deserve
and obtain regard in his new profession. He asked himself in vain,
why his eye could not judge of distance or space so well as those
of his companions; why his head was not always successful in
disentangling the various partial movements necessary to execute a
particular evolution; and why his memory, so alert upon most
occasions, did not correctly retain technical phrases and minute
points of etiquette or field discipline. Waverley was naturally
modest, and therefore did not fall into the egregious mistake of
supposing such minuter rules of military duty beneath his notice,
or conceiting himself to be born a general, because he made an
indifferent subaltern. The truth was, that the vague and
unsatisfactory course of reading which he had pursued, working
upon a temper naturally retired and abstracted, had given him that
wavering and unsettled habit of mind which is most averse to study
and riveted attention. Time, in the mean while, hung heavy on his
hands. The gentry of the neighbourhood were disaffected, and
showed little hospitality to the military guests; and the people
of the town, chiefly engaged in mercantile pursuits, were not such
as Waverley chose to associate with. The arrival of summer, and a
curiosity to know something more of Scotland than he could see in
a ride from his quarters, determined him to request leave of
absence for a few weeks. He resolved first to visit his uncle's
ancient friend and correspondent, with the purpose of extending or
shortening the time of his residence according to circumstances.
He travelled of course on horse-back, and with a single
attendant, and passed his first night at a miserable inn, where
the landlady had neither shoes nor stockings, and the landlord,
who called himself a gentleman, was disposed to be rude to his
guest, because he had not bespoke the pleasure of his society to
supper. [Footnote: See Note 6.] The next day, traversing an open
and uninclosed country, Edward gradually approached the Highlands
of Perthshire, which at first had appeared a blue outline in the
horizon, but now swelled into huge gigantic masses, which frowned
defiance over the more level country that lay beneath them. Near
the bottom of this stupendous barrier, but still in the Lowland
country, dwelt Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine; and, if
grey-haired eld can be in aught believed, there had dwelt his
ancestors, with all their heritage, since the days of the gracious
King Duncan.





CHAPTER VIII

A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE


It was about noon when Captain Waverley entered the straggling
village, or rather hamlet, of Tully-Veolan, close to which was
situated the mansion of the proprietor. The houses seemed
miserable in the extreme, especially to an eye accustomed to the
smiling neatness of English cottages. They stood, without any
respect for regularity, on each side of a straggling kind of
unpaved street, where children, almost in a primitive state of
nakedness, lay sprawling, as if to be crushed by the hoofs of the
first passing horse. Occasionally, indeed, when such a
consummation seemed inevitable, a watchful old grandam, with her
close cap, distaff, and spindle, rushed like a sibyl in frenzy out
of one of these miserable cells, dashed into the middle of the
path, and snatching up her own charge from among the sunburnt
loiterers, saluted him with a sound cuff, and transported him back
to his dungeon, the little white-headed varlet screaming all the
while, from the very top of his lungs, a shrilly treble to the
growling remonstrances of the enraged matron. Another part in this
concert was sustained by the incessant yelping of a score of idle
useless curs, which followed, snarling, barking, howling, and
snapping at the horses' heels; a nuisance at that time so common
in Scotland, that a French tourist, who, like other travellers,
longed to find a good and rational reason for everything he saw,
has recorded, as one of the memorabilia of Caledonia, that the
state maintained, in each village a relay of curs, called collies,
whose duty it was to chase the chevaux de poste (too starved and
exhausted to move without such a stimulus) from one hamlet to
another, till their annoying convoy drove them to the end of their
stage. The evil and remedy (such as it is) still exist.--But this
is remote from our present purpose, and is only thrown out for
consideration of the collectors under Mr. Dent's Dog Bill.

As Waverley moved on, here and there an old man, bent as much by
toil as years, his eyes bleared with age and smoke, tottered to
the door of his hut, to gaze on the dress of the stranger and the
form and motions of the horses, and then assembled, with his
neighbours, in a little group at the smithy, to discuss the
probabilities of whence the stranger came and where he might be
going. Three or four village girls, returning from the well or
brook with pitchers and pails upon their heads, formed more
pleasing objects, and, with their thin short-gowns and single
petticoats, bare arms, legs, and feet, uncovered heads and braided
hair, somewhat resembled Italian forms of landscape. Nor could a
lover of the picturesque have challenged either the elegance of
their costume or the symmetry of their shape; although, to say the
truth, a mere Englishman in search of the COMFORTABLE, a word
peculiar to his native tongue, might have wished the clothes less
scanty, the feet and legs somewhat protected from the weather, the
head and complexion shrouded from the sun, or perhaps might even
have thought the whole person and dress considerably improved by a
plentiful application of spring water, with a quantum sufficit of
soap. The whole scene was depressing; for it argued, at the first
glance, at least a stagnation of industry, and perhaps of
intellect. Even curiosity, the busiest passion of the idle, seemed
of a listless cast in the village of Tully-Veolan: the curs
aforesaid alone showed any part of its activity; with the
villagers it was passive. They stood, and gazed at the handsome
young officer and his attendant, but without any of those quick
motions and eager looks that indicate the earnestness with which
those who live in monotonous ease at home look out for amusement
abroad. Yet the physiognomy of the people, when more closely
examined, was far from exhibiting the indifference of stupidity;
their features were rough, but remarkably intelligent; grave, but
the very reverse of stupid; and from among the young women an
artist might have chosen more than one model whose features and
form resembled those of Minerva. The children also, whose skins
were burnt black, and whose hair was bleached white, by the
influence of the sun, had a look and manner of life and interest.
It seemed, upon the whole, as if poverty, and indolence, its too
frequent companion, were combining to depress the natural genius
and acquired information of a hardy, intelligent, and reflecting
peasantry.

