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PUBLISHERSHear, Land o’ Cakes and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat’s,
Tf there’s hole in a’ your coats,
I rede ye tent 1.
A chiel’s amang you takin’ notes,
An? faith he’ll prent it! —BURNS.

traedme, senor hu

Ahora bien, dijo el Cura:
los quiero ver. Que me place, re spondté el,
sacé del una maletilla vieja cerrada con
hallé en ella tres libros grandes y unos
escritos de mano,—DON QUuIxOTE, Parte I, ¢

CAALHALIA,

Anael = a7 ALAS
DAPELES 114}

Capitulo 32.

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MARY MONICA HOPE SCOTT

OF ABBOTSFORD
THIS: EDITEION OF
THE NOVELS _.OF HER GREAT-GRANDFATHER
WALTER SCOTT
DEDICATED

BY THE PUBLISHERS

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TA sania aNADVERTISEMENT TO LAST ENGLISH EDITION.

IN printing this New Edition of the Waverley Novels, the Pub-
lishers have availed themselves of the opportunity to collate it
carefully with the valuable interleaved copy in their possession,
containing the Author’s latest manuscript corrections and notes ;
zs

and from this source they have obtained several annotations of
hitherto published. As examples of

considerable interest, not
some of the more important of these, may be mentioned the notes
on ‘* High Jinks” in ‘‘ Guy Mannering,” ‘‘ Pratorium” in the

** Antiquary,” and the ‘‘ Expulsion of the Scotch Bishops” in the

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‘Heart of Midlothian.”

There has also been inserted (within brackets) some minor
notes explanatory of references now rendered perhaps somewhat
obscure by the lapse of time. For these, the Publishers have
been chiefly indebted to David Laing, LL.D., Secretary of the
Bannatyne Club and one of the few surviving friends of the Author.

Fortunately, there is now little more required in the way of an-
notation to the Waverley Novels; but in order to afford every
facility of reference, a special glossary has been added to such of
the novels as required it, and each volume contains a separate in-
dex : while a General Index has also been appended to the con-

cluding volume of the series.
o

EDINBURGH, August 15, 1871.

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aIt has been the occasional occupation of the Author of Waver-
ley, 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
favor with which they have been honored ever since their first ap-
pearance. Fora 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 occa-
sioned the disclosure of the Author’s name having in a great meas-
ure restored to him a sort of parental control over these Works, he
is naturally induced to give them to the press ina 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, how-
ever just, by altering a work already in the hands of the public,

ly 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 re-
peated 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. Thatsuch should
exist cannot be wondered at, when it is considered that the Pub-
lishers found it their interest to hurry through the press a succes-
sion of the early editions of the various Novels, and that the
Author had not the usual opportunity of revision. It is hoped

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iv ADVERTISEMENT.

that the present edition will be found free from errors of that ac-
cidental 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, narra-
tive, and description. These consist in occasional pruning where
the language is redundant, compression where the style is loose,
nfusion of vigor 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 pub-

lish on this occasion the various legends, family traditions, or ob-
scure 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 cus-
toms 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 attrac-
tions in consequence of receiving illustrations by the Author, and
undergoing his careful revision.

ABBOTSFORD, Yanuary, 1829.=e uw
ot BD GTOBER, °F,

To this slight attempt at a sketch of ancient Scottish manners
the public have been more favorable 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 situ-
ation, 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 aclergyman, 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 candor of the pub-
lic 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 ¢ haracter to which he is unaccustomed, or he
may be a hackneyed author who is ashamed of too-frequent appear-
ance, 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 may be prejudicial ;
or he may be a manof 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 Highland-
ers upon trifling articles of property, he has borne hard, and un-
justly 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.

   

 
 
  
   
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

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Vi SEKSSIBAN CIE, WO) MIEIE, HISHURIO. JOSOMTETHOINE

Those who have perused the curious “ Letters from the Highlands,”
published about 1726, will find instances of such atrocious charac-
ters which fell under the writer’s own observation, thoughit 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 commit-
ting some depredations ; and several to the extent and of the nat-
ure 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.*

* See note, Author's address to all in general, Pp. 413.GENERAL PREFACE, 18209.

— 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 condi-
tion. 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 ego-
tist 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 Cesar, 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 com-
panions 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 em-
ployed 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

* ALEXANDER THE CORRECTOR, aname assumed by Alexander Cruden,
best known as the author of the Concordance. Among various other pamph-
lets, he published in three parts ‘‘ The Adventures of Alexander the Correct-
or,” 1754 and 1755—“‘ exhibiting,”” says Alexander Chalmers, ‘‘a species of
insanity which is almost unique.

”

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Viil GENERAL PREFACE,

knight-errantry and battles and enchantments, which were con-
tinued from one day to another as opportunity offered, without our
ever thinking of bringing them to a conclusion. As we observeda
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 ro-
mantic 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 oaszs in the pilgrimage which I have
tolook back upon. I have only to add that my friend ™ still lives,
a prosperous gentleman, but too much occupied with graver busi-
ness 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 king-
dom of fiction as if it were by aspecies 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 dan-
gerous. 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 regi-
men, which the repeated return of my disorder rendered indispen-
sable, he will not be surprised that I was abandoned to my own
discretion, so far as reading (my almost sole amusement) was con-
cerned, 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, be-
sides 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 Cas-
sandra, 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 someone 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 humors of chil-
dren 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 for-
midable 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

*John Irving, writer to the Signet, Edinburgh, died 1850.GENERAL PREFACE, 1X

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, men noirs, voyages, and travels : and
the like, events nearly as wonderful as those which were the work
of imagination, with the additional adv antage 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
sood though old-fashioned lil rary. The vague and wild use which
I made of this advantage I cannot describe better than by refer-
ring my reader to the desultory studies of W averley in a similar
situ lation ; the passages concerning whose course of reading were
imitated from recollections of my own.—It must be
that the resemblance extends no further.

Time, as it glided on, BHbuiht the blessing 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 thesinterval with the usual amusements
of young men. I was in a situation which rendered serious labor
indispensable ; for, aoe possessing, on the one hand, any of
those peculiar advantages which are supposed to favor a hasty ad-
vance in the p ieee of the law, nor being, on the other hand,
exposed to unusual obstacles to interrupt my progress, I mi cht
reasonably expect to succeed according to the greater or less de-
gree of trouble Wikich 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 political 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 chiv-
alry, which was to be in the style of the Castle of Otranto, with
plenty of Border characters and supernatural incidents. Having
found unexpectedly a chapter of this intended work among some
old papers, I have subjoined it to this intro€uctory essay, thinking
some readers may account for as curious, the first attempts at
romantic composition by an author who has since written so much
in that department.* 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
tater,

understood

 

 

* See the Fragment alluded to, in the Appendix No. 1.

 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
 
 
     
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
    
 
 
  
 
  

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GENERA Ls PREFA GLE.

This particular subject was never resumed, but I did not aban-
don the idea of fictitious composition in prose, though I deter-
mined to give another turn to the style of the work.

My early recollections of the Highland scenery and customs
made so favorable 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 civ-
ilized age and country, retained so strong a tincture of manners
belonging to an early period of society, must afford a subject favor-
able 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 afterward 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 Chap-
ter, I showed my work to a critical friend, whose opinion was un-
favorable ; and having then some poetical reputation, I was unwil-
ling 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 in-
genious friend’s sentence was afterward 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 departuve 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 |
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 nat-
ure.

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 neighbors of Ireland, that she may be truly said toGENERAL PREFACE. Xi

have done more toward 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
humor, pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact which pervaded
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
. more favorable 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
[ 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 the ranks
of my countrymen, from the Scottish peer to the Scottish plough-
man. Such ideas often occurred to me,and constituted an am-
bitious 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 ina work which formed a sort of easy 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 of 1807-8 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, dis-
tinguished 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 labori-
ous ‘f Horda Angel Cynnan,” his ‘‘ Royal and Ecclesiastical An-
tiquities,” and his ‘‘ Essays on the Sports and Pastimes of the
People of England,” had rendered him familiar with all the anti-
quarian 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 founda-
tion. This concluding chapter* is also added to the present In-
troduction, for the reason already mentioned regarding the preced-
ing fragment. It was a step in my advance toward romantic com-
position ; and to preserve the traces of these is in a great measure
the object of this Essay.

”)

*See Appendix No. II., p. 422.

   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   

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GENERAL PREFACE.

‘“Queenhoo- Hall” was not, however, very successful. I thought
I was aware of the reason, and supposed that, by rendering his lan-
guage 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 ex-
pressed in language easily comprehended ; and when, as is some-
times 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 “‘ Pad-
lock,” 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 re-
ception 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 |
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 men-
tioned, 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 modé in which I conducted the
story scarcely deserved the success which the romance afterward
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 de-
scriptions of scenery and manners to which the reality gave an in-
terest which the powers of the author might have otherwise failed
to attain forthem. 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 trangressed so widely as in the first of the series.

Among other unfounded reports, it has been said the copyright
of ‘‘ Waverley” was, during the book’s progress through the press,
offered for sale to various booksellers in London at a very incon-
siderable price. This was not the case. Messrs. Constable &
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 factsGENERAL, PREFACE. XH

on which it is founded, are given in the ie irate Introduction pre-
fixed 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, bee work was left to we its way
in the world without any of the usual recommendations. Its prog-
ress 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 obtained. My orig-
inal motive for oe the work anonymously, was the con-
sciousness 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 pur-

1

pose considerable precautions were used to preserve secrecy. My

old friend and school-fellow, 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 a manuscript,
or, as it is technically allel, copy, was transcribed under Mr. Bal-
lantyne’s eye, by confidential persons ; nor was there any instance
of treachery durin 1g 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 al-
terations which it received were, by his own hand, copied upon the
other proof-sheet for the use of the printers, so that even the cor-
rected 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

m sorry I can give little satisfaction to queries on the 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 humor. It will be observed, that I eal not the
usual stimulus for desiring personal reputation, the desire, namely,
to float amidst the conversation of men. Of nce fame,
whether merited or undeserved, I had already as much as might
have contented a mind more ambitious than mine; and in enter-
ing into this new contest for reputation, I might be said rather to
endanger what I had, than to have any considerable chance of ac-
quiring more. I was affected, too, by none of those motives which,
at an early period ee ife, would doubtless have operated upon me.
My friendships were formed—my place in society fixed—my life

*

‘ele ES Ee

  
   
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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[4

RIV GENERAL PREFACE,
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 exculpat-
ed from the charge of ungracious or unbecoming indifference to
public applause. I did not the less feel gratitude for the public
favor, although I did not proclaim it—as the lover who wears his
mistress’s favor 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. For from such an ungracious state of mind 1 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 hisown. 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 at-
tention, 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 intru-
sions 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 discus-
sions which took place on the subject from time to time, went a
good way to maintain an unabated interest in these frequent publi-
cations. 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 labors. 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 sub-
ject of conversation, but who must necessarily be partial judges of
works composed in their own society. The habits of self-impor-
tance 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 the adula-
tion of flatterers.

If I am asked further reasons for the conduct I have long ob-
served I can only resort to the explanation supplied by a critic as
friendly as he is intelligent—namely, that the mental organization
of the Novelist must be characterized, to speak craniologically, byGENERAL PREFACE.

an extraordinary development of the passion for delitescency !

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 embarrass-
ments, 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 dex nied the fact.
The first was a sacrifice which I conceive no oné€ 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 f there was any) which I dared not absolutely lay claim to ;
or those who me tas more justly of me must have received
such an equivocs al answer as an indirect avowal. I therefore con-
sidered myself Seno 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 anyone who lived on terms
of intimacy with me. The number of coincidences which neces-
sarily 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 lia-
ble to be taxed with partiality or confronted with opposing argu-
ments and opinions, ae fhe question was not so much whether |
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 pos-
session of that character.

I have been often asked concerning supposed cases in which |
was said to have been placed on the verge of discovery, but, as |
maintained my point with the composure of a lawyer of thirty years’
standing, I never recollect being in pain or confusion on the sub-
ject. 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
Seotts?” Fa whieh. Lord. Byron: replied; ‘‘ Scott as muchas

*

i ~
nae annicniiiibadennese

Dee fe ocunienens sest cee

STAsule

P  epiihiRRademaa reece Tass

‘—

XV1 GENERAL PREFACE,

owned himself the Author of “Waverley” to me in Murtay’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 at-
tempt 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 him-
self, 1 knew his opinion was entirely formed, and that any dis-
clamations of mine would only have savored 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 sub-
ject. 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 pres-
ent reign, been honored 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 honor.

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 them-
selves in investigating with persevering patience any characteristic
features which might seem to betray the original 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 in-
quiries, 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 considera-
ation.* 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 accurate 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 impor-
tunate persons, who might perhaps imagine that the readiest

 

* Letters on the Author of Waverley ; Rodwell & Martin, London, 1822,GENERAL PREFACE. xvi

mode of forcing the author to disclose himselt was to assign some
dishonorable and discreditable cause for his silence.

It may be easily supposed that this sort of inquisition was treat-
ed with contempt by the person whom it principally regarded ;
as among all the rumors 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 fae 70th Regi-
ment, then stationed in Canada. Those who remember that gen-
tleman will readily grant that, with general talents at least equal
to those of his elder brother, he added a power of social humor,
and a deep insight into human character, which rendered him a
universally delightful member of soc iety, and that the habit of
composition alone was wanting to render him equally successful
asa 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 ein th io all the trouble of correc ting
and superintending the press. Thomas Scott seemed at first
very well disposed to embrace te proposal, and had even fixed
on a subject and ahero. The latter wasa person well known to
both of us in our a yyish years, from having displayed some strong
traits of characte Mr. T. Scott had determined to represent his
youthful Teg dain sib as emigrating to America, and encounter-
ing 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 In-
dians, of the old French settlers in Canada, and of the Brulés 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. IT. Scott was already affected ms bad health, which wholly
unfitted him for literary labor, even if he could have reconciled
his patience to the task. He never, I beli leve, wrote a single line
of the projected work; and | ule ela the melancholy pleasure of
preserving in the Appendix * 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 color 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.

* See Appendix No. III., p. 431.

 

      
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
    
  
  
      
  
      
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
       
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  

Reas Sikes laine kee ere

oa

.

~

 

XVili CAVE TAL PILHA CTS.

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 exist-
ence. and entirely written (horre sco referens) in the Author’s own
hand, excepting during the years 1818 and 1819, when, being af-
fected with severe illness, he was obliged to employ the assistance
of a friendly amanuensis.

The number of persons to whom the secret was necessarily en-
trusted or communicated by chance amounted, I should think, to
twenty at least, to whom I am greatly obliged for the fide elity with
which they observed that trust, until the “dei ‘angement of the
affairs of my publishers, Messrs. Constable & Co., and the e€xpos-
ure of their accompt-books, which was the necessary consequence,
rendered secrecy no longer possible. The particulars attending
the avowal have ae aid before the public in the Introduction
to the ‘‘ Chronicles of the Canongate.’

The preliminary advertisement has given a sketch of the pur-
pose 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 egotistical. It may be 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 pre-
paring 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 ‘* Waverley” and its successors have had their day of favor
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 en-
deavored to gratify the honorable partiality of the public for the
encouragement of British art, by illustrating this edition (1820)
with designs by the most eminent living artists.
To my distinguished countryman, David Wilkie ; to Edwin Land:GENERAL PREFACE. Rs

seer, 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
am less personally known, for the ready zeal with whic]
devoted their talents to the same purpose,

Further explanation respecting the Edition is the business of
the publisher, 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 a charge of having been at any
time insensible of their kindness.

to whom |
1 they have

ABBOTSFORD, Yanuary 1, 1829.

* The publication of Waverley, see Note, p. 286.

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OR,

ple Ltd, lo.) BAA Ie NCE.

CHAP LER FIRST.
INTRODUCTORY.

THE title of this work has not been chosen without the
grave and solid deliberation which matters of importance de-
mand from the prudent. Even its first, or general denomina-
tion, was the result of no common research or selection, al-
though, 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 epi-
thets of Howard, Mordaunt, Mortimer, or Stanley, or from th
softer and more sentimental sounds of Belmour, Belville, Be
field, 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 supple-
mental title was a matter of much more difficult election, since
that, short as it is, may be held as pledging the author to sume
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

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. WAVERLEY.

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 nar-
rative 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 pro-
fligate abbot, an Oppressive duke, a secret and mysterious as-
sociation of Rosicrusians and Illuminati, with all their proper-
ties of black cowis, 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 suffi-
cient presage of aheroine with a profusion of auburn hair, ane
a harp, the soft solace of her solitary hours, which she fortu-
nately finds always the means of transporting from castle ta
cottage, although she herself be sometimes obliged to jump
out of a two-pair-of-stairs window, and is more than once be-
wildered on her journey, alone and on foot, without any guide
but a blowsy peasant girl, whose jargon she hardly can under-
stand? Or again, if my Waverley had been entitled “A Tale

a)

of the Times,” wouldst thou not, gentle reader, have demanded
from me a dashing sketch of the fashionable world, a few anec-
dotes of private scandal thinly veiled, and if lusciously painted,
so much the better? a heroine from Grosvenor Square, and a
hero from the Barouche Club or the Four-in-Hand, with a set
of subordinate characters from the elegantes of Queen Anne
Street East, or the dashing heroes of the Bow Street Office?
I could proceed in proving the importance of a title-page, and
displaying at the same time my own intimate knowledge of the
particular ingredients necessary to the composition of romances
and novels of various descriptions: but it is enough, and I
scorn to tyrannize longer over the impatience of my reader,
who is doubtless already anxious to know the choice made by
an author so profoundly versed in the different branches of
his art.

By fixing, then, the date of my story Sixty Years before
this present 1st November, 1805, I would have my readers un-
derstand 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 ;WAVERLEY. 3
and that my damsels will neither be clothed “in purple and in
pall,” like the Lady Alice of an old ballad, nor reduced to the
primitive nakedness of a modern fashionable at a rout. From
this my choice of an era the understanding critic may further
presage, that the object of my tale is more a description of men
than manners. A tale of manners, to be interesting, must either
refer to antiquity so great as to have become venerable, or it
must bear a vivid reflection of those scenes which are passing
daily before our eyes, and are interesting from their novelty.
Thus the coat-of-mail of our ancestors, and the triple-furred
pelisse of our modern beaux, may, though for very different
reasons, be equally fit for the array of a fictitious character ;
but who, meaning the costume of his hero to be impressive,
would willingly attire him in the court dress of George the
Second’s reign, with its no collar, large sleeves, and low pocket:
holes? The same may be urged, with equal truth, of the Go-
thic hall, which, with its darkened and tinted windows, its ele-
vated 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
1ay also be gained by a lively display of a modern féte, such

n
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 de-
lineates those of the |!

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 narra-
tive upon the characters and passions of the actors ;—those
passions common to men in all stages of society, and which

«

ast generation.

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. Upon these passions it is no doubt true that
the state of manners and laws casts a necessary coloring ; 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 ex-
ample, was colored gules, it broke forth in acts of open and
sanguinary violence against the objects of its fury. Our ma-
lignant feelings, which must seek gratification through more
indirect channels, and undermine the obstacles which they can:
not openly bear down, may be rather said to be tinctured adée.4 WAVERLEY.
But the deep-ruling impulse is the same in both cases; and the
proud peer, who can now only ruin his neighbor 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 endeavored to escape from the confla-
eration. Itis 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 chaptet1
to the public. Some favorable 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,
fT 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 SECOND.
WAVERLEY-HONOUR.—A RETROSPECT.

Ir is, then, sixty years since Edward Waverley, the hero of
the following pages, took leave of his family to join the regi-
ment of dragoons in which he had lately ovtained a commis-
sion. It was a melancholy day at Waverley-Honour when the
young officer parted with Sir Everard, the affectionate old
nncle to whose title and estate he was presumptive heir. A
difference in political opinions had early separated the baronet
from his younger brether, 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 that 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 analyze the
mixed motives which unite to form the impulse of our actions.WAVERLEY. 5

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-residence;

yet reason would have propably been unable to combat and re-
move hereditary prejudice, could Richard have anticipated that
his elder brother, Sir Everard, taking to heart an early disap-
pointment, 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 extend 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
neighborhood once a year. His younger brother saw no prac-
ticable road to independence save that of relying upon his
own exertions, and adopting a political creed more consonant
both te 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 oppositicn. The Tory
nobility, depending for their reflected lustre upon the sunshine
of a court, had for some time been gradually reconciling them-
selves to the new dynasty. But the wealthy country gentle-
men 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
oppositi- i, and cast many a look of mingled regret and hope
to Bois le Duc, Avignon, and Italy.2 The accession of the
neat relation of one of these steady. and inflexible opponents
was considered as a means of bringing over more converts, and
therefore Richard Waverley met with a share of ministerial
favor, more than proportioned to his talents or his political
importance. It was, however, discovered that he had respect-
able talents for public business, and the first admittance to theba:

Shi ahaa tosis baie cies canted . S a
OSes or reret
Sere tee ate

yo

 

 

WAVERLEY.

6

his suecess became rapid.
blic News Letter,—trst, that
eturned for the ministerial
Richard Waverley, Esquire,

minister’s levee being negotiated,
cir Everard learned from the pu
Richard Waverley, Esquire, was T
borough of Barterfaith ; next, that
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 honored witha s@at: at fone ol
those boards, where the pleasure of serving the country is
combined with other important eratifications, which, to rende1
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.’ For it may he observed in passing,
that, instead of those mail-@oaches, by means of which every
mechanic at his sixpenny club may nightly fearn 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 Stubb’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; fox, 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 ef his politics.
The baronet, although the mildest of human beiags, 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 never entered into the head of any of
its former possessors that one of their progeny coud he euilty
of the atrocities laid by Dyers 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, 1
determined conclusion.
He examined the tree of his gene
with many an emblematic mark of honor and heroic achieve:

without, however, producing any

alogy, which, emblazonedWAVERLEY, 7

ment, 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 honored register
informed him (and indeed, as he himself well knew), the Wa-
verleys of Highley Park, com. Hants; with whom the main
branch, or rather stock, of the house had renounced all connec-
tion, since the great law-suit in 1670. This degenerate scion
had committed a further offence against the head and source
of their gentility, by the intermarriage of their representative
witn Judith, heiress of Oliver Bradshawe, of Highley Park,
whose arms, the same with those of Bradshawe the regicide,
they had quartered with the ancient coat of Waverley. These
offences, however, had vanished from Sir Everard’s recollection
in the heat of his resentment, and had Lawyer Clippurse, for
whom his groom was dispatched express, arrived but an hour
earlier, he might have had the benefit of drawing a new settle-
ment 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 pro-
ducing his paper and leathern ink-case, as prepared to minute
his honor’s commands. Even this slight manceuvre was em-
barrassing to Sir Everard, who felt it as a reproach to his inde-
cision. He looked at the attorney with some desire to issue
his fiat, when the sun, emerging from behind a cloud, poured
at once its checkered light through the stained window of the
gloomy cabinet in which they were seated. The baronet’s eye,
as he raised it to the splendor, fell right upon the central
scutcheon, impressed with the same device which his ancestor
was said to have borne in the field of Hastings; three ermines
passant, argent, in a field azure, with its appropriate motto,
sans tache. ‘May our name rather perish,” exclaimed Sir
Everard, “ than that ancient and loyal symbol should be blended
with the dishonored insignia of a traitorous round-head !”

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 direc.
tions 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 Richardg WAVERLEY.

Waverley from a movement which shortly followed his apostasy
This was no less than the 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 ae was, as it may be easily conceived,
sufficiently favorable ; but of the six young ladies, his taste
unfortunately determined him in favor 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 bi it 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
telation of her own. Sir Everard manifested great emotion on
receiving this intelligence, which was confirmed to him, in a
Erivate interview, by the young lady herself, although under
the most dreadful apprehensions of her father’s indi ignation.
Honor 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 power of persuasion ; but the young
officer, immediately after this transaction, rose in the army
with a rapidity far surpassing the usual pace of unpatronized
professional merit, although, to outward appearance, that was
all he had to depend upon.

The shock which Sir Everard encountered upon this occa:
sion, although diminished by the consciousness of havi ing acted
virtuously and generously, had its effect upon his future life,
His resolution of marriage had been adopted in a fit of indigna-
tion ; the labor of courtship did not quite suit the di onified j in-
dolence 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 determination of his amour,
even if his heart had not suffered. The result of the wholeW.

 

AVERLEY. 9

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 des spite of the
nods, winks, and innue sndoes of the officious lady mother, and
the grave et ulogiums which the earl pronounced successively on
the eee e, and go ee sense, and admirable dispositions ot
his first, second, third, fourth, and fifth daughters. The
Ecnsty of his te aoa 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 gentlemen, 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 lim to resume any
active measures prejudicial to Richard’s interest in the suc-
cession 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 pre-
cipitate advances on his part, he might turn passive dislike
into a more active principle. It was accident, therefore, wien
at length occasioned a renewal of their intercourse —_ ard
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
Se etanice of a few miles from W averley- Honour.

Little Edward, the hero of our tale, then in his fifth year,
was their only child. It cha faa: 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 gil ding as would have
done honor 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 asso-
ciated a shield emblazoned with three ermines with the idea of
personal property, but ee: no sooner beheld this family emblem,
than he stoutly determined on vindicating his right to the

splendid vehicle on which it was displayed. The baronetWAVERLEY.

arrived while the boy’s maid was in vain endeavoring tu inake
him desist from his determination to appropriate the gilded
coach and six. ‘The rencontre was at a happy moment for Kd-
ward, as his uncle had been just eyeing wistfully, with some-
thing of a feeling like envy, the chubby boys of the stout yeo-
man 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, contin-
ued 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 litttle
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 per-
mitted to pass the greater part of the year at the Hall, and ap-
peared 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 2 subse
quent chapter:WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER THIRD.
EDUCATION,

THE education of our hero, Edward Waverley, was of a
cature somewhat desultory. In infancy his health suffered, ot
was supposed to suffer (which is quite the same thing), by the
air of London. As soon, therefore, as official duties, attend-
ance 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 unaccepta-
ble at Waverley-Honour, and that such a selection as Sir Everard
might have made, were the matter left to him, would have bur-
dened 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 of 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
labor in the acquisition of knowledge, would have altogether
neglected it, save for the command of a task-master; and it
might have proved equally dangerous to a youth whose anima!
spirits were more powerful than his imagination or his feelings,
and whom the irresistible influence of Alma would have en-
gaged in field sports, from morning till night. But the char-
acter of Edward Waverley was remote from either of these. His
powers of apprehersion were so uncommonly quick, as almost

iy RTOFs paths Sra Lace aes an

e
eat

12 WAVERLEY.

to resemble intuition, and the chief care of his preceptor was ta
prevent him, as a sportsman would phrase it, from overrun-
ning his See that is, from acquiring his knowledge ina 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 dis-
position, 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 ex
hausted, 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 expres-
sion, or the artificial combinations of syntax. “ I can read and
understand a Latin aut hor,” 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 forever 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 essen-
tial 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 ren-
dering 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 dryest doctrines by the insinuat-
ing method of instructing games, has little reason to dread ue
consequences of study being rendered too serious or sever
The History of £ ngland is now reduced to a game at a.
the problems of mathematics to puzzles and riddles, and the
doctrines of arithmetic may, we are assured, be sufficie ntly ac-
quired by spending a few hours a week at a new and compli-
cated 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 enacted from the well- governed childhced of this
realm. It may in the meantime be si ubject of serious consid.
eration, whether those who are accustomed only to acquire
instruction through the medium of amusement, may not beWAVERLEY. 13

Drought 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 r on in the way of sport, our pupils may not thereby
be gra nduced to make sport of their religion. To oul
young f.ero, who was permitted to seek his instruction only ac
ording to the bent of his own mind, and who, of consequence,
nly sought it so long as it afforded him amusement, the indul-
rence of his tutors was attended with evil consequences, which
ong 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 collec-
tion of volumes as had been assembled together, during the
course of two hundred years, by a family which had been al-
ways wealthy, and inclined, of course, as a mark of splendor,
to furnish their shelves with the current literature of the day,
without much scrutiny, or nicety of discrimination. Through-
out this ample realm Edward was permitted to roam at large
His tutor had his own studies; and church politics and con
troversial 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

1e]
1
L

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 Wa-
verley, held the common doctrine, that idleness is incompatible
with reading of any kind, and that the mere tracing the alpha-
betical characters with the eye, is in itself a useful and merito-
rious task, without scrupulously considering what ideas or doc-
trines they may happen to convey. With a desire of amuse-
ment, therefore, which better discipline might soon have con-
verted into a thirst for knowledge, young Waverley drove
thiough the sea of books, like a vessel without a pilot ora
rudder. Nothing perhaps increases by indulgence more than
a desultory habit of reading, especially under such opportunt-
ties of gratifying it. I believe one reason why such numerous
instances of erudition occur among the lower rank is, that, with
the same powers of mind, the poor student is limited to a nar-
row circle for indulging his passion for books, and must _neces-
sarily make himself master of the few he possesses ere he can

acquire more. Edward, on the contrary, like the epicure who

   
  
  
  
 
  
    
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Sree ee fer ce ete SrSEAS cisacieENRERS

ee

 

   

=f WAVERLEY.

only deigned to take a single morsel from the sunny side of
peach, read no volume a moment after it ceased to excite his
curiosity of 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 ac-
quainted with Spenser, Drayton, and other poets who have exer-
cised 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
favorite exercise of the wits of Italy, and had sought cratification
in the numerous collections of zovelle which were brought forth
by the genius of that elegant though luxurious nation, in emula-
tion 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 writte en as hardly to be distinguished from memoirs.
The splendid pages of Froissart, with his heart- stirring od eye-
dazzling descriptions of war and of tourna iments, were among
his chief favorites ; and from those of Brantome Fea De la
Noue he learned to compare the wild and loose, yet supersti-
tious character of the nobles of the League, with the stern,
rigid, and sometimes turbulent disposition of the Huguenot
par ty. due Ppenish had contributed to his stock of chivalrous
and romantic lore. The earlier literature of the northern na-
tions did not escape the study of one who read, rather to
awaken the imagination than to benefit the ve eee:
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 mig ht 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 brotl hers,WAVERLEY. 15
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 Ed-
ward, than that he was of a very bookish turn, and probably
destined to be a bishop. If he could have disc vered and
analyzed his son’s waking dreams, he would have formed a very
different conclusion.

 

CHAPTER FOURTH.
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 dex-
terity, 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.”

3ut of all diversions which ingenuity ever devised for the relief
of idleness, fishing 1s 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 neighborhood was thinly inhabited, and the
not of a class

home-bred young squires whom it afforded were
Gt 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 afew 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 the Parliament, and as his age
increased and the number of his contemporaries diminished,
had gradually withdrawn himself from society; so that, wheyFe

: om

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‘ Siaiicierntmnaie pe in a

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WAVERLEY.

upon any particular occasion, Edward mingled with accom
plished and well-educated young men of his own rank and ex-
pectations, he felt an inferiority in their company, not so much
from deficiency of information, as from 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 consciousne ss 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 dis.
course 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 insignifi-

cant 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, there.
fore Edward Waverley yawned ‘at times over the dry deduction
of his line of ancestors, with their various intermar riages, and
inwardly deprecated the remorseless and protracted accuracy
with which the worthy Sir Everard rehearse it the various degrees
of propinquity between the house of Waverle -y-Honour and the
doughty barons, knights, and squires to whont they stood allied ;
if (notwithstanding his obligations tc the three ermines passat 1t)
he sometimes cursed in his heart the jargon of heraldry, its
griffins, its moldwarps, its wiverns, and its dragons, with all the
bitterness of Hotspur himself, there were moments when these
communications interested his fancy and rewarded his atten-
tion. The deeds of Wilibert of Waverley in the Holy Land, his
long absence and perilous adventures, his supposed death 1, and
his ‘return on the evening when the betrothed of his heart had
wedded the hero who had protected her from insult and oppres-
sion during his absence ; the generosity with which the crusa-
lar relinquished his ene. anil sought na neighboring cloisterWAVERLEY. 17
that peace which passeth not away ; * to these and similar tales
he would hearken till his heart glowed and his eyes 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 Waver-
ley-Honour, and how when a troop of cav alry were approaching
to search the mansion, Lady Alice dismissed her youngest son
with a handful of domestics, charging them to make good wit!
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 ca pe the heroine’s portrait as she
spoke, “full dearly did she purchase the safety of her prince
with the life of her RAT he chi ld. 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 ¢ allery, 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 mo ae eye, that the purpose of
his desperate defence was attained—Ah! I remember,” she
continued, ‘‘ [ remember well to hase seen one that knew and
loved him. Miss Lucy St. Aubin lived and died a maid for his
sake, though one of the most beautiful and wealthy matches in
this country; all the world ran aa her, but she wore widow’s
mourning all her life for poor William, for they were betrothed
though not married, and died in fe 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 oe the carpets to be raised that
she might trace the impression of his oad uae if tears could
have washed it out, it Fa not been there now; for there was
not a dry eye in the house. You would ihe fiouatit Edward,
that the very trees mourned for her, for their leaves dropped
around her without a gust of wind; and indeed she locked 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 som-
bre library, with no other light than was afforded by the decay-
ing brands on its ponderous and ai nple e hearth, he would exer-
cise 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 splendor of the
bridal ‘feast at Waverley -Castle ; the tall and emaciated formP pepe rata LR ee

DDS LALYLL LLL LAP EL LLL ES LTS |

18 WAVERLEY.
of its real lord, as he stood in his pilgrim’s weeds, an unno:
ticed spectator of the festivities of his supposed heir and ine
tended 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 dig-
nity, yet of deep feeling, with which he flung down the half-
drawn sword, and turned away forever 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 echa of the hoofs of the king’s horse, and
when that had died away, hearing in every breeze that shook
the trees of the park, the noise of the remote skirmish. A
distant sound is heard like the rushing of a swollen stream—it
comes nearer, and Edward can plainly distinguish the gallop-
ing of horses, the cries and shouts of men, with strangling pis-
tol-shots between, rolling forwards to the hall. The lady starts
up—a terrified menial rushes in—But why pursue such a de-
scription?

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 exceed-
ing 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 sport-
ing, retained its pristine and savage character. It was tra
versed by broad avenues, in many places half grown up with
brushwood, where the beauties of former days used to take
their stand to see the stag coursed with greyhounds, or to gain
an aim at him with the cross-bow. 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 favorite
haunt of Edward 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, Mirk
wood Mere. ‘here stood in former times a solitary towerWAVERLEY. 19
upon a rock almost surrounded by the water, which had ac.
quired the name of the Strength of Waverley, because, in peril-
ous 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 re
duced 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 char-
acter will appear in the next chapter.

 

CHAPTER PLETE,
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 in-
tention 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 coloring. 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 ridi-
cule 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 havePa thie sees cher eee =e

 

  

zo WAVERLEY.

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 Jife. The list of
the beauties who displayed their hebdomadai 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 favorite walks through Waverley-Chase.
He had not as yet assumed courage to accost her on these oc-
casions; but the meeting was not without its effect. A roman-
tic lover is a strange idolat er, 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 per-
sonal charms, He can easily play the Jeweller and Dervise in
the oriental tale,* and supply her richly Ys out of the stores of
his own econ, with supernatural beauty, and all the
properties of intellectual wealt h. But ere the charms of Miss
Cecilia Stubbs had erected her into a positive goddess, or ele-
vated 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 ae matters,
which sometimes goes the length of observing partialities that
never existed, but rarely misses to detect such a pass actually
under their observation. Mrs. Rachel apphed 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 alittle 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 full y stocked with knowledge , his nephew
would take to field sports and country business. He had of.
ten, he said, himself regretted that he had not spent some time

*See Hoppner’s Tales of the Seven Lovers.WAVERLEY. at

in study during his youth: he would neither have shot nor
hunted with less skill, and he “wight have made the roof of St.
Stephen’s echo to longer orations than were comprised in those
zealous Noes, \ vith which, when a member of the house during
Godoiphin’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 for-
‘ign parts, or served his country in the army, before he settled

for life at Waverley-Honoux 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 pro.
posal was made to Mr. Richard Wa erley, 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 taple oi the minister the great
m shi looked grave. ‘The reason w 7 explained in private. The
un! nap py turn of Sir Everard’s politics, the minister observed,
was such as would render it highly improper that a young
centleman of such hopeful prospects should travel on the con-
‘inent with a tutor doubtless of his uncle’s choosing, and direct-
ing his course by his instructions. What might Mr. Edward
Waverley’s society be at Paris, what at Rome, where all man-
ner of snares were spread by the “pretender and his sans?
hese were points for Mr. Waverley to consider. This he
could himself say, that he knew his majesty had sucha just
sense of Mr. Richard Waverley’s merits that if his son adopted
the army for a few years, a troop, he believed, mi; ‘ht be
reckoned "pon in one of the dragoon regiment s lately returned
from Flanders. <A hint eee conveyed and enforced, was not
to be neglected with impunity ; and ‘Richard Waverley, though
with great dread. of enodi kin tg 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 ul i kely
to resent any step thac’l.2 might fake in due submission to
pare ntal authority. Two letters announced this determination
to the baronet and his nephew. The tatter barely communi-
cated the fact, and pointed out the necessary prepar ations for
joining his regiment. ‘To his brother, Richard was more dif
fuse and circuitous. He coincide 1 with him in the most flat-
tering manner in the propriety of his son 1’s seeing a little more
of the world, and was even humble in ex xpressions of gratitude
for his proposed assistance ; was, however, deeply concerned

ct

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baer

WavVERLEY.

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 con-
sult his brother’s inclinations, evenif he could have conceived
there might be objections on his pon to his nephew’s follow-
ing 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 Waver-
ley, 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 mix-
ture of feelings. At the period of the Hanoverian succession
he had withdrawn com 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 jntercepted by the vigNance of a riding officer of the ex-
cise, who was afterwards Tossed in a blanket.oh a moonless
night, by an association of stout yeomen, for his officiousness.
Nay, it was even said, that at the arrest of Sir William Wynd-
ham, the leader of the T ory party, a letter from Sir Everard
was found i in the pocket of his night-gown. But there was no
overt act which an attainder could be founded on, and govern-
ment, 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 eae of personal con-
sequences seem to correspond with the reports spread among
his Whig neighbors. It was well know 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 New gate 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 re-
bellion, he either would not have ventured thus to brave theWAVERLEY. 23

existing government, or at least would not have done so with
impunity. The feelings whichshen dictated his proceedings,
were those of a young man, and at an agitating period. Since
that time Sir Everard’s jacobitism had been gradually decay-

ing like a fire which burns out for want of fuel. His Tory and
high-church principles were kept up by some occasional exer-
cise 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 vex-
ation gave rise to many poohs and pshaws, which were placed
to the amount of an incipient fit of gout, until, having sent for
the Army List, the worthy baronet consoled himself with reck-
oning the descendants of the houses of genuine loyalty, Mor-
(

daunts, 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 un
defined 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. Pem-
broke, for he scarce assumed the name of tutor, picked up
about Edward’s room some fragments of irregular verse, which
he appeared to have cvinposed under the influence of the agi-
tating 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 com-
mon-place book, among choice receipts for cookery and med-
icine, favorite texts, and portions from high-church divines

.

‘
ve
ae eeTease

  
  
    
   
 
    
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 

24 WAVERLEY.

and a few songs, amatory and jacobitical, which she had ca
olled in her younger days, from, whence her nephew’s aS id
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
vith the wild and irregular spirit of our hero-—

MIRKWOOD MERE,

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 cry stal 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 gaye,
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 del light andstrange
I saw ‘the s spirit-stirring “ch: ange
Ass 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’ more.
So, on the idle dicatek of ya
Breaks the] loud trumpet-c lof Truth
Bids each fair vison pass aw a
Like landscape on the lake that lay,
As fair, as flitting, and as frail,
As that which fled the Autumn gale—
Forever dead to fancy’s eye
Be each gay form that an by,
While dreams of love and lady’s charms
Give place to honor and to arms!VAVERLEY. ie

In sober prose, as perhaps these verses intimate less decid:
edly, the transient idea of Miss’ Cecilia Stubbs passed fro1
Captain Waverley’s heart ami bs the turmoil which his new
destinies excited. She appeared indeed in full splendor in her
ather’s pew upon the Sunday et he attended service for the
ast time at the old parish church, upon which occasion, a t the
request of his uncle and Aunt Rachel, he was induced (nothi in
loth, if the truth must be told) to present himself in fall
uniform,

Phere 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

very assistance which art sm aftord to beauty; but, alas!

hoop, patches, frizzled locks, and a new mantua of genuine
French silk, were lost upon a young officer of dragoons, whe
wore, for the first time, his gold-laced hat, jack-boots, and
broadsword. I know not whether, like the champion of an old
ballad,

c
J
}
J

His heart was all on honor bent,

He could not stoop to Jove;
No lady in the land had power
His frozen heart to move;
or whether the deep and flaming bars of embroidered gold,
which now fines 1 vis 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,
High Jonas Culbertfield, the steward’s son.

Craving pardon for my heroics (which I am unable in
certain cases to resist giving way to), it is a melancholy fact,
that my history must here take leave of the fair Cecilia, who,
like many a daughter of Eve, after the departure of Edward,
and the dissipation of certain idle visions which she had
adopted, quietly contented herself with a pis-a/ler, and gave her
hand at the distance of six months, to the aforesaid Jonas, son
of the baronet’s steward, an heir (no unfertile prospect) toa
steward’s fortune; besides the snug probability of succeeding
to his father’s office. All these advantages moved Squire
Stubbs, as much as the ruddy brow and manly form of the
suitor influenced his daughter, to abate somewh at 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 as

Riperer sagt sec tier att Pits

   
    
    
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
    
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 

eee ee ease tn re PERNT oSee

fee ppbv aiscene

WAVERLEY.

peradventure as her nature would permit), but who, on the first
appearance of the new-married pair at church, honored the
bride with a smile and a profound curtsey, 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 Hanove-
rians and Jacobites. The truth is, 1 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 compiain of these circumstances, into a flying
chariot drawn by Lyppogriffs, or moved by enchantment. Mine
is a humble English post-chaise, drawn upon four wheels, and
keeping his majesty’s highway. Such as dislike the vehicle
may leave it at the next halt, and wait for the conveyance of
Prince Hussein’s tapestry, or Malek the Weaver’s flying sentry-
box. Those who are contented to remain with me will be
occasionally exposed to the dulness inseparable from heavy
roads, steep hills, sloughs, and other terrestial retardations ;
but, with tolerable horses, and a civil driver (as the advertise-
ments 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.”

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIXTH.

THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY,

Ir was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir
Everard entered the library, where he narrowly missed _sur-
prising 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 heir-loom, 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 littleWAVERLEY. 2

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

Geld as their descendant, and as the probable heir of the house
of Waverley: and, sir, in the field of battle you will remembet

what name you bear. And, Edward, my dear boy, remembei
also that you are the last of that race, and the only hope of its
revival dépends upon you; therefore, as far as duty and honor
will permit, avoid danger—I mean unnecessary danger—and
keep no company with rakes, gamblers, and whigs, of whom, it

7
i

is to be feared, there are but too many in the service into which
you are going. Your colonel, as | am informed, is an excellent

o
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
hing ; but as, unfortunately, that word conveyed a double and
embarrassing sense, one meaning de facto, and the other
gure, the knight filled up the blank otherwise)—‘“‘the Church of
England, and all constituted authorities.” Then, not trusting
himself with any other oratory, he carried his nephew to his
stables to see the horses destined for his campaign. ‘T'wo were
black (the regiment color), 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.

“Vou 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. | 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 J 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 4
copious repast of beef and ale, by way of parting feast, but by
such a pecuniary donation to each individual, as tended rather

RRs

Anion etna

oe et sadPs papbiithtwers cS wacne sities SRS

28 WAVERLEY.

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 mansign of Tully-Veolan, in Perthshire, North Britain.
These—By the hands of Captain Edward Waverley, nephew o!
Sir Everard Waverley, of Waverley-Honour, Bart.”

The gentleman to whom this enormous greeting was ad.
dressed, of whom we shall have more to say in the sequel, had
been in arms for the exiled family of Stuart in the year ¥7 455,
and was made prisoner at Preston, in Lancashire. He was of
avery ancient family, and somewhat embarrassed fortune; a
scholar, according to the scholarship of Scotchmen, that is, his
learning was more diffuse than accurate, and he was rather a
reader than a grammarian. Of his zeal for the classic authors
he is said to have given an uncommon instance. On the road
between Preston and- London he made his escape from his
guards ; but being afterwards found loitering near the place
where they had lodged the former night, he was recognized
and again arrested. His companions, and even his escort,
were surprised at his infatuation, and could not help inquiring,
why, being once at liberty, he had not made the best of his
way toa place of safety; to which he replied, that he had in-
tended 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.°
‘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 _per-
haps some others of the patty. 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 Pan-
nartz, (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 evi.
dence, detect legal flaws, e¢ celéra, that he accomplished the
final discharge and deliverance of Cosmo Comyne Bradward-
ine 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),WAVERLEY.

no sooner stood rectus zu curta, than he posted ee to |

respects and-make his acknowledgments at Waverley- Honour,
A congenial passion for field sports, and a general eedees
in political opinions, cemented his friendship with Sir Everard
notwithstanding the difference of their habits and studies in

i

other particulars ; and, ha ving spent several weeks at Waver-
ley-Honour, the Baron departed with m: uny expressions of regard,

warmly pressing the Bai onet to return his visit, and partake of
the diversion of grouse shootin
] a

next season. Shortly after,

¢ upon his moors in Perthshire
[r. Bradwardine remitted from
Scotland a sum in celeuksors 1ent of expenses incurred in the
King’s High Court of Westminster, which, although not «
so formidable when reduced to the English denomination,
in its original form of Scotch pounds, shillings, and pence,
such a formidable effect upon the frame of Duncan Mac-
wheeble, the laird’s confidential factor, baron-bailie, and man
of resource, that he had a fit of the colic which lasted for five
j , he said, waits and utterly by becoming the
unhappy inst rument of conveying such . serious sum of money
out of his native country into the hands of the false English.
But patriotism, as it the fairest, so is it often the most sus
le f

i l
bens i edd ih keh CRAs
lings , aiid mal ly WhO KNEW Hallie Wiad

lays, OCCz 1sionec

cious mask of o
wheeble, concluded
altogether disinterested, and that he wuld have grudged the
moneys paid to the /oons at Westm Saad much less had they

1

 

his professions of TeSTrec: Were Not

a + . ° 1 1 :
aot come from Bradwardine estate. a fund which he consid-

} a0 ao 5 = 2
ered as more particularly his own. But the Bailie protested
he was absolutely disin terested—

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 reiml bursed of the ex pe ndi-
ture which he had outlaid on account of the house of Bradw: ur
dine. It concerned, he said, the credit of his own family anc

of the kingdom of Scotland at large, that these disbursements
should be repaid forthwith, and, if delayed, it would be a mat-
ter of national reproach. Sir Everard, accustomed to treat
much larger sums with indifference, received the remittance of
£294: 13: 6, without being aware that the payment was an
international concern, and, indeed, would probably have for-
got the circumstance ‘altogether, if Bailie Macw heeble had
thought of comforting his colic by intercepting the subsidy.
A yearly intercourse took place, of a short letter, and a hamper
or a cask or two, between Waverley-Honour and Tully-Veolan

the English exports consisting of mighty cheeses and mightier

4

RE PT ee

.

Leen ars

5

tn ee eee tT ni nCStaats iene et

Po

~

aa

 

es

   

30 WAVERLEY.

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 con-
stant friendship and amity between two important houses. It
followed as a matter of course, that the heir-apparent of Wa-
verley-Honour could not with propriety visit Scotland without
being furnished with credentials to the Baron of Bradwardine.
When this matter was explained and settled, Mr. Pembroke
expressed his wish to take a private and particular leave of his
dear pupil. The good man’s exhortations to Edward to pre-
serve an unblemished life and morals, to hold fast the principles
of the Christian religion, and to eschew the profane company
of scoffers and latitudinarians, too much abounding in the army,
were. not unmingled with his political prejudices. It had
pleased Heaven, he said, to place Scotland (doubtless for the
sins of their ancestors in 1642) in a more deplorable state of
darkness than even this unhappy kingdom of England. Here,
at least, although the candlestick of the Church of England had
been in some degree removed from its place, it yet afforded a
glimmering light; there was a hierarchy, though schismatical,
and fallen from the principles maintained by those great fathers
of the Church, Sancroft and his brethren; there was a liturgy,
though wofully perverted in some of the principal petitions.
But in Scotland :+ was in utter darkness, and excepting a sorrow-
ful, scattered, and persecuted remnant, the pulpits were aban-
doned 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 man-
uscript. They had been the labor of the worthy man’s whole
life; and never were labor and zeal more absurdly wasted.
He had at one time gone to London, with the intention of olv-
ing 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
nad 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 conceal:
ment, he commenced: “ Eh, Doctor !—Well—all under the
rose~—snug—I keep no holes here even for a Hanoverian ratWAVERLEY. 3)

. hide in. And, what—eh! any good news from our friends

ver the water ?—and how does the w rorthy King of France ?—
Or perhaps you are more lately from Rome? it must be Rome
will do it at last—the Church must light its candle at the old
lamp.—Eh—what, cautious? I like you the better ; but no
fear.”

Here Mr. Pembroke with some difficulty stopped a torrent
of interrogations, eked out with signs, nods, and winks ; and,
having at Jength convinced the bookseller that’ he did him too
much honor in supposing him an emissary of exiled royalty, he
explained his actual business.

The man of books with a much more composed attr, pro-
ceeded 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 de-
scription ; illustrated from the Scriptures, the Fathers of ea
Church, and the soundest controversial Divines.” To thi
work the booksellér positively demurred. “ Well meant, 2 fe
said, “and learned, doubtless: but the time had gone by.
Printed in small pica it would run to eight hund ed pages,
and could never pay. Begged therefore to be excused—Loved
and honored the true church from his soul, and, had it beena
sermon on the seen or any twelve-penny touch—why I
would venture something for the honor of the cloth—But come,
let’s see the other. “ Right hereditary righted !”—Ay ! there’s
some sense in this. Hum—hum—hum—pages so many, paper
so much, letter-press Ah! J’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 ina few
grains more pepper—I am he that never peached my Author—
T have published for Drake and C Rene RS Lawton, and poor
eed Ah, Caleb! Caleb! Well, 1 was a shame to let
poor Caleb starve, and so many fat rectors and squires among
us. I gave hima 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 ve ry uncivil the
last time I mounted in Old Palace Yard—all w ie and round-
heads every man of them, - illiamites and Hanover rats.”

The next day Mr. Pembroke ag ain called on the publisher,
but found Tom Alibi’s advice had determined him against un-

dertaking the work. ‘‘ Not but what I would go to—( What was
I going to say ?) to the Plantations for the church with pleasure

  

 

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
     

OES

eee eC ekShown hia oy eee

oe

Sophie street

 

32 WAVERLEY.
—but, dear doctor, [ have a wife and family; but, to show my
zeal, 1’ll recommend the job to my neighbor Trimmel—he is 4
bachelor, and leaving off business, so a voyage in a western
barge would not inconvenience him.” But Mr. Trimmel was
aiso 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 tre-
mendous 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 in-
consistent 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 re-
proaches 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 ex-
cept the Highlanders; and respecting them she must needs
says, there could be no great delicacy among the ladies, where
the gentleman’s usual attire was, as she had been assured,
say the least, very singular, and not at all decorous. She con-
cluded 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,

ay
UWAVERLEY.

CHAPTER SEVENTH.
A HORSE-QUARTER IN SCOTLAND.

g, amid varied igallnay) the chief of which
was a predominant, anxious, and even solemn impression, tha
he was now ina 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 inhabi-
tants of the village, mingled with some sly petitions for ser-
geantcies and corporalships, and so forth : the part of those
who professed that they never “thoft to sae seen Jacob, and
Giles, and Jonathan, go off for soldiers, save to attend his honor,
as in duty bound.” Edward, as in duty bound, extricated him-
self from the supplicants with the pledge of fewer promises
than might have been expected from a young man so little ac-
customed to the worid. After a short visit to London, he pro-
ceeded on horseback, then the general made of traveling, to
Kdinburgh ,and from thence to Dundee, a seaport on the eastern
coast of Angusshire, where his regiment vas then quart tered.

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, thought 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 won-
derful 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 soldiers.°
It may be easily imagined that the officers of a regiment, com-
manded by so respectable a person, composed a society more
sedate and orderly than a military mess always exhibit ; and
that Waverley escaped some temptations to which he might
otherwise have been exposed.

Meanwhile his military education proceedec d. Already a
good horseman, he was now initiated into the arts of the ma-
nége, which, when carried to perfection, almost realize the fable

THE next morning24 WAVERLEY.
2

of the Centaur, the guidance of the horse appearing to pro:
ceed 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 ardor 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 re-
proof. ‘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 suc-
cessful in disentangling the various partial movements neces-
sary to execute a particular evolution; and why his memory,
so alert upon most occasions, did not correctly retain tech-
nical 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 mili-
tary 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 rivetted atten-
tion. ‘Time, in the meanwhile, hung heavy on his hands. The
gentry of the neighborhood 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 Wa-
vetly chose to associate with. ‘The arrival of summer, and a
curlosity 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 a purpose of
extending or shortening the time of his residence according to
circumstances. He traveled of course on horseback, and with
a single attendant, and passed his first night at a miserable inn,
where the landlady had neither shoes nor stockings, and the
landlord, who called himself a gentleman, was disposed to be
rude to his guest, because he had not bespoke the pleasure of hisWAVERLEY. 35

society to supper.? The next day, traversing an open and un
enclosed 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 gray-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 EIGHTH.
A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE.

Ir 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 accus-
tomed 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 gran-
dame, 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 sun-burnt 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 en
raged matron. Another part in this concert was sustained by
the incessant yelping of a score of idle useless curs, which fol-
lowed, 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 co//es, 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, til!
their annoying convoy drove them to the end of their stage.

   
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

Meee trate enc,P ppRiRaerss rec cee nae
eS , ae

 

WAVERLEY.

 

36

The evil and remedy (such as it is) still exist: But this is re-
mote 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 mot ions of the horses, and then as

embled, with his neighbors, in a little group at ae smithy, tc
dis cuss the probabilities of whence the stranger came, and

where he might fe goin S- Three or 1ouy y. ill bee > girls, return-
ing from the well or brook with pitchers and pails upon their
heads, formed mor Sass ng objects, and, h their thin short-

gowns and single petticoats, bare arms, eee and feet, un-
covered 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 sym-

metry of their shape, although, to say the truth, a mere Eng
lishman, in search of the comfortable, a word peculiar to his

7 1 + a ; he 1c IN tha
native tongue, might have wished the clothes Jess scanty, tne

feet and legs somewhat protected from the weather, the head
and comple »xion shrouded from the sun, or perhaps might even
have thought the whole meson and dress consider ubly im-
proved, by a 2 entiful application of spring water, with a guan-
tum suficit of soap. he whole scene was depressing, for it

‘st glance, at least a stagnation of industry, and

a
—
4

argued, at ie f o1

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 w as pe ssive. They stood and gazed at the
handsome young officer and his attendant, but without any of
those ae motions a eager looks that indicate the earnest-

.ess with which those who live in monotonous ease at home
look out for amusement abroad. Yet the ph ryslognomy of the
people, when more closely examined, was far from exhibiting
the indifference of stupidity: their features were rough, but
remarkably ee grave, but the very reverse of stupid ;
and from among the young women, an artist might have chosen
more than one model w = ose 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. Itseemed, upon
the whole, as if eo and indolence, its too frequent com
panion, were combining to depress the natural genius and ac
quired information of a hardy, intelligent, and reflecting peas
antry,

1
k
]WAVERLEY.

Some such thoughts crossed Waverley
his horse slowly through the rugged and { ace street ot Tully-
Veolan, interrupted only in his meditations by the occasional
cabrioles which his charger exhibited at the reiterated assaults
of those canine C ossacks, the collies before

village was more

the inhabitants

is Sixty Years since) the

than
irregularly divided from

half a mile
each other by

now

37

s mind as he paced

mentioned,
long, the cottages being
gardens,
called them, of defierent: sizes where (for it
universal potato was unknown,

‘The

or yards, as

but which were stored with gigantic plants of £a/e or colewort,

]

encircled with grove
a huge hemlock, or the
inclosure.

of the
village

petty
was built had
]

presented declivities of

there sink
or seemed

ing-like

to fence

s of nettles,
national thistle,

The broken
never been lev eled,

every degree,
tan-pits. The dry-stone w
(for they were sorely

and exhibited here and there
overshadowing a qt
ground on
so that these inclosures

uarter
whi lich the

here rising like terraces,

alls which fenced,

breached),

these

hanging gardens of Tully-Veolan, where intersected by a narrow

lane leading to the common field, where the j

joint labor

of the

villagers cultivated alternate ridges and patches of rye, oats,

barley,
distance the
tallor’s book of

unprol
patt

itable variety of

erns. In a few

and pease, each of such minute extent, that at a little
the surface resembled a
favored instances,

there

appeared behind the cottages a miserable wigwam, compiled of

earth, loose stones,

shelter

side of the door,
in noble emulation.
inclosures, proudly

walls
was the upper gate

and turf
a starved cow or

while

five feet in height.

where
rely galled horse.

on the other the

the wealthy might perhaps

But almost every
hut was fenced in front ve a huge black stack of turf on one

About a bow-shot from the end of the village a

cr mn

denominated the parks of 1
being certain squareefields, surrounded and dividet d by stone

of the avenue,

family dunghill ascended

In the centre of the exterior barrier
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

straight and of moderate
of very ancient horse-chestnuts, planted < alternately

family of Bradwardine.
length, running between a double row

This

avenue Was

with syca-

mores, which rose to such huge height, and flourished so luxu-

riantly,
beneath:

that their boughs comple tely overarched the broad road
Beyond these venerable ranks, and running parallel
to them, were two high walls, of apparently the like antiquity,

    
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   

Scere a NTS

a

a

aS

we PARRA

Sethi oth)

Bete

ro
ee er eteee Pitthiie ss wlist ee

38 WAVERLEY.
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, projected from each other
at right angles, formed one side of the enclosure. It had been
built at a period when castles were no longer necessary, and
when the Scottish architects had not yet acquired the art of
designing a domestic residence. The wandows were number-
less, but very sma]l; the roof had some nondescript kind of
projections, called bartizans, and displayed at each frequent
angle a small turret, rather resembling a pepper-box than a
Gothic watch-tower. Neither did the front indicate absolute
security from danger. There were loop-holes for musketry,
and iron stanchions on the lower windows, probably to repel
any roving band of gypsies, or resist a predatory visit from the
caterans of the neighboring 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 stablesWAVERLEY. 39

were granaries, called girnels, and other offices, to which there

was access by outside stairs of heavy masonry. Two battle-

mented 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 neighboring dam-dyke.
This dove-cote, or columbarium, as the owner called, was no
small resource to a Scottish laird of that period, whose scanty
rents were eked out by the contributions levied upon the
farms by these light foragers, and the conscriptions exacted
from the latter for the benefit of the table.

Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a
huge bear, carved in stone, predominated over a large stone
basin, into which he disgorged the water. This work of art
was the wonder of the country ten miles round. It must not
be forgotten, that all sorts of bears, small and large, demi or
in full proportion, were carved over the windows, upon the
ends of the gables, terminated the spouts, and supported the
turrets, with the ancient family motto “ BEWAR THE BAR,” cut
under each hyperborean form. The court was spacious, well
paved, and perfectly clean, there being probably another en-
trance 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 Waver-
ley had conjured up.!? And here we beg permission to close
a chapter of still life.

CHAPTER NINTH.
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

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

Pc errcrtar korean SSMena

EE

2S Ree

 

40 WAVERLEY.
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 silence over all,
Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.

Filled almost with expectations 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." 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 graveled, 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 favorite 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, in-
scribed 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 asa boundary to the garden; but, near the
extremity, leapt in a tumult over a strong dam, or wear-head
the cause of its temporary tranquility, and there forming a cas-
cade, was overlooked by an octangular summer-house, with a
gilded bear on the top by way of avane. 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 ofWAVERLEY. AI
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 eae the
bank, which retired behind it, was covered by ancient trees.

—

The scene though pleasing, was ao quite equal to the
garden of Alcina, yet wanted not the “due donzelette garrule”
of that enchanting 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 eae te guest, but alarmed at the
appearance of a handsome stranger on the opposite side, oles
their garments (I should say aroient 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 soli-
tary and seemingly enchanted mansion, when a man advanced
up one of the garden alleys, where he still retained, his are
‘Trusting this m g
to the house, Edward descended the steps in ede: to meet
him ; but as the figure approached, and long before he could
discry its features, he was struck by the « ddity of its appear-
ance 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 a 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 sup-
porter 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 gray jerkin, with scarlet cuffs and slashed sleeves show-
ing a scarlet lining; the other parts of the dress corresponded
in ‘color, 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 an-
nounced. It was apparently neither idiocy nor insanity which
gave that wild, unsettled, irregular expression to a face which

ight be a gardener, or some domestic belong

   
  
  
  
   
 
   
  
  
  
 
    
  
  
  
     
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
    
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  

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42 WAVERLEY.
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 Scotch ditty :

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

Here lifting up his eyes, which had hitherto been fixed in
observing how his feet kept time to the tune, he beheld Waver-
ley, and instantly doff’d 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 hke 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 intelli
gible. 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 ofan
upper servant and gardener; his red nose and ruffled shirt be-WAVERLEY. 43

longing to the former profession; and his hale and sun-burnt
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 sec
ond officer of state in the barony (nay, as chief minister of the
interior, superior even to Bailie Macwheeble, in his own depart-
ment 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 gen-
tleman’s commands. Being informed that he wished to pay
nis respects to his master, that his name was Waverley, and so
forth, the old man’s countenance assumed a great deal of re-
spectful importance. ‘‘ He could take it upon his conscience to
say, his honor would have exceeding pleasure in seeing him.
Would not Mr. Waverley choose some refreshment after his
journey ? His honor 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 honor’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 honor at the «lark
hag, and tell him that a gentleman from the south had arrived
at the Ha’.

‘* Can this poor fellow deliver a letter?’ asked Edward.

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

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

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farben. He used to work a day’s turn weel eneugh; but he
help’d Miss Rose when she was flemit with the laird of Kil-
fancureit’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 y clothing, to please his honor and my
young mistress (great Folles will have their fancies), he has
done naething but dance up and down about the foun, without
doing a single turn, unless trimming the laird’s fishing-wand of
busking his flies, or may be catching a dish of trouts at any 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 his
torian, than to be introduced at the end of a ch lapter.

In the meanwhile it may be noticed, that Wav erley learned
two things from this colloquy: that in Scotland a single house
was called a town and a natural fool an énnocenz.'8

 

 

CHAPTER TENTH.
ROSE BRADWARDINE AND HER FATHER.

Miss BrapwaRDINE was but seventeen : yet, at) the dast
races of the county town of ——, upon her health being pro-
posed among a roun¢ ax of beauties, the Laird of Bumperquaigh,
permanent toast-master and croupier of the Bautherw hillery
Club, not only said Mor ve to the pledge in a pint bumper of Bor-
deaux, but, ere pouring forth the libation, denominated the di-
vinity 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 an exertion. Nay, I am well as-

eping partners of the este: snorted ap-

 

ya
sured, that the sle

plause, and that althe ough 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, inti-
mating their assent to the motion. |

Such unanimous applause

knowlec B edsamerit oe Rose Bradwardine not only deserved
it, but also the ap pioba ion 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

could not be extorted but by ac-WAVERLEY. 45

that is, with a profusion of
\ HE like ’ the snow of her own moun-
tains in whiteness. Vet she hi A not ¢ ve illid or Beusiys 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 asciolaicte! emotion sent her whole
blood at once to her face and neck. Her form, though unde1
he common size, was remarkably elegant, and her motions
ght, em and unembarrassed. She came from another part
of the garden to receive Captain Waverley, with a manner that
vd between Drei yrs and courtes}
sreetings past, Edward le: urned from her that the

1 1

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dark hag, which had somewhat eed him in the butler’s ac-

pirl of the Sc
hair of paley

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count of nis masters avocations, had notAing to do el tne! with
ee fe ee ee eae ' fae aT
a black cat or a broomstick, but was simply a portion of oak
copse which was to be felled that day. She piace. with

difident civility, to show t 1e way to the spot,

NE Strancer 1

which. it ae mer bs ectant ~ bad oheu a
\ hich, it seems, Was ROL far “aiSstant > Dut tiscy weic Fe
Bs aes an i yok pe : wi
vented by the appearance of the Baron of Bradwardine in
person, who, summoned by David Gellatley, now derenrek
c ] shal Lees ot a 4 9) 1 ote

on hospitable thoughts intent,” clearing the ground at a

i o >

prodigious rate with swift and long strides, which reminded
Se. of the seven-l I

was a tall, thin, athleti
with every muscle re
exercise. He was dressec
man than an Englishman of the period, while, from his hard

eas ts ee at gs
sure, old indeed, and gray-hair

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carelessly. and more like a French-

E i. “ a ade on } e “
features and perpendiculat rigidity Of Stature, he bore some re-
a let 5 a, : = E ; | ] Ae
emblance to a Swiss officer ol the guards, who had resided
ae ks 3 ta ea eee Li ae eh eos
some time at Paris, and caught the coszwme, Dut not the ease Ol
. ; T bea ts ‘ core “114 2 + a+ +O qAnG1I< ra
mani mner, of its inhabitants. The truth was, that his language

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and habits were as heterogeneous as his extern:

Onite to his natural disposition to study, or perha
very general Scottish fashion of giving young men of
legal education, he had been bred with a view to the
e politics of his family precluding the hope of his rising in
at profession, Mr. Bradwardine traveled with hi gh reputation
for several years, and made some campaigns in forei ign service,
After his demélé, 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 law-
yer, 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 leaders was often flung over a blaz-
ing uniform. ‘To this must

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46 WAVERLEY.

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 indis-
putable 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 liberalt potest. habendi curias et justicias, cum Jossa et furca
(LIE pit and gallows) et saka et soka, et thol et theam, et unfang-thief ct
gutfang-thief, sive hand-habend, sive back-barand.”’ The peculiar
meaning of all these cabalistical words few or none could ex-

‘plain ; but they implied, upon the whole, that the Baron of Brad-

wardine 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
7ougs (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 impor-
tance 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 demeanor, 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 @-Ja-mode
frrangoise, 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 moist-
ure to the eyes of his guest.

“ Upon the honor 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—sfes al/tera, as Maro
hath it—and you have the look of the old line, Captain Waver-
ley ; not so portly yet as my old friend Sir Everard—wmais cela
viendra avec le tems, as my Dutch acquaintance Baron Kikkit-
broeck, said of the sagesse of Madame son épouse.—And so ye
have mounted the cockade? Right, right; though I could
have wished the color different, and so I would ha’ deemed
might Sir Everard. But no more of that ; Lam old, and times
are changed.—And_ how does the worthy knight baronet, and
the fair Mrs. Rachel ?>—Ah, ye laugh, young man! In troth sheWAVERLEY. Ay
was the fair Mrs. Rachel in the year of grace seventeen hun.
dred and sixteen ; but time passes—eé singula predantur anni
—that is most certain. But once again, ye are most heattily
welcome to my poor house of Tully-Veolan !—Hie to the house,
Rose, and see that Alexander Saunderson looks out the old
Chateau Margoux, which I sent from Bordeaux to Dundee in
ihe year ny1a-

~ Xu

2

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 oc-
cupation for which the approaching dinner-hour left but limited
time.

“We cannot rival the luxuries of your English table, Cap-
tain Waverley, or give youthe efucae dautiores of Waverley-
Honour—l say epu/e rather than prandium, because the later
phrase is popular; “pulead senatum, prandium vero ad populum
aitinet, says Suetonius Tranquillus. But I trust ye will ap-
plaud my Bordeaux ; cest des deux oreilles, as Captain Vinsauf
use to say—Vinum prime note, the Principal of St. Andrews
denominated it. And, once more, Captain Waverley, right
glad am [that ye are here to drink the best my cellar can
make forthcoming.”

This speech, with the necessary interjectional answers, con-
tinued 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 parlor, wainscoted
with black oak, and hung round with the pictures of his an-
cestry, 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 ar-
rival, 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 Balma

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

Re eta or NTS SCL_

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‘a

48 WAVERLEY.

whapple, a Falconer by surname, of the house of Glenfarquhar,
given right much to field-sports—gaudet equis ct canibus—but a
very discreet youn g gentleman. Then there was the Laird of
Killancureit, who had devoted his leisure wa#z/ tillage and agri-
culture, and boasted himself to be possessed of a bull of match-
[less merit, brought from the county of Devon (the Damnonia
of the Romans, i if we can trust Robert of Cirencester). He
is, as ye may well suppose from such a tendency, but of yeo-
man extraction—servabit odorem testa diu—and I believe, be-
tween ourselves, his ee was from the wrong side of
the Border—one Bull segs, who came hither as a steward, o1
bailiff, or ground officer, or ee in that department, to
the last Girnigo at ce eit, who died of an atrophy. After
his ese death, sir,—ye would hardly believe such a scandal
—but this Bullsegg, being portly and comely of aspect , inter-
married 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 ae of an unrecorded taillie, and to the preju-
dice of the disponer’s own flesh and blood, in the person of
his natural heir and seventh cousin, Girnigo of Tipperhewit,
whose family was so reduced by the ensuing lawsuit, that his
representative 1S NOW serving as a private gentleman-sentinel
in the Highland Black Watch. But this gentleman, Mr. Bull-
segg 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, Ca ptain Waverley, that we
of 1 pe: achable lineage should exult over him, when it may
be, that in the eight, 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 ae lemished race—vix ea nostra voco, as Naso saith.

—There is, besides, a clerzyman of the true (though su ifering )
Episcopal church of Scotland. He was a confessor in he!
cause after the year 1715, when a whiggish mob destroyed his
meeting-house, tore his surplice, and ae his dwelling:
house of four silver spoons, intromitting

¢ also with his mart and
his meal-ark, and with two barrels, one of single e, and one of

double ale, besides three bottles of brandy. My Baron-
Bailie and doer, Mr. Duncan Macwheel ole, 1 is yi 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 produce d persons eminent in the law.’’—

As such he described them by person and namk,
hh y ay? :
They enter’d, and dinner was served as they came.WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
THE BANQUET.

THE entertainment was ample, and handsome, according tc
the Scotch ideas of the period, and the guests did great honor
to it. The. Baron eat like a famished. soldier, the Laird of
Bs ilmawhapple like a sportsman, Bullsegg of Killancureit like
farmer, W averley himself like a traveler, and Bailie Mac-

eae like all four together; though, either out of more re-
spect, or in ore
|

a
>

|
yrder 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 distanc
from the table, and achieved a communication with his plate

by projecting hie person towards it ina line which obliqued
from the bottom of his spine, so that the person who sat op-

i

SOS1 re £O him could only Seo the foretop of his riding Bae
This stooping position might have been inconvenient to
another person; but long habit made it, whether kad. or
walking, perfectly easy to the worthy Bailie. In the latter

posture, it occasioned, no songs an unseemly projection of the
person towards those who haj ppe Pe to walk behind; but chose
being at all times his inferiors (for Mr. Macwheeble was eu
ns in giving place to all in he cared very little
what inference of contempt or slight regard they might ‘derive
ee the circumstance. Hence, when he waddled across the
court to and from his old gray pony, he somewhat resembled a
turnspit walking upon its hind legs.
The nonjuring ple reyman was a pensive and interesting old
man, with much the air of a sufferer for conscience’ sake. He
was one of those

Who, undeprived, their benefice forsook,
For this whim, when the Baron was out of hearing, the Baili

used sometimes gently to rally M
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 - different turns of state
in his time: so that Davie Gellatley once described him as a
particularly good man, who had a fee quiet and peaceful
conscience, that never did him any ae WN.

When the dinner was removed, he Baron announced the

r.. Rubrick. upbraidinge him

YY

\
| teenies coal

as SN

RR RRS

pn aire Paste RNa

err rreerrereey yr curr

aMittens ne eres

Be stam

s

=

50 WAVERLEY.

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
honors 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 land-
lord, 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 ap-
pearance, 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 cb-
serve 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 m: Ly be 1 inferred, a raven-
ous animal 77 actu ferociori, or in a voracious, lacerating, and
devouring posture. Now, sir, we hold this most honorable
achievement by the wap pa or concession of arms, cf
Frederick Red-beard, Emperor of Germany, to my predecessor.
Godmund Bradwardine, it being he crest of a cigantic Dane,
whom he slew in the lists in the Holy Land, on a quarrel touch
ing 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, x

When for the cup, Captain Waverley, it was wrought by the
command of Saint Duthac, Abbot of Abe rbrothock, for behoof
of another baron of the house of Bradw: ardine, who had val
iantly defended the patrimony of that monastery against certain

encroaching nobies. It is properly termed the Blessed Bear ofWAVERLEY, oy

Bradwardine (though old Dr. Doubleit used jocosely to call it
Ursa Major), and was supposed, in old and Catholic times, to
be invested with certain properties of a mystical and super-
natural quality. And though I give not in to such azz/ia, it is
certain it has always been esteemed a solemn standard cup
and heirloom of our house; nor is it ever used but upon sea-
sons 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-
honored 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 ex-
traordinary honor, a refusal on his part to pledge their cour-
tesy 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 constitu-
tion, 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 symp:

Ba 2215

toms of innovation,—‘‘ the good wine did its good office.
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 dignitarieshad hitherto
addressed each other, were now familiarly abbreviated into
Tully, Baily, and Killie. When a few rounds had passed, the
two latter, after whispering together, craved permission (a joy-
ful hearing for Edward) to ask the grace-cup. ‘This, after some
delay, was at length produced, and Waverley concluded that the
orgies of Bacchus were terminated for the evening. He was
never more mistaken in his life.

As the guests had left their horses at the small inn, or
change-house, as it was called, of the village, the Baron could
not, in politeness, avoid walking with them up the avenue, and
Waverley, from the same motive, and to enjoy, after this fever-
ish revel, the cool summer evening, attended the party. But
when they arrived at Luckie Macleary’s the Lairds of Balme

   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

Crea wemice tattece Stage meureaneee Nees

Reet oto reeneSSN Ta

Peas enALS

 

2 WAVERLEY

CIT

whapple and Killancureit declared their determination to ac
knowledge their sense of the papene ality of pipe by
partaking, with their entertainer and his guest Captain peer
ley, what they technically called deoch an doruis, a stirrup-cup,
to the honor of the Baron’s roof-tree.”

It must be noticed that the Bailie, knowing bye experience
that the oe joviality, which had been hitherto sustained at
he expense of his patron, might terminate partly at his own,
ce mounte st Hi is spavined gray pony, and between gayety of
, and alarm for being hooked into a reckoning, spurred
ite into a hobbling canter (a trot was out of the question),
cue had already cleared the village. The others entered the
change-house, leading Edward in “amnesisting submission ; for
his e indlord whispered him, that to demur to such an overture
would be construed into a high misdemeduay against the Zeges
conviviales, OY reni potation. Widow Mac
leary seen 1ed to have expected this visit, as well she might, for
it was the usual consummation of m srry bouts, not only at Tully-
Veolan, but at most other gentlemen’s houses in Scotland, Sixty
Years Since. ‘The guests tl
of their burden of

reculations of genial com

 

nce acquitted themselves
entertainer’s kindness,
encouraged the trade -house, did honor to the
slace which afforded harbor orses, and indemnified
piace whic amoraed Nnarpo O thell Orses, and 1ndemninea
themselves for the previous restraints imposed by private hos-
pitality, by spending what Falstaff calls the sweet of the night,
in a eenia al license of a tavern.

Accordinely, in full expectation of these distinguished
guests, Luckie Macleary had sw ept her house for the first time
this ee tempered her turf-fire to such a heat as the sea-

a

 

1

son required in her damp hovel even at midsummer, set forth
her deal bile newly washed, propped its lame foot with a frag
ment of turf, arranged four or five stools of huge and clumsy

 

form upon the sites which best suited the inequalities of Be]
clay floor; and having, moreover, put on her clean toy, rokelay
and scarlet plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the compan
in full hope of custom and profit. n they were seated
under the sooty rafters of Li only apartment
thickly tapestried with cobwebs, their hostess, who had alread\
taken her cue from the Laird of Balma whapple, appeared wi
a huge pewter measuring-pot, containing at least three E nglish

}

 

quarts, familiarly denominated @ 7. ippit Hen, and which, in fie
fanguage of the hostess, reamed (¢. ¢. 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 conWAVERLEY. 53

fusion which appeared to prevail favored Edward’s resolution

to evade the gayly circling glass. The others began to talk

thick and at once, each performing his own part in the conver.
E:

sation, without the least respect to his neighbor. he Baron
| |

of Bradwar French CHAINSOI2S-A-0OL7 EC, and spouted
pieces of* Latin; Killancureit talked, in a steady unalterable

1
dull key, of top-dressing and bottom-dressing,” and year- Nae

: io
-
f

und 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 grey-

hound called eo In the middle of this din, the Baron
repeatedly impl red s ence; and when at length the instinct
of polite discipline so far prevailed, that for a moment he ob-

tained it, he hastened to beseech their attention “ unto a mill-
tary ariette, which was a particular favorite of the Marechal
Duc de Berwick;” then imitating, as well as he could, the
manner and tone of a French musquetaire, immediately com-
menced :

3)

Mon cceur volage, dit-elle,

N’est pas pour vous, garcon ;
Mais pour un homme de guerre,

Qui a barbe au menton.

Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Qui Be chapeau & plume,

Soulier ar Uuge talon,
Que ‘i e de la flite,
iat du violon.

Eon, Eon, Laridon.
Balmawhapple could hold no longer, but broke in with what
.e called a d—d good song, composed by Gibby Gae-
hroughwi’t, the piper of Cupar; and without wasting more
< 4 , Oo

t
time struck up:

 

It’s up Glenbarchan’s braes I gaed,
And o’er the bent of Killiebraid,
And mony a weary cast L made,
To cuittle the muirfowl’s tail.
[he Baron, whose voice was; drowned in tke Ieuder. and more
obstreperous strains of Balixawhapple, now cropped the com-
petition, but continued to, He 1m, Lon,-Lon, Laridon, and to re-

a

gard the successful candidat > fos the penton Ch the, company

t
with an eye of disdain, aie 1 Jalmawnapple proceeded:

If up a bonny black-cock should spring,

To whistle him down wi’ a slug in his wing,
And strap him on to my lunzie string,

Right seldom would Ttaike

if ~*~
Lees wimnia

   
  
   
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   

. PRE eeF  aphiiee 5: SSMS ce

 

54 WAVERLEY,

After an ineffectual attempt to recover the second verse, he
sung the first over again ; and, in prosecution of his triumph,
declared there was “‘more sense in that than in all the derry-
dongs of France, and Fifeshire to the boot of it.” “The Baron
only answered with a long pinch of snuff, and a glance of in-
finite contempt. But those noble allies, the Bear andthe Hen,
had emancipated the young laird from the habitual reverence
in which he held Bradwardine at other times. He pronounced
the claret s4z/z¢, and demanded brandy with great vociferation.
Tt was brought, and now the Demon of Politics envied even
the harmony arising from this Dutch concert, merely because
there was not a wrath ful note in the strange compound of
sounds which it produced. Inspired by her, the Laird of Bal-
mawhapple, now superior to the nods and winks with which
the Baron of Bradwardine, in delicacy to Edward, had hitherto
checked his entering upon political discussion, demanded a
bumper with the lungs of a Stentor, “to the little gentleman
in black velvet who did such service in 1702, and may the
white horse break his neck over a mound of his making!”
Edward was not at that moment clear-headed enough to
remember that King William’s fall, which occasioned his death,
was said to be owing to his horse stumbling at a mole-hill, yet
felt inclined to take umbrage at a toast, “which seemed, from
the glance of Balmaw happle’ s eye, to have a peculiar and un-
civil reference to the Government which he served. But,
he could interfere, the Baron of Bradwardine had taken up
the quarrel. “Sir,” he said, “ whatever my sentiments, samguam
privatus, may be in such matters, I shall not tamely endure
your saying anything that may impinge upon the honorable
fee slings: of. a gentleman under my roof. Sir, if you have no
respect for the laws s of urbanity, do ye not respect the miltary
oath, the sacramentum militare, by which every officer is bound
to the standards under which he is enrolled? Tao at Titus
Livius, what he says of those Roman soldiers who were so un-
happy as exwere sacramentum,—to renounce their legionary oath
but you are pacens sir, alike of ancient history and modern
Gourtesy.. <":°
“Not's SO ionor ant 45 ye Wwouid pronpunce me,” roared Bal-
mawhapple. el ken weel that ydu mean the Solemn League
and Coverjaiit tis Db uf if all the whigs: in.hell had taken the :
Here‘ the Batan ‘aha W averley both.‘spoke out at once, the
former calling out, “Be silent, sir! ye not only show your
ignorance, but disgrace your native country before a stranger
aad an E nglishman -”? and Wav erley, at the same moment, en-
treating Mr. Bradwardine to permit him to reply to an affrontWAVERLEY. 55

which seemed leveled at him personally. But the Baron was
exalted by wine, wrath, and scorn above all sublunary consid-
€rations.

“T crave you to be hushed, Captain Waverley; you are
elsewhere, peradventure, sé juris,—foris-familiated, ‘that is,
and entitled, it may be, to think and resent for yourself; but
in my domain, in this poor Barony of Bradwardine, and under
ihis roof, which is gvasé mine, being held by tacit relocation by
a tenant at will, I am zz Zoco parentis to you, and bound to sec
you scathless.—And for you, Mr. Falconer of Balmawhapple,
I warn you let me see no more aberrations from the paths of
good manners.”

“And I tell you, Mr. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, of
Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan,” retorted the sportsman, in
huge disdain, “that
fuses my toast, whether it be a crop-eared English Whig wi’ a
black ribbon at his lug, or ane wha deserts his ain friends to
claw favor wi’ the rats of Hanover.”

In an instant beth rapiers were brandished, and some des
perate passes exchanged. Balmawhapple was young, stout,
and active ; but the Baron, infinitely more master of his weapon,
would, like Sir Toby Belch, have tickled his opponent other
gates than he did, had he not been under the influence of
Ursa Major.

Edward rushed forward to interfere between the combat-
ants, but the prostrate bulk of the Laird of Killancureit, over
which he stumbled, intercepted his passage. How Killancureit
happened to be in this recumbent posture at so interesting a
moment was never accurately known. Some thought he was
about to ensconce himself under the table ; he himself alleged
that he stumbled in the act of lifting a joint-stool, to prevent
mischief, by knocking down Balmawhapple. Be that as it may,
if readier aid than either his or Waverley’s had not interposed
there would certainly have been bloodshed. But the well
known clash of swords, which was no stranger to her dwelling,
aroused Luckie Macleary as she sat quietly beyond the hallan,
or earthen partition of the cottage, with eyes employed on Bos-
ton’s Crook of the Lot, while her ideas were engaged in sum
ming up the reckoning. She boldly rushed in, with the shrill
expostulation, “‘ Wad their honors slay ane another there, and
bring discredit on an honest widow-woman’s house, when there
was a’ the lea-land in the country to fight upon?’ a remon-
strance which she seconded by flinging her plaid with great
dexterity over the weapons of the combatants. The servants
by this time rushed in, and being, by great chance, tolerably

ui
I'll make a moor-cock of the man that re-

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
   

I rece rt eNOS TSS56 WAVERLEY.

sober, separated the incensed opponents, with the assistance
of Edward and Killancureit. ‘The latter led off Balmawhapple,
cursing, swearing, and vowing revenge against every Whig,
Presbyterian, and fanatic in England and Scotland, from John-
o-Groat’s to the Land’s End, and with difficulty got him to
horse. Our hero, with the assistance of Saunders Saunderson
escorted the Baron of Bradwardine to his own dwelling, but
could not prevail upon him to retire to bed until he had made
a long and learned apology for the events of the evening, of
which, however, there was not a word intelligible, except some-
thing ahout the Centaurs and the Lapithe.

GHAPAER “CWELE Ta,
REPENTANCE, AND A RECONCILIATION,

WAVERLEY was unaccustomed to the use of wine, excepting
with great temperance. He slept therefore soundly till late in
the succeeding morning, and then awakened to a painful recol-
lection of the scene of the preceding evening. Hehad received
a personal affront—he, a gentleman, a soldier, and a Waver-
ley. True, the person who offered it was not, at the time it
was given, possessed of the moderate share of sense which
nature had allotted him; true also, in resenting this insult, he
would break the laws of Heaven, as well as of his country ;
true, in doing so, he might take the life of a young man who
perhaps respectably discharged the social duties, and rendered
his family miserable ; or he might lose his own ;—no pleasant
alternative even to the bravest, when it is debated coolly and
in private.

All this pressed on his mind; yet the original statement
recurred with the same irresistible force. He had received a
personal insult ; he was of the house of Waverley ; and he bore
a commission. ‘There was no alternative; and he descended
to the breakfast parlor with the intention of taking leave of the
family, and writing to one of his brother officers to meet him
at the inn mid-way between Tully-Veolan and the town where
they were quartered, in order that he might convey such a mes-
sage to the Laird of Balmawhapple as the circumstances
seemed to demand. He found Miss Bradwardine presiding
over the tea and coffee, the table loaded with warm bread, both
of flour, oatmeal, and barley-meal, in the shape of leaves, cakes,
biscuits, and other varieties, together with eggs, reindeer ham,WAVERLEY. Oe

mutton and beef ditto, smoked salmon, marmalade, and all
other delicacies which induced even Johnson himself to extol
the luxury of a Scotch breakfast above that of all other coun-
tries. A mess of oatmeal porridge, flanked by a silver jug,
which held an equal mixture of cream and _ butter-milk, was
placed for the Baron’s share of the repast ; but Rose observed
he had walked out early in the morning, after giving orders
that his guest should not be disturbed. ’
Waverley sat down almost in silence, and with an air of
absence and abstraction, which could not give Miss Bradwar-
dine a favorable opinion of his talents for conversation. He
answered at random one or two observations which she ven-
tured to make upon ordinary topics; so that feeling hersel
almost repulsed in her efforts at entertaining him, and secretly
wondering that a scarlet coat should cover no see er breeding

she left him to his mental amusement of cursing Dr. Double sie
favorite constellation of Ursa Major, as the cause of all the
mischief which had already happened, and was likely to ensue.
At once he started,%nd his color heightened, as, looking toward
the window, he beheld the Baron and young Balmawhapple
pass arm in arm, apparently in deep conversation; and he
hastily asked, “ Did Mr. Falconer sleep here last night? ”
Rose, not much pleased with the abruptness of the first ques-
tion which the young stranger had addressed to her, answered
dryly in the negative, and the conversation again sunk into
silence.

At this moment Mr. Saunderson appeared, with a message
from his master, requesting to speak to Captain Waverley in
another apartmeat. With a heart which beat a little ee
not indeed from fear, but from uncertainty and anxiety, Ed
ward obeyed the summons. He found the two gen tlemen
standing together, an air of complacent dignity on the brow of
the Baron, while something like sullenness or shame, or both,
blanked the bold visage of Balmawhapple. ‘The former slipped
his arm through that of the latter and thus seeming to walk
with him, while in reality he led him, advanced to meet Wa-
verley, and, stopping in the midst of the apartment, me
in great state the following oration: “ Captain Waverle
young and esteemed friend, Mr. — of Balmawhappl
has craved of my age and experience, as of one not wholly un
skilled in the dependencies and esaictilhon of the duello or
monomachia, to be his interlocutor inexpressing to you the re
geet with which he calls to remembrance ce rtain passages of
our symposion last night, which could not but be highly dis-

pleasing to you, as serving for the time under this present ex

i ao
1 le,the soc eee

re

rs

‘a

5 8 WAVERLEY.
isting government. He craves you, sir, to drown in oblivion
the memory of such solecisms against the laws of politeness,
as being what his better reason disavows, and to receive the
hand which he offers you in amity; and I must needs assure
you that nothing less than a sense of being wavs son tort, as a
gallant French “chevalier, Mons. Le Bretailleur, once said to
me on such an occasion, and an opinion also of your peculiar
merits, could have extorted such concessions ; for he and all his
family are, and have been time out of mind, Mavor toa pettora
as Buchanan saith , a bold and warlike sept, or people

Edward immediately, and with natural politeness, accepted
the hand which Balmawhapple, or rather the Baron in his char-
acter of mediator, extended towards him, “ It was impossible,”
he said, “for him to remember what a gentleman expressed his
wish he had not uttered; and he willingly imputed what had
passed to the ee festivity of the day.”

“That is very handsomely said,” answered the Baron ; ‘ for
undoubtedly, if aman be ebrius, or intoxicated,—and incident
which, on solemn and festive occasions, may and will take place
in the life of a man of honor; and if the same gentleman, being
fresh and sober, recants the contumelies which he hath spoken
in his liquor, it must be held winum locutum est; the words
cease to be his own. Yet would I not find this exculpation rele-
vant in the case of one who was eérvosws, ora habitual drunkard ;
because, if such a person choose to pass the greater part of his
time in the predicament of intoxication, he hath no title to be
exeemed from the obligations of .the code of politeness, but
should learn to deport himself peaceably and courteously when
under influence of the vinous stimulus. “And now let us proceed
to breakfast, and think no more of this daft business.”

I must confess, whatever inference may be drawn from the
circumstance, that Edward, after so satisfactory an explanation,
did much gre eater honor to the delicacies of Miss Bradwardine’s
breakfast-table than his commencement had promised. Balma-
whapple, on the contrary, seemed embarrassed and dejected;
and Waverley now, for the first time, observed that his arm was
in a sling, which seemed to account for the awkward and em-
barrassed manner with which he had presented his hand. ‘Yo
a question from Miss Bradwardine, he muttered, in answer
something about his horse ha aving fallen ; and, seeming desirous
to escape “both from the ere “and the company, he arose as
soon as breakfast was over, made his bow to the party, and de-
clining the Baron’s invitation to tarry till after dinner, mounted
his horse and returned to his own home.

Waverley now announced his purpose of leaving Tully-VeoWAVERLEY. 59

lan early enough after dinner to gain the stage at which he
meant to sleep; but the unaffected and deep mortification with
which the goodnatured and affectionate old gentleman heard
the proposal, quite deprived him of courage to persist in it. No
sooner had he gained Waverley’s consent to lengthen his visit
for a few days, than he labored to remove the grounds upon
which he conceived he had meditated a more early retreat. ‘“J]
not have you opine, Captain Waverley, that I am by
practice or precept an advocate of ebriety, though it may be
that, in our festivity of last night, some of our friends, if not
perchance altogether edrzz, or drunken, were, to say the least,
ebrioli, by which the ancients designed those who were fuddled,
or, as your English vernacular and metaphorical phrase goes,
half-seas-over. Not that I would so insinuate respecting you,
Captain Waverley, who, like a prudent youth, did rather abstain
from potation ; nor can it be truly said of myself, who, having
assisted at the tables of many great generals and marechals at
their solemn carousals, have the art to carry my wine discreetly,
and did not, during the whole evening, as ye must have doubt-
less observed, exceed the bounds of a modest hilarity.”

‘There was no refusing assent to a proposition so decidedly
laid down by him, who undoubtedly was the best judge; al-
though, had Edward formed his opinion from his own recollec-
tions, he would have pronounced that the Baron was not only
ebriolus, but verging to become edrius,; or, in plain English, was
incomparably the most drunk of the party, except perhaps his
antagonist, the Laird of Balmawhapple. However, having
ceived the expected, or rather the required, compliment on his
sobriety, the Baron proceeded,—‘ No, sir, though I am myself
of a strong temperament, I abhor ebriety, and detest those who
swallow wine guz/@ causa, for the oblectation of the gullet ; albeit
I might deprecate the law of Pittacus of Mitylene, who pun-
ished doubly a crime committed under the influence of Lzder

‘ater ; nor would I utterly accede to the objurgation of the
younger Plinius, in the fourteenth book of his ‘ Historia Natura-
lis.’ No, sir, I distinguish, I discriminate, and approve of wine
so far only as it maketh glad the face, or, in the language of
Flaccus, recepto amico.”

Thus terminated the apology which the Baron of Bradwar-
dine thought it necessary to make for the superabundance of
his hospitality ; and it may be easily believed that he was
neither interrupted by dissent, nor any expression of incredu-
lity.

He then invited his guest to a morning ride, and ordered
that Davie Gellatley should meet them at tne dern path with

TC-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

. ROO ne

5
! Se
"gf asarecaminy ee60 WAVERLEY.

Ban and Buscar. ‘For, until the shooting season commenced,

{ would willingly show you some sport; and we may, God will:

ing, meet with a roe. The roe, Captain Waverley, may be

hunted at all times alike ; for never being in what is called przde
of grease, he is also never out of season, though it be a truth
that his venison is not equal to that of either the red or fallow
deer. But he will serve to show how my dogs Tun ; and there
fore they shall attend us with Davie Gella they. *

Waverley expressed his surprise that his friend Davie was
capable of such trust; but the Baron gave him to understand
that this poor simpleton was neither fatuous, ec raturalete
zdiota, as is expressed in the brieves of furiosity, but simply a
crackbrained knave, who could execute very well any commis-
sion which jumped with his own humor, and made his folly a
plea for avoiding every other. ‘ He has made an interest with
us,” continued the Baron, “by saving Rose from a great dan.
ger with his own proper peril ; and the roguish loon must there-
fore eat of our bread and drink of our cup, and do what he can,
or what he will, which, if the suspicions of Saunderson and
the Bailie are well founded, may perchance in his case be com-
mensurate terms.”

Miss Bradwardine then gave Waverley to understand, that
this poor simpleton was doatingly fond of music, deeply affected
by that which was melancholy, and transported into extravagant
gayety by light and lively airs. He had in this respect a pro-
digious memory, stored with miscellaneous snatches and frag-
ments of all tunes and songs, which he sometimes applied, with
considerable address, as the vehicles of remonstrance, explana-
tion, or satire. Davie was much attached to the few who showed
him kindness; and both aware of any slight or ill usage which
he happened to receive, and sufficiently apt, where he saw op-
portunity, to revenge it. ‘The common people, who often judge
hardly of each other, as well as of their betters, although they
had expressed great compassion for the poor éznocent while suf-
: fered to wander in rags about the village, no sooner beheld him
a || decently clothed, provided for, and even a sort of favorite, than
4 they called up all the instances of sharpness and ingenuity, in
action and repartee, which his annals afforded, and ch aritably
bottomed thereupon a hypothesis, that David Gellatley was no
further fool than was necessary to avoid. hard labor. ‘This
opinion was not better founded than that of the Negroes, who,
from the acute and mischievous pranks of the monkeys , Suppose
that they have the gift of speech, and only suppress their powers
of elocution to escape being set to work. But the hypothesis

was entirely imaginary ; David Gellatley was in good earnest

eget

Pithies ce

ra
te dare ta inn

Ee

Seu
<VAVERLEY. 6i

the half-crazed simpleton which he appeared, and was incapable
of any constant a steac ly exertion. He had just so much
solidit y as kept on the windy side of insanity ; so much wild wit
as saved him from the i imputation of idiocy ; some dexterity
field sports (in which we have known as great fools excel), great
kindness and humanity in the treatment of animals intrusted to
him, warm affections, a prodigious memory, and an ear for
mus

~

IC.
The stamping of horses was now heard in the court, and
Davie’s voice singing to the two large deer greyhounds.

,
nie away,
an }

 

Where the copsewood is the greenest,
Where the fount ins slisten sheenest,
Where the lady-fern grows strongest,
Where the morning dew lies longest,
Where the black-cock sweetest sips it,
Where the fairy latest trips it:
Hie to haunts right seldom seen,

vely, | , cool, and green,

 

“Do the verses he sings,” asked Waverley, “ belong to old
Scottish poetry, Miss Bradwardi :

“I believe not,” she re | lied. “This poor Creature had a
brother, and Heaven, as if tocompensate to the fam ily Davie’s
deficiencies, had given him what the hamlet thought uncommon
talents. An uncle contrived to educate him for the Scottish
kirk, but he could not get preferment because he came from
our ground. He returned from college hopeless oy broken
hearted, and fell into a decline. My father supported him till
his death, which happened before he was nineteen. He played
beautifully on the flute, and was supposed to have a great turn
for poetry. He was affectionate and compassionate to his
brother, who followed him like his shadow, and we think that fro
him Davie gathered many fragments of songs and music unlike
those of this coun try. Bu him where he got such a
fragment as he is now singing, he either answers witl

>

Gi acle
if WC dow

long fits of laughter, or else breaks into tears of
but was never heard to give any explanation or to mention his
brother’s name since his death.

“‘ Surely,” said Edward, who was readily interested by a tale
bordering on the romantic, “surely more might be learned by
more particular inquiry.”

‘“ Perhaps so,” answered Rose, “ but my rather will not per-
mit any one to practice on his feelings on this subject.”

   
    
   
  
 
 
  
   
   
     
 
  
    
     
 
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
     
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
    

TOT eA eS

3

ARO

2

Wee et een et

ae re ees62 WAVERLEY,

By this time the Baron, with the help of Mr. Saunderson,
had indueda pair of jack-boots of large dimensions, and now
invited our hero tofollowhimas he stalked clattering down the
ample staircase, tapping each huge balustrade as ‘he passed
with the butt of his massive horse whip, and humming, with the
air of a chasseur of Louis Quatorze,

Pour la chasse ordonnée il faut préparer tout
Hola ho! Vité! vite debout.

 

CHAPTER, 1 HIRTEENTH.
A MORE RATIONAL DAY THAN THE LAST,

Tue Baron of Bradwardine, mounted onan active and well-
managed horse, and seated on a demi-pique saddle, with deep
housings to agree with his livery was no bad representative of
the old school. His light-colored embroidered coat, and su-
perbly barred waistcoat, his brigadier wig, surmounted by a
small gold-laced cock ed h: at, completed his personal costume;
but he was attended. by two well-mounted servants on horse-
back, armed with holster-pistols

In this guise he ambled forth over hill and valley, the ad-
miration of every farm-yard which eet passed in their prog-
ress, till, “low down in a grassy vale,” they found Davie Gel-
latley leading two very tall deer greyhounds, and presiding
over half-a-dozen curs, and about as many bare- legged and
bare-headed boys, who, to procurethe chosen distinction of at-
tending on the chase had not failed to tickle his ears with the
dulcet appellation of Maister Ge ae y, though probably all and
each had hooted him on former occasions in the character of
daft Davie. But thisisno uncommon strain of flattery to persons
in office, nor altogether confined ae bare-legged villagers of
Tully-Veolan; it wasin fschict 1 Sixty Years since, is now, and
will be six hundred years hence, if this admirable compound of
folly and knavery, called Bn Ww orld, shall be then in existence.

These gidlie-wet-foots,” as they are called, were destined to
beat the bushes, which th 1ey performed with so much success,
th ae atten half an hour’s search, a roe was started, coursed,
and k illed; the Baron following on his white hor rse, like Earl
Percy of EYOLE, and magnanimously flaying and emboweling the
slain. animal (which, he observed, was ‘called by the French
chasseurs, fazre la cure) with his own baronial couteau deWAVERLEY. 63

chasse. After this ceremony, he conducted his guest home
ward by a pleasant and circuitous route, commanding an ex.
tensive prospect of different villages and houses, to each of
which Mr. Bradwardine attached some anecdote of history or
genealogy, told in language whimsical from prejudice and
pedantry, but often respectable for the good sense and honor-
able feelings which his narratives displayed, and almost always
curious, if not valuable, for the information they contained. —

The truth is, the ride seemed agreeable to both gentlemen,
because they found amusement in each other’s conversation,
although their characters and habits of thinking were in many
respects totally opposite, Edward, we have informed the
reader, was warm in his feelings, wild and romantic in his ideas
and in his taste of reading, with a strong disposition toward
poetry. Mr. Bradwardine was the reverse of all this, and
piqued himself upon stalking through life with the same up-
right, starched, stoical gravity which distinguished his evening
promenade upon the terrace of Tully-Veolan, where for hours
together—the very model of old Hardyknute—

Stately stepped he east the wa’,
And stately stepped he west.

As for literature, he read the classic poets, to be sure, and
the Epithalamium of Georgius Buchanan, and Arthur John-
ston’s Psalms, of a Sunday; and the Deliciz Poetarum Scot-
orum, and Sir David Lindsay’s Works, and Barbour’s Bruce,
and Blind Harry’s Wallace, and the Gentle Shepherd, and the
Cherry andthe Slae. But though he thus far sacrificed his
time to the Muses, he would, if the truth must be spoken, have
been much better pleased had the pious or sapient apothegms,
as well as the historical narratives which these various works
contained, been presented to him in the form of simple prose.
And he sometimes could not refrain from expressing contempt
of the “ vain and unprofitable art of poem-making,”’ in which,
he said, “ the only one who had excelled in his time was Allan
Ramsay, the periwig-maker.” ”

But although Edward and he differed ‘0/0 c/o, as the Baron
would have said, upon this subject, yet they met upon history
as on a neutral ground, in which each claimed an interest,
oe Baron, indeed, only cumbered his memory with matters of

‘t—the cold, dry hard outlines which history delineates
Baaend, on the contrary, loved to fill up and round the oe
with the coloring of a warm and vivid imagination, which gis
light and life to the actors and speakers in the drama of ee
ages. Yet with tastes so opposite, they contributed greatly ta64 WAVERLEY.

each other’s amusement. Mr. Bradwardine’s minute nari atives
and powerful memory supplied to Waverley fresh subjects of
the kind upon which ‘his fancy loved to labor, and opened tc
him a new mine of incident el of character. And he repaid the
pleasure thus communicated, by an earnest attention, valuable
to all story-tellers, more es pecially to the Baron, who felt his
habits of self-respect flattered by it; and sometimes also by
peciprocal communications which interested Mr. Bradwardine.
as confirming or illustrating his own favorite anecdotes. Be-
sides, Mr. Bradwardine loved to talk of the scenes of his youth,
which had been spent in camps and foreign lands, and had
many interesting particulars to tell of the ge enerals under whom
he had served and the actions he had witnessed.

Both parties returned to Tully-Veolan in great good humor
with each other; Waverley, desirous of studying more atten-
tively what he considered as a singular and interesting charac-
ter, gifted with a memory containing a curious register of an-
cient and modern anecdotes; and Bradwardine disposed to
regard Edward as puer (or rather yuvents) bone sper let magne
indolis, a youth devoid of that petulant volatility which is im-
patient of, or vilipends, the conversation and advice of his
seniors, from which he predicted great things of his future suc-
cess and deportment in life. ‘There was no other guest except
Mr. Rubrick, whose information and discourse, asa clergyman
and a scholar, harmonized very well with that of the Baron and
his guest.

Shortly after dinner, the Baron, as if to. show that his tem-
perance was not entirely theoretical, Br oRper d a visit to Rose’s
apartment, or, as he termedit, her Zroisieme Etage. Waverle y
was accordingly conducted through one or two of those long
awkward passages with which ancient architects studied 43
puzzle the inhabitants of the houses which they planned, at the
end of which Mr. Bradwardine began to ascend, by two steps
at once, a verysteep, narrow, and winding stair, leaving Mr.
Rubrick and Waverley to follow at more leisure, while he should
announce their approach to his daughter.

After having climbed this perpendicul: ar corkscrew until their
brains were almost giddy, they arrived in a little matted lobby.
which served as an ante-room to Rose’s sanctum sanctorum. ana
through which they entered her parlor. It was a small, but
pleasant apartment, opening to the south, and hung with tapes-
try ; adorned besides with two pictures, one of her ATs in
the dress of a shepherdess, with a bell- BOOB, the other of the
Baron in his tenth year, in a blue coat, eml broidered waistcoat,
laced hat, and bag-wig, ae a bow in his hand. Edward couldWAVERLE} 65
not help smiling at the costume, and at the odd resemblance
between the round smooth, red-c heeked, staring visage in the
portrait and the gaunt, bearded, hollow-ey ed, swarthy f
which traveling, fatigues of war, and ac
stowed on the original. The Baron joined in the laugh.
“Truly,” he said, “ that picture was a metnen s fantasy of my
good mother’s (a daughter of the Laird of Tul
Waverley : I in \dicated the house to you wet we were on the
top of the Shinnyheuch ; it was burnt by t o Dutch auxiliaries
brought in by the government in 171s); never sat for my
portraiture but once since that was Lien and it was at the
special and reiterated request of the Marechal Duke of Berwick.”

he rane old gentleman did not mention what Mr. Rubrick
afterward told Edward, that the Duke had Sas him this honor
on account of his being the first to mount t

the breach of a fort
in S: LVOY during the memorable campaign of 1709, and his hav-

iny there defended himself with his half-pike for nearly ten
minutes before any support reached him. To do the Baron
justice, 2 ulthough suf ficiently prone to dwell upon, and even to
exaggerate, his famil ly dignity and

eatures,
advanced age, had be-

5 —

liellum, Captain

consequence, he was too
much a man of real courage ever to allude to such personal
acts of merit as he had himself manifested,
Miss Rose now appeared from the interior room of hera apart
ment to welcome her father and his friend. The little labors
in which she had been eae ace showed a natural
taste which required only cultivatic Her father had taught
her French and Italian, and a4 eat of the ordin: ury aa in
those languages ornamented her shelves. He had ende avo red
also to be her preceptor in music: but as he began with the
more abstruse doctrines of the science
master of eo himself, she had made
than to be able to ac company her voice \
but even this was not very common in So at
To make amends, she sang with great

and was not perhaps
no proficiency further
ith tee Shut eiatlare
land at that period.

taste and feeling, and
with a respect to the sense of what she uttered that might be
proposed in example to ladies of much superior musical talent.
Her natural good sense Aan her, that if, as we are assured
by high authority, music be “ married to immortal verse,”’ they
are very often divorced by the performer in a most shameful]
manner. It was perhz ips Owing to this sensibility to poetry
and power of combining its expression pith those of the musi
cal notes, that her singing gave more pleasure to all the un
learned in music, and even to many of the learned, than could
have been communicated by a much finer voice and more bril

meds
lant execution, unguided by the same delicacy of feeling.

i ~
ae RRS a eeSE ee

as
a

eer

 

66 WAVERLEY.

A bartizan, or projecting gallery, before the windows of her
parlor, served to illustrate another of Rose’s pursuits s, for it was
crowded with flowers of different kinds, which she had taken
under her special protection. A projecting turret gave access
to this Gothic balcony, which commanded. a most beautiful
prospect. The formal garden, with its high wombs ved
lay below, contracted as it seemed, toamere parterre ; while the

view extended beyond them down a wooded glen,where the small
river was sometimes visible,sometimes hid¢ len in copse. The eye
might be delayed bya desire to rest on the rocks, which here and
there rose from the dell with massive or spiry fronts, or it might
dwell on the noble, though ruined tower, which was here be eheld
in all its dignity, frowning from a promontot ry over the river.
To the left were seen two or three cottages, a part of the village ;
the brow of the hill concealed the others. ‘The glen, or dell,

vas terminated by a sheet of water, called Loch-Veolan, into
which the brook discharged itself, and which now elistened in
the western sun. The distant country seemed open and varied
in surface, though not wooded ; and there was nothing to inter-
rupt the view until the scene was bounded by a ridge of distant
and blue hills, which formed the southern boundary of the
strath or valley. To this pleasant station Miss Bradwardine
had ordered coffee.

The view of the old tower, or fortalice, introduced some
family anecdotes and tales of Scottish chivalry, which the Baron
told with great enthusiasm. T ne projecting peak of an impend-
lng crag which rose near it, had acquired the name of St.
Swithin’s Chair. It was the scene of a peculiar superstition,
of which Mr. Rubrick mentioned some curious particulars, which
reminded Waverley of a rhyme quoted by Edgar in King Lear ;
and Rose was called upon to sing a little legend in which they
had been interwoven by some village poet,

Who, noteless as the race from which he sprung,
Saved others’ names, but left his own unsung,

The sweetness of her voice, and the simple beauty of her
music, gave all the advantage which the minstrel could have
desired, and which his poetry so much wanted. I almost suet
if it can be read with patience, destitute of these advantage
although I conjecture the following copy to have been some-
what corrected by Waverley, to suit the taste of those who
might not relish pure antiquity :—

pl. SWITHEN’S CHAIR,

On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest,
Ever beware that your couch be blessed;WAVERLEY.
Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead,
Sing the Ave, and say the Creed.

For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will ride,
And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side.
Whether the wind sing lowly or loud,

Sailing through moonshine or swathed in the cloud.
The Lady she sat in St. Swithin’s Chair,

The dew of the night had damped her hair:

Her cheek was pale—but resolved and high
Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye.

She muttered the spell of Swithin bold,

When his naked foot traced the midnight wold,
When he stopped the Hag as she rode the night,
And bade her descend, and her promise plight.
He that dare sit on St. Switl
When the Night-Hag wings the trouble
Questions three, when he speaks the spe

e may ask, and she must tell.
He may asl L sl tell

1in’s Chair,

    

d air,
|

E

The Baron has been with King Robert his liege,
These three long years in battle a1 ies

News are there none of his weal or his woe,

ind fain the Lady his fate would know.

]
1d sieve:
LCi & >

She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks ;
* J ? 7 . . ”
Is it the moody owl that shrieks ?

Or is it that sound, betwixt laughter and scream,

The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ?

The moan of the wind sunk silent and low,
And the roaring torrent ceased to flow ;
The calm was more dreadful than raging storm,

When the cold gray mist brought the ghastly form !

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

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

“My father has astrange defiance of the marvelous, Cap-
tain Waverley,” observed Rose, “ and once stood firm when a
whole synod of Presbyterian divines were put to the rout by a

a?

yea

4

sudden apparition of the foul fiend

Reto m atts

rh

ro
ree cece CRS Tee Ren,

are

ore

   
  

GR eet .68 WAVERLEY.

Waverley looked as if desirous to hear more.

“Must I tell my story as well Bs sing my song? Well—.
Once upon a time thete e lived an old women, call led Janet Gel-
latley, who was suspected to be a witch, on the infallible
grou inds that she was very old, very ugly, very poor, and had
two sons, one of whom was a poet, and the other a fool, which
visitation all the neighborhood agreed, had come upon her for
the sin of witcl cious And she was imprisoned for a week in
the steeple of the parish church, and sparingly supplied with
food, and not permitted to sleep, until she ne became as
much persuaded of her being a witch as her accusers ; and in
ue lucid and h aPPY state of mind was Breet forth to make
a clean eee that is, to make open confession of her sorcer-

 

 

cw
ies before all the W ‘hi is gentry and ministers of the vicinity, who
were no conjurors themselves. My father went to see fair

1emse ] t
h and the clergy: forthe witch had been
born on his estate. A

 

play between the witch a e clergy.

nd while the witch was confessing that
the Enemy appeared, and made his addresses to her as a
handsome black man—which, if you could have seen poor old
blear-eyed Janet, reflected little honor on Apollyon’s taste—

and while the auditors listened with astonished ears, and the
clerk recorded with a tremb 1
changed the low mumbling 1

shrill yell, and exclaimed, ‘ Look to yourselves! look to your-

ling hand, she, allof a sudc

tone with which she spoke, into a

   

Selves! I see the Evil One sitting in the midst of ye” “The
surprise was general, and terror and flight its immediate con-
sequences. Happy were those who were next the door; and
many were the disasters that befell hats, bands, cuffs, and
wigs, before they could get out of the church, where they left

the obstinate prelatist to settle matters with the witch and her

admirer, at his own peril or pleasure.”

“Feisu solvuntur tabule,”’ said the Baron; “ when they re-
covered their panic trepidation , they were too much ashamed
to bring any wakening of ihe process against Janet Gellat-
ley.”

This anecdote led to a long discussion of

All these idle thoughts and fantasies,
Devices, dreams, opinions unsound,
Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies,
And all that feioned i is, aS leasings, tales, and lies.

With such conversation, and the rom ant ic legends which it
produced, closed our hero’s second evening in the house of
Tully-Veolan.Ui

 

AVERLE Y.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

A DISCOVERY—WAVERLEY BECOMES DOMESTICATED AT TULLY
VEOLAN.

THe next day Edward arose betimes, and in a morning
walk around the house and its vicinity, came suddenly upon a
small court in front of the dog-kennel, where his friend Davie
was employed about his four-footed charge. One quick glance
of his eye recognized Waverley, when, instantly turning his

back, as if he had not observed him, he began to sing part of
an old ballad :

r

Young men will love thee more fair and more fast

Old men’s love the longest will last

The young man’s wrath is like light straw on fire;

But like red-hot steel is the old man’s ire,
And the throstle- e's head ts under his win

The young man will braw! at the evening board ;
Heard ye so merry the littl. bird sing ?

But the oldman will « draw at the dawning the sword,
f the throstle-cock’s head is under his win

Waverley could not avoid observing that Davie had some-
thing like a satirical emphasis on these lines. He therefore
approached, and endeavored, by sundry 7 que ries, to elicit from
him what the innuendo might mean; but Davie had no mind to
explain, and had wit enough to ke his folly cloak his

Edward could collect nothing from him, excepting

Laird of Balmawhapple had gone home yesterday
morning, “ wi’ his boots fu’ o’ bluid.” In the eg rar den, however,
he met the old butler, who no longer attempted < conceal
that, having been bred in the nursery line with Sumack & Co.,
of Newcastle. he sometimes wrought a turn in the flower-bor-
ders to oblige the Laird and Miss Rose. By a series of
queries, Edward at length discovered, with a painful feeling of
surprise and shame, that B:
apology had been “é consequence of a rencontre with the
Baron before his est had quitted his pillow, in which t
younger nes sea been disarmed and wounded in t
l-arm.,

ilmawhapple’s submission and

he
ha
ne

SWoOrc

Oa AY TTT TR
SRT er RTE ST FEUER TT

a Ae
pate as Nata.70 WAVERLEY.

Greatly mortified at this information,Edward sought out his
friendly host, and anxiously expostulated with him upon the
au sui se he had done him in anticipating his meeting with Mr.

‘alconer, a circumstance which, considering his youth and the
profession of arms which he h: ad just adopte d, was capable of
being represented much to his prejudice. T he Baron justified
himself at greater length than I choose to repeat. He urged
that the quarrel was common to them, and that Balmawh apple
could not, ey the code of honor, évz/e giving satisfaction to
both, which he had done in his case by an honorable meeting,
and in > that of Edward by such a palinode as rendered the use
of the sword unnecessary, and which, being made and accept-
ed, must necessarily sofzte the whole affair. With this excuse
or explanation, Wa iverley was silenced, if not satisfied, but he
could not help testifying some displeasure against the Blessed
Bear, which had given rise to the quarrel, nor refrain from
hinting that the sanctified epithet was hardly appropriate. The

Baron observed, he could not deny that “the Bear, though
allowed by heralds as a most honorable ordinary, had, never-
theless, somewhat fierce, churlish, and morose in his disposi-
tion (as might be read in Archibald Simson, pastor of Dal-
keith’s ze roglyphica Animalium), and had thus been the type
of many quarrels and dissensions which had occurred in the
house of BRN ardiAe of which,” he “continued, “1 mieht
commemorate mine own unfortunate dissension with my t hird
cousin by the mother’s side, Sir Hew Halbert, who was so un-
thinking as to deride my family name, as if it had been guasz
Bear-warden ; a most uncivil jest, since it not only insinuated
that the founder of our house occupied such a mean situation
as to be a custodier of wild beasts, a charge which, ye must
have observed, is only intrusted to the very basest plebeians ;
but, moreover, seemed to infer that our coat-armor had not
been achieved by honorable actions in war, but bestowed by
way of paranomasia, or pun upon our family appellation—a
sort of bearing which the French call armoires parlantes ; the
Latin, arma cantatia ; and your English authorities, c: anting
heraldry ; being indeed a species of emb lazoning more befitting
canters, eaberlunzies , and such like mendicants, whose gib ber-
ish is formed upon playing upon the word, than the noble, hon-
orable, and useful science of heraldry, which assigns armorial
bearings as the reward of noble and generous actions, and not
to tickle the ear with vain quodlibets, such as are found in jest-
books.” ?> Of his quarrel with Sir Hew he said nothing more,
than that it was settled in a fitting manner.
Having been so minute with respect to the diversions ofWAVERLEY. A

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

His anxiety on her behalf did not, however, seem to extend
itself in that quarter, where, according to the general opinion,
itis most efficiently displayed; in laboring, namely, to estab-
lish her in life, either by a large dowry or a wealthy marriage.
By an old settlement, almost all the landed estates of the
Baron went, after his death, to a distant relation ; and it was
supposed that Miss Bradwardine would remain but slenderly
provided for, as the good gentleman’s cash matters had been
too long under the exclusive charge of Bailie Macwheeble, to
admit of any great expectations from his personal succession.
It is true the said Bailie loved his patron and his patron’s
daughter next (although at an incomparable distance) to himself,
He thought it was possible to set aside the settlement on the male
line, and had actually procured an opinion to that effect (and,
as he boasted, without a fee) from an eminent Scottish counse
under whose notice he contrived to bring the point while con.
sulting him regularly on some other business. But the Baron
would not listen to such a proposal for an instant. On the
contrary, he used to have a perverse pleasure in boasting that
the barony of Bradwardine was a male fief, the first chartet
having been given at that early period when women were not
deemed capable to hold a feudal grant; because, according

Pully-Veolan, on the first days of Edward’s arrival, for the

   
  
 
  
 
   
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

ORSRE
arrest gst

7

SN ee tNiemarichbheelahabnastionshect

Sts,

 

72 WAVERLEY.

to Les coustusmes Ge Normandie cest Phomme ki se bast et ki
conseille; or, as is yet more ungallantly expressed by other
authorities, all of whose barbarous names he delighted to quote
at full length, because a woman could not serve the superior, or
feudal lord, in war, on account of the decorum of her sex, nor
assist him with advice, because of her limited intellect, nor
keep his counsel, owing to the infirmity of her disposition, He
would triumphantly ask how it would become a female, and
that female a Bradwardine, to be seen employed 727 servetio
exucnii, seu detrahendi, caligas regis post battaliam? that is, in
pulling off the king’s boots after an engagement, which was the
feudal service by which he held the barony of Bradwardine.
“No,” he said, “ beyond hesitation, procu/ dusio, many females
as worthy as Rose, had been excluded, in order to make way
for my own succession, and Heaven forbid that I should do
aught that might contravene the destination of my forefathers,
or impinge upon the right of my kinsman, Malcolm Brad-
wardine of Inchgrabbit, an honorable though decayed branch
of my own family.”

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

“‘ Like sour ale in simmer,” added Davie Gellatley, who hap
pened to be nearer the conclave than they were aware of.

Miss Bradwardine, such as we have described her, with all
the simplicity and curiosity of a recluse, attached herself to the
opportunities of increasing her store of literature which Ed-
ward’s visit afforded her. He sent for some of his books from
his quarters, and they opened to her sources of delight of which
she had hitherto had no idea. The best English poets, of
every description, and other works on belles lettres, made a
part of this precious cargo. Her music, even her flowers, were
neglected, and Saunders not only mourned over, but began to
mutiny against, the labor for which he now scarce received
thanks. ‘These new pleasures became gradually enhanced bysharing them with one of a kindred taste
to comment, to recite, to explain difficult
his assistance invaluable

its deficiencies.

  
  
  
 
 
 
  

WAVERLEY.

quite at ease, he possessed that flow of

ate eloquence
figure, fashion,

There was, therefore,

fame, or

an

intercourse, to poor Rose’s

fortune, in

mind

73

Edward’s readiness
passages, rendered

; and the wild romance of his spirit
delighted a character too young and inexperienced to

observe

Upon subjects which interested him, and when

natural, and somewhat

e, which has been supposed as powerful even as
winning the female heart.
increasing danger, in
peace of

this constant
which was the more

imminent, as her father was gre atly too much abstracted in his
studies, and wr: es ped up in

daughter’s incurring it.
wardine

ryt
Phe ¢

1is
]
l

own dignity,
aughters ‘of
were, in his opinion, like those of the house of Bour-

to dream of his
the house of Brad-

bon or Austria, placed high above the clouds of passion which

might obfuscate

the intellects of mean

er females; they moved

in another sphere, were governed by other ea and amen-

able to other rules, than those of idle an
shut his eyes so
lward’s intimacy
whole neighborhood concluded that he ha

In short, he
quences ol Ex

advantages of a match

atic
be tween

he had generally shown hin

was concerned.
If the Baron,
ance, the

however,
indifference of Waverle -y would have
Our h Cre:

perable bar to his project.
with the world, had setae to think with great shame and con-

fusion upon his mental ]
tion of these

self j

1
resolutely to the
Miss |

(

with

his daughter
young Englishman, and pronounced him much less a
in cases where

affection.
natural conse-
radwardine, that the
opened them to the
and the wealthy
fool than
» his own interest

antastic

y
)
-
l

had really meditated such an alli-

vend of
reflections Ww: LS

li

kely, for

Saint

been an insu-

since mixing more freely

and the vexa-
time at least, to

Cecilia,
some

counterbalance the natural susceptibility of his disposition.
beautiful and amiable as we have de-

Besides,

Rose Bradwardine, |
scribed her, had not precise!
captivates a romantic imagination in early youth.
amiable «

frank, too confiding, too kind;
destructive of the marvelous.

W

y the sort of beauty

ith which
TAtrs " dere A ba oe qo een
celights to address the empress of his affe
to bow, to tremble, and to adore, before the

yu ilities, undoubt tedly,

or merit which

She was too
but
a youth of imagi ination
ctions. Was it possib dle
e timid yet playful

little girl, who now asked Edward to mend her pen, now to

construe a stanza in

Tasso,

long word in her version of

fascination on

and now
it

>

how
All these
the mind at a certain
when a youth is entering it, and
object whose affection may dignify him in his own eyes, than

rather

to spell a very—very
incidents have their
period of life, but not
looking out for some

: ee ae es:a Bie ee ee

a
a

ge
>

 

 

 

74 WAVERLEY.

stooping to one who looks up to him for such distinction.
Hence, though there can be no rule in so capricious a passion,
early love is frequently ambitious in choosing its object , or,
which comes to the same, selects her (as in the case of Saint
Cecilia aforesaid) from a situation that gives fair scope for
le beau ideal, which the reality of intimate and familiar life
rather tends to limit and impair. JI knew a very accomplished
and sensible young man cured of a violent passion for a pretty
woman, whose talents were not equal to her face and figure,
by being permitted to bear her company for a whole afternoon.
Thus it is certain, that had Edward enjoyed such an op-
portunity of conversing with Miss Stubbs, Aunt Rachel’s
precaution would have been unnecessary, for he would as soon
have fallen in love with the dairy-maid. And although Miss
Bradwardine was a very different character, it seems probable
that the very intimacy of their intercourse prevented his feel-
ing for her other sentiments than those of a brother for an
amiable and accomplished sister ; while the sentiments of poor
Rose were gradually, and without her being conscious, assum-
ing a shade of warmer affection.

I ought to have said that Edward, when he sent to Dundee
for the books before mentioned, had applied for, and received
permission, extending his leave of absence. But the letter of
his commanding-ofhicer contained a friendly recommendation
to him, not to spend his time exclusively with persons, who,
estimable as they might be in a general sense, could not be
supposed well affected to a government, which they declined to
acknowledge by taking the oath of allegiance. The letter
further insinuated, though with great delicacy, that although
some family connections might be supposed to render it neces-
sary for Captain Waverley to communicate with gentlemen
who were in this unpleasant state of suspicion, yet his father’s
situation and wishes ought to prevent his prolonging those at-
tentions into exclusive intimacy. And it was intimated, that
while his political principles were endangered by communicat
ing with laymen of this description, he might also receive erro-
neous impressions in religion from the prelatic clergy, who so
perversely labored to set up the royal prerogative in things
sacred.

This last insinuation probably induced Waverley to set
both down to the prejudices of his commanding-officer. He was
sensible that Mr. Bradwardine had acted with the most scrupu-
lous delicacy, in never entering upon any discussion that had
the most remote tendency to bias his mind in political opinions,
although he was himself not only a decided partisan of theWAVERLEY. 70
5
exiled family, but had been trusted at different times with im
portant commissions for their service. Sensible, therefore,
that there was no risk of his being perverted from his alle-
giance, Edward felt as if he should do his uncle’s old friend
injustice in removing from a house where he gave and received
pleasure and amusement, merely to gratify a prejudiced and
ill-judged suspicion. He therefore wrote a very general an
swer, assuring his commanding-officer that his loyalty was not
in the most distant danger of ‘contamination, and continued an
honored guest and inmate of the house of Tully-Veolan.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
A CREAGH * AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

WHEN Edward had beena guest at Tully-Veolan nearly
six weeks, he descried one morning, as he took his usual walk
before the breakfast hour, signs of uncommon perturbation in
the family. Four bare-l egged dairy-maids, with each an empty
milk-pail in her hand, ran about with frantic gestures, and ut-
tering loud exclamations of surprise, grief, and resentment.
From their appearance, a pagan might have conceived them a
detachment of the celebrated Belides, just come from their
baling penance. As nothing was to be got from the distracted
chorus, excepting “Lord guide us!” and “ Eh sirs!” ejacula-
tions which threw no light upon the cause of their dis-
may, Waverley repaired to the fore-court, as it was called,
where he beheld Bailie Macwheeble cantering his white pony
down = avenue with all the speed it could muster. He had

arrived, it would seem, upon a hasty summons, and was fol-
aban by ee a score of peasants from the village, who had no
great difficulty in keeping pace with him.

The Bailie, greatly too busy, and too important, to enter
into explanations with Edward, summoned forth Mr. Saunder.
son, who appeared with a countenance in which dismay was
mingled with solemnity, and they immediately entered into
close conference. Davie Gellatley was also seen in the group,
idle as Diogenes at Sinope, while his countrymen were pr epar-
ing for asiege. His spirits always rose with anything good
or bad, which occasioned tumult, and he continued frisking,
hopping, dancing, and singing the burden of an old ballad,

Our gear’s a’ gane,

  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
 
   
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
   

mat

Sts

“Ree

says sathoedpabsenhs

F pipbiitthvasscae cea SE

 

76 WAVERLEY.

until, happening to pass too near the Bailie, he received an
admonitory hint from his horsewhip, which converted his songs
into lamentation. ; ape

Passing from thence toward the garden, Waverley beheld
the Baron in person, measuring and re-measuring, with swift
and tremendous strides, the length of the terrace; his coun-
tenance clouded with offended pride and indignation, and the
whole of his demeanor such as seemed to indicate, that any
inquiry concerning the cause of his discom posure would give
pain at least, if not offence. Waverley therefore glided into
the house, without addressing him, and took his way to the
breakfast parlor, where he found his young friend Rose, who,
though she neither exhibited the resentment of her father, the
turpid importance of Bailie Macwheeble, nor the despair of
the handmaidens, seemed vexed and thoughtful. A single word
explained the mystery, “ Your breakfast will be a disturbed one,
Captain Waverley. A party of Caterans have come down
upon us last night, and have driven off all our milch cows.”

“A party of Caterans? ”

“Ves ; robbers from the neighboring Highlands. We used
to be quite free from them while we paid blackmail to Fergus
Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr; but my father thought it unworthy
of his rank and birth to pay it any longer, and so this disaster
has happened. It is not the value of the cattle, Captain Waver-
ley, that vexes me; but my father is so much hurt at the affront,
and is so bold and hot, that I fear he will try to recover them
by the strong hand ; and if he is not hurt himself, he will hurt
some of these wild people, and then there will be no peace be-
tween them and us perhaps for our lifetime; and we cannot
defend ourselves as in old times, for the government have taken
all our arms; and my dear father is so rash—Oh what will be-
come of us!”»—-—Here poor Rose lost heart altogether, and
burst into a flood of tears. :

The Baron entered at this moment, and rebuked her with
more asperity than Waverley had ever heard him use to any
one. ‘‘ Was it not a shame,” he said, “ that she should exhibit
herself before any gentleman in such a light, as if she shed
tears for a drove of horned nolt and milch kine, like the daugh-
ter of a Cheshire yeoman; Captain Waverley, I must request
your favorable construction of her grief, which may or ought
to proceed solely from seeing her father’s estate exposed to
spulzie and depredation from common thieves and sorners,™
while we are not allowed to keep half a score of muskets, whether
fom detence or rescue.”’

Bailie Macwheeble entered immediately afterward, and byWAVERLEY. 77
his report of arms and ammunition confirmed this statement,
informing the Baron, in a melancholy voice, that though the
people would certainly obey his honor’s orders, yet there w
no chance of their following the gear to ony eude purpose, in

spect there were only his honor’ s body servants who had
=. and pistols, and the depredators were twelve High-
landers, completely armed after the manner of their country.
Having delivered this doleful annunciation, he assumed a pos:
ture of silent d dele >ction, shaki ng his head slowly with the motion
of a pendulum when it is ceasing to vibrate, and then remained
stationary, hi is ere stooping ata more acute angle than usual,
and the latter part of his person projecting in proportion,

The Baron, meanwhile, pa e ee the room in silent indignation

7
i

and at length fixing his eye upon an old portrait, whose person
was clad in armor, and whose features glared crimly out of a
buge bush of hair, part of which descended from his head to his
shoulders, and part from his chin and upper-lip to his breast-
plate,“ That gentleman, Captain Waverley, my grandsire,” he
said, ‘with two hundred horse, whom he le ee within his own
bounds, disctomfited and put to the rout more than five hun-
dred of these Highland reivers, who have been ever apis offenst-
nis, et petra scandali, a stumbling-block and a rock of offence
to the Lowland vicinage—he discomfited them, I say, when they
had the temerity to descend to pears this country, in the time
of the civil dissensions, in the year of grace, sixteen hundred
forty and two. And now, sir, ]

such unworthy hands !”

er

‘ ee g1 randson, am thus used at

Here there was an awful pause ; after which all the com-
pany, as is usual incase of difficulty, began to give separate
and inconsistent counsel. Alexander ab Alexandro proposed
they should send some one to compound with the Caterans,
who would readily, he said, give up their prey for a dollar a
head. ‘The Bailie opined that this transaction would amount
to theft-boot, or composition of felony; and he recommended
that some cazny hand should be sent up to the glens to make
the best bargain he could, as it were for himself, so that the
Laird might not be seen in such a transaction. Edward pro.
pesed to send off to the nearest garrison for a party of soldiers
and a magistrate’s warrant ; and Rose, as far as she dared, en-
deavored to insinuate the course of paying the arrears of tribute
money to Fergus Mac-Vich Ian Vohr, who, they all knew,
could easily procure restoration of the cattle if he were prop:
erely propitiated.

None of these proposals met the Baron’s approbation. The
idea of composition, direct or implied, was absolutely ignomini-48 WAVERLEY.

ous; that of Waverley only showed that he did not understand
the state of the country, and of the political parties which di-
rided it; and, standing matters as they did with Fergus Mac-
[vor Vich Ian Vohr, the Baron would make no concession to
him, were it, he said, “to procure restitution 7” tegrum of every
stirk and stot that the chief, his forefathers, and his clan, had
stolen since the days of Malcolm Canmore.”

In fact, his voice was still for war, and he proposed to send
expresses to Balmawhapple, Killancureit, Tulliellum, and other
lairds, who were exposed to similar depredations, inviting them
to join in the pursuit; ‘and then, sir, shall these zebulones ne-
guissimt, as Lesleus calls them, be brought to the fate of their
predecessor Cacus,

‘ Elisos oculos, et siccum sanguine guttur,’ ”

The Bailie, who by no means relished these warlike counsels,
here pulled forth an immense watch, of the color, and nearly of
the size, of a pewter warming-pan, and observed it was now
past noon,.and that the Caterans had been seen in the pass of
Ballybrough soon after sunrise ; so that before the allied forces
could assemble; they and their prey would be far beyond the
reach of the most active pursuit, and sheltered in those pathless
deserts, where it was neither advisable to follow, nor indeed
possible to trace them.

This proposition was undeniable. The council therefore
broke up without coming to any conclusion, as has occurred to
councils of more importance ; only it was determined that the
Bailie should send his own three milk-cows down the Mains
for the use of the Baron’s family, and brew small ale as a sub-
stitute for milk in his own. To this arrangement, which was
suggested by Saunderson, the Bailie readily assented, both
from habitual deference to the family, and an internal con-
sciousness that his courtesy would, in some mode or other, be
repaid tenfold.

The Baron having also retired to give some necessary direc-
tions, Waverley seized the opportunity to ask, whether this
Fergus, with the unpronounceable name, was the chief thief-
taker of the district ?

‘“ Thief-taker !”? answered Rose, laughing; “ he is a gentle-
man of great honor and consequence ; the chieftain of an inde:
pendent branch of a powerful Highland clan, and is much
respected, both for his own power, and that of his kith, kin, and
allies.”
“And what has he to do with [sche

thieves then?7 77> .{7
WAVERLEY. 79
a magistrate, or in the commission of the peace?” asked Wa-
verley.

“The commission of war rather, if there be such a thing.”
said Rose; ‘ for he is a very unquiet neighbor to his un-friends,
and keeps a greater following on foot than many that has thrice
his estate. As to his connection with the thieves, that I cannot
well explain; but the boldest of them will never steal a hoof
from any one that pays black-mail to Vich Ian Vohr.”

‘* And what is black-mail ?”

‘A sort of protection-money that Low-country gentlemen
and heritors, lying near the Highlands, pay to some Highland
chief, that he may neither do them harm himself, nor suffer it to
be done to them by others ; and then if your cattle are stolen, you
have only to send him word, and he will recover them; or it
may be, he will drive away cows from some distant place, where
he has a quarrel, and give them to you to make up your loss.”

“And is this sort of Highland Jonathan Wild admitted into
society, and called a gentleman?”

‘‘So much so,” said Rose, “that the quarrel between my
father and Fergus Mac-Ivor began at a county meeting, where
he wanted to take precedence of all the Lowland gentlemen then
present, only my father would not suffer it. And then he up-
braided my father that he was under his banner, and paid him
tribute ; and my father was in a towering passion, for Bailie
Macwheeble, who manages such things his own way, had con-
trived to keep this black-mail a secret from him, and passed it
in his account for cess-money. And they would have fought ;
but Fergus Mac-Ivor said, very gallantly, he would never ratse
his hand against a gray head that was so much respected as my
father’s. Oh, I wish, I wish they had continued friends !”

“And did you ever see this Mr. Mac-Ivor, if that be his
yame, Miss Bradwardine ?”’

‘No, that is not his name; and he would consider master
as a sort of affront, only that you are an Englishman, and
know no better. But the Lowlanders call him, like other gen-
tlemen, by the name of his estate, Glennaquoich ; and the
Highlanders call him Vich Ian Vohr, that is, the Son of John
the Great; and we upon the braes here call him by both
names indifferently.”

“T am afraid I shall never bring my English tongue to call
him by either one or other.”

‘“ But he is a very polite, handsome man,” continued Rose;
“ and his sister Flora is one of the most beautiful and accom-
plished young ladies in this country; she was bred in a con-
vent in France, and was a great friend of mine before «his

)

   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

SAMARAS SERN

LAAT

Sots

3 ~
renin meeeBe WAVERLEY.

unhappy dispute. Dear Captain Waverley, try your influence
with my father to make matters up. I am sure this is but the
beginning of our troubles; for Tully-Veolan has never been a
safe or quiet residence w hen we have been at feud with the
Highlanders. When I was a girl about ten, there was a skir-
mish fought between a party of twenty of them, and my father
and his servants, behind the Mains; and the bullets broke
several panes in the north windows, t they were so near. Three
of the Highlanders were killed, and they brought them in,
wrapped in their plaids, a and laid them on the stone floor of the
hall; and next morning, their wives and daughters came, clap-
ping their hands, and crying the coronach, and shrieking, an d
carried away the dead bodies,with the pipes playing before them.
I could not sleep for six weeks without starting, and thinking
I heard those terrible cries, and saw the bodies lying on the
steps, all stiff and swathed up in their bloody tartans. But
since that time there came a party from the garrison at Stirling,
with a warrant from the Lord Justice-Clerk, or some such great
man, and took away all our arms; and now, how are we to
protect ourselves if they come down in any strength ? ”
Waverley could not help starting at a story which bore so
much resemblance to one of his own dayne Here was a

1r
i
qd
l

girl scarce seventeen, the gentle st ¢ her sex, both in temper
and appearance, who had witnessed with her own eyes such a
scene as he had used to conjure me in his imagination, as only

occurring in ancient times, and spoke of it coolly, as one very
likely to recur. He felt at once the impulse of curiosity, and
that slight sense of danger which only serves to heighten its
interest. He might have said with Malvolio, “‘I do not now
fool myself, to let in nagination a me!’ Iam actually in the
land of military and romantic adventures, and it only remains
to be seen what will be my own share in them.”

The whole circumstances now detailed concerning the state
of the country, seemed equally novel and ext raordina anys Fle
had indeed often heard of Highland thieves, but had no idea
of the systematic mode in which their depredations were con-
ducted ; and that the practice was connived at, and even en-
couraged, by many of the Highland chieftains, who not only
found ‘the creaghs, or forays, useful for the purpose of training
individuals of their clan to the practice of arms, but also of
maintaining a wholesome terror among their Lowland neigh-
bors, and levying, as we have seen, a tribute from them, under
color of protection- money,

Bailie Macwheeble, who soon afterward entered, expatiated
still more at length upon the same topic. This honest gentleWAVERLEY. 81
man’s conversation was so formed upon his professional prac:
tice, that Davie Gellatley once said his discourse was like a
‘charge of horning.”» He assured our hero that, “from the
maist ancient times of record, the lawless thieves, hmmers,and
broken men of the 1 Highla ae oe been in fellows re! together
by reason of their surnames, for the committing of divers thefis,
eifs, and herships upon Ce honest men of the Low Country,
when they not only intromitted with their whole goods and
gear, corn, cattle, horse, nolt, sheep, outsight and imsight plen-
at their wicked pleasure, but moreover made prisoners,
ae them,or concussed them into giving borrows (pledges)

ri
o

sebubiit

Ss)

to enter into captivity again : all which was directly prohibited
in divans parts of the Statute Book, both by the act one thou-
sand five hundred and sixty-seven, and various others ; the
whilk statutes, with all that had followed and might follow

V
thereupon, were shamefully broken and villipended by the said

sorners, limmers, and broken men, associat ae into fellowships
for the afore sal purposes of theft, stouthreef, fire-raising,
murder, rapius mulierum, Or forcible abduction of women, and

- ‘ iio cox bd
such like cs aforesaid.

It seemed like a dream to Waverley that these deeds of
]

violence should be famihar to men’s minds, and currently
talked of, as falling within the common order of things, and
happening daily in ee immediate vicinity, without his having
crossed the seas, and while he was yet in the otherwise wel

ordered island of Great Britain.”

CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
AN UNEXPECTED ALLY APPEARS,

Tue Baron returned at the dinner hour, and had in a great
measure recovered his composure and good humor. He not
only confirmed the stories which Edward had heard from Rose
and Bailie Macwheeble, but added many anecdotes from his
own experience, concerning the state of the Highlands\and
their inhabitants. ‘The chiefs he pronounce 1 to be, in genekal,
gentlemen of great honor and high pedigree, whose word was
accounted as a law by all those of thers sent; or lan. “lt
did not, indeed,” he said, ‘become them, as had occurred in
late instances, to propone their ae a lineage, which
rested for the most part on the vain and fond rhymes of their
Seannachies or Bhairds, as eequiponderate with the evidence of

ed aN a: LR TT IRR
Sete ET ee eae ent US MITT TtSe WAVERLEY.

ancient charters and royal grants of antiquity, conferred upon
distinguished houses in the Low Country by divers Scottish
monarchs ; nevertheless, such was their ou¢recuadance and pre
sumption, as to undervalue those who possessed such evidents,
as if they held their lands in a sheep’s skin.”

This, by-the-way, pretty well explained the cause of quarrel
between the Baron and his Highland ally. But he went on to
state so many curious particulars concerning the manners, cus-
toms, and habits of this patriarchal race, that Edward’s curiosity
became highly interested, and he inquired whether it was pos-
sible to make with safety an excursion into the neighboring
Highlands, whose dusky barrier of mountains had already
excited his wish to penetrate beyond them. ‘The Baron as-
sured his guest that nothing would be more easy, providing
this quarrel were first made up, since he could himself give him
letters to many of the distinguished chiefs, who would receive
him with the utmost courtesy and hospitality.

While they were on this topic, the door suddenly opened,
and, ushered by Saunders Saunderson, a Highlander, fully
armed and equipped, entered the apartment. Had it not been
that Saunders acted the part of master of the ceremonies to
this martial apparition, without appearing to deviate from his
usual composure, and that neither Mr. Bradwardine nor Rose
exhibited any emotion, Edward would certainly have thought
the intrusion hostile. As it was, he started at the sight of what
he had not yet happened to see, a mountaineer in his full
national costume. The individual Gael was a stout, dark young
man, of low stature, the ample folds of whose plaid added to
the appearance of strength which his person exhibited. The
short kilt, or petticoat, showed his sinewy and clean-made limbs ;
the goat-skin purse, flanked by the usual defences, a dirk and
steel-wrought pistol, hung before him ; his bonnet had a short
feather, which indicated his claim to be treated as a Duinhé
wassel, or sort of gentleman ; a broadsword dangled by his
side, a target hung upon his shoulder, and a long Spanish
fowling-piece occupied one of his hands. With the other hand
he pulled off his bonnet, and the Baron, who well knew thei
customs, and the proper mode of addressing them, immediately
said, with an air of dignity, but without rising, and much, as
Edward thought, in the manner of a prince receiving an em-
bassy, “Welcome Evan Dhu Maccombich ; what news from
Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr?”

“Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr,” said the ambassador,
in good English, “greets you well, Baron of Bradwardine and
Pully-Veolan, and is sorry there has been a thick cloud interWAVERLEY. 83
posed between you and him, which has kept you from seeing
and considering the friendship and alliances that have been
between your houses and forbears of old, and he prays you that
the cloud may pass away, and that things may be as they have
been heretofore between the clan Ivor and the house of Brad-
wardine, when there was an egg between them for a flint, and a
knife for a sword. And he expects you will also say, you are
sorry for the cloud, and no man shall hereafter ask whether it
descended from the hill to the valley, or rose from the valley
to the hill; for they never struck with the scabbard who did
not receive with the sword, and woe to him who would lose his
friend for the stormy cloud of a spring morning.”

To this the Baron of Bradwardine answered with ‘suitable
dignity, that he knew the chief of clan Ivor to be a well-wishe:
to the Azwg, and he was sorry there should have been a cloud
between him and any gentleman of such sound principles, “ for
when folks are banding together, feeble is he who hath no
brother!”

This appearing perfectly satisfactory, that the peace between
these august persons might be duly solemnized, the Baron
ordered a stoup of usquebaugh, and, filling a glass, drank to
the health and prosperity of Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich ; upon
which the Celtic ambassador, to requite his politeness, turned
down a mighty bumper of the same generous liquor, seasoned
with his good wishes to the house of Bradwardine.

Having thus ratified the preliminaries of the general treaty
of pacification, the envoy retired to adjust with Mr. Macwheeble
some subordinate articles with which it was not thought neces-
sary to trouble the Baron. These probably referred to the
discontinuance of the subsidy, and apparently the Bailie found
means to satisfy their ally, without suffering his master to
suppose that his dignity was compromised. At least, it is
certain, that after the plenipotentiaries had drunk a bottle of
brandy in single drams, which seemed to have no more effect
upon such seasoned vessels, than if it had been poured upon

the two bears at the top of the avenue, Evan Dhu Maccombich,

having possessed himself of all the information which he could
procure respecting the robbery of the preceding night, declared
his intention to set off immediately in pursuit of the cattle,
which he pronounced to be “no far off ;—they have broken the
pone,” he observed, ‘“‘ but they have had no time to suck the
marrow.”

Our hero, who had attended Evan Dhu during his perquisi-
tions, was much struck with the ingenuity which he displayed
in collecting information, and the precise and pointed conclu

.

ee Seen ts

Pernt eat,84 WAVERLEY.

sions which he drew from it. Evan Dhu, on his part, was
obviously flattered by the attentions of Wav erley, the interest
he seemed to take in his inquiries, and his curiosity about the
customs and scenery of the Highlands. Without much cere-
mony he invited Edward to accompany him. on a short walk of
ten or fifteen miles into the mountains, and see the place where
the cattle were conveyed to; adding, “If it be as I suppose,
you never saw such a place in your life nor ever will, unless
you go with me or the like of me

Our hero, feeling his curiosity y considerab ly excited by ets
idea of visiting the den of a High land Cacus, took, howeve
the precaution to inquire if his cuide might be trusted. He
was assured, that the invitation would on no account have been
given, had there been the least danger, and that all he had to
apprehend was a little fatigue ; and as Evan proposed he should
pass a day at his chieftain’s house in returning, where he would
be sure of good accommodation and an excellent welcome,
there seemed nothing very formidable in the task he undertook.
Rose, indeed, turned pale when she heard of it; but her father,
who loved the spirited curiosity of his young friend, did not
attempt to damp it by an alarm of danger which really did not
exist; and a knapsack, with a few necessaries, being bound on
the shoulder of a sort of deputy camekeeper, our hero set
forth with a fowling-piece in his hand, accompanied by his new
friend Evan Dhu, and followed by the gamekeeper aforesaid,
and by two wild Highlanders, the attendants of Evan, one of
whom had upon his shoulder a hatchet at the end of a pole,
called a Lochal ber-axe,”’ and the other a long ducking-gun.
Evan, upon Edward’s inquiry, gave him to understand, that
this martial es was by no means necessary as a guard, but
merely, as ee said, drawing up and adjusting his plaid with an
air of dig that he might appear decently at Tully-Veolan,
and as Vich iad an Vohr’s foster-brother ought to do. “Ah!”
said he, “ If you Saxon Duinhé-wassel (English gentleman) saw

th
|

Soe

5
t

but the chief with his tail on!”

“ With his tail on? ” echoed Edward in some surprise.

“ Yes—that is, with all his usual fc ile owers, when he visits
those of the same rank. There is,” he continued, stopping an a
drawing himself proudly up, while he counted upon his fingers
the several officers of his chief’s re tinue ; “ there is his Vatican
or right-hand man; then his dard, or poet; then his d/adier, ot
orator, to make harangues to the great folks whom he visits,
then his gz//y-more, or armor-bearer, to carry his sword, and
target, aud his gun; then his Sully. -casfliuch, who carries him on

his back through the sikes and brooks ; then his gi//y-comstrian.WAVERLEY. Se

to lead his horse by the bridle in steep and difficult paths ; then
his gully trusharnish, to carry his knapsack ; and the piper and
the piper’s man, and it may by a dozen young lads besides, that
have no business, but are just boys of the belt, to follow the
laird l, and do his honor’s bidding. 2

‘And does your Chief regularly maintain all the men?”
ae W averley.

‘“ All these?” replied Evan; “ ay, and many a fair head
eside, that would not ken where to lay itself, but for the mickle
barn at Glennaquoich.”

With similar tales of the grandeur of the chief in peace and
war, Evan Dhu beguiled the way till they ap Broun more
closely those huge mountains which Edward had hitherto only
seen ata distance. It was towards evening as they entered
one of the tremendous passes which afford communication
between the high and low country ; the path, which was extremely
steep and rugged, winding up a chasm between two tremendous
rocks, following the passage which a foaming stream, that
brawled far below, aj ppeared to have worn for itself in the
course of ates. A few slanting beams of the dees which was
now setting, reached the water in its darksome bed, and showed
it partially, chafed by a hundred rocks, and broken ed 1 hundred
falls. The descent from the path to the stream was a mere
precipice, with here and there a projecting fragment of granite,
or a scathed tree, which had warped its twisted roots into the
fissures of the rock. On the right hand, the mountain rose
above the path with almost equal inaccessibility ; but the hill
on the opposite side displayed a shroud of copsewood, with
which some pines were intermingled.

“This,” said Evan, “is the pass of Bally-Brough, which
was kept in former times by ten of the clan Donnochie against
a hundred of the Low Country carles. The graves of the slain
are still to be seen in that little corri, or bottom, on the oppo-
site side of the burn—if your eyes are good, you may sée the
green specks among the heather.—See, there is an earn, which
you southrons call an eagle—you have no such birds as that

England—he is going to fetch his supper from the laird of
Bradwardine’s braes, but I’ll send a slug after him,”

He fired his piece accordingly, but missed the superb mon-
arch of the feathered tribes, who, without noticing the attempt
to annoy him, continued his majestic Night to the southward,
A thousand birds of prey, hawks, kites, carrion-crows, and
ravens, disturbed from the lodging which they had just taken
up for the evening, rose at the report of the gun, and mingled
their hoarse and discon ‘dant notes with the echoes ‘which replied

~

eae socio26 WAVERLEY.

to it, and with the roar of the mountain cataracts. Evan, a
little disconcerted at having missed his mark, when he meant
to have displayed peculiar dexterity, covered his confusion by
whistling part of a pibroch as he reloaded his piece, and pro-
ceeded in silence up the pass.

It issued in anarrow glen, between two mountains, both very
lofty and covered with heath. ‘The brook continued to be
their companion, and they advanced up its mazes, crossing
them now and then, on which occasions Evan Dhu uniformly
offered the assistance of his attendants to carry over Edward ;
but our hero, who had been always a tolerable pedestrian,
declined the accommodation, and obviously rose in his guide's
opinion, by showing that he did not fear wetting his feet. In-
deed he was anxious, so far as he could without affectation, to
remove the opinion which Evan seemed to entertain of the effem-
inacy of the Lowlanders, and particularly of the English.

- Through the gorge of this glen they found access to a black
bog, of tremendous extent, full of large pit-holes, which they
traversed with great difficulty and some danger, by tracks
which no one but a Highlander could have followed. The path
itself, or rather the portion of more solid ground on which the
travellers half walked, half waded, was rough, broken, and in
many places quaggy and unsound. Sometimes the ground was
so completely unsafe, that it was necessary to spring from one
hillock to another, the space between being incapable of bear-
ing the human weight. This was an easy matter to the High-
landers, who wore thin-soled brogues fit for the purpose, and
moved with a peculiar springing step ; but Edward began to
find the exercise, to which he was unaccustomed, more fa-
tiguing than he expected. ‘The lingering twilight served to show
them through this Serbonian bog, but deserted them almost to-
tally at the bottom of a steep and very stony hill, which it was the
travellers’ next toilsome task to ascend. The night, however,
was pleasant, and not dark ; and Waverley, calling up mental
energy to support personal fatigue, held on his march gallantly,
though envying in his heart his Highland attendants, who con-
tinued without a symptom of unabated vigor, the rapid and
swinging pace, or rather trot, which, according to his computa-
tion, had already brought them fifteen miles upon their journey.

After crossing this mountain, and descending on the other

side towards a thick wood, Evan Dhu held some conference

with his Highland attendants, in consequence of which Ed-
ward’s baggage was shifted from the shoulders of the game-
keeper to those of one of the gz//zes, and the former was sent
off with the other mountaineer in a direction different from thatWAVERLEY. 87
of the three remaining travelers. Onasking the meaning of this
separation, Waverley was told that the Lowlander must go to a
hamlet about three miles off for the night; for unless it was
some very particular friend, Donald Bean Lean,* the worthy
person whom they supposed to be possessed of the cattle, did
not much approve of strangers approaching his retreat. This
seemed reasonable, and silenced a qualm of suspicion which
came across Edward’s mind, when he saw himself, at such a
place and such an hour, deprived of his only Lowland companion.

And Evan immediately afterward added “that indeed he
himself had better get forward, and announce theirapproach to
Donald Bean Lean, as the arrival of a sider roy fT (red soldier)
might otherwise be a disagreeable surprise.” And without wait-
ing for an answer, in jockey phrase, he trotted out and putting
himself to a very round pace, was out of sight in an instant.

Waverley was now left to his own meditations, for his attend-
ant with the battle-axe spoke very little English. They were
traversing a thick, and as it seemed, an endless wood of pines,
and consequently the path was altogether indiscernible in the
murky darkness which surrounded them. The Highlander, how-
ever, seemed to trace it by instinct, without the hesitation of a
moment, and Edward followed his footsteps as close as he could.

After journeying a considerable time in silence, he could not
help asking, “ Was it far to the end of their journey ?”

‘“'T’a cove was tree, four mile ; but as Duinhé-wassel was a wee
taiglit, Donald could, tatis, might,would,should send ta curragh.”

‘This conveyed no information. The curragh which was
promised might be a man, a horse, a cart, or chaise ; and no
more could be got from the man with the battle-axe, but a repe-
tition of ‘ Aich ay! ta curragh.”

But in a short time Edward began to conceive his meaning,
when, issuing from the wood, he found himself on the banks of a
large river or lake, where his conductor gave him to understand
. they must sit down for a little while. The moon, which now be-
gan to rise, showed obscurely the expanse of water which spread
before them, and the shapeless and indistinct forms of moun-
tains with which it seemed to be surrounded. The cool, and
yet mild air of the summer night, refreshed Waverley after his
rapid and toilsome walk, and the perfume which it wafted from the
birch trees,” bathed in the evening dew, was exquisitely fragrant.

He had now time to give himself up to the full romance of

* Pronounced Bane Lane.

t The sider roy were used to distinguish the regular regiments from the
independent companies raised to protect the peace of the Highlands, These
last were called sidier dhu, t.c., black soldier; and the 42d Regiment, which
was formed out of these independent companies, is still called the Black
Watch from the dark color of their tartans,

PRE Re eT eee

  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

Se eerie oe CRN SCS TICS)ST eae Downers

 

88 WAVERLEY.

his situauion. Here he sat on the banks of an unknown lake,
under the guidance of a wild native, whose 1: nguage was un-
known to him, on a visit to the den of some renowned outlaw,
a second Robin Hood, perhaps, or Adam 0’ a and that
at deep midnight, through scenes of di faculty and tort separated
from his attendant, left | by his guide. —What a variety Pie ic
dents for the exercise of a romantic imagination, and all
hanced by the solemn feeling of uncertainty at least, if not of
eer { The only circumstance whicl h assorted ill wit = the
rest, was the cause of his j jour rea Baron’s milk-cows ! thi
degrading i incident he kept in the background.

While wrapt in these dreams of imagination, his companion
gently touched him, and, pointi ng in a direction nearly straight
across. the lake, said, ‘‘ Yon’s ta cove.” A small point of Ji cht
was seen to twinkle in the direction in which he re and
gradually increasing in size and lustre, seemed to flicker like a
meteor upon the verge of the horizon. While Edward watched
this phenomenon, the distant oe ce oars was heard. The
measured sound approached near and more near, and presently
a loud whistle was heard in thesame direction. His friend wit i
the battle-axe immediat ely whistled clear and shrill, in reply t
the signal, and a boat manned with four or five Highlanders,
pushed for the little inlet, near which Edward was sitting. He
advanced to meet them with his attenda int, Was immedi: itely
sisted into a boat by the officious attention of two sto

ut Moun-
taineers, and had no sooner seated himself than they resumed

their oars, and began to row across the lake with great rapidity.

1S

a5-

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
THE HOLD OF A HIGHLAND ROBBER,

THE party preserved silence, interr upted only by the monot-
onous and murmured chant of a Gaelic song, sung in a kind
of low recitative by the steersman, and by the dash of the
oars, which the notes seemed to regulate, as they dipped to
them’ in cadence. ‘The light, which they now approached more
nearly, assumed a broader, rec Ider, and more irregular splendor,
It appeared plainly to be a large fire, but whether kindled upor
an island, or the main land, E ‘dw ard could not determine. As
he saw it, the red glaring orb seemed to rest on the very sur-

* A Freebooter of Aberdeenshire, see Percy Religues,WAVERLEY. Sa
7.

face of the lake itself, and resembled the fiery vehicle in which
the Evil Genius of an Oriental tale traverses land and sea
They approached nearer, and the light of the fire sufficed to
show that it was kindled at the bottom of a huge dark crag or
rock, rising abruptly from the very edge of the water ; its front,
changed by the reflection to dusky red, formed a_ strange
ind even awful contrast to the banks around, which were from
time to time faintly and partially illuminated by pallid moon
light.

The boat now neared the shore, and Edward could discover
that this large fire, amply sup plied with br: anches of pine-wood
by two fioures, who, in the red reflection of its light, appeared
like demons, was kindled in the jaws of a lo ofty cavern, into
which an inlet from the lake seemed to advance; and he con-
jectured, which was indeed true, that the fire had been lighted
as a beacon to the boatmen on their return. They rowed right
for the mouth of the cave, and then, shipping their oars, per-
mitted the boat to enter in obedience to the impulse which it
had received. The skiff passed the tle point, or platform, of
rock, on, which the fire was blazing, and running about two
boats’ length further, stopped where the cavern (for it was
already arched overhead) ascended from the water by five or
six broad ledges of rocks, so easy and regular that they might
be termed patie) steps. At this moment a quantity of wate1
was suddenly flung upon the fire, which sunk with a hissing
noise, and with it disappeared the light it had hitherto aftorded.
Four or five active arms lifted Waverley out of the boat, placed
1im on his feet, and almost carried him into the recesses of
he cave. He made a few paces in darkness, guided in this
manner; and advancing toward a hum of voices, which
seemed to sound from the centre of the rock, at an acute turn
Donald Bean Lean and his whole establishment were before his
eyes.

' The interior of the c cave, which here rose very high, was
illuminated by torches made of pine-tree, which emitted a bright
and bickering light, attended by a strong though not unpleas-
ant odor. Their light was assisted by the red glare of a large
ckarcoal fire, round which were seated five or six armed Hi igh-
landers, while others were indistinctly seen couched on their
plaids, in the more remote recesses of the cavern. In one large
aperture, which the robber facetiously called his spence (or
pantry), there hung by the heels the carcasses of a sheep, or ewe,
and two cows lately slaughtered. The principal inhabitant of
this singular mansion, attended by Evan Dhu as master of the
ceremonies, came forward to meet his guest, totally different in

1
l
+
L

YY

.
“GIB osenennianenFSR lohan tees Reet

 

   

90 WAVERLEY.
appearance and manner from what his imagination had antici
pated. ‘The profession which he followed—the wilderness in
which he dwelt—the wild warrior forms that surrounded him,
were all calculated to inspire terror. From such accompani-
ments, Waverley prepared himself to meet a stern, gigantic,
ferocious figure, such as Salvator would have chosen to be the
central object of a group of banditti.”

Donald Bean Lean was the very reverse of all these. He
was thin in person and low in stature, with light sandy-colored
hair and small pale features, from which he derived his agnomen
of Bean, or white ; and although his form was light, well-propor-
tioned, and active, he appeared, on the whole, rather a diminu-
tive and insignificant figure. He had served in some inferior
capacity in the French army, and in order to receive his English
visitor in great form, and probably meaning, in his way, to pay
him a compliment, he had laid aside the Highland dress for the
time, to put on an old blue and red uniform, and a feathered
hat, in which he was far from showing to advantage, and indeed
looked so incongruous, compared with all around him, that
Waverley would have been tempted to laugh, had laughter been
either civil or safe. The robber received Captain Waverley
with a profusion of French politeness and Scottish hospitality,
seemed perfectly to know his name and connections, and to be
particularly acquainted with his uncle’s political principles. On
these he bestowed great applause, to which Waverley judged it
prudent to make a very general reply.

Being placed at a convenient distance from the charcoal
fire, the heat of which the season rendered oppressive, a strap-
ping Highland damsel placed before Waverley, Evan, and
Donald Bean, three cogues, or wooden vessels composed of
staves and hoops, containing eanaruich, a sort of strong soup *”
made out of a particular part of the inside of the beeves. After
this refreshment, which though coarse, fatigue and hunger ren-
dered palatable, steaks, roasted on the coals, were supplied in
liberal abundance, and disappeared before Evan Dhu and their
host with a promptitude that seemed like magic, and astonished
Waverley, who was much puzzled to reconcile their voracity
with what he had heard of the abstemiousness of the High-
landers. He was ignorant that this abstinence was with the
lower ranks wholly compulsory, and that, like some animals of
prey, those who practice it were usually gifted with the power of
indemnifying themselves to good purpose, when chance threw
plenty in their way. The whiskey came forth in abundance to
crown the cheer. The Highlanders drank it copiously and

undiluted; but Edward, having mixed a little with water, did

tWAVERLEY. gI

not find it so palatab yle as to invite him to repeat the draught.
Their host bewailed himself exceedingly that he could offer him
no wine: ‘* Had he but known four-and-twenty hours before, he
would have had some, had it been within the circle of forty
miles round him. But no gentleman could do more to show
his sense of the honor of a visit from another, than to offer him
the best cheer his house afforded. Where there are no bushes
there can be no nuts, and the way of those you live with 1s that
you must follow.”

He went on regretting to ae Dhu the death of an age d
man, Donnacha an Amrigh, or Duncan with the Cap, “a eifted
seer,’ who foretold, through the second sight, visitors of every
description who haunted their dwelling, whetber as friends of
foes.

“Ts not his son Malcolm ¢aishatr ?” (a second-sighted per
son), asked Evan.

‘Nothing equal to his father,” replied Donald Bean. © He
told us the other day we were to see a great ge sntleman riding
on a horse, and there came nobody that whole. day but Shemus
Beg, tue blind harper, with his dog. Another time he adver-
tised us of a wedding, and behold it proved a funeral; and on
the creagh, when he idectotd to us we should bring home a
hundred head of horned cattle, we grippit nothing but a fat
bailie of Perth.”

From this discourse he passed to the political and military
state of the country ; and Waverley was astonished, and even
alarmed, to find a person of this description so accurately ac-
quainted with the strength of the various garrisons and
regiments quartered north of the Tay. He even mentioned
the exact number of recruits who had joined Waverley’s troop
from his uncle’s estate, and observed they were frefiy men,
meaning, not handsome, but stout warlike fellows. He put
Waverley in mind of one or two minute circumstances which
had happened at a general review of the reg iment, which satis-
fied him that the robber had been an eye-witness of it; and
Evan Dhu having by this time retired from the conversation,
and wrapped himself up in his plaid to take some repose,
Donald asked Edward, in a very significant manner, whether
he had nothing particular to say to him.

Waverley, surprised and somewhat startled at this question
from such a character, answered he had no mo tive in visiting
him but curiosity to see his extraordinary place of residence.
Donald Bean Lean looked him steadily in the face for an in:
stant, and then said, with a signl ificant nod, “ You might as
well have confided in me; I am as much worthy of trust as

Rincon eiyurertats92 WAVERLEY.

either the Baron of Bradwardine or Vich Ian Vhor :—but you
are equally welcome to my house.”

Waverley felt an invo olentany shudder creep over him at
the mysterious language held by this outlawed and lawless
bandit, which, in anes of his attempts to master it, deprived
him of the power to ask the meaning of his insinuations. A
heath pallet, with the flowers stuck uppermost, had been pre:
pared for him in a recess of the cave, and here, covered with
such spare plaids as could be mustered, he lay for some time
watching the motions of the other inhabitants of the cavern.
Small parties of two or three entered or left the place without
any other ceremony than a few words in Gaelic to the e principal
outlaw, and, when he fell asleep, to a tall Highlander who acted
as his heutenant, and seemed to keep watch duri ing his repose.
Those who entered se ce to have returned from some excur-
sion, of which they ane the success, and went without
further ceremony to a e larder, where, cutting with their dirks
their rations from the carcasses which were there suspended,
they proceeded to broil and eat them at their own pleasure
and leisure. The liquor was under strict regulation, being
served out either by Donald himself, his lieutenant, or the
strapping Highland girl aforesaid, who was the only nels
that appeared. ‘The allowance of whiskey, however, would have
appeared prodigal to any but Highlanders, wh 10, living ent onl
in the open air, and in a very moist climate, can consume great
quantities of ardent spirits without the usual baneful effects
either upon the brain or constitution,

At length the fl luctuating groups began to swim before the
eyes of our hero as they gradually closed; nor did he re-open
them till the morning sun was high on the lake without,
ae there was but a faint and ‘glimmering twilight in the

ecesses of Uaimh an Ri, or the King’s Cavern, as the abode
of Donald Bean Lean was proud y denominated.

CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
WAVERLEY PROCEEDS ON HIS JOURNEY.

WHEN Edward had collected his sca ttered recollection, he

was surprised to observe the cavern totally deserted. Having
arisen and put his dress in some order, he looked more accu.
rately around him, but all was still solitary, Ifit had not beenWAVERLEY.

for the decayed brands of the fire, now sunk into

gray ashes,
7 4 E ee yf i E
and the remnants of the festival, consisting of bones half

i
burned and half ors an
mained no traces of Don:

sallied forth to the entrance of Pike cave, he perceived that the
point of rock, on which remained the marks of last night’s
beacon, was accessible by a small path, either natural, or
roughly hewn in the rock, along the little inlet of water which
ran a few yards up into the cavern, where, as in a wet-dock,

1 an empty keg or two, there re.

iN ¢
ild and Bs bind: When Waverley

the skiff which brought seit there the night before, was still
lying moored. When he reached the smal I] projecting platform

en established, he would have
believed his farther fee by land impossible, only that it
vas scarce probable st what the inhabitants of the cavern
had some mode of issuing from it otherwise than by the lake.
Accordingly, he soon chanel 1 three or four shelving
ledges of ok <, at the very extremity of the little platform;
and making use of them as a staircase, he clambered by
their means around the projecting shoulder of the crag

on which the cavern opened, and, descending with some
difficulty on the other side, he gained the wild and prec ipitous

shores of a Highland loch, about four miles in length, anda
aa et a half across, surrounded by heathy and savage

1e crest of which the morning mist was still

<ing back to the place from which he came, he coulc
‘lp admiring the address which had adopted a retreat of

ecy. ‘ae rock, round the shoulder o
which he had turned by a few hele dgabhie notches, that

barely afforded lace for the foot, seemed, in looking bac!

upon it, a huge precipice, which barred all further passage bj
the shores of the lake in that direction. ‘There could be no
possibility, the breadth of the lake considered, of descrying

the entrance of the narrow and low-browed cave from the

1 4 1 1

other side; so that, unless the retreat had been sought for
i es ina ‘ - 1 mes ee ied chs joht ] ; ~af ]
with boats, or disclosed by treachery, it might be a safe and
secret residence to its garrison as long as they were supplied

!

with provisions. Having satisfied his curiosity in these partic
ulars, Waverley looked around for Evan Dhu and his attend-
ant, who, he rightly judged, would be at no great distance,
whatever might | have become of Donald Bean Lean and his
party, whose mode of life was, of course, liable to sudden
migrations of abode. Accordingly, at the distance of about
half a mile, he beheld a Highlander (Evan apparently) angling
in the lake, with another attending him, whom, from the

 

     
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
     
     
     
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
     
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
    

wm
+ F G
Seen eer”Sloth eee

 

 

94. WAVERLEY.
weapon which he shouldered, he recognized for his friend with
the battle-axe.

Much nearer to the mouth of the cave he heard the notes
of a lively Gaelic song, guided by which, in a sunny recess,
shaded by a glittering birch tree, and carpeted with a bank of
firm white sand, he found the damsel of the cavern, whose lay
had already reached him, busy, to the best of her power, in ar-
ranging to advantage a morning repast of milk, eggs, barley-
bread, fresh butter, and honeycomb. The poor girl had already
made a circuit of four miles that morning in search of the eggs,
of the meal which baked her cakes, and of the other materials
of the breakfast, being all delicacies which she had to beg or
borrow from distant cottages. [he followers of Donald Bean
Lean used little food except the flesh of the animals which
they drove away from the Lowlands ; bread itself was a deli-
cacy seldom thought: of, because hard to be obtained, and all
the domestic accommodations of milk, poultry, butter, etc.,
were out of the question in this Scythian camp. Yet it must
not be omitted, that although Alice had occupied a part of the
morning in providing those accommodations for her guest
which the cavern did not afford, she had secured time also to
arrange hér own person in her best trim. Her finery was
very simple. A short russet-colored jacket, and a petticoat
of scanty longitude, was ner whole dress; but these were clean,
and neatly arranged. A piece of scarlet embroidered cloth,
called the szood, confined her hair, which fell over it in a pro.
fusion of rich dark curls. The scarlet plaid, which formed
part of her dress, was laid aside, that it might not impede her
activity in attending the stranger. I should forget Alice’s
proudest ornament were I to omit mentioning a part of gold
ear-rings, and a golden rosary which her father (for she was
the daughter of Donald Bean Lean) had brought from France,
the plunder probably of some battle or storm.

Her form, though rather large for her years, was very well
proportioned, and her demeanor had a natural and rustic grace,
with nothing of the sheepishness of an ordinary peasant. The
smiles, displaying a row of teeth of exquisite whiteness, and
the laughing eyes, with which in dumb show, she gave Wa-
verley that morning greeting which she wanted English words
to express, might have been interpreted by a coxcomb, or per-
haps by a young soldier, who, without being such, was conscious
of a handsome person, as meant to convey more than the cour-
tesy of an hostess. Nor do I take it upon me to say that the
little wild mountaineer would have welcomed any staid old
gentleman advanced in life, the Baron of Bradwardine, forWAVERLEY. x
95
example, with the cheerful pains which she bestowed upon
Edward’s accommodation. She seemed eager to place him by
the meal which she had so sedulously arranged, and to which
she now added a few bunches of cranberries, gathered in an
adjacent morass. aeuns had the satisfaction of seeing him
seated at his breakfast, she placed herself demurely upon a
stone at a few yards’ distance, z d appeared to watch with great
complacency for,some opportunity of serving him.

Evan and his attendant now returned slowly along the beach,
the latter bearing a large salmon-trout, the produce of the
morning’s sport, together with the. angling-rod, while Evan
strolled forward with an easy, self-satisfied, and important gait
toward the spot where Waverley was so agreeably employed at
the breakfast-table. After morning greetings had passed on
both sides, and Evan, looking at Wave: ie: »y, had said something
in Gaelic to Alice, which oes her laugh, yet color up to her
eyes, through a complexion well tee -d by sun and wind,
Evan intimated his commands that the fish should be prepared
for breakfast. A spark from the lock of his pistol produced a
light, and a few withered fir branches were quickly in flame,
and as speedily reduced to hot embers, on which the trout was
broiled in large slices. To crown the repast, Evan produced
from the pocket of his short jerkin, a large scallop shell, and
from under the folds of his plaid, a ram’s horn full of whiskey.
Of this he took a copious dram, observing he had already taken
his morning with Donald Bean Lean, before his departure ; he
offered the same cordial to Alice and to Edward, which they
both declined. With the bounteous air of a lord, Evan the
proffered the scallop to Dugald Mahony, !

1
his attendant, who,
without waiting. to be asked a second time, drank it off with
creat gusto. Evan then prepared to move toward the boat.
inviting Waverley to attend him. Meanwhile, Alice had made
up in a small basket what she thought worth removing, and
flinging her plaid around her, she advanced up to Edward, and
with the utmost simplicity, taking hold of his hand, offered het
cheek to his salute, dropping at the same time, her little curt-
sey. Evan, who was esteemed a wag among the mountain fair,
advanced, as if to secure a similar favor; but Alice, snatching
up her basket, escaped up the.rocky bank as fleetly as a roe,
and, turning round and laughing, called something out to him
in Gaelic, which he answered in the same tone and language ;
then, waving her hand to Edward, she resumed her road, and
was soon lost among the thickets, though they continued for
some time to hear her lively carol, as she proceeded gayly on
her solitary journey.

Ph eaeae

F pape eigase nae

a:

 

5
S

 

   

96 WAVERLEY.
They now again entered the gorge of the cavern, and step
ping into the boat, the His chlander pushed off, and, taking
advantage of the morning bree ze, hoisted a clumsy sort of sail,
while Ev an assumed the helm, directing their course, as it
appeared to Waverley, 1 rather higher up the lake than toward
the place of his embarkation on the preceding night. As they
glided along the silver mirror, Evan opened the conversation
with a panegyric upon Alice, who, he said, was both canny and
fendy ; and was, to the boot of all that, the best dancer of
strathspey in the whole strath. Edward assented to her praises
so far as he understood them, yet could not help regretting that

7
1

she was condemned to such a perilous and dientah life.

“Oich! for that,’ said Evan, “there is nothing in Perth
shire that she need want, if she ask her father to fetch it, unless
it be too hot or too heavy.”

3ut to be the daughter of a cattle
thief!”

. =e thief !—No such thing; ]
lifted \ess than a drove in his life.”

De: _ = ag an uncommon thief, then ?

se}

 

        

a common

Jonald Bean Lean never

99

   

from a ceed is a thief ; fe that lifts a drove from a Sassenach
laird is a gentleman-drover. And, besides, to take a tree from
the forest, a salmon from the river, a deer from the hill, or a
cow from a Lowla und strath, is what no Highlander need ever
think shame upon.”

‘ But what can this end in were he taken in such an appro-
priation ?”

“To be sure he would de for the aw, as many a pretty man
has done before him.”

Die for the law !?

“Ay; that is, with the law, or by the law; be strapped up
on the And gallows of Crieff, where his father died, and his
goodsire died, and where I hope he'll live to die himsel,’ if he’s
not shot or slashed in a creagh.”’

“You ope such a death for your friend, Evan?”

“And that do I e’en; would you have me wish him to die
on a bundle of ee straw in yon den of is, like a mangy tyke ? ”

“‘But what becomes of Alice, then ?”

“‘Troth, if such an accident were to happen, as her father
would nat need her help ony langer, I ken nought to hinder me
to marry her mysell.” .

© Gall antly resolved,” said Edward: “ but, in ap meanwhile,
Evan, what has your father: in-law (that shall be 7

L

f he have the
good fortune to be hat rged) done w vith the Ba lene s cattle?”

4WAVERLEY. Qn

‘“*Oich,” answered Evan, “ they were all trudging before your
lad and Allan Kennedy before the sun blinked over Ben-Lawers
this morning ; and they'll be in the pass of Bally-Brough by this
time, in their way back to the parks of Tully-Veolan, all but
two, that were unhappily slaughtered before I got last night to
Uaimh an Ri.”

“And where are we going, Evan, if I may be so bold as to
ask?” said Waverley.

‘Where would you be ganging, but to the laird’s ain house
of Glennaquoich? Ye would not think to be in his country
without ganging to see him? It would be as muchas a man’s
life’s worth.”

‘And are we far from Glennaquoich? ”

‘But five bits of miles; and Vich Ian Vohr will meet us.”

In about half an hour they reached the upper end of the
lake, where, after landing Waverley, the two Highlanders drew
the boat into a little creek among thick flags and reeds, where
it lay perfectly concealed. The oars they put in another place
of concealment, both for the use of Donald Bean Lean probably,
when his,occasions should next bring him to that place.

Ihe travelers followed for some time a delightful opening
into the hills, down which a little brook found its way to the
lake. When they had pursued their walk a short distance,
Waverley renewed his questions about their host of the cavern.
‘“ Does he always reside in that cave ? ”

‘Out, no! it’s past the skill of man to tell where he’s to be
found at a’ times ; there’s not a dern nook, or cove, or corri, in
the whole country, that he’s not acquainted with.”

‘“ And do others beside your master shelter him?”

‘“ My master ?—JZy master is in Heaven,” answered Evan,
haughtily ; and then immediately resuming his usual civility of
manner—‘“‘but you mean my chief; no, he does not shelter
Donald Bean Lean, nor any that are like him; he only allows
him (with a smile) wood and water.”

‘No great boon, I should think, Evan, when both seem to
be very plenty.”

“Ah! but ye dinna see through it. When I say wood and
warer, I mean the lock and the land; and I fancy Donald
would be put till’t if the laird were to look for him wi’ three-
score men in the wood of Kailychat yonder; and if our boats,
with a score or twa mair, were to come down the loch to Uaimh
an Ri, headed by mysell or any other pretty man.”

‘‘ But suppose a strong party came against him from the
Low Country, would not your chief defend him ?”

ca

PE ee cee se ee

saben

Pe enaie rs rr iret = errrP. aabiittvescacs cae iss

WAVERLEY.

“Na, he would not ware the spark of a flint for him—if they
came with the law.”

“ And what must Donald do, then?”

“ He behoved to rid this country of himsell, and fall back,
it may be, over the mount upon Letter Scriven:

“And if he were pursued to that place gs

‘“’se warrant he would go to his cousin’s at Rannoch.”

“Well, but if they followed him to Rannoch?”

“That,” quoth Evan, “is beyond all belief ; and, indeed, to
tell you the truth, there durst not a Lowlander in all Scotland
follow the fray a gun-shot beyond Bally-Brough, unless he had
the help of the Szadzer Dhu.”

“Whom do you call so?”

“The Sider Dhu? the black soldier; that is what they
called the independent companies that were raised to keep
peace and law in the Highlands. Vich Ian Vohr commanded
one of them for five years, and I was serjeant myself, I shall
warrant ye. They call them Szdier Dhu, because they wear the
tartans, as they call your men—King George’s men—<Szder
Foy, or red soldiers.”

“Well, but when you were in King George’s pay, Evan,
you were surely King George’s soldiers?”

“Troth, and you must ask Vich Ian Vohr about that; for
we are for his king, and care not much which of them itis. At
any rate, nobody can say we are King George’s men now, when
we have not seen his pay this twelvemonth.”

This last argument admitted of no reply, nor did Edward
attempt any: he rather chose to bring back the discourse to
Donald Bean Lean. ‘Does Donald confine himself to cattle,
or does he “/#, as you call it, anything else that comes in his
way?”

“Troth, he’s nae nice body, and he’ll just take onything,
but most readily cattle, horse, or live Christians ; for sheep are
slow of travel, and inside plenishing is cumbrous to carry, and
not easy to put away for siller in this country.”

‘But does he carry off men and women?”

“Out, ay. Didnot ye hear him speak o’ the Perth bailie?
It cost that body five hundred merks ere he got to the south 0’
Bally-Brough.—And ance Donald played a pretty sport.” There
was to be a blythe bridal between the Lady Cramfeezer, in the
howe o’ the Mearns (she was the auld laird’s widow, and no
sae young as she had been hersell), and young Gilliewhackit,
who had spent his heirship and movables, like a gentleman, at
cock-matches, bull-baitings, horse-races, and the like. Now,
Donald Bean Lean, being aware that the bridegroom was inWA hh fe i, 99

request, and wanting to cleik the cunzie (tnatis, to hook the
siller), he cannily carried off Gilliewhackit at night when he was
riding dovering hame (wi’ the malt rather abune the meal), and
with the help of his gillies he gat him inte the hills with the
speed of light, and the first place he wakened in was the cove
of Uaimhan Ri. So there was old to do about ransoming the
bridegroom ; for Donald would not lower a farthing of a thou-
sand pounds ”———

“The ‘devil !?

“Punds Scottish, ye shall understand. And the lady had
not the siller if she had pawned her gown; and they applied to
the governor o’ Stirling Castle, and to the major o’ the Black
Watch ; and the governor said, it was ower far to the north-
ward, and out of his district ; and the major said, his men were
gane hame to the shearing, and he would not call them out be-
fore the victual was got in for allthe Cramfeezers in Christen-
dom, let alane the Mearns, for that it would prejudice the
country. And inthe meanwhile ye’ll no hinder Gilliewhackit
to take the small-pox. ‘There was not the doctor in Perth or
Stirling would look near the poor lad, and I cannot blame
them ; for Donald had been misguggled by ane of these doctors
about Paris, and he swore he would fling the first into the loch
that he catched beyond the Pass. However, some cailliachs
(that is, old women), that were about Donald’s hand, nursed
Gilliewhackit sae weel, that between the free open air in the
cove and the fresh whey, deil an’ he did not recover may be as
weel as if he had been closed in a glazed chamber and a bed
with curtains, and fed with red wine and white meat. And
Donald was sae vexed about it, that when he was stout and
weel, he even sent him free home, and said he would be pleased
with onything they would like to gie him for the plague and
trouble which he had about Gilliewhackit to an unkenn’d de-
gree. And I cannot tell you precisely how they sorted; but
they agreed sae right that Donald was invited to dance at the
wedding in the Highland trews, and they said that there was
never sae meikle siller clinked in his purse either before or
since. And to the boot of all that, Gilliewhackit said, that, be
the evidence what it liked, if he had the luck to be on Donald’s
inquest, he would bring him in guilty of nothing whatever, un-
less it were wilful arson, or murder under trust.”

With such bald and disjointed chat Evan went on illustrat-
ing the existing state of the Highlands, more perhaps to the
amusement of Waverley than that of our readers. At length,
after having marched over bank and brae, moss and heather,
Edward, though not unacquainted with the Scottish liberality

   
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
    
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

TOR sae aren eS aeN13 Bienes DABS

 

00 WAVERLEY.
n computing distance, began to think that Evan’s five miles
were nearly doubled. His observation on the large measure
which the Scottish allowed of their land, in comparison to the
computation of their money, was readily answered by Evan,
with the old jest, “The de’il take them w vyha have the least pint
si@na.«" 28

And now the report of a gun was heard, and a sportsman
was seen, with his dogs and attendant, at the upper end of the
vien. ‘ Shough,” said Dugald Mahony, “ ‘tat’s ta chief.”

“Tt is not,’ said Evan, imperiously. ‘Do you think he
would come to meet a Sassenach Duinhé-wassel, in such a way
as that?”

But as :hey approached a little nearer, he said, with an ap-
pearance of mortification, ‘‘ And it is even he, sure enough, and
he has not his tail on after all; there is no living creature
with him but Callum Beg.”

In fact, Fergus Mac- Ivor, of whom a Frenchman might have

said, as truly as of any man in the Highlands, “ Qu’ il. connoit

bien ses gens” had no idea of raising hi imself in the eyes of an
English yenng man of fortune, by appearing with a retinue of
idle Highlanders disproportioned to the occasion. He was
well aware that such an unnecessary attendance would seem to
Edward rather ludicrous than respectable ; and while few men
were more attached to ideas of chieftainship and feudal power,
he was, for that very PhARQD, cautious of exhibiting external
marks of dignity, unless at the time and in the manner when
they were most hil cely to produce an imposing effect: There.
fore, qIMee 2» had he been to receive a brother chieftain, he
would probably have been attended by all that retinue which
Evan described with so much unction, he judged it more
respectable to advance to meet Waverley witha single attendant,
a very handsome Highland boy, who carried his master’s shoot-
ing-pouch and his broadsword, without which he seldom went
abroad.

When Fergus and Waverley met, the latter was struck with
the peculiar grace and dignity of the chieftain’s figure. Above
the middle size, and finely proportioned, the Highland dress,
which he wore in its simplest mode, set off his person to great
advantage. He wore the trews or close trowsers, made of tar:
tan checked scarlet and white ; in other particulars, his dress
strictly resembled Evan’s, excepting that he had no weapon
save a dirk, very richly mounted with silver. His page, as we
have said, carried his aaa ; and the fowling-piece, which
he held in his hand, seemed only designed for sport. He had
shot in the course of his walk some e young wild-ducks, as, thoughWAVERLEY. vor
close-time was then unknown, the broods of grouse were yet to
young for the sportsman. His countenance was decidedly
Scottish, with all the peculiarities of the northern physiognomy,
but yet had so little of its harshness and exaggeration, that it
vould have been pronounced in any country extremely hand-
some. ‘The martial air of the bonnet, with a single eagle’s
feather as a distinction, added much to the manly appearance
of his head, which was besides ornamented with a far more
natural and graceful cluster of close black curls than ever were
exposed to sale in Bond street.

An air of openness and affability increased the favorable
impression derived from this handsome and dignified exterior.
Yet a skilful physiognomist would have been less satisfied with
the countenance on the second than on the first view. “The
eyebrow and upper lip bespoke something of the habit of per-
emptory command and decisive superiority. Even his courtesy
though open, frank and unconstrained, seemed to indicate a
sense of personal importance ; and upon any check or accidental
excitation, a sudden, though transient lour of the eye, showed
a hasty, haughty, and vindictive temper, not less to be dreaded
because it seemed much under its owner’s command. In short
the countenance of the chieftain resembled a smiling summer’s
day, in which, notwithstanding, we are made sensible by certain
though slight signs, that it may thunder and lighten before the
close of the evening.

[t was not, however, upon their first meeting that Edward
had an opportunity of making these less favorable remarks.
The Chief received him as a friend of the Baron of Bradwar-
dine, with the utmost expression of kindness and obligation for
the visit; upbraided him gently with choosing so rude an
abode as he had done the night before ; and entered into a
lively conversation with him about Donald Bean’s housekeeping,
but without the least hint as to his predatory habits, or the im-
mediate occasion of Waverley’s visit, a topic which, as the
Chief did not introduce it, our hero also avoided. While they
walked merrily on toward the house of Glennaquoich, Evan,
who now fell respectfully into the rear, followed with Callum
Beg and Dugald Mahony.

‘We shall take the opportunity to introduce the reader to
some particulars of Fergus Mac-Ivor’s character and history,
which were not completely known to Waverley till after a con-
nection, which, though arising from a circumstance so casual,
had for a length of time the deepest influence upon his char-
acter, actions, and prospects. But this, being an important
subject, must form the commencement of a new chapter.ee Ek AMAA AREAS

 

 

WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER NINETEENTH.
THE CHIEF AND HIS MANSION.

THE ingenious licentiate, Francisco de Ubeda, when he
commenced his history of La Picara Justina Diez which, by-
the-way, is one of the most rare books ot Spanish literature
—complained of his pen having caught up a hair, and forth-
with begins, with more eloquence than common sense, an affec-
tionate expostulation with that useful implement, upbraiding it
with being the quill of a goose,—-a bird inconstant by nature,
as frequenting the three elements of water, earth, and air, 1n-
differently, and being, of course, “ to one thing constant never.”’
Now I protest to thee, gentle reader, that I entirely dissent
from Francisco de Ubeda in this matter, and hold it the most
useful quality of my pen, that it can speedily change from grave
to gay, and from description and dialogue to narrative and
character. So that if my quill display no other properties of
its mother goose than her mutability, truly I shall be well
pleased ; and I conceive that you, my worthy friend, will have
no occasion for discontent. From the jargon, therefore, of the
Highland gillies, I pass to the character of their chief. It is
an important examination, and therefore, like Dogberry, we
must spare no wisdom.

The ancestor of Fergus Mac-Ivor, about three centuries
before, had set up a claim to be recognized as chief of the
numerous and powerful clan to which he belonged, the name
of which it is unnecessary to mention. Being defeated by an
opponent who had more justice, or at least more force, on his
side, he moved southward, with those who adhered to him, in
quest of new settlements, like a second Atneas. ‘The state of
the Perthshire Highlands favored his purpose. A great baron
in that country had lately become traitor to the crown; Ian,
which was the name of our adventurer, united himself with
those who were commissioned by the king to chastise him,
and did such good service that he obtained a grant of the
property, upon which he and his posterity afterward resided,
He followed the king also in war to the fertile regions of Eng-
land, where he employed his leisure hours so actively in raising
subsidies among the boors of Northumberland and Durham,
that upon his return he was enabled to erect a stone tower, or
fortalice, somuch admired by his dependents and neighbors,
that he, who had hitherto been called Ian Mac-Ivor, or JohnWAVERLEY. 103
the son of Ivor, was thereafter distinguished, both in song and
genealogy, by ‘the high title Zan nan Chaistel, or John of the
Tower. The descendants of this worthy were so proud of him,
that the reigning chief always bore the patronymic title of Vich
Ian Vohr, z. ¢., the son of John the Great; while the clan at
large, to distinguish them from that from which they had se.
ceded, were denominated Stiochd nan Jvor, the race of Ivor

The father of Fergus, the tenth in direct descent from Jchn
of the Tower, engaged heart and hand in the insurrection of
1715, and was forced to fly to France after the attempt of that
year in favor of the Stuarts had proved unsuccessful. More
fortunate than other fugitives, he opened employment in the
French service, and married a lady of rank in that kingdom,
by whom he had two children, Fergus and his sister Flora.
The Scottish estate had been forfeited and exposed to sale
but was repurchased for a small price in the name of the young
proprietor, who in consequence came to reside upon his native
domains, It was soon perceived that he possessed a char-
acter of uncommon acuteness, fire, and ambition, which, as he
became acquainted with the state of the country, gradually as-
sumed a mixed and peculiar tone, that could only have been
acquired Sixty Years since.

Had Fergus Mac-Ivor lived Sixty Years sooner than he
did, he would, in all probabi lity, have wanted the polished
manner and knowledge of the world which he now possessed :
and had he lived Sixty Years later, his en and love ot
rule would have lacked the fuel which his situation now af-
forded. He was indeed, within his little ae as HOH eG a
politician as Castruccio Castrucani himself. He ap plied him-
self with great earnestness to appease all the feuds and dissen-
sions which often arose among other clans in his neighborhood,
so that he became a frequent umpire in their quarrels. His
own patriarchal power he strengthened at every expense which
his fortune would permit, and indeed stretched his means to
the uttermost to maintain the rude and plentiful hospitality,
which was the most valued attribute of a chieftain. For the
same reason, he crowded his estate witha tenantry, hardy in
. deed, and fit for the purposes of war, but greatly oui eabeine
what the soil was calculated to maintain. These consisted
chiefly of his own clan, not one of whom he suffered to quit his
lands if he could possibly prevent it. But he een be-
sides, many adventurers from the mother sept, who deserted a
less warlike, though more wealthy chief, to do homage to Fei
gus Mac-Ivor. Other individuals, too, who had not even that

apology, were nevertheless received into his allegiance, which

D

.
RB nation men

   
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
      
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
      
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 

eer Crete et ensMithves ss ee

104 WAVERLEY.
‘ndeed was refused to none who were, like Poins, proper mer
of their hands, and were willing to assume the name of Mac-
Ivor.

He was enabled to discipline these forces from having ob-
tained command of one of the independent-companies raised
by government to preserve the peace of the Highlands. While
in this capacity he acted with vigor and spirit, and preserved
great order in the country under his charge. He caused his
vassals to enter by rotation into his company, and serve for a
certain space of time, which gave them all in turn a general
notion of military discipline. In his campaigns against the
banditti, it was observed that he assumed and exercised to the
utmost the discretionary power, which, while the law had no
free course in the Highlands, was conceived to belong to the
military parties who were called in to snpport it. He acted,
for example, with great and suspicious lenity to those free-
booters who made restitution on his summons, and offered per-
sonal submission to himself, while he rigorously pursued, appre-
hended, and sacrificed to justice, all such interlopers as dared
to despise his admonitions or commands. On tlre other hand,
if any officers of justice, military parties, or others, presumed
to pursue thieves or marauders through his territories, and
without applying for his consent and concurrence, nothing was
more certain than that they would meet with some notable foil
or defeat ; upon which occasions Fergus Mac-Ivor was the first
to condole with them, and, after gently blaming their rashness,
never failed deeply to lament the lawless state of the country.
These lamentations did not exclude suspicion, and matters
were so represented to Government, that our chieftain was de-
prived of his military command.”

Whatever Fergus Mac-Ivor felt on this occasion, he had the
art of entirely svopressing every appearance of discontent ;
but in a short time the neighboring country began to feel bad
effects from his disgrace. Donald Bean Lean, and others of
his class, whose depredations had hitherto been confined to
other districts, appeared from thenceforward to have made a
settlement on this devoted border ; and theirravages were Cat-
ried on with little opposition, as the Lowland gentry were chiefly
Jacobites, and disarmed. ‘This forced many of the inhabitants
into contracts of blackmail with Fergus Mac Ivor, which not
only established him their protector, and gave him great weight
in all their consultations, but moreover supplied funds for the
waste of his feudal hospitality, which the discontinuance of his
pay might have otherwise essentially diminished.

In following this course of conduct, Fergus had a furtherWAVERLEY. 105
object than merely being the great man of his neighborhood,
and ruling despotically over a small clan. From his infancy
upward, he had devoted himself to the cause of the exiled
family, and had persuaded himself not only that their restora.
tion to the crown of Britain would be speedy, but that those
who assisted them would be raised to honor and rank. It was
with this view that he labored to reconcile the Highlanders
among themselves, and augmented his own force to the utmost,
to be prepared for the first favorable opportunity of rising.
With this purpose also he conciliated the favor of such Low-
land gentlemen in the vicinity as were friends to the good cause ;
and for the same reason, having incautiously quarreled with
Mr. Bradwardine, who, notwithstanding his peculiarities, was
much respected in the country, he took advantage of the foray
of Donald Bean Lean to solder up the dispute in the manner
ve have mentioned. Some indeed surmised that he caused the
enterprise to be suggested to Donald, on purpose to pave the
way to a reconciliation, which, supposing that to be the case,
cost the Laird of Bradwardine two good milch cows. This
zeal in their behalf the house of Stuart repaid with a consider-
able share of their confidence, an occasional supply of louis
@or abundance of fair words, and a parchment with a huge
waxen seal appended, purporting to be an earl’s patent, granted
by no less a person than James the Third King of England
and Eighth King of Scotland, to his right leal, trusty, and well-
beloved Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, in the county of
Perth, and kingdom of Scotland.

With this future coronet glittering before his eyes, Fergus
plunged deeply into the correspondence and plots of that un-
happy period ; and, like all such active agents, easily recon-
ciled his conscience to going certain lengths in the service of
his party, from which honor and pride would have deterred him,
had his sole object been the direct advancement of his own
personal interest. With this insight intoa bold, ambitious, and
ardent, yet artful and politic character, we resume the broken
thread of our narrative.

The Chief and his guest had by this time reached the house
ef Glennaquoich, which consisted of Ian nan Chaistel’s man:
sion, a high rude-looking square tower, with the addition of a
lofted house, that is, a building of two stories, constructed by
Fergus’s grandfather when he returned from that memorable
expedition, well remembered by the western shires, under the
name of the Highland Host. Upon occasion of this crusade
against the Ayrshire Whigs and Covenanters, the Vich Ian
Vohr of the time had probably been as successful as his prede-

>

   
 
 
   
 
 
  
    
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

SRS SARE

SWAVERLEY.

essor was in harrying No srthumberland, and therefore left to
his posterity a rival edific e, as a monument of his magnificence.

Around the house, w hich stood on an eminence in the midst
of a narrow Highland valley, there appeared none of that at-
tention to convenience, far less to or nanrent and decoration,
which usually surrounds a gentleman’s h abitation. An inclosure
or two, divided by dry-stone walls, were the only part of the
domain that was fenced ; as to the rest, the narrow slips of
level ground which lay by the side of the brook, exhibited a
Boanty crop of barley, liable to constant depredations from the
herds of wild ponies and black cattle that grazed upon the ad-
jacent hills. These ever and anon made an incursion upon the
arable ground, which was repelled by the loud, uncouth, and
dissonant shouts of half-a-dozen Highland swains, all running
as if they had been mad, and every one hallooing a half-starved
dog to the rescue of the forage. At a little distance up the
glen was a small and stt unted wood of birch; the hills were
high and heathy, but without any variety of surface ; so that
the whole view was wild and desolate, rather than grand and
solitary. Yet such as it was, no genuine descendant of lan
nan Chaistel would have changed the domain for Stowe or
Blenheim.

There was a sight, however, before the gate, w hich perhaps
would have afforded the first owner of Blenheim more pleasure
than the finest view in the domain assigned to him by the gr ati-
tude of his country. This consisted of about a hundred High-
landers, in complete dress and arms; at sight of whom. the
chieftain apologized to Waverley in a sort of negligent manner.
“ He had forgot,” he said, “ that he na ordered a few of his
clan out, for the purpose of seeing that they were in a fit con-
dition to protect the country, and prevent such accidents as,
he was sorry to learn, had befallen the Baron of Bradwardine.
Before they were dismissed, perhaps Captain Waverley might
choose to see them go through a part of their exercise.

Edward assented, and the men executed with agility and
precision some of the ordinary military movements. They
then practiced individually at a mark, and showed extraordinary
dexterity in the management of the pistol and firelock. They
took aim standing, sitting, leaning, or lying prostrate, as they
were commanded, and always with effect upon the target
Next they paired off for the broadsword exercise ; and, having
manifested their individual skill and dexterity, united in two bod-
ies, and exhibited asort of mock encounter, in which the charge,
the rally, the flight, the pursuit, and all the current of a heady
fight, we re exhibited to the sound of the great war bagpipe.WAVERLEY. 107

On a signal made by the chief, the skirmish was ended.
Matches were then made for running, wrestling, leaping, pitch-
ing the bar, and other sports, in which this feudal militia dis-
p layec l incredible swiftness, strength, and agility ; and accom-
plished the purpose which their chieftain had at heart. by
impressing on Waverley no light sense of their merit as soldiers,
and of the power of him who commanded them by his nod.

‘And what number of such gallant fellows have the hap-
piness to call you leader?” asked Waverley.

In a good cause, and under a chieftain whom they loved,
the race of Ivor have seldom taken the field under five hundred
claymores. But you are aware, Captain Waverley, that the
disarming act, passed about twenty years ago, prevents their
being in the complete state of preparation, as in former times ;
and I keep no more of my clan under arms than may defend
my own or my friends’ BlOneHy; when the country is troubled
with such men as your last night’s landlord; and government,
which has removed other means of defence, must connive at
our protecting ourselves.”

“ But with your force you might soon destroy, or put down,
such gangs as that of Donald Bean Lean.”

“Yes, doubtless; and my reward would be a summons to
deliver up to General Blakeney, at Stirling the few broad-
swords they have left us: there were little policy in that, me-

thinks.—But come, C aptain, the sound of the pipes informs me
that dinner is prepared. Let me have the honor to show you
into my rude mansion.”

CHAPTER TWENTIETH,
A HIGHLAND FEAST.

ErE Waverley entered the banqueting-hall, he was offered
the patriarchal refreshment of a bath for the feet, which the
sultry weather, and the morasses he had traversed, rendered
high ily acceptable. He was not indeed so luxuriously attend-
ed upon this occasion, as the heroic travelers in the Odyssey ;
the task of ablution and abstersion being performed, not by a
beautiful damsel, trained

To chafe the limb, and pour the fragrant oil,

but by a smoke-dried, skinny old Highland woman, who did
not seem to think herself much honored by the duty imposedSa FAERIE

gan ite

108 WAVERLEY.

upon her, but muttered between her teeth, ‘‘ Our fathers’ herds
did not feed so near together, that 1 should do you this ser-
vice.” A small donation, however, amply reconciled this an-
cient handmaiden to the supposed di ee ; and, as Edward
proceeded to the hall, she gave him her biessing, in the Gaelic
proverb, ‘‘ May the open hand be filled the fulleou

The: hall, an ach the feast was prepared, occupied the

 

I
first story of Ian nan Chaistel’s original erection, and a huge
oaken table extended through its whole length. The apparatus
for dinner was simple, even to rudeness, and the company nu-

merous, even to crowding. At the head of the ta aes was the
Chief himself, with Edward, a1 Highland visi-
tors of neighboring clans; the elders of his o vn tribe, wad-
setters and tacksmen, as the y were called, who oc cupiec d por-
tiens of his estate as mortgagers or lessees, sat next in rank ;
beneath them their sons and nephews, and foster-brethren ;
then the officers of the Chief’s household, according to their -
order ; and, lowest of all, the tenants who actually cultivated
the ground. Even beyond this long perspective, Edward might
see upon the green, to 7 a huge pair of folding doors
opened, a multitude of Highlanders of a yet inferior description,
who, mewertheless, were canedenee as ete and had their

e both of the countenance of the entertainer, and of the
cheer of the day. In the distance, and fluctuating round this

He;

Co
4ct

a

YW

oe

c

OD

 

extreme verge of the banquet, was a changeful group of
women, ragged boys and girls, beggars, young and old, large
greyhounds, and terriers, and pointers, and curs of low de QTE ;

y : ;
all of whom took some interest, more or less immediate, in the
main action of the piece.

This hospitality, apparently unbounded, had yet its line of
economy. Some pains had been bestowed in dressing the
dishes of fish, game, etc., which were at the upper end of the

]
4 1 :

¢ A 2 dim Neer iatel ywoder the >} c t : lick
table, and immediately uz one the eye of the English stranger.
Lower down stood immense clums) joints of mutton and beef,
ee a7 * : 1 1
which, but for the absence of pork, ®’abhorred in the Highlands
he Highlands,
resemb! led the rude festivity of the banquet of Penelope’s
suitors. But the central dish was a vearline lamb called “ a
Orbs ists es ] ‘ 39 Pe ea rT, . o e . e
hog in harst, roasted whole. It was set upon its legs, with a

pee h of be sey In its mouth, and was probably exhibited in

1e pride of the cook, who piqued himself
more on the plenty than the elegance of his master’s tabl

Asc Ul Lilo >
Ts Rinne one thse :
I he sides O01 this Be Or animal |

St
es
~
pa)
—
EH
Sa
UO
=
ae
0)
a)
a
©
5
9
A

of

WEE hercely attacked by th:
clansmen, some with dirks, others ge the knives which were
usually in the same sheath with the da wer. So tha tawas soon

rendered a m: ingle d and rueful pee tials: Lower down still,WAVERLEY.

109
the victuals seemed of yet coarser quality, though sufficiently
abundant. Broth, onions, cheese, eo oe frasments of the

feast, regaled the sons of Or who feasted in th
The liquor was sup pl lied in
similar regulations. Exc selle nt claret and champagne were
liberally distributed among the Chief’s immediate neighbors ;
whiskey, plain or diluted, and strong beer, refreshed those who
sat near the lower end. Nor did this inequality of distribution
appear to

le Open air.
the same proportion, and undet

give the least offence. Every one present under
stood that his taste was to be ie according to the rank
which he he d at table: and conse

XQ

quently ae tacksmen and

eed ee Ry
their dependants always BED tessed the wine was too cold for
their stomachs, and called. apparently out oe choice, for the
=u gee ES ie se es 0 ry 1
liquor which was assigned to them from economy. The bag

pipers, three in number, screamed. during the whole time «
dinner, a tremendous war-tune: and the echoing of the vaulted
ner 6 ees : at «tf Vallis 4 : eee ‘ ]
root, ane clang of the Celtic tongue, produced | such a Babel
eel Mick al ee
of noises, that Waverley dreaded | his €ars would never recover
it. Mocivon indeed, a
its
ic

} : { e Sia
pologized for the confusion occasioned

Toe. : E ats : ‘ } ; : ; ;

DY SO Hee) ¢ party, and pleaded the necessity of his situation,
os de 1 ] a ye . =

on which unlimited hospitality was imposed as a paramount

Pate. cer t Pals i ee C ks 2 7 ot

duty. Thess stout idle kinsmen of mine,” he said, “account

my estate as held in trust for their support ; and I must iad
them beef and ale, w
selves but

| C
shooting, fishing, hunting, drinking, and making love to

ile the rogues will do nothing for then
yractice the broadsword. or w: ie ee a
ractice the broacdsword, or wander about the hills
( the
eae oe ha strat} .. mat. cart bon tae t Way ul ss
LaSSES OF EAE Strath. Bub What Carl E-ae. ¢ aptain Wave rley

erything will keep af

59 SSL AUREL IS, 6S EIR

c
r
eet TS

iether it be a hawk or a
ahaa Edward made the expected answer, in a com-

«

pliment upon his possessing so many bold and attached fol-
lowers.

‘Why, yes,” replied the Chief, “were I disposed, like my
father, to put las in the way of getting one blow on the
head, or two on the neck, I believe the loons would stand by
me, But who thi fers of that in the present day, when the
maxim is, ‘Better an old woman with a purse in her hand
than three men with belted brands’? ” Then, turning to the

Health of Captain Waverley, a

company, he proposed
af 2 1 7 a8 ) % mee iy
neighbor and ally, the Baron of

worthy friend of his
Bradwardine.”

‘“‘He is welcome hither,” said oné of the elders, “if, he

come from Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine.”

‘I say nay to that,” said an old man, who apparently did

not mean to pledge the toast; “I say nay to that ;—while there

is a green leaf in “the forest, there will be fraud in a Comyne.”

rs

 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
    
  
   
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
   
    
  
  
    
     
   
     
  
 
   
   
 
    
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
    
  
 

Sie nst eR)

ve

    

“gE Be naseaaitinnn eeSedan ee eases See ee

SS

SOE ANNES

TO WAVERLEY.

“There is nothing but honor 1 in the Baron of Bradwardine,”
answered another ancient; “and the guest that comes hither
from him should be welcome, though he came with blood on
his hand, unless it were blood of the race of Ivor.’

The old man, whose cup remained full, replied: “" Uhere
has been blood enough of the race of Ivor on the hand of
Bradwardine.”’

“Ah! Ballenkeiroch,” replied the first, “you think rather
of the flash of the carbine at the Mains of rely -Veolan, tha dan
the glance of the sword that fought for the cause at Preston.’

© And well I may,” ans swered Ballenkeiroch ; ‘ the flash of
the gun cost me a fair-haired son, and the elance of the sword
has done but little for King James.’

e Chieftain, in two words of French, expl ained to Waver-
ley, Bee the Baron had shot this old man’s son in a fray near
Tully-Veolan about seven years before ; and then hastened to
remove Ballenkeiroch’s prejudice, by informing him that Waver-
ley was an Englishman, unconnected b by birth or alliance with
the family of Bradwardine; upon which the old gentleman
raised the hitherto untas ted cup, and courteously dranl EetO: GS
health. This ceremony being requited in kind, the Chieftain
made a sighal for the pipes to cease, and said, bided ** Where
is the song hidden, my friends, that Mac- Murrough cannot
hand 1b

Mac- Nee the family Jhairdh, an aged man, imme-
diately took the hint, and began to chant, with low and rapid
utterance, a profusion of (¢ ‘eltic verses, which were received i
the audience with all the applause of enthusiasm. As he ad-
vanced in his declamation, his ardor seemed to increase. He
had at first spoken with his eyes fixed on the ground; he now
cast them around as if beseeching, and anon as if commanding,
attention, and his tones rose into wild and impassioned notes,
accompanied with appropriate gestures. He seemed to Ed-
ward, who attended to him with much interest, to recite many
proper names, to lament the dead, to apostrophize the absent,
to exhort, and entreat, and animate those who were present.
Waverley thought he even discerned his own name, and was
convinced his conjecture was right, from the eyes of the com-
pany being at that moment turned toward him simultaneously.
The ardor of the poet appeared to communicate itself to the
audience. Their wild and sun-burnt countenances assumed
a fiercer and more animated expression; all bent forward
toward the reciter, many sprung up and w aved their arms in
ecstasy, and some laid their hands on their swords. When the
song ceased, there was a deep pause, while the aroused feelingsWAVERLEY. Tir

of the poet and of the hearers gradually subsided into their
usual channel.

The Chieftain, who, during this scene, had appeared rather
to watch the emotions which were excited, than to partake
their high tone of enthusiasm, filled with claret a small silver
cup which stood by him. ‘Give this,” he said to an attendant,
“to Mac-Murrough nan Fonn (Z. ¢. of the songs), and when he
has drank the juice bid him keep, for the sake of Vich lar

Vohr, the shell of the gourd which contained it.” ‘The gif
was received by Mac-Murrough with profound gratitude ; he
drank the wine, and, kissing the cup, shrouded it with rever-
ence in the plaid which was folded on his bosom. He then
burst forth into what Edward justly supposed to be an extem-
poraneous effusion of thanks and praises of his chief. It was
received with applause, but did not produce the effect of his
first poem. It was obvious, however, that the clan regarded
the generosity of their chieftain with high approbation. Many
approved Gaelic toasts were then proposed, of some of which
the Chieftain gave his guest the following versions:

“To him that will not turn his back on friend or foe.”
“To him that never forsook a comrade.” ‘To him that never
bought or sold justice.” ‘‘ Hospitality to the exile, and broken
bones to the tyrant.” ‘The lads with the kilts.” “ High-
Janders, shoulder to shoulder,’’-—with many other pithy senti-
ments of the like nature.

Edward was particularly solicitous to know the meaning of
that song which appeared to produce such effect upon the pas-
sions of the company, and hinted his curiosity to his host.
“ As I observe,” said the Chieftain, “that you have passed
the bottle during the last three rounds, I was about to propose
to you to retire to my sister’s tea-table, who can explain these
things to you better than I can. Although I cannot stint my
clan in the usual current of their festivity, yet I neither am
addicted myself to exceed in its amount, nor do I,” added he,
smiling, “keep a Bear to devour the intellects of such as can
make good use of them.”

Edward readily assented to this proposal, and the Chief
‘tain, saying a few words to those around him, left the table,
followed by Waverley. As the door closed behind them Ed-
ward heard Vich Ian Vohr’s health invoked with a wild and
animated cheer, that expressed the satisfaction of the guests,
and the depth of their devotion to his service.

om YHee

WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.
THE CHIEFTAIN’S SISTER.

Tue drawing-room of Flora Mac-Ivor was furnished in the
plainest and most simple manner ; for at Glennaquoich every
other sort of expenditure was retrenched as much as possible,
for the purpose of maintaining, in its full dignity, the hospitality
of the Chieftain, and retaining and multiplying the number of
his dependents and adherents. But there was no appearance
of this parsimony in the dress of the lady herself, which was in
texture elegant, and even rich, and arranged in a manner which
partook partly of the Parisian fashion and partly of the more
simple dress of the Highlands, blended together with great
taste. Her hair was not disfigured by the art of the friseur,
but fell in jetty ringlets on her neck, confined only by acirclet,
richly set with diamonds. This peculiarity she adopted in com-
pliance with the Highland prejudices, which could not endure
that a woman’s head should be covered before wedlock.

Flora Mac-Ivor bore a most striking resemblance to her
brother Fergus; so much so, that they might have played
Viola and Sebastian with the same exquisite effect produced by
the appearance of Mrs. Henry Siddons and her brother, Mr.
William Murray, in these characters. They had the same
antique and regular correctness of profile; the same dark eyes,
eyelashes, and eyebrows; the same clearness of complexion,
excepting that Fergus’s was embrowned by exercise, and Flora’s
possessed the utmost feminine delicacy. But the haughty, and
somewhat stern regularity of Fergus’s features was beautifully
softened in those of Flora. Their voices were also similar in
tone, though differing in the key. That of Fergus, especially
while issuing orders to his followers during their military exer-
cise, reminded Edward of a favorite passage in the description
of Emetrius :

—— whose voice was heard around,
Loud as a trumpet with a silver sound

lent thing in woman ; ” yet in urging any favorite topic, which
she often pursued with natural eloquence, it possessed as well
the tones which impress awe and conviction, as those of pet
suasive insinuation. The eager glance of the keen black eye;
which, in the Chieftain, seemed impatient even of the material
obstacles it encountered, had, in his sister, acquired a centel

That of Flora, on the contrary, was soft and sweet, “an excel-WAVERLEY. 113

pensiveness. His looks seemed to seek glory, power, all that
could exalt him above others in the race of humanity ; while
those of his sister, as if she were already conscious of mental
superiority, seemed to pity, rather than envy, those who were
struggling for any further distinction. Her sentiments corre-
sponded with the expression of her countenance. Early educa-
tion had impressed upon her mind, as well as on that of the
Chieftain, the most devoted attachment to the exiled family of
Stuart. She believed it the duty of her brother, of his clan, of
every man in Britain, at whatever personal hazard, to contri-
bute to that restoration which the partisans of the Chevalier de
St. George had not ceased to hope for. For ee she was pre-
pared to do all, to suffer all, to sacrifice all. But her loyalty,
as tt exceeded her brother’s in fanaticism, eine d it also in
purity. Accustomed to petty intrigue, and necessarily involved
in a thousand paltry and selfish discussions, ambitious also by
nature, his political faith was tinctured at least, if not tainted.
by the views of interest and advancement so easily combined
with it; and at the moment he should unsheath his claymore,
it might be difficult to say whether it would be most with the
view to making James Stuart a king or Fergus Mac-Ivor an
earl. This indeed was a mixture of feeling which he did 1
avow even to himself, but it existed, nevertheless, in a powerful
degree.

In Flora’s bosom, on the contrary, the zeal of loyalty burnt
pure and unmixed with any selfish feelin; g; she would have as
soon made religion the mask of ambitious and interested views
as have shrouded them under the opinions which she had been
taught to think patriotism. Such instances of devotion were
not uncommon among the followers of the unhappy race oi
Stuart, of which many memorable proofs will recur to the mind
of most of my readers. But peculiar attention on the part of
the Chevalier de St. George and his princess to the parents of
Fergus and his sister, and to themselves, when orphans, had
riveted their faith, Fergus, upon the death of his parents, had
been for some time a page of honor in the train of the Cheva-
lier’s lady, and for his beauty and sprightly temper, was unl
formly treated by her with the utmost distinction. This was
also extended to Flora, who was maintained for some time at a
convent of the first order, at the princess’s expense, and removed
from thence into her own family, where she spent nearly two
years. Both brother and sister retained the deepest and most
grateful sense of her kindness.

Having thus touched upon the leadit
character, [ may dismiss the rest more s

1g principle of Flora’s
lightly. She was highly

   

  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  

D
x
wo . ui
Ree art heneemeen ere verehid n bias ah eee TT

Lig WAVERLEY.

accomplished, and had acquired those elegant manners to be
expected from one who, in early youth, h ad been the companion
of the princess; yet she had not learned to substitute the gloss
of politeness for the reality of feeling. When settled in the
lonely regions of Glennaquoich, she found that her resources in
French, English, and Italian literature, were likely to be few
and interrupted; and, in order to fill up the vacant time, she
bestowed a part of it upon the music and poetical traditions of
the Highlanders, and began really to feel the pleasure in the
pursuit, which her brother, whose perceptions of literary merit
were more blunt, rather affected for the sake of popularity than
actually experienced. Her resolution was strengthened in
these researches by the extreme delight which her inquiries
seemed to afford those to whom she resorted for information.

Her love of her clan, an attachment which was almost hered-
itary in her bosom, was, like her loyalty, a more pure passion
than that of her brother. He was too thorough a politician, re.
garded his patriarchal influence too much as the means of ac-
compli ishing his own aggrandizement, that we should term him
the model of a High land Chieftain. Flora felt the same anx.
jlety for cherishing and extending their patriarchal sway, but it
was with the generous desire of vindicating from poverty, or at
least from want and foreign oppression, those whom her brother
was by birth, according to the notions of the time and country,
entitled to govern. The savings of her income, for she had a
small pension from the Princess Sobieski, were dedicated, not
to add to the comforts of the peasantry, for that was a word
which they neither knew nor apparently wished to know, but to
relieve their ore ute necessities, when in sickness or extreme
old age. At every other period, 1 they rather toiled to procure
something whi ok they might share with the Chief, as a proof of
their attachment, than expected other assistance from him save
what was aff eae by the rude hos spitality of his castle, and the
general division and subdivision of his estate among them. Flora
was so much beloved by them, that when Mac- Murrough com-
posed a song, in which he enumerated all the pri incipal beauties
of the districts and intimated her superiority by concluding, that
“the fairest apple hung on the highest bough,” he received in
donatives from the individuals of the clan, more seed-barley
than would have sowed his Highland Parnassus, the Bara’s
croft, as it was called, ten times over.

From situation, as well as choice, Miss Mac-Ivor’s society
was extremely limited. Her most intimate friend had been
Rose Bradwardine, to whom she was much attached; and when
seen together, they would have afforded an artist two admirableWAVERLEY. tre
subjects for the gay and the melancholy muse. Indeed Rose
was so tenderly watched by her father, and her circle of wishes
was so limited, that none arose but what he was willing to
gratify, and scarcely any which did not come within the compass

of his power. With Flora it was otherwise. While almost a’

girl, she had undergone the most complete change of scene,
from gayety and sp lendor to absolute solitude and comparative
poverty ; and the ideas and wishes which she chiet fly eae
respected great national events, and changes not to be broug!
round without both hazard and bloods hed, and therefore not to
be thought of with levity. Her manner consequently was grave,
though she readily contributed her talents to the amusement of
society, and stood very high in the opinion of the old Baron,
who used to sing along with her such French duets of Lindor
and Cloris, etc., as were in fashion about the end of the reign
of old Louis le Grand.

It was generally believed, though no one durst have hinted
it to the Baron of Bradwardine, that Flora’s entreaties had no
small share in allaying the wrath of Fergus upon occasion of
their quarrel, She took her brothe r on the assailable side , by
dwelling first upon the Baron’s age, and then representing ‘the
injury which the cause might sustain, and the damage which
must arise to his own character in point of prudence, so neces-
sary to a political agent, if he persisted in edeain it to extrem-
ity. Otherwise it is probable it would have terminated in a
duel, both because the Baron had ona former occasion shed
blood of the clan, though the matter had been timely accommo-
dated, and on account of his high reputation for address at his
weapon, which Fergus almost condescended to envy. For the
same reason she had urged their reconciliation, which the Chief-
tain the more readily agreed to, as it favored some ulterior pro-
jects of his own.

To this young lady, now presiding at the female empire of
the tea-table, Fergus introduced Captain Waverley, whom she
received with the usual forms of politeness.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.
HIGHLAND MINSTRELSY.
WHEN the first salutations had passed, Fergus said to his

sister, “ My dear Flora, before I return to the barbarous ritual
of our forefathers, I must tell you that Captain Waverley is ar16 WAVERLE ¥.
worshiper of the Celtic muse, not the less so perhaps that he
does not understand a word of fe Panes I have told hiin

Highland poetry, and that
¢

 

 

you are eminent as a transiator OL GE

N/ Niesieeriis oho anomie rei rATGIAY {C hic songs upc! thy
Mac-Murrough aamires youl! VGErSslOn “OF oe OngsS Upon te
C

    

1
same principle that Captain Waverley a mires . the original,—
because he does noi comprehend them. Will you hay

 

verses can i x
could trans em as you pretend.”
n they interest me, lady fair. To-day your

joint composition, for J insist you a a share imit, has: cost

 

me the last silver cup in the castle, and I suppose will cost me
something else next time I hold our wur pléniére, if the muse de-
scends pas “now our proverb,—When
the h ue stow, the breath of the bard

i be it

  

which he dare not imita
a lou is d’or to put into it.”

‘Well, brother, since you betray my secrets, you oe
expect me to keep yours.—I assure you, Captain Waverley,
that Fereus is too proud to exchange his broadsword for a
maréchal’s baton; that he esteems Mac-Murrough a far
rive bbe his goat-skin

cat a

w, as Conan said to
and Botte if not of
: lo the final honors
xe of Ivor.” So. sayime, he ler tue

 

1 continued between Flora and Waverley;
1 young women, whose character seemed to
hover between that of companions and dependants; took no
Share init. They wer

foils to the grace and beat
followed the turn which the chieftain
ley was equally amuse:

}

the lady gave him of C

ee
O
—
ear
a
<a
Oo
=
S
¢
a
—

t
a
@
u
pl

served only as
¢ ‘ The discourse
had given it, and Waver.
with the account whickWAVERLEY. 117

ce

“The recitation,” she said, “ of poems, recording the feats
of heroes, the complaints of lovers, and the wars of contendii ng
tribes forms the chief amusement of a winter fireside in the
Highlands. Some of these are said to be very ancient, and, if
eae are ever translated into any of the languages of civilized

furope, cannot fail to produce a deep and general sensation.
Ghee are more m« SIT the composition of those family bards
whom the chieftains of more distinguished name and | power re-

tain as the ana end sotine of their tribes. These, of
course, possess various degrees of it; but much of it must
evaporate in trans sation or be lost on those who do not sym-
pathize with the feelings of the poet.”

isions seemed to produce such

O

“And your bard, whose efius
effect upon the company to-day, is he reckoned among the
favorite poets of the mountains ?”

“ That is a trying question. His reputation is hig!

1 among
his countrymen, and you must not expect me to dey preciate
12? 40

“But the song, Miss Mac-Ivor, seemed to awaken all those
warriors, both young and old.’

The song is little more than a catalogue of names of the
Highland clans under the distinctive peculiarities, and an ex-
hortation to th em to remember and to emulate the actions of
their forefathers.

oe am I wrong in conjecturing, however extraordinary
the guess appears, that there was some allusion to me in the
ver = a tich he recited xi

“You have a quick observation, Captain Waverley, nich
in es instance has not deceived you. ‘The Gaelic lang
being uncommon vocalic, is well ad .pted for sudden and. ex-
temporaneous poetry ; anda bard seldom fails to augment the
effects of a premeditated song, by throwing in any stanzas
which may be suggested by the circumstances attending the
recitation.”

“TI would give my best horse to know what the Highland
bard could find to say of such an unworthy Southron as my
selt?

- Tt shall not even cost you a lock of his mane.—Una
Mavourneen! (She spoke a few words to one of the young
girls in attendance, who instant ly curtseyed, and tripped out of
the room.)—I have sent Una to learn from the bard the ex-
pression he used, and you shall command my skill as drago-
man.’

Una returned in a few minutes, and repea ited to her mis-

tress a few lines in Gaelic. Flora seemed to think fora mo

CCE ER Te CUT

ec eects

   

rm
a eae Peer yes.WAVERLEY.
ment, and then, slightly coloring, she turned to Waverley—
me lit is impossible to gratify your curiosity, Captain Waverley,
without exposing my own presumption. Tf you will give me a
few moments for consideration, I will endeavor to engraft the
meaning of these lines upon a rude English translation, which
I have attempted, of a part of the original. The duties of the
tea-table seem to be concluded, and, as the evening is delight-
ful, Una will show you the way to one of my favorite haunts,
and Cathleen and I will join you there.”

Una, having received instructions in her native language,
conducted Waverley out by a passage different from that
through which he had entered the apartment. Ata distance
he heard the hall of the chief still resounding with a clang of
bagpipes and the high applause of his guests. Having gained
the open air by a postern door, they w alked a little w ay up the
wild, bleak, and narrow valley in which the house was situated,
following the course of the stream that winded through it. In
a spot, about a quarter of a m he from the castle, two brooks,
which formed the little river, had their junction. The larger
of the two came down the long bare valley ,» which extended,
apparently without any change or elevation of character, as far
as the hills which formed its boundary permitted the eye to
reach. But the other stream, which had its source among the
mountains on the left hand of the strath, seemed to issue ‘from
a very narrow and dark opening betwixt two. large rocks.
These streams were different also in character. The larger
was placid, and even sullen in its course, wheeling in deep ed-
dies, or sleeping in dark blue pools: but the motions of the
lesser brook were rapid and furious, issuing from between
precipices like a maniac from his confinement. all foam and
uproar.

It was up the course of this last stream that Waverley, like
a knight of romance, w ae conducted by the fair High land dam-
Sel, his silent guide. A small path, which had been rendered
easy in many places f for Flora’s accommodation, led him through
scenery of a very different description from that which he had
just quitted. Around the castle, all was cold, bare, and desolate,
yet tame, even in desolation : but this narrow olen, at so short
a distance, seemed to open into the land of romance. The rocks
assumed a thousand peculiar and varied forms. In one place,
a crag of huge size presented its gigantic bulk, as if to forbid
the passenger’s further progress; and it was not until he ap-
proached its very base, that W averley discerned the sudden
and acute turn by w hich the pathway wheeled its course around
this formidable obstacle. In another spot, the projectingWAVERLE Y: r19g
rocks from the opposite side of the chasm had approached so
near to each other, that two pine trees laid across, and covered
with turf, formed a rustic bridge at the height of at least one
hundred and fifty feet. It had no ledges, and was barely three
feet in breadth.

While gazing at this pass of peril, which crossed, like a
single black line, the small portion of blue sky, not intercepted
by the projecting rocks on either side, it was with a sensation
of horror that Waverley beheld Flora and her attendant appear,
like inhabitants of another region, propped, as it were, in mid
air, upon this trembling structure, She stopped upon observ-
ing him below, and, with an air of graceful ease, which made
him shudder, waved her handkerchief to him by way of signal.
He was unable, from the sense of dizziness which her situation
conveyed, to return the salute; and was never more relieved
than when the fair apparition passed on from the precarious
eminence which she seemed to occupy with so much indiffer-
ence, and disappeared on the other side.

Advancing a few yards, and passing under the bridge which
he had viewed with so much terror, the path ascended rapidly
from the edge of the brook, and the glen widened into a sylvan
amphitheatre, waving with birch, young oaks, and _ hazels, with
here and therea scattered yew-tree. The rocks now receded,
but still showed their gray and shaggy crests rising among the
copsewood. Still higher, rose eminences and peaks, some
bare, some clothed with wood, some round, and purple with
heath, and others, splintered into rocks and crags. At a short
turning, the path, which had for some furlongs lost sight of the
brook, suddenly placed Waverley in front of a romantic water-
fall. It was not so remarkable either for great height or
quantity of water, as for the beautiful accompaniments which
made the spot interesting. After a broken cataract of about
twenty feet, the stream was received in a large natural basin,
filled to the brim with water, which, where the bubbles of the
fall subsided, was so exquisitely clear, that, although it was of
sreat depth, the eye could discern each pebble at the bottom.
Eddying round this reservoir, the brook found its way over %
broken part of the ledge, and formed a second fall, whicl
seemed to seek the very abyss; then, wheeling out beneath
from among the smooth dark rocks, which it had polished
for ages, it wandered murmuring down the glen, forming the
stream up which Waverley had just ascended.*t ‘The borders
of this romantic reservoir corresponded in beauty; but it was
beauty of a stern and commanding cast, as if in the act of ex-
panding into grandeur. Mossy banks of turf were broken and

r

9
L

i

*
r a%

oo

ea aeraRL

36 WAVERLEY.
interrupted by huge fragments of rock, and decorated with trees
and shrubs, some e of which had been planted under the direc-
tion of Flora, but so cautiously, that they adc led to the grace
without diminishing the romantic wildness of the scene.

Here, like one of those lovely forms which decorate the
landscapes of Poussin, Waverley “found Flora gazing on the
waterfall. Two paces further back stood C athleen, holding a
small Scottish harp, the use of which had been taught to Flora
by Rory Dall, one of the last harpers of the Western High-
lands, The sun, now stooping in the west, gave a rich and
varied tinge to all the objects which surrounded Waverley, and
seemed to add more than human brilliancy to the full expres-
sive darkness of Flora’s eyes, exalted the richness and purity of
her complexion, and enhanced the dignity and grace of her
beautiful form. Edward thought he had never, even in his
wildest dreams, imagined a figure of such exquisite and inter-
esting loveliness. The wild beauty of the retreat, bursting
upon “him as if by magic, au; omented the mingled fe eling of de-
light and awe with which he “approached her, like a fair enchan-
tress of Boiardo or Ariosto, by whose nod the scenery around
seemed to have is created, an Eden in the wilderness.