Some such thoughts crossed Waverley's mind as he paced his horse
slowly through the rugged and flinty street of Tully-Veolan,
interrupted only in his meditations by the occasional caprioles
which his charger exhibited at the reiterated assaults of those
canine Cossacks, the collies before mentioned. The village was
more than half a mile long, the cottages being irregularly divided
from each other by gardens, or yards, as the inhabitants called
them, of different sizes, where (for it is Sixty Years Since) the
now universal potato was unknown, but which were stored with
gigantic plants of kale or colewort, encircled with groves of
nettles, and exhibited here and there a huge hemlock, or the
national thistle, overshadowing a quarter of the petty inclosure.
The broken ground on which the village was built had never been
levelled; so that these inclosures presented declivities of every
degree, here rising like terraces, there sinking like tan-pits.
The dry-stone walls which fenced, or seemed to fence (for they
were sorely breached), these hanging gardens of Tully-Veolan were
intersected by a narrow lane leading to the common field, where
the joint labour of the villagers cultivated alternate ridges and
patches of rye, oats, barley, and pease, each of such minute
extent that at a little distance the unprofitable variety of the
surface resembled a tailor's book of patterns. In a few favoured
instances, there appeared behind the cottages a miserable wigwam,
compiled of earth, loose stones, and turf, where the wealthy might
perhaps shelter a starved cow or sorely galled horse. But almost
every hut was fenced in front by a huge black stack of turf on one
side of the door, while on the other the family dunghill ascended
in noble emulation.

About a bowshot from the end of the village appeared the
inclosures proudly denominated the Parks of Tully-Veolan, being
certain square fields, surrounded and divided by stone walls five
feet in height. In the centre of the exterior barrier was the
upper gate of the avenue, opening under an archway, battlemented
on the top, and adorned with two large weather-beaten mutilated
masses of upright stone, which, if the tradition of the hamlet
could be trusted, had once represented, at least had been once
designed to represent, two rampant Bears, the supporters of the
family of Bradwardine. This avenue was straight and of moderate
length, running between a double row of very ancient horse-
chestnuts, planted alternately with sycamores, which rose to such
huge height, and nourished so luxuriantly, that their boughs
completely over-arched the broad road beneath. Beyond these
venerable ranks, and running parallel to them, were two high
walls, of apparently the like antiquity, overgrown with ivy,
honeysuckle, and other climbing plants. The avenue seemed very
little trodden, and chiefly by foot-passengers; so that being very
broad, and enjoying a constant shade, it was clothed with grass of
a deep and rich verdure, excepting where a foot-path, worn by
occasional passengers, tracked with a natural sweep the way from
the upper to the lower gate. This nether portal, like the former,
opened in front of a wall ornamented with some rude sculpture,
with battlements on the top, over which were seen, half-hidden by
the trees of the avenue, the high steep roofs and narrow gables of
the mansion, with lines indented into steps, and corners decorated
with small turrets. One of the folding leaves of the lower gate
was open, and as the sun shone full into the court behind, a long
line of brilliancy was flung upon the aperture up the dark and
gloomy avenue. It was one of those effects which a painter loves
to represent, and mingled well with the struggling light which
found its way between the boughs of the shady arch that vaulted
the broad green alley.

The solitude and repose of the whole scene seemed almost monastic;
and Waverley, who had given his horse to his servant on entering
the first gate, walked slowly down the avenue, enjoying the
grateful and cooling shade, and so much pleased with the placid
ideas of rest and seclusion excited by this confined and quiet
scene, that he forgot the misery and dirt of the hamlet he had
left behind him. The opening into the paved court-yard
corresponded with the rest of the scene. The house, which seemed
to consist of two or three high, narrow, and steep-roofed
buildings, projecting from each other at right angles, formed one
side of the inclosure. It had been built at a period when castles
were no longer necessary, and when the Scottish architects had not
yet acquired the art of designing a domestic residence. The
windows were numberless, but very small; the roof had some
nondescript kind of projections, called bartizans, and displayed
at each frequent angle a small turret, rather resembling a pepper-
box than a Gothic watchtower. Neither did the front indicate
absolute security from danger. There were loop-holes for musketry,
and iron stanchions on the lower windows, probably to repel any
roving band of gypsies, or resist a predatory visit from the
caterans of the neighbouring Highlands. Stables and other offices
occupied another side of the square. The former were low vaults,
with narrow slits instead of windows, resembling, as Edward's
groom observed, 'rather a prison for murderers, and larceners, and
such like as are tried at 'sizes, than a place for any Christian
cattle.' Above these dungeon-looking stables were granaries,
called girnels, and other offices, to which there was access by
outside stairs of heavy masonry. Two battlemented walls, one of
which faced the avenue, and the other divided the court from the
garden, completed the inclosure.

Nor was the court without its ornaments. In one corner was a tun-
bellied pigeon-house, of great size and rotundity, resembling in
figure and proportion the curious edifice called Arthur's Oven,
which would have turned the brains of all the antiquaries in
England, had not the worthy proprietor pulled it down for the sake
of mending a neighbouring dam-dyke. This dove-cot, or columbarium,
as the owner called it, was no small resource to a Scottish laird
of that period, whose scanty rents were eked out by the
contributions levied upon the farms by these light foragers, and
the conscriptions exacted from the latter for the benefit of the
table.

Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a huge
bear, carved in stone, predominated over a large stone-basin, into
which he disgorged the water. This work of art was the wonder of
the country ten miles round. It must not be forgotten, that all
sorts of bears, small and large, demi or in full proportion, were
carved over the windows, upon the ends of the gables, terminated
the spouts, and supported the turrets, with the ancient family
motto, 'Beware the Bear', cut under each hyperborean form. The
court was spacious, well paved, and perfectly clean, there being
probably another entrance behind the stables for removing the
litter. Everything around appeared solitary, and would have been
silent, but for the continued plashing of the fountain; and the
whole scene still maintained the monastic illusion which the fancy
of Waverley had conjured up. And here we beg permission to close a
chapter of still life. [Footnote: See Note 7.]





CHAPTER IX

MORE OF THE MANOR-HOUSE AND ITS ENVIRONS


After having satisfied his curiosity by gazing around him for a
few minutes, Waverley applied himself to the massive knocker of
the hall-door, the architrave of which bore the date 1594. But no
answer was returned, though the peal resounded through a number of
apartments, and was echoed from the court-yard walls without the
house, startling the pigeons from the venerable rotunda which they
occupied, and alarming anew even the distant village curs, which
had retired to sleep upon their respective dunghills. Tired of the
din which he created, and the unprofitable responses which it
excited, Waverley began to think that he had reached the castle of
Orgoglio as entered by the victorious Prince Arthur,--

    When 'gan he loudly through the house to call,
    But no man cared to answer to his cry;
    There reign'd a solemn silence over all,
    Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.

Filled almost with expectation of beholding some 'old, old man,
with beard as white as snow,' whom he might question concerning
this deserted mansion, our hero turned to a little oaken wicket-
door, well clenched with iron-nails, which opened in the court-
yard wall at its angle with the house. It was only latched,
notwithstanding its fortified appearance, and, when opened,
admitted him into the garden, which presented a pleasant
scene. [Footnote: Footnote: At Ravelston may be seen such a garden,
which the taste of the proprietor, the author's friend and
kinsman, Sir Alexander Keith, Knight Mareschal, has judiciously
preserved. That, as well as the house is, however, of smaller
dimensions than the Baron of Bradwardine's mansion and garden are
presumed to have been.] The southern side of the house, clothed
with fruit-trees, and having many evergreens trained upon its
walls, extended its irregular yet venerable front along a terrace,
partly paved, partly gravelled, partly bordered with flowers and
choice shrubs. This elevation descended by three several flights
of steps, placed in its centre and at the extremities, into what
might be called the garden proper, and was fenced along the top by
a stone parapet with a heavy balustrade, ornamented from space to
space with huge grotesque figures of animals seated upon their
haunches, among which the favourite bear was repeatedly
introduced. Placed in the middle of the terrace between a sashed-
door opening from the house and the central flight of steps, a
huge animal of the same species supported on his head and fore-
paws a sun-dial of large circumference, inscribed with more
diagrams than Edward's mathematics enabled him to decipher.

The garden, which seemed to be kept with great accuracy, abounded
in fruit-trees, and exhibited a profusion of flowers and
evergreens, cut into grotesque forms. It was laid out in terraces,
which descended rank by rank from the western wall to a large
brook, which had a tranquil and smooth appearance, where it served
as a boundary to the garden; but, near the extremity, leapt in
tumult over a strong dam, or wear-head, the cause of its temporary
tranquillity, and there forming a cascade, was overlooked by an
octangular summer-house, with a gilded bear on the top by way of
vane. After this feat, the brook, assuming its natural rapid and
fierce character, escaped from the eye down a deep and wooded
dell, from the copse of which arose a massive, but ruinous tower,
the former habitation of the Barons of Bradwardine. The margin of
the brook, opposite to the garden, displayed a narrow meadow, or
haugh, as it was called, which formed a small washing-green; the
bank, which retired behind it, was covered by ancient trees.

The scene, though pleasing, was not quite equal to the gardens of
Alcina; yet wanted not the 'due donzellette garrule' of that
enchanted paradise, for upon the green aforesaid two bare-legged
damsels, each standing in a spacious tub, performed with their
feet the office of a patent washing-machine. These did not,
however, like the maidens of Armida, remain to greet with their
harmony the approaching guest, but, alarmed at the appearance of a
handsome stranger on the opposite side, dropped their garments (I
should say garment, to be quite correct) over their limbs, which
their occupation exposed somewhat too freely, and, with a shrill
exclamation of 'Eh, sirs!' uttered with an accent between modesty
and coquetry, sprung off like deer in different directions.

Waverley began to despair of gaining entrance into this solitary
and seemingly enchanted mansion, when a man advanced up one of the
garden alleys, where he still retained his station. Trusting this
might be a gardener, or some domestic belonging to the house,
Edward descended the steps in order to meet him; but as the figure
approached, and long before he could descry its features, he was
struck with the oddity of its appearance and gestures. Sometimes
this mister wight held his hands clasped over his head, like an
Indian Jogue in the attitude of penance; sometimes he swung them
perpendicularly, like a pendulum, on each side; and anon he
slapped them swiftly and repeatedly across his breast, like the
substitute used by a hackney-coachman for his usual flogging
exercise, when his cattle are idle upon the stand, in a clear
frosty day. His gait was as singular as his gestures, for at times
he hopped with great perseverance on the right foot, then
exchanged that supporter to advance in the same manner on the
left, and then putting his feet close together he hopped upon both
at once. His attire also was antiquated and extravagant. It
consisted in a sort of grey jerkin, with scarlet cuffs and slashed
sleeves, showing a scarlet lining; the other parts of the dress
corresponded in colour, not forgetting a pair of scarlet
stockings, and a scarlet bonnet, proudly surmounted with a
turkey's feather. Edward, whom he did not seem to observe, now
perceived confirmation in his features of what the mien and
gestures had already announced. It was apparently neither idiocy
nor insanity which gave that wild, unsettled, irregular expression
to a face which naturally was rather handsome, but something that
resembled a compound of both, where the simplicity of the fool was
mixed with the extravagance of a crazed imagination. He sung with
great earnestness, and not without some taste, a fragment of an
old Scottish ditty:--

    False love, and hast thou play'd me this
    In summer among the flowers?
    I will repay thee back again
    In winter among the showers.
    Unless again, again, my love,
    Unless you turn again;
    As you with other maidens rove,
    I'll smile on other men.

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

Here lifting up his eyes, which had hitherto been fixed in
observing how his feet kept time to the tune, he beheld Waverley,
and instantly doffed his cap, with many grotesque signals of
surprise, respect, and salutation. Edward, though with little hope
of receiving an answer to any constant question, requested to know
whether Mr. Bradwardine were at home, or where he could find any
of the domestics. The questioned party replied, and, like the
witch of Thalaba, 'still his speech was song,'--

    The Knight's to the mountain
    His bugle to wind;
    The Lady's to greenwood
    Her garland to bind.
    The bower of Burd Ellen
    Has moss on the floor,
    That the step of Lord William
    Be silent and sure.

This conveyed no information, and Edward, repeating his queries,
received a rapid answer, in which, from the haste and peculiarity
of the dialect, the word 'butler' was alone intelligible. Waverley
then requested to see the butler; upon which the fellow, with a
knowing look and nod of intelligence, made a signal to Edward to
follow, and began to dance and caper down the alley up which he
had made his approaches. A strange guide this, thought Edward, and
not much unlike one of Shakespeare's roynish clowns. I am not over
prudent to trust to his pilotage; but wiser men have been led by
fools. By this time he reached the bottom of the alley, where,
turning short on a little parterre of flowers, shrouded from the
east and north by a close yew hedge, he found an old man at work
without his coat, whose appearance hovered between that of an
upper servant and gardener; his red nose and ruffled shirt
belonging to the former profession; his hale and sunburnt visage,
with his green apron, appearing to indicate

    Old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden.

The major domo, for such he was, and indisputably the second
officer of state in the barony (nay, as chief minister of the
interior, superior even to Bailie Macwheeble in his own department
of the kitchen and cellar)--the major domo laid down his spade,
slipped on his coat in haste, and with a wrathful look at Edward's
guide, probably excited by his having introduced a stranger while
he was engaged in this laborious, and, as he might suppose it,
degrading office, requested to know the gentleman's commands.
Being informed that he wished to pay his respects to his master,
that his name was Waverley, and so forth, the old man's
countenance assumed a great deal of respectful importance. 'He
could take it upon his conscience to say, his honour would have
exceeding pleasure in seeing him. Would not Mr. Waverley choose
some refreshment after his journey? His honour was with the folk
who were getting doon the dark hag; the twa gardener lads (an
emphasis on the word twa) had been ordered to attend him; and he
had been just amusing himself in the mean time with dressing Miss
Rose's flower-bed, that he might be near to receive his honour's
orders, if need were; he was very fond of a garden, but had little
time for such divertisements.'

'He canna get it wrought in abune twa days in the week at no rate
whatever,' said Edward's fantastic conductor.

A grim look from the butler chastised his interference, and he
commanded him, by the name of Davie Gellatley, in a tone which
admitted no discussion, to look for his honour at the dark hag,
and tell him there was a gentleman from the south had arrived at
the Ha'.

'Can this poor fellow deliver a letter?' asked Edward.

'With all fidelity, sir, to any one whom he respects. I would
hardly trust him with a long message by word of mouth--though he
is more knave than fool.'

Waverley delivered his credentials to Mr. Gellatley, who seemed to
confirm the butler's last observation, by twisting his features at
him, when he was looking another way, into the resemblance of the
grotesque face on the bole of a German tobacco pipe; after which,
with an odd conge to Waverley, he danced off to discharge his
errand.

'He is an innocent, sir,' said the butler; 'there is one such in
almost every town in the country, but ours is brought far ben.
[Footnote: See Note 8.] He used to work a day's turn weel
enough; but he helped Miss Rose when she was flemit with the Laird
of Killancureit's new English bull, and since that time we ca' him
Davie Do-little; indeed we might ca' him Davie Do-naething, for
since he got that gay clothing, to please his honour and my young
mistress (great folks will have their fancies), he has done
naething but dance up and down about the toun, without doing a
single turn, unless trimming the laird's fishing-wand or busking
his flies, or may be catching a dish of trouts at an orra time.
But here comes Miss Rose, who, I take burden upon me for her, will
be especial glad to see one of the house of Waverley at her
father's mansion of Tully-Veolan.'

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

In the mean while it may be noticed, that Waverley learned two
things from this colloquy: that in Scotland a single house was
called a TOWN, and a natural fool an INNOCENT.