Flora, like every beautiful woman, was conscious of her own
power, and Bieaeee with its effects, which she could easily dis-
cern from fh respectful, and confused address of the young
soldier. But, as she possessed excellent sense, she gave the
romance of the scene, and other accidental circumstances, fult
weight in appreciating the feelings with which Waverley seemed
obviously to be impressed ; a1 nd, unacquainted with the fanci-
ful and susceptible peculiarities of his character, considered his
homage as the passing tribute which a woman of even inferior
charms Beak have expected in sucha situation. She there-
fore quietly led the way to a spot at such a distance from the
cascade, that its sounds should rather acompany than interrupt
that of her voice and instrument, and, sitting down upon a
mossy fragment of rock, she took the harp from Cathleen.

“T have given you the trouble of walking to this spot, Cap
tain Wz verley, both because I thought the scenery would in-
terest you, and because a Highland song would suffer still more
from my imperfect translation, were I to intoduce it withow
its own wild and appropriate accompaniments. ‘To speak in
the poetical language of my country, the seat of the Celtic
Muse is inthe midst of the secret and solitary hill, and her voice
in the murmur of the mountain stream. He who woos her
must love the barren rock more than the fertile valley, and the
solitude of the desert better than the festivity of the hall.”WAVERLAY. 121i

Few could have heard this lovely woman make this declara-
tion, with a voice where harmony was exalted by pathos, with
out exclaiming that the muse whom she invoked ORae never
find a more appropriate representative. But Waverley, though
the thought rushed on his mind, found no courage to utter it.
Indeed, the wild feeling of romantic delight, with which he
heard the first few notes she drew from her instrument
amounted almost to a sense of pain. He would not for worlds
have quitted his place by her side ; yet he almost: longed for
salenae », that he might decipher and examine at leisure the
complication of emotions which now agitated his bosom.

Flora had erevapaee the measured and monotonous recita
tive of the bard for a lofty and uncommon Highland air, which
had been a batile-song in former ages. A few irregular strains
introduced a prelude of a wild and peculiar tone, which har-
monized well with the distant waterfall, and the soft sigh of the
evening breeze in the rustling leaves of an aspen which over-
hung the seat of the fair harpress. The following verses con-
vey but little idea of the feelings with which, so sung and _ ac-
companied, they were heard by Waverley :

BATTLE SONG.

There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael,

A stranger commanded—it sunk on the land ;

It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand !

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust;

The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust 5
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,

It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.

The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse,
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse!
Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone,
That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown!

But the dark hours of night and the slumber are past 5
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ;
Glenaladale’s peaks are illumed with the rays,

P > streams of Glenfinnan #? leap bright in the bl
And the streams of Glenfinnan *# leap bright in the blaze.

O high-minded Moray ! 43 the exiled—the dear!
In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear!
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,
Like the sun’s latest flash when the tempest is nigh

Ye sons of the strong, when the dawning shall break,
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake?
That dawn never beamed on your forefathers’ eye,
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or ‘die.

    
    
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

t

AYWAVERLEY.

O! sprung from the kings who in Islay kept state,
Proud chiefs of Clan Ranald, Glengarry, and Sleat!
Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow,
And resistless in union rush down on the foe!

True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel,

Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel!
Rough Keppoch, gave breath to thy bugle’s bold swell,
Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell!

Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail,

Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!
May the race of Clan Gillean, the fearless and free,
Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw and Dundee!

Let the clan of gray Fingon; whose offspring has given
Such heroes to earth and such martyrs to heaven,
Unite with the race of renowned Rorri More,

To launch the long galley, and stretch to the oar.

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display
The yew crested bonnet o’er tresess of gray!

How the race of wronged Alpine, and murdered Glencoe
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe!

Ve sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar,
Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More !
Mac-Neil of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake,

For honor, for freedom, for vengeance awake!

Here a large greyhound, bounding up the glen, jumped
upon Flora, and interrupted her music by his importunate ca-
resses. Ata distant whistle, he turned and shet down the path
again with the rapidity of anarrow, ‘“ That is Fergus’s faithful
attendant, Captain Waverley, and that was his signal. He likes
no poetry but what is humorous, and comes in good time to
interrupt my long catalogue of the tribes, whom one of yow
saucy English poets calls

Our bootless host of high born beggars,
Mac-Leans, Mac-Kenzies and Mac-Gregors.”

Waverley expressed his regret at the interruption.

‘“O you cannot guess how much you have lost! ‘The bard,
as in duty bound, has addressed three long stanzas to Vich Ian
Vohr of the Banners, enumerating all his great properties, and
not forgetting his being a cheerer of the harper and bard—‘ a
giver of bounteous gifts.’ Besides, you should have heard a
practical admonition to the fair-haired son of the stranger, who
lives in the land where the grass is always green—the rider on
the shining pampered steed, whose hue is like the raven, and
whose neigh is like the scream of the eagle for battle. This
vailant horseman is affectionately conjured to remember thatWAVERLEY. 123
his ancestors were distinguished by their loyalty, as well as by
their courage.—All this you have lost ; but, since your curiosity
is not satisfied, [ judge, from the distant sound of my brother’s
whistle, I may have time to sing the concluding stanzas before
he comes to laugh at my translation.”

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the
"Tis the bugle—but not for the chase is the ca

ake.
] .
*Tis the pibroch’s shrill summons—but not to t

l
Its
he hall.
*Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death,
When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath;
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe,

To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin’s in his ire!

May the-blood through his vains flow like currents of fire!
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,

Or die like your sires, and endure it no more! ~

 

CHAPTER [WENT Y=EHIRD:
WAVERLEY CONTINUES AT GLENNAQUOICH.

As Flora concluded her songs, Fergus stood before them.
* | knew I should find you here, even without the assistance of
my friend Bran. A simple and unsublimed taste now, like my
own, would prefer a jet d’eau at Versailles to this cascade, with
all its accompaniments of rock and roar; but this is Flora’s
Parnassus, Captain Waverley, and that fountain her Helicon.
It would be greatly for the benfit of my cellar if she could
teach her coadjutor, Mac-Murrough, the value of its influence;
he has just drunk a pint of usquebaugh to correct, he said, the
coldness of the claret—Let me try its virtues.” He sipped a
little water in the hollow of his hand, and immediately com-
menced, with a theatrical air,—

O lady of the desert, hail !

That lov’st the harping of the Gael,
Through fair and fertile regions borne,
Where never yet grew grass or corn.

3ut English poetry will never succeed under the influence of a
Highland Helicon.—A//ons, courage /—

O vous, qui buvez, & tasse pleine.
A cette heureuse fontaine,

     
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 

Ast

SeesSGA c eee

WAVERLEY.

Ou on ne voit, sur le rivage,

Que quelques vilains troupeaux,
Suivis de nymphes de village,

Qui les escortent sans sabots ”—

“A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and
insipid persons of all Arcadia. Do not, for heaven’s sake,
bring down Coridon and Lindor upon us.

“Nay, if you cannot relish Za houlette et le chalumeau, have
with you in heroic strains.”

“Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspira
tion of Mac-Murrough’s cup rather than of mine.”

“T{ disclaim it, ma belle demoiselle, although I protest it would

be the more congenial of the two. Which of your crack-brained
Italian romancers is it that says,
Io d’Elicona niente
Mi curo, in fe di Dio, che’l bere d’acque
(Bea chi ber ne vuol, sempre mi spiacque | *

But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley, here is little
Cathleen shall sing you Drimmindhu.—Come Cathleen, asvore
(z.e., my dear), begin; no apologies to the Ceankinné.”

Cathleen sung with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the
burlesque elegy of a countryman upon the loss of his cow, the
comic tones of which, though he did not understand the lan-
laugh more than once.*

>

guage, made Waverley laug
“ Admirable, Cathleen !” cried the Chieftain ; “1 must find
you a handsome husband among the clansmen one of these

9?

Cathleen laughed, blushed, and sheltered herself behind her
companion.

In the progress of their return to the castle, the Chieftain
warmly pressed Waverley to remain for a week or two, in order
to see agrand hunting party, in which he and some other High-
land gentlemen proposed to join. The charms of melody and
beauty were too strongly impressed in Edwar l’s breast to per
mit his declining an invitation so pleasing. It was agreed,
therefore, that he should write a note to the Baron of Bradwar-
dine, expressing his intention to stay a fortnight at Glenna-
quoich, and requesting him to forward by the bearer (a gz/Zy of
the Chieftain’s) any letters which might have arrived for him.

This turned the discourse upon the Baron, whom Fergus
highly extolled as a gentleman and soldier. His character was

oO

ack

U
lays

* Good sooth, I reck nought of your Helicon 3
Drink water whoso will, in faith I will drink none.y.

 

 

WAVERLE 125

ouched with yet more discrimins ition by Flora, who observed

he was the very model of the olc Scottish cavalier, with all his
excellences and peculiarities. “It is a character, Captain
Waverley, which is fast disappearing ; for its best point was a
self-respect which was never lost sight of till now. But in the

resent time, the gentlemen whose. principles do not permit
hem to pay court to the existing government are neglected and

4
degraded, and many conduct themselves accordingly ; and

9

like some of the persons you have seen at Tully-Veolan, adopt
habits and companions inconsistent with their birth and breed-

ney) EhG ruthless » DERSC BEDE of party seems to degrade the
victims whom it brands, howevet unjustly. But let us hope that a
brighter d appre Pe when @ Scottish country-gentleman

may be a scholar without the pedantry of our friend the Baron,

 

a sportsman without the low habits of Mr. Falconer, and a ju
dicious improver of his property without becoming a boorish
two-le ved steel i Killancureit.”

Thus did Flora prophecy a revolution, which time indeed
has produced, but in a manner very different from what she
had in her mind.

The kmiable Rose was next mentioned, with the warmest
encomium on her person, manners, and mind...’ :Loat man,
said Flora vill find an inestimable treasure in the affections
of Ros« Bradwardine ho shall be so fortunate as to become
their object. Her vel ul is in home, and in the discharge

| rtre Het

th 1
ther now is, the object of all
ion. She will g,
connect herself with nothing, but by him and through him.
If he is a man of sense and virtue, she will sympathize in his

1, Ne 1S: a i rtu

sorrows, divert his fatigue, and share his pleasures. [f she

becomes the property of a churlish or negligent hus band, she

will suit his taste also, for she will not long survive his w nkind-

ness, And. alas! how great is the chance that some such
hy | | p friend |!—O that I were

unworthy lot may be that of my poor {Irie

BE
a queen this moment, and could command the most amiable

2 . : c }
and worthy youth of my kingd lom to accept happiness with
; !

eer ne:

the hand of Rose Fe
“T wish you woul id command her to accept mine ¢ attend:
ant,’ said Fergus, hinge:

I ahaa know by what capric eit was that this wish, however
joc ularly express¢ .d, rather jarred on Edward’s feelings, not-
withstanding his growing ‘nclination to Flora, and his in-
difference to Miss Bradw ardine. This is one of the inexplica-

bilities of human nature, which we » leave without comment.

%

S
Sea eee

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
    
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
    

RPO Erneta tere Cora

RE SS eee)”WAVERLEY.

“Yours, brother?” answered Flora, regarding him steadily.
“No; you have another bride—Honor; and the dangers you
must run in pursuit of her rival would break poor Rose’s
heart,”

With this discourse they reached the castle, and Waverley:
soon prepared his despatches for Tully-Veolan. As he knew
the Baron was punctilious in such matters, he was about to
impress his billet with a seal on which his armorial bearings
were engraved, but he did not find it at his watch, and thought
he must have left it at Tully-Veolan. He mentioned his loss,
borrowing at the same time the family seal of the Chieftain.

Surely,” said Miss Mac-Ivor, “ Donald Bean Lean would
Lon =

“‘ My life for him, in such circumstances,’ answered her
brother ; ‘ besides, he would never have left the watch behind.”

“ After all, Fergus,” said Flora, “‘ and with every allowance,
I am surprised you can countenance that man.”

‘“{ countenance him ?—This kind sister of mine would
persuade you, Captain Waverley, that I take what the people of
old used to calla ‘steakraid,’ that is, a‘collop of the foray,’
or, in plainer words, a portion of the robber’s booty, paid by
him to the laird, or chief, through whose grounds he drove his
prey. O,it is certain, that unless I can find some way to
charm Flora’s tongue, General Blakeney will send a serjeant’s
party from Stirling (this he said with haughty and emphatic
irony) to seize Vich Ian Vohr, as they nickname me, in his
own castle.”

‘Now, Fergus, must not our guest be sensible that all this
is folly and affectation? You have men enough to serve you
without enlisting banditti, and your own honor is above taint.
Why don’t you send this Donald Bean Lean, whom I hate
for his smoothness and duplicity, even more than for his rapine,
out of your country at once? No cause should induce me to
tolerate such a character.”

** Vo cause, Flora ?”’ said the Chieftain, significantly.

“ lVo cause, Fergus ! not even that which is nearest to my
heart. Spare it the omen of such evil supporters ! ”

“O but, sister,” rejoined the Chief, gayly, “you don’t
consider my respect for Za delle passion. Evan Dhu Mac-
combich is in love with Donald’s daughter, Alice, and. you
cannot expect me to disturb him in his amours. Why, ‘the
whole clan would cry shame onme. You know it is one of
their wise sayings, that a kinsman is part of a man’s body, but
a foster-brother is a piece of his heart.”WAVERLEY. 124

“ Well, Fergus, there is no disputing with you; but I would
all this may end well.”

““ Devoutly prayed, my dear and prophetic sister, and the
best way in the world to close a dubious argument.—But hear
ye not the pipes, Captain Waverley? Perhaps you will like
better to dance to them in the hall, than to be deafened with
their harmony without taking part in the exercise they invite
us:{G.7

Waverley took Flora’s hand. The dance, song, and merry-
making proceeded, and closed the day’s entertainment at the
castle of Vich Ian Vohr. Edward at length retired, his mind
agitated by a variety of new and conflicting feeling, which
detained him from rest for some time in that not unpleasing
state of mind in which fancy takes the helm, and the soul
rather drifts passively along with the rapid and confused tide
of reflections, than exerts itself to encounter, systematize, or
examine them. Ata late hourhe fell asleep, and dreamed of
Flora Mac-Ivor.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.
A STAG HUNT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

SHALL this be a long ora short chapter ?—This is a question
in which you, gentle reader, have no vote, however much you may
be interested in the consequences ; just as you may (like my
self) probably have nothing to do with the imposing a new tax,
excepting the trifling circumstance of being obliged to pay it.
More happy surely in the present case, since, though it lies
within my arbitrary power to extend my materials as I think
proper, I cannot call you into Exchequer if you do not think
proper to read my narrative. Let me therefore consider. It
is true, that the annals and documents in my hands say but
little of this Highland chase ; but then I can find copious
materials for description elsewhere. There is old Lindsay of
Patscottie ready at my elbow, with his Athole hunting, and his
“lofted and joisted palace of green timber ; with all kind of
drink to be had in burgh and land, as ale, beer, wine, musca-
del, malvaise, hippocras, and aquavite ; with whelt-bread, main-
bread, ginge-bread, beef, mutton, lamb, veal, venison, goose,
erice, capon, coney, crane, swan, partridge, plover, duck, drake,
brissel—cock, pawnies, black-cock, muir-fowl, and capercail-
zies ;” not forgetting the ‘‘ costly bedding, vaiselle, and napry,”

   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

PA EARN SRE

Pee ai PRN aSSaaS

Palanan

Toh ns

Seer ee

nes

Fe

a

128 WAVERLEY.

and least of all the “exceling stewards, cunning baxters, excel-
lent cooks, and pottingars, with confections and drugs for the
desserts.” Besides the particulars which may be thence gleaned
from this Highland feast (the splendor of which induced the
Pope’s legate to dissent from an opinion which he had hitherto
held, that Scotland, namely, was the the—the latter end of
the world)—besides these, might I not illuminate my pages
with Taylor the Water Poet’s hunting in the braes of Mar, where

 

Through heather, mosse, ’mong frogs, and bogs, and fogs,
’Mongst craggy cliffs and thunder-battered hills,

Hares, hinds, bucks, roes, are chased by men and dogs,
Where two hours hunting fourscore fat deer kills.

Lowland, your sports are lowasis your seat;
The Highland games and minds are high and great.

But without further tyranny over my readers, or display of
the extent of my own reading, I shall content myself with bor-
rowing a single incident from the memorable hunting at Lude,
commemorated in the ingenious Mr. Gunn’s Essay on the
Caledonian Harp, and so proceed in my story with all the
brevity that my natural style of composition, partaking of what
scholars call the periphrastic and ambagitory, and the vulgar
the circumbendibus, will permit me.

Phe solemn hunting was delayed, from various causes, for
about three weeks. The interval was spent by Waverley with
great satisfaction at Glennaquoich ; for the impression which
Flora had made on his mind at their first meeting grew daily
stronger. — She was precisely the character to fascinate a youth
of romantic imagination. Her manners, her language, her tal-
ents for poetry and music, gave additional and varied influence
to her eminent personal charms. Even in her hours of gayety

. . 1 . — ~ oe )
she was in his fancy exalted above the ordinary daughters of
Eve, and seemed only to stoop for an instant to those topics

‘ L
of amusement and gallantry which others appeared to live
for. In the neighborhood of this enchantress, while sport:
consumed the morning, and music and the dance led on the

< fetter rN = x Mie i -laArtr ar. ant 1 ; 1
hours of evening, Way erley became daily more delighted with
his hospitable landlord, and more enamored of his bewitching
sister.

At length the period fixed for the grand hunting arrived,
and Waverley and the Chieftain departed for the place of ren-
dezvous, which was a day’s journey to the northward of Glen-
naquoich. Fergus was attended on this occasion by about
three hundred of his clan, well armed, and accoutred in their
best fashion. Waverley complied so far with the custom ofTT
Dai leah
iNet Wit Ait}
Alt
y Wii

:
S
4
fn
3
&

ewer Teter sty le Cees

Amati biees vere

ae

antesaWAVERLEY. 129
the country as to adopt the trews (he could not be reconciled
to the kilt), brogues and bonnet, as the fittest dress for the ex-
ercise in which he was to be ¢ engaged, and which least exposed
him to be stared at as a stranger when they should reach the
place of rendezvous. They found, on the spot appointed,
several powerful Chiefs, to all of whom W averley was formally

presented, and by all cordially suhaal nee Their vassals and

clansmen, a part of whose feudal duty it was to attend on these
parties, appeared in such numbers as amounted to a small
army. ‘These active assistants spread through the country far
and near, forming a circle, tec shnically called the tinchel, which,
gradually closing, drove the deer in herds together toward the
glen where the Chiefs and _pri ciple sportsmen lay in wait for
them. In the meanwhile, a se distinguished personages bivou-
acked among the Lorene heath, wra ipped 1 up in their plaids; a
mode of passing a summer’s night which Wav etley found by no
means unpleasant.

For many hours after sunrise, the mountain ridges and
passes retained their ordinary appearance of silence and soli-
tude, and the Chiefs, with their followers, amused themselves
with various pastimes, in which the joys of the shell, as Ossian
has it, were not forgotte n. “Others apart sate on a hill re-
tired ; ” probably as deeply e ngaged in the discussion of poli-
tics and news, as Milton’s spirits in metaphysical disquisition.
At length signals f the approach of the game were descried
and heard. ~ Distant shouts resounded from valley to valley, as
the various parties of Highlanders, climbing rocks, struggling
though copses, wading brooks, and traversing thickets, ap-
proached more and more near to each other, and aoe the
astonished deer, with the other wild animals t that fled before
them, into a narrower circuit, Every now and then the report
of muskets was heard, repeated by a gece d echoes. The
baying of the dogs was soon added to the c horus, which grew
ever louder and more loud. At length the advanced parties of
the deer began to show themselves, ‘and as the stragglers came
bounding down the pass by two or three at a time, the Chiefs
showed their skill by disti nguishing the fattest deer, and their
dexterity in bringing them “dow n with their guns. Fergus ex-
hibited remarkable adduéaei and Edward was also so fortunate
as to attract the notice and applause of the sportsmen.

But now the main body of the deer appeared at the head of
the glen, compelled into a very narrow compass, and presenting
such a formidable e phalanx, that their antlers appeared at a dis.
tance over the ridge of the steep pass like a leafless grove.
Their number was very great, and from a desperate stand which

P

%
CS a ee wane

  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
    
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
   
  
   
     
    
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 

errs he retirees rss

BPMOeer oT Th Tet eee Steae io ee

ae

130 WAVERLEY.

they made, with the tallest of the red-deer stags arranged
in front in a sort of a battle array, gazing on the group which
barred their passage down the glen,the more experienced sports:
men began to augerdanger. ‘The work of destruction, however
now commenced on all sides. Dogs and hunters were at work,
and muskets and fusees resounded from every quarter. ‘The
deer, driven to desperation, made at length a fearful charge
right upon the spot where the more distinguished sportsmen
nad taken their stand. The word was given in Gaelic to fling
themselves upon their faces ; but Waverley, on whose English
ears the signal was lost, had almost fallen a sacrifice to his ig-
norance of the ancient language in which it was communicated.
Fergus, observing his danger, sprung up and pulled him with
violence to the ground, just as the whole herd broke down upon
them. ‘The tide being absolutely irresistible, and wounds from
the stag’s horn highly dangerous,* the activity of the Chieftain
may be considered, on this occasion, as having saved his guest’s
life. He detained him with a firm grasp until the whole herd
of deer had fairly run over them. Waverley then attempted to
rise, but found that he had suffered several very severe contu-
sions, and upon a further examination discovered that he had
sprained his ankle violently.

This checked the mirth of the meeting, although the High-
landers, accustomed to such incidents, and prepared for them,
had suffered no harm themselves. A wigwam was erected
almost in an instant, where Edward was deposited on a couch
of heather. The surgeon, or he who assumed the office, ap-
peared to unite the characters of a leech and aconjurer. He
was an old smoke-dried Highlander, wearing a venerable gray
beard, and having for his sole garment a tartan frock, the skirts
of which descended to the knee, and, being undivided in front
made the vestment serve at once for a doublet and breeches.®
He observed great ceremony in approaching Edward ; and
though our hero was writhing with pain, would not proceed to
any operation which might assuage it until he had perambu-
lated his couch three times moving from east to west, accord-
ing to the course of the sun. This, which was called making
the deasz/, *’ both the leech and the assistants seemed to consider
as a matter of the last importance to be accomplishment of a
cure ; and Waverley, whom pain rendered incapable of expos-
tulation, and who indeed saw no chance of its being attended to,
submitted in silence.

After this ceremony was duly performed, the old Esculapius
let his patient’s blood with a cupping-glass with great dexterity,
and proceeded, muttering all the while to himself in Gaelic, to"AVERLEY. T3t
boil upon the fire certain herbs, with which he compounded an
embrocation. He then fomented the parts which had sustained
ey, never failing to murmur prayers or spells, which of the
vo Waverley coul | not distinguish, as his ears only caught the
Movds Gasper-Milchior- Balthazar- “MAX-fPraxfax, and similar gib-
berish. The fomentation hada speedy effect in alleviating the
pain and swelling, which our hero imputed to the virtue of the
herbs, or the effect of the chafing, but co was by the bystand-
ers unanimously ascribed to the spells with which the operation
had been accompanied. Edward was given to understand, that
not one of the ingredients had been gathered except during the
full moon, and that the herbalist had, while coleadae them,
uniformly recited a charm, which, in English, ran thus :

Hail to thee, thou holy herb,
That sprung on holy ground!
All in the Mount Olivet

First wert thou found

Thou art boot for many a bruise,
And healest many a wound :

In our Lady’s blessed name,

I take thee from the ground.

Edward observed, with some surprise, that even Fergus,
notwithstanding his knowledge and education, seemed to fall
in with the superstitious ideas of his countrymen, either be-
cause he deemed it impolitic to affect scepticism on a matter
of general belief, or more probably because, like most men who
do not think deeply or accurately on such subjects, he had in
his mind a reserve of superstition which balanced the freedom
of his expressions and practice upon other occasions. Waver-
ley made no commentary, therefore, on the manner of the
treatment, but rewarded the professor of medicine with a
liberality beyond the utmost conception of his wildest hopes.
He uttered, on the occasion, so many incoherent blessings in
Gaelic and English, that Mac-Ivor rather scandalized at the
excess of his acknowledgments, cut them short, by exclaiming,
Ceud mile mhalloich ort! i.e., “A hundred thousand curses
on you!” and so pushed the helper of men out of the cabin.

Aiter Waverley was left aise the exhaustion of the pain and
fatigue—for the whole day’s exercise had been severe—threw
him into a profound, but yet a feverish sleep, which he chiefly
owed to an opiate draught administered by the old High
lander, from some decoction of herbs in his pharmacopceia.

Early next morning, the purpose of their meeting being
over, and their sports damped by the untoward accident, in
which Fergus and all his friends expressed the greatest sym-

Reins tret tis132 WAVERLEY.

pathy, it became a question how to dispose of the disabled
sportsman. ‘This was settled by M Tac- hah who had a litter
prepared, of “ birch and hazel-gray,’’ * which was borne by his
people with such caution and cat as renders it not im-
probable that they may have been the ancestors of some of
those sturdy Gael, who have now the happiness to transport
the belles of Edinburgh in their sedan-chairs, to ten routs in
one evening. When Edward was elevated up yon their shoul-
cers, he could not hi elp being gratified with the romant ic effect
produced by the breaking up of this sylvan camp.”

The various tribes assembled, each at the pibroch of their
native clan, and each headed by their patiarchal ruler. Some,
who had already begun to retire, where seen winding up the
hills, or descending the passes which led to the scene o 5 action,
the sound of their bagpipes dying upon theear. Others made
still a moving poe uy 9on the narrow plain, forming various
changeful groups, their feathers and loose plaids waving in the
morning eee and their arms glitterin: g in the rising sun.

Most of the chi

>
b

came to ag farewell of Waverley, and to
express their anxious hope ey ee ee and speedily,
meet ; but the care of Fergus d the ceremony of taking
leave. At length, his own men beanie com] le tely assembled
and mustered, Mac-Ivor cammenced his march, but not tow-
ard the quarter from which they had come. He gave Edward
to understand that the greater part of his followers, now
on the field, were bound on a distant expedition, and that when
he had deposited him in the house of a gentleman, who he was
sure would pay him every attention, he himself should be under
the necessity of accompanying them the greater part of the
way, but would lose no time in rejoining his friend.

Waverley was rather surprised that Fergus had not men-
tioned this ulterior destination when they set out upon the
hunting-party; but his situation did not admit of many inter-
rogatories. The greater part of the clansmen went forward
under the guidance of old Ballenkeiroch, and Evan Dhu Mac-
combich, apparently in high spirits. A few remained for the
purpose of escorting the Chieftain, who walked by the side of
Edward’s litter, and attended him with the most affectionate
assiduity. About noon, after a journey which the nature of
the conveyance, the pain of his bruises, and the roughness of
the way, rendered ely painful, Waverley was hospi-
tably received into the house of a gentleman related to F ergus,
who had prepared for him every accommodation which the
simple habits of living then universal in the Hi a lands, put in
his power. In this person, an old man about seventy, Edward

¢
]
|

oO
S
eyWAVERLEY. 133

admired a relic of primitive simplicity. He wore no dress but
what his estate afforded; the cloth was the fleece of his own
sheep, woven by his own servants, and stained into tartan by
the dyes produced from the herbs and lichens of the hills
around him. His linen was spun by his daughters and maid-
servants, from his own flax, nor did his table, though plentiful,
and varied with game and fish, offer an article but what was of
native produce.

Claiming himself no rights of clanship or vassalage, he was
fortunate in the alliance and protection of Vich Ian Vohr, and
other bold and enterprising chieftains, who protected him in
the quiet unambitious life he loved, It is true, the youth born
on his grounds were often enticed to leave him for the service
of his more active friends ; but a few old servants and tenants
used to shake their gray locks when they heard their master
censured for want of spirit, and observed, “* When the wind is
still, the shower falls soft.” This good old man, whose charity
and hospitality were unbounded, would have received Waver-
ley with kindness, had he been the meanest Saxon peasant,
since his situation required assistance. But his attention to a
friend and guest of Vich Ian Vohr was anxious and unremitted.
Other embrocations were applied to the injured limb, and new
spells were put in practice. At length, after more solicitude
chan was perhaps for the advantage of his health, Fergus took
farewell of Edward for a few days, when, he said, he would
return to Tomanrait, and hoped by that time Waverley would
be able to ride one of the Highland ponies of his landlord, and
‘n that manner return to Glennaquoich.

The next day, when his good old host appeared, Edward
learned that his friend had departed with the dawn, leaving
none of his followers except Callum Beg, the sort of foot-page
who used to attend his person, and who had it now in charge to
wait upon Waverley. On asking his host if he knew where
the Chieftain was gone, the old man looked fixedly at him,
with something mysterious and sad in the smile which was his
only reply. Waverley repeated his question, to which his host
answered in a proverb,—

€
x
l

What sent the messengers to hell,

r : 1 cy 5
Was asking what they knew full well.

He was about to proceed, but Callum Beg said, rather
pertly as Edward thought, that “ Ta Tighearnach (ze, the
Chief) did not like ta Sassenagh Duinhé-wassel to be pingled
wi’ mickle speaking, as she was na tat weel.” From this Wa:
verley concluded he should disoblige his friend by inquiring ofWAVERLEY.

a stranger the object of a journey, which he himself had not
communicated.

It is unnecessary to trace the progress of our hero’s re
covery. The sixth morning had arrived, and he was able to
walk about with a staff, when Fergus returned with about a
score of his men. He seemed in the highest spirits, congratu-
lated Waverley on his progress toward recovery, and finding
he was able to sit on horseback, proposed their immediate
return to Glennaquoich. Waverley joyfully acceded, for the
form of its fair mistress had lived in his dreams during all the
time of his confinement.

Now he has ridden o’er moor and moss,
O’er hill and many a glen,

Fergus all the while, with his myrmidons, striding stoutly by
his side, or diverging to get a shot at a roe or a heath-cock.
Waverley’s bosom beat thick when they approached the old
tower of Ian nan Chaistel, and could distinguish the fair form
of its mistress advancing to meet them.

Fergus began immediately, with his usual high spirits, to
exclaim, ‘Open your gates, incomparable princess, to the
wounded Moor Abindarez, whom Rodrigo de Narvez, constable
of Antiquera, conveys to your castle ; or open them, if you like
it better, to the renowned Marquis of Mantua, the sad attend-
ant of his half-slain friend, Baldovinos of the mountain.—Ah,
long rest to thy soul, Cervantes! without quoting thy remnants,
how should I frame my language to befit romantic ears!” *

Flora now advanced, and welcoming Waverley with much
kindness, expressed her regret for his accident, of which she had
already heard the particulars, and her surprise that her brother
should not have taken better care to puta stranger on his
guard against the perils of the sport in which he engaged him.
Edward easily exculpated the Chieftain, who, indeed, at his
own personal risk, had probably saved his life.

This greeting over, Fergus said three or four words to his
sister in Gaelic. ‘The tears instantly sprung to her eyes, but
they seemed to be tears of devotion and joy, for she looked up
to Heaven, and folded her hands as in a solemn expression of
prayer or gratitude. After the pause of a minute, she pre-
sented to Edward some letters which bad been forwarded from
Tully-Veolan during his absence, and, at the same time, de-
livered some to her brother. ‘To the latter she likewise gave
three or four numbers of the Caledonian Mercury, the only
newspaper which was then published to the north of the
Tweed,

* See Lon Ourxote,WAVERLEY. I2c

35

Both gentlemen retired to examine their dispatches, and

Edward speedily found that those which he had received con-
tained matters of very deep interest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH.
NEWS FROM ENGLAND.

THE letters which Waverley had hitherto received from his

relations in England, were not such as required any particular

ce

notice in this narrative. His father usually wrote to him with
dy

the pompous affectation of one who was too much oppressed |
public affairs to find leisure to attend to those of his own family.
Now and then he mentioned persons of rank in Scotland to
whom he wished his son should pay some attention ; but Waver-
ley, hitherto occupied by the amusements which he had found
at Tully-Veolan and Glennaquoich, dispensed with paying any
attention to hints so coldly thrown out, especially as distance,
shortness ot leave of absence, and so forth, furnished a ready
apology. But latterly the burden of Mr. Richard Waverley’s
paternal epistles consisted in certain mysterious hints of great-
1ess and his influence which he was speedily to attain, and which
would insure his son’s obtaining the most rapid promotion
should he remain in the military service. Sir Everard’s letters
were of a different tenor. They were short; for the good
Baronet was none of your illimitable correspondents, whose
manuscript overflows the folds of their large post paper, and
leaves no room for the seal; but they were kind and affection
ate, and seldom concluded without some allusion to our hero’s
stud, some question about the state of his purse, and a
special inquiry after such of his recruits as had preceded him
from Waverley-Honour. Aunt Rachel charged him to remem
ber his principles of religion, to take care of his health, to
beware of Scotch mists, which, she had heard, would wet a1
Englishman through and through; never to go out at night
without his great-coat ; and, above all, to wear flannel next to
his skin.

Mr. Pembroke only wrote to our hero one letter, but it was
of the bulk of six epistles of these degenerate days, contain-
ing, in the moderate compass of ten folio pages, closely written,
a précis of a supplementary quarto manuscript of addenda,
delenda, et corrigenda, in reference to the two tracts with which
he had presented Waverley. This he considered as a mereWAVERLEY.

sop in the pan to stay the appetite of Edward’s curiosity, until
he should find an opportunity of sending down the volume
itself, which was much too heavy for the post, and which he
proposed to accompany with certain interesting pamphlets,
lately published by his friend in Little Britain, with whom
he had kept up a sort of literary correspondence, in virtue of
which the library shelves of Waverley-Honour were loaded
with much trash, and a good round bill, seldom summed in
fewer than three figures, was yearly transmitted, in which Sir
Edward Waverley of Waverley-Honour, Bart., was marked Dr.
to Jonathan Grubbet, bookseller and stationer, Little Britain.
Such had hitherto been the style of the letters which Edward
had received from England; but the packet delivered to him
at Glennaquoich was of a different and more interesting com-
plexion. It would be impossible for the reader, even were I
to insert the letters at full length, to comprehend the real
cause of their being written, without a glance into the interior
of the British Cabinet at the period in question.

The Ministers of the day happened (no very singular event)
to be divided into two parties ; the weakest of which, making up
by assiduity of intrigue their inferiority in real consequence,
had of late acquired some new proselytes, and with them the
hope of superseding their rivals in the favor of their sovereign,
and overpowering them in the House of Commons. Amongst
others, they had thought it worth while to practice upon Rich-
ard Waverley. This honest gentleman, by a grave myste-
rious demeanor, an attention to the etiquette of business,
rather more than to its essence, a facility in making long dull
speeches, consisting of truisms and common-places, hashed up
with a technical jargon of office, which prevented the inanity
of his orations from being discovered, had acquired a certain
name and credit in public life, and even established with many
the character of a profound politician; none of your shining
orators, indeed, whose talents evaporate in tropes of rhetoric
and flashes of wit, but one possessed of steady parts for busi-
ness, which would wear well, as the ladies say in choosing
their silks, and ought in all reason to be good for common and
every-day use, since they were confessedly formed of no holi-
day texture.

This faith had become so general, that the insurgent party
in the Cabinet of which we have made mention, after sounding
Mr. Richard Waverley, were so satisfied with his sentiments
and abilities, as to propose, that, in case of a certain revolu:
tion in the ministry, he should take an ostensible place in the
new order of things, not indeed of the very first rank, butWAVEARERY. E37

greatly higher, in point both of emolument and influence, than
that which he now enjoyec There was no resisting so tempt:
ing a proposal, notwilt thstandit ig that the Great Man, under
whose patronage he had enlisted, and by whose banner he had
hitherto stood firm, was the principle object of the proposed

OC.

oon

attack by the new allies. Unfortunately, this fair scheme of
ambition was blighted in the very bud, by a premature move
ment. All the official gentlemen concerned in it, who a eee
to take the part of a voluntary resignation, were informed tha
the king had no further occasion for their services; and, n
Richard Waverley’s case, which the minister considered as ag-
gravated by ingratitude, dismissal was accompanied by some-
thing like SateonAl contempt and contumely. The public, and
even the party of whom he shared the fall, sympathized little
in the disappointment of this selfish and interested statesman;
and he retired to the country under the comfortable reflection,
that he had lost, at the same time, character, credit, and,—
what he at least equ: lly d deplored »—emolument.

Richard Waverley’s let tter to his son upon this occasion was
a masterpiece of its kind. Aristides himself could not have
made out a harder case. An unjust monarch, and an ungrate-
ful country, were the burden of each rounded paragraph. He
spoke of long services, and unrequited sacrifices, though the
former had been overpaid by his salary, and nobody could
guess in what the latter consisted, un less 1t were in his desert:
ing, not from conviction, but for the lucre of gain, the tory
principles of his family. In the acre sion, his resentment
was wrought to such an excess by the force of his own oratory,
that he could not repress some threats of vengeance, however
vague and impotent, and finally acquainted his son with his
pleasure that he should testify his sense of the ill-treatment he
had sustained, by throwing up his commission as soon as the
letter reached him. ‘This, he said, was also his uncle’s desire,
as he would himself intimate in due course.

Accordingly, the next letter which Edward opened, was
from Sir Everard. His brother’s disgrace seemed to have re-
moved from his well-natured bosom all recollection of their
differences; and remote as he was from every means of learn-
ing that Richard’s disgrace was in reality only the just, as
well as natural consequence of his own unsuccessful intrigues,
the good, but credulous Baronet, at once set it down as a new
and enormous instance of the injustice of the existing govern-
ment. It was true, he said, and i must not disguise it ev
from Edward, that his father could not have sustained ntehe an
insult as was now for the first time, offered to one of his house,

  
 
 
   
     
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
    
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
    
 
   
    
 
 
  
  
    
 

ReserSR ee

SA

WAVERLEY.

unless he had subjected himself to it by accepting of an em
ployment under the present system. Sir Everard had no
doubt that he now both saw and felt the magnitude of this
error, and it should be his (Sir Everard’s) business to take
care that the cause of his regret should not extend itself to
pecuniary consequences. It was enough for a Waverley to have
sustained the public disgrace; the patrimonial iujury could
easily be obviated by the head of their family. But it was
both the opinion of Mr. Richard Waverley and his own, that
Edward, the representative of the family of Waverley-Honour,
should not remain in a situation which subjected him also to
such treatment as that with which his father had been stigma-
tized. He requested his nephew therefore to take the fittest,
and, at the same time, the most speedy opportunity, of
transmitting his resignation to the War-Office, and hinted,
moreover, that little ceremony was necessary where so little
had been used to his father. He sent multitudinous greetings
to the Baron of Bradwardine.

A letter from Aunt Rachel spoke out even more plainly.
She considered the disgrace of brother Richard as the just re-
ward of his forfeiting his allegiance to a lawful though exiled
sovereign, and taking the oaths to an alien; a concession which
her grandfather, Sir Nigel Waverley, refused to make, either to
the Round-head Parliament or to Cromwell, when his life and
fortune stood in the utmost extremity. She hoped her dear
Edward would follow the footsteps of his ancestors, and as
speedy as possible get rid of the badge of servitude to the
usurping family, and regard the wrongs sustained by his father
as an admonition from Heaven, that every desertion of the line
of loyalty becomes its own punishment. She also concluded
with her respects to Mr. Bradwardine, and begged Waverley
would inform her whether his daughter, Miss Rose, was old
enough to wear a pair of very handsome earrings, which she
proposed to send as a token of her affection. The good lady
also desired to be informed whether Mr. Bradwardine took as
much Scotch snuff, and danced as unweariediy, as he did when
he was at Waverley-Honour about thirty years ago.

These letters, as might have been expected, highly excited
Waverley’s indignation. From the desultory style of his
studies, he had not any fixed political opinion to place in op-
position to the movements of indignation which he felt as his
father’s supposed wrongs. Of the real cause of his disgrace
Edward was totally ignorant; nor had his habits at all led him
to investigate the politics of the period in which he lived, or
remarked the intrigues in which his father had been so actively

CCWAVE LOL IDM 139
engaged. Indeed, any impre ssions which he had accidentally
adopted concerning the parties of the times, were (owing to the
society in which he had lived at W averley-Honour) of a nature
rather unfavorable to the existing goverhment and dynasty.
He entered, therefore, without hesitation, into the resentful
teeling of the relations who had the best title to dictate his
conduct : and not perhaps the less willi ngly, yes he remem-
pered the tedium of his ee rs, and the inferior figure which

he had made aes the of rs of his regiment. Lf he

oubt u pon sks subject, it would have been de
cided by ee a sowing letter from his comm: inding officer,
which, as it is very short, shall be inserted verbatim :

could
Nave had any
J

TRY
“Having carried somewhat beyond the line
indulgence which even the lights of nature, and much more
those of Christianity,  . toward errors which may arise

from youth aes lexperience, and that altogether without effect,
[ am reluctant] compe elled, at

the present crisis, to use the
only rian e iacas which is in my power.
tore, hereby commanded to repaint: t6-—=* the headquarters
of the regiment, within three days after the date of this letter
If you shall fail to do so, I must report you to the War-Office
as absent without leave and also take other steps, which will
he disagreeable to you, as well as to, Sir
“Your obedient Servant,
“J. GARDINER, Lieut.-Col.
“ Commanding the

of my duty an

You are, there-

 

2 1 To Ot tS 99
Regt. Dragoons.

Edward’s blood boiled within him as he read this letter.
He had been accustomed from his very infancy to possess, in
a great measure, the ausnorel of his own time, and thus ac-
quired habits which rendered the rules of military discipline as
unpleasing to him in this as they were in some other respects
An idea that in his own case they would not be enforced ina
very rigid manner had also obtained full possession of his
mind, and had hitherto been sanctioned by the indulgent con-
duct. of his lieutenant-colonel. Neither had anything occurred,
to his knowledge, that should have ee his comm a
officer, without any other warning than the hints we noticed ;
the end of the fourteenth ch: upter, so sudde nae to assume a
harsh, bbe as E ‘dward deemed it, so insolent a tone of dicta-
torial authority. Connecting it with the letters he had j just re
ceived from his family, he could ee but suppose ae It Was

  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
   
   
   
  
  
 
    
  
     
        
   
     
  
 
 
 
    
 
 
  
    
 
  
   
  
   
   
     
     
  
  
  
  
  
   

Per SextetWAVERLEY.

designed to make him fee , in his present situation, the same
pressure of authority which had been exercised in his father’s
case, and that the whole was a concertec d scheme to depress

and degrade every member of the Waverley yee
ie ee a pause, therefore, Edward wrote a few cold lines,

x his lieuten: ant-colonel for past salts and expressing
should have chosen to efface the remembrance of

by assuming a different tone toward him. The strain
of his letter, as well as what he (Edward) conceived to be his
isis, called upon him to lay down his
and he therefore enclosed the formal resignation
of a situation which subjected _ to so unpleasant a corre-
spondence, and requested Colonel Gardiner would have the
goodness to forward it to the proper authorities.

Having finished this magnani mous epistle, he felt somewhat
uncertain concerning the terms in which his resign: ation ought
to be expressed, upon which subject he reso ved to consult
Fergus Mac-Ivor. It may be observe -d, in passing, that the
bold and prompt habits s of thinking, acting, and speaking,
which distinguished this young Chieftain, had given him a
considerable ascendancy over the mind 5 Waverley. En-
dowed with at least equal powers of understanding, and with
much finer genius, Edward yet stooped to the bold and deci
sive activity of an intellect which was sharpened by the habit
of acting on a preconceived and regular system, as well as by

-]

 

 
 

extensive knowledge of this world.

When Edward found his friend, the latter had still in his
hand the newspaper which he had perused, and advanced to
meet him with the embarrassment of one who has unpleasing
news to communicate. “Do your letters, Captain Waverley
confirm the unpleasing il formation that I find in this paper?”

He put the paper into his hand, where his father’s disgrace
was registered in the most bitter terms, transferred probably
from some London journal. At the end of the paragr aph was
this remarkable innuendo :

We understand that ‘this same Richard who hath done all
this, isnot the only example of the 7 (avering Honour of W-v-r-ly
H-n-r. See the Gazette of this day.

With hurried and feverish apprehension our hero turned to
the place referred to, and found therein recorded, “ Edward
Waverley, captain in——regiment dragoons, superseded for
absence without leave ;’’ and in the list of military promotions,
referring to the same regiment, he discovered this further ar-
ticle, “ Lieut. Julius Butler, to be captain, vice Edward Waver-
ley, superseded,”WAVERLEY. r4t

Our hero’s bosom glowed with the resentment which unde:
served and apparently premeditated insult was calculated to
exite in the bosom of one who had aspired after honor, and
was thus wantonly held up to public scorn and disgrace. Upon
comparing the date of his colonel’s letter pith that of the article
in the Gazette, he perceived that his threat of making a report
upon his absence had been literally fulfilled, and without inquiry,
as it seemed, whether Edward had either received his summons,
or was disposed to comply with it. The whole, therefore, ap-
peared a formed plan to degrade him e the eyes of the public
and the idea of its having succeeded filled him with such bitter
emotions, that, after various panne to conceal them, he a
length threw himself into Mac-Ivor’s arms, and gave vent to
tears of shame and indignation.

It was none of this Chieftain’s faults to be indifferent to the
wrongs of his friends; and for Edward, aoe of certain
plans with which he was connected, he felt a deep and sincere

iriterest: ~ Dhe proceed ing appeared as extraordinary to him as
it had done to Bawatds He indeed knew of more motives than

the peremptory order that he should
join his regiment. But that, without further inquiry into the
circumstances of a necessary delay, the « commanding « officer, in
contradiction to his known and established character, should
have proceeded in so harsh and unusual a manner, was a mys-
tery which he could not penetrate. He soothed our hero,
however, to the best of his power, and be gan to turn his thoughts
on revenge for his insulted honor.

Edward eagerly grasped at the idea. “ Will you carry a
message for me to Colonel Gardiner, my dear Fergus, and
oblige me forever?”

Fergus paused. ‘“ Itis an act of friendship which you should
command, could it be useful, or lead to the righting your honor ;
but in the present case, I doubt if your commanding officer
would give you the meeting, on account of his having taken
measures, which, however harsh and exasperating, were still
within strict bounds of his duty. Besides, Gardiner is a pre
cise Huguenot, and has adopted certain ideas about the sinft iL
ness of such rencontres from which it would be impossible to
make him depart, especially as his courage is beyond all sus-
picion. And besides, I—1I, to say the truth—I dare not at this
moment, for some very weighty reasons, go near any of the
military quarters or garrisons belonging to this government.”

“ And am I,” said Waverley, “to sit down quiet and con:
tented under the injury I have received? ”
“That will

Ree Bg oo eek oe ee es fo
"\ averiey Was privy tO for U

]
1

7

I never advise, my friend,” replied Mac-Ivor.142 WAVERLEY.

£

‘‘ But I would have vengeance to fall on the head not on the

hand; on the tyra nical and oppressive government which
designed and See these premeditated and reiterated insults,
not on the tools of office which they employed in the execution
of the ee they aimed at you.”

“On the gove ernment!” said Waverley.

“Yes,” replied the impetuous Highlander, “on the usurp-
mg’ house of eEnees whom your grandfather would no more
have served than he would have taken w ages of red-hot gold
from the great fiend of hell!”

“But since the time of my grandfather two generations of
this dynasty have possessed the throne,” said E ‘dward , coolly.

“True,” replied the Chieftain; “and because we have
passively given them so long the means of showing their native
pe pzactens because both you and I myself have lived in quiet
submission, have even truckled to the times so far as to accept
commissions under them, and thus have given them an opportu-
nity of disgracing us publicly by resuming them, are we not on
that account to resent injuries which our fathers only appre-
hended, but which we have actually sustained? Or is the cause
of the unfortunate Stuart family become less just because their
title has devolved upon an heir who is innocent of the charges
of misgovernment brought against his father ?—Do you remem-
ber the lines of your favorite poet ?—

Had Richard unconstrained resigned the throne,
A king can give no more than is his own;

The title stood entailed had Richard had a son.

You see, my dear Waverley, I can quote poetry as well as Flora
and you. But come, clear your moody brow, and trust to me
to show you an honorable road toa s peedy and glorious revenge
Let us seek Flora, who, perhaps, ae more news to tell us “of
what has occurred during our absence. She will rejoice to hear
that you are relieved of your servitude. But first add a post-
script to your letter, marking the time when you received this
calvinistical Colonel’s first summons, and express your regret
that the hastiness of his proceedings prev ented your anticipat-
ing them by sending your resignation. Then let him blush for
his injustice.”

The letter was sealed accordingly, covering a formal resig-
ee of the commission, and Mac-Ivor de spatched i it with some
letters of his own by a special messenger, with charge to put
mee into the nearest post-office in the Lowlands,WAVERLEY,

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH.
AN ECLAIRCISSEMENT.

Tue hint which the Chieftain had thrown out respecting
Flora was not unpremeditated. He had observed with great
satisfaction the growing attachment of Waverley to his sister,
nor did he see any bar to their union, excepting the situation
which Waverley’s father held in the ministry, and Edward’s own
commission in the army of George II. These obstacles were
now removed, and in a manner which apparently paved the way
for the son’s becoming reconciled to another allegiance. In
every other respect the match would be most eligible. The
safety, happiness, and honorable provision of his sister, whom
he dearly loved, appeared to be insured by the proposed union 5
and his heart swelled when he considered how his own interest
would be exasted in the eyes of the ex-monarch to whom he had
dedicated his service, oy an alliance with one of those ancient,
powerful, and wealthy E nglish families of the steady cav alier
faith, to awaken whose > decayec d attachment to the Stuart family
was now a matter of such vital importance to the Stuart cause.
Nor could Fergus perceive any obstacle to such a scheme.
Waverley’s attachment was evident; and as his person was
handsome, and his taste apparent tly coincided with her own, he
anticipated no opposition on the part of Flora. Indeed, be-
tween his ideas of patriarchal power, and those which he had
acquired in France respecting the disposal of females in mar-
riage, any opposition from his sister, dear as she was to him,
would have been the last obstacle on which he would have cal-
culated, even had the union been less eligible.

Influenced by these feelings, the C hief now led Waverley
in quest of Miss Mac-Ivor, not without the hope that the pres-
ent agitation of his guest’s spirits might give him courage to
cut short what Fergus termed the romance of the courtship.
Ai hey found Flora, with her faithful attendants, Una and Cath-
leen, busied in preparing what appeared to Waverley to be white
bridal favors. Disguising as well as he could the agitation ol
his mind, Waverley masked for what joyful occasion Miss Mac-
Ivor made such ample preparation.

“Tt is for Fergus’s bridal,” she said, smiling. ,

“Indeed!” said Edward ; “he has kept his secret well. I
hope he will allow me to be his bride’ s-man.”Choon hin ghia ss os Side ee

as

444 WAVERLEY.

“That is a man’s office, but not yours, as Beatrice says,”
retorted Flora.

“ And who is the fair lady, may I be permitted to ask, Miss
Mac-Ivor?”’

“Did I not tell you long since, that Fergus wooed no bride
but Honor ?” answered Flora.

“ And am I then incapable of being his assistant and coun-

sellor in the pursuit of Honor?” said our hero, coloring deeply.
“Do I rank so low in your opinion?”

“ Far from it Captain W averley. I would to God you wer
of our le Connon ! and made use of the expression which
displeased you, solely

Because you are not of our quality,
But stand against us as an enemy.”

“That time is passed, sister,” said Fergus ; “and you may
wish Edward Waverley (no longer captain) joy of being freed
from the slavery to an usurper, implied in that sable and ill
omened emblem.”

“Yes,” said Waverley, undoing the cc pcnpes from his hat,
“it has pleased the king who bestowed ae s ba ‘ge upon me to
resume it in a manner which leaves me lit reason to regret
his service.”

“ Thank God for that!” cried the enthusiast ; ‘and O that
they may be blind enough to trea every man of honor who
serves them with the same indignity, that I may have less to
sigh for when the struggle ay yproac .ches | ” :

““ And now, sister,”’ said the Chi afte ain, “‘ replace his cockade
with one of amore lively color. I think it was the fashion of
the ladies of yore to arm and send forth flict knights to high
achievement.” f

“Not,” replied the lady, “ till the knight adventurer had
well weighed the justice and the danger of the cause, Fergus.
Mr. Waverley is just now too much agitated by feelings of
recent emotion, for me to press upon him a resolution of con-
sequences.”

Waverley felt half-alarmed at the thoughts of adopting the
badge of what was by the majority of the kit edom esteemed
rebellion, yet he could not diseuise his chagrin at the coldness
with which Flora parried her brother’s Aine “Miss Mac-Ivor
I perceive, thinks the knight unworthy of her encouragement
and favor,” said he, somewhat bitterly, .

: a ee pe eee pice Wath ores) ea
y brother’s value end a boon which
Iam distributing to his whole clan? Most willingly would I

|
L
ify

ceet
WAVERLEY. 148
enlist every man of honor in the cause to which my brother has
devoted himself. But Fergus has taken his measures with his
eyes open. His life has been devoted to this cause from his
cradle ; with him its call is sacred, were it even a summons
to the tomb. But how can I wish you, Mr. Waverley, so
new to the world, so far from every friend who might advise and
ought to influence you-—in a moment too of sudden pique and
indignation-—how can I wish you to plunge yourself at once
into so desperate an enterprise ?”

Fergus, who did not understand these delicacies, strode
through the apartment biting his lip, and then, with a con-
strained smile, said, “ Well, sister, I leave you to act your new
character of mediator between the Elector of Hanover and the
subjects of your lawful sovereign and benefactor,” and left the
room.

There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by
Miss Mac-Ivor. ‘ My brother is unjust,” she said, “ because
he can bear no interruption that seems to thwart his loyal
eal

And do you not share his ardor?”’ asked Waverley

‘ Do I not?” answered Flora—"God knows mine excee<
his, if taat be possible. But I am not, like him, rapt by the
bustle of military preparation, and the infinite detail necessary
to the present undertaking, beyond consideration of the grand
principles of justice and truth, on which our enterprise is
grounded ; and these, I am certain, can only be furthered by
measures in themselves true and just. To operate upon your
present feelings, my dear Mr. Waverley, to induce you to an
irretrievable step, of which you have not considered either the
justice or the danger, is, in my poor judgment, neither the one
nor the other.”

“Incomparable Flora!” said Edward, taking her hand ;
how much do J need such a monitor ! ”

A better one by far,” said Flora, gently withdrawing her
hand, * me Waverley will always find in his own bosom, when
he will give its s small still voice leisure to be heard.”

. No “Miss Mac-Ivor, I dare not hope it ; a thousand cir-
cumstances of fatal self-indulgence have made me the creature
rather of imagination than reason. Durst I but hope—could
[ but think—that you would deign to be to me that affectionate,
that condescending friend who would strengthen me to redeem
my errors, my future life”

' “ Hush, my dear sir ! now you Carry your joy at escaping
the hands of a Jacobite recruiting officer to an unparalleled ex.
cess of gratitude.”

:

6s146 WAVERLEY.

«Nay, dear Flora, trifle with me no longer ; you cannot
mistake the meaning of those feelings which I have almost
involuntarily expressed ; and, since I have broken the barrier
of silence, let me profit by my audacity—or may I, with yout
permission, mention to your brother’’———

‘¢ Not for the world, Mr. Waverley ! ”’

“ What am I to understand ? ” said Edward. “ Is there any
fatal bar—has any prepossession ”

“ None, sir,” answered Flora. “ I owe it to myself to say,
that I never yet saw the person on whom I thought with refer
ence to the present subject.”

“The shortness of our acquaintance, perhaps—If Miss Mac-
Ivor will deign to give me time”

“T have not even that excuse. Captain Waverley’s character
is so open—is, in short, of that nature, that it cannot be mis-
construed, either in its strength or its weakness.”

“ And for that weakness you despise me ? ” said Edward.

“ Forgive me, Mr. Waverley—and remember it is but within
this half hour that there existed between us a barrier of a
nature to me insurmountable, since I never could think of an
officer in the service of the Elector of Hanover in any other
tight than as a casual acquaintance. Permit me then to arrange
my ideas upon so unexpected a topic, and in less than an hour
I will be ready to give you such reasons for the resolution I
shall express, as may be satisfactory at least, if not pleasing to
you.” So saying, Flora withdrew, leaving Waverley to meditate
upon the manner in which she had received his addresses.

Ere he could make up his mind whether to believe his
suit had been acceptable or no, Fergus re-entered the apart-
ment. ‘“ What, @ da mort, Waverley?” he cried. “ Come
down with me to the court, and you shall see a sight worth all
the tirades of your romances. An hundred firelocks, and as
many broadswords, Just arrived from good friends ; and two or
three hundred stout fellows almost fighting which shall first
possess them.—But let me look at you closer—Why, a true
Highlander would say you have been blighted by an evil eye.
—Or can it be this silly girl thathas thus blanked your spirit ?
—Never mind her, dear Edward ; the wisest of her sex are
fools in what regards the business of life.”

“Indeed, my good friend,” answered Waverley, “ all that
I can charge against your sister is, that she is too sensible, too
reasonable.”

“Tf that be all, I insure you fora louis dor against the
mood lasting four-and-twenty hours. No woman “was ever
steadily sensible for that period ; and I will engage if thatWAVERLEY.

147
will please you, Flora shall be as unreasonable to-morrow as
any of her sex. You must learn, my dear Edward, to consider
women ¢7” mousquetaire.”’ So saying, he seized Waverl

ey’s arm,
and dragged him off to review his mil

itary preparations.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH.
UPON THE SAME SUBJECT.

Fercus Mac-Ivor had too much tact and del
new the subject which he had interrupted.

appeared to be,

icacy to re-
His head was, or
so full of guns, broadswords, bonnets, can-
teens, and tartan hose, that Waverley could not for some time
draw his attention to any other topic.

“* Are you to take the field so soon, Fergus,” he asked, “ that
you are making all these martial preparations ? ”

“ When we have settled that you go with me, you shall
know all ; bet otherwise the knowledge might rather be preju-
dicial to you.”

“ But are you serious in your purpose, with such inferior
forces, to rise against an established government ?
frenzy.” :

“Laissez farie & Don Antoine—I shall take good care of
myself. We shall at least use the compliment of Conan, who
never got a stroke but he gave one. I would not. however,”
continued the Chieftain, “have you think me mad enough to
stir till a favorable opportunity: I will not slip my dog before
the game’s afoot. But, once more, will you join with us and
you shall know all?”

It is mere

“How can I?” said Waverley: “I, who have so lately
held that commission which is now posting back to those that
gave it? My accepting it implied a promise of fidelity, and an
acknowledgment of the legality of the government.”

‘“ A rash promise,” answered Fergus, ‘is not a steel hand-
cuff; it may be shaken off, especially when it was given under
deception, and has been repaid by insult. But if you cannot
immediately make up your mind to a glorious revenge, go to
England, and ere you cross the Tweed, you will hear tidings
that will make the world ring; and if Sir Everard be the gal-
lant old cavalier I have heard him described by some of our
fonest gentlemen of the year one thousand seven hundred and
fifteen, he will find you a better horse-troop and a better cause
than you have lost.”

  
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
   
   
  
 
 
   
    
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
   

MRO RY

Pcs eer react TERNWAVERLEY.

“ But your sister, Fergus ?”

“Out, hyperbolical fiend !” replied the Chief, laughing;
“how vexest thou this man !—Speakest thou of nothing but of
laGites cay

“Nay, be serious, my dear friend,” said Waverley; “I feel
that the happiness of my future life must depend upon the
answer which Miss Mac-Ivor shall make to what I ventured ta
tell her this morning.”

“And is this your very sober earnest,”’ said Fergus, more
gravely, “or are we in the land of romance and fiction ??

“My earnest undoubtedly. How could you suppose meé
jesting on such a subject?”

“Then in very sober earnest,” answered his friend, ‘‘ I am

ry glad to hear it: and so highly do I think of Flora, that
you are the only man in England for whom I would say so
much.—-But before you shake my hand so warmly, there is
more to be considered.—Your own family—will they approve
your connecting yourself with the sister of a high-born High-

 

land | beggar

ti My unc ae s situation,” sae Waverley, “his general opin-
ions, and his uniform indulgence, entitle me to Say, that birth
and personal qualities are il | he yuk look to in such a con-
nection. And w here can I find both united in such excellence
as in your sister ?”’

“© nowhere !—cela va sans dire,’ replied Fergus with a
smile. ‘“ But your father will expect a father’s prerogative in
being consulted.”

“Surely ; but his late breach with the ruling powers re-
moves all apprehension of objection on his part, especially as I
am convinced that my uncle will be warm in my cause.”

“Religion, perhaps,” said Fergus, “may make obstacles
though we are not bigoted Catholics.”

“My grandmother was of the Church of Rome, and her
religion was never objected to by my family.—Do not think of
my friends, dear Fergus; let me rather have your influence
where it may be more necessary to remove obsta
with your lovely sister.

f My lovely sister,” replied Fergus, “like her loving broth
er, jis Wer apt to have a pretty decisive will of her own, by
which, in this case, you must be ruled; but you shall not want
my interest nor my counsel. And, in the first place, I will
give you one hint—Loyalty is her ruling passion; and since
she could spell an English book, she has been in love with the
memory of the gallant Captain Wogan, who renounced the
service of the usurper Cromwell to join the standard of CharlesWAVERLEY. £49
If., marched a handful of cavalry from London to the High-
lands to join Middleton, then in arms for the king, and at
length died gloriously in the royal cause. Ask her to show
you some verses she made on his history and fate; they have
been mush admired, I assure you. The next point is—I think
I saw Flora go up toward the waterfall a short time since—fol-
low, man, follow !—don’t allow the garrison time to strengthen
its purposes of resistance—Alerte & la mus aille! Seek Flora
out, and learn her decision as soon as you can, and Cupid go
with you while I go to look over belts and cartouch-boxes.”

Waverley ascended the glen with an anxious and throbbing
heart. Love, witl all its romantic train of hopes, fears, and
wishes, was mingled with other feeling of a nature less easily
defined. He could not but remember how much this morning
had changed his fate, and into what a complication of perp lexity
it was likely to plunge him. Sunrise had seen him possessed
of an esteemed rank in the honorable profession of arms,
aa father to all aj ppearances rapidly rising in the favor of his

overeign ;—all this had aah ed away like a dream—he himself

was dickies of his tather disgraced, and he had become
mvoluntarily the confidant at least, if not the accomplice, of
plans, dark, deep, and dangerous, which must either infer the
subversion of the government he had so lately served, or the
destruction of all who had participated in them. Should Flora
even listen to his suit favorably, what prospect was there of
its being brought to a happy termination amid the tumult of an
impending insurrection? Or how could he make the selfish
request that she should leave Fergus, to whom she was so
much attached, and, retiring with him to England, wait as a
distant spectator, the success of her brother’s undertaking, or
the ruin of all his hopes and fortunes !—Or, on the other hand,
to engage himself, with no other aid than his single arm, in the
dangerous and precipitate counsels of the Chieftain,—to be
whirled along by him, the partaker of all his sie and
impetuous motions, renouncing almost the power of judging, or
feciding upon the rectitude or prudence of his ee his
was no “ple asing prospect for the secret pride of Waverley to
stoop to And: yet what other conclusion remained, saving the
rejection of his addresses by Flora, an alternative not to be
thought of in the present high-wrought state of his feeling’,
with anything short of mental agony. Pondering the doubtful
and dangerous prospect before him, he at length arrived near
the cascade, where, as Fergus had augured, he found Flora
seated.

She was quite alone, and as soon as she observed his ap-

}
1

 
 
  
 
    
     
   
 
  
   
   
     
      
     
    
 
   
    
 
  
     
  
 
 
    
   
  
   
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
   

BSc

Bo
Praca ENN a150 WAVERLEY.
proach, she rose and came to meet him. Edward attempted to
say something within the verge of ordinary compliment and
conversation, but found himself unequal to the task. Flora
seemed at first equally embarrassed, but recovered herself more
speedily, and (an unfavorable augury for Waverley’s suit) was
the first to enter upon the subject of their last InkeTeWs «U0
is too important, in every point of view, Mr. Waverley, to per-
mit me to leave you in doubt on my sentiments.”

“Do not speak them speedily,” said Waverley, much agita:
ted, “ unless they are such as I fear, from your manner, I must
not dare to anticipate. Let time—let my future conduct—let
your brother’s influence ”

“ Forgive me, Mr. Waverley,” said Flora, her complexion a
little heightened, but her voice firm and composed. ‘I should
incur my own heavy censure, did I delay expressing my sincere
conviction that I can never regard you otherwise than as a
valued friend. I should do you the highest injustice did I con-
ceal my sentiments for a moment—lI see I distress you, and |
grieve for it, but better now than later; and O, better a thou-
sand times, Mr. Waverley, that you should feel a present mo-
mentary disappointment, than the long and heart-sickening
eriefs which attend a rash and ill-assorted marriage !”’

“ Good God!” exclaimed Waverley, ‘‘ why should you anti-
cipate such consequences from a union where birth is equal,
where fortune is favorable, where, if I may venture to say so,
the tastes are similar, where you allege no preference for an-
other, where you even express a favorable opinion of him whom
you reject?”

“Mr. Waverley, I ave that favorable opinion,” answered
Flora; ‘and so strongly, that though I would rather have been
silent on the grounds of my resolution, you shall command them,
if you exact such a mark of my esteem and confidence.”

She sat down upon a fragment of rock, and Waverley,
placing himself near her, anxiously pressed for the explanation
she offered.

“JT dare hardly,” she said, “tell you the situation of my
feelings, they are so different from those usually ascribed to

young women at my period of life; and I dare hardly touch
upon what I conjecture to be the nature of yours, lest I should
give offence where I would willingly administer consolation.
For myself, from my infancy till this day, I have had but one
wish-—-the restoration of my royal benefactors to their rightful
throne. It is impossible to express to you the devotion of my
feelings to this single subject, and I will frankly confess that
it has so occupied my mind as to exclude every thought respectWAVERLEY. IST

ing what is called my own settlement in life. Let me but live
to see the day of that happy restoration, and a Highland
cottage, a French convent, or an English palace, will be alike
indifferent to me.”

“But, dearest Flora, how is your enthusiastic zeal for the
exiled family inconsistent with my happiness ?”

‘Because you seek, or ought to seek, in the object of your
attachment, a heart whose principal delight should be in aug-
snenting your domestic felicity, and returning your affection,
even to the height of romance. To aman of less keen sensi-
bility, and less enthusiastic tenderness of disposition, Flora
Mac-Ivor might give content, if not happiness; for, were the
irrevocable words spoken, never would she be deficient in the
duties which she vowed.”

“ And why —why, Miss Mac-Ivor, should you think your-
self a more valuable treasure to one who is less capable of
loving, of admiring you, than to me?”

‘Simply because the tone of our affections would be more
in unison, and because his more blunted sensibility would not
require the return of enthusiasm which I have not to bestow.
But you, Mr. Waverley, would forever refer to the idea of do-
mestic as which your imagination is capable of painting.
and whatever fell short of that ideal representation would be
construed into coolness and indifference, while you might con-
sider the enthusiasm with which I regarded the success of the
royal family as defrauding your affection of its due return.’

“Tn other words, Miss “Mac-lv or, you cannot love me?”
said her suitor, dejectedly.

‘“‘T could esteem you, Mr. Waverley, as much, perhaps more,
than any man I have ever seen; but I cannot love you as you
ought to be loved. O! do not, for your own sake, desire so
hazardous an experiment. The woman whom you marry ought
to have affections and opinions moulded upon yours. Her

studies ought to be your studies ;—her wishes, her feelings, her’

should all mingle with yours. She should
share your sorrows, and cheer your

hopes, her fears,
enhance your pleasures,
melancholy. . i
‘And why will not you, Miss Mac-Ivor, who can so well

describe a hi appy union, W hy will not you be yourself the person
you describe ?’

“Ts it possible you do not yet comprehend me ?” said Flora.
“ Have I not told you, that every keener sensation of my mind
is bent exclusively ‘toward: an event, upon which, indeed, I have
no power but those of my earnest prayers ?”

“ And might not the granting the suit I solicit,’’ said Waver-

   
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

URS TT x TSN WA
PEs nu hrennar esFaas: Cums Mae eee

   

52 WAVERLEY.

ley, too earnest on his purpose to consider what he was about
to say, “even advance the interest to which you have devoted
yourself? My family is wealthy and powerful, inclined in prin-
ciples to the Stuart race, and should a favorable opportu-
nity ’”’——

“A favorable opportunity !”’ said Flora, somewhat scorn-
fully,—“‘ inclined in principles !—Can such lukewarm adherence
be honorable to yourselves, or gratifying to your lawful sov
ereign ?—Think, from my present feelings, what I should suffer
when I held the place of member in a family where the rights
which f hold most sacred are subjected to cold discussion, and
only deemed worthy of support when they shall appear on the
point of triumphing without it?”

“Your doubts,” quickly replied Waverley, “ are unjust as
far as concerns myself. The cause that I shall assert, | dare
support through every danger, as undauntedly as the boldest
who draws sword in its behalf.”

“‘ Of that,” answered Flora, “ I cannot doubt fora moment.
But consult your own good sense and reason rather than a pre.
possession hastily adopted, probably only because you have
met a young woman possessed of the usual accomplishments,
in a sequestered and romantic situation. Let your part in this
great and perilous drama rest upon conviction, and not ona
hurried, and probably a temporary feeling.”

Waverley attempted to reply, but his. words failed him.
Every sentiment that Flora had uttered vindicated the strength
of his. attachment ; for even her loyalty, although wildly enthu-
Silastic, was generous and noble, and disdained to avail itself of
any indirect means of supporting the cause to which she was
devoted.

After walking a little way in silence down the path, Flora
thus, resumed the conversation.—* One word more, Mr. Waver-
ley, ere we bid farewell to. this topic forever; and forgive my
boldness if that word have the air of advice. My brother Fer-
gus is anxious that you should join him in his present enter
prise. But do. not consent to this; you could not, by your
single exertions, further his success, and you would inevitably
share his fall, if it be God’s pleasure that fall he must. Your
character would also suffer irretrievably. Let me beg you will
return to your own country; and, having publicly freed yourself
from every tie to the usurping government, I trust you will see
cause, and find opportunity, to serve your injured sovereign
with effect, and stand forth, as your loyal ancestors, at the head
of your natural followers and adherents, a worthy representative
of the house of Waverley.” :

{?J re
WAVERLEY. 153

** And should I be so happy as thus to distinguish myself,
might I not hope ”»—— :

‘Forgive my interruption,’ said Flora. “The present
time only is ours, and I can but explaitt to you with candor the
feelings which I now entertain: how they gnscht be altered by
a train of events po favorable perhaps ioe hoped for, it were
In vain even to” conjecture: only be assured, Mr. Waverley,
that, after: my brother’s honor and happiness, there is none
which I shall more sincerely pray for than for yours.”

With these words she parté@ from him, for they were now
arrived where two paths separated. Waverley reached the cas.
tle amidst a medley of conflicting passions. He avoided anv

private interview with Fergus, as he did not find himself able
either to encounter his raillery, or reply to his solicitations.
The wild revelry of the feast, for Mac-Ivor kept open table for
his clan, served in some degree to stun reflection. When their
festivity was ended, he began to consider how he should again
meet Miss Mac-Ivor after the painful and interesting expla-
nation of the morning. But Flora did not appear. Fergus,
whose eyes flashed when he was told by Cathleen that her
mistress designed to keep her apartment that evening, went
himself in quest of her; but apparently his remonstrances were
in vain, for he returned with a heightened complexion, and
manifest symptoms of displeasure. The rest of the evening
passed on without any allusion, on the part either of Fergus or
Waverley, to the subject which engrossed the reflections of the
latter, and perhaps of both,

When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavored to
sum up the business of the day. That the repulse he had re-
ceived from Flora would be persisted in for the present, there
was no doubt. But could he hope for ultimate success in case
circumstances permitted the renewal of his suit? Would the
enthusiastic loyalty, which at this animating moment left no
room for a softer passion, survive, at least, in its engrossing
force, the success or the failure of the present political mach-
inations? And if so, could he hope that the interest which she
had acknowledged him to possess in her favor might be im:
proved into a warmer attachment? He taxed his memory to
recall every word she had used, with the appropriate looks and
gestures which had enforced them, and ended by finding him-
self in the same state of uncertainty. It was very late before
sleep brought relief to the tumult of his mind, after the most
painful and agitating day which he had ever passed.

 
 
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 

ee ick rer erannS~ Lighablaahainaett Ns

WAVERLEY.

   
  
   
     
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.
A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN.

In the morning when Waverley’s troubled reflections had
for some time given way to repose, there came music to his
dreams, but not the voice of Selma. He imagined himself
transported back to Tully-Veolan, and that he heard Davie
Gellatley singing in the court those matins which used gener-
ally to be the first sounds that disturbed his repose while a
guest of the Baron of Bradwardine. The notes w hich suggested
this vision continued, and waxed louder, until Edward awoke
in earnest. The illusion, however, did aa seem entirely dis-
pelled. ‘The apartment was in the fortress of Ian nan Chaistel,
but it was still the voice of Davie Gellatley that made the fol.
lowing lines resound under the window :—

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go. 5

Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellatley
on an excursion of such unwonted extent, Edward began to
dress himself in all haste, during which operation the minstrelsy
of Davie changed its tune more than once :—

There’s pug in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,

And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks ;
Wanting t the bre eks, and without hose and shoon,

But we’ll a’ win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame. ®

By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth,
David had associated himself with two or three of the numerous
Highland loungers who always graced the gates of the castle
with their presence, and was capering and dancing full merrily
in the doubles and full career of a Scotch foursome reel, to the
music of his own whistling. In this double capacity of dancer
and musician he continued, until an idle piper, who observed
his zeal, obeyed the unanimous call of Seéd suas (#.e., blow up,)
and relieved him from the latter part of his trouble. Young and
old then mingled in the dance as they could find partners. ‘The
appearance of Waverley did not interrupt David’s exercise,
though he contrived, by grinning, nodding, and throwing one ofWAVERLEY. 155

two inclinations of the body into the graces with which he per-
formed the Highland fling, to convey to our hero symptoms of
recognition. ‘Then, while busily employed in setting, whoop:
ng ali the while and snapping his fingers over his head, he of
a sudden prolonged his side-step until it brought him to the
place where Edward was standing, and, still keeping time to
the music like Harlequin ina pantomime, he thrust a letter into
our hero’s hand, and continued his saltation without pause
or intermission. Edward, who perceived that the address was
in Rose’s handwriting, retired to peruse it, leaving the faithful
bearer to continue his exercise until the piper or he should be
tired out.

The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had
originally commenced with, Dear Sir; but these words hada
been carefully erased, and the monosyllable, Szv, substituted
in their place. The rest of the contents shall be given in
Rose’s own language.

‘“‘T fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon
you, yet I cannot trust to anyone else to let you know some
things which have happened here, with which it seems neces-
sary you should be acquainted. Forgive me if I am wrong in
what I am doing; for, alas! Mr. Waverley, 1 have no better
advice than that of my own feelings ;—my dear father ‘is gone
from this place, and when he can return to my assistance and
protection, God alone knows. You have probably heard that,
in consequence of some troublesome news from the Highlands.
watrants were sent out for apprehending several gentlemen in
these parts, and, among others, my dear father. In spite of
all my tears and entreaties that he would surrender himself to
the government, he joined with Mr. Falconer and some other
gentlemen, and they have all gone northwards, with a body of
about forty horsemen. So I am not so anxious concerning
his immediate safety as about what may follow afterwards, for
these troubles are only beginning. But all this is nothing to
you, Mr. Waverley, only I thought you would be glad to learn
that my father has escaped, in case you happen to have heard
that he was in danger.

ee

‘The.day after my father went off, there came a party of
soldiers to Tully-Veolan, and behaved very rudely to Bailie
Macwheeble ; but the officer was very civil to me, only said his
duty obliged him to search for arms and papers. My father
had provided against this by taking away all the arms except
the useless old things which hung in the hall, and he had put
all his papers out of the way. But O! Mr. Waverley, how
shall I tell you, that they made strict inquiry after you, and

   
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Een iets eae tenet)WAVERLEY,

asked when you had been at Tully-Veolan, and where you now
were. ‘The officer is gone back with his party, but a non-com-
missioned officer and four men remain as a sort of garrison in
the house. They have hitherto behaved very well, as we are
forced to keep them in good-humor, But these soldiers have
hinted as if on your falling into their hands you would be in
great danger; I cannot prevail on myself to write what wicked
falsehoods they said, for I am sure they are falsehoods ; but
you will best judge what you ought to do. The party that
returned carried off your servant prisoner, with your two horses,
and everything that you left at Tully-Veolan. I hope God will
protect you, and that you will get safe home to England,
where you used to tell me there was no military violence nor
figl iting among clans eee d, but everything was done accord-
ing to an equal law that protected all who were harmless and
innocent. I hope you will exert your indulgence as to my
boldness in writing to you, where it seems to me, though per-
haps erroneously, that your safety and honor are concerned. I
am sure—at least I think, my father would approve of my writ-
ing; for Mr. Rubric is fled to his cousin’s at the Duchran, to
be out of danger from the soldiers and the Whigs, and Bailie
Macwheeble does not like to meddle (he says) in other men’s
concerns, though I hope what may serve my father’s friend at
such a time as “this, cannot be termed improper interference.
Farewell, Captain Waverley. I sh all probably never see you
more ; for it would be very improper to wish you to call at
Tully- Veolan just now, even if these men were gone ; but I will
always remember with gratitude your kindness in assisting so
poor a scholar as myself, and your attentions to my dear, dear
father, I remain, your obl iged servant,
‘* ROSE Comyne BRADWARDINE,

* P. 5.—I hope you will send me a line by David Gellatley,
just to say you have received this, and that you will take care
of yourself; and forgive me if I entreat you, for your own
sake, to join none of these unh 1appy cabals, but escape, ag fast
as possible, to your own fortunate country. My compliments
to my dear Flora, and to See ch. Is she not as hand-
some and accomplished as I described her?”

This concluded the let co of Rose Bradwardine, the con-
{nts of which both surprised and affected Waverley, That
the Baron should fall under the suspicions of Government, in
consequence of the present stir among the partisans of the
house of Stuart, seemed only the natural consequence of his
political predictions; but how Ze himself should have been
involved in such suspicions, conscious that until yesterday heWAVERLEY. 157

had been free from harboring a thought against the prosperity
of the reigning family, seemed inexplicable. Both at Tully
Veolan and Glennaquoich, his host had respected his engage-
ments with the existing government, and though enough passed
by accidental innuendo that might induce him to reckon the
Baron and the Chief among those disaffected gentlemen who
were still numerous in Scotland, yet until his own connection
with the army had been broken off bythe resumption of his
commission, he had no reason to suppose that they nourished
any immediate or hostile attempts against the present estab-
lishment. Still he was aware that unless he meant at once to
embrace the proposal of Fergus Mac-Ivor, it would deeply con-
cern him to leave this suspicious neighborhood without delay,
and repair where his conduct might undergo a satisfactory ex-
amination. Upon this he the rather determined, as Flora’s
advice favored his doing so, and because he felt inexpressible
repugnance at the idea of being accessory to the plague of
civil war. Whatever were the original rights of the Stuarts,
calm reflection told him, that, omitting the question how far
James the Second could forfeit those of his posterity, he had,
according to ‘the united voice of the whole nation, justly for-
feited his own. Since that period, four monarchs had reigned
in peace and glory over Britain, sustaining and exalting the
character of the nation abroad, and its liberties at home.

Reason asked, was it worth while to disturb a government so
long settled and established, and to plunge a kingdom into all

the miseries of civil war, for the purpose of replacing upon the
throne the descendants of a monarch by whom it “had been
wilfully forfeited ? If, on the other hand, his own final con-
viction of the goodness of their cause, or the commands of his
father or uncle, should recommend ne allegiance to the
Stuarts, still it was necessary to clear his own character by
showing that he had not, as seemed to be falsely insinuated,
taken any step to this purpose, during his holding the commis-
sion of the reigning monarch.

The affectionate simplicity of Rose, and her anxiety for his
safety —his sense too of her unprotected state, and of the
terror and actual dangers to which she might be exposed,
made an impression upon his mind, and he instantly wrote to
thank her in the kindest terms for her solicitude on his account,
to express his earnest good wishes for her welfare and that of
her father, and to assure her of his own safety. The feelings
which his task excited were speedily lost in the necessity
which he now saw of bidding farewell to Flora Mac-Ivor per
haps forever. The pang attending this reflection was inexpres:

  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
    
 
   
   
 
    
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
    

Parcs sW ura SeaSSabusnn nasacort

Rt ee

es

158 WAVERLEY.

sible ; for her high-minded elevation of character, her self
devotion to the cause which she had embraced, united to her
scrupulous rectitude as to the means of serving it, had vindi-
cated to his judgment the choice adopted by his passions. But
time pressed, calumny was busy with his fame, and every hour’s
delay increased the power to injure it. His departure must be
instant.

With this determination he sought out Fergus, and com:

:
municated to him the contents of Rose’s letter, with his own
resolution instantly to go to Edinburgh, and put into the hands
of some one or other of those persons of influence to whom
he had letters from his father, his exculpation from any charge
which might be preferred against him.

‘You run your head into the lion’s mouth,” answered Mac-
Ivor. “You do not know the severity of a government -ha-
rassed by just apprehensions, and a consciousness of their own
illegality and insecurity. I shall have to deliver you from some
dungeon in Stirling or Edinburgh Castle.”

‘“‘ My innocence, my rank, my father’s intimacy with Lord
M——, General G——-, etc., will be a sufficient protection,”
said Waverley.

‘“¢'You will find the contrary,” replied the Chieftain ; “‘ these
gentlemen will have enough to do about their own matters.
Once more, will you take the plaid, and stay a little while with
us among the mists and the crows, in the bravest cause ever
sword was drawn in?” *

‘““For many reasons, my dear Fergus you must hold me
excused,”’

“Well then,’* said Mac-Ivor, “I shall certainly find you
exerting your poetical talents in elegies upon a prison, or your
antiquarian researches in detecting the Oggam © character, or
some Punic hieroglyphic upon the key-stones ofa vault, curi-
ously arched. Or what say you to um petit pendement bien joli ?
against which awkward ceremony I don’t warrant you, should
you meet a body of the armed west-country Whigs.”

‘And why should they use me so?” said Waverley.

“For a hundred good reasons,” answered Fergus : “ First,
you are an Englishman ; secondly, a gentleman ; thirdly, a pre-
latist abjured ; and fourthly, they have not had an opportunity
to exercise their talents on such a subject this long while. But
don’t be cast down, beloved : all will be done in the fear of the
Lord.”

** Well, I must run my hazard,”

“You are determined, then ?”
Civam.”

oo:
Oo
tWAVERLEY. 159

“ Wilful will do’t,” said Fergus ;—‘ but you cannot go on
foot, and I shall want no horse, as I must march on foot at
the head of the children of Ivor; you shall have Brown Der-
mid.”

“Tf you will sell him, I shall certainly be much obliged

‘If your proud English heart cannot be obliged by a gift 02
loan, I will not refuse money at the entrance of a campaign :
his price is twenty guineas. [ Remember, reader, it was Sixty
Years since.]|_ And when do you propose to depart?”

‘The sooner the better,” answered Waverley.

‘You are right, since go you must, or rather, since go you
will I will take Flora’s pony, and ride with you as far as
Bally-Brough. Callum Beg, see that our horses are ready, with

Pe]

eg,
a pony for yourself, to attend and carry Mr. Waverley’s bag-
face asifar as — (naming a small town), where he can have

a horse and guide to Edinburgh. Puton a Lowland dress,
Callum, and see you keep your tongue close, if you would not
have me cutit out; Mr. Waverley rides Dermid.” ‘Then turn-
ing to Edward, “ You will take leave of my sister ?”

‘‘ Surely—that is, if Miss Mac-Ivor will honor me so fare

“ Cathleen let my sister know that Mr. Waverley wishes to
pid her farewell before he leaves us.—But Rose Bradwardine—-
her situation must be thought of. I wish she were here. And
why should she not? ‘There are but four red-coats at Tully-
Veolan, and their muskets would be very useful to us.”

To these broken remarks Edward made no answer ; his ear
indeed received them, but his soul was intent upon the expec-
ted entrance of Flora. The door opened—it was but Cath-
leen, with her lady’s excuse, and wishes for Captain Waverley's
health and happiness.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH.

WAVERLEY’S RECEPTION IN THE LOWLANDS AFTER HIS HIGH-
LAND TOUR.

Ir was noon when the two friends stood at the top of the
pass at Bally-Brough. “I must go no farther,” said Fergus
Mac-Ivor, who during the journey had in vain endeavored to
raise his friend’s spirits. . “ If my cross-grained sister has any
share in your dejection, trust me she thinks highly of you,
though her present anxiety about the public cause prevents her
listening to any other subject. Confide your interests to me;WAVERLEY.

I will not betray it, providing you do not again assume that vile
cockade.”

“ No fear of that, considering the manner in which it has
been recalled. Adieu, Fergus; do not permit your sister to
forget me.”

“ And adieu, Waverley; you may soon hear of her with a
prouder title. Get home, write letters, and make friends as
many and as fast as you can; there will speedily be unexpected
guests on the coast of Suffolk, or my news from France has
Gecelved mer.”

Thus parted the friends; Fergus returning back to his cas
tle, while Edward, followed by Callum Beg, the latter trans-
formed from point to point into a Low-country groom, pro-
ceeded to the little town of ——.

Edward paced on under the painful and yet not altogether
embittered feelings, which separation and uncertainty produce
in the mind of a youthful lover. I am not sure if the ladies
understand the full value of the influence of absence, nor do I
think it wise to teach it them, lest, like the Clelias and Man-
danes of yore, they should resume the humor of sending their
lovers into banishment. Distance, in truth, produces in idea
the same effect as in real perspective. Objects are softened,
and rounded, and rendered doubly graceful; the harsher and
more ordinary points of character are mellowed down, and
those by which it is remembered are the more striking outlines
that mark sublimity, grace, or beauty. There are mists too in
the mental, as well as the natural horizon, to conceal ‘what is
less pleasing in distant objects, and there are happy lights, to
stream in full glory upon those points which can profit by brill-
iant illumination.

Waverley forgot Flora Mc-Ivor’s prejudices, :n her mag-
nanimity, and almost pardoned her indifference towards his
aifection, when he recollected the grand and decisive object
which seemed to fill her whole soul. She, whose sense of duty
so wholly engrossed her in the cause of a benefactor, what
would be her feelings in favor of the happy individual who
should be so fortunate as to awaken them? Then came the
doubtful question, whether he might not be that happy man,—
a question which fancy endeavored to answer in the affirma-
tive, by conjuring up all she had said in his praise, with the
addition of a comment much more flattering than the text war:
ranted. All that was commonplace, all that belonged to the
every-day world, was melted away and obliterated in those
dreams of imagination, which only remembered with advantaye
the points of grace and dignity that distinguished Flora fromWAVERLEY. 161

the generality of her sex, not the particulars which she held in
common with them. Edward was, in short, in the fair way of
creating a goddess out of a high- ap ‘ited, accomplished, and
beautiful young woman; and the time was w fasted in castle
building, until, at the descent of a steep hill, he saw beneath
him the market-town of ——,

The Highland politeness of Callum Beg—there are few
nations, by the way, who can boast of so much natural polite-
ness as the Highlanders *“—the Highland civility of his attend-
ant had not permitted him to disturb the reveries of our hero.
But observing him rouse himself at the sight of the village,
Callum pressed closer to his side, and hoped ‘ ‘When they cam
to the public, his honor wad not say nothing about ¥ ich Ian
Vohr, for ta people were bitter V\ ‘higs, deil burst tenaz”

Waverley assured the prudent page that he would be cau-
tious ; and as he now distinguished, not indeed the ringing of
bells, but the tinkling of something like a hammer against the
side of an old mossy, green, inverted porridge-pot, that hung
in an open booth, of the size and shape of a parrot’s cage,
erected to grace the east end of a buil ding resembling an old
barn, he asked : allum Beg if it were Si and: ay.

“Could na say i st preceesely—Sunday ‘seldom cam aboon
the pass of Bally -Brough.”

On entering es ‘ait however, and adv ancing towards the

mosc¢ apparent public-house, which presented itselk, the numbers
of old women, in tartz
from the at resemb

Se

in screens and red cloaks, who streamed
ling building, debating, as they went, the
comparative merits of the blessed youth Jabesh Rentowel, and
that chosen vessel Maister Goukt thrapple, induced Callum to as-
sure his temporary master, “ that it was either ta muckle Sunday
hersell, or ta little government Sunday that they ca’d ta fast.”

On alighting at the sign of the Seven-branched Golden
Candiestick, which, for the farther delectation of the guests,
was graced with a short Hebrew motto, they were received by
mine host, a tall thin puritanical figure, who seemed to debate
with himself whether he ought to give shelter to those who had
travelled on such a day. Reflecting, however, in all probability,
that he possessed the power of mulcting them for this irregu-
larity, a penalty which they might escape by passing into Gregor
Duncanson’s, at the sign of the Highlander and 1 the. Hawick Gil i
Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks condescended to admit them i into
his dwelling.

To this sanctified person Waverley addressed his request,
that he would procure him a guide, with a saddle-horse, to carry
his ere aneod to Edinburgh“ And whar may ye be coming from?” demanded mine
host of the Candlestick.

“T have told you where I wish togo; I do not conceive
any farther information necessary either for the guide or his
saddle-horse.”

“ Hem! Ahem!” returned he of the Candlestick, some-
what disconcerted at this rebuff. ‘It’s the general fast, sir,
and I cannot enter into ony carnal transactions on sic a day,
when the people should be humbled, and the backsliders should
return, as worthy Mr. Goukthrapple said ; and moreover when,
as the precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel did weel observe, the
land was mourning for covenants burnt, broken, and buried.”

“My good friend,” said Waverley, “ if you cannot let me
have a horse and guide, my servant shall seek them else-
where.”

“ Aweel! Your servant ?—and what for gangs he not for-
ward wi’ you himsell ?”

Waverley had but very little of a captain of horse’s spirit
within him—I mean of that sort of spirit which I have been
obliged to when I happened, in a mail-coach, or diligence, to
meet some military man who has kindly taken upon him the
disciplining of the waiters, and the taxing of reckonings. Some
of this useful talent our hero had, however, acquired during his
military service, and on this gross provocation it began seriously
to arise, “ Look ye, sir; I came here for my own accommoda-
tion, and not to answer impertinent questions. Either say you
can, or cannot, get me what I want; I shall pursue my course
im either case.”

Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks left the room with some indis-
tinct muttering; but whether negative or acquiescent, Edward
could not well distinguish. ‘The hostess, a civil, quiet, laborious
drudge, came to take his orders for dinner, but declined to
make answer on the subject of the horse and guide; for the
Salique law, it seems, extended to the stables of the Golden
Candlestick.

From a window which overlooked the dark and narrow
court in which Callum Beg rubbed down the horses after their
journey, Waverley heard the following dialogue betwixt the
subtle foot-page of Vich Ian Vohr and his landlord :—

“ Ye’ll be frae the north, young man ?” began the latter.

‘“* And ye may say that,” answered Callum.

“‘ And ye’ll hae ridden a lang way the day, it may weel be ?”

** Sae lang, that I could weel tak a dram.”

** Gudewife, bring the gill stoup.”

Here some compliments passed, fitting the occasion, whenWAVERLE) Gis
3

my host. of the Golden Candlestick, having, as he thought,
opened his guest’s heart by this hospitable propitiation
sumed his scrutiny.

“ Yell no hae mickle better whiskey than that aboon the
Pass?

“Iam nae frae aboon the Pass.”

Ye re a Highlandman by your tongue : ee

e¢ NT

Na; I am but just Aberdeen-a- way.
And did your master come frae Aberdeen wi’ you?”
Ay—that’s when I left it n rysell,” answered the cool and
eh te ane Callum Beg.

“And what kind of a gentleman is he ? ”

“I believe he is ane o’ King George’s state officers: at
least he’s aye for ganging on to the south, and he has a hantle
siller, and never grudges onything till a poor body, or in the
way of a lawing.”’

TC:

‘He wants a guide and a horse frae hence to Edinburgh ?”
Ay, and ye maun find it him forthwith.”
Ahem! It will be ch: irgeable

‘“‘ He cares na for that a boddle.’

Aweel, Duncan—Did ye say your name was Duncan ot
Donald?

‘Na, man—Jamie—Jamie Steenson—I telt ye before.”

This last undaunted parry altogether foiled Mr. Cruickshanks,
who, though not quite satisfied either with the reserve of the
master, or the extreme readiness of the man, was contented to
lay atax on the reckoning and horse-hire, that might compound
for his ungratified curiosity. The circumstance of its being the
fast day was not forgotten in the charge, which, on the whole, did
not, however, amount to much more than double what in fair-
ness it should have been.

Callum Beg soon after announced in person the ratification
es this treaty, adding, “Ta auld ¢ leevil was ganging to ride

> ta Duinhé-wassel hersell.

“That will not be very rit Callum, nor altogether safe,
for our host seems a person of great curiosity ; but a traveller
must submit to these inconveniences. Meanwhile, my good lad,
here is 4 trifle for > ou to drink Vich Ian Vohr’s health.”

The hawk’s aga of Callum flashed delight upon a golden
guinea, with which as last words were accompanied. He
hastened, not without a curse on the intricacies of a Saxon
breeches pocket, or spleuchan, as he called it, to deposit the
treasure in his fob; and then, as if he conceived the benevo-
fence called for some requital on his part, he gathered close
up to Edward, with an expression of countenance peculiarly

 
  
    
   
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
    
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
     
 
 
  
 
 
 
       
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
   

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bees sisnnsis164 WAVERLEY.

  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
    
 
 
 
  
   
   

knowing, and spoke in an undertone, “If his honor thought
ta auld deevil whig carle was a bit dangerous, she could easily
provide for him, and teil ane ta wiser.”

“ How, andin what manner?”

“Her ain sell,” replied Callum, ‘‘ could wait for him a wee
bit frae the toun, and kittle his quarters wi’ her skene-occle.”’

“ Skene-occle! what’s that?”’

Callum unbuttoned his coat, raised his left arm, and, with
an emphatic nod, pointed to the hilt of a small dirk, snugly
deposited under it, in the lining of his jacket. Waverley
thought he had understood his meaning; he gazed in his
face, and discovered in Callum’s very handsome, though em-
browned features, just the degree of roguish malice with which
a lad of the same age in England would have brought forward
a plan for robbing an orchard.

‘Good God, Callum, would you take the man’s life ?”

“Indeed,” answered the young desperado, “ and I think
he has had just a lang enough lease o’t, when he’s for betraying
nonest folk, that come to spend siller at his public.”

Edward saw nothing was to be gained by argument, and
therefore contented himself with enjoining Callum to lay aside

all practices against the person of Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks,
in which injunction the page seemed to acquiesce with an air
of great indifference.

“Ta Duinhé-wassel might please himsell; ta auld rudas
loon had never done Callum nae ill. But here’s a bit line frae
ta Tighearna, tat he bade me gie your honor ere I came back.”

The letter from the Chief contained Flora’s lines on the
fate of Captain Wogan, whose enterprising character is so well
drawn by Clarendon. He had originally engaged in the ser-
vice of the Parliament, but had abjured that party upon the
execution of Charles I.; and upon hearing that the royal stand-
ard was set up by the Earl of Glencairn and General Middle-
ton in the Highlands of Scotland, took leave of Charles IL.,
who was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled a body
of cavaliers in the neighborhood of London, and traversed the
kingdom, which had been so long under domination of the
usurper, by marches conducted with such skill, dexterity, and
spirit, that he safely united his handful of horsemen with the

! body of Highlanders then in arms. After several months of
desultory warfare, in which Wogan’s skill and courage gained
him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be wounded
in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being within
reach, he terminated his short but glorious career.

There were obvious reasons why the politic Chieftain was

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desirous to place the example of this young hero under the eye
of Waverley, with whose romantic disposition it coincided so
peculiarly. But his letter turned chiefly upon some trifling
commissions which Waverley had pro mised to execute for him
in England, and it was only towa ird the coneln sion that Edward
found these words:—‘“I owe Flora a gruc f
her company yesterday ; and as I am givin;
reading these lines, in order to Lee in
promise to procure me the fishing-tackle and cross-bow from
London, I will enclose her verses on the Grave of Wogan.
This I know will teaze her; for, to tell you the truth, I think
her more in love with the memory of that dead hero, than sh

iving one, unless he shall tread a simi-

dere fc or refusing us
you the trouble of
our memory your

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is likely to be with any lj
lar path. But English squires of our day keep their oak-trees
to shelter their deer parks, or repair the losses of an evening
at White’s, and neither invoke them to wreath their brows, nor
shelter their graves. Let me hope for one brilliant e exception

in a dear friend, to whom I would most gladly give a dearer

tie”?
The verses were inscribed,

TO: AN OAK. FREE,

Uy THE GHURCHYARD OF——, IN THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND, SAID 3%}
MARK THE GRAVE OF CAPTAIN WOGAN, KILLED IN 1649.

Emblem of England’s ancient raith,
Full pr oor, may thy branches wave,
Where loyalty lies low in death,

And valor fills a timeless grave

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb!
Repine not if our clime deny,

Above thine honor’d sod to blocm,
Lhe flowerets of a milder sky,

These owe their birth to genial May ;
Beneath a fiercer sun they pine,
Before the winter storm decay—
And can their worth be type of thine ?

Wo! for ’mid storms of Fate opposing,
Still higher swell’d thy dauntless heart,

And while Despair the scene was closing,
Commenced the brief but brilliant part.

’T was then thou sought’st on Albyn’s hill,
(When England’s sons the strife resign’d),

A rugged race resisting still,

And unsubdued, though unrefined.F  plpithiiersssrersjase uae revenge

WAVERLEY.

Thy death’s hour heard no kindred w ail,
No holy knell thy rec ae rung

Thy mourners were the plaided Gael,
Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung.

Yet who, in Fortune’ summer-shine,
To we ay life’s longest term away,
Would change that glori« sus dawn of thine,
Though darken’d ere its noontide day ?

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs,
Brave summer’s drought and winter’s gloom !
Rome bound with oak her patriot’s brows,
As Albyn shadows Wogan’s tomb.

Whatever might be the real merit of Flora Mac-Ivor’s
Rosy, the enthusiasm which it intimated was well calculated
to make a corresponding impression upon her lovers Phe dines
were ria ad again—then deposited in Waverley’s bosom—
then again drawn out, and read line by line, in a low and
smothered voice, and with frequent pauses which prolonged the
mental treat, as an epicure Oe by sipping slowly, the
enjoyment of a delicious beverage. ‘The entrance of Mrs.
Cruickshanks, with the sublunary “articles of dinner and wine =
hardly interrupted this pantomime of affections ite enthusi: asm.

At length the tall ungainly figure and ungracious visage of
Ebenezer presented themselves. ‘The upper part of his form,
notwithstanding the season required no such defence, was
shrouded in a large great-coat, belted over his under habilt
ments, and crested with a huge cowl of the same stuff, which,
when drawn over the head and hat, completely overshadowed
both, and being buttoned beneath the chin, was called a trot
cozy. His hand grasped a huge jockey-whip, garnished with
brass mounting. His thin legs tenanted a pair of gambadoes,
fastened at the sides with rusty clasps. ‘Thus accoutred, he
stalked into the midst of the apartment, and announced his
errand in brief Oe :—“ Yer horses are ready.”’

“You go with me yourself then, landlord?”

“T do, as far as Perth; where ye may be supplied with
guide to Embro’, as your occasions shall ee C

Thus saying, he placed under Waverley’s eye the bill which
he held in his hand; and at the same time, self- so vited, filled a
glass of wine, and dran k devoutly to a blessing on their journey.
Waverley stared at the man’s impudence, but, as ae ir connec-

tion was to be short, and promised to be convenient, he made
no observation upon it; and, having paid his rbckonine. eXx-
pressed his intention to depart immediately. He mounted

Dermid accordingly, and sallied forth from the Golden CandleWAVERLEY. 107

stick, followed by the puritanical figure we have describec
after he had, at the expense of some time and difficulty, and by
the assistance of a “ louping-on-stane,” or structure of masonry
erected for the traveler’s convenience in front of the house,
elevated his person to the back of a long-backed, raw-boned,
thin-gutted phantom of a broken-down blood-horse, on which
Wav erley’s s portmanteau was deposited. Our hero, though not in
a very gay humor, could hardly help laughing at the appearance
of his new squire, and at imagining the astonishment which his
person and equipage would have excited at Waverley-Honour

Edward’s tendency to mirth did not escape mine host ae

the Candlestick, who, conscious of the cause, infused a double
portion of souring into the pharisaical leaven of his counte-
nance, and resolved internally that in one way or other the
young Englisher should pay dearly for the contempt with which
he seemed to regard him. Callum also stood at the gate, and
enjoyed, with undissembled glee, the ridiculous figure of Mr.
Cruickshanks. As Wave1 rley passed him, he pulled off his hat
respectfully, and, approaching his stirrup, bade him “ Tak heed
the auld whig deevil played him nae cantrip.”

Waverley once more thanked and bade him farewell, and
then rode briskly onward, not sorry to be out of hearing of the
shouts of the children, as they beheld old Ebenezer rise and
sink in his stirrups, to avoid the concussions occasioned by a

 

 

hard trot upon a hard-paved street. ‘The village of was
soon several miles behind him.

CHAPTER REIBVEE iH.
SHOWS THAT THE LOSS OF A HORSE’S SHOE MAY BE A SERIOUS

INCONVENIENCE,

THE manner an. air of Waverley, but above all, the glitter-
ing contents of his purse, and the indifference with which he
seemed to regard them, somewhat overawed his companion,
and deterred him from making any attempt to enter upon con-
versation. His own reflections were, moreover, agitated by
various surmises, and by plans of self-interest, with which these
were intimately connected. ‘The travelers journeyed, therefore,
in silence, until it was interrupted by the annunciation on the
part of the guide, that his “naig had lost a fore-foot shoe,
which, doubtless, his honor would consider it was his part to
replace.” This was what lawyers call a fshing question, calcu-

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
    

. pretinycte)

SN

Shes

SN

RS akeWAVERLEY.

lated to ascertain how far Waverley was disposed to submit to
petty imposition. “My part toreplace your horse’s shoe, youras-
cal!” said Waverley, mistaking the purport of the intimation.

“ Indubitably,” answered Mr. Cruickshanks ; “ though there
were no preceese clause to that effect, it canna be expected
that I am to pay for the casualties whilk may befall the puir
naig while in your honor’s service—Nathless if your honor ”—

“O, you mean I am to pay the farrier; but where shall we
find one?”

Rejoiced at discerning there would be no objection made
on the part of his temporary master, Mr. Cruickshanks assured
him that Cairnvreckan, a village which they were about to enter,
was happy in an excellent blacksmith; “but as he was a pro-
fessor, he would drive a nail for no man on the Sabbath, or
kirk fast, unless it were in a case of absolute necessity, for
which he always charged sixpence each shoe.” ‘The most im-
portant part of this communication, in the opinion of the
speaker, made a very slight impression on the hearer, who only
internally wondered what college this veterinary professor
belonged to; not aware that the word was used to denote any
person who pretended to uncommon sanctity of faith and manner.

As they entered the village of Cairnvreckan,* they speed-
ily distinguished the smith’s house. Being also a public, it was
two stories high, and proudly reared its crest, covered with
era, slate, above the thatched hovels by which it was sur-
rounded. ‘The adjoining smithy betokened none of the Sab-
batical silence and repose which Ebenezer had augured from
the sanctity of his friend. On the contrary, hammer clashed
and anvil rang, the bellows groaned, and the whole apparatus
of Vulcan appeared to be in full activity. Nor was the labor
of a rural and pacific nature. The master smith, benempt, as
his sign intimated, John Mucklewrath, with two assistants, toiled
busily in arranging, repairing, and furbishing old muskets, pis-
tols, and swords, which lay scattered around his workshop in
military confusion. The open shed, containing the forge, was
crowded with persons who came and went as if receiving and
communicating important news; and a single glance at the
aspect of the people who traversed the street in haste, or stood
assembled in groups, with eyes elevated, and hands uplifted,
announced that some extraordinary intelligence was agitating
the public mind of the municipality of Cairnvreckan. “There
is some news,” said mine host of the Candlestick, pushing his
Jantern-jawed visage and bare-boned nag rudely forward into

* (Supposed to represent Auchterarder, a village midway between Perth
and Sterling, noted for religious controversy.)"
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the crowd—* there is some news s, and if it please my Creator
l will forthwith obtain s speirings thereof.”

Waverley, with better regulated curiosi ity than his attendant’ S,
dismounted, and gave his horse to a bi ’y who stox -d idling near,
It arose, perhaps, from the shyness of his character in early
youth, that he felt dislike at applying toa stranger even for
casual information, without previ sly” glancing at his physiog-
nomy and appearance. While he looked about in order to

elect the person with whom he would most willingly hold com-
munication, the buzz around saved him in some degree the
trouble of interrogatories. The names of Lochiel, Clanronald,
Glengarry, and other distinguished Highland ( chiefs, among
whom Vich Ian Vohr was repeatedly mentioned,
familiar in men’s mouths as household
alarm generally expressed, he easily
scent into the Lowlands
either already taken

were as
words; and from the
conceived that their de-
Ss, at the head of their armed tribes, had
place, or was instantly apprehended,

Kre Waverley could ask particulars, a strong, large-boned,
hard-featured woman, about forty, dressed as if her clothes
had been flung on with a pitchfc srk, her cheeks flushed with a
scarlet red where they were not smutted with soot and lamp-
black, jostled through the crowd, and br andishing high a child
of two years old, which she danced in her arms, without r

e-
gard tO its screams of LeCrror, sang forth, witl

1 all her might

“Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling
Charlie is my darling,

,
The young Chevalier,”

“‘D’ye hear what’s come ower ye now,” continued the vira-
go, “ ye whingeing Whig carles ? ‘D’ye hear wha’s coming to
cow yer cracks ?

“Little wot ye whi v’s coming,
Little wot ye wha’s coming,
A’ the wild Macraws are coming.”

The Vulcan of Cairnvreckan, who acknowl
in this exulting Bacchante, regarded |
forebodinf® countenance, while some of the senators of the
village hastene sd to interpose. “ Whisht, gudewife ; is this a
time, or is this a day, to be si nging your ranting fule ; sangs in?

—a time when the wine of wrath is poured out ‘without mixture
in the cup of indignation, and a d: ty when the land should
give testimony against popery, and prelacy, and quakerism, and
independency, and supremacy, and erastianism, and antino-
mianism and a’ the errors of the church?”

edged his Venus
1er with a grim and ire-

 

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170 WAVERLEY.
“And that’s a’ your Whiggery,” re- echoed the Jacobite
heroine; “that’s a’ your Whiggery, and your presbytery, ye cut
lugged, ‘graning carles! What! d’ye think the lads wi’? the
kilts allt care for yer sy nods and yer presbyteries, and yer but-
tock- a and yer stool 0’ repentance ? Vengeance on the
black face o’t! ‘Mony an honester woman’s been set upon it
than streeks doon beside ony Whig in the country. I my sell”

Here John Muckle wrath, who dreaded her ente ering upon a
detail of personal experience oe his mé atrimonial au
thority. ‘‘Gae hame, and be d— , (that I should say sae),
and pe on the sowens for supper.

ind you, ye doil’d dotard, eee his gentle helpmate,
her wrath which had hitherto wandered abroad over the whole
assembly, being at once and violently impelled into its natural
channel, “ ye stand there hammering dog-heads for fules that
will never snap them at a Highl landman, instead of earning
bread f or your family, and shoeing this winsome young centle-
man’s horse that’s just come frae the north! I’se warrant him
name of your whingeing King George f folk, but a gallant Gor-
don, at the least o’ him.’

The eyes of the assembly were now turned upon Waverley,
who took the opportunity to beg the smith to shoe his guide’s
horse with all speed, as he wished to proceed on his journey ;—
for he had heard enough to make him sensible that there would
be danger in delaying long in this place, Lhe smith’s eyes
rested on him with 2 look of displeasure and suspicion, not
lessened by the eagerness with which his wife enforced Waver-
ley’s mandate. “ D’ ye hear what the weel-favored young gentle-
man says, ye drunken ne’er-do-good ? ”

“ And what may your name be, sir?” quoth Mt icklewrath.

“Tt is of no consequence to you, my friend, prc guitled 1 pay
your labor.”

“But it may be of consequence to the state, sir,” replied an
old farmer, smelling strongly of whiskey and peat-smoke ; “and
I doubt we maun delay your journey till you have seen the
gerd,”

“Vou certainly,” said Waverley, haughtily, “will find it
both difficult and dangerous | to detain me, unless» you can pro-
duce some proper authority.’

There was a pause, and a whisper among the crowd—
“Secretary Murray;” “Lord Lewis Gordon; ” “ Maybe the
Chevalier himsell!”? Such were the surmises that passed hur
riedly among them, and there was obviously an increased dis-
hae to resist Waverley’s departure. He attempted to argue
mildly with them, but his volt eat ally, Mrs. Mucklewrath,WAVERLEY. 171
broke in upon and drowned his e: xpostulations, taking his part
with an abusive violence, which was al] set dow n to. F award’s
account by those on whom it was bestowed. “Ye stop ony
gentleman that’s the Prince’s freend?” for she too, though
with other feelings, had adopted the general opinion respecting
Waverley. “I daur ye to touch him, ” spreading abroad her
long and muscular fingers, garnished with claws which a vul-
ture might have envied. “ [’ll set my ten commandments in
the face o” the first loon that lays a finger on him.’

‘ Gae hame, gudewife,” quoth the farmer aforesaid; “ it
wad better set you to be nursing the gudeman’s bairns th:
be d eaving us here.’

‘ fis bairns!” retorted the Amazon. regarding her
band with a grin of ineffable contempt—“ As bairns |!

i LO

hus-

O gin ye were dead, gudeman,

end a green turf on your head, gudeman !
Then I wz aa ware my widowhood

U a a ranting Highlandman.’’

This canticle, which excited a suppressed titter among: the
younger part of 1 the audience, tot tally overcame the patience of
the taunted man of the anvil. Deil be in me but I’ll put
this het gad down her throat!” cried he, in an ecstacy of wfath
snatching a bar from the forge ; and he, might have Pet
his threat, had he not been withheld | by a part of the mob, whi
the rest endeavored to force the term: igant out of his presence

Waverley meditated a retreat in the confusion, but his ieee:
was nowhere to be seen. At length, he observed, at some dis-
tance, his faithful attendant, E ‘benezer, who, as soon as he had
perceived the turn matters were likely to take, had withdrawn
both horses from the press, and, mounted on the one, and
holding the other, answered the loud and repeated calls of
Waverley for his horse, ‘‘ Na, na! if ye are nae friend to kirk
and the king, and are detained as siccan a person, ye maun an
swer to honest men of the country for breach of contract :
and I maun keep the naig and the walise for damage and ex-

pense, in respect my horse and mysell will lose to-morrow’s
day’s-wark, besides the afternoon preaching.”

"Edward, out of patience, hemmed in and hustled by the
rabble on every side, and every moment expecting personal vio-
lence resolved to try measures of intimidation, and at length
drew a pocket-pistol, threatening, on the one hand, to shoot
whomsoever dared to stop him, and on the other, menacing
Ebenezer -with a similar doom, if he stirred a foot with the
horses. ‘The sapient Partridge says, that one man with a pis

  
  
  
  
   
  
     
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
    
    
    
   
      
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
 
      
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   

ERENT
Rater iste iatsDe neh ncuron re

172 WAVERLEY.
tol, is equal to a hundred unarmed, because, though he can
shoot but one of the multitude, yet no one knows but that he
himself may be that luck es individual. The levy en masse of
Cairnvreckan would therefore Bion ably have given way, nor
would Ebenezer, whose natural paleness had waxed three shades
more cadaverous, have ventured to dispute a mandate so en-
forced, had not the Vulcan of the village, eager to discharge upon
some more worthy object the fury which his helpmate had pro-
voked, and not ill satisfied to find such an object in Waverley,
rushed at him with the red-hot bar of iron, with such determina,
tion, as made the discharge of his pistol an act of self-defence.
The unfortunate man fell ; and while Edward, thrilled with a nat.
ural horror at the incident, neither had presence of mind to un-
sheathe his sword, nor to draw his remaining pistol, the populace
threw themselves upon him, disarmed him, and were about to use
him with great violence, when the appearance of a venerable
clergyman, the pia: of the parish, put a curb on their fury.