CHAPTER X

ROSE BRADWARDINE AND HER FATHER


Miss Bradwardine was but seventeen; yet, at the last races of the
county town of----, upon her health being proposed among a round
of beauties, the Laird of Bumperquaigh, permanent toast-master and
croupier of the Bautherwhillery Club, not only said MORE to the
pledge in a pint bumper of Bourdeaux, but, ere pouring forth the
libation, denominated the divinity to whom it was dedicated, 'the
Rose of Tully-Veolan'; upon which festive occasion three cheers
were given by all the sitting members of that respectable society,
whose throats the wine had left capable of such exertion. Nay, I
am well assured, that the sleeping partners of the company snorted
applause, and that although strong bumpers and weak brains had
consigned two or three to the floor, yet even these, fallen as
they were from their high estate, and weltering--I will carry the
parody no farther--uttered divers inarticulate sounds, intimating
their assent to the motion.

Such unanimous applause could not be extorted but by acknowledged
merit; and Rose Bradwardine not only deserved it, but also the
approbation of much more rational persons than the Bautherwhillery
Club could have mustered, even before discussion of the first
magnum. She was indeed a very pretty girl of the Scotch cast of
beauty, that is, with a profusion of hair of paley gold, and a
skin like the snow of her own mountains in whiteness. Yet she had
not a pallid or pensive cast of countenance; her features, as well
as her temper, had a lively expression; her complexion, though not
florid, was so pure as to seem transparent, and the slightest
emotion sent her whole blood at once to her face and neck. Her
form, though under the common size, was remarkably elegant, and
her motions light, easy, and unembarrassed. She came from another
part of the garden to receive Captain Waverley, with a manner that
hovered between bashfulness and courtesy.

The first greetings past, Edward learned from her that the dark
hag, which had somewhat puzzled him in the butler's account of his
master's avocations, had nothing to do either with a black cat or
a broomstick, but was simply a portion of oak copse which was to
be felled that day. She offered, with diffident civility, to show
the stranger the way to the spot, which, it seems, was not far
distant; but they were prevented by the appearance of the Baron of
Bradwardine in person, who, summoned by David Gellatley, now
appeared, 'on hospitable thoughts intent,' clearing the ground at
a prodigious rate with swift and long strides, which reminded
Waverley of the seven-league boots of the nursery fable. He was a
tall, thin, athletic figure, old indeed and grey-haired, but with
every muscle rendered as tough as whip-cord by constant exercise.
He was dressed carelessly, and more like a Frenchman than an
Englishman of the period, while, from his hard features and
perpendicular rigidity of stature, he bore some resemblance to a
Swiss officer of the guards, who had resided some time at Paris,
and caught the costume, but not the ease or manner, of its
inhabitants. The truth was, that his language and habits were as
heterogeneous as his external appearance.

Owing to his natural disposition to study, or perhaps to a very
general Scottish fashion of giving young men of rank a legal
education, he had been bred with a view to the bar. But the
politics of his family precluding the hope of his rising in that
profession, Mr. Bradwardine travelled with high reputation for
several years, and made some campaigns in foreign service. After
his demele with the law of high treason in 1715, he had lived in
retirement, conversing almost entirely with those of his own
principles in the vicinage. The pedantry of the lawyer,
superinduced upon the military pride of the soldier, might remind
a modern of the days of the zealous volunteer service, when the
bar-gown of our pleaders was often flung over a blazing uniform.
To this must be added the prejudices of ancient birth and Jacobite
politics, greatly strengthened by habits of solitary and secluded
authority, which, though exercised only within the bounds of his
half-cultivated estate, was there indisputable and undisputed.
For, as he used to observe, 'the lands of Bradwardine, Tully-
Veolan, and others, had been erected into a free barony by a
charter from David the First, cum liberali potest. habendi curias
et justicias, cum fossa et furca (LIE, pit and gallows) et saka et
soka, et thol et theam, et infang-thief et outfang-thief, sive
hand-habend. sive bak-barand.' The peculiar meaning of all these
cabalistical words few or none could explain; but they implied,
upon the whole, that the Baron of Bradwardine might, in case of
delinquency, imprison, try, and execute his vassals at his
pleasure. Like James the First, however, the present possessor of
this authority was more pleased in talking about prerogative than
in exercising it; and excepting that he imprisoned two poachers in
the dungeon of the old tower of Tully-Veolan, where they were
sorely frightened by ghosts, and almost eaten by rats, and that he
set an old woman in the jougs (or Scottish pillory) for saying'
there were mair fules in the laird's ha' house than Davie
Gellatley,' I do not learn that he was accused of abusing his high
powers. Still, however, the conscious pride of possessing them
gave additional importance to his language and deportment.

At his first address to Waverley, it would seem that the hearty
pleasure he felt to behold the nephew of his friend had somewhat
discomposed the stiff and upright dignity of the Baron of
Bradwardine's demeanour, for the tears stood in the old
gentleman's eyes, when, having first shaken Edward heartily by the
hand in the English fashion, he embraced him a la mode Francoise,
and kissed him on both sides of his face; while the hardness of
his gripe, and the quantity of Scotch snuff which his accolade
communicated, called corresponding drops of moisture to the eyes
of his guest.