This worthy man (none of the Goukthrapples or Rentowels)
maintained his character with the common people, although he
preached the practical fruits of Christian faith, as well as its
abstract tenets, and was respected by the higher orders, not-
withstanding he declined soothing their speculative errors by
converting the pulpit of the gospel into a school of heathen
morality. Perhaps it is owing to this mixture of faith and
practice in his doctrine, that, although his memory has formed
a sort of era in the annals of Cairnvreckan, so that the
parishioners, to denote what befell Sixty Years since, still say
it happened “in good Mr. alg rton’s time,” I have never eid
able to discover which he belonged to, the evangelical, or the
moderate party in the kirk. NerdolI hold the circumstance
of much moment, since, inmy own remembrance, the one was
headed by an Erskine, the other Dy a Robertson.

Mr. Morton had been alarmed by the discharge of the
pistol, and the increasing hubbub around the smithy. His first
attention, after he had directed the bystanders to detain Wa-
verley, but to abstain from injuring him, was turned to the body
of Muck lewrath, over which his wife, in a revulsion of feeling,
was weeping, howling, and tearing her elflocks, in a state little
short of distraction. On raising up the smith, the first dis:
covery was, that he was alive; and the next, that he was likely
to live as long as if he had never heard the report of a pistol
in his life. He had made a narrow escape, however; the
bullet had grazed his head, and stunned him for a moment ot
two, which trance terror and confusion of spirit had prolonged
somewhat longer. He now arose to demand vengeance on theWAVERLEY. 73

person of Waverley, and with difficulty acquiesced in the pro:
posal of Mr. Morton, that he should be carried before the laird,
as a justice Of peace, and placed at his disposal. ‘The rest

of the assistants unanimously agreed to the measures recom-
mended; Even Mrs. Mucklewrath, who had begun to re-
cover from her hysterics, whimpered forth—“She wadna say
naething against what the minister proposed ; he was e’en owe!
gude for his trade, and she hoped to see him wi’ a dainty
decent bishop’s gown on his back; a comelier si
Geneva cloaks and bands, I wis.”

All controversy being thus laid aside, Waverley, escorted
by the whole inhabitants of the village, who were not bed-rid-
den, was conducted to the house of ‘Cairnvreckan, which was
about half a mile distant.

ght than your

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-—FIRST.

AN EXAMINATION,

Major MELVILLE of Cairnvreckan, an elderly gentleman,
who has spent his youth in the military service, received Mr.
Morton with great kindness, and our hero with civility, which
the equivocal circumstances wherein Edward was placed, ren-
dered constrained and distant.

The nature of the smith’s hurt was inquired into, and as the
actual injury was likely to prove trifling, and the circumstances
in which it was received, rendered the infliction, on Edward’s
part, a natural act of self-defence, the Major conceived he
might dismiss that matter, on Waverley’s depositing in his hands
a small sum for the benefit of the wounded person.

‘I couid wish, sir,” continued the Major, “ that my duty
terminated here ; but it is necessary that we should have some
further inquiry into the cause of your journey through the

country at this unfortunate and distracted time.”

Mr Ebenezer Cruickshanks now stood forth, and communi:
cated to the magistrate all he knew or suspected, from the re-
serve of Waverley, and the evasions of Callum Beg. The horse
upon which Edward rode, he said, he knew to belong to Vich
Ian Vohr, though he dare not tax Edward’s former attendant
with the fact, lest he should have his house and stables burnt
over his head some night by that godless gang, the Mac-Ivors.
He concluded by exaggerating his own services to the kirk and
state, as having been the means, under God (as he modestly

c
i

  
 
 
  
    
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 

Re oie NNT Sync ist

eT eae eh eaSO ates

ities eck eee eee

ie

oo

174 WAVERLEY.

qualified the assertion), of attaching this suspicious and formid
able delinquent. He intimated hopes of future reward, and ol
instant reimbursement for loss of time, and even of character,
by travelling on the state business on the fast-day.

To this Major Melville answered, with great composure,
that so far from claiming any merit in this affair, Mr. Cruick-
shanks ought to deprecate the imposition of a very heavy fine
for neglecting to lodge, in terms of the recent proclamation, an
account with the nearest magistrate of any stranger who came
to his inn; that as Mr. Cruickshanks boasted so much of re-
ligion and loyalty, he should not impute this conduct to dis-
affection, but only suppose that his zeal for kirk and state had
been lulled asleep by the opportunity of charging a stranger
with double horse-hire; that, however, feeling himself incom-
petent to decide singly upon the conduct of a person of such
importance, he should reserve it for consideration of the next
quarter-sessions. Now our history for the present saith no
more of him of the Candlestick, who wended dolorous and mal-
content back to his own dwelling.

Major Melville then commanded the villagers to return to
their homes, excepting two, who afficiated as constables, and
whom he directed to wait below. The apartment was thus
cleared of every person but Mr. Morton, whom the Major in-
vited to remain; a sort of factor, who acted as clerk; and
Waverley himself. There ensued a painful and embarrassed
pause, till Major Melville, looking upon Waverley with much
compassion, and often consulting a paper or memorandum
which he held in his hand, requested to know his name.

“Edward Waverley.”

“Tt thought so; late of the dragoons, and nephew of
Sir Everard Waverley, of Waverley-Honour?”

; Lhe Same,”

“Young gentleman, I am extremely sorry that this painful
duty has fallen to my lot.”

“Duty, Major Melville, renders apologies superfluous.”

“True, sir; permit me, therefore, to ask you. how your
time has been disposed of since you obtained leave of absence
from your regiment, several weeks ago, until the present mo:
Ment r-

‘“My reply,” said Waveriey, ‘“‘to so general a question
must be guided by the nature of the charge which renders it
necessary. I request to know what that charge is, and upor
what authority I am forcibly detained to reply to it?”

“The charge, Mr. Waverley, I grieve to say, is of a very
high nature, and effects your character both as a soldier and aWAVERLEY 175
subject. In the former capacity, you are charged with spreading
mutiny and rebellion among the men you commanded, and
setting them the example of des sertion, by prolonging your own
absence from the regiment, conti “ary to the express orders of
your commanding-officer. The civil crime of which you stand

o
c

accused is that of high treason, and levying war against the
king, the highest delinquency of which a subject can be
guilty.”

And by what authority am I detained to reply to such
heinous calumnies ? ”

‘By one which you must not dispute, nor I disobey.”

He handed to Waverley a warrant from the Supreme
Criminal Court of Scotland, in full form, for apprehending and
securing the person of Edward Waverley, Esq., suspected of
treasonable practices and other high crimes and misdemeanors.

The astonishment which Waverley expressed at this com-
munication was imputed by Mz jor Melville to conscious cuilt,
while Mr. Morton was rather disposed to construe it into the

surprise of innocence unjustly suspected. Ther ‘€ was some-
thing true in both conjectures s; for although Edward’s mind
acquitted him of the crimes with which he was charged, yet a

hasty review of his own conduct convinced him he m ‘He tae
great difficulty in establishing his innocence to the satisfaction
of others.

“It is a very painful part of this painful business,” said
Major Melville, after a pause, “ that, under so grave a charge,
[ must necessarily request to see such papers as you have on
your person.”

‘You shall, sir, without reserve,” said Edward, throwing
his pocket-book and memorandums upon the table; “ there is
but one with which I could wish you would dispense.”

‘I am afraid, Mr. Waverley, T can indulge you with no re-
servation.”

‘You shall see it then, sir; and as it can be of no service,
I beg it may be returned.”

He took from his bosom the lines he had that morning re
ceived, and presented them with the envelope. The Major
perused them in silence, and directed his clerk to make a copy
of them, He then wrapped the copy in the envelope, and
placing it on the table before him, returned the original to
Waverley, with an air of melancholy gravity.

After indulging the prisoner, for such our hero must now
be considered, with what he thought a reasonable time for re-
flection, Major Melville resumed his examination, premising,
that as Mr, Waverley seemed to object to general questions,ithe se ee

WAVERLEY.

his interrogatories should be as specific as his information per:
mitted. He then proceeded in his investigation, dictating, as
he went on, the import of the questions and answers to the
amanuensis, by whom it was written down.

“Did Mr. Waverley know one Humphry Houghton, a non-
commissioned officer in Gardiner’s dragoons ?”

“Certainly ; he was sergeant of my troop, and son of a
tenant of my uncle.”

‘““Exactly—and had a considerable share of your confi-
dence, and an influence among his comrades ? ”

‘‘T had never occasion to repose confidence in a person of

sé

 

his description,’ answered Waverley. ‘I favored Sergeant
Houghton as a clever, active young fellow, and I believe his
fellow-soldiers respected him accordingly.”

“But you used through this man,” answered Major Mel-
ville, “to communicate with such of your troop as were re-
cruited upon Waverley-Honour? ”

“Certainly ; the poor fellows, finding themselves in a regi-
ment chiefly composed of Scotch or Irish, looked up to me in
any of their little distresses, and naturally made their country-
man, and sergeant, their spokesman on such occasions.”

“Sergeant Houghton’s influence,” continued the Major,
“extended, then, particularly over those soldiers who followed
you to the regiment from your uncle’s estate?”

** Surely ;—but what is that to the present purpose? ”

“To that I am just coming, and I beseech your candid re-
ply. Have you, since leaving the regiment, held any corre-
spondence, direct or indirect, with this Sergeant Houghton? ”

“I!—I hold correspondence with a man of his rank and
situation !—How, or for what purpose ? ”

“That you are to explain ;—but did you not, for example,
send to him for some books?”

“You remind me of a trifling commission,” said Waver-
ley, “which I gave Sergeant Houghton, because my servant
could not read. I do recollect I bade him by: letter -sétect
some books, of which I sent him a list, and send them to me
at Tully-Veolan.”

“ And of what description were those books ? ”

“They related almost entirely to elegant literature; they
were designed for a lady’s perusal.”

“ Were there not, Mr. Waverley, treasonable tracts and
pamphiets among them ? ”

“There were some political treatises, into which I hardly
looked. They had been sent to me by the officiousness of a
kind friend, whose heart is more to be esteemed than his pruWAVERLEY. 177
dence or political sagacity ; they seemed to be dull composi:
tions.”

‘That friend,” continued the persevering inquirer, “ was a
Mr, Pembroke, a non-juring clergyman, the author of two trea-
sonable works, of which the manuscripts were found among
your baggage?”

“But of which, I give you my honor as a gentleman,” re-
plied Waverley, “‘I never read six pages.”

‘I am not your judge, Mr. Waverley ; your examination
will be transmitted elsewhere. And now to proceed—Do ycu
know a person that passes by the name of Wily Will, or Will
Ruthven ?’

““T never heard of such a name till this moment.”

“Did you never through such a person, or any other per-
son, communicate with Sergeant Humphry Houghton, instigat-
ing him to desert, with as many of his comrades as he could
seduce to join him, and unite with the Highlanders and other
rebels now in arms, under the command of the young Preten-
der?:”’

“T assure you I am not only entirely guiltless of the plot
you have laid to my charge, but I detest it from the very bot-
tom of my soul, nor would I be guilty of such treachery to
gain a throne, either for myself or any other man alive,”

‘Yet when I consider this envelope in the handwriting of
one of those misguided gentlemen who are now in arms
against their country, and the verses which is enclosed, I cannot
but find some analogy between the enterprise I have mentioned
and the exploit of Wogan, which the writer seems to expect
you should imitate.”

"Waverley was struck with the coincidence, but denied that
the wishes or expectations of the letter-writer were to be re-
garded as proofs of a charge otherwise chimerical.

“ But, if I am rightly informed, your time was spent, during
your absence from the regiment, between the house of this
Highland Chieftain, and that of Mr. Bradwardine of Bradwar-
dine, also in arms for this unfortunate cause.”

“T do not mean to disguise it, but I do deny, most reso-
lutely; being privy to any of their designs against the Govern.
ment.”

“You do not, however, I presume, intend to deny that
you attended your host Glennaquoich to a rendezvous, where,
under pretense of a general hunting match, most of the ac-
complices of his treason were assembled to concert measures
for taking arms?”

“T acknowledge having been at such a meeting,’’ said

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WAVERLEY.

Waverley ; ‘‘but I neither heard nor saw anything which could
give it the character you affix to it.”

“From thence you proceeded,” continued the magistrate,
“with Glennaquoich and a part of his clan, to join the army
of the young Pretender, and returned after having paid your
homage to him, to discipline and arm the remainder, and unite
them to his bands on their way southward ?”

“‘T never went with Glennaquoich on such an errand. [|
never so much as heard that the person whom you mention was
in the country.”

He then detailed the history of his misfortune at the hunt-
ing match, and added, that on his return he found himself sud-
denly deprived of his commission, and did not deny that he
then, for the first time, observed symptoms which indicated a
disposition in the Highlands to take arms ; but added, that
having no inclination to join their cause, and no longer any
reason for remaining in Scotland, he was now on his return to
his native country, to which he had been summoned by those
who had a right to direct his motions, as Major Melville would
perceive from the letters on the table.

Major Melville accordingly perused the letters of Richard
Waverley, of Sir Everard, and of Aunt Rachel, but the infer-
ences he drew from them were different from what Waverley ex-
pected. They held the language of discontent with Government,
threw out no obscure hints of revenge; and that of poor Aunt
Rachel, which plainly asserted the justice of the Stuart cause,
was held to contain the open avowal of what the others only
ventured to insinuate.

‘‘ Permit me another question, Mr. Waverley,” said Major
Melville,—“ Did you not receive repeated letters from your
commanding-officer, warning you and commanding you to re-
turn to your post, and acquainting you with the use made of
your name to spread discontent among your soldiers ?”

‘““Tnever did, Major Melville. One letter, indeed, I received
from him containing a civil intimation of his wish that I would
employ my leave of absence otherwise than —in constant resi-
dence at Bradwardine, as to which, I own, I thought he was
not called on to interfere ; and finally, I received, on the same
day on which I observed myself superseded in the Gazette, a
second letter from Colonel Gardiner, commanding me to join
the regiment, an order which, owing to my absence, already
mentioned and accounted for, I received too late to be obeyed.
If there were any intermediate letters, and certainly from the
Colonel’s high character I think it probable that there were,
they have never reached me.WAVERLEY. 179
““T have omitted, Mr. Wav erley,” continued Major Melville,
‘to inquire after a matter of less consequence, but which ha
nevertheless been publicly talked of to your disadvantage. It
is said, that a treasonable toast having been proposed in your
hearing and presence, you, holding his Majesty’s commission,
suffered the task of resenting it to “devolve e€ upon another gentle-
man of the company. This, sir, cannot be charged against
you in a court of justice ; but if, as I am informed, the officers
of your regiment requested an explanation of such a rumor, as
a gentleman and a soldier, I cannot but be surprised that you
did not afford it to them.”

This was too much. Beset and pre ac on every hand by
accusations, in which gross falsehood were blended with such
circumstances of truth as could not fail td: procure them credit
—alone, unfriended, and in a strange land, Waverley almost
gave up his life and honor for lost, and leaning his head upon
his hand, resolutely refused to answer any further questions,
since the fair and candid statements he had alre eady made had
only served to furnish arms against him.

Without expressing either surprise or displeasure at the
change in Waverley’s manner, Major Melville proceeded com-
posedly to put several other queries to him. ‘“ What does it
avail me to answer you?” said Edward sullenly. ‘“ You appear
convinced of my guilt, and wrest every reply I have made to
support your own perconceived opinion. Enjoy your supposed
triumph, then, and torment me no further. If I am capable of
the cowardice and treachery your charge burdens me with, I am
not worthy to be believed in any reply I can make you. If I am
not deserving of your suspicion—and God and my own con-
science bear evidence with me that it is so—then I do not see
why I should by my candor lend my accuser arms against
my innocence. ‘There is no reason I should answer a word
more, and I am determined to abide by this resolution.” And
again he resumed his posture of sullen and determined silence.

‘Allow me,” said the magistrate, “to remind you of one
reason that may suggest the propriety of a candid and open
confession. ‘The inexperience of youth, Mr. Waverley, lays it
open tothe plans of the more designing and artful; and one of
your friends at least—I mean Mac-Ivor ‘of Glennaquoich ranks
high i in the latter class, as, from your apparent ingenuousness,
youth , and unacquaintance with the manners of the Highlands,
[ should be disposed to place you among the former. In such
a case, a false step, or error li ke yours. which I shall be happy
to consider as involuntary, may be atoned for, and I would
willingly act as intercessor. But as you must necessarily be

 

 

  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
     
    
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

LRA

A

ee et OL renagate bahnatcas aces

WAVERLEY.

acquainted with the strength of the individuals in this coun-
try who have assumed arms, with their means, and with their
plans, I must expect you will merit this mediation on my part
by a frank and candid avowal of all that has come to your
knowledge upon these heads, In which- case, I think I can
venture to promise that a very short personal restraint will be
the only ill consequence that can arise from your accession to

these unhappy intrigues.”
Waverley listened with great composure until the end of
this exhortation, when, springing from his seat, with an energy

iat is your name, | have hitherto answered your questions with
candor, or declined them with temper, because their import
concerned myself alone; but as you presume to esteem me

as

|

1e had not vet displayed, he replied, “ Major Melville, since
y t y iE 3 J 9

|

mean enough to commence informer against others, who re-
ceived me, whatever may be their public misconduct, as a guest
and friend,—I declare to you that I consider your question as
an insult infinitely more offensive than your calumnious sus-

l fortune permits me no other

picions ; and that, since my har«
1
1

mode of resenting them than by verbal defiance, you shoulc
sooner have my heart out of my bosom than a single syllable
of information upon subjects which I could only become ac-
quainted with in the full confidence of unsuspecting hospitality.”

Mr. Morton and the Major looked at each other, and the
former, who, in the course of the examination, had been re-
bled with a sorry rheum, had recourse to his snuff-
f

peatedly trot
box and hi

“ Mr. Waverley,” said the Major, “‘ my present ‘situation
prohibits me alike from giving or receiving offence, and I will

not protract a discussion which approaches to either. I am

Ou
s handkerchie

afraid I must sign a warrant for detaining you in custody, but
this house shall for the present be yourprison. I fear I cannot
persuade you to accept a share of our supper ?—(Edward shook
his head)—but I will order refreshments in your apartment.”
Our hero bowed and withdrew, under guard of the officers
of justice, toasmall but here, declining all
}

offers of food or wine, he flung himself on the bed, and, stupe-

fied by the harassing events and mental fatigue of this miser
able day, he sunk intoa deep and heavy slumber. This was
more than he himself could have expected ; but it is mentioned
of the North American Indians, when at the stake of torture,
that on the least intermission of agony, they will sleep until the
fire is applied to awaken them.

[3 . 1 1
Nanadsome roonk—_WWAVERLEY.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SECOND.
A CONFERENCE AND THE CONSEQUENCE.

Major MELviItie had detained Mr. Morton during his ex:
amination of Waverley, both because he thought he might de-
rive assistance from his practical good sense and approved
loyalty, and also because it was agreeable to have a witness of
unimpeached candor and veracity to proceedings which touched
the BéHoT and safety of a young Englishman of high rank and
family, and the expectant heir of a large fortune. Every step
he knew would be rigorously canvassed, and it was his business
to place the justice and integrity of his own conduc t be yond the
limits of question.

When Waverley retired, the laird and clergyman of Cairn-
vreckan sat down in silence to their evening oe While the
servants were in attendance, neither chose to say anything on
the circumstances which occupied their minds, tad neither felt
it easy to speak upon any other. The youth and apparent
frankness of Waverley stood in strong contrast to the shades
of suspicion which darkened around him, and he had a sort of
naiveté and openness of demeanor, that seemed to belong to
one unhackneyed in the ways of intrigue, and which pleaded
highly in his favor.

Each mused over the particulars of the examination, and
each viewed it through the medium of his own feelings. Both
were men of ready and acute tale ri and both were equally com-
petent to combine various parts of evidence, and to deduce from
them the necessary conclusions. But the wide difference of
their habits and education often occasioned a great discrep-
ancy in their respective deductions from admitted premises.

Major Melville had been versed in camps and cities ; he
was vigilant by profession, and cautious from experience, had
met with much evil in the world, and therefore, though himself
an upright magistrate and an honorable man, his opinion of
others were always strict, and sometimes unjustly severe. Mr.
Morton, on the contrary, had passed from the literary pursuits
of a college, where he was beloved b y his companions and re-
specter dby his teachers, to the ease and simplicity of his present
charge, where his opportunities of witnessing evil were few, and
never dwelt upon, but in order to encourage repentance and
amendment; and where the love and respect of his parishionersi ns thinndbishhhesiuabbhskier akeees

Fae

i
FS

  

ee

WAVERLEY.

repaid his affectionate zeal in their behalf, by endeavoring to
disguise from him what they knew would give him the most
acute pain, namely, their own occasional transgressions of the
duties which it was the business of his life to recommend. . ‘Thus
it was a common saying in the neighborhood (though both were
popular characters), that the laird knew only the ill in the parish,
and the minister only the good.

A love of letters, though kept in subordination to his
clerical studies and duties, also distinguished the pastor of
Cairnvreckan, and had tinged his mind in earlier days with a
slight feeling of romance, which no after incidents of real life
had entirely dissipated, The early loss of an amiable young
woman, whom he had married for love, and who was quickly
followed to the grave by an only child, had also served, even
after the lapse of many years, to soften a disposition naturally
mild and contemplative. His feelings on the present occasion
were therefore likely to differ from those of the severe dis-
ciplinarian, strict magistrate, and distrustful man of the world.

When the servants had withdrawn, the silence of both par-
ties continued, until Major Melville, filling his glass, and push-
ing the bottle to Mr. Morton, commenced.

“ A distressing affair this, Mr. Morton. I fear this young-
ster has brought himself within the compass of a halter.”

“God forbid!” answered the clergyman.

“Marry, and amen,” said the temporal magistrate, “ but
I think even your merciful logic will hardly deny the conclu-
sion.”

“ Surely, Major,” answered the clergyman, “I should hope
it might be averted, for aught we have heard to-night?”

“Indeed!” replied Melville. ‘“ But, my good parson, you
are one of those who would communicate to every criminal the
benefit of clergy.”

“ Unquestionably I would: mercy and long-suffering are
the grounds of the doctrine I am called to teach.”

“True, religiously speaking ; but mercy to a criminal may
be gross injustice to the community. I don’t speak of this
young fellow in particular, who I heartily wish may be able to
clear himself, for I like both his modesty and his spirit. But I
fear he has rushed upon his fate.”

“ And why? Hundreds of misguided gentlemen are now in
arms against the Government, many, doubtless, upon principles
which education and early prejudice have gilded with the
names of patriotism and heroism ;—Justice, when she selects
her victims for such a multitude (for surely all will not be
destroyed), must regard the moral motive. He whom ambition,WAVERLEY. 183

or hope. of personal advantage, has led to disturb the peace o!
a well-ordered government, let him fall a victim to the laws:
but surely youth, misled by the wild visions of chivalry and
imaginary loyalty, may plead for pardon. ]
[If visionary chivalry and imaginary
the predicament of high-treason, repli ed th
know no court in Christe idom, my dear \
they cannot sue out their ee Corpus.’

‘ But I cannot see that Eaisppouehy s guilt is at all established
to my satisfaction,” said the clergyman.

‘“ Because your good nature blinds your good sense,”
replied Major Melville “Observe now: this young man,
descended of a family of hereditary Jacobites, his uncle the
leader of the Tory interest in the county of ——,, his father a
disobliged and discontented courtier, his tutor a non-juror, and
the author of two treasonable ee youth, I say, enters

1

into Gardiner’s dragoons, bringing with him a body of young

loyalty come withi
he magistrate, ‘ oJ
[

Morton, where

33

fellows from his uncle’s estate, who have not stickled at avow-
ing, in their way, the high-church principles they learned at
Waverley-Honour, in their disputes with their comrades. To
these young men Waverley is unusually attentive ; they are
supplied with money beyond a soldier’s wants, and inconsistent
with his discipline ; and are under the management of a favorite
sergeant, through whom they hold an unusually close communi-
cation with their captain, and affect to consider themselves as
inde ependen it of the other officers, and superior to their com-
rades.”’

All this, my dear Major, is the natural consequence of
their attachment to their young landlord, and of their finding
themselves in a regiment levied chiefly in the north of Ireland
and the west of Scotland, and of course among comrades dis-
posed to quarrel with them, both as Englishmen, and as mem-
bers of the Church of England.”

‘Well said, parson!” replied the magistrate.—“ I would
some of your synod heard you.u—But let me goon. This young
man obtains leave of absence, goes to Tully- -Veolan—the prin:
ciples of the Baron of Bradw ardine are pretty well known, not
to mention that this lad’s uncle brought him off in the year
fifteen ;\he engages there in a brawl, in which he is said to have
disgraced the commission he bore ; Colonel Gardiner writes
to hi im, first mildiy, then more sharply—I think you will not
doubt his s having done so, since he says so; the mess invite
him to explain the quarrel, in which he is said to have been in-
volved; he neither replies to his commander nor his comrades.
In the meanwhile his soldiers Fecome mutinous and disorderly,

eeSee ore

: bs
A
.

cae

WAVERLEY.

and at length, when the rumor of this unhappy rebellion be.
comes general, his favorite Sergeant Houghton, and another
fellow, are detected in correspondence with a French emissary,
accredited, as he says, by Captain Waverley, who urges him,
according to the men’s confession, to desert with the troop and
join their captain, who was with Prince Charles. In the mean
while, this trusty captain is, by his own admission, residing at
Glennaquoich with the most active, subtle, and desperate
Jacobite in Scotland ; he goes with him at least as far as theu
famous hunting rendezvous, and I fear a little farther. Mean-
while two other summons are sent him; one warning him of
the disturbances in his troop, another peremptorily ordering
him to repair to his regiment, which indeed common sense
might have dictated, when he observed rebellion thickening all
around him. He returns an absolute refusal. and throws up
his commission.”

“ He had been already deprived of it,” said Mr. Morton.

“ But he regrets,” replied Melville, “ that the measure had
anticipated his resignation, His baggage is seized at his quar-
ters, and at Tully-Veolan, and is found to contain a stock of
pestilential jacobitical pamphlets, enough to poison a whole
country, besides the unprinted lucubrations of his worthy friend
and tutor Mr. Pembroke.”

“He says he never read them,” answered the minister.

“In an ordinary case I should believe him,” replied the
magistrate, “ for they are as stupid and pedantic in composi-
tion as mischievous in their tenets. But can you suppose any-
thing but value for the principles they maintain would induce
a young man of his age to Ing such trash about with him?
Then, when news arrive of the approach of the rebels, he sets
out in a sort of disguise, refusing to tell his name ; and, if yon
old fanatic tell truth, attended by a very suspicious character,
and mounted on a horse known to have belonged to Glenna-
quoich, and bearing on his person letters from his family, ex-
pressing high rancor against the house of Brunswick, and a
copy of verses in praise of one Wogan, who abjured the service
of the Parliament to join the Highland insurgents, when in
arms to restore the house of Stuart, with a body of English
cavalry—the very counterpart of his own plot—and summed
up with a ‘Go thou and do likewise,’ from that loyal subject, and
most safe and peaceable character, Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glen-
naquoich, Vich Ian Vohr, and so forth. And, lastly,” continued

Major Melville, warming in the detail of his arguments, ‘“ where
do we find this second edition of Cavalier Wogan ? Why, truly,
in the very track most proper for execution of his design, andWAVERLEY. 185

pistoling the first of the king’s subjects who ventures to ques-
tion his intentions.’

Mr. Morton prudently abstained from argument, which he
perceiv would only harden the magistrate in his opinion, and
merely asked how he intended to dispose of the prisoner ?

‘It is a question of some difficulty, considering the state of
the country,” said Major Melville

“Could you not detain him (being such a gentleman-like
young man) here 2 your own house, cut of harm’s way, till this
storm blows over:

“ My good ene said Major Melville, “ neither your
house nor mine will be long out of harm’s way, even were it
legal to confine him here. I have just learned that the com-
mander-in-chief, who marched into the Highlands to seek out
and disperse the insurgents, has declined giving oe battle at
Corryerick, and marched on northward with all the disposable
force of Government, to Inverness, John-o’-Groat’s House, or
the devil, for what I know, leaving the road to the Low Coun-
try open and undefended to the Highland army.”

“Good God!” said the clergyman. ‘Is the man a coward,
a traitor, or an idiot?”

“None of the three, I believe,” answered Melville. ‘Sir
John has the commor- fa courage of a common soldier, is
honest enough, does what he is commanded, and understands
what is told him, but is as fit to act for himself in circumstances
of importanc e, as I, my dear parson, to occupy your pulpit.’

This important public intelligence naturally diverted the
discourse from Waverley for some time ; at length, however,
the subject was resumed.

““T believe,” said Major Melville, “ that I must give this
young man in charge to some of the detached parties of armed
volunteers, who were lately sent out to overawe the disaffected
districts. They are now recalled towards Stirling, and a small
body comes this way to-morrow or next day, commanded by the
westland man,—what’s his name ?—You saw him, and said he
was the very model of one of Cromwell’s military saints.”

“ Gilfillan, the Cameronian,” answered Mr. Morton, “ I
wish. the young gentleman may be safe with him. Strange
things are done in the heat and hurry of minds in so agitating
a crisis, and I fear Gilfillan is of a sect which has suffered
persecution, without learning mercy.”

“ He has only to lodge Mr. Waverley in Stirling Castle,”
said the Major, “ I will give strict 1 injunctions to treat him well.
I really cannot devise any better mode for securing him, and ]

f .
Rett sitdeien samen

Sos
res are etn ee enaWAVERLEY.

fancy you would hardly advise me to encounter the responsi.
bility of setting him at liberty.”

“ But you will have no objection to my seeing him to-morrow
in private : >” said the minister

None, certainly : your loyalty and character are my Wat-
rant. But with what view do you make the request ?’

¢ Simply,” replied Mr. I Morton, “ to make the experiment
whether he may not be brought to communicate to me some
circumstances which may hereafter be useful to alleviate, if not
to exculpate his conduct.”

The friends now parted and retired to rest, each filled with
the most anxious reflections on the state of country.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRD.
A CONFIDANT.

WAVERLEY awoke in the morning, from troubled dreams
and unrefreshing slumbers, to a full consciousness of the horrors
of his situation. How it might terminate he knew not. He
might be delivered up to military law, which, in the midst of
civil war, was not likely to be scrupulous in the choice of its
victims, or the quality of the evidence. Nor did he feel much
more comfortable at the thoughts of a trial before a Scottish
court of justice, where he knew the laws and forms differed in
many eu from those of England, and had been taught to
believe, however erroneously, that the liberty and rights of the
subject were less carefully protected. A sentiment of bitter-
ness rose in his mind against the Government, which he con-
sidered as the cause of his embarrassment and peril, and he
cursed internally his scrupulous rejection of Mac-Ivor’s invita-
tion to accompany him to the field.

“Why did not I,” he said to himself, “ like other men of
honor, take the earliest opportunity to welcome to Britain the
descendant of her ancient kings, and lineal heir of her throne?

Why did not I

Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith,
Seek out Prince Charles, and fall before his feet?

All that has been recorded of excellence and worth in the
house of Waverley, has been founded upon their loyal faith to
the house of Stuart. From the interpretation which this ScotchWAVERLEY.

magistrate has put upon the letters of my uncle and father, it
is plain that I ought to have understood them as marsh anne
me to the course of my ancestors ; and it has been my gross

dulness, joined to the obscurity of expression which they ad lopted

for the sake of security, that has confounded my judem ent.
Had I yielded to the first generous impulse of indignat tion
when I learned that my honor was practiced upon, how different
had been my present situation! I had then been free and

in arms, fighting, like my forefathers, for love, for loyalty,
and for fame. And now I am here, netted and in the toils, at
the disposal of a suspicious, stern, and cold-hearted man, per
haps to be turned over to the solitude of a dungeon, or the in-
famy of a public execution. O, Fe srgus! how true has your
prophecy proved; and how speedy, how very speedy, has been
its accomplishment ! ”

While Edward was ruminating on these painful subjects of
contemplation, and very naturally, though not quite so justly,
bestowing upon the reigning « dynasty that blame which was due
to chance, or, in part at least, to his own unreflecting conduct,
Mr. Morton availed himself of Major Melville’s permission to
pay him an early visit.

Waverley’s first impulse was to intimate a desire that he
might not be disturbed with questions or conversation, but he
suppressed it upon observing the benevolent and reverend ap-
pearance of the clergyman who had rescued him from the im-
mediate violence of the villagers.

a elieve, sir,’ said the unfortunate y oung man, “that in
any other circumstances I should have had as ‘much gratitude
to express to you as the safety of my life may be worth; but
such is the present tumult of my mind, and such is my antici
pation of what I am yet likely to endure, that I can hardly
offer you thanks for your interposition.

Mr. Morton replied, “ that, far from making any claim upon
his good opinion, his only wish and the sole purpose of his
visit was to find out the means of deserving it. My excellent
friend, Major Melville,” he continued, “ has feelings and duties
as a soldier and public functionary, by which I am not fettered ;
nor can I always coincide in op yinions which he forms, perhaps
with too little allowance for the imperfections of human nature.”
He paused, and then proceeded: “TI do not intrude myself on
your confidence, Mr, Waverley, for the purpose of learning any
circumstances, the knowledge of which can be prejudicial either
to yourself or to others; but I own my earnest wish is, that
you would intrust me with any particulars which could lead to
your exculpation. I can solemnly assure you they will be dePsaltis eae eae Sore

WAVERLEY.

posited with a faithful, and, to the extent of his limited powers,
a zealous agent.”

“You are, sir, 1 presume, a Presbyterian clergyman? ’’—
Mr. Morton bowed,—* Were I to be guided by the preposses-
sions of education, I might distrust your friendly professions in
my case; but | have observed that similar preju idices are nour-
ished in this country against your professional brethren of the
Episcopal persuasion, and I am willing to believe them equally
unfounded in both cases.”

‘vil to him that thinks otherwise,” said Mr. Morton; “ or
who holds church government and ceremonies as the exclusive
gauge of Christian faith or moral virtue.”

“ But,” continued Waverley, “I cannot perceive why I
should trouble you with a de tail of ug ticulars, out of which
after revolving them as carefully as Bos ssible in my recollection,
I find myself unable to explain much of pe atis charged against
me. I know, indeed, that I am innocent, but I hardly see how
I can hope to prove myself so.”

“Tt is for i oy reason,
man, “that I venture to solicit your confiden« My
of individuals in side country is pretty gener a sd can upon Oc
casion be extended. Your situation will, [ fear, preclude your
taking those active steps for recovering intelligence, or tracing
imposture, which I would willingly undertake in your b ehalf :
and if you are not benefited by my exertions, at least they

Mr. pelosi yeas the crerey-
knowl ledg

 

cannot be prejudicial to you.”

Waverley, after a few minutes’ a ae ction, was convinced
that his reposing confidence in Mr. Morton, so far as he him-
self was concerned, could hurt neither Ove Bradwardine nor
no ae both of whom had eS. assumed arms

eainst the Government, and that it might possibly, if the pro-
Escons of his new friend corresponded in sincerity with the
earnestness of his expression, be of some service to himself.
He therefore ran briefly over most of the events with which
the reader is already acquainted, suppressing his attachment to
FI lora, and indeed a her mentioning her nor Rose Bradwar-
dine in the course of his narrative.

Mr. Morton seemed d paraeuiany struck with the account of
Waverley’s visit to Donald Bean Lean. ‘I am glad,” he said,
“you did not mention this circumstance to the Major. It is
capable of great misconstruction on the part of those who do
not consider the power of curiosity and the influence of ro-
mance as motives of youthful conduct. When I was a young
man like you, Mr. Waverley, any such hair-brained expedition
(I beg your pardon for the expression) would have had inex-WAVERLEY,
pressible charms for me. But there are men in the world whe
will not believe that danger and fatigue are often incurred with-

ut any very adequate cause, and therefore who are sometimes
ied to assign motives of action entirely foreign to the truth.
This man Bean Lean is renowned through the country as a
sort of Robin Hood, and the stories which are told of his ad
dress and enterprise are the common tales of the winter fire-
side. He certainly possesses talents beyond the rude sphere
in which he moves; and, being neither destitute of ambition
nor encumbered with scruples, he will prob ably attempt, by
every means, to distinguish himself during the period of these

nhappy commotions Mr. Morton then made a careful
oes ae of the various ears culars of Waverley’s inter-
view with Donald Bean Lean, and the other circumstances

: 1 ] ] } e see cat ee 4 »
which he had communicated.

[he interest which this good man seemed to take in his

us gO
misfortunes—above all, the full confidence he appeared to re-
pose in his innocence—had the natural effect of softening Ed-

1
ward’s heart, whom the coldness of Major Melville had taught

to believe that the w sok was leagued to oppress him. He

shook Mr. Morton warmly by the hand, and, assuring him that
his kindness and sympathy had relieved his mind of a heavy
load, told him, that whatever might be his own fate, he be-
longed to a family who had both gratitude and the power of
displaying it.

a > i ge

[he earnestness of his thanks called drops to the eyes of

the worthy clergyman, who was doubly interested in the cause
for which he had volunteered his services, by observing the
eenuine and undissembled feelings of his young friend.

~ Edward now inquired 2 “Mr. Morton knew what was likely
to be his destination.

‘ Stirling Castle,” replied his friend ; * and so far Iam well
pleased for your sake, for the governor is a man Rt honor and
humanity. But I am more doubtful of your treatment upon the
road; Major Melville is involuntarily obliged o, bees, the
custody of your person to another.”

‘‘T am glad of it,” answered Waverley. ‘‘I detest that
cold-blooded calculating Scotch magistrate. I hope he and
shall never meet more: he had neither sympathy with my in-
nocence nor my wretchedness; and _ the petrifying accu-
racy with which he attended to every form of civility, while he
tortured me by his questions, his suspicions, and his inferences,
was as tormenting as the racks of the Inquisition. Do not

vindicate him, my dear sir, for that I cannot bear with patience;

   
     
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
   
       
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
   
     
     
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
    
    
  
    
  
  
  
 

Th
Y

Reto eres 5WAVERLEY.

tell me rather who is to have the charge of so important a state
prisoner as I am?”
fo believe a person called Gilfillan, one of the sect who are
termed Cameronians.”’
“‘T never heard of them before.’
“They claim,” said the clergyman, “ to represent the more
strict and severe Presbyterians, who, in Charles Second’s and
James Second’s’ days, ‘refused to profit by the~ Toleration, or
Indulgence’ as “it was called, which was extended:to others of
that reli izion. \-"Fhey*held conventicles in the open fields, and
being treated with‘ great violence and cruelty by the Scottish
vovernment, more than once took arms during those reigns.
They take their name from their leader, Richard Cameron.”

“T recollect,” said Waverley ;—‘ but did not the triumph
of Presbytery at the Revolution extinguish that sect?”

‘“¢ By no means,” replied Mr. Morton; “that great event
fell yet far short of what they proj posed, which was ee less
than the complete estab! ishment of the Presbyterian Church,
ie upon the grounds of the old Solemn League ‘and abvenane
Indeed; +I Weliéve th iey- scarce knew what they wanted ; but

being a*numerous body of*men, and not unacquainted with the
use of arms, they kept Ck mselves together as a separate party
in the state, and at the time of the Union had nearly formeda
most unnatural league Hin theit old enemies, the Jacobites, to
oppose that important national measure. Since that time their
numbers have gradually diminished ; but a good many are still
to be found in the western counties, and several, with a bette1
4 temper than in!'1707; have now taken arms for Government.
This person, whom they call Gifted Gilfillan, has been long a
leader.among them, and now ‘heads a small party, which will
pass here to-day, or to-morrow, on their march toward St irling,
under whose escort Major Melville proposes you shall trave el.
I would willingly speak to Gilfillan in your behalf ; but having
deeply imbibed all the prejudices of his sect, and being of the
same fierce disposition, he would pay little regard to the remon-
strances of an Erastian divine, as he would politely term me.—
And now, farewell, my young friend ; for the present, I must
not weary out the Major's indulgence, that I may obtain his
permission to visit you again in the course of the day.”

)WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOURTH.
THINGS MEND A LITTLE.

Aout noon, Mr. Morton returned, and brought an invitation
from Major Melvillethat Mr. Wav erley would honor him with his
company to dinner, notwithstanding the unpleasant affair which
detained him at Cairnvreckan, from which he should heartily
rejoice to see Mr. Waverley completely extricated. The truth
was that Mr. re s favorable eae Bee had some-
Wi staggered the preconceptions of the old soldier concerning
Edward’s. Supposed accession to the mutiny in the regiment:
and in the Raa state of the country, the mere Se ee
of disaffection, or an inclination to join the in: surgent Jacobites,
might 1 infer criminality indeed, but certainly not dishonor. Be-
sides, a person w hom the Major trusted had reported to him
(though, as it By ed, inaccurately), a contradiction of the
agitating news of the preceding evening. According to this
second edition of ps intelligence, the Highlande rs had with-
drawn from the Lowland frontier with the purpose of following
the army in their march to Inverness. The M.- jor was at a
loss, indeed, to reconcile his information with the well-known
abilities of some of the gentlemen in the Highland army, yet
it was the course which was likely to be most agreeable to
others. He remembered the same policy had detained them
in the north in the year 1715, and he anticipated a similar ter-
mination to the insurrection as upon that occasion. ‘This news
put him in such good humor, that he readily acquiesced in Mr.
Morton’s proposal to pay some hospitable attention to his un-
fortunate guest, and voluntarily added, he hoped the whole
affair would prove a youthful escapade, which might be easily
atoned by a short confinement. The kind mediator had some
trouble to prevail on his young friend to accept the invitation.
He dared not urge to him the real motive, which was a good-
natured wish to secure a favorable report of Waverley’s case
from Major Melville to Governor Blakeney. He remarked
from*the flashes of our hero’s spirit, that touching upon this
topic would be sure to defeat his purpose. He therefore
pleaded, that the invitation argued the Major’s disbelief of any
part of the accusation which was inconsistent with Waverley’s
conduct as a soldier anda man of honor, and that to decline his

courtesy might be interpreted into a consciousness that it was
unmerited. In short, he so satisfied Edward that the manly

  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
    
  
 
  
   
 
 
    
    
   
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 

Werte asters KWAVERLEY.

and proper course was to meet the Major on easy terms, that,
suppressing his strong dislike again to encounter his cold and
punctilious civility, Waverley agreed to be guided by his new
friend.

The meeting, at first, was stiff and formal enough. But
Edward having accepted the invitation, and his mind being
really soothed and relieved by the kindness of Morton, held
himself bound to behave with ease, though he could not affect
cordiality. The Major was somewhat of a don vivant, and his
wine was excellent. He told his old campaign stories, and
displayed much knowledge of men and manners. Mr. Morton
had an internal fund of placid and quiet gayety, which seldom
failed to enliven any small party in which he found himself
pleasantly seated. Waverley, whose life was a dream, gave
ready way to the predominating impulse, and became the most
lively of the party, He had at all times remarkable natural
powers of conversation, though easily silenced by discourage-
ment. On the present occasion, he piqued himself upon leav-
ing on the minds of his companions a favorable impression of
one who, under such disastrous circumstances, could sustain
his misfortunes with ease and gayety. His spirits, though not
unyielding, were abundantly elastic, and soon seconded his
efforts. The trio were engaged in very lively discourse, ap-
parently delighted with each other, and the kind host was
pressing a third bottle of Burgundy, when the sound of a drum
was heard at some distance. The Major, who, in the glee of
an old soldier, had forgot the duties of a magistrate, cursed,
with a muttered military oath, the circumstances which recalled
him to his official functions. He rose and went towards the
window, which commanded a very near view of the high-road,
and he was followed by his guests,

The drum advanced, beating no measured martial tune,
but a kind of rub-a-dub-dub, like that with which the fire-
drum startles the slumbering artisans of a Scotch burgh.
It is the object of this history to do justice to all men: J
must therefore record, in justice to the drummer, that he
protested he could beat any known march or point of wai
known in the British army, and had accordingly commenced
with “ Dumbarton’s Drums,’ when he was silenced by Gifted
Gilfillan, the commander of the party, who refused to permit
his followers to move to this profane, and even, as he said,
persecutive tune, and commanded the drummer to beat the
t1gth Psalm. As this was beyond the capacity of the drubber
of sheep-skin, he was fain to have recourse to the inoffensive
row-de-dow, as a harmless substitute for the sacred musicVAVERLEY. 193
which his instrument of skill was unable to achieve. This
may be held a trifling anecdote, but the drummer in question
was no less than town drummer of Anderton. I remember his
successor in office, a member of that enlightened body, the Brit.
ish Convention: be his memory, therefore, treated with due

~

respect,

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIFTH.
A VOLUNTEER SIXTY YEARS SINCE.

On hearing the unwelcome sound of the drum, Major
Melville hastily opened a sashed- door, and stepped out upon
a sort of terrace which divided his house from the high-road
from which the martial music proceeded. W averley and his
new friend followed him, though prob ably he would have
dispensed with their attendance. They soon recognized in
solemn march, first, the performer upon the drum: ‘second!
a large flag of four compartments, on which were inscribed t]
words, COVENANT, Kirk, Kinc, Kincpoms. The person who
was honored with this charge was followed by the commander
of the party, a thin, dark, rigid-looking man, about sixty years
old. The spiritual pride, which, in mine host of the Candle-
stick, mantled in a sort of supercilious hypocrisy, was, in this
man’s face, elevated and yet darkened by genuine and un-
doubting fanaticism. It was impossible to behold him without
imagination placing him i In some strange crisis, where religious
Zz eal was the ruling principle. A martyr at the stake, a soldier
in the field, a lonely and banished wanderer consoled by the
intensity and supposed purity of his faith under every earthly
privation ; perhaps a persecuting inquisitor, as terrific in power
as unyielding in adversity ; any of these seemed congenial
characters to this personage. W ‘ith these high traits of energy,
there was something in the affec ted precision and solemnity of
his deportment and ‘discourse , that bordered upon the ludicrous ;
so that, according to the midod of the spectator’s mind, arid
the light under which Mr. Gilfillan presented himself, one
might have feared, admired, or laughed at him. His dress was
that of a west-country peasant, of better materials indeed than
that of the lower rank, but in no re espect affecting either the
mode of the age, or of the Scottish gentry at any period. His
arms were a broadsword and pistols, which, from the antiquity

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WAVERLEY.

of their appearance, might have seen the rout of Pentland, or
Bothwell Brigg.

As he came up a few steps to meet Major Melville and
touched solemnly, but slightly, his huge and over-brimmed blue
bonnet, in answer to the Major, who had courteously raised a
small triangular gold-laced hat, Waverley was irresistibly im-
pressed with the idea that he beheld a Jeader of the Round
heads of yore in conference with one of Marlborough’s captains.

The group of about thirty armed men who followed
this gifted commander, was of a motley description. They
were in ordinary Lowland dresses, of different colors, which,
contrasted with the arms they bore, gave them an irregular
and mobbish appearance ; so much is the eye accustomed to
connect uniformity of dress with the military character. In
front were a few who apparently partook of their leader’s
enthusiasm; men obviously to be feared in a combat where
their natural courage was exalted by religious zeal. Others
puffed and strutted, filled with the importance of carrying arms
and all the novelty of their situation, while the rest, apparently
fatigued with their march, dragged their limbs listlessly along,
or straggled from their companions to procure such refreshments
as the neighboring cottages and alehouses afforded. “ Six
erenadiers of Ligonier’s,” thought the major to himself, as his
mind reverted to his own military experience, ‘“‘ would have
sent all these fellows to the right about.”

Greeting, however, Mr. Gilfillan civilly, he requested to
know if he had received the letter he had sent to him upon his
march, and could undertake the charge of the state prisoner
whom he there mentioned, as far as Stirling Castle. “ Yea,”
was the concise reply of the Cameronian leader, in a voice
which seemed to issue from the very fenetralia of bis person.

“But your escort, Mr. Gilfillan, is not so strong as I ex-
pected,” said Major Melville.

“Some of the people,” replied Gilfillan, “hungered and
were athirst by the way, and tarried until their poor souls were
refreshed with the word.”

“TI am sorry, sir,” replied the Major, ‘ you did not trust to
your refreshing your men at Cairnvreckan ; whatever my house
contains is at the command of persons employed in the ser
ViGe:’s

“It was not of creature-comforts I spake,” answered the
Covenanter, regarding Major Melville with something like a
smile of contempt; “howbeit, I thank you; but the people
remained waiting upon the precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel, for
the out-pouring of the afternoon exhortation.WAVERLEY. 195
‘““And have you, sir,” said the Ma jor, ‘‘ when os » rebels
are about to spread themselves th 1rough this country, eomally
left a great part of your command at a field- -preachit ns o ;
Gilfillan again smiled scornful lly as he made this: indirect
answer,—* Even thus are the children of this world wiser in
their generation than the children of light ! ”
_ “ However, sir,” said the Major, “as you are to take charge
of this gentleman to Stirling, and deliver him, with
papers, into the hands of Governor Blak eney, I beseech you
to observe some rules of military discipline upon your march.
For example, I would advise you to keep your men more
closely together, and that each, in his march, should cover his
file-leader, instead of stage

these

ering like geese upon a common:
and for fear of surprise, I further recommend to you to form a
small advance party of your best men, with a single vidette in
front of the whole march, so that when you approach a villa ge

or a wood”’—(Here the major interrupted himself)—“ But as
I don’t observe you listen to me, Mr. Gilfillan, I Suppose I
need not give myself the trouble to say more upon the subject.
You are a better judge, unquestionably} y, than l.am of the
measures to be pursued ; but one thing I would have you well

aware of, that you are to treat tl is gentlem: in, your prisoner,
with no rigor nor incivility, and are to subject him to no other

restraint than is necessary for his security.”

“T have looked into my commission,” said Mr. Gilfillan,
“subscribed by a worthy and professing nobleman, William,
Earl of Glencairn; nor do I find it therein set down that I am
to receive any charges or commands anent my doings from
Major William Melville of Cairnvreckan.

Major Melville reddened even to the well-powdered ears
which appeared beneath his neat military side-curls, the more
so as he observed Mr. Morton smile at the same moment.
“Mr. Gilfillan,” he answered, with some asperity, “I beg
ten thousand pardons for interfering with a person of your im-
portance. I thought, however, that as you have been bred a
grazier, if | mistake not, there might be occasion to remind
you of the difference between Highlanders and Highland cattle
and if you should happen to meet with any gentleman who has
seen service, and is disposed to speak upon the subject, I should
still imagine that listening to him would do you no sort of
harm. But I have done, and have only once more to recom-
mend this gentleman to your civility, as well as to your custody.
—Mr. Waverley, I am truly sorry we should part in this way ;
but I trust, when you are again in this country, I may have

5

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196 WAVERLEY.
an opportunity to render Cairnvreckan more agreeable than
circumstances have permitted on this occasion.’

So saying he shook our hero by the hand. Morton also
affectionate farewell; and Wai ee having mounted
his horse, with a musketeer leading it by the bridle, and a
file upon each side to prevent his escape, set forward upon the
march with Gi iIfillan and his party. Through the little village
they were accompanied with the shouts of the children, who
cried out, “Eh! see to the Southland gentleman, that’s gaun

VI

to be hanged for shooting lang John Mucklewrath the smith ! LY

took an

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIXTH.

INCIDENT.

4

Al

THe dinner-hour of Scotland Sixty Years since was two
o'clock. It was Cae about four o’clock of a delightful
autumn afternoon th: it Mr. Gilfillan commenced his march, in
ee although Stir ling was eighteen miles distant, he might
be able, oS becoming a borrower of the night for an hour or
two, to reach it that evening. He therefore put forth his
an oe marched stoutly along at the head of his fol-
lowers, eyeing our hero from time to time, as if he longed to
enter into controversy with him. At length, unable to resist
the temptation, he slackened his pace till he was alongside of
his prisoner’s horse, and after marching a few steps in silence
abreast of Buh he suddenly asked,—“ Can ye say wha the
carle was wi’ the black coat an rd the mousted head, that was
wi t the Laird of Cairnvreckan ?”

‘A Presbyterian clergyman,” answered Waverley

= gee nes !”. answered Gilfillan, lek Cuaotiibely 3 na
wretched Erastian, or oe an obscured Prelatist,—a~fa-
vorer of the black Indulgence; ane o’ thae dumb dogs that
canna bark: they tell ower a clash o’ terror and a clatter O°
comfort in their sermons, without ony sense or savour, or life
—Ye’ve been fed in siccan a ; pe

auld, belike :
“No; I am of the Church of England,” said Waverley.
And they’re just neighbor-like,” replied the Covenanter ;
‘and nae wonder they gree sae weel. Wha wad hae thought
the eae structure of the Kirk of Scotland, built up by our
fathers in 1642, wad hae been defaced by carnal ends and the
Bei ptibis of the time ;—ay, wha wad hae thought the carved
work ‘of the sanctuary would hae been sae soon cut down !’WAVERLEY. 197

To this lamentation, which one or two of the assistants
chorused with a deep groan, our hero thought it unnecessary
to make any reply. Whereupon Mr. Gilfillan, resolving that he
should be a hearer at least, if not a disputant, proceeded in his
Jeremiade.

‘* And now it is wonderful, when, for lack of exercise anent
the call to the service of the altar and the duty of the day,
ministers fall into sinful compliances with patronage, and
indemnities, and oaths, and bonds, and other corruptions,—is
it wonderful, I say, that you, sir, and other sic-like unhappy
persons should labor to build up your auld Babel of iniquity,
as in the bluidy persecuting saint-killing times? I trow, gin
ye werena blinded wi’ the graces and favors, and services and
enjoyments, and employments and inheritances, of this wicked
world, I could prove to you, by the Scripture, in what a filthy
rag ye put your trust ; and that your surplices, and your copes
and vestments, are but cast-off garments of the muckile harlot,
that sitteth upon seven hills, and drinketh of the cup of abom-
ination. But, I trow, ye are deaf as adders upon that side of
the head ; ay, ye are deceived with her enchantments, and ye
traffic with her merchandise, and ye are drunk with the cup of
her fornication !”

How much longer this military theologist might have con-
tinued his invective, in which he spared nobody but the scat-
tered rernnant of Az//-folk, as he called them, is absolutely un-
certain. His matter was copious, his voice powerful, and his
memory strong ; so that there was little chance of his ending
his exhortation till the party had reached Stirling, had not his
attention been attracted by a pedler who had joined the march
from a cross-road, and who sighed or groaned with great regu-
larity at all fitting pauses of his homily.

‘And what may ye be, friend?” said the Gifted Gilfillan.

‘“‘ A puir pedler, that’s bound for Stirling, and craves the
protection of your honor’s party in these kittle times. Ah!
your honor has a notable faculty in searching and explaining
the secret,—ay, the secret and obscure and incomprehensible
causes of the backslidings of the land; ay, your honor touches
the root o’ the matter.”

“Friend,” said Gilfillan, witha more complacent voice than
he had hitherto used, ‘‘honor not me. Ido not go out to park-
dikes, and to steadings and to market-towns, to have herds,
and cottars, and burghers pull off their bonnets to me as they
do to Major Melville o’ Cairnvreckan, and ca’ me laird, or cap-
tain, or honor; no, my sma’ means whilk are not aboon
twenty thousand merk, have had the blessing of increase, but

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WAVERLEY.

the pride of heart has not increased with them; nor do |}
delight to be called captain, though I have the subscribed com-
mission of that gospel-searching nobleman, the Earl of Glen-
cairn, in whilk I am so designated. While I live, I am and
will be called Habakkuk Gilfillan, who wil stand up for the
standards of doctrine agreed on by the ance-famous Kirk of
Scotland, before she traf fficked with the se Achan, while
he has a plack in his purse, or a drap o’ bluid in his body

~ Ah,’ ‘said the pedier, “I have seén your land about
Mauchlin—a fertile spot! your lines have fallen in pleasant
places !—and siccan a breed o’ cattle is not in ony laird’s land
in Scotland.”

“Ve say right,—ye say right, friend,” retorted Gilfillan
eagerly, for he was not in: iccessible to flattery upon this sub-
jec—" ‘Ye say right; they are the real Lancashire, and there’s
no the like o’ them even at the Mains of Kilmaurs;” and he
then entered into a discussion of their excellences, to which
our readers will probably be as indifferent as our hero. After
this excursion, the leader returned to his theological discus-
sions, while the pedler, less profound upon those mystic points,
contented | aioe with groaning, and expressing his edification
at suitable intervals. “‘ What a blessing it would be to the
puir blinded popish nations among whom I hae sojourned, to
have siccan a light to their paths! I hae been as far as Mus-
covia in my sma’ trading way, as a traveling merchant; and
I hae been through F1 rance and the Low Countries, and a’
Poland, and maist feck o’ Germany; and O! it would grieve
your honor’s soul to see the m ees and the singing, and
massing, that’s in the kirk, and the piping that’s in the quire,
and the heathenish dancing and dick ing upon the Sabbath !”

This set Gilfillan off upon the Book of Sports and the Cov-
enant, and the Engagers, and the Protesters, and the Whigga-
mores’ Raid, and the Assembly of Divines at- Westminster, and
the Longer and Shorter Catechism, and the Excommunication
at ‘Torwood, and the slaughter of Archbishop Sharp. This last
topic, again, led him into the lawfulness of defensive arms, on
which subject he uttered much more sense than could have
been expected from some other parts of his harangue, and at-
tracted even Waverley’s attention, who had hitherto been lost
in his own sad reflections. Mr. Gilfillan then considered the
lawfulness of a private man standing forth as the avenger of
public oppression, and as he was labori ing with great earnest-
ness the cause of Mas James Mitchell, w ho fired at the Arch-
bishop of St. Andrews some years before the prelate’s assassi-WAVERLEY. 199

natioh on Magus Muir, an incident occurred which interrupted
his harangue.

The rays of the sun were lingering on the very verge of the
horizon as the party ascended a hollow and somewhat stee ep
path, which led to the summit of a rising ground. The country
was unenclosed, being part of a very extensive heath or com
mon; but it was far from level, exhibiting in many places hol-
lows filled with furze and broom; in others, little dingles of
stunted brushwood. A _ thicket of the latter description
crowned the hill up which the party ascended. The foremost
of the band, being the stoutest and most active, had pushed
on, and, h eos surmounted the ascent, were out of ken for the
present. Gilfillan, with the pedler, and the small party who
were Waverley’s more immediate guard, were near the top of
the ascent, and the remainder straggled after them at a con-
siderable interval.

Such was the situation of matters, when the pedler missing,
as he said, a little doggie which belonged to him, began to halt
and whistle for the animal. ‘This signal, repeated more than
once, gave offence to the rigor of his companion, the rather
because it appeared to indicate inattention to the treasures of
theological and controversial knowledge which was pouring out
for his edification. He therefore signified gruffly, that he could
not waste his time in waiting for a useless cur.

‘“‘ But if your honor wad consider the case of Tobit”

“Tobit !”? exclaimed Gilfillan, with great heat ; ‘ Tobit and
his dog baith are altogether heathenish and apocryphal, and
none but aprelatist or a papist would draw them into question.
I doubt I hae been mista’en in you, friend.”

“Very likely,” answered the os with great composure ;
“but ne’ertheless, I shall take leave to w histle again upon pull
Bawty.”

This last signal was answered in an unexpected manner:
for six or eight stout Highlanders, who lurked among the copse
and brushwood, sprung into the hollow way, and began to lay
about them with their claymores. Gilfillan, unappalled at this
undesirable apparition, cried out manfully, ‘The sword of the
Lord and of Gideon!” and, drawing his broadsword, would
probably have done as* much credit to the good old cause as
any of his doughty champions at Drumclog, when, behold! the
pedler, snatching a musket from the person who was next him,
bestowed the butt of it with such emphasis on the head of his
late instructor in the Cameronian creed, that he was forthwith
leveled-to the ground. In the confusion which ensued, the
horse which bore our hero was shot by one of Gilfillan’s party,

 

ee tren ee eOn NTOeS Bis cot

no WAVERLEY.
as he discharged his firelock at random. Waverley fell with,
and indeed under, the animal, and sustained some severe con-
tusions. But he was almost instantly extricated from the fallen
steed by two Highlanders, who, each seizing him by the arm,
hurried him away from the scuffle and from the high-road.
They ran with great speed, half supporting and half dragging
our hero, who could, however, distinguish a few dropping shots
fired about the spot which he had left. This, as he afterward
learned, proceeded from Gilfillan’s party, who had now assem-
bled, the stragglers, in front and rear having joined the others.
At their approach the Highlanders drew off, but not before they
had rifled Gilfillan and two of his people, who remained on the
spot grievously wounded. A few shots were exchanged be-
twixt them and the Westlanders ; but the latter, now without a
commander, and apprehensive of a second ambush did not
make any serious effort to recover their prisoner, judging it
more wise to proceed on their journey to Stirling, carrying with
them their wounded captain and comrades,

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENTH,
WAVERLEY IS STILL IN DISTRESS.

THE velocity, and indeed violence, with which Waverley
was hurried along, nearly deprived him of sensation ; for the
injury he had received from his fall prevented him from aiding
himself so effectually as he might otherwise have done. When
this was observed by his conductors, they called to their aid
two or three others of the party, and swathing our hero’s body
in one of their plaids, divided his weight by that means among
them, and transported him at the same rapid rate as before,
without any exertion of hisown. They spoke little, and that in
Gaelic ; and did not slacken their pace till they had run nearly
two miles, when they abated their extreme rapidity, but con-
tinued still to walk very fast, relieving each other occasionally.

Our hero now endeavored to address them, but was only
answered with ‘Cha n’edl Beurl agam,” i.e., “1 have no English,”’
being, as Waverley well knew, the constant reply of a High-
lander, when he either does not understand, or does not choose
to reply to, an Englishman or Lowlander. He then mentioned
the name of Vich [an Vohr, concluding that he was indebted
to his friendship, for his rescue from the clutches of GiftedWAVERLEY. san

Gilfillan; but neith
from his escort.

The twilight had given place to moonshine when the party
halted upon the brink of a precipitous glen, which, as partly

enlightened by the moonbeams, seemed full of trees and tang led
brushwood. ‘Two of the Highlanders dived into it by a smal
foot-path, as if to explore its recesses, and one of them return-
ing in a few minutes, said something to his companions, who
instantly raised their burden, and bore him, with great attention
and care, down the narrow and abrupt descent. Notwithstand.
ing their precautions, however, Waverley’s person came more
than once into contact, rudely enough, with the projecting
stumps and branches which overhung the pathway.

At the bottom of the descent, and, as it seemed, by the
side of a brook, (for Waverley heard the rushing of a consider-
able body of water, although its stream was invisible in the
darkness,) the party again stopped before a small and rudely
constructed hovel. The door was open, and the inside of the
premises appeared as comfortable and rude as its situation and
exterior foreboded. ‘There was no appearance of a floor of
any kind; the ie seemed rent in several places; the walls
were composed of loose stones and turf, and the thatch of
branches of trees. ‘The fire was in the centre, and filled the
whole wigwam with smoke, which escaped as much through the
door as by means of a circular aperture in the roof. An old High-
land sibyl, the only inhabitant of this forlorn mansion, appeared
busy in the preparation of some food. By the light which the
fire afforded, Waverley could discover that his attendants were
not of the clan of Ivor, for Fergus was particularly strict in
requiring from his followers that they should wear the tartan
striped in the mode e peculiar to their rac e; a mark of distinction
anciently general through the Highlanx Is, and still maintained
by those Chiefs who were proud of their lineage, or jealous of
their separate and exclusive authority.

Edward had lived at Glennaquoich long enough to be aware
of a distinction which he had epeatedly heard noticed, and
now satisfied that he had no interest with his attendants, he
glanced a disconsolate eye round the interior of the cabin.
The only furniture, ex mcep ae a washing-tub, and a wooden
press, called in Scotland an améry, sorely decayed, was a large
wooden bed, planked, as is usual, all aoe and opening by
a sliding panel. In this recess the Highlanders deposited
Waverley, after he had by signs declined any refreshment. His
slumbers were broken and unrefreshing ; strange visions passed
before his eyes, and it required constant and reiterated efforts

r did this produce any mark of recognition

DS

f
Learea

of mind to dispel them. Shivering, violent headache, and
shooting pains in his limbs, succeeded these symptoms ; and in
the morning it was evident to his Highland attendants, or
guard, for he knew not in which light to consider them, that
Waverley was quite unfit to travel.

After along consultation among themselves, six of the party
left the hut with their arms, leaving behind an old and a young
man. ‘The former undressed Waverley, and bathed the contu-
sions, which swelling and livid color now made conspicuous.
His own portmanteau, which the Highlanders had not failed
to bring off, supplied him with linen, and, to his great surprise,
was, with all its undiminished contents, freely resigned to his
use. The bedding of his couch seemed clean and comfortable,
and his aged attendant closed the door of the bed, for it had no
curtain, after a few words of Gaelic, from which Waverley
gathered that he exhorted him to repose. So behold our hero
for a second time the patient of a Highland Esculapius, but in
a situation much more uncomfortable than when he was the
guest of the worthy Tomanrait.

The symptomatic fever which accompanied the injuries he
had sustained, did not abate till the third day, when it gave
way to the care of his attendants and the strength of his con-
stitution, and he could now raise himself in his bed, though not
without pain. He observed, however, that there was a great
disinclination, on the part of the old woman who acted as his
nurse, as well as on that of the elderly Highlander, to permit
the door of the bed to be left open, so that he might amuse
himself with observing their motions; and at length, after
Waverley had repeatedly drawn open, and they had as fre-
quently shut, the hatchway of his cage, the old gentleman put
an end to the contest, by securing it on the outside witha nail
so effectually, that the door could not be drawn till this exterior
impediment was xemoved.

While musing upon the cause of this contradictory spirit in
persons whose conduct intimated no purpose of plunder, and
who, in all other points, appeared to consult his welfare and his
wishes, it occurred to our hero, that, during the worst crisis
of his illness, a female figure, younger than his old Highland
nurse, had appeared to flit around his couch. Of this, indeed,
he had but a very indistinct recollection, but his suspicions
were confirmed, when, attentively listening, he often heard, in
the course of the day, the voice of another female conversing in
whispers with his attendant. Who could it be? And why
should she apparently desire concealment ? Fancy immediately
roused herself, and turned to Flora Mac-Ivor. But after a shortWAVERLEY. 203
conflict between his eager desire to believe she was in his
neighborhood, guarding like an angel of mercy, the couch of
his sickness, Waverley was compelled to conclude that his
conjecture, was altogether improbable; since, to suppose she
had left the comparatively safe situation at Glennaquoich
to descend into the Low Country, now the seat of civil war,
and to inhabit such a lurking-place as this, was a thing hardly
to be imagined. Yet his heart bounded as he sometimes could
distinctly hear the trip of a light female step glide to or from
the door of the hut, or the suppressed sounds of a female voice,
of softness and delicacy, hold dialogue with the hoarse inward
croak of old Janet, for so he understood his antiquated at-
tendant was denominated.

Having nothing else to amuse his solitude, he employed

himself in contriving some plan to gratify his curiosity, in
spite of the sedulous caution of Janet and the old Highland
janizary, for he had never seen the young fellow since the first
morning. At length, upon accurate examination, the infirm
state of his wooden prison-house appeared to supply the means
of gratifying his curiosity, for out of a spot which was some-
what decayed he was able to extract a nail. Through this
minute aperture he could perceive a female form, wrapped ina
plaid, in the act of conversing with Janet. But, since the days
of our grandmother Eve, the gratification of inordinate curi-
osity has generally borne its penalty in disappointment. The
form was not that of Flora, nor was the face visible; and, to
crown his vexation, while he labored with the nail to enlarge
the hole, that he might obtain a more complete view, a slight
noise betrayed his purpose, and the object of his curiosity in-
stantly disappeared ; nor, so fay as he could observe, did she
again revisit the cottage.

All precautions to blockade his view were from that time
abandoned, and he was not only permitted, but assisted, to
rise, and quit what had been, in a literal sense, his couch of
confinement. But he was not allowed to leave the hut; for
the young Highlander had now rejoined his senior, and one or
other was constantly on the watch. Whenever Waverley ap-
proached the cottage door, the sentinel upon duty civilly, but
resoluté:y, placed himself against it and opposed his exit, ac-
companying his action with signs which seemed to imply there
was danger in the attempt, and an enemy in the neighborhood.
Old Janet appeared anxious and upon the watch; and Waver-
ley who had not yet recovered strength enough to attempt to
take his departure in spite of the opposition of his hosts, was
under the necessity of remaining patient. His fare was, in

.

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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204 7 WAVERLEY.

every point of view, better than he could have conceived; for
poultry, and even wine, were no strangers to his table. The
Highlanders never presumed to eat with him, and, unless in
the circumstance of watching him, treated him with great re-
spect. His sole amusement was gazing. from the window, or
rather the shapeless aperture which was meant to answer the
purpose of a window, upon a large and rough brook, which
raged and foamed through a rocky channel, closely canopied
with trees and bushes, about ten feet beneath the site of his
house of captivity.

Upon the sixth day of his confinement, Waverley found
himself so well, that he began to meditate his escape from this
dull and miserable prison-house, thinking any risk which he
might incur in the attempt preferable to the stupefying and in-
tolerable uniformity of Janet’s retirement. The question in-
deed occurred, whither he was to direct his course when again
at his own disposal. ‘two schemes seemed practicable, ye
both attended with danger and difficulty. One was to go back
to Glennaquoich, and join Fergus Mac-Ivor, by whom he was
sure to be kindly received; and in the present state of his
mind, the rigor with which he had been treated, fully absolved
him, in his own eyes, from his allegiance to the existing govern-
ment. ‘The other project was to endeavor to attain a Scottish
seaport, and thence to take shipping for England. His mind
wavered between these plans, and probably, if he had effected
his escape in the manner he proposed, he would have been
finally determined by the comparative facility by which either
might have been executed. But his fortune had settled that
he was not to be left to his option.

Upon the evening of the seventh day, the door of the hut
suddenly opened, and two Highlanders entered, whom Waver-
ley recognized as having been a part of his original escort to
this cottage. They conversed for a short time with the old
man and his companion, and then made Waverley understand,
by very significant signs, that he was to prepare to accompany
them. This was a joyful communication. What had already
passed during his confinement made it evident that no per-
sonal injury was designed to him; and his romantic spirit,
having recovered ‘during his repose much of that elasticity
which anxiety, resentment, disappointment, and the mixture of
unpleasant feelings excited by his late adventures had for a
time subjugated, was now wearied with inaction. His passion
for the wonderful, although it is the nature of such dispositions
to be excited by that degree of danger which merely gives
dignity to the feeling of the individual exposed to it, had sunkWAVERLEY.

under the extraordinary and apparently insurmountable evils
by which he appeared environed at Cairnvreckan. In fact,
this com) pound of intense curiosity and exalted imagination,
forms a peculiar s species of courage, which somewhat resem
bles the light usu: ally carried by a miner, sufficiently compe-
tent indeed, to afford him guidance and comfort during the
ordinary perils of his labor, but certain to be extinguis hed
should he encounter the more formidable hazard of. earth-
damps or oe ane vapors. It was now, however, once
more rekindled, and with a thy robbing mixture of hope, awe,
and anxiety, Waverley watched the group before him, as those
who were just arrived snatched a hast y meal, and the others
assumed their arms, and made brief preparations for their de-
parture.

As he sat in the smoky hut, at some distance from the fire,
around which the others were crowded, he felt a gentle pres-
sure upon his arm. He looked around—it was Alice, the
daughter of Donald Bean Lean. She showed him a packet of
papers in such a manner that the motion was remarked by no
one else, put her finger for a second to her lips, and passed
on as if to assist old Janet in packing Waverley’s clothes in
his pofumanteau. It was obviously her wish that he should
not seem to recognize her; yet she repeatedly looked back at
him, as an opportunity occurred of doing so unobserved, and
when she saw that he remarked what she did, she folded the
packet with great address and speed in one of his shirts, which
she deposited in the portmanteau.

Here then was fresh food for conjecture. Was Alice his
unknown warden, and was this maiden of the cavern the tutelar
genius that watched his bed during his sickness ? Was he in
the hands of her father? and if so, what was his purpose ?
spoil, his usual object, seemed in this case neglected; for not
only was Waireiaes? S property restored, but his purse, which
might have tempted this professional plunderer, had been all
along suffered to remain in his possession. All this perhaps
the packet might explain ; but it was plain from Alice’s man-
ner, that she desired he should consult it in secret. Nor did
she again seek his eye after she had satisfied herself that her
manceuvre was observed and understood. On the contrary,
she shortly afterward left the hut, and it was only as she trip-
ped out from the door, that, favored by the obscurity, she gave
Waverley a parting smile, and nod of significance, ere she

vanished in the dark glen.

The young Highlander was repeatedly despatched by his
comrades as if te collect intelligence. At length, when he had

 

   
   
 
 
   
 
   
   
    
    
   
    
 
  
      
 
 
   
  
   
  
 
  
    
  
 
 
   
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
   
  
   
 
  
 

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returned for the third or fourth time, the whole party arose,
and made signs to our hero to accompany them. Before his
departure, however, he shook hands with old Janet, who had
been so sedulous in his behalf, and added substantial marks
of his gratitude for her attendance.

“God bless you! God prosper you, Captain» Waverley ! ”
said Janet, in good Lowland Scotch, though he had never
hitherto heard her utter a syllable, save in Gaelic. But the im-
patience of his attendants prohibited his asking any explana-
tion,

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTH.
A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE.

THERE was a moment’s pause when the whole party had
got out of the hut ; and the Highlander who assumed the com-
mand, and who, in Waverley’s awakened recollection, seemed
to be the same tall figure who had acted as Donald Bean Lean’s
lieutenant, by whispers and signs imposed the strictest silence.
He delivered to Edward a sword and steel pistol, and, point-
ing up the track, laid his hand on the hilt of his own claymore,
as if to make him sensible they might have occasion to use
force to make good their passage. He then placed himself at
the head of the party, who moved up the pathway in single or
Indian file, Waverley being placed nearest, to their leader. He
moved with great precaution, as if to avoid giving any alarm,
and halted as soon as he came to the verge of the ascent.
Waverley was soon sensible of the reason, for he heard at no
great distance an English sentinel call out “ All’s well.” The
heavy sound sunk on the night-wind down the woody glen, and
was answered by the echoes of its banks. A _ second, third,
and fourth time the signal was repeated fainter and fainter, as
if at a greater and greater distance. It was obvious that a
party of soldiers were near, and upon their guard, though not
sufficiently so to detect men skilful in every art of predatory
warfare, like those with whom he now watched their ineffectual
precautions.

When these sounds had died upon the silence of the night,
the Highlanders began their march swiftly, yet with the most
cautious silence. Waverley had little time, or indeed disposi-
tion, for observation, and could only discern that they passed
at some distance from a large building, in the windows of whichWAVERLEY. 207

a light or two yet seemed to twinkle. A little farther on, the
leading Highlander snuffed the wind like a setting spaniel, and
then made a signal to his party again ‘to halt. He stooped
down upon all-fours, wrapped up in his plaid, so as to be scarce
distinguishable from the heathy ground on which he moved,
and advanced in this posture to reconnoitre. In a short time
he returned, and dismissed his attendants excepting one; and,
intimating to Waverley that he must imitate his cautious mode
of proceeding, all three crept forward on hands and knees.

After proceeding a greater way in this inconvenient manner
than was at all comfortable to his knees and shins, Waverley
perceived the smell of smoke, which probably had been much
sooner distinguished by the more acute nasal organs of his
guide. It proceeded from the corner of a low and ruinous
sheep-fold, the walls of which were made of loose stones, as is
usual in Scotland. Close by this low wall the Highlander
guided Waverley, and in order probably to make him sensible
of his danger, or perhaps to obtain the full credit of his own
dexterity, he intimated to him, by sign and example, that he
might raise his head so as to peep into the sheep-fold. Wa-
verley did so, and beheld an outpost of four or five soldiers
lying by their watch-fire. They-were all asleep, except the
sentinel, who paced backwards and forwards with his firelock
on his shoulder, which glanced red in the light of the fire as
he crossed and re-crossed before it in his short walk, casting
his eye frequently to that part of the heavens from which the
moon, hitherto obscured by mist, seemed now about to make
her appearance.

In the course of a minute or two, by one of those sudden
changes of atmosphere incident to a mountainous country, a
breeze arose, and swept before it the clouds which had covered
the horizon, and the night planet poured her full effulgence upon
a wide and blighted heath, skirted indeed with copsewood and
stunted trees in the quarter from which they had come, but open
and bare to the observation of the sentinel in that to which
their course tended. ‘The wall of the sheep-fold indeed con-
cealed them as they lay, but any advance beyond its shelter
seemed impossible without certain discovery.

The Highlander eyed the blue vault, but far from blessing
the useful light with Homet’s, or rather Pope’s, benighted peas-
ant, he muttered a Gaelic curse upon the unseasonable splendor
of MacFarlane’s buat (7.2, lantern).°? He looked anxiously
around for a few minutes, and then apparently took his resolu-
tion. Leaving his attendant with Waverley, after motioning to
Edward to remain quiet, and giving his comrade directions in a

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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brief whisper, he retreated, favored by the irregularity of the
ground, in the same direction and in the same manner as they
had advanced. Edward, turning his head after him, could per-
ceive him crawling on all fours with the dexterity of an Indian,
availing himself of every bush and inequality to escape observa-
tion, and never passing over the more exposed parts of his
track until the sentinel’s back was turned from him. At length
he reached the thickets and underwood which partly covered
the moor in that direction, and probably extended to the verge
of the glen where Waverley had been so long an inhabitant.
The Highlander disappeared, but it was only for a few minutes,
for he suddenly issued forth from a different part of the thicket,
and advancing boldly upon the open heath, as if to invite dis-
covery, he levelled his piece, and fired at the sentinel. A
wound in the arm proved a disagreeable interruption to the
poor fellow’s meteorological observations, as well as to the tune
of Nancy Dawson, which he was whistling. He returned the
fire ineffectually, and his comrades, starting up at the alarm,
advanced alertly towards the spot from which the first shot had

issued. The Highlander, after giving them a full view of his

person, dived among the thickets, for his ruse de guerre had now
perfectly succeeded.

While the soldiers pursued the cause of their disturbance
in one direction, Waverley, adopting the hint of his remaining
attendant, made the best of his speed in that which his guide
originally intended to pursue, and which now (the attention of
the soldiers being drawn to a different quarter) was unobserved
and unguarded. When they had run about a quarter of a mile,
the brow of a rising ground, which they had surmounted, con-
cealed them from further visk of observation, They still heard,
however, at a distance, the shouts of the soldiers as they hal-
looed to each other upon the heath, and they could also hear
the distant roll of a drum beating to arms in the same direction.
But these hostile sounds were now far in the rear, and died
away upon the breeze as they rapidly proceeded.

When they had walked about half an hour, still along open
and waste ground of the same description, they came to the
stump of an ancient oak, which, from its relics, appeared to
have been at one time a tree of very large size. In an adjacent
hollow they found several Highlanders, with a horse or two.
They had not joined them above a few minutes, which Waver-
ley’s attendant employed, in all probability, in communicating
the cause of their delay (for the words ‘ Duncan Duroch’ were
often repeated), when Duncan himself appeared, out of breath
indeed, and with all the symptoms of having run for his Hie,WAVERLEY. 209

but laughing, and in high spirits at the success of the stratagem
by which he had baf fled his pursuers. ‘This, indeed, Waverley
could easily conceive, might be a matter of no great difficulty
to the active mountaineer, who was perfectly acquainted with
the ground, and traced his course with a firmness and confi-
dence to which his pursuers must "ele been strangers. The
alarm which he excited seemed still to continue, for a dropping
shot or two was heard at a great distance, which seemed to
serve as an addition to the mirth of Duncan and his comrades.

The mountaineer now resumed the arms with which he had
intrusted our hero, ee ing him to understand that the dangers
of the journey wer — ippily surmounted. Waverley was then
oft 1e horses, a change which the fatigue of
the night and his recent lime ss rendered exceedingly acceptable.
His portmanteau was placed on another pony, Duncan mounted
a third, and they set forward at a round pace, accompanied by
their escort. No other incident marked the course of that
night’s journey, and at the dawn of morning they attained the
banks of a rapid river. ‘The country around was at once fertile
and romantic. Steep banks of wood were broken by corn-
fields, which this year presented an abundant harvest, already
in a great measure cut down.

On the « pposite bank of the river, and partly surrounded
by a winding of its stream, stooda large and massive castle, the
Rotentn ca turrets of which were already glittering in the first
rays of the sun. It was in form an oblo mg square, of size
sufficient to contain a large court inthe centre. The towers at
each angle of the square rose higher than the walls of the build-
ing, and were in ‘their turn surmounted by turrets, differing in
height and irregular in oo sae one of these a sentinel
watched, whose bonnet and plaid, streaming in the wind, de-
clared him to be a Highlander, as a broad white ensign, which
floated from another tower, announced that the garrison was
held by the insurgent adherents of the house of Stuart.

Passing hastily through a small and mean town, where their
appearance excited neither surprise nor curiosity in the few
peasants whom the labors‘of the harvest began to summon from
their repose, the party crossed

mounted upon one o

| an ancient and narrow bridge
of séveral arches, and turning to the left, up an avenue of huge
old sycamores, Waverley found himself in front of the gloomy
yet picturesque structure which he had admired at a distance.
A huge iron-grated door, which formed the exterior defence of
the gateway, was already thrown back to receive them; anda
second,. heavily constructed of oak, and studded thickly wit
iron nails, being next opened, admitted them into the interior

   
  
   
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
    
 
  
 
  
 
    
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
     

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WAVERLEY.

courtyard. A gentleman, dressed in the Highland garb, and
having a white cockade in his bonnet, assisted Waverley to dis-
mount from his horse, and with much courtesy bade him welcome
to the castle.

The governor, for so we must term him, having conducted
Waverley to a half-ruinous apartment, where, however, there
was a small camp-bed, and having offered him any refreshment
which he desired, was then about to leave him.

“Will you not add to your civilities,’ said Waverley, after
having made the usual acknowledgment, “ by having the kind-
ness to inform me where I am, and whether or not I am to con-
sider myself as a prisoner?”

“TI am not at liberty to be so explicit upon this subject as I
could wish. Briefly, however, you are in the Castle of Doune,
in the district of Monteith, and in no danger whatever.”

‘¢ And how am I assured of that?”

“By the honor of Donald Stewart, governor of the garrison,
and lieutenant-colonel in the service of his Royal Highness
Prince Charles Edward.” So saying, he hastily left the apart-
ment, as if to avoid further discussion.

Exhausted by the fatigues of the night, our hero now threw
himself upon the bed, and was in a few minutes fast asleep.

 

CHAPTER TALR CYANIN TA.
THE JOURNEY IS CONTINUED.

BEFoRE Waverley awakened from his repose, the day was
far advanced, and he began to feel that he had passed many
hours without food. This was soon supplied in form of a copi-
ous breakfast; but Colonel Stuart, as if wishing to avoid the
queries of his guest, did not again present himself. His com.
pliments were, however, delivered by a servant, with an offer to
provide anything in his power that could be useful to Captaiy
Waverley on his journey, which he intimated would be continued
that evening. To Waverley’s further inquiries, the servant op
posed the impenetrable barrier of real or affected ignorance
and stupidity. He removed the table and provisions, and
Waverley was again consigned to his own meditations.

As he contemplated the strangeness of his fortune, which
seemed to delight in placing him at the disposal of others, with-
out the power of directing his own motions, Edward’s eye sud-
denly rested upon his portmanteau, which had been depositedWAVERLEY. 2IT
in his apartment during his sleep. The mysterious appearance
of Alice, in the cottage of the elen, immedi ately rushed upon
his mind, and he was about to secure and examine the packet
which she had deposite d among his clothes, when the servant
of Colonel Stuart again made his appearance, and took up the
portmanteau upon his shoulders.
‘May I not take out a change of linen, my friend ? ”
Your honor sall get ane o’ the colonel’s ain ruffled sarks
but this maun gang in the baggage-cart.”

And so saying, he very

“ec

y coolly carried off the portmanteau,
without waiting further remonstrance, leaving our hero ina
state where disappointment and indignation struggled for the
mastery. In a few minutes he heard a cart rumble out of the
rugged courtyard, and made no doubt that he was now dis-
possessed, for a space at least, if not forever, of the only docu-
ments which seemed to promise some light upon the dubious
events which had of late influenced his destiny. With such
nelancholy thoughts he had to beguile about four or five hours
E solitude.

When this space had elapsed, the trampling of horse was

heard in the courtyard, and Colonel Stuart soon after made
his appearance to request his guest to take some further refresh-
ment before his depai rture. ‘The offer was accepted, for a late
»reakfast had by no means left our hero incapable of doing
honor to dinner, which was now presented. The conversation
of his host was that of a plain country gentleman, mixed with
some soldier-like sentiments and expressions. He caunionely
avoided any reference to the military operations, or civil politics
of the time : and to Waverley’s direct i inquixies concerning some
of these points, replied, that he was not at li berty to speak upon
such topics.

When dinner was finished, the governor arose, and, wishing
Kdward a good journey, said, that havi ing been informed by
W averley’s servant that his baggage had been sit forward, he
had taken the freedom to supply him with such cl anges of linen
as he might find necessary till he was again possessed of his own.
With this compliment he eee opeared. A servant acquainted
Waverley an instant afterwards that his horse was ready,

Upon this hint he descended into the courtyard, and found
a trooper holding a saddled horse, on which he mounted, and
sallied from the portal of Doune Castle, attended by about a
score of armed men on horseback. These had less the appear-
ance of regular soldiers than of individuals who had suddenly
assumed. arms from some pressing motive of unexpected emer-
gency. Their uniform, which was blue and red, and affected

  
       
 
 
  
 
 
 
     
  
     
   
  
     
 
      
    
   
 
       
 
    
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   

  

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212 WAVERLEY.

imitation of that of the French chasseurs, was in many respects
incomplete, and sat awkwardly upon those who wore it. Wa-
verley’s eye, accustomed to look at a well-disciplined regiment,
could easily discover that the motions and habits of his escort
were not those of trained soldiers, and that, although expert
enough in the management of their horses, their skill] was that
of huntsmen or grooms, rather than of troopers. ‘The horses
were not trained to the regular pace so necessary to execute
simultaneous and combined movements and formations; no
did they seem Jdzted (as it is technically expressed) for the

use of the sword. The men, however, were stout, hardy-look

ing fellows, and might be individually formidable as irregular

cavalry. ‘The commander of this small party was mounted upon

an excellent hunter, and although dressed in uniform, his change

of apparel did not prevent Waverley from recognizing his old

acquaintance, Mr. Falconer of Balmawhapple.

Now, although the terms upon which Edward had parted
with this gentleman were none of the most friendly, he would
have sacrificed every recollection of their foolish quarrel for
the pleasure of enjoying once more the social intercourse of
question and answer, from which he had been so long secluded.
But apparently the remembrance of his defeat by the Baron of
Bradwardine, of which Edward had been the unwilling cause,
still rankled in the mind of the low-bred, and yet. proud laird.
He carefully avoided giving the least sign of recognition, riding
doggedly at the head of his men, who, though scarce equal in
numbers to a sergeant’s party, were denominated Captain Fal-
coner’s troop, being preceded by a trumpet, which sounded
from time to time, and a standard borne by Cornet Falconer,
the laird’s younger brother. The lieutenant, an elderly man,
had much the air of alow sportsman and boon companion; an
expression of dry humor predominated in his countenance, over
features of a vulgar cast, which indicated habitual intemper-
ance. His cocked hat was set knowingly upon one side of his
head, and while he whistled the “Bob of Dumblain” under the
influence of half a mutchkin of brandy, he seemed to trot
merrily forward, with a happy indifference to the state of the
country, the conduct of the party, the end of the journey, and
all other sublunary matters whatever.

From this wight, who now and then dropped alongside of
his horse, Waverley hoped to acquire some information, or at
least to beguile the way with talk.

“A fine evening, sir,” was Edward’s salutation.

‘Ow, ay, sir! a bra’ night,” replied the lieutenant, in broad
Scotch of the most vulgar description.

maWAVERLEY. 213
“And a fine harvest, apparently,” continued Waverley, fol-
lowing up his first attack.

" Ay, the aits will be got bravely in: but the farmers, dei
burst them, and the corn-mongers, will make the auld pric
gude against them as has horses till Keep.

‘You perhaps act as quarter-master, sir?”

“Ay, quarter-master, riding-master, and lieutenant,” an-
swered this officer of all work. “ And, to be sure, what’s fitter
to look after the breaking and the keeping of the poor beasts
than mysell, that bought and sold every ane o’ them?”

‘And pray, sir, if it be not too great a freedom, may I beg
to know where we are going just now?”

“A fule’s erranc
sonage.

i
e

l, I fear,” answered this communicative per-

“In that case,” said Waverley, determined not to spare
civility. “I should have thought a person of your appearance
would not have been found on the road.”

“Vera true, vera true, sir,” replied the officer, “ but every
why has its wherefore. Ye maun ken, the laird there bought
a’ thir beasts frae me to munt his troop, and agreed to pay for
them according to the necessities and prices of the time. But
theu he hadna the ready penny, and I hae been advised his bond
will not be worth a boddle against the estate, and then I had 2’
my dealers to settle wi’ at Martinmas : and so as he very kindly
offered me this commission, andas the auld fifteen * wad never
help me to my siller for sending out naigs against the Govern-
ment, why, conscience ! sir, I thought my best chance for pay-
ment was e’en to gae out® mysel’; and ye may judge, sir, as I
hae dealt a’ my life in halters, I think na mickle o’ putting my
craig in peril of a St. Johnstone’s fippet,

“You are not, then, by profession a soldier?” said Waver-
ley.

“Na, na, thank God,” answered this doughty partisan, “]
wasna bred at sae short a tether: I was brought up to hack
and manger. I was bred a horse-couper, sir ; and if I might
live to see you at Whitson-tryst, or at Stagshaw-bank, or the
winter fair at Hawick, and ye wanted a spanker that would
lead the field, I’se be caution I would serve ye easy, for Jamie
Jinker was ne’er the lad to impose upon a gentleman.—Ye’re
a gentleman, sir, and should ken a horse’s points ; ye see that
through-ganging thing that Balmawhapple’s on; I selled her
till him. She was bred out of Lick-the-Ladle, that wan the
King’e plate at Caverton-Edge, by Duke Hamilton’s White-
toot,” ete., etc., etc.

But as Jinker was entered full sail upon the pedigree ofeR

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214 WAVERLE
Balmawhapple’ s mare, having already got as far as great g1 cand-

sire and great-grand-dam, and while Wave srley was watching
for an op »portunity to obtain from him intelligence of more in-
terest, the noble captain checked his horse until they came up,

and then, without directly appearing to notice Edward, said
sternly to the genealogist, “I thought, lieutenant, my orders
were preceese, that no one should speak to the prisoner?’

The metamorphosed horse-dealer was silenced of course,
and slunk to the rear, where he consoled himself by entering
into a vera dispute upon the price of hay with a farme
who had reluctantly followed his laird to the field, rather than
give up his farm, whereof the lease had just expired. Waver-
ley was therefore once more consigned ‘3 silence, foreseeing
that further attempts at conversation with any of the party
would only give Balmawhapple awished-for opportunity to dis-
play the insolence of authority, and the sulky spite of a temper
naturally dogged, and rende red more so by habits of low in-
dulgence and the incense of servile x ation.

In about two hours’ time, the party were near the Castle of
Stirling, over whose battlements the union flag was brightened
as it waved in the evening sun. To shorten his journey, or
perhaps to display his importance and insult the English gar-
rison, Balmawhapple, inclining to the right, took his route
through the royal park which reaches to and surrounds the
rock upon which the fortress is situated.

With a mind more at ease, Waverley could not have failed
to admire the mixture of romance and beauty which render
interesting the scene through which he was now passing—the
field which had been the scene of the tournaments of old—the
rock from ee the ladies beheld the contest, while each made
vows for the success of some favorite knight—the towers of
the Gothic church, where these vows might be paid—and, sur-
mounting all, the fortress itself, at once a castle and palace,
where valor ‘received the prize from royalty, and knights and
dames close the evening amid the revelry of the dance, the
song, and the feast. All these were objects fitted to arouse
and interest a romantic imagination.

But Waverley had other objects of meditation, and an in-
cident soon occurred of a nature to disturb meditation of any
kind. Balmawhapple, in the Pugs of his heart, as he wheeled
his little body of cavalry around the base of the castle, com-
manded his trumpet to sound a flourish, and his standard to
be displayed. This insult produced apparently some sensa-
tion: for when the cavalcade was at such distance from the
southern battery as to admit of a gun being depressed so as toWAVERLEY.

bear upon them, a flash of fire issued from one of the embra:-
sures upon the rock ; and ere the report, with which it was at
tended could be heard, the rushing sound of a cannon-ball
passed over Balmawhapple’s head, and the bullet burying
itself in the ground a few yards distance, covered him with
the earth which it drove up. There was no need to bid the
party trudge. In fact, every man acting upon the impulse of
the moment, soon brought Mr, Jinker’s steeds to show thei:
mettie, and the cavaliers, retreating with more speed than regu-
larity, never took to a trot, as the lieutenant afterwards ob:
served, until an intervening eminence had secured them from
any repetition of so undesirable a compliment on the part of
Stirling Castle. I must do Balmawhapple, however, the justice
to say, that he not only kept the rear of his troop, and labored
to maintain some order among them, but, in the height of his
gallantry, answered the fire of the castle by discharging one of
his horse-pistols at the battlements ; although, the distance
being nearly half a mile, I could never learn that this measure
of retaliation was attended with any particular effect.

The travelers now passed the memorable field of Bannock-
burn and reached the Torwood, a place glorious or terrible to
the recollections of the Scottish peasant, as the feats of Wal-
lace, or the cruelties of Wude Willie Grime, predominate in
his recollection. At Falkirk, a town formerly famous in Scot-
tish history, and soon to be again distinguished as the scene
of military events of importance, Balmawhapple proposed to
halt and repose for the evening. This was performed with
very little regard to military discipline, his worthy quarter-
master being chiefly solicitous to discover where the best
brandy might be come at. Sentinels were deemed unnecessary,
and the only vigils performed were those of such of the party
as could procure liquor. <A few resolute men might easily have
cut off the detachment ; but of the inhabitants some were favor-
able, many indifferent, and the rest overawed. So nothing
memorable occurred in the course of the evening, except that
Waverley’s rest was sorely interrupted by the revellers halloo-
ing forth their Jacobite songs without remorse or mitigation of
voice,

Early in the morning they were again mounted, and on the
road to Edinburgh, though the pallid visages of some of the
troop betrayed that they had spent a night of sleepless de-
bauchery. They halted at Linlithgow, distinguished by its
ancient palace, which, Sixty Years since, was entire and habi-
table, and whose venerable ruins, wot guzte Szxty Years since,
very narrowly escaped the unworthy fate of being convertedfsa SAAR RANTS A
eC

WAVERLEY.

into a barrack for French prisoners. May repose and blessings
attend the ashes of the patriotic statesman,” who, among his last
services to Scotland, interposed to pre event this profanation !

As they appro oached the metropolis of Scotland, through a
champaign and cultivated country, the soutrds of war began to
be heard. The distant, yet distinct report of heavy cannon,
fired at intervals, apprised Waverley that the work of destruc-
tion was going forward. Even Balmawhapple seemed moved
to take some precautions, by sending an advanced party in
front of his troop, keeping the main body i in tolerable order.
and moving steadily forward.

Marching i in this manner they speedily reached an eminence,
from which they could view Edinburgh stretching along the
ridgy hill which slopes eastward from ‘the Castle. The latter,
being in a state of siege, or rather of blockade, by the northern
insurgents, who had already occupied the town for two or three
aays, fired at intervals upon such parties of Highlanders as

2 >xposed themselves, either on the main street, or elsewhere in
the vicinity of the fortress. The morning being calm and fair,
the effect of this dropping fire was to invest the Castle in
wreaths of smoke, the edges of which dissipated slowly in the
air, while the central veil was darkened ever and anon by fresh
clouds poured forth from the battlements; the whole giving,
by the partial concealment, an appearance of grandeur and
gloom, rendered more terrific when Waverley reflected on the
cause by which it w as produced, and that « each explosion might
ring some brave man’s knell.

Ere they approached the city, the partial cannonade had
wholly ceased. Balmawhapple, however, having in his recol-
lection the unfriendly greeting which his troop had received
from the battery of Stirling, had apparently no wish to tempt
the forbearance of the artillery of the Castle. He therefore
left the direct road, and sweeping considerab!] y to the south-
ward, so as to keep out of the range of the cannon, approached
the ancient palace of Holyrood, without having entered the
walls of the city. He then drew up his men in front of that
venerable pfle, and delivered Waverley to the custody of a
guard of Hiel landers, whose officer conducted him into the in-
terior of the builc ding.

A long, low, and ill- proportioned gallery, hung with pictures,
affirmed to be the portraits of ki ings, who, if they ever flourished
at all, lived sever ‘al hundred years before the invention of paint
ing in oil colors, served as a sort of guard ch ee or vestibule,
to “the apartments which the adventurous Ch uarles Edward now
occupied in the palace of his ancestors. Officers. both in theWAVERLEY.

Highland and Lowland garb, passed and re-passed in haste, or
loiterec 1 in the hall, as if waiting for orders. Secretaries were
engaged in making out passes, musters, and returns. All
seemed busy, and earnestly intent upon something of impor.
tance ; but Wav erley was suffered to remain seated | in the re
cess of a window unnoticed by any one, in anxious reflection
upon the crisis of his fate which seemed now rapidly ap-
proaching.

 

CHAPTER FORTIETH.
AN OLD AND A NEW ACQUAINTANCE,

WHILE he was deep sunk in his revert rie, the rustle of tar-
tans was heard behind him, a friendly arm clasped his shoul-
der, and a friendly voice exclaimed :

“Said the Highland prophet sooth? Or must second sight
go for nothing ? ”

Waverle y “turned, and was warmly embraced by Fergus
Mac-Ivor. “A thousand welcomes to Holyrood, once more
possessed by her legitimate sovere sign ! did I not say we should
prosper, and that you would fall into the hands of the Philis-
tines if you Pp yarted from us?”

“ Dear F ‘ergus !”” said Waverley, eagerly returning his greet-
ing... “obt i is long since I have heard a friend’s voice. Where
is Flora } aA

“Safe, and a triumphant spectator of our success.’

“In this place?” said W averley,

“* Ay, in this city at least,” answered his friend, “and you
shall see her; but first you must meet a friend whom you little
think of, who has been frequent in his i SN after you.’

Thus saying, he dragged Waverle ‘y by the arm out of the
guard-chamber, and ere he knew where he was conducted,
Edw ard found himself in a presence-room fitted up with some
attempt at royal state.

A young man, wearing his own fair hair, distinguished by
the digvity of his mien and the noble expression of his well-
formed andr ecular features, advanced out of acircle of mili itary
gentlemen and Highland Chiefs, by whom he was surrounded.
In his easy and oraceful manner, Waverley afterwards thought
he could have discov ered his hich birth and rank, alt hough the
star on his breast, and the embroid ered garter at his knee, had
not appeared as its indications.P. sphere rate Sakae

a?

s
S

WAVERLEY.

“Let me present to your Royal Highness,” said Fergus,
bowing profoundly——

“The descendant of one of the most ancient and loyal fam-
lies in England,” said the young Chevalier, interrupting him.
“T beg your pardon for interrupting you, my dear Mac-Ivor;
but no master of ceremonies is necessary to present a Waverley
to a Stuart.”

Thus saying, he extended his hand to Edward with the ut-

?

most courtesy, who could not, had he desired it, have avoided
rendering him the homage which seemed due to his rank, and
was certainly the right of his birth. “I am sorry to understand,
Mr. Waverley, that, owing to circumstances which have been as
yet but ill explained, you have suffered some restraint among
my followers in Perthshire, and on your march here; but we
are in such a situation that we hardly know our friends, and I
am even at this moment uncertain whether I can have the
pleasure of considering Mr. Waverley as among mine.”

He then paused for an instant; but before Edward could
adjust a suitable reply, or even arrange his ideas as to its pur-
port, the Prince took out a paper, and then proceeded :—“ I
should indeed have no doubts upon this subject, if I could
trust to this proclamation, set forth by the friends of the Elec-
tor of Hanover, in which they rank Mr. Waverley among the
nobility and gentry who are menaced with the pains of high
treason for loyalty to their legitimate sovereign. But I desire
to gain no adherents save from affection and conviction ; and
if Mr. Waverley inclines to prosecute his journey to the south,
or to join the forces of the Elector, he shall have my passport
and free permission to do so; and I can only regret, that my
present power will not extend to protect him against the prob-
able consequences of such a measure.—But,” continued Charles
idward, after another short pause, ‘if Mr. Waverley should,
like his ancestor, Sir Nigel, determine to embrace a cause
which has little to recommend it but its justice, and follow a
prince who throws himself upon the affections of his people to
recover the throne of his ancestors or perish in the attempt,
I can only say, that among these nobles and gentlemen he will
find worthy associates in a gallant enterprise, and will follow a
master who may be unfortunate, but, I trust, will never be un-
grateful.”

The politic Chieftain of the race of Ivor knew his advantage
in introducing Waverley to this personal interview with the
royal Adventurer. Unaccustomed to the address and manners
of a polished court, in which Charles was eminently skilful, his
words and his kindness penetrated the heart of our hero, andWAVERLEY. 219

easily outweighed all prudential motives. To be thus personally
solicited for assistance by a Prince, whose form and manners, as
well as the spirit which he displayed in this singular enterprise,
answered his ideas of a hero of romance; to be courted by him
in the ancient halls of his paternal palace, recovered by the
sword which he was already bending toward other conquests,
gave Edward, in his own eyes, the dignity and importance which
he had ceased toconsider as his attributes. Rejected, slan-
dered, and threatened upon the one side, he was irresistibly at-
tracted to the cause which the prejudices of education, and the
political principles of his family, had already recommended as
the most just. These thoughts rushed through his mind like a
torrent, sweeping before them every consideration of an oppo-
site tendency—the time, besides, admitted of no deliberation
——and Waverley, kneeling to Charles Edward, devoted his heart
and sword to the vindication of his rights!

The Prince (for, although unfortunate in the faults and
follies of his forefathers, we shall here, and elsewhere, give him
the title due to his birth ) raised Waverley from the ground, and
embraced him with an expression of thanks too warm not to be
genuine. He also thanked Fergus Mac-Ivor repeatedly for
having brought him such an adherent, and presented Waverley
to the various noblemen, chieftains, and officers who were about
his person, as a young gentleman of the highest hopes and pros-
pects, in whose bold and enthusiastic avowal of his cause they
might see an evidence of the sentiments of the English families
of rank at this important crisis.* Indeed, this was a point much
doubted among the adherents of the house of Stuart; and asa
well-founded disbelief in the co-operation of the English Jaco-
bites kept many Scottish men of rank from his standard, and
diminished the courage of those who had joined it, nothing
could be more seasonable for the Chevalier than the open dec-
laration in his favor of the representative of the house of
Waverley-Honour, so long known as cavaliers and loyalists.
This Fergus had foreseen from the beginning. He really loved
Waverley, because their feelings and projects never thwarted
each other; he hoped to see him united with Flora, and he re-
joiced that they were effectually engaged in the same cause.
But, as we before hinted, he also exulted as a politician in be-
holding secured to his party a partisan of such consequence,
and he was far from being insensible to the personal importance
which he himself gained with the Prince, from having so ma-
terially assisted in making the acquisition.

Charles Edward, on his part, seemed eager to show his at-
* Note R. Jacobite Sentiments.Shbbinavcaata aceon

ST ce

P, sphRiaeasnnecr tas Saas

=

220 WAVERLEY.

attendants the value which he attached to his new adherent, by
entering immediately, as in confidence, upon the circumstances
of his situation. ‘You have been secluded so much from in-
telligence, Mr. Waverley, from causes of which I am but indis-
tinctly informed, that I presume you are even-yet unacquainted
with the important particulars of my present situation. Vou
have, however, heard of my landing in the remote district of
Moidart, with only seven attendants, and of the numerous chiefs
and clans whose loyal enthusiasm at once placed a solitary ad-
venturer at the head of agallant army. You must also, I think,
have learned, that the Commander-in-chief of the Hanoverian
Elector, Sir John Cope, marched into the Highlands at the
head of a numerous and well appointed military force, with the
intention of giving us battle, but that his courage failed him
when we were within three hours’ march of each other, so that
he fairly gave us the slip, and marched northward to Aberdeen,
leaving the Low Country open and undefended. Not to lose
so favorable an opportunity, I marched on to this metropolis,
driving before me two regiments of horse, Gardiner’s and Ham-
ilton’s, who had threatened to cut to pieces every Highlander
that should venture to pass Stirling; and while discussions
were carrying forward among the magistracy and citizens of
Edinburgh, whether they should defend themselves or surren-
der, my good friend Lochiel (laying his hand on the shoulder
of that gallant and accomplished chieftain) saved them the
trouble of further deliberation by entering the gates with five
hundred Camerons. Thus far, therefore, we have done well ;
but, in the meanwhile, this doughty general’s nerves being
braced by the keen air of Aberdeen, he has taken shipping for
Dunbar, and I have just received certain information that he
landed there yesterday. His purpose must unquestionably be
to march toward us to recover possession of the capital. Now,
there are two opinions in my council of war: one, that being
inferior probably in numbers, and certainly in discipline and
military appointments, not to mention our total want of artillery,
and the weakness of our cavalry, it will be the safest to fall
back toward the mountains, and there protract the war until
fresh succors arrive from France, and the whole body of the
Highland clans shall have taken arms in our favor. The op-
posite opinion maintains that a retrograde movement, in our
circumstance, is certain to throw utter discredit on our arms
and undertaking ; and, far from gaining us new partisans, will
be the means of disheartening those who have joined our stand-
ard. The officers who used these last arguments, among whom
is your friend Fergus Mac-Ivor, maintain that if the Highland:WAVERLEY. 221
€rS are strangers to the usual military discipline of Europe, the
sol diers whom they are to encounter are no less stra angers to their
peculiar and formidable mode of attack: that the attachment
and courage of the chiefs and gentlemen are not to be doubted;
and that as they will be in the midst of the enemy, their clans.
men will as surely follow them ; in fine, that havi ing drawn the
sword, we should throw aw ay the scabbard, and trust our cause
to battle and to the God of Battles. Will Mr. Wav erley favor
us with his opinion in these arduous circumstances ?”

Waverley colored high betwixt pleasure and modesty at the
distinction implied in this question, and answered, with equal
spirit and readiness, th: it he could not venture to offer an opin
ion as derive a tide military skill, but that the counsel would
be far the most acceptable to him which should first afford him
an opportunity to evince his zeal in his Royal Highness’s service,

“ Spoken like a Waverley!” answered Charles Edward:
“and that you may hold a rank in some d egree corresponding
to your name, allow me, instead of the captain’s commission
which you have lost, to offer you the brevet rank of major in
my service, with the advantage of acting as one of my sides -de-
camp until you can be attac hed to a regiment, of which I hope
SE veral will be speedily embodied.”

‘Your Royal Highne: ss will forgive me,” answered Waverley,
(for hi S recollection turned t to Balmawhapple and his scanty
troop), “if I decline accepting any rank until the time and
place where I may have interest enough to raise a sufficient
body of men to make my command useful to your Royal High-
ness’s service. In the meanwhile, I hc ype for your permission
to serve as a volunteer under my friend Fergus Mac-Ivor.”

° At least” said the Prince, who was obv iously pleased with
this proposal, “allow me the ple asure of arming you after the
High I ind fashion.” With these wor rds, he unbuckled the need.
sword which he wore, the belt of which was plated with silver,
and the steel basket-hilt richly and curiously inlaid. “The
blade,” said the Prince, “is a genuine Andrea Ferrara: it has
been a sort of heirloom in our family ; but I am convinced I
put it into better hands than my own, and will add to it pistols
of the same workmanship.—Colonel Mac-Ivor, you must have
much to say to your friend ; I will detain you no longer from
your private conversation ; but remember we expect you both
to attend us in the evening. It may be perhaps the last night
we may enjoy in these halls, and as we go to the field with a
clear conscience, we will spend the eve of battle me errily.

Thus, licensed, the chief and Waverley left the presence
chamber,mianencenceiion

pasts komt

WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIRST.
THE MYSTERY BEGINS TO BE CLEARED.

“ How do you like him?” was Fergus’s first question, as
they descended the large stone staircase.

“A prince to live and die under,” was Waverley’s enthusi-
astic answer.

“T knew you would think so when you saw him, and [| in-
tended you should have met earlier, but was prevented by your
sprain. And yet he has his foibles, or rather he has difficult
cards to play, and his Irish officers,* who are much about him
are but sorry advisers,—they cannot discriminate among the
numerous pretensions that are set up. Would you think it,—l
have been obliged for the present to suppress an Earl’s patent,
granted for services rendered ten years ago, for fear of exciting
the jealousy, forsooth, of C——- and M——. But you were
very right, Edward, to refuse the situation of aide-de-camp.
There are two vacant, indeed, but Clanronald and Lochiel, and
almost all of us, have requested one for young Aberchallader,
and the Lowlanders and the Irish party are equally desirous to
have the other for the Master of F——. Now, if either of these
candidates were to be superseded in your favor, you would
foaice; enemies... And, then Jam Suupiised that che Pance
should have offered you a majority, when he knows very well
that nothing short of lieutenant-colonel will satisfy others, who
cannot bring one hundred and fifty men to the field. ‘But
patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards ! ’ It is all very well for
the present, and we must have you regularly equipped for the
evening in your new costume; for to say the truth, your out-
ward man is scarce fit for a court.”

“ Why,” said Waverley, looking at his soiled dress, “my
shooting jacket has seen service since we parted ; but that, prob-
ably, you, my friend, know as well or better them, te

“You do my second-sight too much honor,” said Fergus.
“We were so busy, first with the scheme of giving battle to
Cope, and afterward with our operations in the Lowlands, that
I could only give general directions to such of our people as
were left in Perthshire to respect and protect you, should you
come in their way, But let me hear the full story of your ad-
ventures, for they have reached us in a very partial and mut-
lated manner.”

* Note S. Irish Officers.WAVERLEY, 223
Waverley then detailed at length the circumstances with
which the reader is already acquainted, to which Fergus
listened with great attention, By this time they had reached
the door of his quarters, which he had taken up in a smali
paved court, retiring from the street called the Canongate, at
the house of a buxom widow of forty, who seemed to smile very
graciously upon the handsome young chief, she being a person
with whom good looks and good humor were sure to secure an
interest, whatever might be the party’s political opinions.
Here Callum Beg received them with a smile of recognition.
~ Callum,” said the Chief, “call Shemus an Snachad”’ (James
of the Needle). This was the hereditary tailor of Vich Ian
sVohr. “Shemus, Mr. Waverley is to wear the the cath dath
(battle color, or tartan); his trews must be ready in four hours.
You know the measure of a well-made man : two double nails
to the small of the leg ”»——

“Eleven from haunch to heel, seven round the waist—I
give your honor leave to hang Shemus, if there’s a pair of
sheers in the Highlands that has a baulder sneck than her’s
ain at the cumadhk an truais” (shape of the trews).

“Get a plaid of Mac-Ivor tartan, and sash,” continued the
Chieftain, “and a blue bonnet of the Prince’s pattern, at Mr.
Mouat’s in the Crames. My short green coat, with silver lace
and silver buttons, will fit him exactly, and I have never worn
it. Tell Ensign Maccombich to pick out a handsome target
from among mine. The Prince has given Mr. Waverley broad-
sword and pistols, I will furnish him with a dirk and purse ;

5

add but a pair of low-heeled shoes, and then my dear Edward,
(turning to him) you will be a complete son of Ivor.”

These necessary directions given, the Chieftain resumed
the subject of Waverley’s adventures. “It is plain,” he said,
“that you have been in the custody of Donald Bean Lean.
You must know that when I marched away my clan to join the
Prince, I laid my injunctions on that worthy member of society
to perform a certain piece of service, which done, he was to
join me with all the force he could muster. But instead of
doing so, the gentleman, finding the coast clear, thought it
better to make war on his own account, and has scoured the
country, plundering, I believe, both friend and foe, under pre-
tence of levying blackmail, sometimes as if by my authority,
and sometimes (and be cursed to his consummate impudence)
in his own great name! Upon my honor, if I live to see the
cairn of Benmore again, I shall be tempted to hang that fellow !
I recognize his hand particularly in the mode of your rescue from
that canting rascal Gilfillan, and I have little doubt that Donald

%

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Sitios sah — SS eee ee

Ee

~~

 

224 WAVERLEY.

himself played the part of the pedler on that occasion ; but how
be should not have plundered you, or put you to ransom, or
availed himself in some way or other of your captivity for his
own advantage, passes my judgment.”

“When and how did you hear the intelligence of my con-
finement?” asked Waverley.

“ The Prince himself told me,” said Fergus, “and inquired
very minutely into your history. He then mentioned your
being at that moment in the power of one of our northern
parties—you know I could not ask him to explain particulars—
and requested my opinion about disposing of you. I recom-
mended that you should be brought here as a prisoner, because
I did not wish to prejudice you further with the English Govern- +
ment, in case you pursued your purpose of going southward.
I knew nothing, you must recollect, of the charge brought
against you of aiding and abetting high treason, which, I pre-
sume, had some share in changing your original plan. That
sullen, good-for-nothing brute, Balmawhapple, was sent to escort
you from Doune, with what he calls his troop of horse. As to
his behavior, in addition to his natural antipathy to everything
that resembles a gentleman, I presume his adventure with
Bradwardine rankles in his recollection, the rather that I dare
say his mode of telling that story contributed to the evil reports
which reached your quondam regiment.”