'Upon the honour of a gentleman,' he said, 'but it makes me young
again to see you here, Mr. Waverley! A worthy scion of the old
stock of Waverley-Honour--spes altera, as Maro hath it--and you
have the look of the old line, Captain Waverley; not so portly yet
as my old friend Sir Everard--mais cela viendra avec le tems, as
my Dutch acquaintance, Baron Kikkitbroeck, said of the sagesse of
Madame son epouse. And so ye have mounted the cockade? Right,
right; though I could have wished the colour different, and so I
would ha' deemed might Sir Everard. But no more of that; I am old,
and times are changed. And how does the worthy knight baronet, and
the fair Mrs. Rachel?--Ah, ye laugh, young man! In troth she was
the fair Mrs. Rachel in the year of grace seventeen hundred and
sixteen; but time passes--et singula praedantur anni--that is
most certain. But once again ye are most heartily welcome to my
poor house of Tully-Veolan! Hie to the house, Rose, and see that
Alexander Saunderson looks out the old Chateau Margaux, which I
sent from Bourdeaux to Dundee in the year 1713.'

Rose tripped off demurely enough till she turned the first corner,
and then ran with the speed of a fairy, that she might gain
leisure, after discharging her father's commission, to put her own
dress in order, and produce all her little finery, an occupation
for which the approaching dinner-hour left but limited time.

'We cannot rival the luxuries of your English table, Captain
Waverley, or give you the epulae lautiores of Waverley-Honour. I
say epulae rather than prandium, because the latter phrase is
popular: epulae ad senatum, prandium vero ad populum attinet, says
Suetonius Tranquillus. But I trust ye will applaud my Bourdeaux;
c'est des deux oreilles, as Captain Vinsauf used to say; vinum
primae notae, the principal of Saint Andrews denominated it. And,
once more, Captain Waverley, right glad am I that ye are here to
drink the best my cellar can make forthcoming.'

This speech, with the necessary interjectional answers, continued
from the lower alley where they met up to the door of the house,
where four or five servants in old-fashioned liveries, headed by
Alexander Saunderson, the butler, who now bore no token of the
sable stains of the garden, received them in grand COSTUME,

    In an old hall hung round with pikes and with bows,
    With old bucklers and corslets that had borne many shrewd
      blows.

With much ceremony, and still more real kindness, the Baron,
without stopping in any intermediate apartment, conducted his
guest through several into the great dining parlour, wainscotted
with black oak, and hung round with the pictures of his ancestry,
where a table was set forth in form for six persons, and an old-
fashioned beaufet displayed all the ancient and massive plate of
the Bradwardine family. A bell was now heard at the head of the
avenue; for an old man, who acted as porter upon gala days, had
caught the alarm given by Waverley's arrival, and, repairing to
his post, announced the arrival of other guests.

These, as the Baron assured his young friend, were very estimable
persons. 'There was the young Laird of Balmawhapple, a Falconer by
surname, of the house of Glenfarquhar, given right much to field-
sports--gaudet equis et canibus--but a very discreet young
gentleman. Then there was the Laird of Killancureit, who had
devoted his leisure UNTILL tillage and agriculture, and boasted
himself to be possessed of a bull of matchless merit, brought from
the county of Devon (the Damnonia of the Romans, if we can trust
Robert of Cirencester). He is, as ye may well suppose from such a
tendency, but of yeoman extraction--servabit odorem testa diu--and
I believe, between ourselves, his grandsire was from the wrong
side of the Border--one Bullsegg, who came hither as a steward, or
bailiff, or ground-officer, or something in that department, to
the last Girnigo of Killancureit, who died of an atrophy. After
his master's death, sir,--ye would hardly believe such a scandal,
--but this Bullsegg, being portly and comely of aspect,
intermarried with the lady dowager, who was young and amorous, and
possessed himself of the estate, which devolved on this unhappy
woman by a settlement of her umwhile husband, in direct
contravention of an unrecorded taillie, and to the prejudice of
the disponer's own flesh and blood, in the person of his natural
heir and seventh cousin, Girnigo of Tipperhewit, whose family was
so reduced by the ensuing law-suit, that his representative is now
serving as a private gentleman-sentinel in the Highland Black
Watch. But this gentleman, Mr. Bullsegg of Killancureit that now
is, has good blood in his veins by the mother and grandmother, who
were both of the family of Pickletillim, and he is well liked and
looked upon, and knows his own place. And God forbid, Captain
Waverley, that we of irreproachable lineage should exult over him,
when it may be, that in the eighth, ninth, or tenth generation,
his progeny may rank, in a manner, with the old gentry of the
country. Rank and ancestry, sir, should be the last words in the
mouths of us of unblemished race--vix ea nostra voco, as Naso
saith. There is, besides, a clergyman of the true (though
suffering) Episcopal church of Scotland. [Footnote: See Note 9.]
He was a confessor in her cause after the year 1715, when a
Whiggish mob destroyed his meeting-house, tore his surplice, and
plundered his dwelling-house of four silver spoons, intromitting
also with his mart and his mealark, and with two barrels, one of
single and one of double ale, besides three bottles of brandy. My
baron-bailie and doer, Mr. Duncan Macwheeble, is the fourth on our
list. There is a question, owing to the incertitude of ancient
orthography, whether he belongs to the clan of Wheedle or of
Quibble, but both have produced persons eminent in the law.'--

  As such he described them by person and name,
  They enter'd, and dinner was served as they came.