“Very likely,” said Waverley; “but now surely, my dear
Fergus, you may find time to tell me something of Flora.”

“Why,” replied Fergus, “I can only tell you that she is
well, and residing for the present with a relation inthis city. I
thought it better she should come here, as since our success a
good many ladies of rank attend our military court, and I
assure you, that there is a sort of consequence annexed to the
near relative of such a person as Flora Mac-Ivor, and where
there is such a justling of claims and requests, a man must use
every fair means to enhance his importance.”

There was something in this last sentence which grated on
Waverley’s feelings. He could not bear that Flora should be
considered as conducing to her brother’s preferment, by the
admiration which she must unquestionably attract ; and although
it was in strict correspondence with many points of Fergus’s
character, it shocked him as selfish, and unworthy of his sister’s
high mind and his own independent pride. Fergus, to whom
such manceuvres were familiar, as to one brought up at the
French court, did not observe the unfavorable impression which
he had unwarily made upon his friend’s mind, and concluded
by saying, “that they could hardly see Flora before the even:“AVERLE ¥. 22<

it Og, when she would be at the concert and bal , With which the
Prince’s party were to be entertained. She ae ‘T had a quarrel
about her not appearing to take leave of you, .-1. am unwilling
to renew it, by soliciting her to receive you this morning ; and
perhaps my doing so might not only ~ ineffectual, but prevent
your meeting this ev ening.”

While thus conversing, Waverley heard in the court, before
the windows of the parlor, a well-known voice. “I aver to
you, my worthy friend,” said the speaker, “ that it is a total
dereliction of military discipline ; and were you not as it werea
“rd, your purpose would deserve strong reprobation. For a
prisoner of war is on no account to be coerced with fet ters, or
detained in ergastulo, as would have been the case had you
put this gentleman into the pit of the peel-house at Balma-
whapple. I grant, indeed, that such a prisoner may for security
be coerced ix carcere, that | is, in a public prison.”

The growling voice of Balmawhap ple was heard as taking
leave in “‘disple easure, but the word, e ARG TSAR CN 7 alone was
distinctly audil ie ie had disap peared before Waverle
eached the house, in order to greet the Savi Baron of Bad
wardine. The uniform in w hich] he was now attired, a blue coat,
namely, with gold lace, a scarlet waistcoat and breeches, and
immense jack -boots, seemed to have added fresh stiffness and
rigidity to his tall, perpendicul ar figure ; and the consciousness
of milit ary command and auLhonity had increased, in the same
proportion, the self- -Importance of his demeanor, and the dog-
matism of his conversation.

He received Waverley with his usual kindness, and ex-
pressed immediate anxiety to hear an explanation of the cir-
cumstances attending the loss of his commission in Gardiner’s

dragoons ; “ Not,” he said, “ that he had the least apprehen-
sion of his young friend having done < ught which could merit
such ungenerous treatment as he had received from Govern-
ment, but bec cause it was right and seemly that the Baron of
Bradwardine should be, in point of trust and in point of power,
fully able to refute all calumnies against the heir of Waverley-
Honour, whom he had so much right to regard as his own son.”

Fergus Mac-Ivor, who had now joined them, went hastily
over thi circumstances of Waverley’s story, and concluded
with the flattering reception he had met from the young Chev-
alier, «The Baron listened in silence, and at the conclusion
shook Waverley heartily by the hand, and congratulated him
upon ente ering the service of his lawful Prince. ‘“Bor,’’ eons
tinued he, “alt hough it has been justly held in all nations a
matter of scandal and dishonor to infringe the sacramentum

 
 
  
  
    
 
 
   
   
  
 
  
     
 
 
  
   
    
   
 
  
 
    
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  

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SOc a tana,

SoSede bitaaa erie

habit cehhhnodeaasee: ate

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5G WAVERLEY.

militare, and that whether it was taken by each soldier singly,
whilethe Romans denominated per conjurationem, or by one
soldier in name of the rest, yet no one ever doubted that the
allegiance so sworn was discharged by the dzmzssio, or dis-
charging of a soldier, whose case would be-as hard as that of
colliers, salters, and other adscriptz gilebe, or slaves of the soil,
were it to be accounted otherwise. ‘This is something like the
brocard expressed by the learned Sanchez in his work De /Jure-
jurando, which you have questionless consulted upon this
yecasion. As for those who have calumniated you by leasing-
making, I protest to Heaven I think they have justly incurred
the penalty of the Memnonia lex, also called Lex Rhemnia
which is prelected upon by Tullius in his oration Jz Verrem
I should have deemed, however, Mr. Waverley, that before
destining yourself to any special service in the army of the
Prince, ye might have inquired what rank the old Bradwardine
held there, and whether he would not have been peculiarly
happy to have had your services in the regiment of horse which
he is now about to levy.”

Edward eluded this reproach by pleading the necessity of
piving an immediate answer to the Prince’s proposal, and his
uncertainty at the moment whether his friend the Baron was
with the army, or engaged upon service elsewhere.

This punctilio being settled, Waverley made inquiry after
Miss Bradwardine, and was informed she had come to Edin-
burgh with Flora Mac-Ivor, under guard of a party of the
Chieftain’s men. This step was indeed necessary, Tully-Veolan
having become a very unpleasant, and even dangerous place
of residence for an unprotected young lady, on account of its
vicinity to the Highlands, and also to one or two large villages,
which, from aversion as much to the Caterans as zeal for Pres-
bytery, had declared themselves on the side of Government,
and formed irregular bodies of partisans, who had frequent
skirmishes with the mountaineers, and sometimes attacked the
houses of the Jacobite gentry in the braes, or frontier betwixt
the mountain and plain.

“T would propose to you,” continued the Baron, “ to walk
as far as my quarters in the Luckenbooths, and to admire in
your passage the High Street, whilk is, beyond a_ shadow of
dubitation, finer than any street, whether in London or Paris:
But Rose, poor thing, is sorely discomposed with the firing of
the castle, though I have proved to her from Blondel and
Coehorn, that it is impossible a bullet can reach these build-
ings ; and, besides, I have it in charge from his Royal High-
ness to go to the camp, or leaguer of our army, to see that theWAVERLEY.

22%
men do conclamare vasa, th lat is, truss up their bag and bag-
gage for to-morrow’s march,’

That will be easily done by most of us,” said Mac-Ivor,
laughing.

“Craving your pardon, Colonel Mac-Ivor, not quite so
easily as ye seem to opine. I grant most of your folk left the
Highlands, expedited as it were, and free from the incumbrance
of baggage; but it is unspeakable the quantity of useless
sprechery which they have collected on their march. I saw
one fellow of yours (craving your pardon once more) with
pier-glass upon his back.”

“Ay,” said Fergus, still in good humor, “he would have
told you, if you had questioned him, @ ganging foot is aye get-
ting.—But come, my dear Baron, you know as well as 1, that a
hundred Uhlans, or a single troop of Schmirschitz’s Pandours,
would make more havoc ina country than the knight of the
mirror and all the rest of our clans put together.’

‘And that is very true likewise.” replied the Baron; “ they
are, as the heathen author says, feracéores in aspectu, mitiores, in
actu, of a horrid and grim vis sage, but more benign i in demeanor
han their physiognomy o r aspect might infer.—But I stand
here talking to you two youngsters, when I should be in the
King’s Park.”

a

“ But you will dine with Waverley and me on your return ?

1 assure you, Baron, though I can live like a High vlarder when

needs must, I remember my Paris education, and understand
perfectly faire la meilleure chere.

nd wha the deil doubts it,” quoth the Baro», laughing,

“when ye bring only the cook ery, and the gnde toun must

furnish the materials ?

     

el, I have some business in the toun
too: but I’ll join you at three if the vivers can tarry so long.”

So saying, he took leave of his friends, aud went to look
after the charge which had ant assigned him.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SECOND,
A SOLDIER’S DINNER.

James of the Needle was a man of his word, when whiskey
was no party to the contract; and upon this occasion Callum
Beg, who still thought himself in Wav etley’s debt, since he ha
declined accepting compensation at the expense of mine Host

  
  
  
 
 
    
 
    
     
    
  
    
 
    
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
    
  
    
    
 
 
     
  
 
 
      
  
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
 

RTE
Rihrtearsy nitecriieass

   

PO

aw
Pern renEareeteaete

opaestoar acetates

Soe

iste tee eee 33

WAVERLEY.

of the Candlestick’s person, took the opportunity of dischare-
ing the obligation, by mounting guard over the hereditary tailor
of Sliochd nan Ivor; and, as he expressed himself, “ targed
him tightly” till the finishing of the job. To rid himself of
this restraint, Shemus’s needle flew through the tartan like
lightning; and as the artist kept chanting some dreadful skir-
mish of Fin Macoul, he accomplished at least three stitches to
the death of every hero. The dress was, therefore, soon ready,
for the short coat fitted the wearer, and the rest of the apparel
required little adjustment.

Our hero having now fairly assumed the “ garb of Old Gaul,”
well calculated as it was to give an appearance of strength to
a figure, which, though tall and well-made, was rather elegant
than robust, I hope my fair readers will excuse him if he looked
at himself in the mirror more than once, and could not help
acknowledging that the reflection seemed that of a very hand:
some young fellow. In fact, there was no disguising it. His
light-brown hair—for he wore no periwig, notwithstanding the
universal fashion of the time—became the bonnet which sur-
mounted it. His person promised firmness and agility, to
which the ample folds of the tartan added an air of dignity.
His blue eye seemed of that kind

Which melted in love, and which kindled in war;

and an air of bashfulness, which was in reality the effect of
want of habitual intercourse with the world, gave interest to
his features, without injuring their grace or intelligence.

‘“He’s a pratty man—a very pratty man,” said Evan Dhu
(now Ensign Maccombich) to Fergus’s buxom landlady.

‘“‘Hle’s vera weel,” said the Widow Flockhart, “but no
naething sae weel-faur’d as your Colonel, ensign.”

“T wasna comparing them,’ quoth Evan, “nor was I
speaking about his being weel-favored; but only that Mr.
Waverley looks clean-made and deliver, and like a proper lad
9’ his quarters, that will not cry barley in a brulzie. And, in-
deed, he’s gleg eneuch at the broadsword and target. I hae
played wi’ him mysell at Glennaquoich, and sae has Vich Jan
Vohr, often of a Sunday afternoon.”

“Lord forgie ye, Ensign Maccombich,” said the alarmed
Presbyterian ; “I’m sure the colonel wad never do the like o’
thie | &

“Hout! hout! Mrs. Flockhart,” replied the ensign “ we're
young blude, ye ken; and young saints, auld deils.”

“But will ye fight wi’ Sir John Cope the morn, Ensign

Maccombich ?”” demanded Mrs. Flockhart of her guest.

?

3WAVERLEY. 229

“'Troth I’se ensure him, an’ he’ll bide us, Mrs
eee he Gael,

\nd will ye face thae tearing chields, the dr ragoons, Ensign

. Flockhart,”

}

Maccombic ch 2 again inquired the | landlady.

‘ Claw for claw: as: Gonan« said to Satan, Mrs. Flockhart,
and the deevil tak the shortest nails.

And will the Colonel venture on the bagganets himsel? ”

‘Ye may swear it, Mrs. Flockh art; the very first man will
he be. by Saint Phedar.”

‘Merciful goodness! and if he’s
coats ?” exclaimed the soft-hearted el

CoProth, if it should sae befall, Mrs. Flockhart, I ken ane
that will no be living to weep for him. But we maun a’ live
the day, and have our dinner ; and there’s Vich Ian Vohr has
packed his dorlach, and Mr. W averley's wearied wi’ majoring
yonder afore the muckle pier-glass, and that gray auld stoor
carle, the Baron o’ Bradwardine, that shot young Ronald of
Ballankeiroch, he’s coming down the close wi’ that droghling
coghling bailie body they ca’ Macwl hupple, just like the haan
o’ Kittlegab’s French cook, wi’ his tun nspit doggie trindling
ahint him, and I amas hungry as a gled, my bonny dow; sae
bid Kate set on the broo’, and do ye put on your pinners, for
ye ken Vich Ian Vohr winna sit down til] ye be at the head o’

table ;—and dinna forget the pint bottle o’ brandy, my
woman.”

This hint produced dinner. Mrs. Flockhart, smiling in
her weeds like the sun through a mist, took the head of the
table, thinking within herself. perhaps, that she cared not
how long the rebellion lasted, that brought her into com-
pany so much above her usual associates. She was Sup
ported by Waverley and the Baron, with the ady vantage of the
Chieftain ws-d-vis. The men of peace and of war, that is,
Baillie Macwheeble and E nsign Maccombich, after many pro-
found conmgés to their superiors and each other, took their
places on each side of the Chieftain. Their fare was excellent,
time, place, and circumstances considered, and Fergus’s spirits
were ext ravagantly high. Regardless of danger, and s sanguine
from temper, youth, and ; ambition, he saw in imagination all
his pro: emeasl crowned with success, and was tota lly indifferent
to A probable alternative of a soldier’ s grave. The Baron
apologized slightly for Wee Maewheeble. They had been
providing, he said. for the -xpenses of the campaign. “ And,
by my faith,” said the old man, “as I think this will be my
last, so [ just end where [ began—I hae evermore found the
sinews of war, as a learned author calls the cazsse militaire,

killed amang the red-230 WAVERLEY.

mair difficult to come by than either its flesh, blood, of
bones.”

“ What! have you raised our only efficient body of cavalry,
and got ye none of the louis-d’or out of the Doutelle * toshelp
you?”

* « No, Glennaquoich; cleverer fellows have been before me.”

“ That’s a scandal,” said the young Highlander ; “ but you
will share what is left of my subsidy: it will save you an anx
ious thought to-night, and will be all one to-morrow, for we
shall all be provided for, one way or other, before the sun
sets.” Waverley, blushing deeply, but with great earnestness,
pressed the same request.

“T thank ye baith, my good lads,” said the Baron, “ but I
will not infringe upon your peculium. Bailie Macwheeble
has provided the sum which is necessary.”

Here the Bailie shifted and fidgeted about in his seat,
and appeared extremely uneasy. At length, after several pre-

liminary hems, and much tautological expression of his devo-

ton to his honor’s service, by night or day, living or dead, he
began to insinuate, “ that the Banks had removed a’ their

ready cash into the Castle ; that, nae doubt, Sandie Goldie,
the silversmith, would do mickle for his honor; but there was
little time to get the wadset made out ; and, doubtless, if his
honor Glennaquoich, or Mr. Wauverley, could accommodate’—

“ Let me hear of no such nonsense, sir,” said the Baron,
‘na tone which rendered Macwheeble mute, “ but proceed as
we accorded before dinner, if it be your wish to remain in my
service.”

To this peremptory order, the Bailie, though he felt as if
condemned to suffer a transfusion of blood from his own veins
‘nto those of the Baron, did not presume to make any reply.
After fidgeting a little while longer, however, he addressed
himself to Glennaquoich, and told him, if his honor had mair
ready siller than was sufacient for his occasions in the field, he
could put it out at use for his honor in safe hands, and at
great profit, at this time.

At this proposal Fergus laughed heartily, and answered,
when he had recovered his breath,—‘“ Many thanks, Bailie ;
but you must know it is a general custom among us soldiers
tomake our landlady our banker.—Here, Mrs. Flockhart,”
said he, taking four or five broad pieces out of a well-filled
pnurse, and tossing the purse itself, with its remaining contents,
into her apron. “these will serve my occasion ; do you take

* The Doutelle was an armed vessel, which brought a small supply of
money and arms from France for the use of the insurgents.WAVERLEY.

No

32

the rest; be my banker if I live, and my executor if I die:
but iake care to give something to the High land cailliachs *
that shali cry the coronach loudest for the last Vich Ian
Vohr.”’

“ It is the “estamentum militare,” quoth the Baron, “ whilk
amang the Romans, was privilegiate to be nuncupative.” Bu
the soft heart of Mrs. Flockhart was melted within her at the
Chieftain’s speech ; she set up a lamentable blubbering, and
positively refused to touch the bequest, which Fergus was
therefore obl iged to resume.

“¢ Well then,’ said the Chief, “ if I fall, it will go to the
grenadier that knocks my brains out and I shall take care he
works hard for it.”

Bailie Meawitnite Was again tempted to put in his oar;
for where cash was concerned he did not willingly remain
silent. ‘ Perhaps he had ae carry the gowd to Miss Mac-
Ivor, in case of mortality, or accidents, of war. It mi ight tak
the form of a mortis we FAG in the young leddie’ s favor,
and wad cost but the scrape of a pen to mak it out.’

"Fhe young lady,” said Fergus, “should such an event
happen, will have other matters to think of than these wretched
louis d’or.”

** ‘True—undeniable—there’s nae doubt o’ that; but your
honor kens that a full sorrow”——

“Is endurable by most folks more easily than a hungry one?
—True, Bailie, very true; and I believe there may even be
some who would be consoled by such a reflection for the loss
of the whole existing generation. But there is a sorrow which
knows neither hunger nor thirst: and poor Flora’”——He
paused, and the whole company sympathized in his emotion.

The Baron’s thoughts natur ally reverted to the unprotected
state of his daughter, and the big tear came to the veteran’s
eye. “If I fall, Macwheeble, you have all my papers, and
know all my affairs ; be just to Rose.’

The Bailie was a man of earthly mould after all ;a good
deal of dirt and dross about him, undoubtedly, but some kindly
and just feelings he had, especially where the Baron or his
young mistress were concerned. He set upa lamentable howl.
“Tf that doleful day should come, while Duncan Macwheeble
had a boddle, it should be Miss Rose’s. He wald scroll for a
plack the sheet, or she kenn’d what it was to want ; if indeed a’
the bonnie baronie o’ Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan, with the
fortalice and manor-place thereof (he kept sobbing and whining

bt

* Old women, on whom devolved the duty of Jamenting for the cead
which the Irish call Aeexeng.ree eres Seater

232 WAVERLEY.
at every pause), tofts, crofts mosses, muirs—outfield, infield—
buildings—orchards—dove-cots—with the right of net and
coble in the water and loch of Veolan—tiends, parsonage and
vicarage—annexis, connexis—rights of pasturage—fuel, feal,
and divot—parts, pendicles, and pertinents whatsoever—(here
he had recourse to the end of his long cravat to wipe his eyes,
which overflowed in spite of him, at the ideas which this tech-
nical jargon conjured up)—all as more fully described in the
proper evidents and titles thereof—and lying within the parish
of Bradwardine, and the shire of Perth—if, as aforesaid, they
must a’ pass from my master’s child to Inch-Grabbit, wha’s a
Whig and a Hanoverian, and he managed by his doer, Jamie
Howie, wha’s no fit to be a birlieman, let be a bailie ”—

The beginning of this lamentation really had something
affecting, but the conclusion rendered laughter irresistible.
“ Never mind, Bailie,” said Ensign Maccombich, “ for the gude
auld times of rugging and riving (pulling and tearing) are come
back again, an’ Sneckus Mac-Snackus, (meaning probably, an-
nexis, connexis), and a’ the rest of your friends, maun gie place
to the langest claymore.”

“And that claymore shall be ours, Bailie,” said the chief-
tain, who saw that Macwheeble looked very blank at this inti-
mation.

We'll give them the metal our mountain affords,
Lillibulero, bullen a la,

And in place of broad-pieces, we'll pay with broadswords,
Lero, lero, etc.

With duns and with debts we will soon clear our score,
Lillibulero, etc.

For the man that’s thus paid will crave payment no more,
Lero, lero, etc.*

 

 

But come, Bailie, be not cast down; drink your wine with
a joyous heart; the Baron shall return safe and victorious to
Tully-Veolan, and unite Killancureit’s lairdship with his own,
since the cowardly half-bred swine will not turn out for the
Prince like a gentleman,”

“To be sure, they lie maist ewest,”f said the Bailie, wip-
ing his eyes, “and should naturally fa’ under the same factory.”

“ And I,” proceeded the chieftain, “shall take care of my-
self, too; for you must know, I have to complete a good work
here, by bringing Mrs, Flockhart into the bosom of the Catho-
lic church, or at least half way, and that is to your Episcopal
meeting-house. O Baron! if you heard her fine counter-tenor

* These lines, or something like them, occur in an old Magazine of the
period. tz. é., Contiguous.WAVERLEY. 233
admonishing Kate and Matty in the morning, you, who under
stand music, would tremble at the idea of hearing her shriek
in the psalmody of Haddo’s Hole.”

“Lord forgie you, colonel, how ye rin on! but I hope your
honors will tak tea before ye gang to the palace, and I maun
gang, and mask it for you.”

So saying, Mrs. Flockhart left the gentlemen to their own
conversation, which, as might be supposed, turned chiefly upon
the approaching events of the campaign.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-THIRD,.
THE BALL.

EnsicN Maccompicu having gone to the Highland camp
upon duty, and Bailie Macwheeble having retired to digest his
dinner, and Evan Dhu’s intimation of martial] law, in some
blind change-house Waverley, with the Baron and the Chief-
tain, proceeded to Holyrood House. The two last were in full
tide of spirits, and the Baron rallied in his way our hero upon
the handsome figure which his new dress displayed to advan-
tage. “Ifyou have any design upon the heart of a bonny
Scotch lassie, I would premonish you, when you address her,
to remember and quote the words of Virgilius :—

Nunc insanos amor duri me Martis in armis,
Tela inter media atque adversos detinet hostes ;

Whilk verses Robertson of Struan, Chief of the Clan Donno-
chy (unless the claims of Lude ought to be preferred primo
4oco) has thus elegantly rendered :

For cruel love has gartan’d low my leg,

And clad my hurdies in a philabeg.
Although, indeed, ye wear the trews, a garment whilk I approve
maist of the twa, as mair ancient and seemly.”

‘Or rather,” said Fergus, “hear my song :

She wadna hae a Lowland laird,
Nor be an English lady ;
But she’s away with Duncan Graeme,

And he’s rowed her in his plaidy.”

By this time they reached the palace of Holyrood, and were
announced respectively as they entered the apartments.

ry
Le234 WAVERLEY.

It is but too well known how many gentlemen of rank, edu-
cation, and fortune, took a concern in the ill-fated and desperate
undertaking of 1745. ‘The ladies, also, of Scotland very gener-
ally espoused the cause of the gallant and handsome young
Prince, who threw himself upon the mercy.of his countrymen,
rather like a hero of romance than a calculating politician. It
is not, therefore, to be wondered that Edward, who had spent
the ereater part of his life in the solemn seclusion of Waverley-
Honour, should have been dazzled at the liveliness and ele-
gance of the scene now exhibited in the long-deserted halls of
the Scottish palace. The accompaniments, indeed, fell short
of splendor, being such as the confusion and hurry of the time
admitted ; still, however, the general effect was striking, and
the rank of the company considered, might well be called
brilliant.

It was not long before the lover’s eye discovered the object
of his attachment. Flora Mac-Ivor was in the act of returning
to her seat, near the top of the room, with Rose Bradwardine
by her side. Among much elegance and beauty, they had at-
tracted a great degree of the public attention, being certainly
two of the handsomest women present. The Prince took much
notice of both, particularly of Flora, with whom he danced; a
preference which she probably owed to her foreign education,
and command of the French and Italian languages.

When the bustle attending the conclusion of the dance per-
mitted, Edward, almost intuitively, followed Fergus to the place
where Miss Mac-Ivor was seated. ‘The sensation of hope, with
which he had nursed his affection in absence of the beloved
object seemed to vanish in her presence, and, like one striving
to recover the particulars of a forgotten dream, he would have
given the world at that moment to have recollected the grounds
on which he had founded expectations which now seemed so
delusive. He accompanied Fergus with downcast eyes, ting-
ling ears, and the feelings of the criminal, who, while the melan-
choly cart moves slowly through the crowds that have assembled
to behold his execution, receives no clear sensation cither from
the noise which fills his ears, or the tumult on which he casts
his wandering look.

Flora seemed a little—a very little—affected and discom-
posed at his approach. “I bring you an adopted son of Ivor,”
said Fergus,

‘And I receive him as a second brother,”’ replied Flora.

There was a slight emphasis on the word, which would have
escaped every ear but one that was feverish with apprehension.
it was, however, distinctly marked, and, combined with her wholeWAVERLEY. 235

tone and manner, plainly intimated, “I will never think of Mr,
Waverley as a more intimate connection.” Edward stopped,
bowed, and looked at Fergus, who bit his lip; a movement of
anger, which proved that he also had put a sinister interpreta-
tion on the reception which his sister had given his friend

“This, then, is an end of my day-dream!” Such was
Waverley’s first thought, and it was so exquisitely painful as to
banish from his cheek every drop of blood

““Good God!’
recovered !”

These words which she uttered with great emotion, were
overheard by the Chevalier himself. who stepped hastily for-
ward, and, taking Waverley by the hand, inquired kindly after
his health, and added, that he wished to speak withhim. By
a strong and sudden effort, which the circumstances rendered
indispensable, Waverley recovered himself so far as to follow
the Chevalier in silence toa recess in the apartment.

Here the Prince detained him some time.
questions about the great Tory and Catholic fami
their connections, their influence, and tl
tions towarc

«

said Rose Bradwardine, “he has not yet

asking various
lies of England,
1e state of their affec-
l the house of Stuart. To these queries Edward could
not at any time have given more than general answers, and it
may be supposed that, in the present state of his feelings, his
responses were indistinct even to confusion. The Chevalier
smiled once or twice at the incongruity of his replies, but con-
tinued the same style of conversation, although he found himself
obliged to occupy the principal share of it, until he perceived
that Waverley had recovered his presence of mind. It is prob-
able that this long audience was partly meant to further the
idea which the Prince desired should be entertained among his
followers, that Waverley was a character of political influence,
But it appeared, from his concluding expressions, that he had a
different and good-natured motive, personal to our hero, for
prolonging the conference. ‘I cannot resist the temptation,”
he said, “of boasting of my own discretion as a lady’s confidant.
You see, Mr. Waverley, that I know all, and I assure you I am
deeply interested in the affair. But, my good young friend, you
must put a more severe restraint upon your feelings. here
are many here whose eyes can see as clearly as mine, but the
prudence of whose tongues may not be equally trusted.”

So saying, he turned easily away, and joined a circle of
officers at a few paces distance, leaving Waverley to meditate
upon his parting expression, which, though not intelligible _to
him in its whole purport, was sufficiently so in the caution which
the last word recommended. Making, therefore, an effort to

  
 
 
   
   
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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236 WAVERLEY.
show himself worthy of the interest which his new master had
expressed, by instant’ obedience to his recommendation, he
walked up to the spot where Flora and Miss Bradwardine were
still seated, and having made his compliments to the latter, he
succeeded, even bey ond his own expectations, in entering into
conversation upon general topics.

If, my dear reader, thou hast ever happened to take post-
horses at ——, or at ——— (one at least of which blanks, or
more probably both, you will be able to fill up from an inn near
your own residence), you must have observed, and doubtless
with sympathetic pain, the reluctant agony with which the poor
jades at first apply their galled necks to the collars of the har-
ness. But when the irresistible arguments of the post-boy have
prevailed upon them to proceed a mile or two, they will become
callous to the first sensation; and being warm in the harness,
as the said post-boy may term it, proceed as if their withers were
altogether unwrung. This simile so much corresponds with the
state of Waverley’s feelings in the course of this memorable
evening, that .I prefer it, {especially as being, I trust, wholly
original) to any*more’splendid illustration, with which Byshe’s
Art of Poetry might suppl, me.

Exertion, like virtue, is its own reward; and our hero had,
moreover, other stimulating motives for persevering in a display
of affected composure and indifference to Flora’s obvious un-
kindness. Pride, which supplies its caustic as a useful, though
severe remedy for the wounds of affection, came rapidly to his
aid. Distinguished by the favor of a prince; ¢ destined, he had
room to hope, to play a eta S uous part in the rev olution which
awaited a mighty kingdom; excelling, probably, in mental ac-
quirements, and equalling’ at least, in personal accomplish-
ments, most of the noble and distinguished persons with whom
he was now ranked : young, we althy, and high-born—could he,
or ought he to droop beneath the frown of a capricious beauty?

O nymph, unrelenting and cold as thou art,
My bosom is proud as thine own.

With the Gos expressed in these beautiful lines (which,
however, were not then written) * Waverley determined upon
convincing +i that he was not to be depressed by a rejec
tion in which his v anity whispered that perhaps she did her own

* They occur in Miss Seward’s fine verses, beginning—

To thy rock, stormy Lannow, adieu.WAVERLEY. 237
prospects as much injustice as his. And, to aid this ch lange of
feeling, there lurked the sec ret al od unacki nowledged hope, that
she might learn to prize his affection more high hly_ when she ne
not conceive it to be altogether within her own choice to attra

or repulse it. There was a mystic tone of encouragement, also,
in the Chevalier’s words, though he feare dt they only referred to
the wishes of Fergus in favor of a union between him and his
sister. But the whole circumstances of time, place, and inci-
dent, combined at once to awaken his imagination, and to call
upon him for a manly and a decisive tone of conduct, leaving to
fate to dispose of the issue. Should he appear to be the only one
sad and disheartened on the eve of battle, how ereedily would
the tale be commented upon by the slander which had been
already but too busy with his fame? Never, never, he inter-
nally resolved, shall my unprovoked enemies possess such an
advantage over my reputation.

Under the influence of these mixed sensations, ane cheered
at times by a smile of intelligence and approbation from the
Prince as he passed the group, Waverley exerted i powers of
fancy, animation, ond ae ence, and attracted the general ad-
miration of the company. The conversation gradually assumed
the tone best qu: ified for the display of his talents and acqui-
sitions. The gayety of the evening was exalted in character,
rather than checked, by the approaching dang

y reo
oD

ers of the: nono
All nerves were strung for the future, and avautres to enjoy the
present. This mood of mind is hi: chiy favorable for the exercise
of the powers of imagination, for poetry, and for that eloquence

oO i

which is allied to poetry. Waverley, as we have elsewhere
observed, possessed at times a wonderful flow of rhetoric: and
on the present occasion, he touched more than once the higher
notes of feeling, and then again ran off in a wild voluntary of
fanciful mirth. He was supported and excited by kindred spir-
its, who felt the same impulse of mood and time ; and even those
of more cold and calculating habits were hurried along by the
torrent. Many ladies declined the dance, which still went for-
ward, and, under various pretences, joined the party to which
the “ handsome young Englishman” seemed to have attached
himself. He was presented to several of the first rank, and
his manners, which for the present were altogether free from
the bashful restraint by which, in a moment of less excitation,
they were usually clouded, gave universal delight.

Flora Mac-lvor appeared to be the only fe male press ent who
regarded him with a degree of coldness and reserve ; yet even
she could not suppress a sort of wonder at talents, which, in
the course of their acquaintance, she had never seen displayed

  
   
   
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
    
    
   
 
  
    
 
   
  
  
  
    
    
  
  
  
    
  
   
     
  
     
    
   
  
   
    
   
 
 
 
  
    
 
 
 
   

a
2

RR
EG

»
‘ +
Dee eeWAVERLEY.

with equal brilliancy and impressive effect. I do not know
whether she might not feel a momentary regret at having taken
so decisive a resolution upon the addresses of a lover, who
seemed fitted so well to fill a high place in the highest stations
of society. Ccrtainly she had hitherto accounted among the
incurable deficiencies of Edward’s disposition, the mauvaise
Lonte, which, as she had been educated in the first foreign cir-
cles, and was little acquainted with the shyness of English
manners, was, in her opinion, too nearly related to timidity and
imbecility of disposition. But if a passing wish occurred that
Waverley could have rendered himself uniformly thus amiable
and attractive, its influence was momentary ; for circumstances
had arisen since they met, which rendered, in her eyes, the
resolution she had formed respecting him, final and irrevocable.

With opposite feelings, Rose Bradwardine bent her whole
soul to listen. She felt a secret triumph at the public tribute
paid to one whose merit she had learned to prize too early and
too fondly. Without athought of jealousy, without a feeling of
fear, pain, or doubt, and undisturbed by a single selfish consid-
eration, she resigned herself to the pleasure of observing the
general murmur of appiause. When Waverley spoke, her ear
was exclusively filled with his voice; when others answered,
her eye took its turn of observation, and seemed to watch his
reply. Perhaps the delight which she experienced in the course
of that evening, though transient, and followed by much sorrow,
was in its nature the most pure and disinterested which the
human mind is capable of enjoying.

‘ Baron,” said the Chevalier, “I would not trust my mis-
tress in the company of your young friend. He is really, though
perhaps somewhat romantic, one of the most fascinating young
men whom I have ever seen.”

‘¢And by my honor, sir,” replied the Baron, ‘the lad can
sometimes be as dowff as a sexagenary like myself. If your
Royal Highness had seen him dreaming and dozing about the
banks of Tully-Veolan like a hypochondriac person, or, as
Burton’s Anatomia hath it, a phrenesiac or lethargic patient,
you would wonder where he hath sae suddenly acquired all this
fine sprack festivity and jocularity.”

“Truly,” said Fergus Mac-Ivor, “I think it can only be
the inspiration of the tartans; for, though Waverley be always
a young fellow of sense and honor, I have hitherto often found
him a very absent and inattentive companion.”

“We are the more obliged to him,” said the Prince, “ for
having reserved for this evening qualities which even such in-
timate friends had not discovered.—But come, gentlemen, theWAVERLEY. 239
night. advances, and the business of to-morrow must be early
thought upon, Each take charge of his fair partner, and honor
a small refreshment with your company.”

He led the way to another suite of apartments, and assumed
the seat and canopy at the head of a long range of tables, with
an air of dignity mingled with courtesy, which well became his
high birth and lofty pretensions. An hour had hardly flown
away when the musicians played the signal for parting, so well
known in Scotland.*

‘“Good-night, then,” said the Chevalier, rising; “Good
night, and joy be with you !—Good-night, fair ladies, who have
so highly honored a proscribed and banished Prince.—Good-
night, my brave friends ;—may the happiness we have this eve-
ning experienced be an omen of our return to these our paternal
halls, speedily and in triumph, and of many and many future
meetings of mirth and pleasure in the palace of Holyrood!”

When the Baron of Bradwardine afterward mentioned this
adieu of the Chevalier, he never failed to repeat ina melan-
choly tone,

Audiit, et voti Phoebus succédere partem
Mente dedit ; partem volucres dispersit in auras ;

“which,” as he added, “is weel rendered into English metre
by my friend Bangour :

Ae half the prayer, wi’ Phoebus grace did find,
The t’other half he whistled down the wind.”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-FOURTH.
THE MARCH.

THE conflicting passions and exhausted feelings of Waverley
had resigned him to late but sound repose. He was dreaming
of Glennaquoich, and had transferred to the halls of Ian nan
Chaistel the festal train which so lately graced those of Holy-
rood. ‘The pibroch too was distinctly heard; and this at least
was nojlelusion, for the ‘‘ proud step of the chief piper” of the
““chlain Mac-Ivor’”’ was perambulating the court before the
door of his Chieftain’s quarters, and,as Mrs. Flockhart, appar-
ently no friend to his minstrelsy, was pleased to observe,
“oarring the very stane-and-lime wa’s dingle wi’ his screech-

* Which is, or was wont to be, the old air of “‘ Good-night, and joy he
wi’ you a’!’

. i
Lee *HalAkaoadahaaain, cee

WAVERLEY.

ing.” Of course, it soon became too powerful for Waverley’s
dre am, with which it had at first rather harmonized.

The sound of Callum’s brogues in his apartment (for Mac:
Ivor had again assigned Wav erley to his care) was the next
note of parting. “ “Winna yere honor bang up? Vich Ian
Vohr and ta Prince are awa to the lang green glen ahint the
clachan, tat they ca’ the King’s Park, * and mony ane’s on
his ain shanks the day that will be carried on ither folk’s ere
night.”

Waverley sprung up, and, with Callum’s assistance and in
structions, adjusted his tartans in proper costume. Callum told
him also, ‘ tat his leather dordach wi’ the lock on her was come
frae Doune, and she was awa again in the wain wi’ Vich Ian
Vohr’s walise.”

By this periphrasis Waverley readily apprehended his port-
manteau was intended. He thought upon the mysterious
packet of the maid of the cavern, w hich seemed always to es-
cape him when within his very grasp. But this was no time for
indulgence of curiosity; and having declined Mrs. Flockhart’s
compliment of a morning, i.é., a matutinal dram, being probably
the only man in the Chevalier’s army by whom such a courtesy
would have been rejected, he made his adieus, and departed
with Callum.

“Callum,” said he, as they proceeded down a dirty close
to gain the southern skirts of the Canongate, “ what shall I
do for a horse?”

‘Ta deil ane ye maun think o’,” said Callum. * Vach lan
Vohr’s marching on foot at the head o’ his kin, (not to say ta
Prince, wha does the like), wi’ his target on his shoulder ; ; and
ye maun e’en be neighbor-like.”

And so I will, Callum—give me my target ;—so, there we
ATE fixed. How does it look?”

“Like the bra’ Highlander tat’s painted on the board afore
the mickle change- house they ca’ Luckie Middlemass’s,” an-
swered Callum; meaning, I must observe, a high compliment,
for, in his opinion, Luckie Middlemass’s sign was an exquisite
specimen of art. Waverley, however, not feeling the full force
of this polite simile, asked him no further questions.

Upon extricating themselves from the mean and dirty
suburbs of the metropolis, and emerging into the open air,
Waverley felt a renewal both of health and spirits, and turned
his recollection with firmness upon the events of the preceding

* The main body of the Highland army encamped, or rather bivouacked.

in that part of the King’s Park which lies toward the village of Dudding
ston.WAVERLEY. 241

evening, and with hope and resolution toward those of the
approaching day.

When he had surmounted a small craggy eminence, called
St. Leonard’s Hill, the King’s en or the hollow betw een
the mountain of Arthur's Seat, and the rising grounds on which
the southern part of Edinburgh is now built, Tay beneath him,

and displayed a singular and animating prospect. It was oc-
cupied by the army ‘of the High landers, now in the act of pre-
paring for their march. Wav erley had already seen something
of the kind at the hunting-match which he attended with Ferous
Mac-Ivor ; but this was on a stile of much greater magnitude,
and incomparably deeper interest. The rocks which formed
the back <eround of the scene, and the very sky itself, 1 rang with
the clang of the bagpipers, summoning forth, each with his ap-
propriate pibroch, his chieftain and clan. The mountaineers,
rousing themselves from their couch under the canopy of
heaven, with the hum and bustle of a confused and irregular
multitude, like bees alarmed and arming in their hives, seemed
to possess all the pliability of movement fitted to execute mili-
tary manceuvres. Their motions appeared spontaneous and
confused, but the result was order and regularity; so that a
general must have praised the conclusion, though a martinet
might have ridiculed the method by which it was attained.

The sort of complicated medley created by the hasty ar-
rangements of the various clans under their respective banners,
for the purpose of getting into the order of march, was in itself
a gay and lively spectacle. They had no tents to strike, hay-
ing generally, and | yy choice, slept upon the open field, although
the autumn was now waning, and the nights began to be frosty.
For a little Lee, while they were getting into order, there was
exhibited a changing, fluctuating, and confused appearance of
waving tartans and floating plumes, and of SOE displaying
the proud gathering word of Clanronald, Ganion Coheriga
(Gainsay who dares); Zoch-SZoy, the watchword of the Mac.
Farlanes ; Zorth, Jortune, and fill the fetters, the motto of the
Marquis of Tullibardine ; Aydand, that of Lord Lewis Gordon ;
and the appropriate signal words and emblems of many other
chieftains and clans.

Attength the mixed and wavering multitude arranged them.
selves into a narrow and dusky column of great length, stretch-
ing through the whole extent of the valley. In the front of
the column the standard of the Chevalier was displayed, bear-
ing a red cross upon a white gr ound, with the motto Zandem
Triumphans. The few cavalry, being chiefly Lowland gentry
with their domestic servants and re etainers, formed the adv ranted

 
   
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
   
     
 
  
 
  
    
   
     
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
    

si Sen pans. > emt t a
pereyrerrpyyernav ys cir voot etney sane x Pi)

renee242 WAVERLEY.

guard of the army: and their standards, of which they had
. rather too many in respect of their numbers, were seen waving
upon the extreme verge of the horizon. Many horsemen of
i this body, among whom Waverley accidentally remarked Bal-
mawhapple, and his lieutenant, Jinker (which last, however,
had been reduced, with several others, by the advice of the
. Baron of Bradwardine, to the situation of what he called re-
formed officers, or reformadoes), added to the liveliness, though
by no means to the regularity, of the scene, by galloping thei
horses as fast forward as the pass would permit, to join their
| proper station in the van. ‘The fascinations of the Circes of
the High Street, and the potations of strength with which they
A had been drenched over night, had probably detained these
heroes within the walls of Edinburgh somewhat later than was
consistent with their morning duty. Of such loiterers, the
prudent took the longer and circuitous, but more open route,
to attain their place in the march, by keeping at some distance
from the infantry and making their way through the inclosures
to the right, at the expense of leaping over or pulling down
the dry-stone fences. ‘The irregular appearance and vanishing
of these small parties of horsemen, as well as the confusion
occasioned by those who endeavored, though generally without
effect, to press to the front through the crowd of Highlanders,
naugre their curses, oaths, and opposition, added to the pic-
turesque wildness what it took from the military regularity of

the scene.
While Waverley gazed upon this remarkable spectacle,
i rendered yet more impressive by the occasional discharge of
! cannon-shot from the Castle at the Highland guards as they
were withdrawn from its vicinity to join their main body, Cal-
lum, with his usual freedom of interference, reminded him that
Vich Ian Vohr’s folk were nearly at the head of the column of
march, which was still distant, and that “ they would gang very
fast after the cannon fired.” Thus admonished, Waverley
walked briskly forward, yet often casting a glance upon the
darksome clouds of warriors who were collected before and
beneath him. A nearer view, indeed, rather diminisled the
effect impressed on the mind by the more distant appearance
of the army. The leading men of each clan were well armed
i with broadsword, target, and fusee, to which all added the
| dirk, and most the steel pistol. But these consisted of gentle:
| men, that is, relations of the chief, however distant, and who
had an immediate title to his countenance and _ protection.
Finer and hardier men could not have been selected out of
any army in Christendom ; while the free and independentWAVERLEY, 243

habits which each possessed, and which each was yet so well
taught to subject to the command of his chief, and the peculiar
mode of discipline adopted in Highland warfare, rendered
them equally formidable by their individual courage and high
spirit, and from their rational conviction of the necessity of
acting in unison, and of giving their national mode of attack
the fullest opportunity of success.

But, in a lower rank to these, there were found individuals
of an inferior description, the common peasantry of the High.
land country, who, although they did not allow themselves
to be so called, and claimed often, with apparent truth, to be
of more ancient descent than the master whom they served,
bore nevertheless, the livery of extreme penury, being indif.
ferently accoutred, and worse armed, half-naked, stinted in
growth, and miserable in aspect. Each important clan had
some of those Helots attached to them ;—thus, the Mac-Couls,

5

though tracing their descent from Comhal, the father of Finn
or Fingal, were a sort of Gibeonites, or hereditary servants to
the Stuarts of Appine ; the Macbeths, descended from the un-
happy monarch of that name, were subjects to the Morays, and
clan Donnochy, or Robertsons of Athole: and many other
examples might be given, were it not for the risk of hurting
any pride of clanship which may yet be left, and thereby draw-
ing a Highland tempest into the shop of my publisher. Now
these same Helots, though forced into the field by the arbitrary
authority of the chieftains under whom they hewed wood and
drew water, were, in general, very sparingly fed, ill-dressed,
and worse armed. ‘The latter circumstance was indeed owing
chiefly to the general disarming act, which had been carried
into effect ostensibly through the whole Highlands, although
most of the chieftains contrived to elude its influence by retain-
ing the weapons of their own immediate clansmen, and deliver-
ing up those of less value, which they collected from these
inferior satellites. It followed, as a matter of course, that, as
we have already hinted, many of these poor fellows were
brought to the field in a very wretched condition.

From this it happened, that, in bodies, the van of which
were admirably well-armed in their own fashion, the rear re-
sembled actual banditti. Here was a pole-axe, there a sword
without a scabbard ; here a gun without a lock, there a scythe
set straight upon a pole ; and some had only their dirks, and
bludgeons or stakes pulled out of hedges. The grim, un.
combed, and wild appearance of these men, most of whom
gazed with all the admiration of ignorance upon the most ordi
nary production of domestic art, created surprise in the Low

«

‘ .
SIMO AA aaah Bene serene

 
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 

oor

Se Poe! > ET Tt
ere ron ernns tt cot pera ; “Pa eT Ree eee eee

244 WAVERLEY.
lands, but it also created terror. So little was the condition
of be Highlands known at that late period, that the characte
and appearance of their population, while thus sallying forth as
military adventurers, convey ed to the south-country Lowlanders
as much surprise as if an invasion of African negroes or Es-
quimaux Indians had issued forth from the northern mountains
of their own native country. It cannot therefore be wondered
if Waverley, who had hitherto judged of the Highlanders gen-
ay from the samples which el policy of Fergus had from
ne to time exhibited, should have feltdamped and aaron shen
a the daring attempt of a body not then exceeding four thou-
sand men n, and of whom not above half the number, at the
utmost, were armed, to change the fate, and alter the dynasty,
of the British kingdoms.

As he moved along the column, which still remained
stationary an iron gun, the only piece of artillery possessed by
the army which meditated so important a peitogeiny was fired
as the signal of march. The Chevalier had expressed a wish
to leave this useless piece of ordnance behind him; but to his
surprise, the Highland chiefs interposed to solicit that it might
accompany their march, pleading the prejudices of their fol-
lowers, who, little accustomed to artillery, attached a degree of
absurd importance to this field-piece, and expected it would
contribute essentially to a victory which they could only owe to
their own muskets and broadswords. Two or three French
artillerymen were therefore appointed to the management of
this military engine, which was drawn along by astring of High-
land ponies, and was, after all, only used for the purpose of
firing signals.*

No sooner was its voice heard upon the present occasion,
than the whole line was in motion. <A wild cry of joy from the
advancing battalions rent the air, and was then lost in the
shrill clangor of the bagpipes, as the sound of these, in their
turn, was partially drowned by the heavy tread of so many men
put at once into motion. The banners glittered and shook as
they moved forward, and the horse hastened to occupy their
tation as the advanced guard, and to push on reconnoitring
parties to ascertain and report the motions of the enemy. They
vanished from Waverley’s eye as they wheeled round the base
of Arthur’s Seat, under the remarkable ridge of basaltic rocks
which fronts the little lake of Duddingston.

y VRE infantry followed in the same direction, regul ating
their pace by another body which occupied a road more to the

* Note T. Field-piece in the Highland army.WAVERLEY. 243
It cost Edward some exertion of activity to attain

the place which Fergus’s followers occupied in the line of
march,

southward,

 

CHAPTER FORTY-FIFTH.
AN INCIDENT GIVES RISE TO UNAVAILING REFLECTIONS

WHEN Waverley reached that part of the column which was
filled by the clan of Mac-Ivor, they halted, formed, and received
him with a triumphant flourish upon the bagpipes, and a loud
shout of the men, most of whom knew him personally, and
were de lighted to see him in the dress of their country and of
their sept. ‘You shout,” said a Highlander of a neighboring
clan to Evan Dhu, “ as if the Chieftain were just come to your
head.”

Mar e Bran is e a brathair. Tf itbe not t Bran, it is Bran’s
brother,” was the proverbial reply of Mac mest

“QO, then, it is the handsome Sassenach Duinhé-wassel, that
is to be married to Lady Flora?”

I
Vf -

1
|
i

‘That may be, or it may not be; and it is neither your
matter nor mine, Gregor.”

Fergus advanced to embrace the volunteer, and afford him
a warm and hearty welcome; but he thought it necessary to

apologize for the diminished numbers of his battalion (which
did not exceed three hundred men), eee ybserving, he had sent
a good many out upon parties.

The real fact, however, was, that the defection of Donald
Bean Lean had depri oe him of at least thirty hardy fellows,
whose services he had fully reckoned upon, a1 id that many of
his occasional adhere nis oe been recalled by their several
chiefs to the standards to which they most Faery owed their
allegiance. The rival chi ef of the gre eat northern branch alse
of his own clan had mustered his people, although he had not
yet declared either for the Government or for the Chevalier,
and by his intrigues had in some degree diminished the force
with which Fergus took the field. To make amends for these
disappointments, it was universally admitted that the followers
of Vich Jan Vohr, in point of appearance, equipment, arms,
and dexterity in using them, equ ualled the most choice troops
which followed the standard of Charles E Xdward. Old Ballen-

t
1
Ul

cl
rf t
hi

* Bran, the well-known dog of Fingal, is often the theme of Highland
proverb as well as song.Semana akbar

[fiat ime oma

Card

 

WAVERLEY,

keiroch acted as his major; and with the other officers wha
had known Waverley when at Glennaquoich, gave our hero a
cordial reception, as the sharer of their future dangers and ex-
pected honors.

The route pursued by the Highland army, after leaving the
village of Duddingston, was for some time the common post-
road betwixt Edinburgh and Haddington, until they crossed
the Esk at Musselburgh, when, instead of keeping the low
grounds toward the sea, they turned more inland, and occupied
the brow of the eminence called Carberry Hill, a place already
distinguished in Scottish history as the spot where the lovely
Mary surrendered herself to her insurgent subjects. This
direction was chosen because the Chevalier had received notice
that the army of the Government, arriving by sea from Aber-
deen, had landed at Dunbar, and quartered the night before to
the west of Haddington, with the intention of falling down
toward the seaside, and approaching Edinburgh by the lower
coast-road. By keeping the height, which overhung that road
in many places, it was hoped the Highlanders. might find an
opportunity of attacking them to advantage. The army there-
fore halted upon the ridge of Carberry Hill, both to refresh the
soldiers, and as a central situation, from which their march
could be directed to any point that the motions of the enemy
might render most advisable. While they remained in this
position, a messenger arrived in haste to desire Mac-Ivor to
come to the Prince, adding, that their advanced post had had
a skirmish with some of the enemy’s cavalry, and that the
Baron of Bradwardine had sent in a few prisoners.

Waverley walked forward out of the line to satisfy his curi-
osity, and soon observed five or six of the troopers, who, covered
with dust, had galloped in to announce that the enemy were in
full march westward along the coast. Passing still a little
farther on, he was struck with a groan which issued from a
hovel. He approached the spot, and heard a voice, in the
provincial English of his native county, which endeavored,
though frequently interrupted by pain, to repeat the Lord’s
Prayer. The voice of distress always found a ready answer in
our hero’s bosom. He entered the hovel, which seemed to be
intended for what is called, in the pastoral counties of Scot-
land, a smearing-house ; and in its obscurity Edward could only
at first discern a sort of red bundle; for those who had strip
ped the wounded man of his arms, and part of his clothes, had
left him the dragoon-cloak in which he was enveloped.

“ For the love of God,” said the wounded man, as he heard
Waverley’s step, “give me a single drop of water!”WAVERLEY.

“You shall have it,” answered Waverley, at the same time
raising him in his arms, bearing him to the door of the hut,
and giving him some drink from his flask.

‘I should know that voice,” said the man ; but looking on
Waverley’s dress with a bewildered look —“ no, this is not the
young squire!”

This was the common phrase by which Edward was distin-
guished on the estate of Waverley-Honour, and the sound now
thrilled to his heart with the thousand recollections which
the well-known accents of his native country had already.con-
tributed to awaken. “ Houghton!” he said, gazing on the
ghastly features which death was fast disfiguring, ‘‘can this be
you?”

“I never thought to hear an English voice again,” said the

a

wounded man; “they left me to live or die here as I could,
when they found I would say nothing about the strength of
the regiment. But, O squire! how could you stay from us so
long, and let us be tempted by that fiend of the pit, Ruffin ?
—we should have followed you through flood and fire, to be
sure.”

“ Ruffin! I assure you, Houghton, you have been vilely im-
posed upon.”

“I otten thought so,” said Houghton, “ though they showed
us your very seal; and so Tims was shot, and I was reduced
to the ranks.”

“ Do not exhaust your strength in speaking,” said Edward ;
“IT will get you a surgeon presently.”

Fle saw Mac-lvor approaching, who was now returning from
headquarters, where he had attended a council of war, and
hastened to meet him. “Brave news!” shouted the Chief,
‘“we shall be at it in less than two hours. The Prince has put
uimself at the head of the advance, and as he drew his sword,
called out, ‘My friends, I have thrown away the scabbard.’
Come, Waverley, we move instantly.”

“A moment—a moment; this poor prisoner is dying ;—
where shall I find a surgeon ?”

“Why, where should you? We have none, you know, but
two or three French fellows, who, I believe, are little better
than garcons apothécaires.”’

“But the man will bleed to death.”

“Poor fellow!” said Fergus in a momentary fit of compas-
sion, then instantly added, “‘ But it will be a thousand men’s
fate before night; so come along.”

“T cannot ; I tell you he isa son ofa tenant of my uncle’s.”
“Q, if he’s a follower of yours, he must be looked to; I’ll

—

Sea RUSTE248 WAVERLEY,
send Callum to you, But daouwl !—ceade millia molligheart 1"
continued the impatient Chieftamm—“ what made an old soldiet
like Bradwardine send dying men here to cumber us?”

Callum came with his usual alertness ; and, indeed, Waver-
ley rather gained than lost in the opinion of the Highlanders
by his anxiety about the wounded man. They would not have
understood the general philanthropy which rendered it almost
impossible for Waverley to have passed any person in such
distress ; but, as apprehending that the sufferer was one of his
following,* they unanimously allowed that Waverley’s conduct
was that of a kind and considerate chieftain, who merited the
attachment of his people. In about a quarter of an hour poor
Humphrey breathed his last, praying his young master, when
he returned to Waverley-Honour, to be kind to old Job Hough-
ton and his dame, and conjuring him not to fight with these
wild petticoat-men against old England.

When his last breath was drawn, Waverley, who had beheld
with sincere sorrow, and no slight tinge of remorse, the final
agonies of mortality, now witnessed for the first time, com.
manded Callum to remove the body into the hut. This the
young Highlander performed, not without examining the

o
pockets of the defunct, which, however, he remarked, had been
pretty well spung’d. He took the cloak, however, and pro-
ceeding with the provident caution of a spaniel hiding a bone,
concealed it among some furze, and carefully marked the spot,
observing, that if he chanced to return that way, it would be
an excellent rokelay for his auld mother Elspat.

It was by a considerable exertion that they regained their
place in the marching column, which was now moving rapidly
forward to occupy the high grounds above the village of Tra-
nent, between which and the sea lay the purposed march of the
opposite army.

This melancholy interview with his late sergeant forced
many unavailing and painful reflections upon Waverley’s mind.
It was clear, from the confession of the man, that Colonel Gar-
diner’s proceedings had been strictly warranted, and even ren-
dered indispensable, by the steps taken in Edward’s name to
induce the soldiers of his troop to mutiny. The circumstance
of the seal he now, for the first time, recollected, and that he
had lost it in the cavern of the robber, Bean Lean. That the
artful villain had secured it, and used it as the means of carry-
ing on an intrigue in the regiment, for his own purposes, was
sufficiently evident ; and Edward had now little doubt that in
the packet placed in his portmanteau by his daughter he should
* Scottice for followers.WAVERLEY. 249

find further light upon his proceedings. In the meanwhile, the
repeated expostulation of Houghton— Ah, squire, why did
you leave us?” rung like a knell in his ears.

“Yes,” he said, “I have indeed acted toward you with
thoughtless cruelty. I brought you from your paternal fields,
and the protection of a generous and kind landlord, and when
I had subjected you to all the rigor of military discipline I
shunned to bear my own share of the burden, and wandered
from the duties I had undertaken, leaving alike those whom it
was my business to protect, and my own reputation, to suffer
under the artifices of villany. O indolence and indecision of
mind! if not in yourselves vices, to how much exquisite misery
and mischief do you frequently prepare the way!”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SIXTH.
THE EVE OF BATTLE.

ALTHOUGH the Highlanders marched on very fast, the sun
was declining when they arrived upon the brow of those high
grounds which command an open and extensive plain stretching
northward to the sea, on which are situated, but at a consider-
able distance from each other, the small villages of Seaton and
Cockenzie, and the larger one of Preston. One of the low
coast-roads to Edinburgh passed through this plain, issuing
upon it from the inclosures of Seaton-house, and at the town
or village of Preston again entering the defiles of an enclosed
country. By this way the English general had chosen to
approach the metropolis, both as most commodious for his
cavalry, and being probably of opinion that, by doing so, he
would meet in front with the Highlanders advancing from
[Edinburgh in the opposite direction. In this he was mistaken;
for the sound judgment of the Chevalier, or of those to whose
advice he listened, left the direct passage free, but occupied
the strong ground by which it was overlooked and commanded.

When the Highlanders reached the heights above the plain
described, they were immediately formed in array of battle
along the brow of the hill. Almost at the same instant the van
of the English appeared issuing from among the trees and
enclosures of Seaton, with the purpose of occupying the level
plain between the high ground and the sea; the space which
divided ..the armies being only about half a mile in breadth.
Waverley could plainly see the squadrons of dragoons issue, one

. «
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Rivranaiteoceehaoreetad bent amratan nies

JRE Sepa Net

WAVERLEY.

after another, from the defiles, with their videttes in front, and
form upon the plain, with their front opposed to that of the
Prince’s army. ‘They were followed by a train of field-pieces,
which, when they reached the flank of the dragoons, were also
brought into line, and pointed against the heights. The march
was continued by three or four regiments of infantry marching in
open column, their fixed bay onets show ing like successive
hedges of steel, and their arms glancing like lightning, as, at
a signal given, they also at once wheeled up, and were ~ placed
in direct opposition to the Highlanders. .A second train of
artillery, with another regiment of horse, closed the long march,
and formed on the left flank of the infantry, the whole iine
facing southward.

W. hile the English army went through these evolutions, the
Highlanders showed equal promptitude and zeal for battle.
As fast as the clans came up on the ridge which fronted their
enemy, they were formed into line, so that both armies got into
complete order of battle at the same moment. When this was
accomplished, the Highlanders set up a tremendous yell, which
was re-echoed by the heigl ats behind them. ‘The regulars, who
were in high spirits, returned a loud shout of defiance, and
fired one or two of their cannon upon an advanced post of the
Highlanders. The latter displayed great earnestness to pro-
ceed instantly to the attack, Evan Dhu, urging to Fergus, by
way of argument, that “‘ the ‘sidier roy was tottering like an egg
epee a staff E and that they had a’ the vantage of the onset, fo
even a haggis (God bless her !) could charge “down hill.”

But the “ground through which the mountaineers must have
descended, although not of great extent, was impracticable in
its character, being not only “marshy, but intersected with walls
of dry stone, and traversed in its whole length by a very broad
and deep ditch, circumstances which must have given the mus-
ketry of the reg -ulars dreadful advantages, before the mountain-
eers could have used their swords, on which they were taught
to rely. The authority of the commanders was therefore in-
terposed to curb the impetuosity of the Highlanders, and only
a few marksmen were sent down the descent to skirmish with
the enemy’s advanced posts, and to reconnoitre the ground.

Here, then, was a ee spectacle of no ordinary interest,
or usual occurrence. ‘The two armies, so different in aspect
and discipline, yet each admirably trained in its own peculiar
mode of war, upon whose conflict the temporary fate at least of
Scotland appeared to depend, now faced each other like two
eladiators in the arena, each meditating upon the mode of
attacking their enemy. ‘The leading officers, and the general’sWAVERLEY. 2c%
staff of each army, could be distinguished in front of their lines,
busied with spy-glasses to watch each other's motions, and
occupied in despatching the orders and receiving the intelli.
gence conveyed by the aides-de-camp and orderly men, who
gave life to the scene by galloping along in different directions,
as if the fate of the day depended upon the speed of their
horses. The space between the armies was at times occupied
by the partial and irregular contests of individual sharpshooters,
and a hat or bonnet was occasionally seen to fall, as a wounded
man was borne off by his comrades. These, however, were
but trifling skirmishes, for it suited the views of neither party
to advance in that direction. From the neighboring hamlets
the peasantry cautiously showed themselves, as if watching the
issue of the expected engagement; and at no great distance in
the bay were two square-rigged vessels, bearing the English
flag, whose tops and yards were crowded with less timid spec-
tators.

When this awful pause had lasted for a short time, Fergus,
with another chieftain, received orders to detach their clans
toward the village of Preston, in order to threaten the right
flank of Cope’s army, and compel him to a change of position,
To enable him to execute these orders, the Chief of Glenna-
quoich occupied the churchyard of Tranent, a commanding
situation, and a convenient place, as Evan Dhu remarked,
“for any gentleman who might have the misfortune to be killed,
and chanced to be curious about Christian burial.” To check
or dislodge this party, the English general detached two guns,
escorted by a strong party of cavalry. They approached so
near, that Waverley could plainly recognize the standard of the
troop he had formerly commanded, and hear the trumpets and
kettle-drums sound the signal of advance, which he had so
often obeyed. He could hear, too, the well-known word given
in the English dialect, by the equally well-distinguished voice
of the commanding officer, for whom he had once felt so much
respect. It was at that instant, that, looking around him. he
saw the wild dress and appearance of his Highland associates,
heard their whispers in an uncouth and unknown language,
looked upon his own dress, so unlike that which he had worn
from his jafancy, and wished to awake from what seemed at
the moment a dream, strange, horrible and unnatural. “ Good
God!” he muttered, “am I then a traitor to my country, a
renegade to my standard, and a foe, as that poor dying wretch
expressed himself, to my native England ?”’

Ere he could digest or smother the recollection, the tall
military form of his late commander came full in view, for theWAVERLEY.

purpose of reconnoitring. “I can hit him now,” said Callum,
cautiously raising his fusee over the wall under which he lay
couched, at scarce sixty yards’ distance.
iH Edward felt as if he was about to see a parricide committed
he in his presence ; for the venerable gray hair and _ striking
countenance of the veteran recalled the almost paternal re-
spect with which his officers universally regarded him. But
ere he could say “‘ Hold!” an age d High lander, who lay beside
Callum Beg, stopped his arm. “ Spare your shot,’ said the
seer, “his hour is not yet come. But Jet him bew are of to-
morrow. __I see his winding-sheet high upon his breast.
al Callum, flint to other ig Haier was penetrable to
ane superstitions. He turned pale at the words of the Zazshatr,
| and recovered his piece. Colonel Gardiner, unconscious of
the danger he had escaped, turned his horse round, and rode
slowly back to the front of his regiment.
By this time the regular army “had assumed a new line, with
one flank inclined tow ards the sea, and the other resting ae
the village of Preston; and as similar difficulties occurred i
attacking a new position, Fergus and the rest of the de-
tachment were recalled to their former post. This alteration
created the necessity of a corresponding change in General
Cope’s army, which was again brought into a line parallel with
that of the Highlanders. In these manoeuvres on both sides
the daylight was nearly consumed, and both armies prepared
to rest upon their arms for the night in the lines which they
iy respectively occupied.
can “There will be nothing done to night,” said Fergus to his
friend Waverley. ‘Ere we wrap ourselves in our plaids, let us
go and see what the Baron is doing in the rear of the line.

When they eel hed his post, they found the good old
careful officer, after having sent out his night ee ols, and
posted his sentinels, eng aged in reading the Evening Service of
the Episcopal Church to the remainder “of his troop. His voice
was loud and sonorous, and though his spectacles upon his
nose, and the appearance of Saunders Saunderson, in military
array, performing the functions of clerk, had something ludt-
crous, yet the circumstances of danger in which they stood, the
. military costume of the audience, and the appearance of their
. horses, saddled and picketec d behind them, gave an impressive

and solemn effect to the office of devotion.
“‘T have confessed to-day, ere you were aw ake,’”’ whispered
Fergus to Waverley ; “ yet I am not so strict a Catholic as to
refuse to join in this good man’s prayers.”

Mth ssc eeWAVERLEY.

Edward assented, and they remained till the Baron. had con-
cluded the service.

As he shut the book, “ Now lads,” said he, “‘have at them
in the morning, with heavy hands and light consciences.” He
then kindly greeted Mac -Ivor and Waverley 7, who requested to
know his opinion of their situation. “ W hy, you know, Tacitus
saith ‘ly rebus bellicis maxime dominatur fortuna,’ which is
equiponderate with our vernacular adage, ‘ Luck can maist in
1e mellee.’ But credit me, gentlemen, yon man is not a deacon
his craft. He damps the spirits of the poor lads he com-
mands, by keeping them on the defensive, whilk of itself implies
inferiority or fear. Now will they lie on their arms yonder, as
anxious i as ill at ease as a toad under a harrow, while our men
will be quite fresh and blithe for action in the morning. Well,
good and —One thing troubles me, but if to-morrow goes well
off, I will co nsult you about it, G lennaquoich —

“T could almost apply to Mr. Bradwardine the character
which Henry gives of Fluellen,” said Waverley, as his friend
and he walked towards their dcvouac -

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“Though it appears a little out of fashion,

There is much care and valor in this ‘ Scotchman,’

““He has seen much service,” answered Fergus, “ and one
ls sometimes astonished to find how much nonsense and reason
are mingled in his composition. I wonder what can be troub-
ling his mind—probably som ething about Rose.—Hark ! the

English are setting their watch.”

"The roll of the drum and shrill accompaniment of the fifes
swelled up the hill—died away—resumed its thunder—and was
at length hushed. The trumpets and kettle-drums of the cavalry
were next heard to perform the beautiful and wild point of war
appropriated asa signal for that piece of nocturnal duty, and
then finally sunk upon the wind with a sbrill and mournful
cadence

The friends, who had now reached their post, stood and
looked round them ere they lay down to rest. The western
sky twinkled with stars, but a frost-mist, rising from the ocean,
covered the eastern horizon, and rolled in white wreaths along
the plain where the adverse army lay couched upon their arms.
Their advanced posts were pushed as far as the side of the
ereat ditch at the bottom of the descent, and had kindled large
fires at different intervals, gleaming with obscure and hazy
lustre through the heavy fog which encircled them with a doubt
ful halo,

: The Highlanders, “thick as leaves in Vallambrosa,” lay264 WAVERLEY.
stretched upon the ridge of the hill, buried (excepting their
sentinels) in the most profound repose. “ How many of these
brave fellows will sleep more soundly before to-morrow night,
Fergus !” said Waverley, with an involuntary sigh.

“Vou must not think of that,’ answered Fergus, whose
ideas were entirely military. ‘ You must only think of your
sword, and by whom it was given. All other reflections are
now TOO LATE.”

With the opiate contained in this undeniable remark, Ed-
ward endeavored to lull the tumult of his conflicting feelings.
The Chieftain and he, combining their plaids, made a comfort-
able and warm couch. Callum, sitting down at their head (for
it was his duty to watch upon the immediate person of the
Chief,) began a long mournful song in Gaelic, to a low and
uniform tune, which, like the sound of the wind at a distance,
soon lulled them to sleep.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENTH.
THE CONFLICT.

WHEN Fergus Mac-Ivor and his friend had slept fora few
hours, they were awakened, and summoned to attend the
Prince. ‘The distant village-clock was heard to toll three as
they hastened to the place where he lay. He was already sur-
rounded by his principal officers and the chiefs of clans. A
bundle of pease-straw, which had been lately his couch, now
served for a seat. Just as Fergus reached the circle, the con-
sultation had broken up. ‘“ Courage, my brave friends!” said
the Chevalier, “ and each one put himself instantly at the head
of his command; a faithful friend* has offered to guide us
by a practicable, though narrow and circuitous route, which,
sweeping’ to our right, traverses the broken ground and morass,
and enables us to gain the firm and open plain, upon which the
enemy are lying. This difficulty surmounted, Heaven and
your good swords must do the rest.”

The proposal spread unanimous joy, and each leader hast-
ened to get his men into order with as little noise as possible.
The army, moving by its right from off the ground on which
they had rested, soon entered the path through the morass,
conducting their march with astonishing silence and great
rapidity, The mist had not risen to the higher grounds, sa

* Note U.—Anderson of Whitburgh.WAVERLEY. 258
that for some time they had the advantage of starlight. But
this was lost as the stars faded before approaching day, and
the head of the marching column, continuing its descent, plung-
ing as it were into the heavy ocean of fog, which rolled its
white waves over the whole plain, and over the sea by which i
was bounded. Some difficulties were now to be encountered,
inseparable from darkness,—a narrow, broken, and marshy
path, and the necessity of preserving union in the march,
These, however, were less inconvenient. to Highlanders, from
their habits of life, than they would have been to any other
troops, and they continued a steady and swift movement.

As the clan of Ivor approached the firm ground, follow-
ing the track of those who preceded them, the challenge of a
patrol was heard through the mist, though they could not see
the dragoon by whom it was made—‘“ Who gees there 27

 Ekushi! 7 enied Petous! irush Let! none: answer as he
values his life—Press forward!” and they continued their
march with silence and rapidity.

The patrol fired his carabine upon the body, and the re-
port was instantly followed by the clang of his horse’s feet
as he galloped off. “ Wylax in Limine latrat,” said the Baron
of Bradwardine, who heard the shot; ‘ that loon will give the
alarm.”

The clan of Fergus had now gained the firm plain, which
had lately borne a large crop of corn. But the harvest was
gathered in, and the expanse was unbroken by tree, bush, or in-
terruption of any kind. The rest of the army were following
fast, when they heard the drums of the enemy beat the general.
Surprise, however, had made no part of their plan, so they
were not disconcerted by this intimation that the foe was upon
his guard and prepared to receive them. It only hastened
their dispositions for the combat, which were very simple.

The Highland army, which now occupied the eastern end
of the wide plain, or stubble field, so often referred to, was
drawn up in two lines, extending from the morass towards the
sea. ‘’he first was destined to charge the enemy, the second
to act as a reserve. ‘The few horse, whom the Prince headed
in person, remained between the two lines. The Adventurer
had intinfated a resolution to charge in person at the head of
his first line; but his purpose was deprecated by all round
him, and he was with difficulty induced to abandon it.

Both lines were now moving forward, the first prepared for
instant combat. The clans of which it was composed, formed

each a sort of separate phalanx, narrow in front, and in depth
ten, twelve, or fifteen files, according to the strength of the

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AWWAVERLEY.

   

256

following. The best-armed and best-born, for the words were
synonymous, were placed in front of each of these irregular
subdivisions. ‘Lhe others in the rear shouldered forward the
front, and by their pressure added both physical impulse, and
additional ardor and confidence, to those who were first to en-
counter the danger.

“ Down with your plaid, Waverley,” cried Fergus, throwing
off his own; “ we'll win silks for our tartans before the sun is
above the sea.”

The clansmen on every side stript their plaids, prepared
their arms, and there was an awful pause of about three
minutes, during which the men, pulling off their bonnets,
raised their faces to heaven, and uttered a short prayer ; then
pulled their bonnets over their brows, and began to move for-
vard at first slowly. Waverley felt his heart at that moment
throb as it would have burst from his bosom. It was not fear,
it was not ardor,—it was a compound of both, a new and deepl
energetic impulse, that with its first emotion chilled, astoundec
then fevered and maddened his mind. The sounds around
him combined to exalt his enthusiasm, the pipes played, and
the clans rushed forward, each in its own dark column. As
they advanced they mended their pace, and the muttering
sounds of the men to each other began to swell into a wild cry.

At this moment the sun, which was now risen above the
horizon, dispelled the mist. The vapors rose like a curtain,
and showed the two armies in the act of closing. The line of
the regulars was formed directly fronting the attack of the
Highlanders ; it glittered with the appointments of a complete
army, and was flanked by cavalry and artillery. But the sight
impressed no terror on the assailants.

‘¢ Forward, sons of Ivor,” cried their Chief, “ or the Camer-
ons will draw the first blood !”—-They rushed on witha
tremendous yell.

The rest is well known. The horse, who were commanded
to charge the advancing Highlanders in the flank, received an

irregular fire from their fusees as they ran on, and, seized with
a disgraceful panic, wavered, halted, disbanded, and galloped
from the field. ‘The artillerymen, deserted by the cavalry, fled
after discharging their pieces, and the Highlanders, who
dropped their guns when fired, and drew their broadswords,
rushed with headlong fury against the infantry.

It was at this moment of confusion and terror, that Waver-
ley remarked an English officer, apparently of high rank, stand-
ing alone and unsupported by a field-piece, which after the
flight of the men by whom it was wrought, he had himself lev-

y
i,WAVERLEY. 257

eled and discharged against the clan of Mac-Ivor, the nearest
group of Higl hlanders within his aim. Struck with his tall
martial figure, and eager to save him from inevitable destruc-
tion, Waverley out strippec d for an instant even the speediest of
the warriors, and, reaching the spot first, called to him to sur-
render. The officer replied by a thrust with his sword, which
Waverley received in his target, and in turning it aside the
Englishman’s weapon broke. At the same time tl ie battle-axe
of Dugald Mahony was in the act of descending upon the
officer’s head. Waverley inte rcepted and prevented the blow,
and the officer, perceiving further resistance unavailing, and
struck with Edward’s -enerous anxiety for his safety, resigned
the fragment of his sword, and was committed by Wav erley t to
Dugald, with strict ch: irge to use him well, and not to pilla g
his person, promising him, at the same time, full indemnific
tion for the spoil.

On Edward’s right, the battle for a few minutes r: aged fierce
and thick. The English infantry, trained in the wars in
Flanders, stood their ground with great courage. But their
extended files were pierced and broken in many places by
the close masses of the clans; and in the personal struggle
which ensued the nature of the Highlander’s weapons, and
their extraordinary fierceness and activ ity, gave them a decided
su iperiority over those who had been accustomed to trust much
to their army and discipline, and felt that the one was broken
and the other us ple ss. Waverley, as he cast his eyes towards
the scene of smoke and slaughter, <i rved Colonel Gardiner,
deserted by his own ae ‘rs in spite of all his attempts to
rally them, yet spurring his horse through the field to take the
command of a small body of infantry, who with their backs
arranged against the wall of his own park (for his house was
close by the field of battle), continued a desperate and una-
vailing resistance. Waverley could perceive that he had al-
ready received many wounds, his clothes and saddle being
marked with blood. To save this good and brave man, be-
came the instant object of his most anxious exertions. But
he could only witness his fall. e Edward could make his
way among the lighlanders, wh« ttc and eager for spoil,
now throp ged upon each other, id saw his former commander
brough it from his horse by the blow of a scythe, and beheld him
receive, while on the ground, more wounds than wall have let
out twenty lives. When Waverley came up, however, percep-
tion had not entirely fled. The dying g warrior seemed to recog-
nize Edward, for he fixed his eye upon him with an upbraiding
yet sorrowful look, and appeared to struggle for utterance

 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
   
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
     
 
   
   
  
  
     
   
  
 
 
   
 
     
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 

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SA168 WAVERLEY.

     
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
    

But he felt that death was dealing closely with him, and resign-
ng his purpose, and folding his hands as if in devotion, he
gave up his soul to his Creator. The look with which he re-
garded Waverley in his dying moment did not strike him so
deeply at that crisis of hurry and confusion, as when it recurred
to his imagination at the distance of some time.*

Loud shouts of triumph now echoed over the whole field.
The battle was fought and won, and the whole baggage, artil-
lery, and military stores of the regular army remained in posses-
sion of the victors. Never was a victory more complete. Scarce
any escaped from the battle, excepting the cavalry, who had left
it at the very onset, and even these were broken into different
parties, and scattered all over the country. So far as our tale is
concerned, we have only to relate the fate of Balmawhapple,who,
mounted on a horse as headstrong and stiff-necked as his rider,
pursued the flight of the dragoons above four miles from the
field of battle, when some dozen of the fugitives took heart of
grace, turned round, and, cleaving his skull with their broad-
swords, satisfied the world that the unfortunate gentleman had
actually brains, the end of his life thus giving proof of a fact
greatly doubted during its progress. His death was lamented
by few. Most of those who knew him agreed in the pithy
observation of Ensign Maccombich, that there “was mair ft
(lost) at Sheriff-Muir.” His friend Lieutenant Jinker, bent his
eloquence only to exculpate his favorite mare from any share
in contributing to the catastrophe. “He had tauld the laird
a thousand times,” he said, “that it was a burning shame to
put a martingale upon the puir thing, when he would needs
ride her wi’ a curb of half a yard lang; and that he could na
but bring himself (not to say her) to some mischief, by fling
ing her down, or otherwise ; whereas, if he had had a wee bit
rinnin ring on the snaffle, she wad ha’ rein’d as cannily as a
cadger’s pownie.”

Such was the elegy of the Laird of Balmawhapple.t

 

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHTH.
AN UNEXPECTED EMBARRASSMENT.

WHEN the battle was over, and all things coming into order,
the Baron of Bradwardine, returning from the duty of the day
and having disposed those under his command in their proper

* Note V. Death of Colonel Gardiner.
t Note W. Laird of Balmawhapple.WAVERLEY. 259
stations, sought the Chieftain of Glennaquoich and his friend
Edward Waverley. He found the former ‘busied in determin-
ing disputes among his clansmen about points of precedence
and de eds of valor, besides-sundry high and doubtful questions
concerning plunder, The most oe of the last respected
the property of a gold watch, which had once belonged to some
unfortunate Eng elish officer. The party against whom judg-
ment was awarded c rs himself by observing, ‘She Ge,
the watch, which he took for a living animal) died the very
night Vich Ian Vohr gave her to Murdock : the machine
having, in fact, stopp ed f - want of winding up.
It was just when thi sis nportant question was decided, that
the Baron of Bradw: edie , with a careful and yet important
expression of countenance, joined the two yo oung men. He
descended from his reeking charger, the care of which he rec-
ommended to one of his grooms. “I seldom ban, sir.” said
he to the man; “but if you play any of your hound’s-foot
tricks, and leave pt wir Berwick before he's sorted, to rin after
spuilzie, deil be wi’ me if I do not give your craig a thraw.’
He then stroked with Brae comp (Gee es the animal which had
borne him through th tigues of the day, and having taken a
tender leave of him,—“ ce eel, my good young friends, a glorious
and decisive victory,” said he; “but these loons of troopers
fled owersoon. I should have liked to have shown you the true
points of the prelium equestre, or equestrian combat, whilk
their cowardice has eee which I hold to be the
pride and terror of warfare. Weel, I have fought once more
in this old quarrel, though I admit I eould not be so far den as
you lads, being that it was my point of duty to kecp together
our handful of horses. And no cavalier ought i in any wise to
begrudge honor that befalls his companions, even though they
are ordered upon thrice his danger, whilk, another time, by
the blessing of God, may be his own case.—But, Glennaquoich,
and you, Mr. Wav erley, I pray j ae give me your best advice
on a matter of mickle eibiie. and which deeply affects the
honor of the house of Bradw ie -+I crave your pardon,
Ensign Maccombich, and yours, Inveraughlin, and yours,
Edderalshendx: ach, and yours, sir.

The last person he iteees was eno who, re-
membering the death of his son, lowered on him with a look of
savage defiance. The Baron, quick as lightning at taking um-
brage had a lready bent his brow, when Glennaquoich dr aged
his major from the spot, and remonstrated with him, ir the
authoritative tone of a chieftain, on the madness of revivig a
quarrel in such a moment.

a

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cas 62

 
 
  
   
   
  
   
   
     
  
    
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
    
    
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

PERS str SISTENT SST TST Sa aeSh axles

Upreekhaacaeane, a:

 

WAVERLEY.

“The ground is cumbered with carcases,” said the old
nountaineer, turning sullenly aw ay ; ‘one more would hardly
have been kenn’d upon it; and if it wasna for yoursell, Vich
Ian Vohr, that one should be Bradw ardine’s or mine.”

The chief soothed while he harried him away ; and then
returned to the Baron. “Tt is Ballenkeiroch,” he said, in an
under and confidential voice, ‘father of the young man who
rht years since in the unl icky affair at the Mains.

Ah !? said the Baron, instan ae relaxing the doubtful
sternness Of his features, “I can take mickle frae a man to
whom [ have unhappily rendered sic a displeasure as that.
Ye were right t to apprise me, Glennaquoich ; he may look as
black as midnight at Martinmas, ere Cosmo Comyne Bradwar-
dine shall say “he does a wrane. Ah! I have nae male
lineage, and I should bear with one I have made childless
though you are aware the bic yod-wit was made up to your ain
satisfaction by assythment, and that I have since expedited
letters of slains——Weel, as I have said, I have no male
issue, and yet it is needful that | maintain the honor of my
house; and it is on that score I prayed ye for your peculiar

 

fell e

6e

 

and private atte1 ition.”

The two young men awaited to hear him in anxious curi-
osity.

“T doubt na, lads,” he proceeded, “but your education has
been sae seen to that ye understand the true nature of the

feudal tenures?”
Fereus, afraid of an endless dissertation, answered, “ Inti-

mately, Baron,” and touched Waverley, as a signal to express
no ignorance.
And ye are aware, | doubt not, that the hol ling of the

1
|

Barony of Brac ardine is of a nature alike honorable and
peculiar, oe Baas (which Craig ae s ought to be Latin-
ated dlancum, or rather francum, a tree ho ldin ) pro servitio
detrahendi, seu exuendi, caligas ie seen! Here

Fergus turned his falcon eye upon Edward, with an almost im-
perceptible > rise of his eyebrow, to which his shoulders corre-
sponded in the same degree of elevation. “ Now: twa points
of dubitation occur to me upon this topic. First, whether this
service, or feudal homage, be at any event due to the person
of the Prince, the words being, per Hayy ssum, caligas REGIS, the
boots of the Eng himself; and | pray your opinion anent that
epee before we proc eed Furth gr,

“Why, he is Prince Regent,’ answered Maclvor,. with
laudable composure of countenance; “‘and in the court of

France all the honors are rendered to the person of the RegentWAVERLEY. oT
which are due to that of the King. Besides, were I to pull off

either of their boots, I would render that service to the young
il

Chevalier ten times more willi ngly than to his father.’

Ay, but I talk not of personal predilections. However,
your authority is of great weight as to the usages of the court
of France : and doubt less the P rince, as alter ego, may have a
right t o claim the omagium of the great tenants of the crown,
since all faithful subjects are commanded, in the commission
of regency, to respect him as the king

g’s own person. Far,
therefore, be it from me to diminish { the lustre of his authority,
by withholding this a

act of homage, so peculiarly calculated to

give it splendor; for ] question if the Emperor of Germany
hath his boots taken off |

»y a free baron of the empire. But
here lieth the second difficulty—The Prince wears no boots,
but simply brogues and trews.”

This last dilemma had almost disturbed Fergus’s gravity.

‘’ Why,” said he, “ you know, Baron, the proverb tells us,
t’s ill taking the breeks off a Highlandman, ‘—and the boots
are here in the same predicame nt.

6 T+
I

The word calige, however,” continued the Baron, “ though
I admit, that, by fami ily tradition, and even in our ancient
armen it is explained Ze Boots, means, in its primitive sense
‘ather sandals ; and Caius Cesar, the nephew and _ successor
of Caius Tiberi us, received the agnomen of Caligula, a caligults,
sive caligts levioribus, guibus adolescentior usus fuerat in exercitu
Givin: patris sui. And the calige were also prc oper to the
monastic bodies ; for we read in an ancient Glossari lum, upon
the rule of St. Benedict, in the Abl ey of St. Amand,
were tied with latchets.”
That will apply to the brogues,” said Fergus.
“It will so, my dear Glennaquoich; and the words are
express : Calic dicte sunt ae “igantur ; nam socct, non ligantur,
sed tantum intromittuntur ; that is, calige are denominated from
the ligatures wherewith ae are bot
may be analogous to our mules, wl

that calive

yund ; whereas socct, which
ulk the English denominate
slippers, are only slipped upon the feet. The words of the
charter are also alternative,—exuere, seu detrahere; that is, to
undo, as in the case of sanda Is or brogues ; and to pull off, as
we say ¥vernacularly, concerning boots. Yet I would we had
more light; but I fear there is little chance of finding here-
about any erudite author a re vestiarid.”

“T should doubt it very much,” said the Chieftain, looking
around on the straggling Highlanders, who were returning
loaded with spoils of the slain, “ though the res vestiaria itself
seems to be in some request at present.”

 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
    
    
  
   
  
 
  
    
    
 
   
  
 
     
  
 
   
     
 
 
 
   
    
 
       
     
  
   
  
   
 
  

Sean enShakinescetancatteters

WAVERLEY.

This remark coming within the Baron’s idea of jocularity,
he honored it with a smile, but immediately resumed what te
him appeared very serious business.

‘“‘ Bailie Macwheeble indeed holds an opinion, that this
honorary service is due, from its very nature, sz petatur tan-
tum, only if his Royal Highness shall require of the great
tenant of the crown to perform that personal duty ; and indeed
he pointed out the case in Dirleton’s Doubts and Queries,
Grippet versus Spicer, anent the eviction of an estate od non
solutum canonem, that is, for non-payment of a feu-duty of three
pepper-corns a year, whilk were taxt to be worth seyen-eighths
of a penny Scots, in whilk the defender was assoilzied. But I
deem it safest, wi’ your good favor, to place myself in the way
of rendering the Prince this service, and to proffer performance
thereof ; and I shall cause the Bailie to attend with a schedule
of a protest, whilk he has here prepared (taking out a paper),
intimating, that if it shall be his Royal Highness’s pleasure to
accept of other assistance at pulling off his ca/ige (whether the
same shall be rendered boots or brogues) save that of the said
Baron of Bradwardine, who is in presence ready and willing to
perform the same, it shall in no wise impinge upon or prejudice
the right of the said Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine to perform
the said service in future; nor shall it give any esquire, valet
of the chamber, squire, or page, whose assistance it may please
his Royal Highness to employ, any right, title, or ground, for
evicting from the said Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine the estate
and barony of Bradwardine, and others held as aforesaid, by
the due and faithful performance thereof.”

Fergus highly applauded this arrangement; and the Baron
took a friendly leave of them, with a smile of contented impor-
tance upon his visage.

‘“Long live our dear friend the Baron,” exclaimed the Chief,
as soon as he was out of hearing, ‘ for the most absurd original]
that exists north of the Tweed! I wish to heaven I had recom-
mended him to attend the circle this evening with a boot-ketch
under his arm. I think he might have adopted the suggestion,
if it had been made with suitable gravity.”

7

S
‘“And how can you take pleasure in making a man of his
worth so ridiculous ?”

‘“ Begging pardon, my dear Waverley, you are as ridiculous
ashe. Why, do you not see that the man’s whole mind is
wrapped up in this ceremony? He has heard and thought of
it since infancy, as the most august privilege and ceremony in
the world ; and I doubt not but the expected pleasure of per-
forming it was a principal motive with him for taking up arms,WAVERLEY.

Depend upon it, had I endeavored to divert him from exposing
himself, he would have treated me as an ignorant conceited
coxcomb, or perhaps might have takena fancy to cut my throat; a
pleasure which he once proposed to himself upon some point
of etiquette, not half so important, in his eyes, as this matter
of boots or brogues, or whatever the calige shall finally be pro-
nounced by the learned. But I must go to headquarters to
prepare the Prince for this extraordinary scene. My informa-
tion will be well taken, for it will give him a hearty laugh at
present, and put him on his guard against laughing, when it
might be very maZa-propos. So, au revoir, my dear Waverley.”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-NINTH.
THE ENGLISH PRISONER.

THE first occupation of Waverley, after he departed from
the Chieftain, was to go in quest of the officer whose life he
had saved. He was guarded, along with his companions in
misfortune, who were very numerous, in a gentleman’s house
near the field of battle.

On entering the room where they stood crowded together,
Waverley easily recognized the object of his visit, not only by
the peculiar dignity of his appearance, but by the appendage
of Dugald Mahony, with his battle-axe, who had stuck to him
from the moment of his captivity, as if he had been skewered
to his side. his close attendance was, perhaps, for the pur-
pose of securing his promised reward from Edward, but it also
operated to save the English gentleman from being plundered
in the scene of general confusion; for Dugald sagaciously ar-
gued, that the amount of the salvage which he might be allowed,
would be regulated by the state of the prisoner, when he should
deliver him over to Waverley. He hastened to assure Waverley,
therefore, with more words than he usually employed, that he
had “keepit ta s¢dier roy haill, and that he wasna a plack the
waur since the ferry moment when his honor forbad her to gie
him a bit glamhewit wi’ her Lochaber axe.”

Waverley assured Dugald of a liberal recompense, and, ap:
proaching the English officer, expressed his anxiety to do any:
thing which might contribute to his convenience under his
present unpleasant circumstances,

“I am. not so inexperienced a soldier, sir,” answered the
I’nglishman, “as to complain of the fortune of war. Iam only

  
   
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

prem reressgocr sopra

RS STS errs

SUSE

OS2 See oes
R ee nice

WAVERLEY.

grieved to see those scenes acted in our own island, which 1!
have often witnessed elsewhere with comparative indifference.”

““ Another such day as this,” said Waverley, “and I trust
the cause of your regrets will be removed, and all will again re-
turn to peace and. order.” :

The officer smiled and shook his head. ‘I must not forget
my situation so far as to attempt a formal confutation of that
opinion ; but, notwithstanding your success, and the valor which
achieved it, you have undertaken a task to which your strength
appears wholly inadequate.”

At this moment Fergus pushed into the press.

“Come, Edward, come along ; the Prince has gone to Pinkie-
house for the night; and we must follow, or lose the whole
ceremony of the cage. Your friend, the Baron, has been
guilty of a great piece of cruelty; he has insisted upon drag-
ging Bailie Macwheeble out to the field of battle. Now you
must know the Bailie’s greatest horror is an armed Highlander,
or a loaded gun; and there he stands, listening to the Baron’s
instructions concerning the protest, ducking his head like a sea-
guli at the report of every gun and pistol that our idle boys are
firing upon the fields ; and undergoing, by way of penance, at
every symptom of flinching, a severe rebuke from his patron,
who would not admit the discharge of a whole battery of can-
non, within point-blank distance, as an apology for neglecting
a discourse, in which the honor of his family is interested.”

‘* But how has Mr. Bradwardine got him to venture so far?”’
said Edward.

‘Why, he had come as far as Musselburgh, I fancy, in hopes
of making some of our wills; and the peremptory commands
of the Baron dragged him forward to Preston after the battle
was over, He complains of one or two of our ragamuffins having
put him in peril of his life, by presenting their pieces at him;
but as they limited his ransom to an English penny, I don’t
think we need trouble the provost-marshal upon that subject.
So, come along, Waverley.”

“Waverley!” said the English officer, with great emotion ;
“the nephew of Sir Everard Waverley, of shire ?”

“The same, sir,” replied our hero, somewhat surprised at
the tone in which he was addressed.

“IT am at once happy and grieved,” said the prisoner, “ ta
have met with you.”

““T am ignorant, sir,’
served so much interest.”

‘Did your uncle never mention a friend called Talbot?”
“I have heard him talk with great regard of such a person,”

 

> answered Waverley, ‘how I have deWAVERLEY. 265
replied Edward; “a colonel. I believe, in the army, and the
hus band of Lady Emily Blandeville ; but I thought Colonel
lalbot had been abroad.

“I am just returned,” answered the officer; “and being in
Scotland, thought it my duty to eC t where my services promised
to be useful. Yes, Mr. Waverl ley, 1 am that Colonel Talbot,
the husband of the lady you have’ named ; and I am proud to
acknowledge that I owe alike my professional rank and my
domestic happiness to your generous and noble-minded relative.
Good God! that I should find his nephew in such a dress, and
engaged in such a cause!”

Sir,” said Fergus, haughtily, ‘
those of men of birth and honor. 2

ee

the dress and cause are

My sitt uation forbids me to dispute your assertion,” said

Colonel Talbot ; “ otherwise it were no difficult matter to show,
that neither courage nor pride of lines age can gild a bad cause.
But, with Mr . Waverley’ S permission, and yours, sir, if yours
also must be asked, I would wi illingly speak « a few words with
him on affairs connected with his own family.

“Mr. Waverley, sir, regulates his own motions. —You will
follow me, I suppose, to Pinkie,” said Fe ergus, turning to Ed-
ward, “when you have finished your discourse with this new
Beauetatanes ?”” So saying, the Chief of Glennaquoich adjusted
his plaid with rather more than his usual air of haughty as-
sumption, and left the apartment.

The interest of W averley readily procured for Colonel Tal-
bot the freedom of a adjourning to a large garden belonging to
his place of confinement. They walked a few paces in silence,
Colonel Talbot ap parently studying how to open what he had
to say; at length he addressed Kx lw ard.

““ Mr. Wav erley, you have this day saved my life; and yet
I would to God that I had lost it, ere I had found you we earring
the uniform and cockade of these men,

‘I forgive your reproach, Colonel Talbot ; it is well meant,
and your education and p! ejudices render it natural. Butthere
is nothing extraordinary in finding a man, whose honor has
been publicly and unjustly assailed, in the situation which
promised most fair to afford him satisfaction on his calum-
niators,’

“ I should rather say, in the situation most likely to confirm
the reports which they have circulated,” said Colonel Talbot,
‘by following the very line of conduct ascribed to you. Are
you aware, Mr. W averley, of the infinite distress, and even
danger, which your present conduct had occasioned to your
nearest relatives ?’

  
  
   
  
     
    
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
   

Nearer

.

oS

Su

Vansnance

a woreey reer

WAVERLEY.

“Danger !:”

“Ves, sir, danger. When I left England, your uncle and
father had been obliged to find bail to answer a charge of
treason, to which they were only admitted by the exertion of
the most powerful interest. I came down to Scotland with
the sole purpose of rescuing you from the gulf into which you
have precipitated yourself ; nor can I estimate the consequences
to your family of your having openly joined the rebellion, since
the very suspicion of your intention was so perilous to them.
Most deeply do I regret that I did not meet you before this
last and fatal error.”

“T am really ignorant,” said Waverley, in a tone of reserve,
“why Colonel Talbot should have taken so much trouble on
my account.”

“ Mr. Waverley,” answered Talbot, “I am dull at appre-
hending irony ; and therefore I shall answer your words accord-
ing to their plain meaning. JI am indebted to your uncle for
benefits’ greater than those which a son owes to a father. I
acknowledge to him the duty of a son; and as | know there is
no manner in which I can requite his kindness so well as by
serving you, I will serve you, if possible, whether you will permit
me or no. The personal obligation which you have this day
laid me under (although in common estimation as great as one
human being can bestow on another) adds nothing to my zeal
on your behalf; nor can that zeal be abated by any coolness
with which you may please to receive it.”

“Your intentions may be kind, sir,” said Waverley, dryly;
“but your language is harsh, or at least peremptory.”

“On my return to England,” continued Colonel Talbot,
“after long absence, I found your uncle, Sir Everard Waverley,
in the custody of a king’s messenger, in consequence of the
suspicion brought upon him by your conduct. He is my oldest
friend—how often shall I repeat it?—my best benefactor ; he
sacrificed his own views of happiness to mine—he never uttered
a word, he never harbored a thought, that benevolence itself
might not have thought or spoken. I found this man in con-
finement, rendered harsher to him by his habits of life, his
natural dignity of feeling, and—forgive me, Mr. Waverley—by
the cause through which this calamity had come upon him. I
cannot disguise from you my feelings, upon this occasion ; they
were most painfully unfavorable to you. Having, by my
family interest, which you probably know is not inconsiderable,
succeeded in obtaining Sir Everard’s release, I set out for Scot-
land. <* saw Colonel Gardiner, a man whose fate alone is
sufficient to render this insurrection forever execrable. In theWAVERLEY. 264
course of conversation with him, I found, that, from late cir-
cumstances, from a re-examination of the persons engaged in
the mutiny, and from his original good opinion of your charac.
ter, he was much softened toward you; and I doubted not,
that if I could be so fortunate as to discover you all might yet
be well. But this unnatural rebellion has ruined all. I have,
for the first time, in a long and active military life, seen
Britons disgrace themselves by a panic flight, and that before
a foe without either arms or discipline! and now I find the
heir of my dearest friend—the son, I may say, of his affections
—sharing a triumph, for whichhe ought the first to have blushed.
Why should I lament Gardiner ? his lot was happy, compared
to mine!”

There was so much dignity in Colonel Talbot’s manner,
such a mixture of military pride and manly sorrow, and the
news of Sir Everard’s imprisonment was told in so deep a
tone of feeling, that Edward stood mortified, abashed, and
distressed, in presence of the prisoner, who owed to him his
life not many hours before. He was not sorry when Fergus
interrupted their conference a second time.

“His Royal Highness commands Mr. Waverley’s attend-
ance.” Colonel Talbot threw upon Edward a reproachful
glance, which did not escape the quick eye of the High-
land Chief. “ His immediate attendance,” he repeated, with
considerable emphasis. Waverley turned again toward the
Colonel.

‘““ We shall meet again,” he said ; “in the meanwhile, every
possible accommodation ”—

“I desire none,” said the Colonel; “let me fare like the
meanest of those brave men, who, on this day of calamity,
have preferred wounds and captivity to flight ; I would almost
exchange places with one of those who have fallen, to know
that my words have made a suitable impression on your mind.”

“Let Colonel Talbot be carefully secured,” said Fergus to
the Highland officer, who commanded the guard over the
prisoners ; “itis the Prince’s particular command; he isa
prisoner of the utmost importance.”

“ But let him want no accommodation suitable to his ranks?
said Waverley.

“Consistent always with secure custody,” reiterated Fer-
gus. ‘The officer signified his acquiescence in both commands,
and Edward followed Fergus to the garden-gate, where Callum
Beg, with three saddle-horses, awaited them. Turning his
head, he saw Colonel Talbot reconducted to his place of con-
finement by a file of Highlanders ; he lingered on the thresh-

)

  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

x

eS EnPaice ates eee
a acme os

 

268 WAVERLEY.

old of the door, and made a signal with his hand toward
Waverley, as if enforcing the language he had held toward
him.

“ Horses,” said Fergus, as he mounted, “are now as plenty
as blackberries; every man may have them for the catching.
Come, let Callum adjust your stirrups, and let us to Pinkie-
house* as fast as these ci-divant dragoon-horses choose to
carry us.”

 

 

GOVCAT It ho a Le 28.
RATHER UNIMPORTANT.

“T was turned back,” said Fergus to Edward as they gal-
loped from Preston to Pinkie-house, “ by a message from the
Prince, But, I suppose you know the value of this most noble
Colonel Talbot as a prisoner. He is held one of the best
officers among the red-coats;a special friend and favorite
of the Elector himself, and of that dreadful hero the Duke of
Cumberland, who has been summoned from his triumphs at
Fontenoy to come over and devour us poor Highlanders alive.
Has he been telling you how the bells of St. James’s ring ?
Not ‘turn again, Whittington,’ like those of Bow, in the days
Orcyore? ©

“Fergus! ” said Waverley, with a reproachful look.

“Nay, I cannot tell what to make of you,” answered the
Chief of Mac-Ivor, “ you are blown about with every wind of
doctrine. “Here have we gained a victory, unparalleled in his-
tory—and your behavior is praised by every living mortal to
the skies—and the Prince is eager to thank you in person—
and all our beauties of the White Rose are pulling caps for
you,—and you the preaux chevalier of the day, are stooping on
your horse’s neck like a butter-woman riding to market, and
looking as black as a funeral.”

“Tam sorry for Colonel Gardiner’s death ; he was once very
kind to me.”

“Why, then, be sorry for five minutes, and then be glad
again ; his chance to-day may be ours to-morrow. And what
does it signify ?—the next best thing to victory is honorable
death ; but it isa pzs-a//er, and one would rather a foe had it
than one’s self.”

 

* Charles Edward took up his quarters after the battle at Pinkie-house
adjoining to Mussleburgh.WAVERLEY.
“ But Colonel Talbot has informed me that my father and
uncle are both imprisoned by government on my account.
“We'll put in bail, my boy; old Andrew Ferrara * shall
lodge his security ; ; and J I should like to see him put to fatty
it in Westminster Hall.
“ Nay, they are already at liberty upon bail of a more civic
disposition. Ms
“'I'hen why is thy noble spirit cast down, Edward? Dost
think that the Elector’s Ministers are such doves as to set their
enemies at liberty at this critical moment, if the ey could or durst
confine and punish them? Assure thyself that either they have
no charge against your relations on which they can continue
— imprisonment, or else they are afraid of our friends, the
jolly cavaliers of England. At any rate, you need not be
apprehensive upon their account; and we will find some means
of conveying to them assurances of your safety.”
Edward was silenced, but not satisfied. with these reasons.
He had now been more than once shocked at the small degree
of sympathy which Fergus exhibited for the feelings even of
those whom he loved, if they did not correspond with his own
mood at the time, and more especially if they thwarted him
while earnest in a favorite pursuit. Fergus sometimes indeed
observed that he had offended Waverley, but, always intent
upon some favorite plan or project of his own, he was never
sufficiently aware of the extent or duration of his displeasure,
so that the reiteration of these petty offences somewhat cooled
the volunteer's extreme attachment to his officer.
The Chevalier received Waverley with his usual favor, and
paid him many com pliments on his dist ingul shed ae He

Talbot, ark when he ied aaa all the info cance. which
Edward was able to give concerning him and his connections,
he proceeded,—* I cannot but think, Mr. Waverley, that since
this gentleman is so particularly connected with our worthy
and excellent friend, Sir Everard Waverley, and since his lady
is of the house of Blandeville, whose devotion to the true and
loyal principles of the Church of England is so generally
known, the Colonel’s own private sentiments cannot be un-
favorablefo us, whatever mask he may have assumed to accom-
modate himself to the times.”

“If I am to judge from the language he this day held to
me, I am under the necessity of differing widely from your
Royal Highness.”

“Well, it is worth making a trial at least. I therefore en-

* Note X. Andrea di Ferrara.

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
     
  
   
   
  
 
  
   
    
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

BSSSS aS nT TEE SRT ARECTSESY

A EEREtrust you with the charge of Colonel Talbot, with power to act
concerning him as you think most advisable ;—and I hope you
will find means of ascertaining what are his real dispositions
towards our Royal Father’s restoration.”

‘“‘T am convinced,” said Waverley, bowing, “that if Colonel
Talbot chooses to grant his parole, it may be securely depended
upon; but if he refuses it, I trust your Royal Highness will
devolve on some other person than the nephew of his friend,
the task of laying him under the necessary restraint.”

‘“‘T will trust him with no person but you,” said the Prince,
smiling, but peremptorily repeating his mandate: “it is of im-
portance to my service that there should appear to be a good
intelligence between you, even if you are unable to gain his
confidence in earnest. You will therefore receive him into
your quarters, and in case he declines giving his parole, you
must apply for a proper guard. I beg you will go about this
directly. We return to Edinburgh to-morrow.”

Being thus remanded to the vicinity of Preston, Waverley
lost the Baron of Bradwardine’s solemn act of homage. So
little, however, was he at this time in love with vanity, that he
had quite forgotten the ceremony in which Fergus had labored
to engage his curiosity. But next day a formal Gazette was
circulated, containing a detailed account of the battle of Glads-
muir, as the Highlanders chose to denominate their victory.
It concluded with an account of the Court afterward held by
the Chevalier at Pinkie-house, which contained this among
other high-flown descriptive paragraphs :—

“Since that fatal treaty which annihilates Scotland as anh
independent nation, it has not been our happiness to see hex
princes receive, and her nobles discharge, those acts of feudal
homage, which, founded upon the splendid actions of Scottish
valor, recall the memory of her early history, with the manly
and chivalrous simplicity of the ties which united to the Crown
the homage of the warriors by whom it was repeatedly upheld
and defended. But on the evening of the 20th, our memories
were refreshed with one of those ceremonies which belong to
the ancient days of Scotland’s glory. After the circle was
formed, Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, of that ilk, colonel in the
service, étc. etc. etc., came before the Prince, attended by Mr.
D. Macwheeble, the Bailie of his ancient barony of Bradwar
dine (who, we understand, has been lately named a commis-
sary), and, under form of instrument, claimed permission to
perform, to the person of his Royal Highness, as representing
nis father, the service used and wont, for which, under a char
ter of Robert Bruce (of which the original was produced andWAVERLEY. 277

inspected by the Masters of his Royal Highness’s Chancery,
for the time being), the claimant held the barony of Brad-
wardine and lands of Tully-Veolan. His claim was admitted
and registered, his Royal Highness having placed his foot upon
a cushion, the Baron of Br radwardine, kneeling upon his right
knee, proceeded to undo the latchet of the brogue, or low-heeled
Highland shoe, which our gallant young hero w ears in compli-
ment to his brave followers. When this was performed, his
Royal Highness declared the ceremony completed ; and em-
bracing the gallant veteran, protested that nothing but com-
pliance with an ordinance of Robert Bruce could have induced
him to receive even the symbolical performance of a menial
office from hands which had fought so bravely to put the crown
upon the head of his father. The Baron of ‘Bradwardine then
took instruments in the hands of Mr. Commissary Macwhee-
ble, bearing, that all points and circumstances of the act of
homage had been rite et solenniter acta et peracta; anda cor-
responding entry was made in the protocol of the Lord High-
Chamberlain, and in the record of Ch 1ancery. We understand
that it is in contemplation of his Royal Highness, when his
Majesty’s pleasure can be known, to raise Colonel Bradwardine
to the peerage, by the title of Viscount Bradwardine, of Brad-
wardine and Tully-Veolan, and th at, in the meanwhile, his
Royal Highness, in his father’s name and authority, has been
pleased to grant him an honorable augmentation to his Poe
coat of arm, being a budget or boot- -jack, disposed saltier-wise
with a naked broadsw ord, to be borne in the dexter cantle of
the shield ; and, as an additional motto, on a scroll beneath,
the words, ‘ Draw and Draw off”

“Were it not for the recollection of Fergus’s raillery,”
thought Waverley to himself, when he had perused this long
and grave document, ‘“ how very tolerable would all this sound,
and how little should [ have thought of connecting it with any
ludicrous idea! Well, after all, everything has its fair, as well as
its seamy tee and truly I do not see why the Baron’s boot-
jack may not stand as fair in heraldry as the water-buckets,
wagons, cart-wheels, plough- socks, sh uttles, candlesticks, and
other ordinaries, conveying ideas of anything save chiv alry,
which appear in the arms of some of our most ‘ancient gentry. ”
—This, however, is an episode in respect to the principal story.

W hen Wav erley returned to Preston, and rejoined Colonel
Talbot, he found him recovered from the strong and obvious
emotions with which a concurrence of unpleasing events had
affected him. He had regained his natural manner, which was
tbat of an English gentleman and soldier, manly, open, and gen-

  
 
   
    
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
      
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
    
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 

eT . meet sae ase
STEREO Soc Serr aaa 5s

TESTA ASS Meh poe

ROR s

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aoe
Lees272 WAVERLEY.

erous, but not unsusceptible of prejudice against those of a dif:
ferent country, or who opposed him in px olitical tenets. When
Waverley acquainted Colonel Talbot with the Chevalier’s pur-
pose to commit him to his charge, “I ae not think to ha ave owed
so much obligation to that young g gentleman,” he said, “ as is im-
plied in this ‘destination. “I can at least cheert fully join in the
prayer of the honest Presbyterian clergyman, that, as he has
come among us seeking an earthly crown, his labors may be
speedily rew peice with a heav enly one.* Ishall willingly give
my parole not to attempt an escape vation your knowledge,
since, in fact, it was to meet you that I came to Scotland; and
I am glad it has happened even under this Ercan But
I suppose we shall be but a short time together. Your Chev-
alier (that is a name we may both give to him), with his plaids
and blue-caps, will, I presume, be continuing his crusade south-
ward?”

“Not as I hear; I believe the army makes some stay in
‘dinburgh, to collect reinforcements.”

‘“‘ And to besiege the Castle?” said Talbot, smiling sarcas-
tically. ‘Well, unless my old commander, General Preston,
turn false metal, or the Castle sink into the North Loch, events
which I deem equally probable, I think we shall have some
time to make up our acquaintance. I have a guess that this
gallant Chevalier has a design that I should be your proselyte ;
and, as I wish you to be mine, there cannot be a more fair pro-
posal than to afford us fair conference together. But as I spoke
to-day under the influence of feelings I rarely give way to, I
hope you will excuse my entering again upon controversy till
we are somewhat better acquainted.”’

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIRST.
INTRIGUE OF LOVE AND POLITICS.

IT is not necessary to record in these pages the triumphant
entrance of the Chevalier into Edinburgh after the decisive
affair of Preston. One circumstance, however, may be noticed,
because it illustrates the high spirit of Flora Mac-Ivor. The

* The clergyman’s name was Mac-Vicar. Protected by the cannon of
fie «castle, he preached every Sunday in the West Kirk, while the High-
landers were i possession of Edinburgh; and it was in presence of some
of the Jacobites that he prayed for Prince Charles Edward in the terms
quoted in the text.WAVERLEY. 273
Highlanders, by whom the Prince was surrounded, in the license
and extravagance of this joyful moment, fired their pieces re-
peatedly, and one of these having been accidentally loaded with
ball, the bullet grazed the young lady’s temple as she waved
her handkerchief from a balcony.* Fergus, who beheld the
accident, was at her side in an instant; and, on seeing that the
wound was trifling, he drew his broadsword, with the purpose
of rushing down upon the man by whose carelessness she had
incurred so much danger, when, holding him by the plaid, “ Do
not harm the poor fellow!” she cried; “‘for Heaven’s sake do
not harm him; but thank God with me that the accident hap-
pened to Flora Mac-Ivor; for had it befallen a Whig, they

would have pretended that the shot was fired on purpose.”

Waverley escaped the alarm which this accident would have
occasioned to him, as he was unavoidably delayed by the ne-
cessity of accompanying Colonel Talbot to Edinburgh.

They performed the journey together on horseback, and for
some time, as if to sound each other’s feelings and sentiments,
they conversed upon general and ordinary topics.

When Waverley again entered upon the subject which he
had most at heart, the situation, namely, of his father and his
uncle, Colonel Talbot seemed now rather desirous to alleviate
than to aggravate his anxiety. This appeared particularly to
be the case when he heard Waverley’s history, which he did
not scruple to confide to him.

“And so,” said the Colonel, “there has beéh no malice
prepense, as lawyers, I think, term it, in this rash step of yours ;
and you have been trepanned into the service of this Italian
knight-errant by a few civil speeches from him, and one or two
of his Highland recruiting sergeants? It is sadly foolish, to
be sure, but not nearly so bad as I was led to expect. How-
ever, you cannot desert, even from the Pretender, at the pres-
ent moment,—that seems impossible. But I have little doubt
that, in the dissensions incident to this heterogeneous mass of
wild and desperate men, some opportunity may arise, by avail.
ing yourself of which, you may extricate yourself honorably
from your rash engagement before the bubble burst. If this
can be managed, I would have you go toa place of safety in
Flanders, which [ shall point out. And I think I can secure
your pardon from Government after a few months’ residence
abroad.”

“JT cannot permit you, Colonel Talbot,” answered Wa-
verly, “to speak of any plan which turns on my deserting an

* Note Y. Miss Nairne.FaAanStntbasateei s

274 WAVERLEY.

enterprise in which I may have engaged hastily, but certainly
voluntarily, and with the purpose of abiding the issue.”

“Well,” said Colonel Talbot, smiling, “leave me my
thoughts and hopes at least at liberty, if not my speech. But
have you never examined your mysterious packet?”’

“Tt is in my baggage,” replied Edward; ‘‘we shall find it
in Edinburgh.”

In Edinburgh they soon arrived. Waverley’s quarters had
been assigned to him, by the Prince’s express orders, in a hand-
some lodging, where there was accommodation for Colonel
Talbot. His first business was to examine his portmanteau,
and, after a very short search, out tumbled the expected packet.
Waverley opened it eagerly. Under a blank cover, simply ad-
dressed to E. Waverley, Esq., he found a number of open
letters. ‘The uppermost were two from Colonel Gardiner, ad-
dressed to himself. The earliest in date was a kind and gentle
remonstrance for neglect of the writer’s advice respecting the
disposal of his time during his leave of absence,—the renewal
of which, he reminded Captain Waverley, would speedily ex-
pire. “ Indeed,” the letter proceeded, “had it been otherwise,
the news from abroad, and my instructions from the War-office,
must have compelled me to recall it, as there is great danger,
since the disaster in Flanders, both of foreign invasion and in-
surrection among the disaffected at home. I therefore entreat
you will repair, as soon as possible, to the headquarters of the
regiment ; and I am concerned to add, that this is still the
more necessary, as there is some discontent in your troop, and
I postpone inquiry into particulars until I can have the advant-
age of your assistance.

The second letter, dated eight days later, was in such a style
as might have been expected from the Colonel’s receiving no
answer to the first. It reminded Waverley of his duty as aman
of honor, an officer, and a Briton; took notice of the increasing
dissatisfaction of his men, and that some of them had been
heard to hint that their captain encouraged and approved of
their mutinous behavior ; and, finally the writer expressed the
utmost regret and surprise that he had not obeyed his com-
mands by repairing to headquarters, reminded him that his
leave of absence had been recalled, and conjured him, in a
style in which paternal remonstrance was mingled with military
authority, to redeem his error by immediately joining his regi-
ment. ‘‘ That I may be certain,” concluded the letter, ‘that
this actually reaches you, I despatch it by Corpora! Tims, of
your troop, with orders to deliver it into your hand.”

Upon reading these letters, Waverley, with great bitternessWAVERLEY. 275
of feeling, was compelled to make the amende honorable to the
memory of the brave and excellent writer ; for surely, as Col.
onel Gardiner must have had every reason to conclude they had
come safely to hand, less could not follow, on their being neg:
lected, than that third and final summons, which Waverley
actually received at Glennaquoich, though too late to obey it
And his being superseded, in Consequence of his apparent
neglect of this last command, was so far from being a harsh or
severe proceeding, that it was plainly inevitable. The next
letter he unfolded was from the Major of the regiment, acquaint-
ing him that a report, to the disadvantage of his reputation,
was public in the country, Stating, that one Mr. Falconer of
Ballihopple, or some such name, had proposed, in his presence,
a treasonable toast, which he permitted to pass in silence,
although it was so gross an affront to the royal family, that a
gentleman in company, not remarkable for his zeal fox govern:
ment, had nevertheless taken the matter up ; and that, suppos-
ing the account true, Captain Waverley had thus suffered
another, comparatively unconcerned, to resent an affront
directed against him personally as an officer, and to go out with
the person by whomit was offered. The Major concluded, that
no one of Captain Waverley’s brother-officers could believe this
scandalous story, but it was necessarily their joint opinion, that
his own honor, equally with that of the regiment, depended
upon its being instantly contradicted by his authority, etc., etc.
etc:

“What do you think of all this?” said Colonel Talbot, to
whom Waverley handed the letters after he had perused them.

“Think! it renders thought impossible. It is enough to
drive me mad.”

“Be calm, my young friend ; let us see what are these dirty
scrawls that follow.”

The first was addressed, “For Master W. Ruffin These,”

“Dear sur, sum of our yong gulpins will not bite, thof I
tuold them you shoed me the squoires own seel. But Tims will
deliver you the lettrs as desired, and tell ould Addem he gave
them to squoir’s hond, as to be sure yours is the same, and shall
be ready for signal, and hoy for Hoy Church and Sachefrel,*
as fadurysings at harvest whome. Yours, deer Subjs! CElesie

* Poscriff. Do’e tell squoire we longs to heer from him,
and has dootings about his not writing himself, and Lieftenant

Bottler is smoky.”

*[Henry Sacheverell, D. D., wasa violent high-churchman, who, in 1710, was impeached
for an attack made on the Godolphin Whig ministry. He afterward became very popular. J

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   

BUS EESONRERIRERY Fu UICY CSTE TIS TIES SSSR SSDS276 WAVERLEY.

“ This Ruffin, I suppose, then, is your Donald of the Cav.
ern, who has intercepted your letters, and carried on a corre-
spondence with the poor devil Houghton, as if under your
authority !”

“Tt seems too true. But who can Addem be?”

“ Possibly Adam, for poor Gardiner, a sort of pun on his
name.”

The other letters were to the same purpose, and they soon
received yet more camplete light upon Donald Bean’s machina-
tions.

John Hodges, one of Waverley’s servants, who had remained
with the regiment, and had been taken at Preston, now made
his appearance. He had sought out his master, with the pur-
pose of again entering his service. From this fellow they
learned, that, some time after Waverley had gone from the
headquarters of the regiment, a pedler called Ruthven, Ruffin,
or Rivane, known among the soldiers by the name of Wily Will,
had made frequent visits to the town of Dundee. He appeared
to possess plenty of money, sold his commodities very cheap,
seemed always willing to treat his friends at the ale-house, and
easily ingratiated himself with many of Waverley’s troop, par-
ticularly Sergeant Houghton, and one Tims, also a non-commis-
sioned officer. ‘To these he unfolded, in Waverley’s name, a
plan for leaving the regiment, and joining him in the Highlands,
where report said the clans had already taken arms in great
numbers. The men, who had been educated as. Jacobites, so
far as they had any opinion at all, and who knew their landlord,
Sir Everard, had always been supposed to hold \such tenets,
easily fell into the snare. That Waverley was at a distance in
the Highlands, was received as a sufficient excuse for transmit-
ting his letters through the medium of the pedler ; and the sight
of his well-known seal seemed to anthenticate the negotiations
in his name, where writing might have been dangerous, ‘The
cabal, however, began to take air, from the premature mutinous
language of those concerned. Wily Will justified his appella-
tive ; for, after suspicions arose, he was seen no more. When
the Gazette appeared, in which Waverley was superseded, great
part of his troop broke out into actual mutiny, but were sur-
rounded and disarmed by the rest of the regiment. In conse-
quence of the sentence of the court-martial, Houghton and Tims
were condemned to be shot, but afterwards permitted to cast
lots for life. Houghton, the survivor, showed much penitence,
being convinced from the rebukes and explanations of Colonel
Gardiner, that he had really engaged in a very heinous crime.
It is remarkable, that, as soon as the poor fellow was satisfiedWAVERLEY. 244

of this, he became also convinced th at the instigator had acted
without authority from Edward, saying, ‘‘ If it was dishonorable
and against Old England, the squire could know nought about
it; he never did, or thought to do, anything dishonorable,—na
more didn’t Sir Everard, nor none of them afore him, and in
that belief he would live and die that Ruffin had done it all of
his own head.”
The strength of conviction with which he expressed himself
upon this subject, as well as his assurances that the letters
intended for Wav erley had been delivered to Ruthven, made
that revolution in Colonel Gardiner’s opinion which he ex-
pressed to Talbot.
_ The reader has long since understood that Donald Bean
Lean played the part of tempter on this occasion. His motives
were shortly these. Of an active and intriguing spirit, he had
been long employed as a subaltern agent and spy by those in
the confidence of the Chevalier, to an extent beyond what was
suspected even by Fergus Mac-Ivor, whom, though obliged to
him for protection, he regarded with fear and dislike. To suc-
cess in this political department, he naturally looked for raising
himself by some bold stroke above his present hazardous and
precarious state of rapine. He was particularly employed in
learning the strength of the regiments in Sc otland, the charac-
ter of the officers, etc., and had long had his eye upon Waver-
ley’s troop, as open to temptation. Donald even believed that
Waverley Hiniself was at the bottom in the Stuart interest, which
seemed confirmed by his long visit to the Jacobite Baron of
Bradwardine. When, therefore, he came to his cave with one
of Glennaquoich’s attendants, the robber, who could never ap-
preciate his real motive, which was mere € curiosity, was so san-
guine as to hope that his own talents were to be employ ed in
some intrigue of consequence, under the auspices of this we calthy
young E ngli shman. Nor was he undeceived by Wav erley’s neg-
lecting all hints and openings for an explanation. His con-
duct p nassed for prudent reserve, and somewhat piqued Donald
Bean, who, supposing himself left out of a secret where confi-
dence promised to be advantageous, determined to have his
share in the drama, whether a regular part were assigned him
or not. J*or this purpose, during Waverley’s sleep, he possessed
himself of his seal, as a token to be used to any of the troopers
whom he might discover to be possess ed of the captain’s confi-
dence. His first journey to Dundee, the town w hete the regiment
was quartered, undeceived him in hi IS original supposition, but
opened to him a new field of action. He knew there would be
no service so well rewarded by the friends of the Chevalier, as

 

 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
    
    
 
  
    
  
  
 
     
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 

BEeMOrrer at tT Treen ir sey= STS asa s
x Stet 2 aes SS

WAVERLEY.

seducing a part of the regular army to his standard. For this
purpose, he opened the machinations with which the reader is
hich form a clue to all the intricacies

already acquainted, and w
ative previous to Waverley’s leaving

and obscurities of the nar
Glennaquoich. |

By Colonel Talbot’s advice, Waverley declined detaining in
his service the lad whose evidence had thrown additional light
on these intrigues. He represented to him that it would be
doing the man an injury to engage him in a desperate under-
taking, and that, whatever should happen, his evidence would
go some length, at least, in explaining the circumstances under
which Waverley himself had embarked in it. Waverley there-
fore wrote a short statement of what had happened to his uncle
and his father, cautioning them, however, in the present circum-
stances, not to attempt to answer his letter. Talbot then gave
the young man a letter to the commander of one of the English
vessels of war cruising in the firth, requesting him to put the
bearer ashore at Berwick, with a pass to proceed to shire.
He was then furnished with money to make an expeditious
journey, and directed to get on board the ship by means of

bribing a fishing-boat, which, as they afterward learned, he

 

easily affected.

Tired of the attendance of Callum Beg, who, he thought,
had some disposition to act as a spy on his motions, Waverley
hired as a servant a simple Edinburgh swain, who had mounted
the white cockade in a fit of spleen and jealousy, because Jenny
Jop had danced a whole night with Corporal Bullock of the

Fusileers.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-SECOND.
INTRIGUES OF SOCIETY AND LOVE.

CoLonEL TaLtBot became more kindly in his demeanor
toward Waverley after the confidence he had reposedin him,
and as they were necessarily much together, the character of
the Colonel rose in Waverley’s estimation. There seemed at
first something harsh in his strong expressions of dislike and
censure, although no one was in the general case more open to
conviction. The habit of authority had also given his manners
some peremptory hardness, notwithstanding the polish which
they had received from his intimate acquaintance with the
higher circles. As a specimen of the military character, heWAVERLEY.

differed from all whom Waverley had as yet seen. The soldier
ship of the Baron of Bradwardine was marked by A doing
that of Major Melville by a sort of martinet attention to the
minutiae and technicalities of discipline, rather suitable to one
who was to manceuvre a battalion, than to him who was to
command an army; the military spirit of Fergus was so much
W veeae and blended with his plans and political views, that it
vas less that of a soldier than of a petty sovereign. But Col-
onel Talbot was in every point the English sol dier. His whole
soul was devoted to the service of his king and country, with-
out feeling any pride i in knowing the theory of his art, with the
Baron, or its practical minutiz with the Major, or in applying
his science to his own particular plans of ambition, like the
Chieftain of Glennaquoich. Added to this, he was a man of
extended knowledge and cultivated taste, although strongly
tinged, as we have already observed, with those prejudices
which are peculiarly English.

The character of Colonel Talbot dawned upon Edward by
degrees ; for the delay of the Highlanders in the fruitless siege
of Edinburgh Castle occupied several weel <s, during which
Waverley | 1ad little to do, excepting to seek such amusement as
society afforded. He would willingly have persuaded his new
friend to become acquainted with some of his former intimates.
But the Colonel, after one or two visits, shook his head, and
declined further experiment. Indeed he went further, and
characterized the Baron as the most intolerable formal pedant
he had ever had the misfortune to meet with, and the Chief of
Glennaquoich as a Frenchified Scotchman, possessing all the
cunning and plausibility of the nation where he was educated,
with the proud, vindictive, and ae humor of that of his
birth. “If the devil,” he said, “had sought out an agent ex-
pressly for the ee of embroiling this miserable country, I
do not think he could find a better tha an such a fellow as this,
whose temper seems equally active, supple, and mischievous,
and who is followed, and implicitly obeyed, by a gang of such
cut-throats as those whom you are pleased to admire so much.”

The ladies of the party did not escape his censure. He
allowed that Flora Mac-Ivor was a fine woman, and Rose Brad-
wardine 4 pretty girl. But he alleged that the former destroyed
the effect of her beauty by an affectation of the grand airs
which she had probably seen practiced at the mock court of
St. Germains. As for Rose Bradwardine, he said it was im-
possible for any mortal to admire such a little uninformed
thing, whose small portion of education was as ill adapted te
her sex or youth, as if she had appeared with one of her

  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
    
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 

Canes Terre oro aoa

SRY FST ED

AX

rhea

SoS
SEP uae rae oe NSLSce

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WAVERLEY.

 

280

father’s old campaign-coats upon her person for her sole gar-
ment. Now much of this was mere spleen and prejudice in
the excellent Colonel, with whom the white cockade on the
breast, the white rose in the hair, and the Mac at the beginning
of a name, would have made a devil out of-an angel; and in-
deed he himself jocularly allowed that he could not have en-
dured Venus herself, if she had been announced in a diawing-
toom by the name of Miss Mac-Jupiter.

Waverley, it may easily be believed, looked upon these
young ladies with very different eyes. During the period of the
siege, he paid them almost daily visits, although he observed
with regret that his suit made as little progress in the affections
of the former as the arms of the Chevalier in subduing the
fortress. She maintained with rigor the rule she had laid down
of treating him with indifference, without either affecting to
avoid him, or to shun intercourse with him. Every word, every
look was strictly regulated to accord with her system, and
neither the dejection of Waverley, nor the anger which Fergus
carcely suppressed, could extend Flora’s attention to Edward
beyond that which the most ordinary politeness demanded.
On the other hand, Rose Bradwardine gradually rose in Wa-
verley’s opinion. He had several opportunities of remarking,
that, as her extreme timidity wore off, her manners received a
higher character; that the agitating circumstances of the
stormy time seemed to call forth a certain dignity of feeling
and expression, which he had not formerly observed; and that
she omitted no opportunity within her reach to extend her
knowledge and refine her taste.

Flora Mac-Ivor called Rose her pupil, and was attentive to
assist her in her studies, and to fashion both her taste and un-
derstanding. It might have been remarked by a very close
observer, that in the presence of Waverley she was much tavre
desirous to exhibit her friend’s excellences than her own. but
I must request of the reader to suppose, that this kind and dis-
interested purpose was concealed by the most cautious delicacy,
studiously shunning the most distant approach to affectation.
So that it was as unlike the usual exhibition of one pretty
woman affecting to rover another, as the friendship of David
and Jonathan might be to the intimacy of two Bond Street
loungers. ‘The fact is, that, though the effect was felt, the
causes could hardly be observed. Each of the ladies, like two
excellent actresses, were perfect in their parts, and performed
them to the delight of the audience ; and such being the case,
it was almost impossible to discover that the elder constantly
ceded to her friend that which was most suitable to her talents.WAVERLE¥, 281

But to Waverley, Rose Bradwardine € possessed an attraction
which few men can resist, from the marked interest which she
took in everything that affect edhim. She was too young and
too inexperienced to estimate the full force of the constant
attention which she paid to him. Her father was too tae
edly immersed in learned and military discussions to observe
her partiality, and Flora Mac-Ivor did not al: arm her by re-
monstrance, because she saw in this line of conduct the most
probable chance of her friend securing at length a return of
affection.

The truth is, that, in her first conversation after their meet-
ing, Rose had discovered the state of her mind to that acute
and intelligent friend, alt hough she was not herself aware of it.
From that time, Flora was not o1 ily determined upon the final
rejection of Waverley’s addresses, but became anxious that they
should, if possible, be transferred to her friend, Nor was she
less interested in this plan, though her brother had from time to
time talked as between jest and earnest, of paying his suit to
Miss Bradwardine. She knew that F ergus had the true con-
tinental latitude of opinion respecting the institution of mar:
riage, and would not have given his hand to an angel, unless
for the purpose of strengthenin ng his alliances, and increasing
his influence and wealth. The Baron’s whim, of transferring
his estate to the distant heir-male instead of his own daughter,
was therefore likely to be an insurmountable obstacle to his
entertaining any serious thought of Rose Bradwardine. In-
deed, Fergus’s brain was a perpetual workshop of scheme and
intrigue of every possible kind and description ; while, like
many a mechanic of more ingenuity than steadiness, he would
often unexpectedly, and without any apparent motive, abandon
one plan, and go earnestly to work upon another, which was
either fresh from the forge of his imagination, or h ae at some
former period been flung aside half finished. It was therefore
often difficult to guess what line of conduct he might finally

adopt upon any given occasion.

Although Flora w as sincerely attached to her brother,
whose high energies might indeed have commanded her admi-
ration even without the ties which bound them together she
was by no means blind to his faults, which she considered as
dangerous to the hopes of any woman who should found her
ideas of a happy marriage in the peaceful enjoyment of domestic
society, and the exchange of mutual and engrossing affection.
The real disposition of Wav erley, on the other hand, notwith-
standing his dreams of tented fields and military honor, seemed
exclusive ly domestic. He asked and received no share in the

 

   
 
 
   
   
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
    
   
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 

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WAM ser ant ragWAVERLEY.

    
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
     

2
252

busy scenes which were constantly going on around him, and

: was rather annoyed than interested “by the discussion of con

tending claims, rights, and interests, which often passed in his

aie presence. All this pointed him out as the person formed to

make happy a spirit like that of Rose, which corresponded with
| his own.

She remarked this point in Waverley’s character one day
while she sat with Miss Bralwardine. “ His genius and ele.
gant taste,” answered Rose, “cannot be interested in such
trifling discussions. Whatis it to him, for example, whether
the Chief of the Macindallayhers, who has brought out only
" fifty men, should be a colonel or a captain ? and how could Mr.
ints Wav erley be supposed to interest himself in the violent alter-
cation between your brother and young Corrinaschian, whether
the post of honor is due to the eldest cadet of a clan or the
youngest ?”

‘““My dear Rose, if he wer? the hero you suppose him, he
would interest himself in these matters, not indeed as impor-
tant in themselves, but for the purpose of mediating between
the ardent spirits who actually do make them the subject of
discord. _Yousaw when Corrinaschian raised his voice in great
passion, and laid his hand upon his sword, Waverley lifted his
head as if he had just awaked from a dream, and asked, with
great ee a at the matter was.’

‘Well, and did not the laughter they fell into at this absence
of Eat: serve better to break “oft the dispute than anything he
could have said to them? ”

“True, my dear,” answered Flora; “‘ but not quite so credit-
ably for Waverley as if he had brought them to their senses by
force of reason.”

‘Would you have him peace-maker general between all the
gunpowder Highlanders in the army? I beg your pardon,
Flora—your brother, you know, is out of the question ; he has
: more sense then h alf of them. But can you think the fierce,
4 hot, furious spirits, of whose brawls we see much, and hear
7. more, and who terrify me out of my life every day in the world,
are at all to be compared to Waverley ?”’

““T do not compare him with those uneducated men, my dear
Rose. I only lament, that with his talents and genius, he does
. not assume that place in society for which they eminently fit

him, and that he does not lend their full impulse to the noble

cause in which he has enlisted. Are there not Lochiel, and

iB , and M——,, and G , all men of the highest educa-

: tion, as well as the first talents?—why will he not stoop like

them to be alive and useful ?—I often believe his zeal is frozen

 

 

 

 

Py saORahee Sey ist eases s :
fa ieuiacmiaieaarnas pa =WAVERLEY.

by that proud cold-blooded Englishman, whom he now lives
with so much,’

“ Colonel Talbot ?—he is a very disagreeable person, to be
sure. He looks as if he thought no Scottish woman worth the
trouble of handing her a cup oftea. But Waverley is so gentle.
so well informed ”

“Yes,” said Flora, smiling ; “‘ he can admire the moon, and
quote a stanza from Tasso.”

‘Besides, you know how he fought,’”’ added Miss Brad-
wardine.,

“For mere fighting,” answered Flora, “I believe all men
(that is, who deserve the name) are pretty much alike; there
is generally more courage oda to run away. They have
besides, when confronted with each other, a certain instinct for
strife, as we see in other male animals, suchas dogs, bulls, and
so forth. But high and perilous enterprise is not Waverley’s
forte. He would never have been his celebrated ancestor Sir
Nigel, but only Sir Nigel’s eulogist and poet. I will tell you
where he will be at home, my dear, and in his place,—in the
quiet circle of domestic happiness, lettered indolence, and
elegant enjoyments, of Waverley-Honour. And he will refit
the old lil ibrary in the most exquisite Gothic taste, and g garnish
its shelves with the rarest and most valuable volumes: and he
will draw plans and landscapes, and write verses, and rear
temples, and dig BE ;—and he will stand in a clear summer
night in the colonnade before the hall, and gaze on the deer as
they stray in the moonlight, or lie shadowed by the boughs of
the huge old fantastic oaks ;—and he will repeat verses to his
beautiful wife, who will hang upon his arn a
happy man.”

And she will be a happy woman,” thought poor Rose.
But she only sighed, and dropped the conversation.

 

 

                

 

 

CHAPTER: FIEFEY-THERD,
FERGUS A SUITOR.

WAVERLEY had, indeed, as he looked closer into the state
of the Chevalier’s Court, less reason to be satisfied with it. It
contained, as they say an acorn includes all the ramifications
of the future oak, as many seeds of ¢vacasserie and intrigue as
might have done honor to the Court of alarge empire. EveryeC AS LET hess TT ee ae

Sai

pe

=
*

WAVERLEY.

person of consequence had some separate object, which he pur-
sued with a fury that Waverley considered as altogether dispro-
portioned to its importance. Almost all had their reasons for
discontent, although the most legitimate was that of the worthy
old Baron, who was only distressed on account of the common
cause.

“ We shall hardly,” said he one morning to Waverley, when
they had been viewing the Castle,—“ we shall hardly gain the
obsidional crown, which you wot well was made of the roots of
grain which takes root within the place besieged, or it may be
of the herb woodbine, fparetaria, or pellitory; we shall not, I
say, gain it by this same blockade or leaguer of Edinburgh
Castle.” For this opinion he gave most learned and satisfac-
tory reasons, that the reader may not care to hear repeated.

Having escaped from the old gentleman, Waverley went
to Fergus’s lodgings by appointment, to await his return from
Holyrood-House. “I am to have a particular audience to-
morrow,” said Fergus to Waverley, overnight, “and you must
meet me to wish me joy of the success which I securely antici-
Date.”

The morrow came, and in the Chief’s apartment he found
Ensign Maccombich waiting to make report of his turn of d uty
in a sort of ditch which they had dug across the Castle-hill, and
called a trench. In a short time the Chief’s voice was heard
on the stair in a tone of impatient fury: “ Callum,—why,
Callum Beg,—Diaoul!” He entered the room with all the
marks of a man agitated by a towering passion ; and there were
few upon whose features rage produced a more violent effect.
The veins of his forehead swelled when he was in such agita-
tion : his nostrils became dilated ; his cheek and eye inflamed ;
and his look that of a demoniac. These appearances of half-
suppressed rage were the more frightful, because they were
obviously caused by a strong effort to temper with discretion
an almost ungovernable paroxysm of passion, and resulted from
an internal conflict of the most dreadful kind, which agitated
his whole frame of mortality.

As he entered the apartment, he unbuckled his broadsword,
and throwing it down with such violence that the weapon rolled
to the other end of the room, “ I knownot what,” he exclaimed,
“withholds me from taking a solemn oath that I will never
more draw it inhiscause. Load my pistols, Callum, and bring
them hither instantly ;—instantly.” Callum, whom nothing
ever startled, dismayed or disconcerted, obeyed very coolly.
Evan Dhu, upon whose brow the suspicion that his chief had
been insulted, called up a corresponding storm, swelled in sullenWAVERLEY. 285

silence, awaiting to learn where or upon whom vengeance was
to descend.

“So, Waverley, you are there,” said the Chief, after a
moment’s recollection ;—“ Yes, I remember I asked you: to
Share my triumph, and you have come to witness my—disap-
pointment we shall call it.’ Evan now presented the written
report he had in his hand, which Fergus threw from him with
great passion. “ I wish to God,” he said, “ the old den would

tumble down upon the heads of the fools who attack, and the
knaves who defend it! I see, Waverley, you think Iam mad
-—leave us, Evan, but be within call.”

‘The Colonel’s in an unco kippage,” said Mrs. Flockhart
to Evan, as he descended; “ I wish he e may be weel,—the very
veins on his brent brow are swelled like w hip-cord; wad he no
tak something ?’

‘He usually lets blood for cies fits,’ answered the High-
land ancient with great composur

When this officer left the sn the Chieftain gradually
reassumed some degree of composure.—“ I know, Wav etley,*
he said, “ that Colonel Talbot has persuaded you to curse ten
times a-day your engagement with us ;—nay, never deny it, for
I am at this moment tempted to curse my own. Would you
believe it, I made this very morning two suits to the Prince,
aad he has rejected them both: what do you think of it?”

‘ What can I think,” sida Waverley, “ till I know what
your requests were ?”

‘‘ Why, what signifies what they were, man? I tell you it

s I that made them,—I, to whom he owes more than to any
ee who have joined the standard ; for I negotiated the whole
business, and brought in all the Perthshire men when not one
would have stirred. I am not likely, I think, to ask anything
very unreasonable, and if I did they might have stretched a
point.—Well, but you shall know all, now that I can draw my
breath ee with some freedom—You remember my earl’s
patent ; it is dated some years back, fors ervices then rendered ;
and shia my merit has not been diminished, to say the
least, by my subsequent behavior. Now, sir, I value this bauble
of a coronet as little as you can, or any philosopher on earth;
for I hold that the chief of such aclan as the Sliochd nan Ivor
is superior in rank to any earl in Scotland. But I had a par-
ticular reason for assuming this cursed title at this time. You

must know, that I learned ‘accidentally that the Prince has been
pressing that old foolish Baron of Bradwardine to disinherit his
male heir, or nineteenth or twentieth cousin, who has taken a
command in the Elector of Hanover’s militia, and so settle his

 

  
 
 
  
   
     
  
  
  
 
    
   
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
    
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
    

SO NESUTTT

SIRT

oe
a

BS

Cae Dasaisthab binaries wasn as seWAVERLEY,

estate upon your pretty little friend Rose ; and this, as being
the command of his king and overlord, who may alter the desti-
nation of a fief at pleasure. the old gentleman seems well
reconciled to.”

‘“ And what becomes of the homage ?”’

“ Curse the homage !—I believe Rose is to pull off the
queen’s slipper on her coronation-day, or some such trash.
Well, sir, as Rose Bradwardine would always have made a
suitable match for me, but for this idiotical predilection of her
father for the heir male, it occurred to me there now remained
no obstacle, unless that the Baron might expect his daughter’s
husband to take the name of Bradwardine (which you know
would be impossible in my case), and that this might be evaded
by my assuming the title to which I had so good a right, and
which, of course, would supersede that difficulty. If she was
to be also Viscountess Bradwardine in her own right, after her
father’s demise, so much the better; I could have no ob-
jection?”

“ But, Fergus,” said Waverley, ““I had no idea that you
had any affection for Miss Bradwardine, and you are always
sneering at her father.”

‘“ T have as much affection for Miss Bradwardine, my good
friend, as I think it necessary to have for the future mistress of
my family, and the mother of my children. She is a very
pretty, intelligent girl, and is certainly of one of the very first
Lowland families ; and, with a little of Flora’s instructions and
forming, will make a very good figure. As to her father, he is
an original, it is true, and an absurd one enough; but he has
given such severe lessons to Sir Hew Halbert, that dear de-
funct the Laird of Balmawhapple, and others, that nobody dare
laugh at him, so his absurdity goes for nothing. I tell you
there could have been no earthly objection—none. I had
settled the thing entirely in my own mind.”

‘“ But had you asked the Baron’s consent,” said Waverley,
moc Roseis 2”

“To what purpose? To have spoke to the Baron before I
had assumed my title would have only provoked a premature
and irritating discussion on the subject of the change of name,
when, as Earl of Glennaquoich, I had only to propose to him
to carry his d—d bear and boot-jack party per pale, or in a
scutcheon of pretence, or in a separate shield perhaps—any
way that would not blemish my own coat-of-arms. And as to
Rose, I don’t see what objection she could have made, if her
father was satisfied.’’WAVERLEY. 284

‘“ Perhaps the same that your sister makes to me, you being
Satisfied.”

Fergus gave a broad stare at the comparison which this
supposition implied, but cautiously suppressed the answer which
rose to his tongue. “ O, we should easily have arranged all
that.—So, sir, I craved a private interview, and this morning
was assigned ; and I asked you to meet me here, thinking, like
a fool, that I should want your countenance as _ bride’s-man.
Well—I state my pretensions—they are not denied: the prom-
ises so repeatedly made, and the patent granted—they are
acknowledged. But I propose, as a natural consequence, to
assume the rank which the patent bestowed—lI have the old
Story of the jealousy of C—— and M—— trumped up against
me—lI resist this pretext, and offer to procure their written
acquiescence, in virtue of the date of my patent as priorto their
silly claims—I assure you I would have had such a consent
from them, if it had been at the point of the sword. And then,
out comes the real truth; and he dares to tell] me, to my face,
that my patent must be suppressed for the present for fear of
disgusting that rascally coward and Jaineant—(naming the
rival chief of his own clan)—who has no better title to be a
chieftain than I to be Emperor of China ; and who is pleased
to shelter his dastardly reluctance to come out. agreeable to
his promise twenty times pledged, under a pretended jealousy
of the Prince’s partiality to me. And, to leave this miserable
driveler without a pretence for his cowardice, the Prince asks
it as a personal favor of me, forsooth, not to press my just and
reasonable request at this moment. After this, put your faith
in princes ! ”

‘“ And did your audience end here?”

“End? O no ! I was determined to leave him no pretence
for his ingratitude, and I therefore stated, with all the com-
posure I could muster,—for I promise you I trembled with
passion,—the particular reasons I had for wishing that his
Royal Highness would impose upon me any other mode of ex-
hibiting my duty and devotion, as my views in life made, what
at any other time would have been a mere trifle, at this crisis a
severe sacrifice ; and then I explained to him my full plan.”

‘“ And what did the Prince answer ?”’

“ Answer ? why—it is well it is written, Curse not the king ;
no, not in thy thought !—why, ke answered, that truly he was
glad I had made him my confidant, to prevent more grievous
disappointment, for he could assure me, upon the word of a
prince, that Miss Bradwardine’s affections were engaged, and
he was under a particular promise to favor them. ° 50, Diy

STO ray

BRT STIRS Sy Na UPTON FETT SSOTS

SS

no

—_ eee
Se eT ies or ents

«

Seta oeproeth cera Riera t SaE Shere ee a

deibie asia eee ce

288 WAVERLEY.
dear Fergus,’ said he, with his most gracious cast of smile, ‘ as
the marriage 1S utterly out of question, there need be no hurry,
you know, eu the earldom.’ And so he glided off, and left
me planté la.”

“ And what did you do?”

“ T’ll tell you w hat I cou/d have done at that moment—sold
myself to the devil or the Elector, whichever offered the dearest
revenge. However, I am now pol: I know he intends ta
marry her to some of his rascally Frenchmen, or his Irish
officers: but I will watch them close; and let the man that
would supplant me look well to himself—Szsogna coprirsz,
S707.

After some further conversation, unnecessary to be detailed,
Waverley took leave of the C hieftain, whose fury had now sub-
sided into a deep and strong desire of vengeance, and returned
home, scarce ab i to analyze the mixture of feelings which the

aarrative had awakened in his own bosom.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOURTH.
“ TO ONE THING CONSTANT NEVER.”

‘I am the very child of caprice,” said Waverley to himself,
as he bolted the door of his apartment, and paced it with hasty
steps.—‘‘ What is it to me that Fergus Mac-Ivor should wish
to marry Rose Bradwardine ?—I love her not.—I might have
been loved by her, perhaps; but I rejected her simple, natural,
and ooze attachment, instead of cherishing it into tender-
ness, and dedicated myself to one who will never love mortal
man, unless old Warwick, the King-maker, should arise from
the dead. ‘The Baron, too—I would not have cared about his
estate, and so the name would have been no stumbling-block
The devil might have taken the barren moors, and drawn off the
royal calig@ for anything I would have minded. But framed as
she is for domestic affection and tenderness, for giving and
receiving all those kind and quiet attentions which sweeten
life to those who pass it together, she is sought by Fergus
Mac-Ivor. He will not use her ill, to be sure—of that he is in-
capable—but he will neglect her after the first month ; he will be
too intent on subduing some rival chieftain, or circumventing
some, favorite at court, on gaining some heathy hill and lake,
or adding to his bands some new troop of caterans, to inquire
what she does, or how she amuses herself.WAVERLEY.

And then will canker sorrow eat her bud,
And chase the native beauty from her cheek ;
And she will look as hollow as a ghost,

And dim and meagre as an ague fit,

And so she’ll die.

And such a catastrophe of the most gentle creature on earth
might have been prevented, if Mr. Edward Waverley had had
ais eyes! Upon my word, I cannot understand how I thought
Flora so much—that is, so very much—handsomer than Rose.
She is taller, indeed, and her manner more formed; but many
people think Miss Bradwardine’s more natural; and she is cer-
tainly much younger. I should think Flora is two years older
than I am—lI will look at them particularly this evening.”

And with this resolution. Waverley went to drink tea (as
the fashion was sixty years since) at the house of a lady of
quality attached to the cause of the Chevalier, where he found,
as he expected, both the ladies. All rose as he entered, but
Flora immediately resumed her place, and the conversation in
which she was engaged. Rose, on the contrary, almost imper-
ceptibly, made a little way in the crowded circle for his advanc-
ing the corner of a chair. “Her manner, upon the whole, is
most engaging,” said Waverley to himself.

A dispute occurred whether the Gaelic or Italian language

>

was most liquid, and best adapted for poetry; the opinion for
the Gaelic, which probably might not have found supporters
elsewhere, was here fiercely defended by seven Highland ladies,
who talked at the top of their lungs, and screamed the company
deaf, with examples of Celtic exphonia. Flora observing the
Lowland ladies sneer at the comparison, produced some reasons
to show that it was not altogether so absurd: but Rose, when
asked for her opinion, gave it with animation, in praise of
Italian, which she had studied with Waverley’s assistance.
‘She has a more correct ear than Flora, though a less accom-
plished musician,” said Waverley to himself, “I suppose Miss
Mac-Ivor will next compare Mac-Murrough nan Fonn to
Ariosto !”

Lastly, it so befell that the company differed whether Fer-
gus should be asked to perform on the flute, at which he was
an adept, or Waverley invited to read a play of Shakespeare,
and the lady of the house good-humoredly undertook to collect
the votes of the company for poetry or music, under the con-
dition, that the gentleman whose talents were not laid under
contribution that evening, should contribute them to enliven
the next. It chanced that Rose had the casting vote. Now
Flora, who seemed to impose it as a rule upon herself never

  
 
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

errors

SRR HST TEWAVERLEY.

to countenance any proposal which might seem to encourage
Waverley, had voted for music, providing the Baron would take
his violin to accompany Fergus. ‘I wish you joy of your taste,
Miss Mac-Ivor,” thought Edward, as they sought for his book.
“T thought it better when we were at Glennaquoich ; but cer-
tainly the Baron is no great performer, and Shakespeare is worth
listening to.”

Romeo and Juliet was selected, and Edward read with taste,
feeling, and spirit, several scenes from that play. All the com-
pany applauded with their hands, and many with their tears.
Flora, to whom the drama was well known, was among the
former: Rose, to whom it was altogther new, belonged to the
latter class of admirers. ‘‘She has more feeling, too,” said
Waverley, internally.

The conversation turning upon the incidents of the play,
and upon the characters, Fergus declared that the only one
worth naming, as a man of fashion and spirit, was Mercutio.
“TI could not,” he said, “quite follow all his old-fashioned wit,
but he must have been a very pretty fellow, according to the
ideas of his time.”

‘And it was a shame,” said Ensign Maccombich, who usu-
ally followed his Colonel everywhere, fon that: Libbert; sot
Taggart, or whatever was his name, to stick him under the other
gentleman’s arm, while he was redding the fray.”

The ladies, of course, declared loudly in favor of Romeo ;
but this opinion did not go undisputed. The mistress of the
house, and several other ladies,-severely reprobated the levity
with which the hero transfers his affections from Rosalind to
Juliet. Flora remained silent until her opinion was repeatedly
requested, and then answered, she thought the circumstance
objected to not only reconcilable to nature, but such as in the
highest degree evinced the art of the poet. ‘‘ Romeo is de-
scribed,” said she, “as a young man, peculiarly susceptible of
the softer passions; his love is at first fixed upon a woman who
could afford it no return; this he repeatedly tells you,—

From love’s weak childish bow she lives unharmed ;

and again,—
She hath forsworn to love.

Now, as it was impossible that Romeo’s love, supposing him 4
reasonable being, could continue to subsist without hope, the
poet has, with great art, seized the moment when he was re-
duced actually to despair, to throw in his way an object more

accomplished than her by whom he had been rejected, and who

is disposed to repay his attachment. I can scarce conceive aWAVERLEY. 291

situation more calculated to enhance the ardor of Romeo’s
affection for Juliet than his being at once raised by her from
the state of drooping melancholy in which he appears first upon
the scene, to the ecstatic state in which he exclaims—

 

come what sorrow can ;
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short moment gives me in her sight.”

“Good, now, Miss Mac-Ivor,” said a young lady of quality,
“do you mean to cheat us out of our prerogative ? will you
persuade us love cannot subsist without hope, or that the lover
must become fickle if the lady is cruel? O fie! I did not ex-
pect such an unsentimental conclusion.”

“* A lover, my dear Lady Betty,” said Flora, “ may,I conceive,
persevere in his suit, under very discouraging circumstances.
Affection can (now and then) withstand very severe storms of
rigor, but not along polar frost of downright indifference.
Don’t, even with your attractions, try the experiment upon any
lover whose faith you value. Love will subsist on wonderfully
little hope, but not altogether without it.”

“It will be just like Duncan Mac-Girdie’s mare,” said Evan,
‘“if your ladyships please ; he wanted to use her by degrees to
live without meat, and just as he had put her on a straw a-day,
the poor thing died!”

Evan’s illustration set the company a-laughing, and the dis-
course took a different turn. Shortly afterwards the party
broke up, and Edward returned home, musing on what Flora
had said. “TI will love my Rosalind no more,” said he: “she
has given me a broad enough hint for that; and I will speak
to her brother, and resign my suit. But for Juliet—would it
be handsome to interfere with Fergus’s pretensions ?>—though
it is impossible they can ever succeed: and should they mis-
carry, what then ?—why then alors comme alors.’ And with
this resolution, of being guided by circumstances, did our hero
commit himself to repose.

CHAPTER PIEITY-FIFEH.
A BRAVE MAN IN SORROW.
Ir my fair readers should be of opinion that my hero’s
levity in love is altogether unpardonable, I must remind them

that all his eriefs and difficulties did not arise from that senti-
mental source. Even the lyric poet, who complains so feelingly

  
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 

ARUP snr acs

PRT Chen Ss

ARR RRC292 WAVERLEY.

of the pains of love, could not forget, that, at the same time.
he was “in debt and in drink,” which, doubtless, were great
aggravations of his distress. There were indeed whole days
in which Waverley thought neither of Flora nor Rose Brad-
wardine, but which were spent in melancholy conjectures on
the probable state of matters at Waverley-Honour, and the
dubious issue of the civil contest in which he was pledged.
Colonel Talbot often engaged him in discussions upon the jus:
tice of the cause he had espoused. “Not,” he said, “that it
is possible for you to quit it at this present moment, for, come
what will, you must stand by your rash engagement. EBut I
wish you to be aware that the right is not with you; that you
are fighting against the real interests of your country ; and that
you ought, as an Englishman and a patriot, to take the first op:
portunity to leave this unhappy expedition before the snowball
melts.”

In such political disputes, Waverley usually opposed the
common arguments of his party, with which it is unnecessary
to trouble the reader. But he had little to say when the
Colonel urged him to compare the strength by which they had
undertaken to overthrow the Government with that which was
now assembling very rapidly for its support. ‘To this statement
Waverley had but one answer: ‘If the cause I have under-
taken be perilous, there would be the greater disgrace in aban-
doning it.”” And in his turn he generally silenced Colonel Tal-
bot, and succeeded in changing the subject.

One night, when, after a long dispute of this nature, the
friends had separated, and our hero had retired to bed, he was
awakened about midnight by a suppressed groan. He started
up and listened; it came from the apartment of Colonel Tal-
bot, which was divided from his own by a wainscoted partition,
with a door of communication. Waverley approached this
door, and distinctly heard one or two deep-drawn sighs. What
could be the matter? The Colonel had parted from him, ap-
parently in his usual state of spirits. He must have been
taken suddenly ill. Under this impression, he opened the door
of communication very gently, and perceived the Colonel in
his nightgown, seated by a table, on which lay a letter anda
picture. He raised his head hastily, as Edward stood uncer-
tain whether to advance or retire, and Waverley perceived that
his cheeks were stained with tears.

As if ashamed at being found giving way to his emotion,
Colonel Talbot rose with apparent displeasure, and said, with
some sternness, “I think, Mr. Waverley, my own apartment,
and the hour, might have secured even a prisoner against ”——WAVERLEY. 293

“Do not say zztrusion, Colonel Talbot ; [heard you breathe
hard, and feared you were ill: that alone could have induced
me to break in upon you.”

‘“T am well,” said the Colonel, “ perfectly well.”

‘ But you are distressed,” said Edward : “is there anything
can be done ?”

“Nothing, Mr. Waverley; I was only thinking of home,
anc 1 of some “unpleasant occurrences there.’

“ Good God, my uncle!” exclaimed Waverley

‘ No,—it is a grief entirely my own. I am eben you
should have seen it disarm me so much; but it must have its
course at times, that it may be at others more decently sup:
ported. J would have kept it secret from you; for I think it
will grieve you, and yet you can administer no consolation,
But you have surprised me—I see you are surprised yourself,—
and I hate mystery. Read that letter,”

The letter was from Colonel Talbot’s sister, and in these
words :

‘I received yours, my dearest brother, by Hodges. Sir E.
W. and Mr. R. are still at large, but are not permitted to leave
London. I wish to Heaven [ could give you as good an ac-
count of matters in the square. But the news of the unh lappy
affair at Preston came upon us, ‘vith the dreadful addition that
you were among the fallen. You know Lady Emily’s state of
health, when your friendship for Sir E. induced you to leave
her. She was much harassed with the sad accounts from Scot
land of the rebellion having broken out; but kept up her spirits,
as, she said, it became your wife, and for the sake of the future
heir, so long hoped for in vain. Alas, my dear brother, these
hopes are now ended! Notwithstanding all my watchful care,
this unhappy rumor reached her without preparation. Shé was
taken ill immediately ; and the poor infant scarce survived its
birth. Would to God this were all! But although the contra.
diction of the horrible report by your own letter has greatly
revived her spirits, yet Dr. apprehends, I grieve to a4
serious, and even dangerous, consequences to her health, espe-
cially from the uncertainty in which she must necessarily re-
main for some time, aggravated by the ideas she has formed of
the ferocity of those with whom you are a prisoner.

“Do uierefore, my dear brother, as soon as this reaches
you, endeavor to gain your release, by parole, by ransom, or
any way that is practicable. I do not exaggerate Lady E mily’ S
state of health; but I must not—dare not—suppress the truth,
—Fver, my dear Philip, your most affectionate sister,
“Lucy Tatzor.”

 

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WAVERLEY.

Edward stood motionless when he had perused this letter ;
€or the conclusion was inevitable, that by the Colonel’s journey
in quest of him, he had incurred this heavy calamity. It was
severe enough, even its irremediable part; for Colonel
Talbot and ‘Lady Emily, long without a_ family, had fondly

exulted in the hopes which were now blasted. But this dis-
appointment was nothing to the extent of the thre atened evil ;
and Edward, with horror, regarded himself as the original
cause of both.

Ere he could collect himself sufficiently to speak, Colonel
Talbot had recovered his usual composure of manner, though
his troubled eye denoted his mental agony.

‘“‘ She is a woman, my young frie nd, who may justify evena
soldier’s tears.” He -eached Shika the miniature, exhibiting
features which fully sustified the eulogium; ‘and yet, God
knows, what you see of her there is the least of the charms she
possesses—possesse d, I should perhaps say—but God’s will be
done 7

“You must fly—you must fly instantly to her relief. It is
not—it shall not be too late.”

‘Fly !-_how is it possible ?

“IT am your keeper—I restore your par
for you.”

“You cannot do so consistently with your duty, nor can I
accept a discharge from you with due regard to my own honor
—you would be made responsible

“¢T will answer it with my head, if necessary,”’ said Waver
ley, impetuously. “I have been the unhappy cause of the ae
of your child—make me not the murderer of your wife.”

‘No, my dear Edward,” said Talbot, taking him kindly by

the hand, “ you are in no respect to ae - and if I concealed
this domestic distress for two days, it was lest your sensibility
should view it in that light. You could not think of me, h ardly
knew of my existence, when I left England in quest of you. It
is a responsibility, Heaven knows, sufficiently he avy for mor-
tality, that we must answer for the foreseen and direct result of
our actions,—for their indirect and consequential operation,
the great and good Being, who alone can foresee the depend-
ence of human events on each other, hath not pronounced his
frail creatures liable

“But that you should have left Lady Emily,” said Waver-
ley, with much emotion, “in the situation of all others the
most interesting to a husband, to seek a” -———-

sl only did my duty,” answered Colonel Talbot, calmly,
“and I do not, ought not to regret it. If the path of gratitude

arole.”

am to answerWAVERLEY. 295
and honor were always smooth and easy, there would be little
merit in following it; but it moves often in contradiction to
our interest and passions, and sometimes to our better affec.
tions. These are the trials of life, and this, though not the
least bitter” (the tears came unbidden to his eyes) “is not the
first which it has been my fate to encounter.—But we will talk

tcl
of this to-morrow,” he said, wringing Waverley’s hands. “ Good-
night ; strive to forget it for a few hours. It will dawn, I
think, by six, and it is now past two. Good-night.”

Edward retired, without trusting his voice with a reply.

Bs

 

 

CHAPTER: FIETY-SEYEH.
EXERTION,

WHEN Colonel Talbot entered the breakfast-parlor next
morning, he learned from Waverley’s servant that our hero had
been abroad at an early hour, and was not yet returned. The
morning was well advanced before he again appeared. He
arrived out of breath, but with an air of joy that astonished
Colonel Talbot.

“There,” said he, throwing a paper on the table, “ there is
my morning’s work.—Alick, pack up the Colonel’s clothes.
Make haste, make haste.”

The Colonel examined the paper with astonishment. It
was a pass from the Chevalier to Colonel Talbot, to repair to
Leith, or any other port in possession of his Royal Highness’s
troops, and there to embark for England or elsewhere, at his
free pleasure ; he only giving his parole of honor not to bear
arms against the house of Stuart for the space of a twelve-
month.

“In the name of God,” said the Colonel, his eyes sparkling
with eagerness, ‘how did you obtain this?”

“T was at the Chevalier’s levee as soon as he usually rises.
He was gone to the camp at Duddingston. | pursued him
thither ; asked and obtained an audience—but I will tell you
not a word more, unless I see you begin to pack.”

‘Before I know whether I can avail myself of this passport,
or how it was obtained?” :

‘““O, you can take out the things again, you know.—N ow, £
see you busy, I will go on. When I. first mentioned your
name, his eyes sparkled almost as bright as yours did two
minutes since. ‘Had you,’ he earnestly asked, ‘shown any

9Sete eae ee

east

blimathasiaaees
a

 

296 WAVERLEY.
sentiments favorable to his cause?’ ‘Not in the least, nor
was there any hope you would do so.’ His countenance fell.
I requested your freedom. ‘Impossible,’ he said ;—‘ your im-
portance, as a friend and confidant of such and such person-
ages, made my request altogether extravagant.’ I told him
my own story and yours; and asked him’ to judge what my
feelings must be by his own. He has a heart, and a kind one,
Colonel Talbot, you may say what you please. He took a
sheet of paper, and wrote the pass with his own hand. ‘I will
not trust myself with my council,’ he said ; ‘ they will argue me
out of what is right. I will not endure that a friend, valued as
I value you, should be Joaded with the painful reflections which
must afflict you in case of further misfortune in Colonel Talbot’s
family ; nor will I keep a brave enemy a prisoner under such
circumstances. Besides,’ said he, ‘I think I can justify myself
to my prudent advisers, by pleading the good effect such lenity
will produce on the minds of the great English families with
whom Colonel Talbot is connected.’ ”

“There the politician peeped out,” said the Colonel.

“Well, at leas the concluded like a king’s son.—‘ Take the
passport ; I have added a condition for form’s sake ; but if the
Colonel objects to it, let him depart without giving any parole
whatever. Icome here to war with men, but not to distress or
endanger women.’ ”’

‘Well, I never thought to have been so much indebted to
the Pretend ’”——

“To the Prince,” said Waverley, smiling.

‘To the Chevalier,” said the Colonel; “‘ it is a good travel-
ling name, and which we may both freely use. Did he say
anything more ? ”

“ Only asked if there was anything else he could oblige
me in; and when] replied in the negative, he shook me by
the hand, and wished all his followers were as considerate,
since some friends of mine not only asked all he had to bestow,
but many things which were entirely out of his power, or that
of the greatest sovereign upon earth. Indeed, he said, no
prince seemed, in the eyes of his followers, so like the Deity
as himself, if you were to judge from the extravagant requests
which they daily preferred to him.”

“Poor young gentleman !” said the Colonel ; “ I suppose
he begins to feel the difficulties of his situation. Well, dear
Waverley, this is more than kind, and shall not be forgotten
while Philip ‘Talbot can remember anything. My life—pshaw
—let Emily thank you for that—this is a favor worth fifty
lives. I cannot hesitate on giving my parole in the circum-

)WAVERLEY.

stances : there it is—(1
am I to get off ? ”

“ All that is settled : your baggage is packed, my horses
wait, and a boat has been engaged, by the Prince’s permission,
to put you on board the Fox frigate. I sent a messenger
down to Leith on purpose,’

“ That will do excelle ntly well. Captain Beaver is my
particular friend ; he will put me ashore at Berwick or Shields,
trom whence I can ride post to London ;—and you must en-
trust me with the packet of papers which you recovered by
means of your Miss Bean Lean. I may have an opportunity
of using them to your advantage .—But I see your Highland
friend, Glen—— what do you call his barbarous name ? and
his orderly with him—I must not call him his orderly cut-throat
any more, I suppose. See how he walks as if the world were
his ow n, with the bonnet on one side of his head, and his plaid
puffed out across his breast! I should like now to meet that
youth where my hands were not tied: I w ould tame his pride,
or he should tame mine.”

For shame, Colonel Talbot ! you swell at sight of tartan,
as the bull is said to do at scarlet. You and Mac-Ivor have
some points not much unlike, so far as national prejudice it
concerned.”

The latter part of this discourse took place in the street,
They passed the Chief, the Colonel and he sternly and
punctiliously greeting each other, like two duelists before
mney take their eround, It was evident the dislike was mutual.

‘I never see that surly fellow that dogs his heels,” said the
Colonel, after he had mounted his horse. “ but he reminds me
of lines I have somewhere heard—upon the stage, I think :

“——— Close behind him

Stalks sullen Bertram, like a sorcerer’s fiend
Pressing to be emp loyed.”?

“I assure you, Colonel,” said Waverley, “ that you judge
too harshly of the Highlanders.’ i

“Not a whit, not a whit: I cannot spare them a jot—]
cannot bate them an ace. . L et them stay in their own barren
mountains, and puff and swell, and ha ang their bonnets on the
horns of the moon, if they have a mind: but. what business
have they to come where people wear breeches, and speak an
intelligible language ? i mean intelligible in comparison with
their cibbe -rish, for even the Lowlanders talk a kind of English
little better than the negroes in Jamaica. I could pity the
er , | mean the Chevalier himself, for having so many des

 

af
1€ wrote it out in form)—and now, how

  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
       
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
    
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
 

PRS Sos ean sta COS TSRRO TSSixieraaa Seat ee aS

 

 

eee

NASER

Pia oe eee 5 eco Q
a ah : aan See

298 WAVERLEY.

peradoes about him. And they learn their trade so early.
There is a kind of subaltern imp, for example, a sort of suck-
ing devil, whom your friend Glenna—Glenamuck there, has
sometimes in his train. To look at him he is about fifteen
years ; but he is a century old in mischief and villany. He
was playing at quoits the other day in the court ; a gentleman
—a decent-looking person enough—came past, and as a quoit
hit his shin, he lifted his cane : but my young bravo whips out
his pistol, like Beau Clincher in the trip to the Jubilee, and had
not a scream of Gardez eau from an upper window set all
parties a scampering for fear of the inevitable consequences,
the poor gentleman would have lost his life by the hands of
that little cockatrice.”

‘A fine character you'll give of Scotland upon your return,
Colonel Talbot.”

“©, Justice Shallow,” said the Colonel, “ will save me
the trouble—‘ Barren, barren—beggars all, beggars all: Marry,
ood air,’-—and that only when you are fairly out of Edinburgh,
and not yet come to Leith, as is our case at present.”

In a short time they arrived at the sea-port :

]

The boat rocked at the pier of Leith.

Full loud the wind blew down the ferry ;
The ship rode at the Berwick Law—
“ Farewell, Colonel ; may you find all as you would wish it !
Perhaps we may meet sooner than you expect; they talk of an
immediate route to England.”

“Tell me nothing of that,” said Talbot; “I wish to carry
no news of your motions.”

“Simply then, adieu. Say, with a thousand kind greet-
ings, all that is dutiful and affectionate to Sir Everard and
Aunt Rachel. Think of me as kindly as you can—speak of
me as indulgently as your conscience will permit, and once
more adieu.”

“And adieu, my dear Waverley !—many, many thanks for
your kindness. Unplaid yourself on the first opportunity. I
shall ever think on you with gratitude, and the worst of my
censure shall be, Oue diable alloit-il faire dans cette galére ?”

And thus they parted, Colonel Talbot going on board of
the boat, and Waverley returning to Edinburgh.WAVERLEY. 299

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVENTH.
THE MARCH.

IT is not our purpose to intrude upon the province of his-
tory. We shall therefore only remind our readers, that about
the beginning of November the Young Chevalier, at the head
of about six thousand men at the utmost, resolved to peril his
Cause on an attempt to penetrate into the centre of England,

although aware of the mighty preparations which were made
for his reception. They set forward on this crusade in weather
which would have rendered any other troops incapable of
marching, but which in reality gave these active mountaineers
advantages over a less hardy enemy. In defiance of a superior
army lying upon the Borders, under Field Marshal Wade, they
besieged and took Carlisle, and soon afterward prosecuted
their daring march to the southward.

As Colonel Mac-Ivor’s regiment marched in the van of the
clans, he and Waverley, who now equaled any Highlander in
the endurance of fatigue, and was become somewhat acquainted
with their language, were perpetually at its head. They marked
the progress of the army, however, with very different eyes.
Fergus, all air and fire, and confident against the world in
arms, measured nothing but that every step was a yard nearer
London. He neither asked, expected, nor desired any aid,
except that of the clans, to place the Stuarts once more 6n the
throne; and when by chance a few adherents joined the stand-
ard, he always considered them in the light of new claimants
upon the favors of the future monarch, who, he concluded,
must therefore subtract for their gratification so much of the
bounty which ought to be shared among his Highland fol-
lowers.

Edward's views were very different. He could not but
observe, that in those towns in which they proclaimed James
the Third, “no man cried, God bless him.” The mob stared
and listened, heartless, stupefied, and dull, but gave few signs
even of that boisterous spirit which induces them to shout
upon all octeasions, for the mere exercise of their most sweet
voices. The Jacobites had been taught to believe that the
north-western counties abounded with wealthy squires and
hardy yeomen, devoted to the cause of the White Rose. But
of the wealthier Tories they saw little. Some fled from their
houses, some feigned themselves sick, some surrendered them:

D

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as300 WAVERLEY.

selves to the Government as suspected persons. Of such
as remained, the ignorant gazed with astonishment, mixed
with horror and aversion, at the wild appearance, unknown
language, and singular garb of the Scottish clans. And
to the more prudent, their scanty numbers, apparent defi-
ciency in discipline, and poverty of equipment, seemed cer-
tain tokens of the calamitous termination of their rash under-
taking. Thus the few who joined them were such as bigotry
of political principle blinded to consequences, or whose broken
fortunes induced them to hazard ql on a risk so cen iale
The Baron of Bradwardine being asked what he thought of
these recruits, took a long pinch « of snuff, a1 “ answered dryly,
“that he could not but have an excellent opinion of them,
since they resembled precisely the followers who attached
themselves to the good King David at the cave of Adullam ;

V1 L1Cel

y
D
f every one that was in distress, and every one that was
in debt, and every one that was discontented, whi ch the Vul-

gate renders bitter of soul; and doubtless,” he said, “they will
prove mighty men of their hands, and there is much need that
they should, for I have seen many a sour look cast upon us.”

But noah of these considerations moved Fergus. He ad-
mired the luxuriant beauty of the country, and the situation of
any, of the seats which they passed. “Is Waverley-Honour
like that house, Edward?”

“Tt is one-half larger.

‘Is your uncle’s ae as fine‘a_one as that?”

“Tt is three times as extensive, and rather resembles a
forest than a mere park.”

‘“‘ Flora will be a happy woman.”

“T hope Miss Mac-Ivor will have much reason for happi
ness, unconnected with Waverley-Honour.”

“ T hope so too; but, to be mistress of such a place, will be
a pretty addition to the sum total.”

‘An addition, the want of which, I trust, will be amply
supplied by some other means.”

‘How,’ said Fergus, stopping short, and turning upon
Waverley—“ How am I to understand that, Mr. Waverley ? —
Had I the pleasure to hear you aright?”

‘ Perfectly right, Fergus.”

“And am I to understand that you no longer desire my
alliance, and my sister’s hand? ”’ ’

“Your sister has refused mine,” said Waverley, “ both dt
rectly, and by all the usual means by which ladies repress un
desired attentions,” :

‘‘T have no idea,’ answered the Chieftain, “ of a lady dis-WAVERLEY. 301
missing or a gentleman withd pawn his suit, after it has been

approved of by her legal guardian, without giving him an oppor-
tunity of talking the matter over with the la idy.. You did not,
[ suppose, =xpect my sister to drop into your mouth like a ripe
plum, the first moment you chose to open it?”

“As to the lady’s yitetie| dismiss her lover, Colonel,’ replied
Edward, “it is a point whic 1 you must argue with her, asl am
1gnor ant of the customs of the Highlands in that particular
But as to

my title to acquiescein a rejection from her w thot
an appeal to your int erest, I will tell you plainly, without mean-
ing toundervalue Miss Mac-Ivor’sadm nitted beaut y and accom-
plishments, that I would not ta a the hand of an angel, with an
empire for her dowry, if her consent were extorted. by the im-
portunity ¢ P felon! and guardians, and did not flow from her
a free ela O .

An angel, with the dowry of an empire,” repeated Fergus,
in a tone of of bitter irs ony, “isnot very likely to be pressed upon
a——shire squire —But, sir,” changing his tone, “if Flora
Mac-Ivor have not the shes) of an empire, she is my sister;
and that is sufficient at leas stto secure her against being treated

has anything approaching to levi ity.
She is Flora Mac-Iy or, sir,” said Waverley, with firmness,
cevhich to me, were I eit ble of treating any woman with

’

levity, would be a more effectual 1 protectic
The brow of the Chieftain was n ow fully clouded, but Ed-
ward felt too indignant at the unr casonable tone which he had
adopted, to avert the storm by the leastconcession. T hey both
stood still w hile this short Sonate pa ssed, and Fergus seemed
half disposed to say something more vic lent, | out, by a strong
effort, suppressed his passion, and turning his face forward,
walked sullenly on. As they had always hitherto walked
together, and almost const: antly side by side, Waverley pur-
sued his course silently in the same direction, determined to
let the Chief take his own time in recovering the good-humor
which he had so WA reasgna ply disca1 ded, and firm in his
resolution not to bate him an inc h of dignity.
After they had marched on in this sullen manner about a
mile, Fergus resumed the discour se in a different tone. “I
believ ye I was warm, my dear Edwarc But YOURFOY ORE me with
your want of kno\ wlec ge of the wor Id. You have tak a pet at
some of Flora’s prudery, or high-flying notions of loyalty, and
ow, likea child, you quarrel with the plaything you have been
crying for, and beat me, your faithful keeper, because my arm
cannot reach to Edinburgh to hand it to you. I amsureif I
was passionate, the mortification of losing the alliance of such

i ~
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NTE ERE eta. Sie OO

 

302 WAVERLEY.

a friend, after your arrangement had been the talk of both
Highlands and Lowlands, and that without so muchas knowing
why or wherefore, might well provoke calmer blood than
mine. I shall write to Edinburgh, and put all to nights; that
is, if you desire I should do so,—as indeed I cannot suppose
that your good opinion of Flora, it being such as you have often
expressed to me, can be at once laid aside.”

‘¢Colonel Mac-Ivor,” said Edward, who had no mind to be
hurried further or faster than he chose, in a matter which he
had already considered as broken off, “ I am fully sensible of
the value of your good offices ; and certainly, by your zeal on
my behalf in such an affair, you do me no small honor. But
as Miss Mac-Ivor has made her election freely and voluntarily,
and as all my attentions in Edinburgh were received with more
than coldness, I cannot, in justice either to her or myself, con-
sent that she should again be harassed upon this topic. I
would have mentioned this to you some time since ;—but you
saw the footing upon which we stood together, and must have
understood it. Had I thought otherwise, I would have earlier
spoken ; but I had a natural reluctance to enter upon a subject
so painful to us both.”

““O, very well, Mr. Waverley,” said Fergus, haughtily, “ the
thing is at an end. I have no occasion to press my sister upon
any man.

‘Nor have I any occasion to court repeated rejection trom
the same young lady,” answered Edward in the same_tone.

“T shall make due inquiry,\however,” said the Chieftain,
without noticing the interruption, “and learn what my sister
thinks of all this we will then see whether it is to end here.”

“ Respecting such inguiries, you will of course be guided by
your own judgment,” said Waverley. “It is, I am aware, im-
possible Miss Mac-Ivor can change her mind; and were such
an unsupposable case to happen, it is certain 1 will not change
mine. I only mention this to prevent any possibility of future
misconstruction.”’

Gladly at this moment would Mac-Ivor have put their quarrel
to a personal arbitrament ;—his eye flashed fire, and he meas-
ured Edward, as if to choose where he might best plant a mor-
tal wound. But although we do not now quarrel according to
the modes and figures of Caranza or a Vincent Saviola, no one
knew better than Fergus that there must be some decent pre-
text for a mortal duel. For instance, you may challenge a man
for treading on your corn in a crowd, or for pushing you up to
the wall, or for taking your seat in the theatre; but the modern
code of honor will not permit you to found a quarrel upon yourWAVERLEY.

right of compelling a man to continue addresses to a fem: ke
relative whick the fair lady had already refused. So that Fe
gus was compelled to stomach this supposed affront, until the
whirligig of time, whose motion he promised himself he would
watch most sedulously, should bring about an opportunity of
revenge.

Waverley’s servant always led a saddle-horse for him in the
rear of the battalion to which he was attached, though his mas-
ter seldom rode. But now, incensed at the domineering and
unreasonable conduct of his late friend, he fell behind the
So, and mounted his horse, resolving to seek the Baron of

sradwardine, and request permission to volunteer in his troop,
wisttd of the Mac-Ivor cours

“A happy time of it I should have had,” thought he, after
he was mounted, “ to have been so aeeeed allied to this superb
specimen of pride and self-opinion and passion. A colonel!
why, he should have been a gener ralissimo. A pretty chief of
three er four hundred men I— his pride might suffice for the
Cham of Tartary—the Grand Seignor—the great Mogul! [I
am well free of him. Were Flora an angel, “she would bring
with her a second Lucifer of ambition and wrath for a brother-
in-law.”

The Baron, whose learning like Sancho’s jests while in the
Sierra Morena, seemed to grow mouldy for want of exercise, joy-
fully embraced the opportunity of Waverley’s offering his ser-
vice in his regiment, to bring it into some exertion. The good-
natured old gentleman, howev er, labored to effect a reconcilia-
tion between the two quondam friends. Fergus turned a cold
ear to his remonstrances, though he gave e them a respectful hear-
ing; and as for W averley, he : saw no reason why he should be
the first in courting a ee al of the intimacy w hich the chief-
tain had so unreasonably disturbed. The Baron then mentioned
the matter to the Prince, who, anxious to prevent quarrels in
his little army, declared he would himself remonstrate with

olonel Mac-Ivor on the unreasonableness of his conduct.
But, in the hurry of their march, it was a day or two before he
had an opportunity to exert his influence in the manner pro-
posed.

In the meanwhile, Waverley turned the instructions he had
received while in Gardiner’s dragoons to some account, and
assisted the Baron in his command as a sort of adjutant.
“ Parmt les aveugles un borgne est rot,” says the French proverb
and the cavalry, which consisted chiefly of Lowland gentlemen,
their tenants and servants, formed a high opinion of Waverley’s
skill, and a great attachment to his person. ‘This was indeed

u ~
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so cians

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&

WAVERLEY,

partly owing to the satisfaction which they felt at the distin-
guished English volunteer’s leaving the Highlanders to rank
among them; for there was a latent grudge between the horse
and foot, not only owing to the difference of the services, but
because most of the gentlemen, living near the Highlands,
had at one time or other had quarrels with the tribes in their
vicinity and all of them looked with a jealous eye on the
Highlanders’ avowed pretensions to superior valor, and utility
in the Prince’s service.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY—-EIGHTH.
THE CONFUSION OF KING AGRAMANT’S CAMP.

It was Waverley’s custom sometimes to ridea little apart
from the main body, to look at any object of curiosity which
occurred on themarch. They were now in Lancashire, when,
attracted by a castelated old hall, he left the squadron for half
an hour, to take a survey and slight sketch of it. As he
returned down theavenue, he was met by Ensign Maccombich.
This man had contracted a sort of regard for Edward sincetbe
day of his first seeing himat Tully-Veolan, andintroducing him
to the Highlands. He seemed to loiter, as if on purpose to
meet with our hero. Yet, as he passed him, he only approached
his stirrup, and pronounced the single word “ Beware!” and
then walked swiftly on, shunning all further communication.

Iidward, somewhat surprised at this hint, followed with
his eyes the course of Evan, who speedily disappeared among
the trees. His servant, Alick Polwarth, who was in attend-
ance, also looked after the Highlander, and then riding up
close to his master, said,

“The ne’er be in me, sir, if I think you’re safe among
thae Highland rinthereouts ”

“What do you mean, Alick?” said Waverley.

“The Mac-Ivors, sir, hae gotten it into their heads, that
ye hae affronted their young leddy, Miss Flora; and I hae
heard mae than ane say, they wadna take muckle to make a
black-cock o’ ye; and ye ken weel eneugh there's mony 0’ them
wadna mind a bawbee the weising a ball through the Prince
himsell, an the Chief gave them the wink—or whether he did
or no,—if they thought it a thing that would please him when
it was dune.”

Waverley, though confident that Fergus Mac-Ivor was in-WAVERLEY.

capable of such treachery, was by no means equally sure of the
forbearance of his followers. He knew, that where the honor
of the Chief or his family were supposed to be touched, th
happiest man would be he that could first av ee the stigma ;
and he had often heard them quote a proverb, “‘ That the best
revenge was the most speedy and most safe.” eects this
with the hint of E van, he judged it most prudent to set spurs
to his ae and ride briskly back to the squadron. Ere he
reached the end of the long avenue, however, a ball whistled
past him, and the report of a pistol was heard.

“It was that deevil’s buckie, Callum Beg,” said Alick ;
saw him whisk away through amang the reises.”

Edward, justly 3 ncensed at this act of treachery, galloped
out of the es a observed the battalion of Mac-Ivor at
some distance moving along the common, in which it terminated.
He also saw an individual running very fast to join the party ;
this he concluded was the intended assassin, who, by leaping
an enclosure, might easily make a much shorter path to the
main body than he could find on horseback. Unable to con-
tain himself, he commanded Alick to go to the Baron of Brad-
wardine, who was at the head of his men about half a mile
in front, and acc quaint him with what had happened. He him-
self immediately rode up to Fergus’s regiment. The Chief
himself was in the act of joining them. He was on horseback,
having returned from waiting on the Prince. On perceiving
Edward approaching, he put his horse in motion toward him.

‘“‘ Colonel Mac-Ivor,” said Waverley, without any further
salutation, “ I have to inform you that one of your people has
this instant fired at me from a lurking-place.”

‘ As that,” answered Mac-Ivor, “ excepting the circumstance
of a lurking-place, is a pleasure which I presently propose to
myself, I should be glad to know which of my clansmen dared
to anticipate me.”

‘‘ T shall certainly be at yourcommand whenever you please ;
—the gentleman who took your office upon himself is your page
there, Callum Bers

‘‘ Stand forth from the ranks, Callum! Did you fire at Mr.
Waverley ?”

“« No,” answered the unblushing Callum.

“ Vou did,” said Alick Polwarth, who was already returned,
having met a trooper by who om he despatched an account of

what was going forward to the Baron of Bradwardine, while he
himself returned to his master at full gallop, neither sparing the

rowels of his spurs, nor the sides of his horse. & Von | didsit

saw you as plainly as I ever saw the auldkirk at Coudingham.”

‘ .
Demme TT

  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
   
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

SPT ISS SOIT SSS TOTES a as

SNR isat)

TTaia eres

SS hakakradbaawean entire

ree

= ST oa oe RST

WAVERLEY.

“You lie,” replied Callum, with his usual impenetrable ob-
stinacy. The combat between the knights would certainly, as
in the days of chivalry, have been preceded by an encounter
between the squires (for Alick was a stout-hearted Merseman,
and feared the bow of Cupid far more than a Highlander’s dirk
or claymore), but Fergus, with his usual ‘tone of decision, de-
manded Callum’s pistol. The cock was down, the pan and
muzzle were black withthe smoke ; it had been that instant
fired.

“Take that,” said Fergus, striking the boy upon the head
with the heavy pistol-butt with his whole force, “ take that for
acting without orders and lying to disguise it.” Callum re-
ceived the blow without appearing to flinch from it, and fell
without sign of life. ‘‘ Stand still upon your lives!”’ said Fer-
gus to the rest of the clan ; ‘“ I blow out the brains of the first
man who interferes between Mr. Waverley and me.” They
stood motionless ; Evan Dhu alone showed symptoms of vexa-
tion and anxiety. Callum lay on the ground bleeding copiously.
but no one ventured to give him any assistance. It seemed as
if he had gotten his death-blow.

‘“‘ And now for you, Mr. Waverley; please to turn your horse
twenty yards with me upon the common.” Waverley complied ;
and Fergus, confronting him when they were a little way from
the line of march, said, with great affected coolness, ‘‘I could
not but wonder, sir, at the fickleness of taste which you were
pleased to express the other day. But it was not an angel, as
you justly observed, who had charms for you, unless she brought
an empire for her fortune. I have now an excellent commen-
tary upon that obscure text.”

‘“T am at a loss even to guess at your meaning, Colonel
Mac-Ivor, unless it seems plain that you intend to fasten a
quarrel upon me.”

“Your affected ignorance shall not serve you, sir. The
Prince,—the Prince himself, has acquainted me with your ma.
neeuvres. I little thought that your engagements with Miss
Bradwardine were the reason of your breaking off your in-
tended match with my sister. I suppose the information that
the Baron had altered the destination of his estate, was quite
a sufficient reason for slighting your friend’s sister, and carry:
ing off your friend’s mistress.”

“Did the Prince tell you I was engaged to Miss Brad-
wardine ?’’ said Waverley. ‘ Impossible.”

“He did, sir,” answered Mac-Ivor; “so, either draw and
defend yourself, or resign your pretensions to the lady.”WAVERLEY.

“This is absolute madness,” exclaimed Waverley. “
strange mistake !”
; RO: no evasion! draw your sword!” said the infuriated
Chieftain, his own alr eady unsheathed.
Must I fight in a madman’s S quarrel ? ”
e ee cote up now, and forever, all pretensions to Miss
Bracipand e’s hand.”

oO: oan title have you,” cried W averley, utterly losing com-
mand of himself,—‘“ Wh vat title have you, or any man living, to
dictate such terms tome?” And he also drew his sword.

At this moment tae Baron of Ben iwardine, followed by sev-
eral of his troop, came up on the spur, some from curiosity,
others, to take part bin the quarrel, which they indisti inctly 1n-
derstood had broken out between the Mac-Ivors and their corps.
The clan, seeing them approach , put themselves in motion to
support their C hieft tain, and a scene of confusion commenced,
which seemed likely to terminate in bloodshed. A hundred
tongues were in motion at once. The Baron lectured, the
Chieftain stormed, the Highlanders screamed in Gaelic, the
horsemen cursed and swore in Bowland Scotch.. At lensth
matters came to such a pass, that the Baron threatened to
charge the Mac-Ivors unless they resumed their ranks, and
many of them, in return, presented their fire-arms at him and the

other troopers. The confusion was privately fostered by old Bal-
lenkeiroch, who made no doubt that his own day of vengeance
was arrived, when, behold! a cry arose of “Room! make
way !—flace a Monseigneur ‘L place & Monseigneur!” this an:
nounced the approach of the Prince, who came up with a party
of Fitz-James’s foreign dragoons that acted as his body-guard.
His arrival produced some degree of order. The Highlanders
reassumed their ranks, the cavalry fell in and formed squadron,
and the Baron and Chieftain were silent.

The Prince called them and Waverley before him. Having
heard the diate cause of the quarrel through the villany of
Callum Beg, he ordered him into custody of t the provost- marshal
for immediate execution, in the event of his surviv ing the chas-
tisement inflicted by his Chieftain. Fergus, however, in a tone
betwixt claiming a right and asking a favor, requeste ed he might
be left to his disposal, and promised his punishment should “be
exemplary. To deny this, mica! have seemed to encroach on
the patriarchal authority of the Chieftains, of which they were
very jealous, and they were not persons to be disobliged. Cal-
lum was therefore left to the j justice of his own tribe.

The Prince next dentate to know the new cause of quar-
rel between Colonel Mac-Ivor and Waverley. There was a

or some

 

  
   
   
      
 
 
   
   
 
  
  
   
   
 
   
  
   
     
   
  
   
    
  
 
  
    
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

PROT ONT Toca

AESSchl Siena a cae aes

ib wat bietaa ee

SON eetieenioures,
a

 

WAVERLEY.

pause. Both gentlemen found the presence of the Baron wi!
Bradwardine ( (for by this time all three had approached fhe
Chevalier by Bis command) an ins surmountable barrier against
entering upon 2 subject where the name of his daughter must
unavoidably be mentioned. They turned their eyes on the
ground, with looks in which shame and embarrassment were
mingle .d with displeasure. The prince, who had been educatec
amongst the discontented and mutinous spirits of the court of
St, Germains, where feuds of every kind were the daily subject
of solicitude to the ee sovereign, had served his ap-
prenticeship, as old Frederick of Prussia ‘would have said, to
the trade of roy cee To promote or restore concord among
his followers was indispensable. Accordingly he took his
measures.

‘¢ Monsieur de Beaujeu !”

“ Monseigneur!” said a very handsome French cavalry
officer, who was in attendance.

“ Ayez la bonté d’alligner ces montagnards 18, ainsi que la
cavalerie, s’il vous plait, et de les remettre 4 Ja marche. Vous
Pee si bien l’Anglois, cela ne vous donneroit pas beaucoup
de F peu ey?

th ! pas du tout, Monseigneur.” r eye ed Mons. le Comte
de Beau} jeu, his head bending ‘down to the neck of his little
prancing highly-managed charger. According! vy he piaffed away,
in high spirits and confidence, to the head of Fergus’s regiment
although understanding not a word of Gaelic and very little
English.

“ Messieurs les sauvages E :cossois—dat is—gentilmans sav-
ages, have the goodness d’arranger vous.’

The clan, comprehending the order more from the gesture
than the words, and seeing the Prince himself present, hastened
to dress their ranks.

Ah ! ver well ! dat is fort bien |!’ said the Count de Beau
jeu. “ Gentilmans cures es—mais_ trés bien—E th «bien !—
Qu’est-ce que ge appelez visage, Monsieur ?” (to a lounging
trooper who stood by him), “ nas oui ! face—Je vous remercie
Monsieur.—Gentilshommes, have de eS to make de face
to de right par file, dat is, by files. -—Marsh !—Mais tres bien—
encore, Messieurs ; il faut vous mettre : lavatiarche.. *. ‘
Marchez donc, au nom de Dieu, parceque j’ai oublié le mot
Anglois—mais vous étes des braves gens, et me comprenez
tres-bien.”’

The Count next hastened to put the cavalry in motion,
“ Gentilmans cavalry, you must fall in—Ah ! par ma foi, I did
not say fall off? I ama fear de little gross fat gentilman is

“(roWAVERLEY. 309

moche hurt. Ah, mon Dieu! c’est le Commissaire qui nous

a apporte le *S premieres nouvelles de ce maudit fracas. Je
suis trop faché, Monsieur !”

But poor Macwheeble, who, with a sword stuck across him,

 

and a white cockade as large as a pancake, now figured in the
character of a commissary, siete overturnedin the bustle oc-
casioned by the troopers hastening to get themselves in order
in the Pues presence, before he could rally his galloway,
slunk to the rear amid the unrestrained laughter of the spec
tators.

‘“‘ Eh bien, Messieurs, wheel to the right—Ah! dat is it !—
f{h, Monsieur de Bradwardine, ayez la bonté de vous mettre a
la téte de votre regiment, car, pat Dieu, je n’en puis plus!”

The Baron of Bradwardine was obliged to go to the assist-

ance of Monsieur de Beaujeu, after he had fairly expended his
few English military phrases. One purpose of the Chevalier
was thus answered. The other he proposed was, that in the eager:
ness to hear and comprehend commands issued through such
an indistinct medium in his own presence, the thoughts of the
soldiers in both corps might get a current different from the

angry channel in which they were flowing at the time.

Charles Edward was no sooner left with the Chieftain and
Waverley, the rest of his attendants being at some distance
than he said, “ If I owed less to your disinterested friendship
I could be most seriously angry with both of you for this very

cs
Hy

extraordinary and causeless broil, at a moment when my father’s
service so decidedly demands the most perfect unanimity. But
the worst of my situation is, that my very best friends hold
they have liberty to ruin ee selves, as well as the cause they
are engaged in, upon the slightest caprice.”

Both the young men pi Trial their resolution to submit
every difference to his arbitration. “ Indeed,” said Edward,

[ hardly know of what I am accused. I sought Colonel Mac-
Ivor merely to mention to him that I had narrowly escaped
assassination at the hand of his immediate dependent—a das-
tardly revenge, which I knew him to be incapable of authorizing.
As to the cause for which he is disposed to fasten a quarrel
upon me,I am ignorant of it, unless it be that he accuses
me, most unjustly yy of 1 having engaged the affections of a young
lady in prejudice of his pretensions.”

“If there is an error,” said the Chieftain, ‘it arised from
a conversation which I held this morning with his Royal High
ness himself.’’

““ With.me ?” said the Chevalier; “ how can Colonel Mac-
Ivor have so fai misunderstood me?”

ce

  
 
 
 
 
  
     
  
 
   
  
    
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
    
    
    
  
   
   
     
    
 
  
   
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 

PYM at ya et inh GREEN EMG RERET SEN)

sit

Reaper restr ene

   

SERB ESALEWES UNCE ERIN SEE

ENana cae

 

WAVERLEY,

He then led Fergus aside, and, after five minutes’ earnest
conversation, spurred his horse toward Edward. “Is it pos-
sible—nay, ride up, Colonel, for I desire no secrets—Is it
possible, Mr. Waverley, that I am mistaken in supposing that
you are an accepted lover of- Miss Bradwardine? ACE “OL
which I was by circumstances, though not by communication
from you, so absolutely convinced, that I alleged it to Vich Ian
Vohr this morning as a reason why, without offence to him,
you might not continue to be ambitious of an alliance, which
to an unengaged person, even though once repulsed, holds out
too many charms to be lightly laid aside.”

“ Your Royal Highness,” said Waverley, “‘ must have founded
on circumstances altogether unknown to me, when you did me
the distinguished honor of supposing me an accepted lover of
Miss Bradwardine. I feel the distinction im pled in the suppo-
sition, but I have no title to it. For the rest, my confidence
in my own merits is too justly slight to admit of my hoping for
success in any quarter after positive rejection.”

The Chevalier was silent for a moment, looking steadily at
them both, and then said, “ Upon my word, Mr. W averley, you
are a less happy man than I conceived I had very good reason
to believe you.u—But now, gentlemen, allow me to be umpire in
this matter, not as Prince Regent, but as Charles Stuart, a
brother adv enturer with you in the same gallant cause. Lay
my pretensions to be obeyed by you entirely 7 out of view, and
consider your own honor, and how far it is, well, or becoming,
to give our enemies the advantage, and our friends the scandal,
of showing that, few as we are, we are not united. And for-
give me if I add, that the names of the ladies who have been
mentioned crave more respect from us all than to be made
themes of discord.”

He took Fergus a little apart, and spoke to him very ear-
nestly for two or three minutes, and then returning to Waver-
ley, said, “I believe I have satisfied Colonel Mac- [vor that his
resentment Ww as founded upon a misconception, to which, in-
deed, I myself gave rise; and I trust Mr. Waverley is too
generous to harbor any recollection of what is past, when I as-
sure him that such is the case.—You must state this matter
properly to your clan, Vich Ian Vohr, to prevent a recurrence
of their precipitate violence. ” Fergus bowed. ‘And now.
gentlemen, let me have the pleasure to see you shake hands.”

They advanced coldly, and with measured steps, each ap
parently reluctant to appear most forward in concession. They

did, however, shake hands, and parted, taking g arespectful leave
of the Chevalier.WAVERLEY, 3rF

Charles Edward* then rode to the head of the Mac-Ivors,
threw himself from his horse, begged a drink out of old Ballen-
keiroch’s canteen, and marched about half-a-mile along with
them, inquiring into the history and connections of Sliochd nan
Ivor, adroitly using the few words of Gaelic he possessed, and
affecting a great desire to learn it more thoroughly. He then
mounted his horse once more, and galloped to the Baron’s
cavalry, which was in front: halted them, and examined thei1
accoutrements and state of discipline ; took notice of the prin:
cipal gentlemen, and even of the cadets: inquired after theit

adies, and-commended their horses ;—rode about an hour with

 

the Baron of Bradwardine, and endured three long stories about
Field-Marshal the Duke of Berwick.

‘Ah, Beaujeu, mon cher ami,” said he, as he returned to
his usual place in the line of march, “ que mon métier de prince
errant e t ennuyant, par fois. Mais, courage! c’est le grand
jeu, aprés tout.” :

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINTH.
A SKIRMISH.

THE reader need hardly be reminded, that, after a council
of war held at Derby on the sth of December, the Highlanders
relinquished their desperate attempt to penetrate further into
England, and, greatly to the dissatisfaction of their young and
daring leader, positively determined to return northward. They
commenced their retreat accordingly, and, by the extreme
celerity of their movements, outstripped the motions of the
Duke of Cumberland, who now pursued them with a very large
body of cavalry.

This retreat was a virtual resignation of their towering hopes.
None had been so sanguine as Fergus Mac-Ivor; none, conse-
quently, was so cruelly mortified at the change of measures.
He argued, or rather remonstrated, with the utmost vehemence
at the council of war; and, when his opinion was rejected, shed
tears of grief and indignation. From that moment his whole
manner was so much altered, that he could scarcely have been
recognized for the same soaring and ardent spirit, for whom
the whole earth seemed too narrow but a week before. The
retreat had continued for several days, when Edward, to his
surprise, early on the 12th of December, received a visit from

* Note Z. Prince Charles Edward.

   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

LATION
Bris TRS

eeSe axsetenett

hblihheenta heater tt:

 

the Chieftain in

WAVERLEY.

his quarters, in a hamlet about half-way be

tween Shap and Penrith.

Having had no intercourse with the Chieftain since theit
rupture, Edward waited with some anxiety an explanation of
this unexpected visit; nor could he help being surprised,
and somewhat shocked, with the change in his appearance.
His eye had lost much of its fire; his cheek was hollow, his
voice was languid; even his gait seemed less firm and elastic
than it was wont; and his dress, to which he used to be par-

ticularly attentive, was now carelessly flun

¢ about him. He

2

invited Edward to walk out with him by the little river in the
vicinity; and smiled in amelancholy manner when he observed
him take down and buckle on his sword.

As soon as they were in a wild, sequestered path by the
side of the stream, the Chief broke out,—“ Our fine adventure
is now totally ruined, Waverley, and I wish to know what you
intend to do :—nay, never stare at me, man. I tell you I re-
ceived a packet from my sister yesterday, and, had I got the
information it contains sooner, it would have prevented a
quarrel, which I am always vexed when I think of. In a letter
written after our dispute, I acquainted her with the cause of
it; and she now replies to me, that she never had, nor could
have, any purpose of giving you encouragement; so that it
seems I have acted likea madman. Poor Flora! she writes in
high spirits; what a change will the news of this unhappy re-
treat make in her state of mind?”

Waverley, who was really much affected by the deep tone
of melancholy with which Fergus spoke, affectionately entreated
him to banish from his remembrance any unkindness which
had arisen between them, and they once more shook hands,
but now with sincere cordiality. Fergus again inquired of Wa-
vetley what he intended todo. ‘Had you not better leave
this luckless army, and get down before us into Scotland, and
embark for the Continent from some of the eastern ports that
are still in our possession? When you are out of the kingdom,
your friends will easily negotiate your pardon ; and, to tell you
the truth, I wish you would carry Rose Bradwardine with you
as your wife, and take Flora also under your joint protection.”
—Kdward looked surprised—“ She loves you, and I believe you
love her, though, perhaps, you have not found it out, for you
are not celebrated for knowing your own mind very pointedly.”
He said this with a sort of smile.

“How!” answered Edward, “can you advise me to desert
the expedition in which we are all embarked ?”

“Kmbarked?” said Fergus; “ the vessel is going to pieces,WAVERLEY.

and it is full time for all who can, to get into the long-boat and
leave her,’

“Why, what will other gentlemen do ?”’ answere d Waverley,

‘and w hy did the Highland Chiefs consent to this retreat, if it
is SO ruinous?”

“Q,” replied Mac-Ivor, “they think that, as on former oc-
casions, the heading, hang’ ing, and forfeiting, will chiefly fall
to the lot of the Lowland gentry ; that they will be left secure
in their poverty and their fastnesses, there, according to theii
proverb ‘to listen to the wind upon the hill till the waters
abate.’ But they will be disappointed; they have been too
often troublesome to be so repeatedly passed over, and this
time John Bull has been too heartily frightened to recover his
good humor for some time. The Hanoverian abit always
deserved to be hanged for rascals; but now, if they get the
power in their hands,—as, sooner or later they must, since
there is neither rising in ns mgland nor assistance from France,
—they will deserve the gallows as fools s, if they leave a single
clan in the Highlands in a situation to be again troublesome
to Government. Ay, they will make root-and-branch-work, I
warrant them.”

‘And while you recommend flight to me,” said E dward,—
“a courisel which I would rather die than embrace,—what are
your own views? ”

“OQ,” answered Fergus, with a melancholy air, ‘‘ my fate is
settled. Dead or captive I must be before to-morrow.”

“What do you mean by that, my friend?” said Edward.

‘The enemy is ‘still ad ay’s march in our rear, an 1d if he comes
up, we are still s strong enoug h to keep him in check. Remem-
ber Gladsmuir.

“What I tell you is true notwithstanding, so far as I
individually concerned.”

“Upon what authority can you found so melancholy a pre-
diction?” asked Waverley.

" On one which never failed a person of my house. I have
seen,” he said, lowering his voice, ““I have seen the Bodach
Glas.”

‘* Bodach Glas ?”

“Yes: have you been so long at Glenna aquoich, and never
heard ofthe Gray Spectre? though indeed there is a certain
reluctance among us to mention him.”

“Wo, never.”

‘Abt it aa have been a tale for poor Flora to have told
you. Or, if that hill were Benmore, and that long blue lake,
which you see et winding toward yon mountainous country

   
   
   
   
  
  
 
  
      
 
  
   
  
  
    
  
     
   
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 

CONT SOOY TTT EESTI To

REESE STUUR ete aN NNT TESS TEE

  

La aehb uab hiesaiees tas rs ate

Shistabaarnab sores
a

= eS ee ee +

WAVERLEY.

were Loch Tay, or my own Loch an Ri, the tale would be
better suited with scenery. However, let us sit down on this
knoll; even Saddleback and Ullswater will suit what I have
to say better than the English hedge-rows, enclosures, and
farm-houses. You must know, then, that. when my ancestor,
Jan nan Chaistel, wasted Northumberland, there was associated
with him in the expedition a sort of Southland Chief, or captain
of a band of Lowlanders, called Halbert Hall. In their return
through the Cheviots, they quarreled about the division of the
great booty they had acquired, and came from words to blows.
The Lowlanders were cut off to a man, and their chief fell the
last, covered with wounds by the sword of my ancestors.
Since that time, his spirit has crossed the Vich Ian Vohr of
the day when any great disaster was impending, but especially
before approaching death. My father saw him twice: once
before he was made prisoner at Sheriffmuir; another time, on
the morning of the day on which he died.”

“How can you, my dear Fergus, tell such nonsense with a
grave face?”

“IT do not ask you to believe it; but I tell you the truth
ascertained by three hundred years’ experience at least, and
last night by my own eyes.”

“The particulars, for heaven’s sake!” said Waverley, with
eagerness.

‘“T will, on condition you will not attempt a jest on the
subject.—Since this unhappy retreat commenced, I have scarce
ever been able to sleep for thinking of my clan, and of this
poor Prince, whom they are leading back like a dog in a string,
whether he will or no, and of the downfall of my family. Last
night I felt so feverish that I left my quarters, and walked out,
in hopes the keen frosty air would brace my nerves I can-
not tell how much I dislike going on, for I know you will hardly
believe me. However—I crossed a small foot-bridge, and
kept walking backwards and forwards, when I observed with
surprise by the clear moonlight, a tall figure in a gray plaid
such as shepherds wear in the south of Scotland, which, move
at what pace I would, kept regularly about four yards before
me,’

‘“You saw a Cumberland peasant in his ordinary dress,
probably.”

‘““No: I thought so at first, and was astonished at the man’s
audacity in daring to dog me. I called to him but received no
answer, I felt an anxious throbbing at my heart; and, to as-
certain what I dreamed, I stood still, and turned myself on the
same spot successively to the four points of the compass—ByWAVERLEY.

oa
Heaven, E lward, turn where J] would, the figure was instantly
before my eyes, at precisely the same distance! |] was then

convinced it was the Bodach Glas.

knees shook. [ manned myself, however, and determined to
return to my quarters. My

ghastly visitant glided before me
(for I cannot say he walked), until he reached the foot-bridge :
there he stopped, and turned full round. I must either wade
the river, or pass him as close as I am to you. <A desperate
courage, founded on the belief that my death was near made

me resolve to make my Way in despite of him. I made the

sign of the cross, drew my sword, and uttered. ‘In the name of

Go d, Evil Spirit give place!’ ‘Vich lan Vohr It Saidy an a
voice that made my very blood curdle, ‘ beware of to- morrow !
It seemed at that moment not half a yard from my Syords
point; but the words were no sooner spoken than it was gone,
and nothing appeared further to obstruct my passage. | got
home, and threw myself on my bed, where I 5 spent a few hours
heavily enough; and this morning, as no enemy was reported
to be near us, I took my horse, and rode forward to make up
matters with you. I would not willingly fall until I am in
charity with a wronged friend,”
Edward had little doubt that this phantom was the Opera-
tion of an exhausted frame and depressed spirits, working on
the belief common to all Hsp baie = in such superstitions.
He did not the less pity Fergus, for whom, in his present di
tress, he felt all his former reg ard revive, With the view of
diverting his mind from these elo omy images, he offered with
the Baron’ S permission, which he k new he could readily obtain,
to remain in his quarters till F ergus’s corps should come up,
and then to march with them as usual. The chief seemed
much pleased, yet hestitated to accept the offer,

“We are, you know, in the rear,—the post of danger in a

retreat. .
‘And therefore the post of honor.”

> WelL? replied the Chieftain, “let Alick have your horse
in readiness, in case we should be over-matched, and I shall
be delighted to have your company once more.”

The rear-guard were late in making their appearance, hav-
ing been de layed by various accidents and by the badness of
the roads. At length they entered the hamlet. When Waver.
ley weg the clan. Mac-Ivor, arm in arm with their Chieftain,
all the resentment they had entertained against him seemed
blown off at once. Evan Dhu received him with a grin of con-
gratulation; and even Callum, who was running about as

Ss

My hair bristled, and my

  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 

BIST STS ETS sec an

Pe crcrs

Vee ee eee316 WAVERLEY.

active as ever, pale indeed, and with a great patch on his head,
en delighted to see him.

Tha t gallows -bird’s skull,” said Fergus, “must be harder
than marble: the lock of the pistol was actually broken.”

“ How could you strike so young a lad so hard?” said
Waverley, with some interest.

“Why, if I did not strike hard sometimes, the rascals would
forget themselves.”

They were now in full march, every caution being taken to
prevent surprise. Fergus’s people, and a fine clan regiment
from Badenoch, commanded by Cluny Mac-Pherson, had the
rear. They had passed a large open moor, and were entering
into the enclosures which surrounded a small village called Clif-
ton. The winter sun had set, and Edward began to rally Fer-
gus upon the false predictions of the Gray Spin be eeihe aides
of March are not past,” said Mac-Ivor, with a | smile ; when
suddenly casting his eyes back on the moor, a large body of
cavalry was indistinctly seen to hover upon its brown and dark
surface. To line the enclosures facing the open ground and
the road by which the enemy must move from it upon the vil-
lage, was the work of a short time. While these manceuvres
were accomplishing, night sunk down, dark and gloomy, though
the moon was at full. Sometimes, however, she gleamed forth
a dubious ent upon the scene of action.

The Highlanders did not remain long undisturbed in the
defensive position they had adopted. Favored by the night,
one large body of dismounted dragoons attempted to force the
enclosures, while another, equally strong, strove to penetrate
y the high road. Both were received by such a heavy fire as

Y

)
disconcerted their ranks, and effectually checked their progress.

Unsatisfied with the advantage thus gained, Fer ree is, to whose
ardent spirit the approach of danger seemed to estore all its
elasticity, drawing his sword, and calling out “ Gagne eC
encouraged his men, by voice and example, to break through
the hedge which divided them, and rush down upon the enemy.
Mingling with the dismounted dragoons, they forced them, at
the sword point, to fly to the open moor, where a considerable

number were cut to pieces. But the moon which suddenly
shone out, showed to the English the small number of assail-
ants, disordered by their own success. Two squadrons of horse
moving to the support of their companions, the Highlanders
endeavored to recover the enclosures. But several of them,
amongst others their brave Chieftain, were cut off and sur:
rounded before they could effect their purpose. Waverley,
Jooking eagerly for Fergus, from whom, as well as from the

99

oO
>
1S

—“WAVERLEY.

retreating body of his followers, he had been separated in the
darkness and tumult, saw him, with Evan Dhu and Callum,
defending themselves desperately against a dozen of horsemen,
who were hewing at them with their long broadswords. The
moon was again at that moment totally overclouded, and Ed
ward, in the obscurity, could neither bring aid to his friends,

liscover which way lay his own road to rejoin the rear.
guard, After once or twice narrowly escaping being slain o1
made prisoner by parties of the cavalry whom he encountered
in the darkness, he at length reached an enclosure, and clam-
bering over ae concluded himself in safety, and on the way to
the Highland forces, whose pipes he heard at some distance.
For Fe Dis hardly a hope remained, unless that he might be
made prisoner. Revolving his fate with sorrow and anxiety,
the superstition of the Bodach Glas recurred to Edward’s
recollection, and he said to himself, with internal surprise.
** What, can the devil speak truth ? ”

HOD

 

CHAPTER SIXTINT H.
CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.

EDWARD was in a most unpleasant and dangerous situation.
He soon lost the sound of the bagpipes ; and, what was yet
more unpleasant, when, after searching long in vain, and
scrambling through many enclosures, he at length approached
the high 1 ‘oad, he learned, from the unwelcome noise of kettle-
drums and trumpets, that the English cavalry now occupied
it, aa consequently were between him and the Highlanders.
Precluded, therefore, from advancing in a straight direction, he
resolved to avoid ce eee military, and endeavor to join
his friends by making a circuit to the left, ca which a beaten
oe deviating from the main road in that direction, seemed to

ford facilities. The > path was muddy, and the 1€ night dark and
ere but even these inconveniences wer e hardly felt amidst
the apprehensions which falling into the fans of the King’s
forces reasonably excited in his bosom.

After walking about three miles, he at length reached a
hamlet. Conscious that the common people were in general
unfavorable to the cause he had espoused, yet desirous, if
possible, to procure a horse and guide to Penrith, where he
hoped to find the rear, if not the main body, of the Chevalier’s
* Note AA. The Skirmish at Cliftorn.

 

  
    
  
  
  
 
  
    
 
    
    
    
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
   
 
    
    
   
     
 
   
  
 
 
  

SAAS AAR SAASesnabiseahhaninabaleartnses

 

WAVERLEY.

army, he approached the alehouse of the place. There was a
great noise within: he paused to listen. A round English
oath or two, and the burden of a campaign song, convinced
him the hamlet also was occupied by the Duke of Cumber-
land’s soldiers. Endeavoring to retire from it as softly as
possible, and blessing the obscurity which hitherto he had
murmured against, W averley groped his we ay the best he could
along a small paling, which seemed the boundary of some cot:
tage garden. As he reached the gate of his little enclosure,
his outstretched hand was grasped by that of a female, whose
voice at the same time uttered, “‘ Edward, is’t thou, man?”

“Here is some unlucky mistake,” thought Edward, strug-
gling, but gently, to disengage himself.

‘Naen o’ thy foun, now, man, or the red cwoats will hear
thee; they hae been houlerying and poulerying every ane that
past alehouse door this noight to make them drive their w ag-

gons and sick loike. Come into feyther’s, or they’ll do ho a

mischief.”

“ A good hint,” thought Waverley, following the girl through
the little garden into a brick-paved kitchen, where she set her-
self to kindle a match at an expiring fire, and with the match
to light a candle. She had no sooner looked on Edward, than
she dropped the light, with a shrill scream of “O feyther!
feyther !”’

The father, thus invoked, speedily appeared,—a sturdy old
farmer, in a pair of leather breeches and boots pulled on with-
out stockings, having just started from his bed ;—the rest of
his dress was only a Westmoreland statesman’s robe-de-cham-
bre,—that is, his shirt. His figure was displayed to advantage
by a candle which he bore in his left hand; in his right he
brandished a poker.

‘What hast nf here, wench?”

®t? emed the BAO girl, almost going off in hysterics, ‘
thought it was Ned Williams, and it is one of the plaid-men !’

“ And what was thee ganging to do wi’ Ned Williams at
this time o’ noght?” ‘To this, which was, perhaps, one of the
numerous class of questions more easily asked than answered,
the rosy-cheeked damsel made no reply, but continued sobbing
and wringing her hands.

‘ And thee, lad, dost ho know that the dragoons be a town?
Dost ho know that, mon ?—ad, they’ll sliver thee loike a turnip,
mon.”

“T know my life is in great danger,” said Waverley, “ but
if you can assist me, I will reward you handsomely. I am no
Scotchman, but an unfortunate English gentleman.”CUMBERLAND.

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“Be ho Scot or no,” said the honest farmer, “I wish thou
hadst kept the other side of the hallan, But since thou art
here, Jacob Jopson willl] betray no man’s bluid - and the plaids
were gey canny, and did not so much mischief when they were
here yesterday,’ Accordingly he set seriously about sh eltering
and refreshing our hero for the night. The fire was speedi ly
rekindled, | but with precaution against its light being seen from
without. The jolly yeoman cut a rasher of bacon, which Cicely
soon broiled, soa her father added a swinging tank ard of his
best ale. It was settled, that Edward should remain there till
the troops marched in the morning, then hire or buy a horse
from the farmer r, and, with the best d directions that could be
obtained, endeavor to overtake his friends. A cle ean, though
coarse bed, received him after the fatigues of this unh lappy day.

With the morning arrived the news that the Highlanders

had evacuated Penrith, and marched off toward Carlisle 5: that
the Duke of Cumberland was in possession of Penrith, and
that detachments of his army covered the roads in every direc-
tion. To attempt to get through undiscovered, would be an
act of the most frantic { temerity. Ned Williams (the right Ed-
ward) was now called to council by Cicely and her father . Ned
who perhaps did not care that his h andsome namesake should
remain too long in the same house with his sweetheart, for
fear of fresh mistakes, proposed that Waverley, exchanging
his uniform and plaid for the dress of the country, should
go with him to his father’s farm near Ullswater, and remain in
that undisturbed retirement until the military movements in
the country should have ceased to render his de eparture h ve
ous. A price was also agreed upon, at which the strange
might board with Farmer Willi ams, if he thought proper, “ill
he could « depart with safety. It was of moderate amount ; the
distress of his situation, among this honest and simple- hearted
race, being considered as no reason for incre easing their de-
mand.

The necessary articles of dress were accordingly procured ;
and, by following by-paths, known to the young farmer, they
hoped to escape any unpleasant rencontre. A recompense
for their hospitality was refused peremptorily by old Jopson
and his cherry-cheeked daughter; a kiss paid the one, anda
hearty sh. uk e of the hand the other. Both seemed anxious for
their guest’s safety, and took leave of him with kind wishes.

In the course of their route, Edward, with his guide, trav-
ersed those fields which the night before had been the scene
of action. A brief gleam of December’s sun shone sadly on
the broad heath, which, toward the spot where the great north-

Pre Aier Ln ere Ree RNin

 
 
   
  
   
      
     
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
     
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
     
  
 
 
 

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320 WAVERLEY.
west road entered the enclosure of Lord Lonsdale’s property,
exhibited dead bodies of men and horses, and the usual com
panions of war—a number of carrion-crows, hawks and ravens.
“ And this, then, was thy last field,” said Waverley to him-
self, his eye filling at the recollection of the many splendid
points of Fergus’s character, and of their former intimacy, all
his passions and imperfections forgotten.— Here fell the last
Vich Ian Vohr, on a nameless heath ; and in an obscure night:
uenched that ardent spirit, who thought it little
to cut a way for his master to the British throne ! Ambition,
policy, bravery, all far beyond their sphere, here learned the
fate of mortals. ‘The sole support, too, of a sister, whose spirit,
as proud and unbending, was even more exalted than thine
own: here ended all thy hopes for Flora, and the long and
valued line which it was thy boast to raise yet more highly by
thy adventurous valor ! i
As these ideas pressed on Waverley’s mind, he resolved to
go upon the open heath, and search if, among the slain, he
could discover the body of his friend, with the pious intention
of procuring for him the last rites of sepulture. The timorous
young man who accompanied him remonstrated upon the dan
ger of the attempt, but Edward was determined. ‘The followers
of the camp had already stripped the dead of all they could
carry away ; but the country people, unused to scenes of blood
had not yet approached the field of action, though some stood
fearfully gazing at a distance. About sixty or seventy dragoons
lay slain within the first enclosure, upon the high road, and on
the open moor. Of the Highlanders, not above a dozen had
fallen, chiefly those who, venturing too far on the moor, could
not regain the strong ground. He could not find the body of
Fergus among the slain. Ona little knoll, separated from the
others, lay the carcasses of three English dragoons, two horses,
and the page Callum Beg, whose hard skull a trooper’s broad-
sword had, at length, effectually cloven. It was possible his
clan had carried off the body of Fergus; but it was also possi
ble he had escaped, especially as Evan Dhu, who would nevet
leave his chief, was not found among the dead; or he might
be prisoner, and the less formidable denunciation inferred from
the appearance of the Bodach Glas might have proved the true
one. The approach of a party, sent for the purpose of com.
pelling the country people to bury the’dead, and who had al:
ready assembled several peasants for that purpose, now obliged
Edward to rejoin his guide, who awaited him in great anxiety
and fear under shade of the plantations. ;
After leaving this field of death, the rest of their journey

skirmish was qWAVERLEY, 321

was happily accomplished. At the house of Farmer Williams,
Edward passed for a young kinsman, educated for the church,
who was come to reside there till the civil tumults permitted
him to a through the country. This silenced suspicion
among the kind and sim ple € yeomanry of Cumberland, and ac.
counted sufficiently for the grave manners and retired habits
of the new guest. The precaution became more necessary
than Waverley had anticipated, as a variety of incidents pro

longed his stay at Fasthwaite, as the farm was called.
A tremendous fall of snow rendered his departure impossi.

ble for more than ten days. When the roads began to become
a little practi icable, they successively received news of the re-
treat of the Chevalier into Scotland : then, that he had aban-

doned the frontiers, ohea upon Glasgow ; and that the Duke
of Cumberland had formed the siege of Carlisle. His army,
therefore, cut off all possibility of Waverley’s escaping into
Scotland in that diteagom On the eastern border, Marshal
Wade, with a large force, was advancin upon Edinburgh ;
and all along the frontier, parties _of militia, volunteers, and
partisans, were in arms to suppress insurrection, and appre
hend such stragglers from the Hig plana army as had been left
in England. The surrender of C babi and the severit ty with
which the rebel garrison were threatened, soon formed an ad-
ditional reason against venturing upon a solitary and hopeless
journey through a hostile country and a large army, to carry
the assistance of a single sword to a cause which seemed alto-
gether desperate.

In this lonely and secluded situation, without the advan-
tage of company or conversation with men of cultivated minds,
the arguments of Colonel Talbot often recurred to the mind of
our hero. A still more anxious recollection haunted his slum-
bers yas the dying look and _ gesture of Colonel Gardiner.
Most devoutly did he hope, as the rarely occurring post brought
news of skirmishes with various success, that it might never
again be his lot to draw his sword in civil conflict. Then his
mind turned to the supposed death of Fergus, to the desolate
situation of Flora, and, with yet more tender recollection to
that of Rose Bradwardine, who was destitute of the devoted
enthusiasm of loyalty, which, to her friend, hallowed and ex-
alted misfortune. These reveries he was permitted to enjoy,
undisturbed by queries or interruption ;—and it was in many a
winter walk by the shores of Ullswater, that he acquired a
more complete mastery of a spirit tamed by adversity than his
former experience had given ah and that he felt himself en-
titled to say firmly, though perhaps with a sigh, that the ro-

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322 WAVERLEY.

mance of his life was ended, and that its real history had now
commenced. He was soon called upon to justify his preten-
sions by reason and philosophy.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIRST.
A JOURNEY TO LONDON.

Tue family at Fasthwaite were soon attached to Edward.
He had, indeed, that gentleness and urbanity which almost
universally attracts corresponding kindness; and to their sim-
ple ideas his learning gave him consequence, and his sorrows

interest. The last he ascribed, evasively, to the loss of a
brother in the skirmish near Clifton; and in that primitive
state of society, where the ties of affection were highly deemed
of, his continued depression excited sympathy, but not sur-
prise.

In the end of January, his more lively powers were called
out by the happy union of Edward Williams, the son of his
host, with Cicely Jopson. Our hero would not cloud with
sorrow the festivity attending the wedding of two persons to
whom he was so highly obliged. He therefore exerted himself,
danced, sung, played at the various games of the day, and was
the blithest of the company. The next morning, however, he
had more serious matters to think of.

The clergyman who had married the young couple was so
much pleased with the supposed student of divinity, that he
came next day from Penrith on purpose to pay him a visit.
This might have been a puzzling chapter had he entered into
any examination of our hero’s supposed theological studies ;
but fortunately he loved better to hear and communicate the
news of the day. He brought with him two or three old news-
papers, in one of which Edward found a piece of intelligence
that soon rendered him deaf to every word which the Reverend
Mr. Twigtythe was saying upon the news from the north, and
the prospect of the Duke’s speedily overtaking and crushing
the rebels. This was an article in these, or nearly these
words :

‘Died at his house, in Hill Street, Berkeley Square, upon
the toth inst., Richard Waverley, Esq., second son of Sir
Giles Waverley of Waverley-Honour, etc., etc. He died of a
lingering disorder, augmented by the unpleasant predicament
of suspicion in which he stood, having been obliged to find bailWAVERLEY. 323
to a high amount, to meet an im pending accusation of high:
treason. An accusation of the same grave crime hangs over
his elder brother, Sir Everard W averley, the representative of
that ancient family y ; and we understand the day of his trial
will be fixed early in the next month unless Edward Way erley,
son of the deceased Ric hard, and heir to the Baronet, shall
surrender himself to justice. Tn th hat case, we are assured, it
is his Majesty’s gracious purpose to drop further proceedings
upon the charge against Sir Everard. This unfortunate young
gentleman is ascertained to have been in arms in the Preten-
der’ 'S service, and to have marched along with the Highland
troops into England. But he has not been heard of since the
skirmish at Clifton, on the 18th December last.”

Such was this distr: acting paragraph. Good God!” ex.
claimed Waverley, “am I then a parricide ?—Impossible ! My
father, who never showed the affection of a father while he
lived, cannot have been so much affected by my supposed death
as to hasten his own. No, I will not believe it,—it were dis.
traction to entertain for a moment such a horrible idea. But
it were, if possible, worse than parricide to suffer any danger to
hang over my noble and generous uncle, who has ever “been
more to me than a BSE if such evil can be averted by any

sacrifice on my part!

While these reflections passed like the stings of scorpions
through Waverley’s sensorium, the worthy divine was startled
in a long as ion on the battle of Falkirk by the ghastliness
which they communicated to his looks, and asked him if he
was ill. Portdadialy the bride, all smirk and blush, had just
entered the room. Mrs. Williams was none of the brightest of
women, but she was good-natured, and readi ly concluding that
Edward had been shocked by disagreeable news in the papers,
interfered so judiciously, that, w ithout exciting suspicion, s]
drew off Mr. Twigtythe’ s attention, and engaged it until he
soon after took his leave, Waverley then explained to his
friends, that he was under the ne -cessity of going to London
with as little delay as possible.

One cause of de elay, however, did occur, to which Waverley
had been very little accustomed. His purse, though wel}
stocked when he first went to Tully-Veolan, had not been rein-
forced since that period; and although his life since had not
been of a nature to exhaust it h astily (for he had lived chiefly
with his friends or with the army), yet ‘he found, that, after set-
tling with his kind landlord, he pon Id be too poor to encounter
the expense of traveling post. The best course, therefore,
seemed to be, to get into the pel north road about Borough

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324 WAVERLEY.
bridge, and there take a place in the Northern Diligence—a
huge old-fashioned tub, drawn by three horses, which completed
the journey from Edinburgh to London, (God willing, as the
advertisement expressed it) in three weeks. Our hero, there
fore, took an affectionate farewell of his Cumberland friends,
whose kindness he promised never to forget, and tacitly hoped
one day to acknowledge by substantial proofs of gratitude.
After some petty diffic sulties, and vexatious delays, and afte1
putting his dress into a shape better Ce his rank, though
perfectly plain and simple, he acec ymplished crossing the coun-
try, and found hi mse self ee the desired vehicle, vzs-a-vis to Mrs.
Nosebag, the lady of Lieutenant Noseb ag, adjutant and riding-
Iastes Of the: —eee sh di yons,—a jolly woman of about fifty,
wearing a blue habit, fac ced with scarlet, and grasping a silver-
mounted horse-whip.

This lady was one of those active members of society who
take upon them faire le frais de la conversation. She had just
returned from the north, and ees Edward how nearly her
regiment had cut the petticoat people into ribbons at Falkirk,

“only somehow there was one sit those nasty, awkward marshes,
that ‘they are never without in Scotland, I think, and so our
poor dear hee regiment suffered something, as my Nosebag
says, in that unsatisfactory affair. You, sir, have served in the
dragoons?” Waverley was taken so much at unawares, that
he acquiesced.

“QO, I knew it at once; I saw you were military from your
air, and I am sure you could be none of the foot-wobblers, as
my Nosebag calls them. What regiment pray?” Here was
a delightful question. Waverley, however, justly concluded
that this good lady had the whole army-list by heart ; and, to
avoid detection, by adhering to truth, answered—“ Gardiner’s
dragoons, ma’am; but I have retired some time.”

*‘O aye, those as won the race at the battle of Preston; as
my Nosebag says. Pray, sir, were you there?’

“JT was so unfortun: ate, madam,” he replied, “as to witness
that engagement.”

“¢ And that was a misfortune that few of Gardiner’s stood to
witness, I believe, sir—ha! ha! ha!—I beg your pardon; but
a soldier’s wife loves a joke.”

“ Devil confound you!” thought Waverley ; “ what infernal
luck has penned me up with this inquisitive hag!”

Fortunately the good lady did not stick long to one sub
ject.

“We are coming to Ferrybridge, now,” she said, “ where
there was a party of ours left to support the beadles, and conWAVERLEY.

stables, and justices, and these sort of creatures that are exam-
ining papers and sto} pbs rebels, and all that.” They were
hardly in the int before she dragged W averley to the window

exclaiming, ‘ ‘ Yonder comes Corporal Bridoon, OF our poor de ear

 

troop; he’s coming with the constable man ; Bridoon’s one of
my lambs, as Melek calls ’°em. Come, Mr. a—a—pray,
what’s your name, sir?”

ee T

Butler, ma’am,” said Waverley, resolved rather to make
ree with the name of a former fallen -officer, than run the
risk of detection by inventing one not to be found in the regi-
ment.

“OQ, you got a troop lately, when that shabby fellow, Waver-
ley, went over to the rebels. “Lo rd, I wish our old cross Captain
Crump would g0 over to the rebels, that Nosebag might get the
troop !—Lord, what can Br idoon be standing swinging on the
bridge for? I'll be han, ce o if he a’nt hazy, as Nosel bag says.—
Come, sir, as you and I be long to the service, we’ll 20 put the
rascal in mind of his duty.”