CHAPTER XI

THE BANQUET


The entertainment was ample and handsome, according to the Scotch
ideas of the period, and the guests did great honour to it. The
Baron eat like a famished soldier, the Laird of Balmawhapple like
a sportsman, Bullsegg of Killancureit like a farmer, Waverley
himself like a traveller, and Bailie Macwheeble like all four
together; though, either out of more respect, or in order to
preserve that proper declination of person which showed a sense
that he was in the presence of his patron, he sat upon the edge of
his chair, placed at three feet distance from the table, and
achieved a communication with his plate by projecting his person
towards it in a line which obliqued from the bottom of his spine,
so that the person who sat opposite to him could only see the
foretop of his riding periwig.

This stooping position might have been inconvenient to another
person; but long habit made it, whether seated or walking,
perfectly easy to the worthy Bailie. In the latter posture it
occasioned, no doubt, an unseemly projection of the person towards
those who happened to walk behind; but those being at all times
his inferiors (for Mr. Macwheeble was very scrupulous in giving
place to all others), he cared very little what inference of
contempt or slight regard they might derive from the circumstance.
Hence, when he waddled across the court to and from his old grey
pony, he somewhat resembled a turnspit walking upon its hind legs.

The nonjuring clergyman was a pensive and interesting old man,
with much of the air of a sufferer for conscience' sake. He was
one of those

    Who, undeprived, their benefice forsook.

For this whim, when the Baron was out of hearing, the Bailie used
sometimes gently to rally Mr. Rubrick, upbraiding him with the
nicety of his scruples. Indeed, it must be owned, that he himself,
though at heart a keen partisan of the exiled family, had kept
pretty fair with all the different turns of state in his time; so
that Davie Gellatley once described him as a particularly good
man, who had a very quiet and peaceful conscience, THAT NEVER DID
HIM ANY HARM.

When the dinner was removed, the Baron announced the health of the
King, politely leaving to the consciences of his guests to drink
to the sovereign de facto or de jure, as their politics inclined.
The conversation now became general; and, shortly afterwards, Miss
Bradwardine, who had done the honours with natural grace and
simplicity, retired, and was soon followed by the clergyman. Among
the rest of the party, the wine, which fully justified the
encomiums of the landlord, flowed freely round, although Waverley,
with some difficulty, obtained the privilege of sometimes
neglecting the glass. At length, as the evening grew more late,
the Baron made a private signal to Mr. Saunders Saunderson, or, as
he facetiously denominated him, Alexander ab Alexandro, who left
the room with a nod, and soon after returned, his grave
countenance mantling with a solemn and mysterious smile, and
placed before his master a small oaken casket, mounted with brass
ornaments of curious form. The Baron, drawing out a private key,
unlocked the casket, raised the lid, and produced a golden goblet
of a singular and antique appearance, moulded into the shape of a
rampant bear, which the owner regarded with a look of mingled
reverence, pride, and delight, that irresistibly reminded Waverley
of Ben Jonson's Tom Otter, with his Bull, Horse, and Dog, as that
wag wittily denominated his chief carousing cups. But Mr.
Bradwardine, turning towards him with complacency, requested him
to observe this curious relic of the olden time.

'It represents,' he said, 'the chosen crest of our family, a bear,
as ye observe, and RAMPANT; because a good herald will depict
every animal in its noblest posture, as a horse SALIENT, a
greyhound CURRANT, and, as may be inferred, a ravenous animal in
actu ferociori, or in a voracious, lacerating, and devouring
posture. Now, sir, we hold this most honourable achievement by the
wappen-brief, or concession of arms, of Frederick Red-beard,
Emperor of Germany, to my predecessor, Godmund Bradwardine, it
being the crest of a gigantic Dane, whom he slew in the lists in
the Holy Land, on a quarrel touching the chastity of the emperor's
spouse or daughter, tradition saith not precisely which, and thus,
as Virgilius hath it--

    Mutemus clypeos, Danaumque insignia nobis
    Aptemus.

Then for the cup, Captain Waverley, it was wrought by the command
of Saint Duthac, Abbot of Aberbrothock, for behoof of another
baron of the house of Bradwardine, who had valiantly defended the
patrimony of that monastery against certain encroaching nobles. It
is properly termed the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine (though old
Doctor Doubleit used jocosely to call it Ursa Major), and was
supposed, in old and Catholic times, to be invested with certain
properties of a mystical and supernatural quality. And though I
give not in to such anilia, it is certain it has always been
esteemed a solemn standard cup and heirloom of our house; nor is
it ever used but upon seasons of high festival, and such I hold to
be the arrival of the heir of Sir Everard under my roof; and I
devote this draught to the health and prosperity of the ancient
and highly-to-be-honoured house of Waverley.'

During this long harangue, he carefully decanted a cob-webbed
bottle of claret into the goblet, which held nearly an English
pint; and, at the conclusion, delivering the bottle to the butler,
to be held carefully in the same angle with the horizon, he
devoutly quaffed off the contents of the Blessed Bear of
Bradwardine.