Waverley, with fe 2elings more easily conceived than de-
scribed, saw himself obliged to follow this dou ehty female com-
mander. ‘The gallant trooper was as like a lamb as a drunken
corporal of dragoons, about six fee high, with very broad
shoulders, and very

th

thin legs, not to mention a great scar
across his nose, could well be. Mrs. Noseba use addressed him
with something which, if not an oath, sounded very like one, and
commanded him to attend to his duty. “You be Bag fora——,”
commenced the gallant cavalier; but, looking up in order to
suit the action to the es and also to enforce the epithet
which he meditated, with an adjective applicable to the party,
he recog1 uzed the speaker, made his military salam, and altered
his tone.—‘ Lord love your handsome face, Madam Nosebag,
is it you? Why, if a poor fellow does happen to fire a slug of
a morning, I am sure you were never the lady to bring him to
harm.”

“Well, you rascallion, go, mind your duty; this gentleman
and I belong to the service; and be sure you look after that
shy cock in the slouched hat that sits in the corner of the
coach. I believe he’s one of the rebels in disguise.”

**D—n her gooseberry wis g!” said the corporal, when she
out of hearing. “That gimlet-eyed jade—mother adjutant,
as we call her—is a greater plague to the regiment than provost-
marshal, sergeant-major, and old Tfubble-de-Shuff the colonel
into the bargain.—Come, Master Cor nstable, let’s see if this shy
cock, as she calls him, (who, by the way, was a Quaker from
Leeds, with whom Mrs. Nosebag had had some tart argument

 

  
  
 
   
    
  
 
   
       
   
 
 
 
 
    
    
   
 
 
   
   
    
   
      
    
  
     
   
   
 
 
   
   
  
    
      
 
 
   
   
 

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WAVERLEY.

on the legality of bearing arms), will stand godfather to a sup
of brandy, for your Yorkshire ale is cold on my stomach.”

The vivacity of this good lady, as it helped Edward out of
this scrape, was like to have drawn him into one or two others.
In every town where they stopped, she wished to examine the
corps de garde, if there was one, and once very narrowly missed
introducing Waverley to a recruiting-sergeant of his own regi-
ment. Then she Captain’d and Butler’d him till he was almost
mad with vexation and anxiety; and never was he more re-
joiced in his life at the termination of a journey than when the
arrival of the coach in London freed him from the attentions of

Madam Nosebag.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-SECOND.

WHAT’S TO BE DONE NEXT ?

Ir was twilight when they arrived in town; and having
shaken off his companions, and walked through a good many
streets to avoid the possibility of being traced by them, Edward
took a hackney-coach and drove to Colonel Talbot’s house, in
one of the principal squares at the west end of the town. ‘That
gentleman, by the death of relations, had succeeded since his
marriage to a large fortune, possessed considerable political in-
terest, and lived in what is called great style.

When Waverley knocked at his door, he found it at first
difficult to procure admittance, but at length was shown into an
apartment where the Colonel was at table. Lady Emily, whose
very beautiful features were still pallid from indisposition, sate
opposite to him. The instant he heard Waverley’s voice, he
started up and embraced him. “ Frank Stanley, my dear boy,
how d’ye do ?—Emily, my love, this is young Stanley.”

The blood started to the lady’s cheek as she gave Waver-
ley a reception, in which courtesy was mingled with kindness,
while her trembling hand and faltering voice showed how much
she was startled and discomposed. Dinner was hastily re-
placed, and while Waverley was engaged in refreshing him-
self, the Colonel proceeded—* I wonder you have come here,
Frank; the doctors tell me the air of London is very bad for
your complaint. You should not have risked it. But I am
delighted to see you, and so is Emily, though I fear we must
not reckon upon your staying long.”

“Some particular business brought me up,” muttered Wa:
verley.WAVERLEY.

“ I supposed so, but I sha’n’t allow you to stay long.—-Spon.
toon’’ (to an elderly military-looking servant out of livery),
“take away these things, and answer the bell yourself, if J
ring. Don’t let any of the other fellows disturb us.—My nephew
and I have business to talk of.”

When the servants had retired, “In the name of God,
Waverley, what has brought you here? It may be as much as
your life is worth.”

“Dear Mr. Waverley,” said Lady Emily,” to whom I owe
so much more than acknowledgments can ever pay, how could
you be so rash?”

‘““My father—my uncle—this paragraph,’ he handed the
paper to Colonel Talbot.

‘““T wish to Heaven these scoundrels were condemned to
be squeezed to death in their own presses,” said Talbot. “I
am told there are not less then a dozen of their papers now
published in town, and no wonder that they are obliged to
invent lies to find sale for their journals. It is true, however,
my dear Edward, that you have lost your father; but as to this
flourish of his unpleasant situation having grated upon his
spirits, and hurt his health—the truth is—for though it is harsh
to say so now, yet it will relieve your mind from the idea of
weighty responsibility—the truth then is, that Mr. Richard
Waverley, through this whole business, showed great want of
sensibility, both to your situation and that of your uncle; and
the last time I saw him, he told me, with great glee, that as I
was so good as to take charge of your interest, he had thought
t best to patch up a separate negotiation for himself, and make
11s peace with Government through some channels which former
connections left still open to him.”

‘* And my uncle—my dear uncle ?”

‘Is in no danger whatever. It is true (looking at the date
of the paper) there was a foolish report some time ago to the
purport here quoted, but it is entirely false. Sir Everard is
gone down to Waverley-Honour, freed from all uneasiness,
unless upon your own account. But you are in peril yourself—
your name is in every proclamation—warrants are out to
apprehend you. How and when did you come here pe?

Edward told his story at length, suppressing his quarrel
with Fergus ; for being himself partial to Highlanders, he did
not wish to give any advantage to the Colonel’s national pre-
judice against them.

- Are you sure it was your friend Glen’s footboy you saw
dead in Clifton Moor ?”
“ Quite positive.”

1
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PRN ee ee eetWAVERLEY.

“ Then that little limb of the devil has cheated the gallows
for cut-throat was written in his face ; though ” (turning ta
Lady Emily) ‘‘ it was a very handsome face too.—But for you
Edward, I wish you would go down again to Cumberland, or
rather I wish you had never stirred from thence, for there is
an embargo on all the seaports, and a Strict search for the
adherents of the Pretender; and the tongue of that confounded
woman will wag in her head like the clack of a mill, till some-
how or other she will detect Captain Butler to be a feigne
personage.”

“ Do you know anything,” asked Waverley, “ of my fellow-
traveler?”

“Her husband was my sergeant-major for six years : she
was a buxom widow, with a little money—he married her—was
steady, and got on by being a good drill. I must send Spon-
toon to see what she is about ; he will find her out among the
old regimental connections. To-morrow you must be indis-
posed, and keep your room from fatigue. Lady Emily is to be
your nurse, and Spontoon and I your attendants, You bear
the name of a near relation of mine, whom none of my present
people ever saw, except Spontoon ; so there will be no im-
mediate danger. So pray feel your head ache and your eyes
grow heavy as soon as possible, that you may be put upon the
sick list ; and Emily, do you order an apartment for Frank
Stanley, with all the attention which an invalid may require.”

In the morning the Colonel visited his guest.—‘‘ Now,”
said he, “I have some good news for you. Your reputation
as a gentleman and officer is effectually cleared of neglect of
duty, and accession to the mutiny in Gardiner’s regiment. I
have had a correspondence on this subject with a very zealous
friend of yours, your Scottish parson, Morton ; his first letter
was addressed to Sir Everard ; but I relieved the good Baronet
of the trouble of answering it. You must know, that your
freebooting acquaintance, Donald of the Cave, has at length
fallen into the hands of the Philistines. He was driving off the
cattle of a certain proprietor called Killan—something or
other”

“« Killancureit ? ”

“ The same. Now, the gentleman being, it seems, a great
farmer, and having a special value for his breed of cattle—
being, moreover, rather of a timid disposition, had got a party
of solders to protect his property. So Donald ran his head
unawares into the lion’s mouth, and was defeated and made
prisoner. Being ordered for execution, his conscience was
assailed on the one hand by a Catholic priest,—on the otherWAVERLEY. 329
by your friend Morton. He repulsed the Catholic chie Hy on
account of the
nomical gentleman considered as an exce ssive waste of oil. So
his conversion from a state of impenitence fell to Mr. Morton’s
share, who, I dare Say, acquitted himself excel] ently, though, I
suppose, Donald made but a queer kind of Christian after all.
He confessed, 10wever, before a magistrate—one Major MeL
ville, who seems to have been a correct, friendly sort of per-
son—his full intrigue with Houghton, explaining particularly
how it was carried on and fully acquitting you of the least ac

cession to it. He also mentioned his rescuing you rae the
hands of the volunteer officer, and sending you, by orders of

the Pret—Chevalier, I mean—as a prisoner to Doune ehh
whence he understood you were carried prisoner to E dinburgh,
These are particulars which cannot but tell in your favor. He
hinted that he had been employed to deliver and protect you,
and rewarded for doing so ; but he would not confess by w hom,
alleging, that, though he would not have mi inded breaking any
ordinary oath to satisfy the curiosity of Mr. Morton, to whose
pious admonitions he owed so much. yet in the present Gare
he had been sworn to silence upon the edge of his dirk,’
which, it seems, constituted, in his opinion, an inviolable se
ligation, "
And what has become of him? ”

“Oh, he was hanged at Stirling after the rebels raised the
siege, with his lieutenant, and four plaids besides ; he, having
the adv antage of a gallows more lofty than his friends,”

‘Well, I have little cause either to regret or rejoice at his
‘dart ; and yet he has done me both good and harm to a very
considerable extent.”

“ His confession, at least, will serve you materially, since it
wipes from your charac all those suspicions w hich gave the
accusation against you a complexion of a nature different from
that with which so many unfortunate ge ntlemen, now or lately
in arms against the Government, nay be justly ch arged. Their
treason—I must give it its name SNe you participate in its
guilt—is an action arising from mistaken virtue, and therefore
cannot be classed as a disgrace, though it be doubtless highly
criminal. Where the guilty are so numerous. clemency must
be extended to far the greater number; and I have little doubt
of procuring a remission for you, provided we can keep you
out of the claws of justice till she has selected and gorged
upon her victims; for in this, as in other cases, it will be ac-
cording to the vulgar proverb, ‘ First come, first served.’

* Note BB. Oath upon the Dirk.

do ctrine of extreme unction, which this eco-

  
  
   
   
 
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
      
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
 
    
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
    
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
     
   
 

RTD act Mah REECE

ARAM

5330 WAVERLEY.
Besides, Government are desirous at present to intimidate the
English Jacol sites, among whom they can find few examples for
punishment. This is a Vindictive and timid feeling which will
soon wear off, for, of all nations, the English are lé ast blood
thirsty by nature. But it exists at present, and you must there-
fore be kept out of the w ay in the meantime.’

Now entered Spontoon with an anxious countenance. By
his regimental acquaintances he had traced out Madam Nose-
bag, - and found her full of ire, fuss, and fidget, at discovery of
an “impostor, who had traveled from the north with her under
the assumed name of Captain Butler of Gardiner’s dragoons,
She was going to lodge an information on the subject, to have
him sought for as an emis: sary of the Pretender ; but Spontoon,
(an old soldier), while he pretended to approve, contrived to
make her delay her intention. No time, however, was to be
lost: the accuracy of this good dame’s description might prob-
ably lead to the ‘discovery, that Waverley was the pretended
Captain Butler; an identificatro: fraught with danger to Ed-
ward, perhaps to his uncle, and even to Colonel Talbot. Which
way to direct his course was now, therefore, the question.

“To Scotland,” said Waverley.

“To Scotland!” said the Colonel; “ with what purpose :—
not to engage again with the rebels I hope ?”

“ No—I considered my campaign ended, when, after all my
efforts, I could not rejoin them; and now, by all accounts,
they are gone to make a winter campaign in the Highlands,
where such adherents as I am would rather be burdensome
than useful. Indeed, it seems likely that they only prolong
the war to place the Chevalier’s person out of danger, and then
to make some terms for themselves. To burden them with my
presence would merely add another party, whom they would
not give up, and could not defend. I understand they left
almost all their English adherents in garrison at Carlisle, for
that very reason :—and on amore general view, Colonel to
confess the truth, though it may lower me in your opinion, I
am heartily tired of the trade of war, and am, as Fletcher’s
Humorous Lieutenant says, ‘even as weary of this fight-
ins’ ”’ : 2

5

“Fighting? pooh, what have you seen but a skirmish or
two ?—Ah! if you saw war on the grand scale—sixty or a
hundred thousand men in the field on each side !”

“T am not at all curious, Colonel.‘ Enough,’ says our
homely proverb, ‘is as good as a feast.’ The plumed troops
and the big war used to enchant me in poetry; but the night
marches, vigils, couched under the wintry sky, and suchWAVERLEY. 224
331
accompaniments of the glorious trade
taste in practice :—then for dry blows, I had my fill of fighting
at Clifton, where I esc -aped By a hair’s-breadth half-a- -dozen
times ; and you, I should think’ He stopped.

‘* Had enough of it at P reston): ? you mean to say,” answered
the c olonel laughing ; but, ‘’tis my vocation, Hal.’ ”

“Ttals) no ming etc said W averley ; “and having
honorably got rid of the sw ‘ord, which I drew only as a volun-
teer, I am quite satisfied with my mil tary experience, and shall]
be in no hurry to take it up again.

“Iam very glad you are of that mind—but then, wha
would you do in the North ?? 3

“In the first place, there are some seaports on tae astern
coast of Scotland still in the hands of the Chev: lends ;
should I gain any of them, I can ea asily embark for the Con-
finent. 7

‘“Good—your second reason ?”

‘ Why, to speak the very truth, there is a person in Scotland
upon whom I now find my happiness depends more than I was
always aware, and about whose situation I am very anxious.’

‘Then Emily was right, and there is a love affair in the
case after all ?—And which of these two pretty Scotchwomen,
whom you insisted upon my admiring
fair —not Miss Glen I hope.

ee NEO 27

‘Ah, pass for the other: simplicity may be improved, but

pride and conceit never. Well, I don’t discourage you; I
think it will please Sir Edward, from what he said when I
jested with him about it; only I hope that intolerable papa,
with his brogue, and his snuff, and his Latin, and his insuffer-
able long stories about the Duke of Berw ick, will find it neces-
sary h ereafter, to be an inhabitant of foreion parts. But as to
the daughter, though I think you might find as fitting a match
in England, yet if your heart be really set upon this Scotch
Rosebud, why the Baronet has a great opinion of her father
and of his family, and he wishes much to see you married and
settled, both for your own sake and for that of the three er.
mines passant, which may otherwise pass away altogether. But
I will bring you his mind fully upon the subject, since you are
debarred correspondence for the present, for I think you will
not be long in Scotland before me.

“Indeed! and what can induce you to think of returnin
to Scotland? No relentless longings toward the land ot
mountains and floods I am afraid.”

“None, on my word; but Emily’s health is now, thank

€, are not at all to my

 

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So

God, re-established, and, to tell you the truth, I have little hopes
of concluding the business which I have at present most at
heart until | can have a personal interview with his Royal
Highness the Commander-in-Chief; for, as Fluellen says, ‘ The
Dulce doth love me well, and I nem heaven, I have deserved
some love at his hands.’ I am now going a for an hour or
two to arrange matters for your departure; your liberty ex-
tends to the next room, Lady Emily’ S parlor, where you will
find her when you are disposed for music, reading, or conver-
Ned sation. We have taken measures to exclude all servants but
nad oa who is as true as steel.”
In about two hours Colonel Talbot returned, and found his
ree young friend conversing with his lady; she pleased with his
manners and information, and he delighted at being restored,
though but for a moment, to the society of his own ‘rank, from
which he had been for some time excluded.
“ And now,” said the Colonel, “hear my arrangements, for
a there is little oe to lose. ‘This youngster, Edw ard W averley,
| alias Williams, alias Captain Butler, must continue to pass by
his fourth a/as of Francis Stanley, my nephew: he shall set
out to-morrow for the North, and the chariot shall take him the
first two stages. Spontoon shall then attend him; and they
shall ride post as far as Huntingdon; and the presence of
Spontoon, well known on the road as my servant, will check all
disposition to inquiry. At Huntingdon you will meet the real
Frank Stanley. He is studying at Cambridge; but, a little
rin while ago, doubtful if Emily’s health would permit me to go
ae down to the North myself, i procured him a passport from the
Secretary of State’s office to go in my stead. As he went
i chiefly to look es you, his journey is now unnecessary. He
knows your story; you will dine together at Huntingdon ; and
perhaps 4 your wise heads may hit upon some plan for removing
| or diminishing the danger of your farther progress northward.
And now (taking out a morocco case), let me put you in funds
for the campaign.’
ham ashamed, my dear Colonel,_——
“‘ Nay,” said Colonel Talbot, “you should command my
purse in any event; but this money is your own. Your father,
considering the chance of your being attainted, left me his
| trustee for your advantage. So that you are worth above
A £15,000, beside Brerewood Lodge—a very independent person,
a I promise you. There are bills here for £200; any larger
sum you may have, or credit abroad, as soon as your motions
require it.’
The first use which occurred to Waverley of his newly

bB]

oa oe
.

PaaS tcc uksctes tes

~=WAVERLEY.

acquired wealth, was to write to hone: t Farmer Jopson, request:
Ing his acc eptance of a silver tank: lore on the part of his friend
Williams, who had not forgotten the night of the eighteenth
December last. He be geed him at the sam .e time carefully to
ighland garb and acoutrements, pa

ticularly the arms—curious in themselves, and to which the
friendship of the donors gave additional value. Lady Emily un-
dertook to find some suitable token of remembrance , likely to
flatter the vanity and please the taste of Mrs. W illiams ;
the Colonel, who was a

7

Oo
preserve for him his H

and
kind of farmer, promised to send the
Ullswater patriarch an excellent te eam of horses for cart and
plough.

One happy day Waverle ey spent in London; and, traveling
in the manner paojetbed he met with Frank Se at Hunt.
ingdon. The two young men were acd lainted in

la minute.
‘I can read my uncle’s riddle,” said St

Ste nley. The eau-
tious old soldier did not care to hint to me that I might hand
over to you this passport, which I have no occasion for; but

if it should afterward come out as the rattle-pated trick of a
young Cantab, cela ne tire d rien. You are therefore to be
Francis Stank -y, with this passport.” This proposal appeared
in effect to alleviate a great part of the difficulties which Edward
nust otherwise have encountered at every turn; and accord-
ingly he scrupled not to avail himself of it, the more especially
as he had discarded all political purposes from his present
journey, and could not be accused of furthering machinations
against the Government while traveling under protection of
the Secretary’s passport.
The day passed merrily away. The young student was in-
quisitive about Wa iverley’s campaigns, and the manners—cf the
ie ites and Fishes ard was obliged to satisfy his curiosity by
whistling a pibroch, dancing a stra ithspey, and s singing a High-
land song. ~The next morning Stanley rode as age Sores cd
with his new friend, and parted from him with great reluctance,
upon the remonstrances of Spontoon, who, accustomed to
submit to discipline, was rigid in enforcing it,

  
  
   
 
   
   
   
 
 
   
  
  
 
   
    
   
  
    
  
    
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 

Bras:

Ress rosmmro

Soe
PT nSix bintan

Siblakasaakac ee

tra datene etic cans

WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THIRD.
DESOLATION.

WAVERLEY riding post, as was the usual fashion of the
period, without any as renture save one or two queries, which
‘he talisman of his passport sufficiently answered, reached the
borders of Scotland. Here he heard the tidings of the decisive
battle of Culloden. It was no more than he h ad long expected,
though the success at Falkirk had thrown a faint and setting
eleam over the arms of the Chevalier. Yet it came upon him
like a shock, by which he was for a time altogether unmanned.
The generous, the courteous, the noble- minded Adventurer, was
then a fugitive, with a price upon his head; his adherents so
brave, so enthusiastic, so faithful, were dead, ‘imprisoned, or eXx-
iled. Where, now, was the exalted and high- souled Fergus, if,
indeed, he had igo the night at Clifton ?>—where the pure-
hearted and primitive Baron of Bradwardine, whose foibles
seemed foils to set off the disinterestedness of his disposition,
the genuine goodness of his heart, and his unshaken courage ?
Those who clung for support to these fallen pees Rose and
Flora,—where were they to be sought, and in what distress must
not the loss of their natural protectors have involved gees Of
Flora he thought with the regard of a brother for
Rose, with a sensation yet more deep and tender. It hight be
still his fate to supply the want of those guardians they has lost.
Agitated by these thoughts, he precipitated his journey.

When he arrived in Edinburgh, where his inquiries must
necessarily commence, he felt the full difficulty of his situation.
Many inhabitants of that city had seen and known him as
Edward Waverley ; how, then, could he avail himself of a pass-
port as Francis ‘Stanley > He resolved, therefore, to avoid all
company, and to move northward as soon as possible. He
was, however, obliged to wait a day or two in expectation
of aletter from Colonel Talbot, and he was also to leave his
own address, under his feigned character, at a place agreed
upon. With this latter purpose he sallied out in the dusk
through the well-known streets, carefully shunning observation,
—but in vain: one of the first persons whom he met at once
recognized him. It was Mrs. Flockhart, Fergus Mac-Ivor’s
good-humored landlady.

“ Gude guide us, Mr. Waverley, is this you ?—na, ye neednaWAVERLEY. 335

be feared for me—I wad betray nae gentleman in your circum-
stances. Eh, lack-a-day! lack-a-day! here’s a change o’ mar-
kets ! how merry Colonel Mac-Ivor and you used to be in our
house?” And the good-natured widow shed a few natural
tears. As there was no resisting her claim of acquaintance,
Waverley acknowledged it with a good grace, as well as the
danger of his own situation. “ As it’s neart he darkening, sir,
wad ye just step in by to our house, and tak a dish o’ tea? and
I am sure, if ye like to sleep in the little room, I wad tak care
ye are no disturbed, and naebody wad ken ye, for Kate and
Matty, the limmers, gaed aff wi’ twa o’ Hawley’s dragoons, and
I hae twa new queans instead o’ them.”

Waverley accepted her invitation, and engaged her lodging
for a night or two, satisfied he should be safer in the house of
this simple creature than anywhere else. When he entered the
parlor, his heart swelled to see Fergus’s bonnet, with the white
cockade, hanging beside the little mirror.

“Ay,” said Mrs. Flockhart, sighing, as she observed the
direction of his eyes, “ the poor Colonel bought a new ane just
the day before they marched, and I winna let them tak that
ane doon, but just to brush it ilka day mysell; and whiles I
look at it till I just think I hear him cry to Callum to bring him
his bonnet, as he used to do when he was ganging out.—It’s
unco silly—the neighbors ca’ me a Jacobite—but they may say
their say—lI am sure it’s no for that—but he was as kind-hearted
a gentleman as ever lived, and as weel-far’d too. Oh d’ye ken,
sir, when he is to suffer?”

“ Suffer ! Good heaven !—Why, where is he!”

“Eh, Lord’s sake! d’ye no ken? The poor Hieland body,
Dugald Mahoney, cam here a while syne, wiane o’ his arms
cuttit off, and a sair clour in the head—ye’ll mind Dugald ? he
carried aye an axe on his shouther—and he cam here just beg-
ging, as I may say, for something to eat. Aweel, he tauld us
the Chief, as they ca’d him (but I ayeca’ him the Colonel)

 

and Ensign Maccombich, that ye mind weel, were ta’en some-
where beside the English border, when it was sae dark that his
folk never missed him till it was ower late, and they were like
to gang clean daft. And he said that little Callum Beg (he
was a bauld mischievous callant that), and your honor, were
killed that same night in the tuilzie, and mony mae braw men.
But he grat when he spak o’ the Colonel, ye never saw the like.
And now the word gangs, the Colonel is to be tried and to
suffer wi’ them that were ta’en at Carlisle.”

And his sister ¢ ¢

“ Ay, that they ca’d the Lady Flora—weel, she’s away up

b

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Cae Pe neem

  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

SEREAYTRE GERAISDpahieha hi eliahhina tees

 

WAVERLEY.

to Carlisle to him, and lives wi’ some grand Papist lady there
abouts, to be near him.”

“ And,” said Edward, “ the other young lady?”

“ Whilk other? I ken only of ae sister the Colonel had.”

‘T mean Miss Bradwardine,” said Edward.

“Ou ay, the laird’s daughter,” said Ims landlady. “She
was a very bonny lassie, poor thing, but far shyer than Lady
Flora.”

‘¢ Where is she, for God’s sake ?”

“Ou, wha kens where ony o’ them is now? Puir things,
they’re sair ta’en doun for their white cockades and their white
roses ; but she gaed north to her father’s in Perthshire, when
the government troops cam back to Edinbro’. ‘There was some
pretty men amang them, and ane Major Whacker was quartered
on me, a very ceevil gentleman,—but O, Mr. Waverley, he was
naething sae weel-far’d as the poor Colonel.”

“Do you know what is become of Miss Bradwardine’s
father?”

“The auld laird ?—na, naebody kens that; but they say he
fought very hard in that bluidy battle at Inverness; and Deacon
Clank, the white-iron smith, says, that the Government folk
are sair agane him for having been owf twice; and troth he
might hae ta’en warning,—but there’s nae fule like an auld
fule—the poor Colonel was only out ance.”

Such conversation contained almost all the good-natured
widow knew of the fate of her late lodgers and acquaintances ;
but it was enough to determine Edward at all hazards to pro-
ceed instantly to Tully-Veolan, where he concluded he should
see, or at least hear, something of Rose. He therefore left a
letter for Colonel Talbot at the place agreed upon, signed by
his assumed name, and giving for his address the post-town
next to the Baron’s residence.

From Edinburgh to Perth he took post-horses, resolving to
make the rest of his journey on foot—a mode of traveling to
which he was partial, and which had the advantage of permit-
ting a deviation from the road when he saw parties of military
at a distance. His campaign had considerably strengthened
his constitution, and improved his habits of enduring fatigue.
His baggage he sent before him as opportunity occurred.

As he advanced northward, the traces of war became visible.
Broken carriages, dead horses, unroofed cottages, trees felled
for palisades, and bridges destroyed, or only partially repaired,
—all indicated the movements of hostile armies. In those
places where the gentry were attached to the Stuart cause,
their houses seemed dismantled or deserted, the usual courséWAVERLEY. 337
of what may be called ornamental labor was totally inter.
rupted, and the inhabitants were seen gliding about, with fear,
sorrow, and de jection on their faces.
It was evening when he approached the village of Tully-
Veolan, with feelings and sentiments—how different from
those which attended his first entrance! Then, life was so
new to him, iat 4 oe or disagreeable day was one of the
sraetest misfortunes which his imag sination anticipated, and it
see med to him that his time ought only to be consecrated ta
elegant or amusing study, and relieved by social or youthful
frolic. Now, how changed! how saddened, yet how elevated
was his character, within the course of a very few months!

Danger and misfortune are rapid, though severe teachers,
Ei esta sr and a wiser man,” he rele in” internal confidence
and mental dig: nity, a comp ensation for the gay ees which.

in his case, experience had so rapidly di ssolved.

As he approached ae village, he saw, with surprise and
anxiety, that a party of soldiers were quartered near it, and,
What was worse, that they seemed stationary ke This
he conjectured from a few tents which he beheld glimmering
upon what was called the Common Moor. To avoid the risk
of pole stopped and questioned in a place where he was so
likely to be recognized, he made a large circuit, altogether
avoiding the hamlet, and approaching the 1 upper gate of the
avenue by a by-path well known to him. A single glance
announced that great changes had taken place. One-half of
the gate, entirely destroyed and split up for firewood, lay in
piles, ready to be taken a way ; the other swung uselessly about
upon its loosened hinges. The battlements above the gate
were broken and thrown down, and the carved Bears, which
were said to have done sentinel’s duty upon the top for centu-
ries, now, hurled from their posts, lay among the rubbish.
The avenue was cruelly wasted. Several large trees were
felled and left ins across the path; and the cattle of the
villagers, and the more rude hoofs of fiat on horses, had
poached into black mud the verdant turf which Wave rley had
so much admired.

Upon entering the court-yard, Edward saw the fears real-
ized which these circumstances had excited. The place had
been sacked by the King’s troops, who, in wanton mischief,
had even attempted to burn it; and though the thickness of
the walls had resisted the fire, unless to a partial extent, the
stables and out-houses were totally consumed. ‘The towers
and pinnacles of the main building were scorched and black-
ened ; the pavement of the court broken and shattered; the

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WAVERLEY.

doors torn down entirely, or hanging by a single hinge ; the
windows dashed in and demolished; and the court strewed
with articles of furniture broken into fragments. The accessa:
ries of ancient distinction, to which the Baron, in the pride o'
his heart, had attached so much importance and veneration,
were treated with peculiar contumely. The fountain was de-
molished, and the spring which had supplied it now flooded the
court-yard. The stone basin seemed to be destined for a drink-
ing-trough for cattle, from the manner in which it was arranged
upon the ground. ‘The whole tribe of Bears, large and small, had
experienced as little favor as those at the head of the avenue ;
and one or two of the family pictures, which seemed to have
served as targets for the soldiers, lay on the ground in tatters.
With an aching heart, as may well be imagined, Edward viewed
this wreck of a mansion so respected. But his anxiety to
learn the fate of the proprietors, and his fears as to what that
fate might be, increased with every step. When he entered
upon the terrace new scenes of desolation were visible. ‘The
balustrade was broken down, the walls destroyed, the borders
overgrown with weeds, and the fruit-trees cut down or grubbed
up. In one compartment of this old-fashioned garden were
two immense horse-chestnut trees, of whose size the Baron was
particularly vain: too lazy, perhaps, to cut them down, the
spoilers, with malevolent ingenuity, had mined them, and
placed a quantity of gunpowder in the cavity. One had been
shivered to pieces by the explosion, and the fragments lay
scattered around, encumbering the ground it had so long
shadowed. ‘The other mine had been more partial in its effect.
About one fourth of the trunk of the tree was torn from the
mass, which, mutilated and defaced on the one side, still
spread on the other its ample and undiminished boughs.*
Amid these general marks of ravage, there were some
which more particularly addressed the feelings of Waverley.
Viewing the front of the building, thus wasted and defaced,
his eyes naturally sought the little balcony which more properly
belonged to Rose’s apartment—her troisieme, or rather ci-
guicme étage. It was easily discovered, for beneath it lay the
stage-flowers and shrubs with which it was her pride to deco-
rate it, and which had been hurled from the bartizan: several
of her books were mingled with broken flower-pots and other
remnants. Among these, Waverley distinguished one of his

* A pair of chestnut trees, destroyed, the one entirely, and the other in
part, by such a mischievous and wanton act of revenge, grew at Invergarry
Castle. the fastness of Macdonald of Glengarry.WA VERLEY. 2
339
Own, a small copy of Ariosto, and gathered it as a treasure,
though wasted by the wind and rain,
W hile plunged in the sad r eflections which the scene ex:
cited, he was looking around for some one who might explai
the fate of the inh abi tants, he heard a voice from the ee

of the building singing, in well-re emembered accents, an old
Scottish song :

They came upon us in the night,

And brake my bower and slew my knight ;
My servants a’ for lif fe did flee,
And left us in extremitie,

They slew my knight, to me sae dear ;

They slew my knight, and drave his gear; *
The moon may set, the sun may rise,
But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes,

‘Alas !” thought Edward, “is it thou? Poor hel
art thou alone left, to gibber and moan, and fill
and unconnected scraps of minstrelsy the halls that protected
thee ?”—He then called, first low, and then louder, “ Davie==
Davie Gellatley ! ”

The poor simpleton showed himself from among the ruins
of a sort of gTeen- house, that once termin: ated what was called
the Terrace-walk, but at first sight of a stranger retreated as if
in terror. W averley, remembering his h abits,, began to whistle
a tune to which he was partial, ‘which Davie h
great pleasure in listening to, and had picked up from him by
the ear. Our hero’s min strelsy no more equaled that of
Blondel, than poor Davie resembled Coeur de Lion; but the
melody had the same effect of producing recognition. Davie
again stole from his lurking-place, but timidly, while Waverley,

afraid of { frightening him, stood making the “most encouraging
signals he could devise.—“ It’s his ohai ist,’’ muttered Davie :
yet, coming nearer, he seemed to acknowlec lge his living ac-
quaintance. The poor fool himself appeared the ghost of what
he had been. The peculiar oe in which he had been at-
tired in better days, showed only miser able rags of its whimsi-
cal finery, the lack of which was odc lly supplied by the rem.
nants of tapestried hangings, window- -curtains, and shreds of
pictures, with which he ‘had bec lizened his tatters. His face,
too, had lost its vacant and careless air, and the poor creature
looked hollow- eyed, meagre, half-starved, and nervous to a
pitiable degree.—After long hesitation, he at length approached

pless being,
with thy Titel

ad expressed

The/first three couplets are from an old ballad, called the Border
Widow’ s Lament.

  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
    
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
     
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
   
  
  

ALAN ANAT OTESee °
LUNAR chee Te

Sithvassacset ee
a :
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a

ce
ok

 

5 WAVERLEY.
ot

Waverley with some confidence, stared him sadly in the face,
and said, ‘A’ dead and gane—a’ dead and gane! e

“Who are dead?” said Waverley, forgetting the incapacity
of Davie to hold any connected discourse.

“ Baron—and Bailie—and Saunders Saunderson—and Lady
Rose, that sang sae sweet—A’ dead and gane—dead and
gane |

But follow, follow me,
While glow-worms light the lea ;
’ll show you where the dead should be—
Each in his shroud,
While winds pipe loud,
And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud.
Follow, follow me ;
Brave should he be
That treads by night the dead man’s lea.”

With these words, chanted in a wild and earnest tone, he
made a sign to Waverley to follow him, and walked rapidly
toward the bottom of the garden, tracing the bank of the
stream, which, it may be remembered, it was its eastern boun-
dary. Edward, over whom an involuntary shuddering stole at
the import of his words, followed him in some hope of an ex-
planation. As the house was evidently deserted, he could not
expect to find among the ruins any more rational informer.

Davie, walking very fast, soon reached the extremity of the
garden, and scrambled over the ruins of the wall that once had
divided it from the wooded glen in which the old Tower of
Tully-Veolan was situated. He then jumped down into the
bed of the stream, and, followed by Waverley, proceeded at a
great pace, climbing over some fragments of rock, and turning
with difficulty round others. They passed beneath the ruins
of the castle; Waverley followed, keeping up with his guide
with difficulty, for the twilight began to fall. Following the
descent of the stream a little lower, he totally lost him, but a
twinkling light, which he now discovered among the tangled
copse-wood and bushes, seemed a surer guide. He soon
pursued a very uncouth path; and by its guidance at length
reached the door of a wretched hut. <A fierce barking of dogs
was at first heard, but it stilled at his approach, A voice
sounded from within, and he held it most prudent to listen

efore he advanced.

“Wha hast thou brought here, thou unsonsy villain thou ?”
said an old woman, apparently in great indignation. He
heard Davie Gellatley, in answer, whistle a part, of the tune by
which he had recalled himself to the simpleton’s memory, and
had now no hesitation to knock at the door. ‘There was aWAVERLEY. 344
except the deép growling of the
dogs; and he next heard the mistress of the hut approach
the door, not probably for the sake of undoing a latch, but of

faste ening a bolt. “Po: prevent this Waverley lifted the latch
himself,

In front was an old wretched-looki
‘Wha comes into folk’s houses in thi
night?’? On one side, two grim
hounds laid aside their ferocity at
fo recognize him. On the other

open door, yet apparently seeking that concealment pace

with a cocked pistol in his right h and, and his left in the act of

drawing another from his belt, stogd al tall bony ¢ gaunt figure

in the remnants of 4 faded uniform, and a beard of three
weeks’ growth.

It was the Baron of Bradwardine.
that he threw aside his weapon,
hearty embrace.

dead silence inst cantly within,

<Ing woman, exclaiming,
us gate, at this time o’ the
and half-starved deer grey-
his appearance, and seemed
side, half concealed by t

ERIS unnecessary to add
and greeted Way erley with a

a
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOURTH.
COMPARING OF NOTES,

THE Baron’s story was short, when di
and commonplaces, Latin, E nglish, and
crudition garnished it. He insisted much upon his sarieh ae
the loss of E dward and of Glennaquoich, fought the fields of
Falkirk and C ulloden, and related ho ow, after all was lost in the
last battle, he had returned home, under the idea of more
easily findin 1g shelter among his own tenants and on his ow n
estate, than elsewhere, A party of soldiers had been sent to
lay waste his property, for clemency was not the order of the
day. Their proceedings, however, were checked by an order
from the civil court. The estate, it was found, might not be
forfeited to the crow n, to the prejudice of Malcolm’ Bradwar-
dine of Inch- -Grabbit, the heir-male, whose claim could not
be prejudiced by the Baron’s attainder, as deriving no right
through him, and who, therefore, like other heirs of entail i in
the same situation, entered upon possession. But, unlike
many in similar circumstances, the new laird speedily showed
that he intended ut terly to exclude his predecessor from alli
benefit or advantage in the estate, and that it was his purpose
to avail hinigel? of | the old Baron’s evil fortune to the full ex

ivested of the adages
Scotch, with which his

  
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
   
   
   
 
 

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tent. ‘This was the more ungenerous, as it was generally
known, that, from a romantic idea AE not prejudicing this
young man’s right as heir-male, the Baron had refrained from
settling his estate on his daughter.

This selfish injustice was “resented by the country people,
who were partial to their old master, and irritated against
his successor. In the Baron’s own words, “The matter did
not coincide with the feelings of the commons of Bradwar-
dine, Mr. Waverley; and the tenants were slack and re-
pugnant in payment of their mails and duties; and when my
kinsman came to the village wi’ the new factor, Mr. James
Howie, to lift the rents, some wanchancy person—I suspect John
Heatherblutter, the auld eamekeeper, t that was out wi’ me in
the year fifteen—fired a shot at him in the gloaming, whereby
he was so affrighted, that I may say with T ullius in Catilinam,
Abiit, evasit, erupit, effugit. He fled, sir, as one may say, in-
continent to Stirling. And now he hath advertised the estate for
sale, being himself the last substitute in the entail——And if I
were to lament about sic matters, this would grieve me. mair
than its passing from my immediate possession, whilk, by the
course of nature, must have happened in a few years. Where-
as now it ae from the lineage that should have possessed
it in secula seculorum. But God’s will be done, Aumana per-
pesst sumits. Sir John of Bradwardine—Black Sir John, as
he is called—who was the common ancestor of our house and
the Inch- rabbis little thought such a person would have
sprung from his loins. Meantime, he has accused me to some
of the primates, the rulers for the time, as if I were a cut-
throat, and an abettor of bravoes and assassinates, and coupe-
jarrets. And they have sent soldiers here to abide on the
estate, and hunt me like a partridge upon the mountains, as
Scripture says of good King David, or like our valiant Sir
William Wallace,—not that I bring myself into comparison
with either.—I thought, when I heard you at the door, they
had driven the auld deer to his den at last; and so I e’en
proposed to die at bay, like a buck of the first head.—But now,
Janet, canna ye gie us ‘something for supper?”

OU aly, Si, ‘ll brander the moor fowl that John Heather-
blutter brought in this morning; and ye see puir Davie’s
roasting the black hen’s eggs.—l daur say, Mr. Wauverley,
ye never kend that a’ the eggs that were sae weel roasted at
supper in the Ha’-house were aye turned by our Davie ?—
there’s no the like o’ him ony gate for powtering wi’ his fin-
gers amang the het peat-ashes, and roasting eggs.”’ Davie all
this while lay with his nose almost in the fire, nuzzling amongWAVERLEY, 343
the ashes, kicking his heels, mumbling to himself, turning
the eggs as they ‘lay in the hot embers, as if to confute the
proverb, that “there goes reason to roasting of eggs,” and
justify the eulogium which poor Janet poured out upon

Him whom she loved, her idiot boy.

“Davie’s no sae silly as folk tak him for, Mr. Wauverley ;
he wadna hae brought you here unless he had kend ye was
a friend to his Honou r—indeed the very dogs kend ye, Mr.
Wauverley, for ye was aye kind to beast and body .—I can tell
you a story o’ De wi his Honor’s leave: His Honor
ye see, being under hiding in thae sair times—the mair’s the
pity—he lies a’ day, and while a’ night, in the cove in the
dern hag; but though it’s a bieldy eneugh bit, and the auld
gudeman o’ Corse-Cleugh has panged it wi’ a kemple o’ strae
amaist, yet when the country’s quiet and the night very cauld,
his Honor while creeps doun here to get a warm at the
ingle, and a sleep among the blankets, and gangs awa in the
morning. And so, ae morning siccan a ‘fright as I got!
Twa unlucky red- coats were up for black- fishing, or some siccan
ploy—for the neb o’ them’s never out 0’ mischief—and they
just got a glisk o’ his Honor as he gaed into the wood,
and saneed aff a gun at him. I out like a jer-falcon, and
cried,—‘ Wad they shoot an honest woman’s poor innocent
bairn?? And I fleyt at them, and threepit it was my son; and
they damned and swuir at me that it was the auld rebel, as the
villains ca’d his Honor; and Davie was in the wood, and
heard the tuilzie, and he, just out o’ his ain head, got up the
auld grey mantle that his Honor had flung off him to gang
the faster, and he came out o’ the very same bit o’ the wood,
majoring and looking about sae like his Honor, that they
were clean beguiled, and thought they had letten aff their gun
at crack-brained Sawney, as they ca’d him; and they gae me
saxpence, and twa saumon fish, to say naething about it.—Na,
na; Davie’s no just like other folk, puir fallow; but he’s no
sae silly as folk tak him for.—But, to be sure, how can we do
eneugh for his Honor, when we and ours have lived on his
ground this twa hundred years; and when he keepit my puir
Jamie at school and college, and even at the Ha’-house, till he
gaed to a better place; “and when he saved me fre being
ta’en to Perth as a witch—Lord forgi’e them that would touc h
sic a puir silly auld body !—and has maintained puir Davie at
heck and manger maist feck o’ his life ? ”

Waverley at length found an opportunity to interrupt Janet’s
narrative, by an inquiry after Miss Bradwardine.

 

 

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Serr

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SECESSION TCE

Seis!

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everestSenex teas

Sohne

 

WAVERLEY.

“ She?s weel and safe, thank God! at the Duchran” an-
swered the Baron. ‘ The laird’s distantly related to us, and
more nearly to my chaplain Mr. Rubrick; and, eHse he
be of Whig principles, yet he’s not forgetful of auld friend-
ship at this time. ‘The Bailie’s doing what he can to save some.
thing out of the wreck for puir Rose : but I doubt, I doubt, I
shall never see her again, for I maun lay my banes in some far
country.”

“ Hout na, your Honor,” said old Janet; “ ye were just as
ill aff an the feifteen, and got the bonnie baronie back, an a’.—
And now the eggs is ready, and the muir-cock’s brandered, and
there’s ilk ane a trencher and some saut, and the heel o’ the
white loaf that cam frae the Bailie’s; and there’s plenty 0’
brandy in the greybeard that Luckie Maclearie sent doun ; and
winna ye be suppered like princes?

‘J wish one Prince, at least, of our acquaintance, may be
no worse off,” said the Baron to Waverley, who joined him in
cordial hopes for the safety of the unfortunate Chevalier.

They then began to talk of their future prospects. The
Baron’s plan was very simple. It was, to escape to France,
where, by the interest of his old friends, he hoped to get some
military employment, of which he still conceived himself capa-
ble. He invited Waverley to go with him, a proposal in which
he acquiesced, providing the interest of Colonel Talbot should
fail in procuring his pardon. ‘Tacitly he hoped the Baron
would sanction his addresses to Rose, and give him a righ
to assist him in his exile ; but he forbore to speak on this sub-
ject until his own fate should be decided. ‘They then talked
of Glennaquoich, for whom the Baron expressed great anxiety,
although, he observed, he was “ the very Achilles of Horatius
Flaccus,—

Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer.

Which,” he continued, ‘“ has been thus rendered (vernacularly)
by Struan Robertson :—

A fiery etter-cap, a fractious. chiel,
As het as ginger, and as stieve as steel. 2

Flora had a large and unqualified share of the good old man’s
sympathy.

It was now wearing late. Old Janet got into some kind of
kennel behind the hallan. Davie had been long asleep and
snoring between Ban and Buscar. These dogs had followed
him to Bis hut after the mansion-house was deserted, and there
constantly resided; and their ferocity, with the old woman’sWAVERLEY.

345
reputation of being a witch, contn eg a good deal to keep
visitors from the “glen, With this v Bailie Macwheeble

provided Janet underhand wi fe meal ae their maintenance,
and also with little articles of luxury for their patron’s use, In
supplying which much precaution was necessai ily used. After
some complimer nts, the Baron occu pied his usual couch, and
Waverley reclined j In an easy chair of tattered vely et, which had
once garnished the bed-room of Tully-Veolan (for the furniture

{ this mansion was now scattered through all the cottages in

1€ vicinity), and went to sleep as comfortab] ly as if he had
been in a bed of down.

O
t]

 

a
CHAPTER, SIXT VARI RDH.
MORE EXPLANATION,

Wits the first dawn of day, old Janet was scuttling about
the house to wake the Baron, who usually slept sound and
heavily.

“I must go back ;” he said to Waverley, “to my cove: will
you walk down the glen wi’ me?

They went out to: gether, and Ae a narrow and entang-
led foot-path, which the occasional p passage of anglers, or wood-
cutters, had traced by the side of the stream. On their way,
the Baron explained to Waverley, that he would be under no
danger in remaini ing a day or two at He edie and even
in being seen W alking about, if he used the precaution of pre-
tending that he was looki ing at the e ae as agent or surveyor
for an English gentleman, who designed to be purchaser.
With this view, he recx ommend ed to him. to visit the Bailie, who
still lived at the factor’s house, called Little Ve olan, about a
mile from the village, though he was to remove at next term.
Stanley’s passport would be an answer to the officer who com-
manded the military: and as to any of the corny people who
might recognize Wav erley, the Baron assured him that he was
in no danger of being betraye d by them.

eI believe,” said the old man, “ half the people of the

barony know that their poor auld laird is somewhere hereabout ;
for I see they do not suffer a single bairn to come here a bird-
nesting—a practice whilk, when L was in full possession of my
power as baron, I was unable totally to inhibit. Nay, I often
find bits of things i in my way, that the poor bodies, God hel Ip
them! leave there, because ‘they think they may be useful to

  
 
 
   
  
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 

SEATS OER SD SSR

AAVhak batare tet

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3.46 WAVERLEY.
me. I hope they will get a wiser master, and as kind a one
as I was.”

A natural sigh closed the sentence ; but the quiet equanim-
ity with which the Baron endured his misfortunes, had some-
thing in it venerable and even sublime. ‘There was no fruit-
less repining, no turbid melancholy ; he bore his lot, and the
hardships which it involved, with a good-humored, though
serious composure, and used no violent language against the
prevailing party.

“1 did what I thought my duty,” said the good old man,
“ and questionless they are doing what they think mes.’ Lt
grieves me sometimes to look upon these blackened walls of
the house of my ancestors; but doubtless officers cannot al-
ways keep the soldier's hand from depredation and spuilzie ;
and Gustavus Adolphus himself, as ye may read in Colonel
Munro his expedition with the worthy Scotch regiment called
Mackay’s regiment, did often permit it—Indeed I have myself
seen as sad sights as Tully-Veolan now is, when I served with
the Mareschal Duke of Berwick. To be sure, we may say with
Virgilius Maro, /uimus Troes and there’s the end of an auld
sang. But houses and families and men have a’ stood lang
eneugh when they have stood till they fall with honor; and
now | hae gotten a house that is not unlike a domus ultima ”?—
they were now standing below asteep rock. “ We poor Jaco:
bites ” continued the Baron, looking up, “ are now like the
conies in Holy Scripture (which the great traveler Pococke
calleth Jerboa), a feeble people, that make our abode in the
rocks. So, fare you well, my good lad, till we meet at Janet’s
for I must get into my Patmos, which is no easy

 

in the even ;
matter for my auld stiff limbs.”

With that he began to ascend the rock, striding, with the
help of his hands, from one precarious footstep to another, till
he got about half-way up, two or three bushes concealed the
mouth of ahole, resembling an oven, into which the Baron in-
sinuated, first his head and shoulders, and then, by slow grada-
tion, the rest of his long body; his legs and feet finally dis-
appearing, coiled up like a huge snake entering his retreat, or
a long pedigree ‘introduced with care and difficulty into the
narrow pigeon-hole of an old cabinet. Waverley had the
curiosity to clamber up and look in upon him in his den, as
the lurking-place might well be termed. Upon the whole, he
looked not unlike that ingenious puzzle, called a reel in a bottle,
the marvel of children (and of some grown people too, myself
for one), who can neither comprehend the mystery how it has
got in, or how it is to be taken out. ‘The cave was very narWAVERLEY. 448

Tow, too low in the roof to admit of his standing, or almost of
his sitting up, though he made some awkward attempts at the
latter posture. His sole amusement was the perusal of his old
friend Titus Livius, varied by occ sasionally scratching Latin pro-
verbs and texts of Scripture with his knife on the roof and
walls of his fortalice, which were of sandstone. As the cave
was dry, and filled with clean straw and withered Leta eo it
made,” as he said, coiling himself up eee 1an air of snugness
and comfort which contrasted s trangely 1 ith his situation, “ un-
less when the wind was due north, a very i passable eite for an
old soldier.’’ Neither as he observed, was he with out sentries
for the purpose of reconnoitring. Davie and his mother were
constantly on the watch, to discover and avert danger; and it
was ohn what instances of address seemed dictated by the
instinctive attachment of the poor simpleton, when his patron’s
safety was concerned.

With Janet, Edward now sought an interview. He had
recognized her at first sight as the old woman who had nursed
him during his sickness after his delivery from Gifted Gilfillan,
The hut, also, though a little repaired, and somewhat better
furnished, was certainly the place of his confinement; and he
now recollected on the common moor of Tully-Veolan the
trunk of a large decayed tree, called the ¢rysting-tree, which he
had no doubt was the same at which the Highlanders, ren-
dezvoused on that memorable night. All this he had com-
bined in his imagination the night heirs but reasons, which
may probably occur to the reader, prevented him from catechiz-
ing Janet in the presence of the Bebe

He now commenced the task in good earnest; and the first
question was, Who was the young lady, that visited the hut dur-
ing his illness? Janet paused for a little ; and then observed,
that to keep the secret now, would neither do good nor ill to
anybody, “It was just a leddy that hasna her equal in the
world—Miss Rose Bradwardine.”

Then Miss Rose was probably also the author of my deliv-
erance,” inferred Waverley, deli ented at the confirmation of
an idea which local circumstances had already induced him to
entertain.

“J wot weel, Mr. Wauverley, and that was she e’en; but
sair, sair angry and affronted wad she hae been, puir thing, if
she had thought ye had been ever to ken a word about the
matter; for she gar’d me speak aye Gaelic when ye was in
hearing, to mak ye trow we were in the Hielands. I can speak
it weel eneugh, for my mother was a Hieland woman.”

Cc
L

Cena anaes er’

 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
    
  
 
  
   
    
  
   
     
   
   
   
   
  
  
 
   
   
   
 
   
    
   
   
  
   
   
   
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
   
 

IUPUI

HAAR ok aSen PLATS STG Se ad ee

PrrUimastiss tite uh aes

Pibbiasscaeaeetiees

JETS Ree rs

 

  

WAVERLEY,

A few more questions now brought out the whole mystery
respecting Waverley’s deliverance from the bondage in which
he left Cairnvreckan. Never did music sound sweeter to an
amateur, than the drowsy tautology, with which old Janet de-
tailed every circumstance, thrilled upon the ears of Waverley.
But my reader is not a lover, and I must Spare his patience, by
attempting to condense within reasonable compass the narra-
tive which old Janet spread through a harangue of nearly twa
hours.

When Waverley communicated to Fergus the letter he had
received from Rose Bradwardine, by Davie Gellatley, giving an
account of Tully-Veolan being occupied by a small party of
soldiers, that circumstance had struck upon the busy and active
mind of the Chieftain. Eager to distress and narrow the posts
of the enemy, desirous to prevent their establishing a garrison
so near him, and willing also to oblige the Baron,— for he
often had the idea of marriage with Rose floating through his
brain The resolved to send some of his people to drive out
the red-c ats, and bring Rose to Glennaquoich. But just
as he ad ordered Evan with a small party on this duty, the
news of Cope’s having marched into the Highlands to meet and
disperse the forces of the Chevalier ere they came to a head,
obliged him to join the standard with his whole forces,

He sent to order Donald Bean to attend him; but that
cautious freebooter, who well understood the value of a sepa-
rate command, instead of joining, sent various apologies which
the pressure of the times compelled Fergus to admit as cur-
rent, though not without the internal resolution of being re-
venged on him for his procrastination, time and place convenient.
However, as he could not amend the matter, he issued orders
to Donald to descend into the Low Country, drive the soldiers
from Tully-Veolan, and, paying all respect to the mansion of
the Baron, to take his abode somewhere near L for protection
of his daughter and family, and to harass and drive away any
of the armed volunteers, or small parties of military, which he
might find moving about the vicinity.

As this charge formed a sort of roving commission, which
Donald propose d to inter} pret in the way most advantageous ta
himself, as he was au ceedl from the immediate terrors. of Fer
gus, and as he had, from former secret services, some interest
in the councils of the Chevalier, he resolved to make hay while
the sun shone, He achieved without difficulty, the task of
driving the soldiers from Tully-Veolan ; but although he did
not venture to encroach upon the interior of the family, or teWAVERLEY. 349
disturb Miss Rose, being unwilling to make himself a power-
ful enemy in the Chev alier’ S army,

For well he knew the Baron’s wrath was deadly ;

+

yet he set about to raise contributions and exactions upon the
tenantry, a otherwise to turn the war to his own adv antage.
Meanwhile he mounted the white cockade, and waited upon
Rose with a pretext of great devotion for the service in which
her father was engaged, and many apologies for the freedom he
must necessarily use for the support of his people. It was at

this moment that Rose learned, by open-mouthed fame, with
all sorts of ex

ai

cageeration, that W averley had killed the smith
of Cairnvreckan, Fa an ee to arrest him; had been cast
into a dungeon by Melville of Cairnvreckan, and was to
be executed by mart at law within three days. In the agony
which these tidings excited, she prop. osed to Donald Bean the
rescue of the prisoner. It was the very sort of service which
he was desirous to undertake, judging it might constitute a
merit of such a nature as would make amends for any pecca-
dilloes which he might be guilty of in the country. He had
the art, however, pleading all the while duty and discipline, to
hold off, until poor Rose, in the extremity of her distress,

offered to bribe him to the enterprise with some valuable jewels
which had been her mother’s.

Donald Bean, who had served in France, knew, and per-
haps over-estimated the value of these trinkets. But he also
perceived Rose’s apprehensions of its being discovered that
she had parted with her jewels for Waverley’s liberation. Re-
solved this scruple should not part him and the treasure, he
voluntarily offered to take an oath that he would never men-
tion Miss Rose’s share in the transaction ; and foreseeing con-
venience in keeping the oath, 7 no probable advantage in
breaking it, he took the eng: ee ment—in order, as he told his
lieutenant, to deal handsom ihe es ihe oung lady—in the only
form and mode which, by a me es paction with himself, he
considered as binding—he swore secrecy upon his drawn dirk,
He was the more especially y i6ved to this act of good faith by
some attentions th: at Miss Bradwardine showed to his daughter
Alice, which, while they gained the heart of the mountain
damsel, highly gratified the pride of her father. Alice, who
could now speak a little English, was very communicative in
return for Rose’s kindness, readily confided to her the whole
papers respecting the intrigue with Gardiner’s regiment, of
which she was the depositary, and as readily undertook, at
her instance, to restore them to Waverley without her father’ S

 
 
 
 
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
    
    
 
 
  
       
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
  
 
 
 
  
    
   
  
  
 
 
 

Sewers tt Per srl

  

pp Perv ce neeWAVERLEY,

knowledge. ‘ For they may oblige the bonnie young lady and
the handsome young gentleman,” said Alice, “and what use
has my father for a wheen bits o’ scarted paper?”

The reader is aware that she took an opportunity of execu-
ting this purpose on the eve of Waverley’s leaving the glen.

How Donald executed his enterprise, the reader is aware.
3ut the expulsion of the military from Tully-Veolan had given
alarm, and, while he was lying in wait for Gilfillan, ‘a strong
party, such as Donald did not care to face, was sent to drive
back the insurgents in their turn, to encamp there, and to pro-
tect the country. The officer, a gentleman anda disciplinarian,
neither intruded himself on Miss Bradwardine, whose unpro-
ected situation he respected, nor permitted his soldiers to
commit any breach of discipline. He formed a little camp,
upon an eminence near the house of Tully-Veolan, and placed
proper guards at the passes in the vicinity. ‘This unwelcome
news reached Donald Bean Lean as he was returning to Tully-
Veolan. Determined, however, to obtain the guerdon of his
labor, he resolved, since approach to Tully-Veolan was impos-
sible, to deposit his prisoner in Janet’s cottage—a place the
very existence of which could hardly have been suspected even
by those who had long lived in the vicinity, unless they had
been guided thither, and which was utterly unknown to Waver-
ley himself. This effected, he claimed and received his re-
ward. Waverley’s illness was an event which deranged all
their calculations. Donald was obliged to leave the neighbor-
hood with his people, and to seek more free course for his ad-
ventures elsewhere. At Rose’s earnest entreaty, he left an
old man, a herbalist, who was supposed to understand a little
of medicine, to attend Waverley during his illness.

In the meanwhile, new and fearful doubts started in Rose’s
mind. They were suggested by old Janet, who insisted, that
a reward having been offered for the apprehension of Waver-
ley, and his own personal effects being so valuable, there was
no saying to what breach of faith Donald might be tempted.
In an agony of grief and terror, Rose took the daring resolu-
tion of explaining to the Prince himself the danger in which
Mr. Waverley stood, judging that, both as a politician, and a
man of honor and humanity, Charles Edward would interest
himself to prevent his falling into the hands of the opposite
party. ‘This letter she at first thought of sending anonymously,
but naturally feared it would not, in that case, be credited.
She therefore subscribed her name, though with reluctance
and terror, and consigned it in charge to a young man, who, at
leaving his farm to join the Chevalier’s army, made it his petiWAVERLEY.

tion to her to have some sort of credentials to the Adv enturer,
from whom he hoped to obtain a commission.

The letter reached Charles Edward on his descent to the
Lowlands, and, aware of the political importance of having it
supposed that he was in correspondence with the English
Jacobites, he caused the most positive orders to be transmitted
to Donald Bean Lean, to transmit Wav erley, safe and unin-
jured in person or effects, to the governor of Doune Castle.
The freebooter durst not ‘disobey, for the army of the Prince
was now so near him that punishment might have follow eds;
besides, he was a politician as weli as a rob ber, and was un-
willing to cancel the interest created through former secret
services, by being refractory on this occasion. He therefore
made a virtue of necessity, and transmitted orders to his lieu-
tenant to convey Edward to Doune, which was safely accom-
plished in the mode mentioned in a former chapter. The
governor of Doune was directed to send him to E -dinburgh as a
prisoner, because the Prince was apy eens e that Waverley,
if set at liberty, might have resumed his purpose of returning
to England, without affording him an opportunity of a Be sona
interview. In this, indeed, he acted by the advice of the Chief-
tain of Glennaquoich, with whom it may be remembered the
Chevalier communicated upon the mode of disposing of Ed.
ward, though without telling him how he came to learn the
place of his confinemer at.

This, indeed, Ch arles Edward considered asa lady’s secret ;
for although Rose’s letter was couched in the most cautious
and gener al terms, and professed to be written merely from
motives of humanity, and zeal for the Prince’s service, yet she
expressed so anxious a wish that she should not be known to
have interfered, that the Chevalier was induced to suspect the
deep interest which she took in Waverley’s safety. This con-
jecture, which was well founded, led, however, to false infer-
ences. For the emotion which Edward displayed on approach-
ing Flora and Rose at the ball of Holyrood, was placed by the
Chevalier to the account of the latter; and he concluded that
the Baron’s views about the settlement of his property, or some
such obstacle, thwarted their mutual inclinations. Common
fame, it is true, frequently gave Waverley to Miss Mac-Ivor ;
but the Prince knew that common fame is very prodigal 1 a
such gifts; and watching attentively the behavior of the
ladies towards Waverley, he had no doubt that the young
Englishman had no interest with Flora, and was beloved by
Rose Bradwardine. Desirous to bind Waverley to his service,
and wishing also to do a kind and friendly action, the Prince

 

  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
    
  

PP RRR RNPsat aheesteeeatere

=

 

   

352 WAVERLEY.

next assailed the Baron on the subject of settling his estate
upon his daughter. Mr. Bradwardine acquiesced; but the
consequence was, that Fergus was immediately induced to
prefer his double suit for a wife and an earldom, which the
prince rejected in the manner we have seen. The Chevalier,
constantly engaged in his own multiplied affairs, had not
hitherto sought any explanation with Waverley, though often
meaning to do so. But after Fergus’s declaration, he saw the
necessity of appearing neutral between the rivals, devoutly
hoping that the matter, which now seemed fraught with the
seeds of strife, might be permitted to lie over till the termina-
tion of the expedition. When on the march to Derby,
Fergus, being questioned concerning his quarrel with Wa-
verley, alleged as the cause, that Edward was desirous of
retracting the suit he made to his sister, the Chevalier
plainly told him, that he had himself observed Miss Mac-Ivor’s
behavior to Waverley, and that he was convinced that Fergus

was under the influence of a mistake in judging of Waverley’s
conduct, who, he had every reason to believe, was engaged to
Miss Bradwardine. The quarrel which ensued between Ed-
ward and the Chieftain is, I hope, still in the remembrance of
the reader. ‘These circumstances will serve to explain such
points of our narrative as, according to the custom of story-
tellers, we deemed it fit to leave unexplained, for the purpose
of exciting the reader’s curiosity.

When Janet had once finished the leading facts of this
narrative, Waverley was easily enabled to apply the clew
which they afforded, to other mazes of the labyrinth in which
he had been engaged. ‘To Rose Bradwardine, then, he owed
the life which he now thought he could willingly have laid
down to serve her. A little reflection convinced him, however,
that to live for her sake was more convenient and agreeable,
and that, being possessed of independence, she might share it
with him either in foreign countries or in his own. The pleas-
ure of being allied to a man of the Baron’s high worth, and
who was so much valued by his uncle Sir Everard, was also an
agreeable consideration, had anything been wanting to recone
mend the match. His absurdities, which had appeared gro-
tesquely ludicrous during his prosperity, seemed, in the sunset
of his fortune, to be harmonized and assimilated with the noble
features of his character, so as to add peculiarity without ex-
citing ridicule. His mind occupied with such projects of
future happiness, Edward sought Little Veolan, the habitation
of Mr. Duncan Macwheeble.WAVERLEY.

CHARTER: SIXTY-SIXTH.

Now is Cupid like a child of conscience—he makes restitution.
SHAKESPEARE,

Mr. Duncan MacwHerste, no longer commissary or Bailie,
though still enjoying the empty name of the latter dignity, had
escaped proscription by an early secession from the insurgent
party, and by his insignificance.

Edward found him in his office, immersed among papers
and accounts. Before him was a large bicker of oatmeal- -por-
ridge, and at the side thereof, a horn spoon and a bottle of
two-penny. Eagerly running his eye over a voluminous law-
paper, he from time to time shoveled an immense spoonful
of these nutritive viands into his Capacious mouth, A_ pot-
bellied Dutch bottle of brandy which stood by, intimated.either
that this honest limb of the law had taken his morning already,
or that he meant to season his porridge with such di igestive ;
or perhaps both circumstances might reasonably be inferred.
His night-cap and morning-gown had whilome been of tartan,
but, equally cautious and frugal, the honest Bailie had got
them dyed black, lest their original ill-omened color might re-
mind his visitors of his unlucky excursion to Derby. To sum
up the picture, his face was daubed with snuff up to the eyes
and his fingers with ink up to the knuckles. He looked dubi-
ously at Waverley as he seetoagied the little green rail which

fenced his desk and stool from the approach of the vulgar.
Nothing could give the Bailie more annoyance than the idea
of his acquaintance being claimed by any of the unfortunate
gentlemen who were now so much more likely to need assist-
ance than to afford profit. But this was the rich young Eng-
lishman—who knew what might be his situation ?—he was the
Baron’s friend too—what was to be done ?
While these reflections gave an air of absurd perplexity to
the poor man’s visage, W averley, reflecting on the communi-
cation he was about to make to him, of a nature so ridiculously
contrasted with the appearance of the individual, could not
help bursting out a-laughing, as he checked the propensity to
Pein with Syphax,—

Cato’s a proper person to intrust
A love-tale with.

As Mr. Macwheeble had no idea of any person laughing

  
 
  
  
   
   
 
   
     
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
   
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

peesteyrats wre Tasks at vana COChd

Renown ot vtse ets tty

  

fn A
“gfe nasseecdinn eeee

Srekcaax tere eae ee

Halak abaaeixiens See

354

poverty, the hil

WAVERLEY.

   
   
   
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

was either encircled by peril or oppressed by
arity of Edward’s countenance greatly relieved
the embarrassment of his own, and, giving him a tolerably
hearty welcome to Little Veolan, he asked what he would choose
for breakfast. His visitor had, in the first place, something
for his private ear, and begged leave to bolt the door. Duncan
by no means liked this precaution, which savored of danger to
be apprehended ; but he could not now draw back.

Convinced he might trust this man, as he could make it his
interest to be faithful, Edward communicated his present situa-
tion and future schemes to Macwheeble. The wily agent lis-
tened with apprehensions when he found Waverley was still in
a state of proscription—was somewhat comforted by learning
that he had a passport—rubbed his hands with glee when he
mentioned the amount of his present fortune opened huge
hen he heard the brilliancy of his future expectations ;
sressed his intention to share them with Miss
had almost deprived the honest man
e started from his three-footed stool
like the Pythoness from her tripod ; flung his best wig out of
the window, because the block on which it was placed stood in
the way of his career; chucked his cap to the ceiling, caught
it as it fell: whistled Tullochgorum ; danced a Highland fling
with inimitable grace and agility; and then threw himself ex-
hausted into a chair, exclaiming, “ Lady Wauverley !—ten
the least penny !—Lord preserve my poor un-

heartily who

 

eyes W
but when he exy
Rose Bradwardine, ecstasy
of his senses. The Baill

thousand a-year,
derstanding !”’—

“ Amen, with all my heart,” said Waverley -—“ but now,
Mr. Macwheeble, let us proceed to business.” This word had
a4 somewhat sedative effect, but the Bailie’s head, as he ex-
pressed himself, was still “ in the bees.” He mended his pen,
however, marked half-a-dozen sheets of paper with an ample
marginal fold, whipped down Dallas of St. Martin’s Styles
from a shelf, where that venerable work roosted, with Stair’s
Institutions, Dirleton’s Doubts, Balfour’s Practiques, and a
parcel of old account-books—opened the volume at the article
Contract of Marriage, and prepared to make what he called a
‘sma’ minute, to prevent parties frae resiling.”

With some difficulty, Waverley made him comprehend that
he was going a little too fast. He explained to him that he
should want his assistance, in the first place, to make his
residence safe for the time, by writing to the officer at Tully-
Veolan, that Mr. Stanley, an English gentleman, nearly re-
lated to Colonel Talbot was upon a visit of business at Mr.YY

Uy)

iG
DZ

6
THE BAILIE S TE
TARTED FROM HIS THREE-FOOTED STOOL.” [See page 381.]
. de Co oD 4 OO .

 

   

. = . ts
aeons iTanai tat

yWAVERLEY.

Macwheeble’s and, knowi ng the state of the country, had sent
his passport ae Capt ain Foster’ S inspection, This produced a
polite answer from the officer, with an invitation to Mr. Stanley
to dine with him, which was declined (as may easily be sup-
posed), under pretence of business.

Waverley’s next request was, that Mr. Macwheeble would de.

spatch a man and horse to the post town, at which Colone!}
Talbot was to address him, with directions to wait there until
the post should bring a letter for Mr. Stanley, and then to for-
ward it to Little Veolan with all speed. Ina moment, the
Bailie was in search of his apprentice (or servitor, as he was
called Sixty Years since), Jock Scriever, and in not much greater
space of time Jock was on the back of the w hite pony.

“Tak care’ ye guide him weel, sir, for he’s aye been short
in the wind since—ahem— Lord be eude to me! (in a low
voice) I was gaun to come out wi’—since I rode A and spur
to fetch the Chevalier to redd Mr. Wauverley and Vich Ian
Vohr ; and an uncanny coup I gat for my pains.—L Sea forgie
your honor ! [ might hae broken my neck—but troth it was in
aventure, mae ways nor ane; but this maks amends for a’.
Lady Wauverley !—ten thousand a year!—Lord be gude un-
fame! ”

“But you forget, Mr. Macwheeble, we want the Baron’s
consent he lady’ S a

“ Never fear, I’se be caution for them—I’se gle you my per-
sonal warrs andice—ten thous and a- year | ! it dings “Balmaw happle
out and Sits a year’s rent’s worth a’ Balmawh 1apple, fee and
life-rent ! Lord make us thankful! ”

To turn the current of his feelings, Edward inquired if he had
heard anything lately of the Chieftain of Glennaquoich ?

“ Not one _ ord,” answered M acwheeble, ‘ but that he
was still in Carlisle Castle, and was soon to be paneled for
Pas life: I dina wish the young gentleman ill,” he said, “ but
I hope that they that hae got him will keep him, and no let
him back to this Hieland border to plague us wi’ black-mail,
and a’ manner o’ violent, wrongous, and masterfu’ oppression
and spoliation, both by himself f and others of his causing, send-
ing, and hounding out ;—and he couldna tak care o’ the siller
when he had gotten it neither, but flung it a’ into yon idle quean’s
Jap at Edinburgh—but light came light g gane. For my part,
I never wish to see a kilt in the country again, nor a red-coat,
nor a gun, for that matter, unless it were to shoot a paitrick :—

they’re a’ tarr’d wi? ae stick. And when they have done ye

wrang, even when ye hae gotten decreet of spulzie, oppression,

 

 

 

  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
   
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 

a

Cn

ERIS ITWithee soc ce ee Seer eee

WAVERLEY.

and violent profits against them, what better are ye ?—they hae
na a plack to pay ye; ye need never extract it.”

With such discourse, and the intervening topics of business,
the time passed until dinner, Macwheeble meanwhile promis-
ing to devise some mode of introducing Edward at the Duch.
ran, where Rose at present resided, without risk of danger or
suspicion ; which seemed no very easy task, since the laird was a
very zealous friend to Government.—The poultry-yard had been
laid under requisition and cockyleeky and Scotch collops soon
reeked in the Bailie’s little parlor. ‘The landlord’s corkscrew
was just introduced into the muzzle of a pint-bottle of claret
(cribbed possibly from the cellars of Tully-Veolan), when the
sight of the gray pony, passing the window at full trot, induced
the Bailie, but with due precaution, to place it aside for the
moment. Enter Jock Scriever with a packet for Mr. Stanley :
it is Colonel Talbot’s seal ; and Edward’s fingers tremble as he
undoes it. ‘Two official papers, folded, signed, and sealed in
all formality, drop out. ‘They were hastily picked up by the
Bailie, who had a natural respect for everything resembling a
deed, and, glancing slyly on their titles, his! eyes, or rather
spectacles, are greeted with “ Protection by his Royal High-
ness to the person of Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq., of that
ilk, commonly called Baron of Bradwardine, forfeited for his
accession to the late rebellion.’”’ The others proved to be a pro-
tection of the same tenor in favor of Edward Waverley, Esq.
Colonel Talbot’s letter was in these words :—

‘* My DEAR EDWARD,

‘J am just arrived here, and yet I have finshed my business ;
it has cost me some trouble though, as you shall hear. I waited
upon his Royal Highness immediately on my arrival, and found
him in no very good humor for my purpose. Three or four
Scotch gentlemen were just leaving his levee. After he had
expressed himself to me very courteously ; ‘Would you think
it,’ he said, ‘Talbot? here have been half-a-dozen of the most
respectable gentleman, and best friends to Government north
of the Forth,—Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, Rubrick of
Duchran, and others,—who have fairly wrung from me, by
their downright importunity, a present protection and the
promise of a future pardon, for that stubborn old rebel whom
they call Baron of Bradwardine. They allege that his high
personal character, and the clemency which he showed to such
of our people as fell into the rebel’s hands, should weigh in his
favor; especially as the loss of his estate is likely to be a
severe enough punishment. MRubrick has undertaken to keepPATER >
WAVERLEY, 357
him at his own house till things are settled in the co untry ; but
it’s a little hard to be forced in a manner to pardon such a morta]
enemy to the House of Brunswick.’ This was no favorable
moment for opening my business ;— ee I said I was
poiaiced to learn that his “Roy al Highness was in the course of
yranting such requests, as it embolc dened me to present one of
the like nature in my own name. € was very angry, but I
persisted ;—I mentioned the uniform s support of our three votes
in the house, ee modestly on services abroad, though
valuable only in his Royal Highness’s having been please ed| kindly
to accept them, and found. sd retty s strongly on his own expres-
will. He was embarrassed, but
y of detaching, on all future
rtune as your uncle’s from the
machinations of the disaffected, eat I made no impression.
I mentioned the obligations whic ey under to Sir Everard,
and to you personally, and cea s the sole reward of my
services, that he would be pleased ie. afford me the means
evincing my gratitude. | perceived th 1at he still meditated <
refusal, and taking my commission from my pocket, I said a
a last resource), that as his Ro yal Highne ss did not, under
these pressing circums tances, think me worthy of a favor
which

hi

en
H

p
eood
QO

l-
obstinate. I hinted the policy
occasions, the heir of such a fo;

sions of friendship an

ad famed

he had not scrupled to grant to other gentlemen, whose
services I could hardly judge more important than my own, I
must beg leave to deposit, with all humility, my commission in
his Royal Highness’s hands, and to retire from the service. He
was not prepared for this ;—he told me to take up my com-
mission ; ae some handsome things of my services, and
grante dit y request. You are the refore once more a freeman,
and I bat we promised for you that you will be a good boy in
future, and remember we you owe to the lenity of Govern-
ment. Thus you see my prince can be as generous as Eg

I do not pretend, indeed, Sa he confers a favor with all the
foreign graces and compliments of your Chevalier errant; but
he has a plain English manner, and the evident reluctance with
which he grants your request, indicates the sacrifice which th
makes of hi S own inclination to your wishes. My friend,
adjutant-general, has procured me a duplicate of the Beane
protection (the original being in Major Melville’s possession),
which I send to you, as I biow that if you can find him you
will have pleasure in being the eee to communicate the joyful
intelligence. He will of course repair tothe Duchran without loss
of time, there to ride quarantine for a few weeks, As for you, I
give you leave to escort him thither, and to stay a week there, as

 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
 
    
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
     
  
  
 
    
     
   
    
   
  
 
 
     
      
 
 
 
   
  
   
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 

PSSNtranten nicer e Serial ELIS TET

Sisbiniae pe hahhed aiahs 3 Sotho bin enemas nes ce eT

 

WAVERLEY.

   

358

v

I understand a certain fair lady is in that quarter. And I have
the pleasure to tell you, that whatever pee you can make
in her good graces will be highly agreeable to Sir Everard and
Mrs. Rachel, who will never believe your views and prospects
settled, and the three ermines passant. in actual safety, until
you present them with a Mrs. Edward Waverley. Now, certain
love-affairs of my own—a good many years since—interrupted
some measures which were then proposed in favor of the three
ermines passant; so I am bound in honor to make them
amends. Therefore make good use of your time, for when
your week is expired, it will be necessary that you go to London
to plead your pardon in the law courts.
‘Ever, dear Waverley, yours most truly,
‘PHicrp JLALBOT.:*

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVENTH.

Happy’s the wooing
That’s not long a doing.

NVwen the first rapturous sensation occasioned by these
Be tidings had somewhat subsided, Edward proposed
instantly to: go down to the elen to acquaint the Baron with
their import. But the cautious Bailie justly observed, that if
the Baron were to appear instantly in public, the tenantry and
villagers might become riotous in expressing their joy, and
give offence to “ the powers that be,” a sort of persons for
whom the Bailie always had unlimited respect. He therefore
proposed that Mr. Waverley should go to Janet Gellatley’s
and bring the Baron up under cloud of night to Little Veolan,
where he might once more enjoy the luxury of a good bed. In
the meanw hile, he said, he himself would goto C aptain Foster,
and show him the Baron’s protection, and obtain his counte-
nance for harboring him that night,—and he would have horses
ready on the morrow to set him on his way to the Duchran
along with Mr. Stanley, ‘ whilk denomin ation, I apprehend,
your honor will for the present retain,” said the Bailie

“Certainly, Mr. Macwheeble ; but will you not go down to

the glen yourself i in the evening to meet your patron ?”

‘That I wad wi’ a? my heart ; and mickle obliged to your
bating for putting me in mind o’ my bounden duty. But it
will be past sunset afore I get back frae the Captain’s andWAVERLEY.
these unsonsy hours the glen has a bad name—there’s

he’ll no believe th
turesome—and feared neither man nor deevil—
ot. Butright sure am I Sir George Macl

shalt not suffer them to live
there’s baith law and gospel for it.

lieve the Leviticus, he might aye believe the Statute-bool
he may tak his ain way o’t—it’s a’ ane to Duncan Macwheebie.

However, I shall send to ask up auld Janet this e’en ; it’s best
no to lightly them that have that character—and we'll want

Davie to turn the spit, for, ’ll gar Eppie put down a fat goose
to the fire for your honors to your supper.”

When it was near sunset, Waverley hastened to the hut :
and he could not but allow that superstition had chosen no
improper locality, or unfit object, for the foundation of her
fantastic terrors. It resembled exactly the description of
Spenser:

There, in a gloomy hollow glen, she found
A little cottage built of sticks and reeds,
In homely wise, and wall’d with sods around,
In which a witch did dwell in loathly weeds,
And wilful want, all careless of her needs :
So choosing solitary to abide
Far from all neighbors, that her devilish deeds,
And hellish arts, from people she might hide,
And hurt far off, unknown, whomsoever she espied.

He entered the cottage with these verses in his memory.
Poor old Janet, bent double with age, and bleared with peat-
smoke, was tottering about the hut with a birch broom, mutter-
ing to herself as she endeavored to make her hearth and floor
a little clean for the reception of her expected guests. Waver-
Jey’s step made her start, look up, and fall a-trembling, so
much had her nerves been on the rack for her patron’s safety.
With difficulty Waverley made her comprehend that the Baron
was now safe from personal danger ; and when her mind had
admitted that joyful news, it was equally hard to make her be-
lieve that he was not to enter again upon possession of his
estate. “‘ It behoved to be,” she said, ‘ he wad Seti back
again ; naebody wad be sae gripple as to tak his gear after
they had gi’en him a pardon; and for that Inch-Grabbit, I
could whiles wish mysell a witch for his sake, if I werena
feared the Enemy wad tak me at my word.” Waverley then
gave her some money, and promised that her fidelity should

359
some-

thing no that canny about auld Janet Gellatley. The Laird
ae things, but he was aye ower rash and ven-
and sae’s seen

<enyie says, that no
divine can doubt there are witches, since the Bible says thou

; and that no lawyer in Scotland
can doubt it, since it is punishable with death by our law. So

An his honor winna be-
& 3 but

reece ren eR NTs

&
Ss aie aes a

 
 
  
   
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 

ST saa

ASV

See ee,hierar

ieauiabascetaen os

360 WAVERLEY,

be rewarded. “How can I be rewarded, sir, sae weel, as
just to see my auld maister and Miss Rose come back an
bruik their ain?”

Waverley now took leave of Janet, and soon stood beneath
the Baron’s Patmos. Ata low whistle, he observed the veteran
peeping out to reconnoitre, like an old badger with his head
out of his hole. “Ve hae come rather early, my good lad,”
said he descending ; ““T question if the red- coats hae beat the
tattoo yet, and we’re not safe till then.”

“Good news cannot be told too soon,” said Wav erley;
and with infinite joy communicated to him the happy tidings.

The old man stood for a moment in silent dev otion, then
exclaimed, ‘‘ Praise be to God !—I shall see my bairn again.’

“And never, I hope, to part with her more,” said Waver
ley.

“I trust in God, not, unless it be to win the means of sup
porting her; for my things are but in a bruckle state ;—bul
what signifies warld’s gear?’

‘And: 16,2 isa: W aati modestl there were a situa:
tion in life which would put Miss Bradwardine beyond the un-
certainty of fortune, and in the rank to which she was born,
would you object to it, my dear Baron, because it would make
one of your friends the happiest man in the world?” The
Baron cee and looked at him with great earnestness.
“Yes,” continued Edward, “I shall not consider my sentence
of banishment as repealed, unless you will give me permission
to accompany you to the Duchran, and”’

The Baron seemed collecting all his dignity to make a suit-
able reply to what, at another time, he would have treated as
the propounding a treaty of alliance between the house of
Bradwardine and Waverle ey. ee it his efforts were in vain; the
father was too mighty for the Baron; the pride of birth and
rank were swept away: in the @ joy yful surprise, a slight convul-
sion passed rapidly over his features, as he gave way to the
feelings of nature, threw his arms around W averley’s neck,
and sobbed out,—‘* My son! my son !—if I had been to search
the world, I would have made my choice here.” Edward re-
turned the embrace with great sympathy of feo! ing, and fora
little while they both kept silence. At length it was broken
by Edward. “ But Miss Bradwardine ?”

“She had never a will but her old father’s; besides, you
are alikely youth, of honest principles, and high birth; no,
she never had any other will than mine, and in my proudest
days I could not have wished a mair eligible e espousal for her
than the nephew of my excellent old friend, Sir Everard.—But

3

66

ys
|WAVERLEY. 261

vu

I hope, young man, ye deal na rashly in this matter? I hope

ye hae secured the approbation of your ain friends and allies,
particularly of your uncle, who is Zz Joco parentis? Ah! we
maun tak heed o’ that.” Edward assured him that Sir Everard
would think himself highly honored in the flattering reception
his proposal had met with, and that it had his entire approba-
tion ; in evidence of which, he put Colonel Talbot’s letter into
the Baron’s hand. The Baron read it with great attention.
“Sir Everard,” he said, “always despised wealth in compari-
son of honor and birth; and indeed he had no occasion to
court the Diva Pecunia. Yet I now wish, since this Malcolm
turns out such a parricide, for I can call him no better, as to
think of alienating the family inheritance—I now wish (his
eyes fixed on a part of the roof which was visible above the
trees) that I could have left Rose the auld hurley-house, and
the rigs belanging to it~—And yet,” said he, resuming more
cheerfully, “it’s maybe as weel as it is ; for, as Baron of Brad-
wardine, I might have thought it my duty to insist upon cer-
tain compliances respecting name and bearings, whilk now, as
a landless laird wi’ a tocherless daughter, no one can blame
me for departing from,”

“Now, Heaven be praised!” thought Edward, “that Sir
Everard does not hear these scruples!—the three ermines
passant and rampant bear would certainly have gone together
by the ears.” He then, with all the ardor of a young lover,
assured the Baron that he sought for his happiness only in
Kose’s heart and hand, and-thought himself as happy in her
father’s simple approbation, as if he had settled an earldom
upon his daughter.

They now reached Little Veolan, The goose was smoking
on the table, and the Bailie brandished his knife and fork. A
joyous greeting took place between him and his patron, ‘The
kitchen, too, had its company. Auld Janet was established at
the inglenook; Davie had turned the spit to his immortal
honor; and even Ban and Buscar, in the liberality of Mac-
wheeble’s joy, had been stuffed to the throat with food, and
now lay snoring on the floor.

The next day he conducted the Baron and his young friend to
the Duchran, where the former was expected, in consequence
of the success of the nearly unanimous application of the
Scottish friends of Government in his favor. This had been
so general and so powerful that it was almost thought his estate
might have been saved, had it not passed into the rapacious
hands of his unworthy kinsman, whose right, arising out of the
Baron’s attainder, could not be affected by a pardon from the

    
   
 
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 

Noro

PRATER PART SSB362 WAVERLEY.
| crown. The old gentleman, however, said, with his usual
spirit, he was more gratified by the hold he possessed in the
uh good opinion of his neighbors than he would have been in being
i “rehabilitated and restored zz integrum, had it been found
We practicable.”
| We shall not attempt to describe the meeting of the father
and daughter—loving each other so affectionately, and sepa-
rated under such perilous circumstances. Still less shall we
attempt to analyze the deep blush of Rose at receiving the
compliments of Waverley, or stop to inquire whether she had
any curiosity respecting the particular cause of his journey to
Scotland at that period. We shall not even trouble the reader
with the humdrum details of a courtship Sixty Years since. It
is enough to say, that under so strict a martinet as the Baron,
all things were conducted in due form. He took upon himself,
the morning after their arrival, the task of announcing the pro-
posal of Waverley to Rose, which she heard with a proper
degree of maiden timidity. Fame does, however, say that Wa-
verley had, the evening before, found five minutes to apprise
her of what was coming, while the rest of the company were
locking at three twisted serpents which formed a je¢ d@’eau in
the garden.

My fair readers will judge for themselves ; but, for my part,
I cannot conceive how so important an affair could be commu.
nicated in so short a space of time ;—at least, it certainly took
a full hour in the Baron’s mode of conveying it.

Waverley was now considered as a received lover in all the
forms. He was made, by dint of smirking and nodding on the
part of the lady of the house, to sit next to Miss Bradwardine
\ at dinner, to be Miss Bradwardine’s partner at cards. If he
came into the room, she of the four Miss Rubricks who chanced
to be next Rose was sure to recollect that her thimble, or her
scissors, were at the other end of the room, in order to leave
the seat nearest to Miss Bradwardine vacant for his occupation.
And sometimes, if papa and mamma were not in the way to
keep them on their good behavior, the Misses would titter a
little. The old Laird of Duchran would also have his occa-
sional jest, and the old lady herremark. Even the Baron could
not refrain; but here Rose escaped every embarrassment but
that of conjecture, for his wit was usually couched in a Latin
quotation. The very footmen sometimes grinned too broadly.
the maid-servants giggled mayhap too loud, and a provoking
air of intelligence seemed to pervade the whole family. Alice
Bean, the pretty maid of the cavern, who, after her father’s szs-
fortune, as she called it, had attended Rose as fille-de-chambre,

 

 

 

  

 aahettives Bites ate

PeWAVERLEY. 363

smiled and smirked with the best of them. Rose and Edward,
however, endured all these little vexatious circumstances as
other folks have done before, and since, and probably contrived
to obtain some indemnification, since they are not supposed,
on the whole, to. have been particularly unhappy during Wa-
verley’s six days’ stay at the Duchran.

It was finally arranged that Edward should go to Waverley-
Honour to make the necessary arrangements for his marriage,
thence to London to take the proper measures for pleading his
pardon, and return as soon as possible to claim the hand of his
plighted bride. He also intended in his journey to visit Col-
onel Talbot; but above all, it was |
to learn the fate of the unfortunate Chief of Glennaquoich ; to
visit him at Carlisle, and to try whether anything could be done
for procuring, if not a pardon, a commutation at least, or alle-
viation, of the punishment to which he was almost certain of

being condemned ;——and, in case of the worst, to offer the miser-
able Flora an asylum with Rose, or otherwise to assist her
views in any mode which might seem possible. The fate of
Fergus seemed hard to be averted, Edward had already striven
fo interest his friend Colonel Talbot in hjs behalf ; but had
been given distinctly to understand, by his reply, that his credit
in matters of that nature was totally exhausted.

The Colonel was still in Edinburgh, and proposed to wait
there for some months upon business confded to him by the
Duke of Cumberland. He was to be joined by Lady Emily,
to whom easy travelling and goat’s whey were recommended,
and who was to journey northward under the escort of Francis
Stanley. Edward, therefore, met the Colonel at Edinburgh,
who wished him joy in the kindest manner on his approaching
happiness, and cheerfully undertook many commissions which
our hero was necessarily obliged to delegate to his charge.
But on the subject of Fergus he was inexorable. He satisfied
Edward, indeed, that his interference would be unavailing ;
but besides, Colonel Talbot owned that he could not conscien-
tiously use any influence in favor of that unfortunate gentle-
man. “ Justice,” he said, “which demanded some penalty of
those who had wrapped the whole nation in fear and in mourn-
ing, could not perhaps have selected a fitter victim. He came
to the field with the fullest light upon the nature of his attempt.
He had studied and understood the subject. His father’s*fate
could not intimidate him; the lenity of the laws which had
restored to him his father’s property and rights could not melt
him. ‘That he was brave, generous, and possessed many good
qualities, only rendered him the more dangerous ; that he was

uis most important object

  
 
  
 
  
 
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
 

DEATA LERNER TEN IBA E

Ran

peeerervrrrerersn yi

  

a
esas 2 Se tuanaacensabbiewareDesire vane

SSbbieanesas acon tees

P - sapBihisiessen ass enact Xe
~ — < on ,

 

364 WAVERLEY

enlightened and accomplished made his crime the less excu-
sable ; ; that he was an enthusiast in a wrong cause only made
him the more fitto be its martyr. Above all, he had been the
means of bringing many hundreds of men into the field who,
without him, would never have broken the peace of the country.
“T repeat it,’ said the Colonel, “ though Heaven knows
with a heart distressed for him as an individual, that this young
ge sntleman has studied and fully understood the desper ate game
which he has played. He threw for life or death, a coronet or
a coffin; and he cannot now be permitted, with justice to the
country, to draw stakes because the dice have gone against him.”
Such was the reasoning of those times, held even by brave
and humane men toward a vanquishedenemy. Let us devoutly
hope that, in this respect at least, we shall never see the scenes
or hold the sentiments, that were general in Britain Sixty
Years since.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY—-EIGHTH.

To-morrow ? Oh, that’s sudden! Spare him! spare him!
SHAKESPEARE.

EpwArpD, attended by his former servant Alick Polwarth
who had re-entered his service at Edinburgh, reached Carlisle
while the commission of Oyer and ‘lerminer on his paaeiaes
associates was yet sitting. He had pushed forw:
not, alas ! with the most distant ae of saving Ree. mie to
see him for the last time. I ought to have mentioned that he
had furnished funds for the defence of the prisoners in the
most liberal manner, as soon as he heard that the day of trial
was fixed, A solicitor, and the first counsel, accordingly
attended ; but it was upon the same footing on which the first
physicians are usually summoned to the bedside of some dying
man of rank ;—the doctors to take the advantage of some incal-
culable chance of an exertion of nature—the lawye ars to avail
themselves of the barely possible occurrence of some legal flaw.
Edward pressed into the court, which was extremely crowded ;
but by his arriving from the north, and his extreme eagerness and
agitation, it was supposed he was a relation of the ppsoneie
and people made way for him. It was the third sitting of the
court, and there were two men at the bar. The verdict of
GUILTY was already pronounced. Edward just glanced at the
bar during the momentous pause which ensued. There was no

>WAVERLEY. 365
mistaking the stately form and noble features of Fe ergs Mac-
Ivor, altho ugh his dress was squi lid and his ; countenance tinged
with the sickly yellow hue of long and close imprisonment. “By
his side was Evan Maccombich.. Edward felt sick and dizzy
as he gazed on them; but he was recalled to hj ae as the
Clerk of the Arraigns pronounced the solemn words “Fetgtis
Mac-Ivor of Glennaquc ich, otherwise called Vich Ian Vohr,
and Evan Mac Ivor, in the Dhu of Tarrascleugh, otherwise
called Evan Dhu, otherwise called Evan Maccombich, or Evan
Dhu Maccombich—you, and each of you, stand attainted of
high treason. What have you to say for yourselves why the
Court should not pronounce judgment against you, that you
die according to law?’

Fergus, as the presiding J udge was putting on the fatal cap
of judgment, placed his own bonnet upon his he: id, regarded
him with a steadfast and stern look. and repeal na fitm voice,
‘I cannot let this numerous audience suppose ee to such an
appeal I have no answer to ae But what I have to say, you
would not eg! to hear, for my defence would a yC A condem-
nation. Proceed, then, in che name of God, to do what is per-
mitted to souk Yesterday, and the day Batoree you have
condemned loyal and honorable blood to be poured forth like
vater. Spare notmine. Were that of all my ancestors in my
veins, I would have peril’d it in this quarrel.” He resumed
his seat, and refused again to rise

Evan Maccombich looked at him with great earnestness,
and, rising up, seemed anxious to speak; but the confusion of
the court, and the perplexity arising from thinking in a langu age
different from that in which he was to express himself, kept

9

at

him silent. There was a murmur of com passion among the
A

spectators, from an idea that the poor fellow intended to plead
. ‘ Cc * ° mm

the influence of his superior as an excuse for his crime. The
Judge co mmanded silence, and enc Evan to proceed.

“Twas only ganging to say, my Tie Evan, in what

he meant to be in an insinuating mal nner,” that if your excel-

lent honor, and the honorable Court, would let Vi ich fan Vohr

Ta a 3H RAAr B, Waa

go free just t his once, anc l let him gae back to France, and no

to trouble King George’s government again, that ony six 0’ the

very best of his es will be willing to be justified in his stead :

 

and if you'll ae a me gae pane to Glennaquoich, Ill fetch
them up to ye mysell, to head or hang, and you may begin wi’

me the ey y fe oe man.’

Notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, a sort of
laugh was h seatd in the court at the extr: 10ordinary nature of the
sos: The Judge checked this indecency, and Evan, look-

  

  
  
  
  
  
  
      
   
  
 
    
    
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
   
      
 
 
 
 
    
   
        
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
    
    
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 

SEER SERPENT STITT TONG2S eee PARTS
= waa N w wo

366 WAVERLEY.

ing sternly around, when the murmur abated, “ If the Saxon
gentlemen are laughing,” he said, “ because a poor man, such
as me, thinks my life, or the life OF six of my degree, is OnE
that i Wich lane vie hr, its like enough they may be very right ;

but if they laugh because they think I would not keep my word,
and come back to redeem him, I can tell them they ken neither
the heart of a Hielandman, nor the honor of a gentleman.”

There was no further inclination to laugh among the audi-
pat and a dead silenced ensued.

lhe Judge then pronounced upon both prisoners the sen-
tence of the law of high treason, with all its horrible. accom:
paniments. ‘The execution was appointed for the ensuing day.
“For you, Fergus Mac-Ivor,” continued the Judge, “I can hold
out no hope of mercy. You must prepare against to-morrow
for your last sufferings here, and your great audit hereafter.”

“I desire nothing else, my lord,” answered Fergus, in the
same manly and firm tone. ;

The hard eyes of Evan, which had been perpetually bent
on his Chief, were moistened vin a tear. “ Fer you, poor
ignorant man,” continued the Judge, “ who, following the ideas
in which you have been educated, have this day given us a
striking example how the loyalty due to the king and state
alone, is, from your unhappy ideas of clanship, transferred to
some ambitious individual, who ends by making you the tool of
his crimes—for you, I say, I feel so much compassion, that if
you can make up your mind to petition for grace, I will en-
deavor to procure it for you. Otherwise ”

‘Grace me no grace,” said Evan ; “since you are to shed
Vich Jan Vohr’s blood, the only favor I would accept from you
is—to bid them loose my hands and gie me my claymore, and
bide you just a minute sitting where you are !”

‘Remove the prisoners,” said the Judge ; “ his blood be
upon his own head.”

Almost stupefied with his feelings, Edward found that the
rush of the crowd had conveyed him out into the street, ere he
knew what he was doing.—His immediate wish was to see and
speak with Fergus once more. He applied at the Castle, where
his unfortunate friend was confined, but was refused admit:
tance. “ The High Sheriff,” a non-commissioned officer said,
“had requested of the governor that none should be admitted
to see the prisoner excepting his confessor and his sister.”

And where was Miss Mac-Ivor?” They gave him the
direction. It was the house of a respectable Catholic family
near Carlisle
Kepulsed from the gate of the Castle, and not venturing toWAVERLEY. 364
make application to the High Sheriff or Jud ges in his own
unpopular name, he had recourse to the solicitor who came
down in Fergus’s behalf. This gentleman told him that it was
thought the ‘public mind was in danger of being debauched by
he account of the last moments of these persons, as given by
he friends of the Pretender : that there had been a re esolution,
herefore, to exclude all such persons as had not tne plea of
near kindred for attending upon them. Yet he promised (to
oblige the heir of Wav erley- Honour) to get him an order for
admittance to the prisoner the next morning, before his irons
were knock ed off for execution.

ls ib of Fer seus Mac-Ivor they speak thus,” thought Wa-
verley, “ or do I dream? of Fet rgus, the bold, the chivalrous,
the Ande the lofty chieftain of a tribe devoted to him?
Is it he, that I have seen lead the chase and head the attack,
—the brave, the active, the young, the noble, the love of ladies,
and the theme of song—is it he who is ironed like a malefactor
—who is to be dragged on a hurdle to the common callow -
to die a lingering and cruel death, and to be ma ungled by t
hand of the most outcast of wretches ? Evil indeed was -
spectre that boded such a fate as this to the brave Chief of
Glennaquoich.

With a faltering voice he requested the solicitor to find
means to warn Fergus of his intended visit, should he obtain
permission to make it. He then turned away from him, and,
returning to the inn, wrote a scarcely intelligible note to F lora
Mac-Ivor, intimating his purpose to wait upon her that even-
ing. The messenger brought back a letter in Flora’s beautiful
[talian hand, which seemed scarce to tremb le even under
this load of misery. ‘“ Miss Flora Mac- Ivor,” the letter bore,
“ could not refuse to see the dearest friend of her dear brother,
even in her present circumstances of unparalleled distress.”

When Edward reached Miss Mac-Ivor’s present place of
abode, he was instantly admitted. In a large and gloomy
tapestried apartment, Flora was seated ] vy a latticed window,
sewing what seemed to bea garment of white flannel, Ata
little distance sat an elderly woman, apparently a foreigner,
and of a religious order. She was re sading in a book of Catho-
lic devotion ; but when Wav erley entered, laid it on the table
and left the room. Flora rose to receive him, and stretched
out her hand, but neither ventured to attempt Speech: Her
fine complexion was totally gone : her person considerably
emaciated; and her face and hands as white as the purest
statuary marble, forming a strong contrast with her sable dress
and jet-hlack hair, Yet, amid these marks of distress, there

t
U
¢
L

 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
 
   
     
  
 
 
       
  
 
 
    
    
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 

oer Sette y amare tis Sucrh CaS CLITA

eee ee

  

a 3
SS ees elaknitsWAVERLEY.

was nothing negligent or ill-arranged about her attire ; even
her hair, though totally without ornament, was disposed with
‘ her usual attention to neatness. The first words she uttered
were, ‘ Have you seen him ?”
‘“ Alas, no,” answered Waverley; ‘I have been refused
an admittance.” ;
tt ‘Tt accords with the rest,” she said,
Shall you obtain leave, do you suppose ?”
‘“‘ For—for—to-morrow,” said Waverley ; but muttering the
iast word so faintly that it was almost unintelligible.
Hi “¢ Ay, then or never,” said Flora, ‘‘ until ’’—she added, look-
Wa ing upward, ‘“‘ the time when, I trust, we shall all meet. But I
hope you will see him while earth yet bears him. He always
loved you at his heart, though—but it is vain to talk of the
past.”
“Vain-indeed !’’ echoed Waverley.
‘Or even of the future, my good friend,” said Flora “ so
| far as earthly events are concerned; for how often have I
Bille | pictured to myself the strong possibility of this horrid issue,
an and tasked myself to consider how I could support my part;
and yet how far has all my anticipation fallen short of the
unimaginable bitterness of this hour!”
“Dear Flora, if your strength of mind”
‘“‘ Ay, there it is,’? she answered, somewhat wildly ; ‘‘ there
it is, Mr. Waverley, there is a busy devil at my heart that whis-
pers—but it were madness to listen to it—that the strength
of mind on which Flora prided herself has murdered her
brother !”
Wy ‘‘Good Gad! how can you give utterance to a thought so
i shocking ?”
a “ Ay, is it not so ?—but yet it haunts me like a phantom: I
| know itis unsubstantial and vain ; but it zvz/7 be present—wil]
intrude its horrors on my mind—will whisper that my brother,
as volatile as ardent, would have divided his energies amid a
hundred objects. It was I who taught him to concentrate
them, and to gage all on this dreadful and desperate cast. Oh
that I could recollect that I had but once said to him, ‘He
that striketh with the sword shall die by the sword ;’ that I
had but once said, Remain at home ; reserve yourself, your
vassals, your life, for enterprises within the reach of man. But
| oh, Mr. Waverley, I spurred his fiery temper, and half of his
, a ruin at least lies with his sister !”
The horrid idea which she had intimated Edward endeav-
ored to combat by every incoherent argument that occurred

ce

but we must submit,

tas

Prien x hestaGarst ee tee

ee

 

 

Spanascaeaceeiet

Mikes eee <nWAVERLEY. 369
tohim. He recalled to her the principles on which both thought
it their duty to act, and in which they had been educated.

“Do not think I have forgotten them,” she said, looking
up, with eager eh aaah “I do not regret his attempt be:
cause it was wrong—oh no! on that point I am armed—but
beca wuse it was impossible it could end otherwise than thus.”

et it did not always seem so desperate and hazardous as
it was ; and it would have been chosen by the bold spirit of
Fergus whether you had approved it or no ; your counsels
only served to give unity and consistence to his conduct ; to
dignify, but not to precipitate, his resolution.” Flora had soon
ceased to listen to Edward, and was again intent upon her
needle-work.

“Do you remember,” she oe looking up with a ghastly
smile, “‘ you once found me making Fergus’s bride-favors, and
now I am sewing his bridal-garment. Our friends here,” she
continued, with suppressed emotion, “are to give hallowed
earth in ie ir chapel to the bloody relics of the last Vich Ian
Vohr. ut th ey will not all rest together ; no—his head !—f
shall not hee the last miserable consolation of kissing the
cold lips of my dear, dear Fergus! ”

The unfortunate Flora here, atter one or two hystericai
sobs, fainted in her chair. The lady, who been attending
in the ante-room, now entered see and begged Edward to
leave the room, but not the house.

fi ose he was recalled, after the space of nearly half an
1our, he found that, bya strong effort Miss Ma ac-Ivor had
gre ao composed herself. It was then he ventured to urge
re ‘Bradwardine’s claim to be considered as an adopted

ister, and empO' wered to assist her plans for the ee

” I have had a letter from my dear Rose,” she replied, “ to
the same purpose. Sorrow is selfish ande engrossing, or I would
lave written to erp iees that, even in my own despair, I felt a
creees of pleasure at learning her happy prospects, an d at hear-

1¢ that the good old Baron has escaped the general wreck,
Give this to my dearest Rose; it is her poor Flora’ s only orna-
ment of value, and was the gift of a princess.” She put into
his hands a case containing the chain of diamonds with which
she used to decorate her hair. ‘To me it is in future useless.
The kindness of my friends has secured me a retreat in the
convent of the Scottish Benedictine nunsin Paris. To-morrow
—if indeed I can survive to morrow—lI set forward on my
journey with this venerable sister. And now, Mr. Wa wverley,
adieu! May you be as happy with Rose as your amiable dis-
positions deserve |—and think sometimes on the friends you

pore

  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
    
    
  
   
  
  
   
     
 
 
 
  
     
  
    
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
   
 

TERE erta

SEE TERRE

  

. .Mike oe

 

WAVERLEY.

have lost. Do not attempt to see me again! it would be mis-
taken kindness.’

She gave him her hand, on which Edward shed a torrént of
tears, and, with a faltering step, withdrew from the apartments
and returned to the town of Carlisle. At the inn he found a
letter from his law friend, intimating that he would be admittec
to Fergus next morning as soon as the Castle gates were
opened, and permitted to remain with him till the arrival of the
Sheriff gave signal for the fatal procession.

 

CHAPTER :SIXTY-NINTH.

 

A darker departure is near,
The death-drum is muffled, and sable the bier,
CAMPBELL,

AFTER a sleepless night, the first dawn of morning found
Waverley on the esplanade in front of the old Gothic gate of
Carlisle Castle. But he paced it long in every direction before
the hour when, according to the rules of the garrison, the gates
were opened and the drawbridge lowered. He produced his
order to the sergeant of the guard, and was admitted.

The place of Fergus’s confinement was a gloomy and vaulted
apartment in the central part of the Castle—a huge old tower,
supposed to be of great antiquity, and surrounded ‘by outworks,
seemingly of Henry VIII.’s time, or somewhat later. The grat-
ing of the large old-fashioned bars and bolts, withdrawn for the
purpose of admitting Edward, was answered by the clash of
chains, as the unfortunate Chieftain, strongly and heavily fet-
tered, shuffled along the stone floor of his prison to fling him-
self into his friend’s arms.

“My dear Edward,” he said, in a firm, and even cheerful
voice, “ this is truly kind. I heard of your approaching happi
ness with the highest Pe ae And how does’ Rose? and
how is our old whimsical friend the Baron? Well, I trust, since
I see you at freedom.—And how will you settle precedence
between the three ermines passant and the bear and boot-
jack ? )

» “ How, O how, my dear Fergus, can you talk of such things
at such a moment!”

* Why, we have entered Carlisle with happier auspices, to
‘Ss Sure—on the 16th of November last for example, when we
marched in, side by side, and hoisted the white flag on theseWAVERLEY. ay
ancient towers. But I am no boy, to sit down and weep be:
cause the luck has gone ; gainst me. I knew the stake which I
risked; we played the g game boldly, and the forfeit shall be paid
manfully. And now, since my time is short, let me come to the
questions that interest me most—The Prince ? has he escaped
the blood-hounds ? ”
‘He has, and is in safety.”
“ Praised be God for that! Tell me the
escape.”

Waverley communicated that remarkable history so far as
it had then transpired,

to which Fergus listened with deep
interest. He then asked after several other friends s; and made
many minute inquiries concerni ng the fate of his own clansmen.
They had suffered less than other tribes who had been engaged
in the affair ; for, having in a great measure dispersed and re-
turned home after the c captivity of their Chieftain, according to
the universal custom of the Highlanders, they were not in arms
when the insurrection was finall
were treated with less rigor.
satisfaction.

“You are rich,” he said, “Waverley, and you are generous.
When you hear of these poor Mac-Ivors being distressed about
their miserable possessions by some harsh overseer or agent of
government, remember you have worn their tartan, and are an
adopted son of their race. The B Jaron, who knows our manner
and lives near our country, will apprise you of the time in
means to be their protector. Will you promise this to the last
Vich lan: Viobhr 2?

Edward, as may well be believed, pledged his word; which
he afterward so amply redeemed, that his memory still lives in
these glens by the name of the Friend of the Sons of Ivor.

“Would to God,” continued the Chieftain, “I could be-
queath to you my right s to the love and obedience of this prim-

itive and brave race :—or at least, as I have striven to do, per-
suade poor Evan to accept of his life upon their terms, and be
to you what he has been to me, the kindest—the bravest—the
most devoted ”

The tears which his own fate could not draw forth, fell fast
for that of his foster-brother.

“ But,” said he, drying them, “that cannot be. You cannot
be to them Vich Ian Vohr ; and these three magic words}’
said he, half smiling, “are the onl y Open Sesame to their feel
Ings and sympathies, and poor Evan must attend his foster-
brotl her in death, as he has done through his whole life.”

** And I am sure,” said Maccombich, raising himself from the

particulars of hig

y suppressed, and consequently
This Fergus heard with great

 

  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
        
    
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
     
    
  
 
 
 
 

Poet

EOS Sage SRS ER aN aR NN CTT IRS aoa ro TsRoR eT eee Tet ae

 

392 WAVERLEY.

floor, on which, .or fear of interrupting their conversation, he
had lain so still, that in the obscurity of the apartment Edward
was not aware of his presence—‘“I am sure Evan never
desired or deserved a better end than just to die with his
Chieftain.”

“And now,” said Fergus, “while we are upon the subject
of clat nship—wh at think you now of the pred iction of the Bodach

Glas ?’’—-Then, before Edward could answer, “ I saw him again
last night—he stood in the ship of moonshine which fell from
that high and narrow window toward my bed. Why should 1]

tt,

fear him, I thought—to-morrow, long ere this time, I shall be
as immaterial as he, ‘False Spirit!’ I said, ‘art thou come
to close thy walk on earth, and to enjoy thy triumph in the fall
of the last descendant of thine enemy!’ The spectre seemed
to beckon and to smal as he faded from my sight. What do
you think of it?—I asked the same question of the priest, who
is a good and oe man; he admitted that the church al-
lowed that such apparitions were possible, but urged me not to
permit my mind to dwell upon it, as im agination plays us such
strange tricks. What do you think of it?”

‘Much as your confessor,” said Waverley, willing to avoid
dispute upon such a point at such a moment. A tap at the
door now announced that good man, and Edward retired while
he administered to both prisoners the last rites of religion, in
the mode winch the Church of Rome prescribes.

In about an hour he was re-admitted ; soon after, a file of
soldiers ton with a blacksmith, who struck the fetters from
the legs of the prisoners.

66 }

You see the compliment they pay to our Highland strength
and courage—we have lain chained here like wild beasts, till
our legs are cramped into palsy, and when they free us, they
send six solciers with loaded muskets to prevent our taking the
castle by storm!”

Edward afterward learned that these severe precautions
had been taken in consequence of a desperate attempt of the
prisoners to escape, in which they had very nearly succeeded.

Shortly afte wen the drums of the garrison beat to arms.
“ This is the last turn-out,” said Fergus, “that I shall hear and
obey. And now, my dear, dear Edward, ere we part let us
speak of Flora—a subject which awakes the tenderest feeling
that yet thrills within mes

66

t
uc
7
la

f

We part not Aere /” said Waverley

““O yes, we do ; you must come no faethe. Not that I feai
what 1s to follow for myself,” he said proudly: ‘ Nature has
her tortures as well as art; anda how happy should we thinkWAVERLEY. 373
the man who escapes from the throes of a mortal and painful
disorder, in the apa of a short half hour? And this matter,
spin it out as they ee cann st longer. But what a dying
nan can spies firn niy, may killa me friend to look anon. —
This s same law of hi zy, treason,” he continued, with astonishing
firmness and compos sure, “is one of the ble =Dalter) Edward, with
which your free country has accommodated poor old Scotland:
her own jurisprudence, as I have heard, was much milder. But
I suppose one day or other—when there are no longer any
wild Highlanders to benefit by its tender mercies—they will
blot it from their records, as leveling them with a nation of
cannibals. The mummery, too, of ex posing the senseless head
—they have not the wit to grace mine with a paper coronet;
there would be some satire in that, Edward, | hope they will
set it on the Scotch gate though, that I may lo ook, even after
death, to the blue hills of my own country, which I iove so
dearly. The Baron would have added,

fia
Ob Le

Moritur, et moriens dulces, reminiscitur Argos.”

A bustle, and the sound of wheels and horses’ feet was
now — in the court-yard of the Castle. As I have told
you why you must not follow me, and these sounds admonish
me that my time flies fast, tell me how you found poor Flora?”

Waverley, with a voice interrupted by suffocating sensatio
gave some account of the state of her mind.

“ Poor Flora!” answered the Chief. “ one could have borne
her own sentence of death, but notmine. You, Waverley, will
soon know the happiness of mutual affection in the married

Sateen sue long, may Rose and you enjoy it !—but you can
never know the purity of feeling which ‘combines two orphans,
like Flora and me, left alone as it were in the world, and being
all in all to each other from our very infancy. But her strong
sense of duty, and predominant feeling of loyalty, will give new
neive to her mind after the immediate and acute sensation of
this parting has passed away. She will then think of Fergus
as of the heroes of our race, upon whose deeds she loved to
d well. :

“Shall she not see you, then?” asked Waverley. “ She
seemed to expect it.’

? = necessary deceit will spare her the last dreadful parting.
I could not part with a without tears, and I cannot bear that
these men should think they have power to extort them. She
was made to believe she would see me at a later hour, and this
letter, which my confessor will deliver, will apprise her that all

is over.”

  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
     
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
 
 
   
    
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
    

Eee ae Ts Serra st

SRR errr oo keroNee

Se ee

SR

P  sphiades se ears

 

  

374 WAVERLEY.

An officer now appeared, and intimated that the High
Sheriff and his attendants waited before the gate of the Castle,
to claim the bodies of Fergus Mac-Ivor and Evan Maccombich.
“T come,” said Fergus. Accordingly, supporting Edward by
the arm, and followed by Evan Dhu and the priest, he moved
down the stairs of the tower, the soldiers bringing up the rear.
The court was occupied by a squadron of dragoons and a bat-
talion of infantry, drawn up in hollow square. Within their
ranks was the sledge, or hurdle, on which the prisoners were to
be drawn to the place of execution, about a mile distant from
Carlisle. It was painted black, and drawn by a white horse.
At one end of the vehicle sat the Executioner, a horrid-looking
fellow, as beseemed his trade, with the broad axe in his hand ;
at the other end, next the horse, was an empty seat for two
persons. ‘Through the deep and dark Gothic archway, that
opened on the drawbridge, were seen on horseback the High
Sheriff and his attendants, whom the etiquette betwixt the
civil and military powers did not permit to come further,
‘This is well Gor up for a closing scene,” said Fergus, smiling
disdainfully as he gazed around upon the apparatus of terror.
Evan Dhu exclaimed with some eagerness, after looking at the
dragoons, ‘‘ These are the very chields that galloped off at
Gladsmuir, before we could kill a dozen o’ them. They look
bold enough now, however.” The priest entreated him to be
silent.