Edward, with horror and alarm, beheld the animal making his
rounds, and thought with great anxiety upon the appropriate motto,
'Beware the Bear'; but, at the same time, plainly foresaw that, as
none of the guests scrupled to do him this extraordinary honour, a
refusal on his part to pledge their courtesy would be extremely
ill received. Resolving, therefore, to submit to this last piece
of tyranny, and then to quit the table, if possible, and confiding
in the strength of his constitution, he did justice to the company
in the contents of the Blessed Bear, and felt less inconvenience
from the draught than he could possibly have expected. The others,
whose time had been more actively employed, began to show symptoms
of innovation--'the good wine did its good office.' [Footnote:
Southey's Madoc.] The frost of etiquette and pride of birth began
to give way before the genial blessings of this benign
constellation, and the formal appellatives with which the three
dignitaries had hitherto addressed each other were now familiarly
abbreviated into Tully, Bally, and Killie. When a few rounds had
passed, the two latter, after whispering together, craved
permission (a joyful hearing for Edward) to ask the grace-cup.
This, after some delay, was at length produced, and Waverley
concluded the orgies of Bacchus were terminated for the evening.
He was never more mistaken in his life.

As the guests had left their horses at the small inn, or change-
house, as it was called, of the village, the Baron could not, in
politeness, avoid walking with them up the avenue, and Waverley
from the same motive, and to enjoy after this feverish revel the
cool summer evening, attended the party. But when they arrived at
Luckie Macleary's the Lairds of Balmawhapple and Killancureit
declared their determination to acknowledge their sense of the
hospitality of Tully-Veolan by partaking, with their entertainer
and his guest Captain Waverley, what they technically called deoch
an doruis, a stirrup-cup, [Footnote 2: See Note 10] to the honour
of the Baron's roof-tree.

It must be noticed that the Bailie, knowing by experience that the
day's jovialty, which had been hitherto sustained at the expense
of his patron, might terminate partly at his own, had mounted his
spavined grey pony, and, between gaiety of heart and alarm for
being hooked into a reckoning, spurred him into a hobbling canter
(a trot was out of the question), and had already cleared the
village. The others entered the change-house, leading Edward in
unresisting submission; for his landlord whispered him, that to
demur to such an overture would be construed into a high
misdemeanour against the leges conviviales, or regulations of
genial compotation. Widow Macleary seemed to have expected this
visit, as well she might, for it was the usual consummation of
merry bouts, not only at Tully-Veolan, but at most other
gentlemen's houses in Scotland, Sixty Years Since. The guests
thereby at once acquitted themselves of their burden of gratitude
for their entertainer's kindness, encouraged the trade of his
change-house, did honour to the place which afforded harbour to
their horses, and indemnified themselves for the previous
restraints imposed by private hospitality, by spending what
Falstaff calls the sweet of the night in the genial license of a
tavern.

Accordingly, in full expectation of these distinguished guests,
Luckie Macleary had swept her house for the first time this
fortnight, tempered her turf-fire to such a heat as the season
required in her damp hovel even at Midsummer, set forth her deal
table newly washed, propped its lame foot with a fragment of turf,
arranged four or five stools of huge and clumsy form upon the
sites which best suited the inequalities of her clay floor; and
having, moreover, put on her clean toy, rokelay, and scarlet
plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the company, in full hope of
custom and profit. When they were seated under the sooty rafters
of Luckie Macleary's only apartment, thickly tapestried with
cobwebs, their hostess, who had already taken her cue from the
Laird of Balmawhapple, appeared with a huge pewter measuring-pot,
containing at least three English quarts, familiarly denominated a
Tappit Hen, and which, in the language of the hostess, reamed
(i.e., mantled) with excellent claret just drawn from the cask.

It was soon plain that what crumbs of reason the Bear had not
devoured were to be picked up by the Hen; but the confusion which
appeared to prevail favoured Edward's resolution to evade the
gaily circling glass. The others began to talk thick and at once,
each performing his own part in the conversation without the least
respect to his neighbour. The Baron of Bradwardine sung French
chansons-a-boire, and spouted pieces of Latin; Killancureit
talked, in a steady unalterable dull key, of top-dressing and
bottom-dressing, [Footnote: This has been censured as an
anachronism; and it must be confessed that agriculture of this
kind was unknown to the Scotch Sixty Years Since.] and year-olds,
and gimmers, and dinmonts, and stots, and runts, and kyloes, and a
proposed turnpike-act; while Balmawhapple, in notes exalted above
both, extolled his horse, his hawks, and a greyhound called
Whistler. In the middle of this din, the Baron repeatedly implored
silence; and when at length the instinct of polite discipline so
far prevailed that for a moment he obtained it, he hastened to
beseech their attention 'unto a military ariette, which was a
particular favourite of the Marechal Duc de Berwick'; then,
imitating, as well as he could, the manner and tone of a French
musquetaire, he immediately commenced,--

    Mon coeur volage, dit elle,
      N'est pas pour vous, garcon;
    Est pour un homme de guerre,
      Qui a barbe au menton.
                 Lon, Lon, Laridon.

    Qui port chapeau a plume,
      Soulier a rouge talon,
    Qui joue de la flute,
      Aussi du violon.
                 Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Balmawhapple could hold no longer, but broke in with what he
called a d--d good song, composed by Gibby Gaethroughwi't, the
piper of Cupar; and, without wasting more time, struck up,--

    It's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed,
    And o'er the bent of Killiebraid,
    And mony a weary cast I made,
      To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail.

[Footnote: Suum cuique. This snatch of a ballad was composed by
Andrew MacDonald, the ingenious and unfortunate author of
Vimonda.]

The Baron, whose voice was drowned in the louder and more
obstreperous strains of Balmawhapple, now dropped the competition,
but continued to hum 'Lon, Lon, Laridon,' and to regard the
successful candidate for the attention of the company with an eye
of disdain, while Balmawhapple proceeded,--

    If up a bonny black-cock should spring,
    To whistle him down wi' a 

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