The sledge now approached, and Fergus turning round,
embraced Waverley, kissed him on each side of the face, and
stepped nimbly into his place. Evan sat down by his side.
The priest was to follow in a carriage belonging to his patron,
the Catholic gentleman at whose house Flora resided. As
Fergus waved his hand to Edward, the ranks closed around
the sledge, and the whole procession began to move forward.
There was amomentary stop at the gateway, while the governor
of the Castle and the High Sheriff went through a short cere-
mony, the military officer there delivering over the persons of
the criminals to the civil power. ‘ God save King George !”
said the High Sheriff. When the formality concluded, Fergus
stood erect in the sledge, and with a firm and steady voice,
replied,‘ God save King James!” ‘These were the last words
which Waverley heard him speak.

The procession resumed its march, and the sledge vanished
from beneath the portal, under which it had stopped for an
instant. The dead march was then heard, and its melancholy
sounds were mingled with those of a muffled peal, tolled from
the neighboring cathedral. The sound of the military musicWAVERLEY. :

375

died away as the procession moved on—the sullen clang or the
bells was soon heard to sound alone.

The last of the soldiers had now disappeared from under
the vaulted archway through which they had been filing for
several minutes ; the court-yard was now totally empty, but
Waverley still stood there as if stupefied, his eyes fixed upon
the dark pass where he had so lately seen the last glimpse of
his friend. At length, a female servant of the governor’s, struck
with compassion at the stupefied misery which his countenance
expressed, asked him if he would not walk into her master’s
house and sit down? She was obliged to repeat her question
twice ere he comprehended her, but at length it recalled him
to himself. Declining the courtesy by a hasty gesture, he
pulled his hat over his eyes, and, leaving the Castle, walked as
swiftly as he could through the empty streets, till he regained
his inn, then rushed into an apartment, and bolted the door.

In about an hour anda half, which seemed an age of un-
utterable suppense, the sound of the drums and fifes, perform-
ing a lively air, and the confused murmur of the crowd which
now filled the streets, so lately deserted, apprised him that all
was finished, and that the military and populace were returning
from the dreadful scene. I will not attempt to describe his
sensation.

In the evening the priest made him a visit, and informed
him that he did so by directions of his deceased friend, to as-
sure him that Fergus Mac-Ivor had died as he lived, and
remembered his friendship to the last. He added, he had also
seen Flora, whose state of mind seemed more composed since
all was over. With her, and sister Theresa, the priest proposed
next day to leave Carlisle, for the nearest seaport from which
they could embark for France. Waverley forced on this good
man a ring of some value, and a sum of money to be employed
(as he thought might gratify Flora) in the services of the
Catholic church, for the memory of his friend. “ LUNZAK QUE
mant munere,” he repeated, as the ecclesiastic retired. “Vet
why not class these acts of remembrance with other honors,
with which affection, in all sects, pursues the memory of the
dead?”

The next morning, ere day-light, he took leave of the town
of Carlisle, promising to himself never again to enter its walls.
He dared hardly look back toward the Gothic battlements of
the fortified gate under which he passed (for the place is sur-
rounded with an old wall). “They’re no there,” said Alick
Polwarth, who guessed the cause of the dubious look which
Waverley cast backward, and who, with the vulgar appetiteSohbet bined co os once ee

Mobbinerosatkceietr:

patie ary

aed

 

“6 WAVERLEY:

WN

for the horrible, was master of each detail of the butchery—
‘the heads are ower the Scotch yate; as they ca’t. It’s a great
pity of Evan Dhu, who was a very weel-meaning, good-natured
man, to be a Hielandman;and indeed so was the Laird 0°
Glennaquoich too, for that matter, when he wasna in ane oy
his titrivies.” es

 

GHAPTER SEVENTIETH.
DULCE DOMUM.

Tue impression of horror with which Waverley left Carlisle
softened by degrees into melancholy—a gradation which was
accelerated by the painful, yet soothing task of writing to Rose ;
and, while he could not suppress his own feelings of the calam-
ity, he endeavored to place it in a ight which might erieve
her without shocking her imagination. The picture which he
drew for her benefit he gradually familiarized to his own mind ;
and his next letters were more cheerful, and referred to the
prospects of peace and happiness which lay before them. Yet
though his first horrible sensations had sunk into melancholy,
Edward had reached his native country before he could, as
usual on former occasions, look round for enjoyment upon the
face of nature.

He then, for the first time since leaving Edinburgh, began
to experience that pleasure which almost all feel who return to
a verdant, populous, and highly cultivated country, from scenes
of waste desolation, or of solitary and melancholy grandeur.
But how were those feelings enhanced when he entered on
the domain so long possessed by his forefathers ; recognized
the old oaks of Waverley-Chase ; thought with what delight he
should introduce Rose to all his favorite haunts; beheld at
length the towers of the venerable hall arise above the woods
which embowered it, and finally threw himself into the arms of
the venerable relations to whom he owed so much duty and
affection !

The happiness of their meeting was not tarnished by a
single word of reproach. On the contrary, whatever pain Sir
Everard and Mrs. Rachel had felt during Waverley’s perilous
engagement with the young Chevalier, it assorted too well
with the principles in which they had been brought up, to
incur téprobation, or even censure. Colonel Talbot also hadWAVERLEY. 394

smoothed the way, with great address, for Edward’s favorable
reception, by dwelling upon his gallant behavior in the military
character, particularly his bravery and generosity at Preston ;
until, warmed at the idea of their nephew’s engaging in single
combat, making prisoner, and saving from slaughter so distin-
guished an officer as the Colonel himself, the imagination of
the Baronet and his sister ranked the exploits of Edward
with those of Wilibert, Hildebrand, and Nigel, the vaunted
heroes of their line.

The appearance of Waverley, embrowned by exercise, and
dignified by the habits of military discipline, had acquired an
athletic and hardy character, which not only verified the Cok
onel’s narration, but surprised and delighted all the inhabi-
tants of Waverley-Honour. They crowded to see, to hear him,
and to sing his praises. Mr. Pembroke, who secretly extollec
his spirit and courage in embracing the genuine cause of the
Church of England, censured his pupil gently, nevertheless,
for being so careless of his manuscripts, which indeed, he said,
had occasioned him some personal inconvenience, as, upon the
Baronet’s being arrested by a king’s messenger, he had deemec
it prudent to retiré to a concealment called “ The Priest’s
Hole,” from the use it had been put to in former days ; where
he assured our hero, the butler had thought it safe to venture
with food only once in the day, so that he had been repeatedly
compelled to diné upon victuals either absolutely cold, or,
what was worse, only half warm, not to mention that sometimes
his bed had not been arranged for two days together. Waver-
ley’s mind involuntarily turned to the Patmos of the Baron of
Bradwardine, who was well pleased with Janet’s fare, and a
few bunches of straw stowed in a cleft in the front of a sand-
cliff; but he made no remarks upon a contrast which could
only mortify his worthy tutor.

All was now in a bustle to ptepare for the nuptials of Ed-
watd, an event to which the good old Baronet and Mrs. Rachel
looked forward as if to the renewal of their own youth. ‘The
match, as Colonel Talbot had intimated, had seemed to them
in the highest degree eligible, having every recommendation
but wealth, of which they themselves had more than enough.
Mr. Clippurse was therefore summoned to Waverley-Honour,
under better auspicés than at the commencement of our story.
But Mr. Clippursé came not alone; for, being now stricken in
years, he had associated with him a nephew, a younger vulture
(as out English Juvenal, who tells the tale of Swallow the attor-
ney, might have called him), and they now carried on business
as. Messrs. Clippurse and Hookem. These worthy gentlemen

M

P

SRASsbeheancabacaetes

SS ae ee

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     
 
   
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

378 WAVERLEY.

had directions to make the necessary settlements on the most
splendid scale of liberality, as if Edward were to wed a peeress
in her own right, with her paternal estate tacked to the fringe
of her ermine.

But before entering upon a subject of proverbial delay, I
must remind my reader of the progress of a stone rolled down
hill by an idle truant boy (a pastime at which I was myself ex.
pert in my more juvenile years) : it moves at first slowly, avoid
ing by inflection every obstacle of the least importance ; but
when it has attained its full impulse, and draws near the con-
clusion of its career, it smokes and thunders down, taking a
rood at every spring, clearing hedge and ditch like a Yorkshire
huntsman, and becoming most furiously rapid in its course
when it is nearest to being consigned to rest forever. Even
such is the course of a narrative like that which you are perus-
ing. ‘The earlier events are studiously dwelt upon, that you,
kind reader, may be introduced to the character rather by nar-
rative, than by the duller medium of direct description; but
when the story draws near its close, we hurry over the circum-
stances, however important, which your imagination must have
forestalled, and leave you to suppose those things which it
would be abusing your patience to relate at length.

We are, therefore, so far from attempting to trace the dull
progress of Messrs. Clippurse and Hookem, or that of their
worthy official brethren, who had the charge of suing out the
pardons of Edward Waverley and his intended father-in-law,
that we can but touch upon matters more attractive. The
mutual epistles, for example, which were exchanged between
Sir Everard and the Baron upon the occasion, though match-
less specimens of eloquence in their way, must be consigned to
merciless oblivion. Nor can I tell you at length, how worthy
Aunt Rachel, not without a delicate and affectionate allusion
to the circumstances which had transferred Rose’s maternal
diamonds to the hands of Donald Bean Lean, stocked her
casket with a set of jewels that a duchess might have envied.
Moreover, the reader will have the goodness to imagine that
Job Houghton and his dame were suitably provided for, al
though they could never be persuaded that their son fell other.
wise than fighting by the young squire’s side; so that Alick,
who, as a lover of truth, had made many needless attempts to
expound the real circumstances to them, was finally ordered to
say not a word more upon the subject. He indemnified him-
self, however, by the liberal allowance of desperate battles,
grisly executions, and raw-head and bloody-bone stories, with
which he astonished the servants’ hall.WAVERLEY. 379

But although these important matters may be briefly told in
narrative, like a newspaper report of a Chancery suit, yet, with
all the urgency which Waverley could use, the real time which
the law proceedings occupied, joined to the delay occasioned
by the mode of travelling at that period, rendered it consider-
ably more than two months ere Waverley, having left England,
alighted once more at the mansion of the Laird of Duchran to
claim the hand of his plighted bride.

The day of his marriage was fixed for the sixth after his
arrival. The Baron of Bradwardine, with whom bridals, chris
tenings, and funerals were festivals of high and solemn import,
felt a little hurt, that, including the family of the Duchran,
and all the immediate vicinity who had title to be present
on such an occasion, there could not be above thirty persons
collected. ‘When he was married,” he observed, “three hun-
dred horse of gentlemen born, besides servants, and some score
or two of Highland lairds, who never got on horseback, were
present on the occasion.”

3ut his pride found some consolation in reflecting, that he
and his son-in-law having been so lately in arms against Goy-
ernment, it might give matter of reasonable fear and offence to
the ruling powers, if they were to collect together the kith, kin,
and allies of their houses, arrayed in effeir of war, as was the
ancient custom of Scotland on these occasiens—“« And, without
dubitation,” he concluded with a sigh, “many of those whe
would have rejoiced most freely upon these joyful espousals,
are either gone to a better place, or are now exiles from their
native land.”

The marriage took place on the appointed day. The Rev-
erend Mr. Rubrick, kinsman to the proprietor of the hospita-
ble mansion where it was solemnized, and chaplain to the Baron
of Bradwardine, had the satisfaction to unite their hands ; and
Frank Stanley acted as bridesman, having joined Edward with
that view soon after his arrival. Lady Emily and Colonel
Talbot had proposed being present; but Lady Emily’s health,
when the day approached, was found inadequate to the journey.
In amends, it was arranged that Edward Waverley and his
lady, who, with the Baron, proposed an immediate journey to
Waverley-Honour, should, in their way, spend a few days at an
estate which Colonel Talbot had been tempted to purchase in
Scotland as a very great bargain, and at which he proposed ta
reside for some time.So baEAaSeeanceie tee?

Axieahgeskeiet ees

 

WAVERLEY.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIRST.
This is no mine ain house, I ken by the bigging o’t--OLD SONG

Tue nuptial party traveled in great style. There was a
coach and six after the newest pattern, which Sir Everard had
presented to his nephew, that dazzled with its splendor the
eyes of one half of Scotland; there was the family coach of
Mr. Rubrick ;—both these were crowded with ladies, and there
were gentlemen on horseback, with their servants, to the num-
ber of a round score. Nevertheless, without having the fear
of famine before his eyes, Bailie Macwheeble met them in the
road to entreat that they would pass by his house at Little
Veolan. The Baron stared, and said his son and he would
certainly ride by Little Veolan, and pay their compliments to
the Bailie, but could not think of bringing with them the “ haill
comitatus nuptialis, or matrimonial procession.” He added,
“that, as he understood that the barony had been sold by its
unworthy possessor, he was glad to see his old friend Duncan
had regained his situation under the new Dominus, or proprie-
tor.’ The Bailie ducked, bowed, and fidgeted, and then again
insisted upon his invitation; until the Baron, though rather
piqued at the pertinacity of his instances, could not never-
theless refuse to consent, without making evident sensations
which he was anxious to conceal.

He fell into a deep study as they approached the top of the
avenue, and was only startled from it by observing that the
battlements were replaced, the ruins cleared away, and (most
wonderful of all) that the two great stone Bears, those mutilated
Dagons of his idolatry, had resumed their posts over the gate-
way. “Now this new pfoprietor,” said he to Edward, “has
shown mair gvstd, as the Italians call it, in the short time he
has had this domain, than that hound Malcolm, though I bred
him here mysell, has acquired wta adhuc durante—And now
I talk of hounds, is not yon Ban and Buscar, who come scouping
up the avenue with Davie Gellatley ?”

“I vote we should go to meet them, sir,” said Waverley,
“for I believe the present master of the house is Colonel
Talbot, who will expect to see us. We hesitated to mention
to you at first that he had purchased your ancient patrimonialWAVERLEY. 381

property, and even yet, if you do not incline to visit him, we
can pass on to the Bailie’s.”
The Baron had occasion for all his magnanimity. H

Z20Weve
he drew a long breath, took

a long snuff, and observed, since
they had brought him so far, he could not pass the Colonel’s
gate, ant he would be ha appy to see the new master of his old
tenant He alig ee accordingly as did the other gentleman

and ie s hes gave his arm to his daughte: r, and as they
descended the avenue, pointed out to her how speedily the
Diva Pecunia of the Southern—their tutela ary deity, he might
ie her—had removed the marks of spoliation.’

In truth, not only had the felled trees been removed, but,
their stumps being grubbed up, and the earth round them
leveled and sown with grass, e very mark of devastation, unless
to eye intimately acquainted with the spot, was already

y obliterated. Theré was a similar reformation in the
outward man of Davie Gellatley, who met them, every now
and then stopping to admire the new suit which graced his

in the same colors as formerly, but bedizened fine
enough to have served Touchstone himself. He danced up
with his usual ungainly frolics, first to the Baron, and then to
g his hand over his clc thes, crying, “Bra, bra
Davie,” and scarce able to sing a bar to an end of

an
V1
totally

Rose, passin
his thousand
and-one- Sones for the breathless extravagance of his joy. The
dogs also acknowledged their old master with a thousand
gambols. ry, pon my conscience, Rose,” «€ ejacul: ited the Baron,
‘the gratitude o’ thae dumb brutes, and of that puir innocent,
brings the tears into my auld een, while that schellum Malcolm
—but I’m obliged to Colonel Talbot for putting my hounds
into such good condition, and likewise for puir Davie. But,
Rose, my dear, we must not permit them to be a liferent burden
upon the estate. ”

As he spoke, Lady Emily, leaning upon the arm of her
husband, met the party at the lower gate, with a thousand
welcomes. After the ceremony of introduction had been gone
through, much abridged by the ease and excellent breeding
of Lady Emily, she apologized for having used a little art, to
wile them back to a place which might awaken some painful
reflections—*“ But as it was to change masters, we were very
desirous that the Baron ’”’——

“Mr. Bradwardine, madam, if you please,” said the old
gentleman.

; —Mr. Bradwardine, then, and Mr. Waverley, should see
what we have done toward restoring the mansion of your
fathers to its former state. ”

  

  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
    
   
   
  
 
   
    
   
   
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
    
    
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
   
   
 

SAO RESTS

ere tn enePoh ii
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WAVERLEY,

The Baron answered with a low bow. Indeed, when he
entered the court, excepting that the heavy stables, which had
been burnt down, were replaced by buildings of a lighter and
more picturesque appearance, all seemed as much as possible
restored to the state in which he had left it when he assumed
arms some months before. The pigeon-house was replenished ;
the fountain played with its usual activity; and not only the
Bear who predominated over its basin, but all the other Bears
whatsoever, were replaced on their several stations, and renewed
or repaired with so much care, that they bore no tokens of the
violence which had so lately descended upon them. While
these minutia had been so heedfully attended to, it is scarce
necessary to add, that the house itself had been thoroughly
repaired, as well as the gardens, with the strictest attention to
maintain the original character of both, and to remove, as far
as possible, all appearance of the ravages they had sustained.
The Baron gazed in silent wonder; at length he addressed
Colonel Talbot :

‘While I acknowledge my obligation to you, sir, for the
restoration of the badge of our family, I cannot but marvel
that you have nowhere established your own crest, whilk is, I
believe, a mastiff, anciently called a talbot; as the poet has it,

A talbot strong—a sturdy tyke.
At least such a dog is the crest of the martial and renowned
Earls of Shrewsbury, to whom your family are probably blood
relations.”

‘“T believe,” said the Colonel, smiling, “‘ our dogs are whelps

of the same litter; for my part, if crests were to dispute
precedence, I should be apt to let them, as the proverb says,
‘fight dog, fight bear. ’”
As he made this speech at which the Baron took another
long pinch of snuff, they had entered the house—that is, the
Baron, Rose, and Lady Emily, with young Stanley and the
Bailie, for Edward and the rest of the party remained on the
terrace, to examine a new green-house stocked with the finest
plants. The Baron resumed his favorite topic: ‘ However it
may please you to derogate from the honor of your burgonet,
Colonel Talbot, which is doubtless your humor, as I have seen
in other gentleman of birth and honor in your country, I must
again repeat it as a most ancient and distinguished bearing, as
well as that of my young friend Francis Stanley, which is the
eagle and child.”

‘The bird and bantling they call it in Derbyshire, sir,” said
Stanley.

)

oO
oOWAVERLEY.

“Ye’re a daft callant, sir,” said the Baron, who had a great
liking to this young man, perhaps because he sometimes teased
him—“ Ye’re a daft callant, and I must correct you some of
these days,” shaking his great brown fist at him. “But what
I meant to say, Colonel Talbot, is, that yours is an ancient
Prosapia, or descent, and since you have lawfully and justly
acquired the estate for you and yours, which I have lost for me
and mine, I wish it may remain in your name as many centuries
as it has done in that of the late proprietor’s. ”

“That,” answered the Colonel, ‘is very handsome, Mr.
Bradwardine, indeed. ”

“And yet, sir, I cannot but marvel that you, Colonel, whom
I noted to have so much of the amor patrie, when we met in
Edinburgh, as even to vilipend other countries, should have
chosen to establish your Lares, or household gods, procul a
batrie jinibus. and in amanner do expatriate yourself.”

“Why, really, Baron, I do not see why, to keep the secret of
these foolish boys, Waverley and Stanley, and of my wife, who
is no wiser, one old soldier should continue to impose upon
another. You must know, then, that I have so much of that
same prejudice in favor of my native country, that the sum of
money which I advanced to the seller of this extensive barony
has only purchased for me a box in shire, called Brerewood
Lodge, with about two hundred and fifty acres of land, the
chief merit of which is, that it is within a very few miles of
Waverley-Honour.”

“And who, then, in the name of Heaven, has bought this
property ? ”

- © That,” said the Colonel, “it is this gentleman’s profession
to explain.”

The Bailie, whom this reference regarded, and who had all
this while shifted from one foot to another with great impatience,
“like a hen,” as he afterwards said, “upon a het girdle; ”
and chuckling, he might have added, like the said hen in all
the glory of laying an egg—now pushed forward : “That ican:
that I can, your honor,” drawing from his pocket a budget
of papers, and untying the red tape with a hand trembling with
eagerness. “Here is the disposition and assignation, by Mal-
colm Bradwardine of Inch-Grabbit, regularly signed and tested
in terms of the statute, whereby, for a certain sum of sterling

money presently contented and paid to him, he has disponed.
alienated, and conveyed the whole estate and barony of Brad-
vardine, Tully-Veolan, and others, with the fortalice and manor:
place ——”

 

 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

SS eT eT

Se PO a AT RO |
Ree ee ree ns rit ot ey 4

  

Cee eas eB384 WAVERLEY.

“For God’s sake, to the point, sir—I have all that by heart,
said the Colonel.

“To Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq.,” pursued the Bailie,
his heirs and assignees, simply and irredeemably—to be held
either a me vel de me”

‘ Pray read short, sir.”

“ On the conscience of an honest man, Colonel, I read as
short as is consistent with style-—Under the burden and reserva
tion always ’’———

“Mr. Maewheeble, this would outlast a Russian winter—
Give me leave. In short, Mr. Bradwardine, your family estate
is your own once more in full property, and at your absolute dis-
posal, but only burdened with the sum advanced to repurchase
it, which I understand is utterly disproportioned to its value,”

“ 4n auld sang—an auld sang, if it please your honors,”
cried the Bailie, rubbing his hands ;—“‘ look at the rental book.”

“ Which sum being advanced by Mr, Edward Waverley
chiefly from the price of his father’s property which I bought
from him, is secured to his lady your daughter, and her family
by this marriage.”

It is a Catholic security,’’ shouted the Bailie, “to Rose
Comyne Bradwardine, a/as Wauverley, in liferent, and the
children of the said marriage in fee ; and I made up a wee bit
minute of an antenuptial contract, zwfuitu matrimonij, so it
cannot be subject to reduction hereafter, as a donation er
virum et uxorem.”

It is difficult to say whether the worthy Baron was most
delighted with the restitution of his family property, or with the
delicacy and generosity that left him unfettered to pursue his
purpose in disposing of it after his death, and which avoided, as
much as possible, even the appearance of laying him under
pecuniary obligation. When his first pause of joy and astonish-
ment was over, his thoughts turned to the unworthy heir-male,
who, he pronounced, “ had sold his birth-right, like Esau, for a
mess 0’ potage.”

“But wha cookit the parritch for him?” exclaimed the
Bailie ; “I wad like to ken that—wha but your honor’s to
command, Duncan Macwheeble? His honor, young Mr.
Wauverley, put it a’ into my hand frae the beginning—frae the
first calling o’ the summons, as I may say. I circumvented
them—I played at bogle about the bush wi’ them—lI cajoled
them; and if I havena gien Inch-Grabbit and Jamie Howie a
bonnie begunk, they ken themselves, Him a writer! I didna
gae slapdash to them wi’ our young bra’ bridegroom, to gar
them haud up the market; na, na; I scared them wi’ our wildWAVERLEY.

tenantry, and the Mac-Ivors, that are but ill settled yet, till they
durstna on ony errand whatsoever gang ower the door-stane
atter gloaming, for fear John Heatherblutter, or some siccan
dare-the-deil, should tak a baff at them ; then, on the other
hand, I beflumm’d them wi’ Colonel Talbot—wad they offer to
keep up the price again’ the Duke’s friend? did they na ken
wha was master? had they na seen eneugh, by the sad example
of mony a puir misguided inhappy body ”

“ Who went to Derby, for example, Mr. Macwheeble ?” said
the Colonel to him, aside.

‘“ O whisht, Colonel, for the love o’ God! let that flee stick
’ the wa’. There were mony good folk at Derby; and it’s ill
speaking of halters,’—with a sly cast of his eye toward the
Baron, who was ina deep reverie,

Starting out of it at once, he took Mr. Macwheeble by the
button, and led him into one of the deep window recesses,
whence only fragments of their conversation reached the rest of
the party. It certainly related to stamp-paper and parchment :
for no other subject, even from the mouth of his patron, and he,
once more, an efficient one, could have arrested so deeply the
Bailie’s reverent and absorbed attention.

“I understand your honor perfectly ; it can be dune as easy
as taking out a decreet in absence.”

‘To her and him, after my demise, and to their heirs-male,
—but preferring the second son, if God shall bless them with
two, who is to carry the name and arms of Bradwardine of that
ilk, without any other name or armorial bearings whatsoever.”

‘Tut, your honor!” whispered the Bailie, “I’ll mak a
shght jotting the morn ; it will cost but a charter of resign-
ation i” Javorem ; and Vil hae it ready for the next term in
Exchequer.”

Their private conversation ended, the Baron was now sum-
moned to do the honors of Tully-Veolan to new guests. These
were Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, and the Reverend Mr.
Morton, followed by two or three others of the Baron’s acquain-
tances, who had been made privy to his having again acquired
the estate of his fathers. ‘The shouts of the villagers were also
heard beneath in the court-yard; for Saunders Saunderson,
who had kept the secret for several days with laudable pru-
dence, had unloosed his tongue upon beholding the arrival of
the carriages.

But, while Edward received Major Melville with politeness,
and the clergyman with the most affectionate and grateful
kindness, his father-in-law looked a little awkward, as uncer

 

Speer rsser roy

soy te  ek

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Lt a aera rere

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RRAeeretTC yrs ret ot anne ac ares ereSdenaiencukscitienae eer

236 WAVERLEY.

tain how he should answer the necessary claims of hospitality
to his guests, and forward the festivity of his tenants. Lady
Kmily relieved him, by intimating, that, though she must
be an indifferent representative of Mrs. Edward Waverley in
many respects, she hoped the Baron would approve of the en-
tertainment she had ordered, in expectation of so many guests;
and that they would find such other accommodations provided,
as might in some degree support the ancient hospitality of Tully-
Veolan. It is impossible to describe the pleasure which this
assurance gave the Baron, who, with an air of gallantry half
appertaining to the stiff Scottish laird, and half to the officer in
the French service, offered his arm to the fair speaker, and led
the way, in something between a stride and a minute step, into
the large dining parlor, followed by all the rest of the good
company.

By dint of Saunderson’s directions and exertions, all here
as well as in the other apartments, had been disposed as much
as possible according to the old arrangement; and where new
movables had been necessary, they had been selected in the
same character with the old furniture. There was one addition
to this fine old apartment, however, which drew tears into the
Baron’s eyes. It was a large and spirited painting, represe ating
Fergus Mac-Ivor and Waverley in their Highland dress: the
scene a wild, rocky, and mountainous pass, down which the
clan were descending in the background. It was taken from a
spirited sketch, drawn while they were in Edinburgh by a young
man of high genius, and had been painted on a full length scale
by aneminent London artist. Raeburn, himself, (whose Highland
Chiefs do all but walk out of the canvas) could not have done
more Justice to the subject ; and the ardent, fiery, and impetuous
character of the unfortunate Chief of Glennaquoich was finely
contrasted with the contemplative, fanciful, and enthusiastic
expression of his happier friend. Beside this painting hung
the arms which Waverley had ‘borne in the unfortunate civil
war. ‘he whole piece was beheld with admiration, and deeper
feelings.

Men must, however, eat, in spite both of sentiment and
virtue ; and the Baron, while he assumed the lower end of the
table, insisted that Lady Emily should do the honors of the
head, that they might, he said, set a meet example to the vowng
Jolk. Aftera pause of deliberation, employed in adjusting in
his own brain the precedence between the Presbyterian kirk
and Episcopal church of Scotland, he requested Mr. Morton,
as the stranger, would crave a blessing, —observing that Mr.WAVERLEY. 384

Rubrick, who was at home, would return thanks for the distin.
guished mercies it had been his lot to experience. The dinner
was excellent. Saunderson attended in full costume, with all the
former domestics, who had been collected, excepting one or
two, that had not been heard of since the affair of Culloden.
The cellars were stocked with wine which was pronounced to
be superb, and it had been contrived that the Bear of the Foun.
tain, in the court-yard, should (for that night only) play ex-
cellent brandy punch for the benefit of the lower orders.

When the dinner was over, the Baron, about to prupose a
toast, cast a somewhat sorrowful look upon the sideboard,—
which, however, exhibited much of his plate, that had either
been secreted or purchased by neighboring gentlemen from
the soldiery, and by them gladly restored to the original owner.

“In the late times,” he said, “those must be thankful who
have saved life and land : yet, when I am avout to pronounce
this toast, I cannot but regret an old heir-loom, Lady Emily—
a poculum potatorium, Colonel Talbot.”

Here the Baron’s elbow was gently touched by his Major
Domo, and, turning round, he beheld, inthe hands of Alexander
ab Alexandro, the celebrated cup of Saint Duthac, the Blessed
Bear of Bradwardine! I question if the recovery of his estate
afforded him more rapture. “ By my honor,” he said, “one
might almost believe in brownies and fairies. Lady Emily, when
your Ladyship is in presence!”

“Tam truly happy,” said Colonel Talbot, “that by the re-
covery of this piece of family antiquity, it has fallen within my
power to give you some token of my deep ‘interest in all that
concerns my young friend Edward. But that you may not sus-
pect Lady Emily for a sorceress, or me for a conjuror, which is

no joke in Scotland, I must tell you that Frank Stanley, your
friend, who has been seized with a tartan fever ever since
he heard Edward’s tales of old Scottish manners, happened
to describe to us at second hand this remarkable cup. My
servant, Spontoon, who, like a true old soldier, observes every:
thing and says little, gave me afterward to understand that he
thought he had seen the piece of plate Mr. Stanley mentioned,
in the possession of a certain Mrs. Nosebag, who, having been
originally the helpmate of a pawnbroker, had found oppor-
tunity, during the late unpleasant scenes in Scotland, to trade
alittle in her old line, and so became the depositary of the
more valuable part of the spoil of half the army. You may be-
lieve the cup was speedily recovered ; and it will give me very

 

  
  
  
    
    
 
    
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 

SiR!

Rao

  

mera e tv Ts Syren str 32S Pm ee
e perio Sah

WAVERLEY.

great pleasure if you allow me to suppose that its value is not
diminished by ‘ having been restored through my means.’

A tear mingled with the wine which the Baron fille a as he
proposed a cup of gratitude to Colonel Talbot, and “the Pros-
perity of the united Houses of Waverley-Honour and Bradwar-
dine ! ’———

It only remains for me to say, that as no wish was ever
uttered with more affectionate sincerity, there are few which,
allowing for the necessary mutability of haman events, have
been upon the whole more happily fulfilled.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SECOND.
A POSTSCRIPT, WHICH SHOULD HAVE BEEN A PREFACE,

Ovr journey is now finished, gentle reader ; and if your pa-
tience has accompanied me ee these sheets, the contract
is. On your part, strictly fulfilled. Yet, like hey driver who has
received his full hire, I still linger near you, and make, with be-
coming diffidence, a trifling additional claim upon your oe
and ned nature. You are as free, however, to shut the vol-
ume of the one petitioner, as to close your door in the face
the other.

This should have been a pay chapter, but for two rea-
sons :—First, that most novel readers, as my own conscience
reminds me, are apt to be guilty of the sin of omission respect-
ing that same matter of prefaces ;—Secondly, that it is a general
custom with that class of students to begin with the last chapter
of a work ; so that, after all, these remarks, being introduced
last in order, have still the best chance to be read in their
proper Bio ey

There is no European natio on which, ie the course of
half a cetituty, or little more, has unde rezone so complete a
change as this kingdom of dcotiting The effects of the insur-
rection of 174s—the destruction of the patriarchal power of the
Highland chiefs—the abolition of the heritable jurisdictions of
the Lowland nobility and barons—the total eradication of the
Jacobite party, which, averse to intermingle with the English,
or adopt their customs, long continued to pride themselves
upon maintaining ancient Scottish manners it customs—comsWAVERLEY.

menced this innovation. The gradual influx of wealth, and ex-
tension of ee have since united to render the present
people of Scotland a class of beings as different from their
erandfathers as the existing Knelis sh are from those of Queen
Elizabeth’s time. The political and economical effects of these
changes have been traced by Lord Selkirk with great precision
and accuracy. But the « change, though steadily and rapidly
progressive, has, nevertheless, been gradual; and like those
who drift down the stream of a oo and smooth river, we are
not aware of the progress we have made, until we fix our eye
on the now distant point from which we have been drifted.—
Such of the present generation as can recollect the last twenty
or twenty-five years of the eighteenth century, will be fully
sensible of the truth of this statement ;—especially if their
acquaintance and connections lay among those who, in my
younger time, were facetious sly called “ folks of the old leaven,
gering, though hopeless, aerate

uart. This race has now almost entirely
vanished from the land, and with it. doubtless, much absurd
political prejudice—but also many living examples of singular
and disinterested attachment to the principles of loyalty which
they received from their fathers, and of old Scottish faith,
hospitality, worth, and honor.

[It was my accidental lot, though not born a Highlander
(which may be an apology for much bad Gaelic), to reside dur-
ing my childhood and youth among persons of the above de-
scription ;—and now, for the purpose of preserving some idea of
the ancient manners of which I have witnessed the almost total
extinction, I have embodied in imaginary scenes, and ascribed
to fictitious characters, a part of the incidents which I then
received from those who were actors in them. Indeed, the
most romantic parts of this narrative are pre cisely those which
have a foundation in fact. The exchange of mutual protection
between a Highland gentleman and an officer of rank in the
king’s service, together with the spirited manner in which the
latter asserted his right to return the favor he had received,
is literally true. The accident by a musket-shot, and the heroic
reply imputed to Flora, relate to a lady of rank not long de-
ceased. And scarce a gentleman who was “ in hiding ” after
the battle of Culloden but could tell a tale of strange conceal
ments, and of wild and hair’s-breadth ’scapes, as extraordinary
as any which I have ascribed to my heroes. Of this, the es-
cape of Charles Edward himself, as the most prominent, is the

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WAVERLEY.

most striking example. ‘The accounts of the battle of Preston
and skirmish at Clifton are taken from the narrative of intel-
ligent eye-witnesses, and corrected from the History of the
Rebellion by the late venerable author of Douglas. The
Lowland Scottish gentlemen, and the subordinate characters,
are not given as individual portraits, but'are drawn from the
general habits of the period (of which I have witnessed some
remnants in my younger days), and partly gathered from tradi-
tion.

It has been my object to describe these persons, not by a
caricatured and exaggerated use of the national dialect, but by
their habits, manners, and feelings; so as in some distant
degree to emulate the admirable Irish portraits drawn by Miss
Edgeworth, so different from the ‘* Teagues” and “ dear joys”
who so long, with the most perfect family resemblance to each
other, occupied the drama and the novel.

I feel no confidence, however, in the manner in whichI have
executed my purpose. Indeed, so little was I satisfied with my
production, that I laid it aside in an unfinished state, and only
found it again by mere accident among other waste papers in
an old cabinet, the d:awers of which I was rummaging in order
to accommodate a friend with some fishing-tackle, after it had
been mislaid for several years. Two works upon similar subjects,
by female authors, whose genius is highly creditable to their
country, have appeared in the interval ; I mean Mrs. Hamilton’s
Glenburnie, and the late account of Highland Superstitions.
But the first is confined to the rural habits of Scotland, of which
it has given a picture with striking and impressive fidelity ; and
the traditional records of the respectable and ingenious Mrs.
Grant of Laggan are of a nature distinct from the fictitious
narrative which I have here attempted.

I would willingly persuade myself that the preceding work
will not be found altogether uninteresting. To elder persons it
will recall scenes and characters familiar to their youth; and to
the rising generation the tale may present some idea of the
manners of their forefethers.

Yet I heartily wish that the task of tracing the evanescent
manners of his own country had employed the pen of the only
man in Scotland who could have done it justice—of him so
eminently distinguished in elegant literature—and whose
sketches of Colonel Caustic and Umphraville are perfectly
blended with the finer traits of national character. I should in
that case have had more pleasure as a reader than I shall ever
feel in the pride of a successful author, should these sheetsWAVERLEY. 391

confer upon me that envied distinction. Andas Ihave inverted
the usual arrangement, placing these remarks at the end of the
work to which they refer, I will venture on a second violation
of form, by closing the whole with a dedication :—
THESE VOLUMES
BEING RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED
TO
OUR SCOTTISH ADDISON
HENRY MA GKRENZLE
BY
AN UNKNOWN ADMIRER

OF

HIS GENIUS.

  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

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si

St

 

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4
fePer,

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Ae OPES

§
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eeNOTES TO WAVERLEY.

 

I. Page 3. 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 color he pleases. [1829.]

2, Page 5. Where the Chevalier
the Old Pr
shift his plz

oe Saint George, or, as he was termed,
etender, held his exiled court, as his situation compelled him to
ice of residence.

3- Page 6. Long the oracle of the country gentlemen of the high
Tory party. The ancient News-Letter Was written in manuscript and
copied by the clerks, who addressed the copies to the subscribers. The
politician by whom they were compiled, picked
Coffee-houses, and often pleaded for an add
tion of the extra expense attached
resort.

iC up his intelligence at
itional gratuity, in considera-
to frequenting such places of fashionable

4, Fase 77. There is 4 family legend to this purpose, belonging to
the knightly family of Bradshaigh, the proprietors of Haigh-hall, in Lan-
cashire, where, I have been told, the event is recorded on a painted glass
window. ‘The German ballad of the Noble Moringer turns upon a similar
topic. But undoubtedly many such incidents may have taken place, where,
the distance being great and the intercourse infrequent, false reports con-
cerning the fate of the absent Crusaders must have been commonly circu-
lated, and sometimes perhaps rather hastily credited at home.

5. Page 26. These Introductory Chapters haye been a good deal
censured as tedious and unnecessary. Yet there are circumstances te-
corded in them which the author has not been able to persuade himself to
retract or cancel.

6. Page 28. The attachment to this cl USSIC Was, it is said, actually dis-
played, in the manner mentioned in the text, by an unfortunate Jacobite in
that unhappy period. He escaped from the jail in which he was confined
for a hasty trial and certain condemnation, and was retaken as he hovered
around the place in which he had been imprisoned, for which he could
give no better reason than the hope of recovering his favorite 7?tus Lzvius,
1 am sorry to add, that the simplicity of such a character was found
to form no apology for his guilt as a rebel, and he was condemned and
executed,

Drm sre

Serer

  
  
   
   
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
   
  
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
 

een ne TTT mires

‘J -att

Steen

 

NOTES TO WAVERLE Vv:

 

Jot

7. Page. 31. Nicholas Amhurst, a noted political writer, who con-
ducted for many years a paper called the Craftsman, under the assumed
name of Caleb d’Anvers. He was devoted to the Tury interest, and
seconded, with much ability, the attacks of Pulteney on Sir Robert Wal-
pole. He died in 1742, neglected by his great patrons, and in the most
miserable circumstances.

“ Amhurst survived the downfall of Walpole’s power, and had reason
to expect a reward for his labors. If we excuse Bolingbroke, who had
only saved the shipwreck of his fortunes, we shall be at a loss to justify
Pulteney, who could with ease have given this man a considerable income.
The utmost of his generosity to Amhurst, that I ever heard of, was a hogs-
head of claret! He died, it is supposed, of a broken heart; and was
buried at the charge of his honest printer, Richard Franklin.”—(Lord
Chesterfiela’s Characters Reviewed, Pe 2.)

8. Page 33. I have now given in the text, the full name of this gallant
and excellent man, and proceed to copy the account of his remarkable con-
version, as related by Dr. Doddrige.

“This memorable event,” says the pious writer, “ happened toward the
middle of July, 1719. The major had spent the evening (and, if I mistake
not, it was the Sabbath) in some gay company, and had an unhappy assig-
nation with a married woman, whom he was to attend exactly at twelve.
The company broke up about eleven; and not judging it convenient to an-
ticipate the time appointed, he went into his chamber to kill the tedious
hour, perhaps with some amusing book, or some other way. But it very
accidentally happened, that he took up a religious book, which his good
mother or aunt had, without his knowledge, slipped into his portmanteau.
It was called, if I remember the title exactly, ‘The Christian Soldier, or
Heaven taken by Storm,’ and it was written by Mr. Thomas Watson.
Guessing by the title of it that he would find some phrases of his own pro-
fession spiritualized in a manner which he thought might afford him some
diversion, he resolved to dip into it; but he took no serious notice of any-
thing it had in it, and yet while this book was in his hand, an impression
was made upon his mind (perhaps God only knows how) which drew after
it a train of the most important and happy consequences. He thought he
saw an unusual blaze of light fall upon the book which he was reading,
which he at first imagined might happen by some accident in the candle ;
but lifting up his eyes, he apprehended, to his extreme amazement, that
there was before him, as it was suspended in the air, a visible representa-
tion of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the cross, surrounded on all sides with
glory; and was impressed, as if a voice, or something equivalent to a voice,
had come to him, to this effect (for he was not confident as to the words)
‘O sinners ! did I suffer this for thee, and are these thy returns#’ Struck
with so amazing a phenomenon as this, there remained hardly any life in
him, so that he sunk down in the arm-chair in which he sat, and continued,
he knew not how long, insensible.”

“ With regard to this vision,” says the ingenious Dr. Hibbert, “ the ap-
pearance of our Saviour on the cross, and the awful words repeated, can
be considered in no other light than as so many recollected images of the
mind, which, probably, had their origin in the language of some urgent
appeal to repentance, that the colonel might have casually read, or heard
delivered. From what cause, however, such ‘ideas were rendered as vivid
as actual impressions, we have no information to be depended upon. This
vision was certainly attended with. one of the most important of conse-
quences connected with the Christian dispensation—the conversion of a
sinner. Andhence no single narrative has, perhaps, done more to confirm the
superstitious opinion that apparitions of this awful kind cannot arise withNOTES TO WAVERLEY. 395

Dr. Hibbert adds, in a note—“ A short time before the
Gardiner had received a severe fall from his horse. Did
the brain receive some slight degree of injury from the accident, so as to
predispose him to this spiritual illusion ? "—A/rddert’s Philosophy of Appart-
tens, Edinburgh, 1824, p- 190.

eut a divine fiat.”
vision, Colonel

9. Page-350° Phe courtesy of an invitation to partake a traveller’s
meal, or at least that of being invited to share whatever liquor the guest
called for, was expected by certain old landlords in Scotland even in the
youth of the author. In requital, mine host was always furnished with the
news of the country, and was probably a little of a humorist to boot. The
devolution of the whole actual business and drudgery of the inn upon the
poor gudewife, was very common among the Scottish Bonifaces. There
was in ancient times, in the city of Edinburgh, a gentleman of gocd family,
who condescended, in order to gain a livelihood, to become the nominal
keeper of a coffee-house, one of the first places of the kind which had been

opened in the Scottish metropolis. As usual, it was entirely managed by
the careful and industrious Mts. B. ; while her husband amused him-
self with field sports, without troubling his head about the matter. Once
upon a time the premises having taken fire, the husband was met walking
up the High Street loaded with his guns and fishing rods, and replied
calmly to some one who inquired after his wife, “that the poor woman was
trying to save a parcel of crockery, and some trumpery books ;” the last
being those which served her to conduct the business of the house.

There were many elderly gentlemen in the author’s younger days, who
still held it part of the amusement of a journey “to parley with mine host,”
who often resembled, in his quaint humor, mine Host of the Garter in the
Merry Wives of Windsor; or Blague of the George in the Merry Devil of
Edmonton. Sometimes the landlady took her share of entertaining the
company. In either case the omitting to pay them due attention gave dis-
pleasure, and perhaps brought down a smart Jest, as on the following
occasion :—

A jolly dame who, not “Sixty Years since,” kept the principal caravan-
sary at Greenlaw, in Berwickshire, had the honor to receive under her roofs
a very worthy clergyman, with three sons of the same profession, each
having a care of souls; be it said in passing, none of the reverend party
were reckoned powerful in the pulpit. After dinner was over, the worthy
senior, in the pride of his heart, asked Mrs. Buchan whether she ever had
had such a party in her house before. “ Here sit ine he said 6¢a, placed
minister of the Kirk of Scotland, and here sit my three sons, each a placed
minister of the same Kirk.—Confess, Luckie Buchan, you never had such
a party in your house before.” The question was not premised by any invi-
tation to sit down and take a glass of wine or the like, so Mrs. B. answered
dryly, “ Indeed, sir, I cannot just say that ever I had such a party in my
house before, except once in the forty-five, when I had a Highland piper
here, with his three sons, all Highland pipers; and devil a Spring they could
play amang them.”

 

Io. Page 39. There is no particular mansion described under the name
of Tully-Veolan; but the peculiarities of the description occur in various
old Scottish Seats. The House of Warrender upon Burntsfield Links, and
that of Old Ravelston, belonging, the former to Sir George W arrender, the
latter to Sir Alexander Keith, have both contributed several hints to the
description in the text. The Ffouse of Dean, near Edinburgh, has also
some points of resemblance with Tully-Veolan. The author has, however,
been informed, that the House of Grandtully resembles that of the Baron
of Bradwardine still more than any of the above.

  
 
 
 
   
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
   
  
   
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  

. +Per tipax kurt eee

Sentanes

oa

ouabain

MPhil

fe

co

NOTES TO WAVERLEY.

11, Page 61. 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 judieiously preserved. That, as well as the
house, is, however, of smaller Be patee than the Baron of Bradwardine’s
mansion and g arden are presumed to have been.

12. Page 40, Thisis a genuine ancient fragment, with some alteration
in the last two lines,

13. Page 42, I amignorant how long the ancient and established
custom of keeping fools has been disused in England. Swift writes an
epitaph on the Earl of Suffolk’s fool,—

“‘ Whose name was Dickie Pearce.”

In Scotland the custom subsisted till late in the last century ; at Glammis
Castle is preserved the dress of one of the jesters, very handsome, and
ornamented with many bells. It is not above thirty years since sucha
character stood by the sideboard of a nobleman of the first rank in Scot:
land, and occasionally mixed in the conversation, till he carried the joke
rather too far, 2 making proposals to one of the young ladies of the family,
and publishing the bans between her and himself in the public church,

> 48, After the Revolution of 1688, and on some occasions
when t ‘it of the Presbyterians had been unusually animated against
their opponents, the FE] ee al clergymen, who were chiefly non-jurors,
were exposed to be m bl ved, as we should now say, or vabéled, as the
phrase then went, to expiate their political heresies. But, notwithstanding

 

that the Presbyterians had the bake -cution in Charles II. and his brother’s
time to exasperate them, there was little mischief done beyond the kind of
petty violence mentioned in the text.

I5. Page 51. Southey’s Madoc.

16, Page 52 I may here mention, that the fashion of compotation
described in the text was still occasionally practiced in Scotland, in the
author’s vouth. A company, after having taken leave of their host, often
went to finish the evening at the clachan or village, in *‘ womb of tavern, és
Their entertainer always accompanied them to take the stirrup-cup, which
often occasioned a long and late revel.

Phe Poculum Pot or of the valiant Baron, his blessed Bear, has a
prototype at the fine old Castle of Glammis, so rich in memorials of anciont
times; it is a massive Kelker of silver, double gilt, moulded into the shape
of a lion, and holding about an English pint of wine

The form alludes ta
the family name of Strathmore. which js Lyon, and, when exhibited. the
cup must necessarily be emptied to the cee Ba uth. The author ought
perhaps to be ashamed of recordit g that

1 > has had the honor of swallow-
ing the contents of the Lion; and the recbilettios of the feat served ta
suggest the story of the Bear of Bradwardine. In the family of Scott of

Phirlestane (not Thirlestane in the Parcee, but the place of the same name
in Roxburghshire) was long preserved a cup of the same kind, in the form
of a jack-boot. Each guest was obliged to empty this at his departure. If
the guest’s name was Scott, the necessity was doubly imperative.

W hen the landlady of an ini presented his guests with deoch an doruis,
that is, the drink at the door, ph the stirrup-cup, the draught was not
charged in the reckoning. On tl ; point a learned Bailie of the town of
Forfar pronounced a very sound ji ieee t.

A., an ale-wife in Forfar, had brewed her “ peck of malt,” and set theNOTES TO WAVERLEY, 397

liquor out of doors to cool; the cow of B., a neighbor of A., chanced to
come by, and seeing the good beverage, was allured to taste it, and finally
to drink it up. When A. came to take in her liquor, she found her tub
empty, and from the cow’s s aggering and staring, so as to betray her in-
temperance; she easily divined the mode in which her “ browst” had disap-

eon Crummie’s ribs with a stick, was her first
effort. The roaring of the cow brought B., her master, who remonstrated
with his angry neighbor, and received in reply a demand for the value of
the ale which Crummie_ had drunk up. B. refused payment, and was con-
veyed before C., the Bailie, or sitting Magistrate. He heard the case
patiently; and then demanded of the plaintiff A., whether the cow had sat
down to her potation, or taken it standing. The plaintiff answered, she
had not seen the deed committed, but she supposed the cow drank the ale
while standing on her feet; adding that had she been near, she would have
made her use them to some purpose, The Bailie, on this admission,

 

 

peared To take vengeanc

solemnly adjudged the cow’s drink to be deoch an doruis—a stirrup-cup, for
which no charge could be made, without violating the ancient hospitality of
Scotland.

17. Page 53. This has been censured as an anachronism; and it must
i

be confessed that agriculture of this kind was unknown to the Scotch Sixty
Years since.

Io. Pace

Se 53- Suum cuigue. This snatch of a ballad was composed by
Andrew MacDo

nald, the ingenious and unfortunate author of Vimonda,
IQ; Pag
1 ]

Cc
wardine, and hold the roe vension dry and indifferent food, unless when
dressed in soup and Scotch collops.

60. The learned in cookery dissent from the Baron of Brad.-
J

Oo. Page 62. A bare-footed Highland lad is called a gillie-wet-foot.
Gillie, in general, means servent or attendant.

21, Page 63. The Baron ought to have remembered that the joyous
Allan literally drew his blood from the house of the noble Earl, whom he

terms—

alhousie of an old descent,
y stoup, my pride, my ornament.

 

  

22, Page 68. The story last told was said to have happened in the
south of Scotland; but—vredant arma toge—and let the gown have its dues.
It was an old clergyman, who had wisdom and firmness enough to resist the
panic which seized his brethren, who was the means of rescuing a poor in-
Sane creature from the cruel fate which would otherwise have overtaken
her. The accounts of the trials for witchcraft form one of the most de.
plorable chapters in Scottish story.

 

23. Page 70. Although canting heraldry is generally reprobated, it
seems nevertheless to have been adopted inthe arms and mottoes of many
honorable families. Thus the motto of the Vernons, Ver non semper utret,
is a perfect pun, and so is that of the Onslows, Festina lente. The Perdissem
ni per-itssem of the Anstruthers, is liable to a similar objection. One of that
ancient race, finding that an antagonist, with whom he had fixed a friendly
meeting, was determined to take the opportunity of assassinating him, pre:
vented the hazard by dashing out his brains with a battle-axe. Two sturdy
arms, brandishing such a weapon, form the usual crest of the family, with

  
 
  
 
  
 
    
  
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 

SSR rs

eReCt aches eh nnt ss

  

RRR: Riera ees.

‘f 5spiikastanty scotia?

= ST cei EE ere

 

 

 

NOTES TO WAVERLEY.

the above motto-—Per iissem ni peri-issem—(I had died unless I had gone
through with it).

24. Page 75. A crveagh was an incursion for plunder, termed on the
Borders a raid.

25. Page 76. .Sorners may be translated sturdy beggars, more especi-
ally indicating those unwelcom> visitors who exact lodgings and victuals by
force, or something approaching to it.

26. Page 8s. Mac-Donald of Barrisdale, one of the very last Highland
3entlemen who carried on the plundering system to any great extent, was a
ycholar and a well-bred gentlemen. He engraved on his broadswords the
well-known lines—

Heec tibi erunt artes—pacisque imponere morem,
Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.

Indeed, the levying of the black mail was, before the year 1745, practised
by several chiefs of very high rank, who, in doing so, contended that they
were lending the laws the assistance of their arms and swords. and afford.
ing a protection which could not be obtained from the magistracy in the
disturbed state of the country. The author has seen a Memoir of Mac-
Pherson of Cluny, chief of that ancient clan, from which it appears that he
levied protection-money to a very large amount, which was willingly paid
even by some of his most powerful neighbors. A gentleman of this clan
hearing a clergyman hold forth to his congregation on the crime of theft
interrupted the preacher to assure him, he might leave the enforcement of
such doctrines to Cluny Mac-Pherson, whose broadsword would put a stop
to theft sooner than all the sermons of all the ministers of the Synod.

27. Page 84. The Town-guard of Edinburgh were, till a late period,
armed with this weapon when on their police-duty. There was a hook at
the back of the axe, which the ancient Highlanders used to assist them to
climb over walls, fixing the hook upon it, and raising themselves by the
handle. The axe, which was also much used by the natives, is supposed
to have been introduced into both countries from Scandinavia.

28. Page 87. It is not the weeping birch, the most common species in
the Highlands, but the woolly-leaved Lowland birch, that is distinguished
by this fragrance.

29. Page go. An adventure, very similar to what is here stated, ac-
tually befell the late Mr. Abercromby of Tullibody, grandfather of the
present Lord Abercromby, and father of the celebrated Sir Ralph. When
this gentleman, who lived to a very advanced period of life, first settled in
Stirlingshire, his cattle were repeatedly driven off by the clebrated Roh
Roy, or some of his gang; and at length he was obliged, after obtaining a
proper safe conduct, to make the Cateran such a visit as that of Waverley
to Bean Lean inthe text. Rob received him with much courtesy, and made
many apologies for the accident, which must have happened, he said,
through some mistake. Mr. Abercromby was regaled with collops from
two of his own cattle, which were hung up by the heels in the cavern, and
was dismissed in perfect safety, after having agreed to pay in future a small
sum of black mail, in consideration of which Rob Roy not only undertook
to forbear his herds in future, but te replace any that should be stolen from
him by other freebooters. Mr. Abercromby said, Rob Roy affected ta
eonsider him as a friend to the Jacobite interest, and a sincere enemy to theNOTES TO WAVERLEY. 399

Union. Neither of these circumstances were true ; but the laird thought
it quite unnece ssary to undeceive his Highland host at the risk of bringing
on a political dispute in such a situation. ‘This anecdote [ received many

years since (about 1792), from the mouth of the venerable gentleman who
was concerned in it.

. Page go. This was the regale presented by Rob Roy to the Laird
libody. i :

 

31. Page 96. This celebrated gibbet was, in the memory of the last
generation, still eee at the western end of the town of Crieff, in Perth-
Shire. Why it was called the 477d gallows, we are unable to inform the
reader with certainty; but it is alleged that the Highlanders used to touch
their bonnets as they passed a place, which had been fatal to many of their
countrymen, with the ejaculation —‘‘ God bless her nain sel] , and the Tiel
tamn you!” It may therefore have been called kind, as being a sort of
native or kindred place of doom to those who suffered hers as in fulfil-
ment of a natural destiny.

32. Page 98. The story of the bridegroom carried off by Caterans, on
his bridal-day, is taken from one which was told to the author by the late
Laird of Mac-Nab, many years since. To carry off persons from the Low-
lands, and to put them to ransom, was a common practice with the wild
Highlanders, as it is said to be at the present day with the banditti in the

south of Italy. Upon the occasion alluded to, a party of Caterans carried
off the bridegroom, and secreted him in some cave near the mountain of
Schehallion. The young man caught the small-pox before his ransom
could be agreed on ; and whether it was the fine cool air of the place, or

the want of medical attendance, Mac-Nab did not pretend to be positive ;
but so it was, tl .at the prisoner recovered, his ransom was paid, and he was
restored to his friends and bride, but always considered the Hi: ghland rob:
bers as having saved his life, by their treatment of his malady.

33. Page too. The Scotch are liberal in computing thair land and
liquor ; the Scottish pint corresponds to two English quarts. As for their
coin, every one knows the couplet—

How can the rogues pretend to sense ?—
Their pound is only twenty pence.

34. Page 103. This happened on many occasions. Indeed, it was
not till after the total destruction of the cl: un pofiuence, after 1745, that
purchasers could be found, who offered a fair price for the estates forfeited

in 1715, which were then brought to sale by the creditors of the York
Buildings Company, who hz id purchased the whole or greater part from
government at a very small price. Even so late as the period first men-
tioned, the prejudices of the public in favor of the heirs of the forfeited
families threw various see deans in the way of intending purchasers of
such property.

35. Page 104. This sort of political game ascribed to Mac-Ivor was in
reality played by several Highland chiefs, the celebrated Lord Powel, in
particular, who used that kind of finesse to the uttermost, The Laird of
Mac—— was also captain of an independent company, but oe, the
sweets of present pay too well to incur the risk of losing them in the
Jacobite cause. His martial consort raised his clan, and headed it in 1745
But the chief himself would have nothing to do with king-making, de-

 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
    
  
     
      
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
 
  
   
 
     
   
  
    
 
    
 
   
  
    
 
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
 

Bap

Soe

STRESS

NISTSiete

2 Sees ee
= &

 

400 NOTES TO WAVERLEY.

claring himself for that monarch, and no other, who gave the Laird of
Mac “* half-a-guinea the day, and half-a-guinea the morn.”

 

30. Page xo7. In Cee of the military exercises observed at the
Castle of Glenn: aquoich, the author begs to remark, that the Highlanders
were not only well practiced in the use of the broadsword, firelock, and
most of the many sports and trials of strength common throughout Scot-
land, but also used a peculiar sort of drill, suited to their own dress and
mode of warfare. There were, for instance, different modes of disposing
the plaid, one when on a peaceful journey, another when danger was appre:
hended ; one way of enveloping themselves in it when expecting undis-
turbed repose, and another which enabled them to start uD with sword
ard pistol in hand on the slightest alarm.

Previous to 1720, or thereabouts, the belted plaid was universaily worn,
in which the portion which surrounded the middle of the wearer, and that
which was flung around his shoulders, were all of the same piece of tartan.
In a desperate onset, all was thrown away, and the clan charged bare be-
neath the doublet, save for an artificial arrangement of the shirt, which,
like that of the Irish, was always ample, and for the sporran-mollach, or
goat’s-skin purse,

The manner of handling the pistol and dirk was also part of the High-
land manual exercise, which the author has seen gone through by men who
had learned it in their youth.

37: Page 108. Pork, or swine’s flesh, in any shape, was, till of late
years, much abominated bythe Scotch, nor is it yet a favorite food amongst
them. King Jamie carried this prejudice to England, and is known to
have abhorred pork almost as much as he did tobacco. Ben Jonson has
recorded this peculiarity, where the gypsy in a masque, examining the
king’s hand, says,
vou should by this line

Love a horse, and a hound, but no part of a swine.
The Gypsies Metamorphosed.
James’s own proposed banquet for the Devil was a oe of pork and a poll
of ling, with a pipe of tobacco for digestion.

 

38. Page tog. In the number of persons of all ranks who assembled
at the s: ame table, though by no means to discuss the same fare, the High-
land chiefs only retained a Custom which had been formerly universally ob-
served, throughout Scotland. “I myself,” says the traveler, Fynes
Morrison, in the end of Queen Elizabet h’s reign, the scene being the Low:
lands of Scotland, “‘was ata knight’s house, who had many servants to
attend him, that brought in his meat with their heads covered with blue
caps, the table being more than half furnished with great platters of por-
ridge, each having a little piece of sodden meat. And when the table was
served, the servants did sit down with us; but the upper mess, instead of
porridge, had a pullet, with some prunes in the broth.”—( 7rave/s, p. 155.)

Till within this last century, the farmers, even of a respectable condi-
tion, dined with their work- people. ae difference betwixt those of high
degree was ascertained by the place of the party above or below the salt,
or, sometimes, by a line drawn with chalk on the dining-table. Lord Lovat,
who knew well oe to feed the vanity, and restrain the appetites, of his
clansmen, allowed each sturdy Fraser, who had the slightest pretensions to
be a Duinhé-wassel, the full honor of the sitting, but, at the same time,
took care that his young kinsmen did not acquire at his table any taste for
outlandish luxuries. His lords ship was always ready with some honorable
apology, why foreign wines and French brandy, delicacies which he con:eeived might sap the hardy habits of his cousins, should not circulate past:

an assigned point on the table.

39. Page 116. In the Irish ballads, relating to Fion (the Fingal of
Mac-Pl herson), there occurs, as in the primitive poetry of most nations, a
cycle of heroes, each of whom has some distinguishing attribute ; upon
these qualities, and the adventures of those possessing “them, many pron
erbs are formed, which are still current in the Hi igh onde Among other
characters, Conan is distinguished as in ee res spects a kind of Phersites
but brave and daring even to rashness. He had made a vow that he would
never take a blow without returning it; and having, like other heroes of
antiquity, descended to the infernal regions, he received a cuff from the
Arch-f end. who presided there, which he instantly returned, using the ex-
pression in the text. Sometimes the proverb is worded thus :—‘“ Claw for
claw, and the devil take the shortest nails, as Conan said to the devil.”

 

40. Page 117. The Highland poet almost always was an imprevisa-
tore. Captain Burt met one of them at Lovat’s ne

41. Page 119. The description of the waterfall mentioned ia this
chapter is taken from that of Lede: ird, at the farm so called on the northern
side of Lochard, and near the head of the Lake, four or five miles from
Aberfoyle. It isupon asmall scale, but otherwise one of the most ex-
quisite cascades it is possible to behold. The appearance of Flora with
the harp, as described, has been justly censured as too theatrical and
affected for the lady like simplicity of her character. But something may
be allowed to her French education, in which point and striking effect al-
ways make a considerable object.

42, Page 121. The young and daring Adventurer, Charles Edward,
landed at Glenaladale, in Moidart and displayed his standard in the valley
of Glenfinnan, mustering around it the Mz 1c-Donalds, the Camerons, and
other less numerous clans, whom he had prevailed on to join him. There
is a monument erected on the spot, atti a Latin inscription by the late

Dr. Gregory.

43. Page 121, The Marquis of Tullibardine’s elder brother, who, long
exiled, returned to Scotland with Charles Edward in 1745.

44. Page 124. This ancient Gaelic ditty is still well known, both in
the Highlands and in Ireland. It was translated into English, and pub
lished, if I mistake not, under the auspices of the facetious Tom D’Urfey,
by the title of ‘‘ Colley, my Cow.”’

45. Page 130. The thrust from the tynes, or branches, of the stag’s
horns were accounted far more dangerous than those of the boar’s tusk :—

Tf thou be hurt with horn or stag, it brings thee to thy bier,
But barber’s hands shall boar’s hurt heal; thereof have thou no fear.

46. Page 130. This garb, which resembled the dress often put on
children in Scotland, called a polonie (i.e. polonaise), is a very ancient
modification of the Highland garb. Jt was, in fact, the hauberk or shirt of
mail only composed of cloth instead of rings of armor.

Page.130. Old Highlanders will still make the deasi around
those whom they wish well to. To go rounda person in the opposite direc

NOTES T0 WAVERLEY. 401

 
 
 
 
   
   
        
     
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
    
   
    
     
  
   
  
    
   
    
 
 
  
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 

yh orn,

Srpreaareces:

oss

eyes

5

es

Coenen en

pa
Beate aiect ne ote Seen SS)eee

pbbbesptenn sacotin?

Fash Bee ees
er cee

ad

s
Ss
ee

NOTES TO WAVERLEY,

 
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
 
   
    
 
   
  
   
  
  
    
   
   
   
   
     
   
  

402

tion, or wéther-shins (German wder-shins), is unlucky, and a sort of incan-
tation.

48. Page 131. This metrical spell, or something very like it, is pre
served by Reginald Scott, in his work on Witchcraft.
49. Page 132. On the morrow they made their biers
Of birch and hazel gray.k———Chevy Chase

50. Page 132. The author has been sometimes accused for confounding

stion with reality. He therefore thinks it necessary to state, that the
circumstances of the hunting described in the text as preparatory to the
insurrection of 1745, is, so far as he knows, entirely imaginary. But it is
well known such a great hunting was held in the forest of Brae-Mar, under
the auspices of the Earl of Mar, as preparatory to the Rebellion of 1715;
and most of the Highland chieftains who afterward engaged in that civiJ
commotion were present on this occasion.

  
 

5

1. Page 133. Corresponding to the Lowland saying, “‘Mony ane
speirs the gate tl ,

1ey ken fu’ weel.’
2. Page 1s4. These lines form the burden of an old song to which
Burns wrote additional verses.

Wn

$3. Page 154. These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune of
We’ll never hae peace till Jamie comes hame ;
to which Burns likewise wrote some verses.

54. Page 158. A Highland rhyme on Glencairn’s Expedition, in 1650,
has these lines—

** We’ll bide a while among ta crows,
We'll wiske ta sword and bend ta bows.”

55. Page 158. The Oggam is aspecies of the old Irish character.
The idea of the correspondence between the Celtic and the Punic, founded
onascene in Plautus, was not started till General Vallancey set up his
theory, long after the date of Fergus Mac-Ivor.

56. Page 160. The sanguine Jacobites, during the eventful years
(745-6, kept up the spirits of their party by the rumor of descents from
France on behalf of the Chevalier St. George.

57. Page 161. The Highlander, in former times, had always a high
idea of his own gentility, and was anxious to impress the same upon those
with whom he conversed. His language abounded in the phrases of
courtesy and compliment ; and the habit of carrying arms, and mixing
with those who did so, made it particularly desirable they should use cau-
tious politeness in their intercourse with each other.

58. Page 172. The Rev. John Erskine, D.D., an eminent Scottish
divine, and a most excellent man, headed the Evangelical party in the
Church of Scotland at the time when the celebrated Dr. Robertson, the
historian, was the leader of the moderate party. These two distinguished
persons were colleagues in the Old Gray Friars’ Church, Edinburgh ; and,
however much they differed in church politics, preserved the most perfect
harmony as private friends, and as clergymen serving the same cure.NOTES TO WA VERLEY. 403
ane, occupying the fastnesses of the
» were great depredators on the low country,
€ made usually by night, the moon was prover
bially called their lantern. Their celebrated pibroch of Hogerl nam Bo,
which is the name of their gathering tune, intimates similar practices,—the
Sense being :—.

59. Page 207. The Clan of Mac-Farl
western side of Loch Lomond
and as their excursions wer

We are bound to drive the bullocks,
All by hollows, hirsts and hillocks,
Through the sleet, and through the rain.
When the moon is beaming low
On frozen lake and hills of snow,
Bold and heartily we go:
And all for little gain.

   

60. Page 209. This noble ruin is dear to my recollection, from asso-
ciations which have been long and painfully broken. It holds a command-
Ing station on the banks of the river Teith, and has been one of the largest
castles in Scotland. Murdock, Duke of Albany, the founder of this stately
pile, was beheaded on the Castlehill of Stirling, from which he might see
the towers of Doune, the monument of his fallen greatness.

In 1745-6, as stated in the text, a garrison on the part of the Chevalierwas
put into the castle, then less ruinous than at present. It was commanded
by Mr. Stewart of Balloch, as governor for Prince Charles ; he was a man
of preperty near Callander. This castle became at that time the actual
scene of aromantic escape made by John Home, the author of Douglas,
and some other prisoners, who, having been taken at the battle of Falkirk,
were confined there by the insurgents. The poet, who had in his own mind
a large stock of that romantic and enthusiastic spirit of adventure, which he
has described as animating the youthful hero of his-drama, devised and un.
dertook the perilous enterprise of escaping from his prison, He inspired
his companions with his sentiments, and when every attempt at open force
was deemed hopeless, they resolved to twist their bed-clothes into ropes,
and thus to descend. Four persons, with Home himself, reached the
ground in safety. But the rope broke with the fifth, who was a tall lusty
man. The sixth was Thomas Barrow, a brave young Englishman, a par-
ticular friend of Home’s. Determined to take the risk, even in such un-
favorable circumstances, Barrow committed himself to the broken rope,
slid down on it as far as it could assist him, and then let himself drop. His
friends beneath succeeded in breaking his fall. Nevertheless, he dislocated
his ankle, and had several of his ribs broken. His companions, however,
were able to bear him off in safety.
The Highlanders next morning sought for their prisoners with great
activity. An old gentleman told the author he remembered seeing the
commander Stewart,

Bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste,

riding furiously through the country in quest of the fugitives.

61. Page 213. The Judges of the Supreme Court of Session in Scotland
are proverbially termed, among the country people, The Fifteen.

tional phrase similar to that of the Irish respecting a man having been wp,
both having reference to an individual who had been engaged in iInsurrec-
tion, It was accounted ill-breeding in Scotland, about forty years since, te
use the phrase rede//ion or rebel, which might be interpreted by some of the

62. Page 213. To go out, or to have been out, in Scotland, was a conven:
mi

  

  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
 

CISC Tens

SPSS TEs

athe

SYR

ENTLY s erro otsestes eae

ee hsgesho tet ees

Pau e

2FO Sie er:

NOTES TO WAVERLEY.

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 

404

parties present as a personal insult. It was also esteemed more polite even
for staunch Whigs to denominate Charles Edward the Chevalier, than to
speak of him as the Pretender; and this kind of accommodating courtesy was
usually observed in society where individuals of each party mixed on
friendly terms.

63. Page 213. (St. Fohn’s Tippet, literally a halter. Perth was formerly

known as St. John’s town, from the name of the Tutelary Saint. In an old

poem by H. Adamson, 1638, there occurs the proverbial saying—
‘‘ And in contempt, when any rogue they see,
They say, St. Johnston’s ribbon’s meet for thee.”
This proverb, says the editor of Adamson in 1774, is well understood in
Perth and through the shire. It is applied to people who deserve to ve
hanged).

Note R, p. 263. The Jacobite sentiments were general among the
western counties, and in Wales. But although the great families of the
Wynnes, the Wyndhams, and others, had come under an actual obligation
to join Prince Charles if he should land, they had done so under the
express stipulation, that he should be assisted by an auxiliary army of
French without which they foresaw the enterprise would be desperate.
Wishing well to his cause, therefore, and watching an opportunity to join
him, they did not, nevertheless, think themselves bound in honor to do so,
as he was only supported by a body of wild mountaineers, speaking an un-
couth dialect, and wearing asingular dress. The race up to Derby struck
them with more dread than admiration. But it was difficult to say what
the effect might have been, had either the battle of Preston or Falkirk
been fought and won during the advance into England.

S

>
}
1
i

Note S, p. 266. Divisions early showed themselves in the Chevalier’s
little army, not only amongst the independent chieftains, who were far too
proud to brook subjection to each other, but betwixt the Scotch and
Charles’s governor O’Sullivan, an Irishman by birth, who, with some of his
countrymen bred in the Irish Brigadein the service of the King of France,
had an influence with the Adventurer, much resented by the Highlanders,

he only
eared e his enterprise. ‘There <a tand. al between Lord George
strength of his enterprise. here Was a feud, also, between Lord George

who were sensible that their own clans made the chief or rather t
Murray and James Murray of Broug
union greatly embarrassed the affairs of the Adventurer. In general, a
thousand different pretensions divided their little army, and finally contri-
buted in no small degree to its overthrow.

hton, the Prince’s secretary, whose dis-

Note T, p. 291.—This circumstance, which is historical, as well as the
description that precedes it, will remind the reader of the war of La Vendée,
in which the royalists, consisting chiefly of insurgent peasantry, attached a
prodigious and even superstitious interest to the possession of a piece of
brass ordnance, which they called Maria Jeanne.

The Highlanders of an early period were afraid of cannon, with the
noise and effect of which they were totally unacquainted. It was by means
of three or four small pieces of artillery that the Earls of Huntly and
Errol, in James VI.’s time, gained a great victory at Glenlivit, over a
numerous Highland army commanded by the Earl of Argyle” At the
battle of the Bridge of Dee, General Middleton obtained by his artillery a
similar success, the Highlanders not being able to stand the discharge
of Musket’s-Mother, which was the name they bestowed on great guns. In
an old ballad on the battle of the Bridge of Dee, these verses occur :—NOTES TO WAVERLEY. 405

The Hi pec are pretty men
For handling sword and shield,
But yet they are bat simple men
To stand a stricken field.

The Highlandmen are pretty men
For target and claymore,
But yet they are but naked men
‘o face the cannon’s roar.

For the cannons roar on a summer night
Like thunde ef in the air

Was nev sr man in Highland garb
Would face the cannon fair.

 

But the Highlanders of oi had got far beyond the simplicity of their fore-
Eiders. and showed th 1roughout the whole war how little they dreaded
artillery, although the ey ee people still attached some consequence to
the possession of the field-piece which led to this disposition.

Note U, p. 254. —The faithful friend who pointed out the pass by which
the Hi ghlanders moved from Tranent to Seaton, was Robert Anderson
junior, of Whitburgh, a gentleman of property in East Lothian. He had
been interrogated by the Lord George Murray concerning the possibility of
crossing the uncouth and marshy piece of ground w hich divided the armies,
and which he described as impracticable. When dismissed, he recollected
the it there was a circuitous ae ss leading eastward through the marsh into

e plain, by which the Highlanders might turn the ‘flank of Sir John
Cose's position, without being weepesed to the enemy’s fire. Having men-
tioned his opinion to Mr. Hepburn of Keith, who instantly saw its impor-
tance, he was encouraged by that gentleman to awake Lord George
Murray, and communicate the idea t Fe m. Lord George received the in-
formation with grateful thanks, aid instantly awakened Prince Charl
who was sleeping in the field with a bunch of peas under his head. T
\dventurer received with alacrity the news that there was a possibility of
bringing an Sa provided army to a decisive battle with his own
irregular forces, is joy on the occasion was not very consistent with the
SS of cowat “die e brought a gainst him by Chevalier Johnstone, a discon-
tented follower, whose Memoirs possess at least as much of a romantic asa
historical character. Even by the account of the Chevalier himself, the
Prince was at the head of the second line of the Highland army during the
battle, of which he says, “It was gained with such rapidity, that in the
second line, where I was still by the side of the Prince, we saw no other
enemy than those who were lying on the ground killed and wounded,
though we were not more than fifty paces behind our firstline, running always
as fast as we could to overtake them.”

' This passage in the Chevalier’s Memoirs places the Prince within fifty
paces of the heat of the battle, a position which would never have been
the choice of one unwilling to take a share of its dange ers. Indeed, unless
the chiefs had complied with the young Adventurer’s proposal to lead the
van in person, it does not a uppear that he could have been deeper in the
action.

    

 

 

es
he

 

Note V, p. 306. The death of this good Christian and gallant man ts
thus given by his affectionate biographer Dr. Doddridge, from the evidence
of eye-witnesses :—

“He continued all night under arms, wrapped up in his cloak, and
generally sheltered under a rick of barley, which happened to be in the

yf .
Lacie nee

   
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
    
    
 
  
  
        
  
 
  
  
     
     
       
   
    
   
  
  
    
     
      
    
    
   
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 

petteteestre

SS

Sir ees bIpe Las os

ove ce attDe eee

Peeters

  

406 NOTES TO WAVERLEY.
field. About three in the morning he called his domestic servants to him,
of which there were four in waiting. He dismissed three of them with
most affectionate Christian advice, and such solemn charges relating to the
yerformance of their duty, and the care of their souls, as seemed plainly to
intimate that he apprehended it was at least very probable he was taking
his last farewell of them. There is great reason to believe that he spent
the little remainder of the time, which could not,be much above an hour,
in those devout exercises of soul which had been so long habitual to him,
and to which so many circumstances did then concur to call him. The
army was alarmed by break of day, by the noise of the rebels’ approach,
and the attack was made before sunrise, yet when it was light enough ta
discern what passed. As soon as the enemy came within gunshot they
made a furious fire ; and it is said that the dragoons which constituted the
left wing immediately fled. The Colonel at the beginning of the onset,
which in the whole lasted but a few minutes, received a wound by a bullet
in his left breast, which made him give a sudden spring in his saddle ;
upon which his servant, who Jed the horse, would have persuaded him
to retreat, but he said it was only a wound in the flesh, and fought on,
though he presently after received a shot in his right thigh. In the
meantime, it was discerned that some of the enemy fell by him,
and particularly one man, who had made him a treacherous visit but
a few days before, with great profession of zeal for the present establish-
ment.

“Events of this kind pass in less time than the description of them can
be written, or than it can be read. The Colonel was for a few moments
supported by his men, and particularly by that worthy person Lieutenant-
Colonel Whitney, who was shot through the arm here, and a few months
after fell nobly at the battle of Falkirk, and by Lieutenant West, a man of
distinguished bravery, as also by about fifteen dragoons, who stood by him
to the last. But after a faint fire, the regiment in general was seized with a
panic; and though their Colonel and some other gallant officers did what
they could to rally them once or twice, they at last took a precipitate flight.
And just in the moment when Colonel Gardiner seemed to be making a
pause to deliberate what duty required him to do in such circumstances, an
accident happened, which must, I think, in the judgment of every worthy
and generous man, be allowed a sufficient apology for exposing his life to
so great hazard, when his regiment had left him. He saw a party of the
foot, who were then bravely fighting near him, and whom he was ordered
to support, had no officer to head them; upon which he said eagerly, in the
hearing of the person from whom I had this account, ‘ These brave fellows
will be cut to pieces for want of a commander,’ or words that effect ; which
while he was speaking, he rode up to them and cried out, ‘ Fire on, my
lads, and fear nothing.” But just as the words were out of his mouth, a
Highlander advanced toward him with a scythe fastened to a long pole,
with which he gave him so dreadful a wound on his right arm, that his
sword dropped out of his hand; andat the same time several others
coming about him while he was thus dreadfully entangled with that cruel
weapon, he was dragged off from his horse. The moment he fell, another
Highlander, who, if the king’s evidence at Carlisle may be credited (as I
know not why they should not, though the unhappy creature died denying
it), was one Mac-Naught, who was executed about a year after, gave hima
stroke either with a broadsword or a Lochaber-axe (for my informant
could not exactly distinguish) on the hinder part of his head, which was the
mortal blow. All that his faithful attendant saw further at this time,
was, that as his hat was falling off, he took it in his left hand and waved
it as a signal to him to retreat, and added what were the last words heNOTES TO WAVERLEY. 404
wer heard him speak, ‘ Take care of yourself; ” upon which the servant
retired, Some remarkable Passages in the Life of Colonel James Gardiner,

by P. Doddridse D.D. London, 1747, p. 187,

[ may remark on this extract, that it confirms the account given in the
text of the resistance offered by some of the English infantry, purneaed
by a force of a peculiar and unusual description, their opposition could not
be long or formid: ible, especially as they were deserted by the ‘cavalry, and
those who undertook to manage the artillery. But altl hough the affair was

soon decided, I have always understood that many of the infantry showed
an inclination to do their duty.

‘Note W,.p. 258.—Tt 46 scarcely necessary to say that the character of
this brutal you ing Laird is en itirely imaginary. A gentleman, however, who
resembled Bal nawhappl le in the article of courage only , fell at Pre eston in
the manner described. A Perthshire gentleman of high honor and res pects
bility, one of the handful of cavalry who followed the fortunes of Charles
Eiward: pursued the fugitive dragoons almost alone till near Saint Clem
ent’s Wells, where the oie of some of the officers had prevailed on a
few of them to make a mor nentary stand. Perceiving at this moment that
they were pursued by only one man and a couple of servants, they turned

upon him and cut him down with their swords. I re emember, when a child,
sitting on his grave, where the grass long grew rank and green, distinguish.
ing it from the rest of the field. A female of the famil ® then residing at
Saint Clement’s Wells used to tell me the tra igedy of which she had been
an eye-witness, and showed me in evidence one of the silver clasps of the
unfortunate gentleman’s waistcoat.

Note X, p. 269,—The name of Andrea di Ferrara is inscribed on all the
Scottish broadswords which are accounted of peculiar excellence. Who
this artist was, what were his fortunes s, and when he flourished, have hither-
to defied the research of antiquaries; only it is in general believed that
Andrea di Ferrara was a Spanish or Italian artificer, brought over by
James IV. or V. to instruct the Scots in the manufacture of sw rord blades.
Most barbarous nations excel in the fabrication of arms ; and the Scots had
attained great el iciency in forging swords, so early as the fiel d of Pinkie;
at which period the historian Patten describes them as ‘all notably broad
and thin, universally made to slice, and of such exceeding good temper,
that as e never saw any so good, so I think it hard to devise better.—
(Account of Somerset’s Fx petition. )

It may ee observed, that the best and most genuine Andrea Ferraras
have a crown marked on the blades.

Nove: Y; p; aoe The incident here said to have happened to Flora
Mac-Ivor, actually befell Miss Nairne, a lady with whom the author had
the pleasure of being acquainted, "As the Highland army rushed into
Edinburgh, Miss Nairne, like other ladies who approved of their cause,
stood waving her handkerchief from a balcony, when a ball from a High-
lander’s musket, which was discharge by accident, grazed her forehead.
“ Thank God,” said she, the instant she recovered, “* that the accident
happened to me, whose principles are known. Had it befallen a Whig
they would have said it was done on purpose.”’

NOTE Z;. p» 364.> The Author of Waverley has been charged with
painting t the young Adventurer in colors more amiable than his character

  

 
 
  
     
 
   
   
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
    
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
     
 
 
  
      
 
  
 
   
 
  

Er Tetris sn tt

“fpr aerenensticernnnnBian otha baa hions Sikh casita

 

408 NOTES TO WAVERLEY.

deserved. But having known many individuals who were near his person,
he has been described “according to the light in which those eye-witnesses
saw his temper and qualifications. Something must be allowed, no doubt,
to the natural exaggerations of those who remembered him as the bold and
adventurous Prince, in whose cause they had braved death and ruin } but
is their evidence to give place entirely to ‘that of a single malcontent ?

I have already noticed the imputations thrown by the Chevalier John
stone on the Prince’s courage. But some part at least of that gentleman’s
tale is purely romantic. It would not, for instance, be supposed, that at
the time he is favoring us with the highly wrought account of his amour
with the adorable Peggie, the Chevalier Johnstone was a married man,
whose gr andchild is now alive, or that the whole circumstantial story con:
cerning the outrageous vengeance taken by Gordon of Abbachie on a
Presby terian clergyman, is entirely apocryph al. At the same time it may
be ndmitte d, that the Prince, like others of his family, did not esteem the
services done him by his .dherents so highly as he ought. Educated in
high ideas of his hereditary right, he has been supposed to have held every
exertion and sacrifice made in his cause as too much the duty of the person
making it, to merit extravagant gratitude on his part. Dr. King’s evidence

(which his leaving the Jacobite interest renders somewhat doubtful) goes

ito strengthen this opinion.

The ingenious editor of Johnstone’s Memoirs has agar a story said to

ibe told by Helvetius, stating that Prince Charles Edward, far from volun.
tarily embarking on his daring e ee ety was literally bound 1 hand and foot,
and to which he seems disposed to yield credit. Now, it being a fact as well

known as any in history, and, so far as I know, kak undisputed, that
the Prince’s personal entreaties and urgency positively forced Boisdale and
Lochiel into insurrection, when they were earnestly desirous that he
would put off his attempt until he could obtain a sufficient force from
France, it will be very difficult to reconcile his alleged reluctance to under-
take the expedition, with his desperately insisting on carrying the rising
into effect, against the advice and entreaty of his most powerful and most
sage partisans. Surely a man who had been carried bound on board the
vessel which brought him to so desperate an enterprise, would have taken
the opportunity afforded by the reluctance of his partisans, to return to
France in safety.

It is averred in Johnstone’s Memoirs, that Charles Edward left the field
of Culloden without doing the utmost to-dispute the victory ; and, to give
the evidence on both sides, there isin existence the more trustworthy
testimony of Lord Elcho, who states, that he himself earnestly exhorted the
Prince to charge at the head of the left wing, which was entire, and retrieve
the day or die with honor. And on his counsel being declined, Lord Elcho
took leave of him with a bitter execration, swearing he would never look on
his face again, and kept his word.

On the other hand, it seems to have been the opinion of almost all the
other officers, that the day was irretrievably lost, one wing of the High-
Janders being entirely routed, the rest of the army out- numbered, out-flanked,
and in acondition totally hopeless. In this situation of things, the Ini sh
officers who surrounded Charles’s person interfered to force him off the field
A cornet who was close to the Prince, left a strong attestation, that he had
seen Sir Thomas Sheridan seize the = of his horse, and turn him round.

There is some discrepancy of evidence ; but the opinion of Lord Elcho, a
man of fiery temper, and desperate at the ruin high he beheld impending,
cannot fairly be taken, in prejudice of a character for courage which is intr

mated by the nature of the enterprise itself, by the Prince’s eagerness ta
fight on all eccasions, by his determination to advance from Derby to LewNOTES TO WAVERLEY. 409

ee and by the presence of mind which he manifested during the romantie
perils of his escape. ‘Phe Author is far from claiming for this unfortunate
person the praise due to splendid talents ; but he continues to be of opinion,
that at the iod of his enterprise, he had a mind capable of facing danget
and aspiring to fame. : 2
That Charles Edward had the advantages of a graceful presence, courtesy,
and an address and manner becoming ‘his stati on, the author never heard
disputed by any who ap »proached his person, nor does he conceive that these
gualities are over-chz a in the present attempt to sketch his portrait
The following € -xtracts corroborative of the general opinion respecting the
Prince’s amiab] le disposition, are taken froma manuscript account of his
romantic expedition, by James Maxwell of Kirkconnell, of ee I possess
a copy, by the fr jendship of J. Menzies, Esq., of Pitfoddell The author
though parti il to the eian ce, whom he faithnuls Pete seems to have
been a fair and Ci indid man, and well acquainted ‘with the intrigues among
the Adventurer’s council :— é
“Everybody was mightily taken with the Prince’s figure and beset
behavior. There was but one voice about them. Those whom interest or

prejudice made a runaway to his cause, could not help acknowledgi ing that
they wished him well in all other respects, and el hardly blame him for
his present undertaking. Sundry things had concurred to raise his

 

character to the highest pitch, besides the greatness of the enterprise, and
the conduct that had hitherto appeared in the execution of it. There were
several instances of good-nature and humanity that had made a great im-
pression on people’s minds. I shall confine myself to two or three,
Immediately after the battle, as the Prince was ri iding along the ground
that Cope’s army had occupied a few minutes before, one of the officers
came up to congratulate him, and said, pointing to the killed, ¢ Sir, there
are your enemies at your feet.’ The Prince, far from exulting, expressed
a great deal of compassion for his father’s deluded subjects, whom he
declared he was heartily sorry to see in that posture. Next day, while

the Prince was at Pinkie-house, a citizen of Edinburgh came to mz ike some
representation to Secretary Murray about the tents that city was ordered ta
furnish against a certain day. Murray happened to-be out of the way,
which the Prince hearing of, called to have the gentleman brought to him,
saying, he would rather despatch the SEE ES whatever it was, himself,
than have the gentleman wait, which he did, a granting everything that
was asked. So much affability in a young pri ce. ius) red with victory,
drew encomiums even from his enemies. but ah at gave the people the
highest idea of him, was the negative he gave to a thing that very nearly
concerned his interest, and upon which the success of his enterprise per-
haps depended. It was proposed to send one of the prisoners to London, te
demand of that court a cartel for the exchange of prisoners taken, and to be
taken, during this war, and to intimate that a refusal would be looked upon
as a resolution on their part to give no quarter. It was visible a cartel
would be of great advantage to the Prince’s affairs ; his friends would be
more ready to declare for him if they had nothing to fear but the chance of
war in the field; and if the court of London refused to settle a cartel the
Prince was authorized to treat his prisoners in the same manner the Elector
of Hanover was determined to treat such of the Prince’s friends as might
fall into his hands: it was urged that a few examples would compel the
court of London to comply. It was to be presumed that the officers of the
English army would make a point of it. They had never engaged in the
service, but upon such terms as are in use among all civilized nations, and it
could be no stain upon their honor to lay down their commissions if these
terms were not observed, and that owing to the obstinacy of their owa

 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
  
     
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
   
     
 
   
   
   
   
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 

SSNS TNS ESTES

eter ts eer rn st

  

att iuapaaneaabbienas.aekcanyixeerseeeeee etter

 

410 NOTES TO WAVERLEY.
Prince. Though this scheme was plausible, and represented as very im-

ortant, the Prince could never be brought into it; it was below him, he
said, to make empty threats, and he would never put such as those into
execution; he would never in cold blood take away lives which he had
saved in heat of action, at the peril of his own. These were not the only
proofs of good nature the prince gave about this time. Every day produced
something new of this kind. These things softened-the rigor of a military
government, which was only imputed to the necessity of his affairs, and
which he endeavored to make as gentle and easy as possible.

It has been said, that the Prince sometimes exacted more state and cere:
monial than seemed to suit his condition ; but, on the other hand, some
strictness of etiquette was altogether indispensable where he must other-
wise have been exposed to general intrusion. He could also endure, with
a good grace, the retorts which his affectation of ceremony sometimes ex:
posed him to. It is said, for example, that Grant of Glenmoriston having
made a hasty march to jain Charles, at the head of his clan, rushed into the
Prince’s presence at Holyrood, with unceremonious haste, without having
attended to the duties of the toilet. The Prince received him kindly, but
not without a hint that a previous interview with the barber might not have
been wholly unnecessary. ‘‘It is not beardless boys,” answered the dis-
pleased chief, ‘who are to do your Royal Highness’s turn.” The Chev-
alier took the rebuke in good part.

On the whole, if Prince Charles had concluded his life soon after his
miraculous escape, his character in history must have stood very high. As
it was, his station is amongst those, a certain brilliant portion of whose
life forms a remarkable contrast to all which precedes, and all which
follows it.

Nore AA, p. 317. The following account of the Skirmish at Clifton
is extracted from the manuscript Memoirs of Evan Macpherson of
Cluny, Chief of the clan Macpherson, who had the merit of supporting
the principal brunt of that spirited affair. The Memoirs appear to have
been composed about 1755, only ten years after the action had taken
place. They weré written in France, where that gallant Chief resided
in exile, which accounts for some Gallicisms which occur in the narrative.

“Tn the Prince’s return from Derby back towards Scotland, my Lord
George Murray, Lieutenant-General, cheerfully charg’d himself with the
command of the rear; a post, which, altho’ honorable, was attended with
great danger, many difficulties, and no small fatigue ; for the Prince being
apprehensive that his retreat to Scotland might be cut off by Marischall
Wade, who lay to the northward of him with an armie much supperior to
what H. R. HY had, while the Duke of Comberland with his whole cavalrie
followed hard in the rear, was obliged to hasten his marches. It was not,
therefore, possible for the artilirie to march so fast as the Prince’s armie,
in the depth of winter, extremely bad weather, and the worst roads in Eng-
land; so Lord George Murray was obliged often to continue his marches
long after it was dark almost every night, while at the same time he had
frequent allarms and disturbances from the Duke of Comberland’s advanc’d
parties. Towards the evening of the twentie-eight December 1745, the
Prince entered the town of Penrith, in the province of Comberland. But
as Lord George Murray could not bring up the artilirie so fast as he wou’d
have wish’d, he was obliged to pass the night six miles short of that town,
together with the regiment of MacDonel of Glengarrie, which that day hap:
pened to have the arrear guard. The Prince, in order to refresh his armie,
and to give My Lord George and the artilirie time to come up, resolved to
sejour the 29th at Penrith; so ordered his little army to appear in theNOTES TO WAVERLEY. 41

viewed, and to know in what mannet
I laveing entered England. It did not at that
time amount to 5000 foot in all, with about 400 cavalrie, composed of the
noblesse who serv’d as volunteers, part of whom form’d a first troop of
guards for the Prince, under the command of My Lord Elchoe, now Comte
de Weems, who, being proscribed, is presently in France. Another part
formed a second troup of guards under the command of My Lord Balmirino,
who was beheaded at the Tower of London. A third part serv’d under My
Lord le Comte de Kilmarnock, who was likewise beheaded at the Tower.
A fourth part serv’d under My Lord Pitsligow, who is also proscribed ;
which cavalrie, tho’ very few in numbers, being all Noblesse, were very
brave, and of infinate advantage to the foot, not only in the day of battle,

but in Serving as advanced guards on che several marches, and in patroling

morning under arms, in order to be re
the numbers stood from his ]

’
dureing the night on the different roads which led towards the towns where
the army happened to quarter,
. While this small army was out in a body on the 29th December, upon
a rising ground to the northward of Penrith, passing review, Mons de
Cluny, with his tribe, was ordered to the Bridge of Clifton, about a mile to
southward of Penrith, after having passed in review before Mons Patullo,
who was charged with the inspection of the troops, and was likewise
Quarter-Master General of the army, and isnowin France. They remained
inder arms at the Bridge, waiting the arrival of My Lord George Murray
with the artilirie, whom Mons, de Cluny had orders to cover in passing the
bridge. They arrived about sunsett closely pursued by the Duke of
Comberland with the whole body of his cavalrie, reckoned upwards of 3000
strong, about a thousand of whom, as near as might be computed, dis-
mounted, in order to cut off the passage of the artilirie towards the bridge,
while the Duke and the others remained on horseback in order to attack
the rear. My Lord George Murray advanced, and although he found
Mons. de Cluny and his tribe in good spirits under arms, yet the circum.
stance appear’d extremely delicate. The numbers were vastly unequall,
and the attack seem’d very dangerous ; so My Lord George declin’d giving
orders to such time as he ask’d Mons. de Cluny’s opinion. ‘TI will attack
them with all my heart,’ say Mons. de Cluny, ‘if you order me? “isda
order it then,’ answered My Lord George, and immediately went on himself
along with Mons. de Cluny, and fought sword in hand on foot, at the head
of the single tribe of Macphersons. They in a moment made their way
through a strong hedge of thorns, under the cover whereof the cavalrie had
taken their station, in the struggle of passing which hedge My Lord
George Murray, being dressed ex montagnard, as wellas the army were, lost
his bonet and wig s so continued to fight bear-headed during the action,
They at first made a brisk discharge of their firearms on the enemy, then
attacked them with their sabres, and made a great slaughter a considerable
time, which obliged Comberland and his cavalrie to fly with precipitation
and in great confusion : in so much, that if the Prince had been provided
in a sufficient number of cavalrie to have taken advantage of the disorder,
it is beyond question that the Duke of Comberland and the bulk of his
cavalrie had been taken prisoners. By this time it was so dark that it was
not possible to view or number the slain, who filled all the ditches which
happened to be on the ground where they stood. But it was computed
that, besides those who went off wounded, upwards of a hundred at least
were left on the spot, among whom'was Colonel Honeywood, who com-
manded the dismounted cavalrie, whose sabre cf considerable value Mons,
de Cluny brought off and still preserves ; and his tribe lykewise brorght
off many arms ;—the Colonel was afterwards taken up, and, his wounbs
being dress’d, with great difficultie recovered. Mons, de Cluny lost only

  
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
   
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 

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A¥2 NOTES TO WAVERLEY.
‘1 the action twelve men, of whom some having been only wounded, fell
afterwards into the hands of the enemy, and were sent as slaves to America,
hy | whence several of them returned, and one of them is now in France, a
serjeant in the Regiment of Royal Scots. How soon the accounts of the
enemie’s approach had reached the Prince, H.R.H. had immediately ordered
Mi-Lord le Comte de Nairne, Brigadier, who being proscribed, is now in
France, with the three batalions of the Duke of Athol, the batalion of the
Duke of Perth, and some other troups under his command, in order to sup-
port Cluny, and to bring off the artilirie. But the action was intirely over
before the Comte de Nairme, with his command, cou’d reach nigh to the
place. They therefore return’d all to Penrith, and the artilirie marched
up in good order. Nor did the Duke of Cumberland ever afterwards dare
to come within a day’s march of the Prince and his army during the course
of all that retreat, which was conducted with great prudence and safety

when in some manner surrounded by enemies.”

Note B B, p. 983. As the heathen deities contracted an indelible
obligation if they swore by Styx, the Scottish Highlanders had usually some
péculiar solemnity attached to an oath which they intended should be binding
Very frequently it consisted in laying their hand, as they swore,
which dagger, becoming a party to the transac-
But by whatever ritual

on them.
on their own drawn dirk :
tion, was invoked to punish any breach of faith.
the oath was sanctioned, the party was extremely desirous to keep secret
what the special oath was, which he considered as irrevocable. This was
a matter of great convenience, as he felt no scruple in breaking his assevera-
ion when made inany other form than that which he accounted as peculiarly
solemn: and therefore readily granted any engagement which bound him
“ Whereas, if the oath which he accounted
inviolable was once publicly known, no party with whom he might have
occasion to contract would have rested satisfied with any other. ous: XB.
of France practised the same sophistry, for he also had a peculiar species of
oath, the only one which he was ever known to respect, and which, therefore,

no longer than he inclined.

he was very unwilling to pledge. The only engagement which that wily
ri tyrant accounted binding upon him was an oath by the Holy Cross of
1e

Saint Lo d’Angers, which contained a portion of the True Cross. If |
1
S

 

Hee prevaricated after taking this oath, Louis believed he should die within the

if year. The Constable Saint Paul, being invited to a personal conference
i with Louis refused to meet the king unless he would agree to ensure him

safe conduct under sanction of thi$ oath. But, says Comines, the king

replied, he would never again pledge that engagement to mortal man,
though he was willing to take any other oath which could be devised. The
treaty broke off, therefore, after much chaffering concerning the nature of
the vow which Louis was to take. Such is the difference between the dic-
tates of superstition and those of conscience.TO WAVERLEY.

 

NOTE TO PREFACE, THIRD EDITION, p. 6.

A homely
some striking particulars, and is st

metrical narrative of the

events of the period, which ointains
till a great favorite with the lt wer

classes, gives a very correct statement of the behavior of the mountaim ‘ers

respecting this same militar

and contain some good sense, we

y license ;
venture

and as the verses are little knce wn,
to insert them.

THE AUTHOR’S ADDRESS TO ALL IN GENERAL.

 

Now, gentle reader -t you ken
MT +] h }
My very though 1 and pen,
lis n O COI

oO CC roule
For there’s n i I

 

rd o’t I can men’—

   

 

It’s just they got such groats in kail,
Who do the same.

tt on t che ( | rea
lo them again

 

I’ve seen the men cal ind Rogues,
With q. owland men m rs a brogs,
Sup kail and brose, and cogs

Out at the door,
Take cocks, hens, sheep, and hogs,

And pay ah for.

I saw a Highlander, ’twas right drole,
With a string of puddin Shane on a pole,
Whipp’d o’er his sl epulas sr, skipped like a

tole,

 

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
Inde thes - mainsell’s a tume belly ;
You’ il no gie’t wanting pou ht, nor sell me;
Hersell will hae’t ;
Ge tell King Spree , and Shordy’s Wiilie.
hae a meat.

 

I's saw the soldiers at Linton-brig,
ecause the man was not a W hig,
Of meat and drink leave not a skig,
W thin his door;
hey burnt his very hat and wig,
And thump’d him sore.

 

And through the Highlands they we! so

rude,
As leave the -m peuhes clothes nor food,
Then burnt their houses to conclude ;

 

Twas tit for tat.
How can her zatuseli e’re 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 chi
i Unhumanly!

Popish tortures, I believe,
Such cruelty.

 

    

>

L

 

Ev’n w hat was act on open stage

At Carlisle, in the hott est rage,

When mercy was clapt ina cage,
And At 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’.

5

There boasts and bullying, not worth
louse,
As our King’s the best about the house.
’Tis aye good to be sober and douce,
To live in peace ;
For many, I see, for being o’er crouse,
Gets broken face.

     
   
 
   
  
    
 
  
 
 
    
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
       
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
 

SOMBIE TER MRE ANS

eaten e ta

Sates

8%

Sentra SO

iz

eer or nen E Oe TDs Tires:

aAPPENDIX.

a

Axia Reach Tt eee

 

HR GENERAL PREFACE, p. x, No. I.*
FRAGMENT OF A ROMANCE WHICH WAS TO HAVE BEEN ENTITLED

THOMAS THE RHAYMER.

CHAP bik FIRS L.

\ THE sun was nearly set behind the distant mountains of Liddesdale, when
a few of the scattered and terrified inhabitants of the village of Hersildoune,
which had four days before been burned by a predatory band of English
Borderers, were now busy in repairing their ruined dwellings. One high

tower in the centre of the village alone exhibited no appearance of devasta-

tion. It was surrounded with court walls, and the outer gate was barred

and bolted. The bushes and brambles which grew around, and had even

insinuated their branches beneath the gate, plainly showed that it must

have been many years since it had been opened. While the cottages

around lay in smoking ruins, this pile, deserted and desolate as it seemed
to be, had suffered nothing from the violence of the invaders; and the
wretched beings who were endeavoring to repair their miserable huts
against nightfall, seemed to neglect the preferable shelter which it might
have afforded them, without the necessity of labor,

Before the day had quite gone down, a knight, richly arined, and
mounted upon an ambling hackney, rode slowly into the village. His
attendants were a lady, apparently young and beautiful, who rode by his
| side upon a dappled palfrey; his squire, who carried his helmet and lance,

and led his battle-horse, a noble steed, richly caparisoned. A page and
four yeonian, bearing bows and quivers, short swords, and targets of a span
breadth, completed his equipage, which, though small, denoted him to be a
man ot high rank.
He stopped and addressed several of the inhabitants whom curiosity had
withdrawn from their labor to gaze at him; but at the sound of his voice,
and still more on perceiving the St. George’s Cross in the caps of his fol-

{ lowers, they fled, with a loud cry, “ that the Southrons were returned.”

The knight endeavored to expostulate with the fugitives, who were chiefly

aged men, women, and children; but their dread of the English name ac:

celerated their flight, and in a few minutes, excepting the knight and his at-
tendants, the place was deserted by all. He paced through the village to

seek a shelter for the night, and despairing to find one either in the inacces

sible tower, or the plundered huts of the peasantry, he directed his course
to the left hand, where he spied a small decent habitation, apparently the
abode of a man considerably above the common rank. After much knock

 

F : apeeittiaes<seaigiscste ROSS eu:APPENDIX. AEC
ing, the proprietor at length showed himself at the window, and speaking in
the English dialect, with great signs of apprehension, demanded their busi-
ness. ‘The warrior replied, that his quality was an English knight and
baron, and that he was traveling to the court of the King of Scotland on
affairs of consequence to both kingdoms.

Pardon my hesitation, noble Sir Knight,” said the old man, as he un-
bolted and unbarred_ his doors—* Pardon my hesitation, but we are here
exposed to too many intrusions, to admit of our exercising unlimited and
unsuspicious hospitality. What I have js yours ; and God send your mis-
sion may bring back peace and the good days of our old Queen Marga-
rebel?”

‘‘ Amen, worthy Franklin,” quoth the Knight—* Did you know her ?”

““T came to this country in her train,” said the Franklin; ‘and the care
of some of her jointure lands, which she devolved on me, occasioned my
settling here.” :

‘* And how do you, being an Englishman,” said the Knight, ‘* protect
your life and property here, when one of your nation cannot obtain a single
night’s lodging, or a draught of water, were he thirsty ? ”

‘‘ Marry, noble sir,” answered the Franklin, “use, as they say, will make
a man live in a lion’s den ; and as I settled here in a quiet time, and have
never given cause of offence, I am respected by my neighbors, and even, as
you see, by our forayers from England.”

Yr .

[ rejoice to hear it, and accept your hospitality,—Isabella, my love,
our worthy host will provide you a bed.—My daughter, good Franklin, is
ill at ease. We will occupy your house till the Scottish king shall return
from his northern expedition—meanwhile call me Lord Lacy, of Chester.”

The attendants of the Baron, assisted by the Franklin, were now busied
in disposing of the horses, and arranging the table for some refreshment for
Lord Lacy and his fair companion. While they sat down to it, they were
attended to by their host and his daughter, whom custom did not permit to
eat in their presence, and who afterward withdrew to an outer chamber,
where the squire and page (both young men of noble birth) partook of
supper, and were accommodated with beds. The yeomen, after doing honor
to the rustic cheer of Queen Margaret’s bailiff, withdrew to the stable, and
each, beside his favorite horse, snored away the fatigues of their jour-
ney.

Early on the following morning, the travelers were roused by a thunder-
ing knocking at the door of the house, accompanied with many demands for
instant admission, in the roughest tone. The squire and page of Lord Lacy,
after buckling on their arms, were about to sally out to chastise these in-
truders, when the old host, after looking out at a private casement, con-
trived for reconnoitring his visitors, entreated them, with great signs of
terror, to be quiet, if they did not mean that all in the house should be
murdered.

He then hastened to the apartment of Lord Lacy, whom he met dresscd
in a long furred gown and the knightly cap called a mortier, irritated at the
noise, and demanding to know the cause which had disturbed the repose of
the household.

‘“* Noble sir,” said the Franklin, “ one of the most formidable and bloody
of the Scottish Border riders is at hand—he is never seen,” added he,
faltering with terror. “ so far from the hills, but with some bad purpose,
and the power of accomplishing it ; so hold yourself to your guard,
for’’——

A loud crash here announced that the door was broken down, and the
knight just descended the stair in time to prevent bloodshed betwixt his
attendants and the intruders. They were three in number, Their chief was
tall, bony, and athletic ; his spare and muscular frame, as well as the hard:

ee

 
 
  
    
   
  
   
    
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 

DSS RSENS

STS SEONEN SS

SSNTRSY SR OU TTY COTTE

mie HRW

5
~

metcorePalbnaesenabhsoner

 

416 APPENDIX,
ness of his features, marked the course of his life to have been fatiguing
and perilous. The effect of his appearance was aggravated by his dress,
which consisted of a jack or jacket, composed of thick buff leather, on which
small plates of iron of a lozenge form were stitched, in such a manner as to
overlap each other, and form a coat of mail that swayed with every motion
of the wearer’s body. This defensive armor covered a doublet of coarse
gray cloth, and the Borderer had a few half-rusted plates of steel on his
shoulders, a two-edged sword, with a dagger hanging beside it, in a buff
belt ; a helmet, with a few iron bars to cover the face instead of a visor, and
a lance of tremendous and uncommon length, completed his appointments.
The looks of the man were as wild and rudeas his attire—lhis keen black eyes
never rested one moment fixed upon a single object, but constantly trav-
ersed all around, as if they ever sought some danger to oppose, some. plunder
to seize, or some insult to revenge. The latter seemed to be his present
object, for, regardless of the dignified presence of Lord Lacy, he uttered the
most incoherent threats against the owner of the house and his guests.

“ We shall see—ay, marry shall we—if an English hound is to harbor
and reset the Southrons here. Thank the Abbot of Melrose, and the good
Knight of Coldingnow, that have so long kept me from your skirts, But
those days are gone, by St. Mary, and you shall find it!”

It is probable the enraged Borderer would not have long continued. to
vent his rage in empty menaces, had not the entrance of the four yeomen,
with their bows bent, convinced him that the force was not at this moment on
his own side.

Lord Lacy now advanced toward him. “ You intrude upon my privacy,
soldier ; withdraw yourself and your followers—there is peace betwixt our
nations, or my servants should chastise thy presumption.”

‘¢ Such peace as ye give, such shall ye have,” answered the moss-trooper
first pointing with his lance toward the burned village, and then almost in-
stantly leveling it against Lord Lacy. The squire drew his sword, and
severed at one blow the steel head from the trnncheon of the spear.

“ Arthur Fitzherbert,” said the Baron, “ that stroke has deferred thy
knighthood for one year—never must that squire wear the spurs, whose un-
bridled impetuosity can draw unbidden his sword in the presence of his
master. Go hence, and think on what I have said.”

The squire left the chamber abashed.

‘‘ It were vain,” continued Lord Lacy, “ to expect that courtesy froma
mountain churl which even my own followers can forget, Yet, before thou
drawest thy brand (for the intruder laid his hand upon the hilt of his
sword), thou wilt do well to reflect that I came with a safe conduct from thy
king, and have no time to waste in brawls with such as thou.”

“From my king—from my king!” re-echoed the mountaineer. ‘‘I care
not that rotten truncheon (striking the shattered spear furiously on the
sround) for the King of Fife and Lothian. But Habby of Cessford will be

ere belive ; and we shall soon know if he will permit an English churl te
occupy his hostelrie.”’

Having uttered these words, accompanied with a lowering glance from
under his shaggy black eye-brows, he turned on his heel, and left the house
with his two followers;—they mounted their horses, which they had tied
to an outer fence, and vanished in an instant.

‘‘ Who is this discourteous ruffian?” said Lord Lacy to the Franklin,
who had stood in the most violent agitation during this whole scene.

‘¢ His name, noble lord, is Adam Kerr of the Moat, but he is commonly
called by his companions the Black Rider of Cheviot. I fear, I fear, he
comes hither for no good—but if the Lord of Cessford be near, he will
not dare offer any unprovoked outrage.”

JT have heard of that chief,” said the Baron— let me know when heAPPENDIX. At
Bee eockcs, Ane do thou, Rodulph (to the eldest yeoman), keep a strict
eae midel et (to the page), attend to arm me.” The page bowed, and
the Baron withdrew to the chamber of the Lady Isabella, to explain the
cause of the disturbance, =

No more of the proposed tale was ever written; but the author’s
purpose was, that it should turn upon a fine legend of superstition, which
iS Current in the part of the Borders where he had his residence ; where,
in the reign of Alexander III. of Scotiand, that renowned person Thomas
of Hersildoune, called the Rhym cr, actually flourished. This personage,
the Merlin of Scotland, and to whom some of the adventures which the
British bards assigned to Merlin Caledonius, or the Wild, have been trans-
ferred by tradition, was, as is well known, a magician, as well as a poet and
prophet. He is alleged still to live in the land of Faery, and is expected
to return at some great convulsion of society, in which he is to act a dis-
tinguished part—a tradition common to all nations, as the belief of the
Mahomedans respecting their twelfth Imaum demonstrates.

Now, it chanced many years since, that there lived on the Borders a
jolly, rattling horse-cowper, who was remarkable for a reckless and fearless
temper, which made him much admired, and a little dreaded, amongst his
neighbors. One moonlight night, as he rode over Bowden Moor, on the
west side of the Eildon Hills, the scene of Thomas the Rhymer’s prophe-
cies, and often mentioned in his story, having a brace of horses along with
him which he had not been able to dispose of, he met a man of venerable
appearance, and singularly antique dress, who, to his great surprise, asked
the price of his horses, and began to chaffer with him on the subject. To
Canobie Dick, for so shall we call our Border dealer, a chap was a chap,
and he would have sold a horse to the devil himself, without minding his
cloven hoof, and would have probably cheated Old Nick into the bargain.
The stranger paid the price they agreed on, and all that puzzled Dick in
the transaction was, that the gold which he received was in unicorns, bon-
net-pieces, and other ancient coins, which would have been invaluable to
collectors, but were rather troublesome in modern currency. It was gold,
however, and therefore Dick contrived to get better value for the coin,
than he perhaps gave to his customer. By the command of so good a mer-
chant, he brought horses to the same Spot more than once ; the purchaser
only stipulating that he should always come by night, and alone. I do not
know whether it was from mere curiosity, or whether some hope of gain
mixed with it, but after Dick had sold several horses in this way, he began
to complain that dry bargains were unlucky, and to hint, that since his chap
must live in the neighborhood, he ought, in the courtesy of dealing, to
treat him to half-a-mutchkin.

“You may see my dwelling if you will,” said the stranger; ‘but if you
lose courage at what you sce there, you will rue it all your life.”

Dicken, however, laughed the warning to scorn, and having alighted to
secure his horse, he followed the stranger up an arrow foot-path, which led
them up the hills to the singular eminence stuck betwixt the most southern
and the centre peaks, and called from its resemblance tosuch an animal in its
form, the Lucken Hare. At the foot of this eminence, which is almost as
famous for witch meetings as the neighboring windmill of Kippilaw, Dick
was somewhat startled to observe that his conductor entered the hill side
by a passage or cavern, of which he himself, though well acquainted with
the spot, had never seen or heard.

“You may still return,” said his guide, looking ominously back upon
him ;—but Dick scorned to show the white feather, and on they went
‘They entered a very long range of stables ;. in every stall stood a coal-black
horse; by every horse lay a knight in coal-black armor, with a drawn

 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
    
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 

Weert yeaa trecsttace SANS IRERE Ov SaTE TERN

  

Ruy ee Tenino nenaMe

 

APPLNDIEG

sword in his hand; but all were as silent, hoof and limb, as if they had
been cut out of marble. A great number of torches lent a gloomy lustre to
the hall, which, like those of the Caliph Vathek, was of large dimensions.
At the upper end, however, they at length arrived, where a sword and horn
lay on an antique table.

“ He that shall sound that horn and draw that sword,” said the stranger
who now intimated that he was the famous-Thomas of Hersildoune,
“shall, if his heart fail him not, be king over all broad Britain. So speaks
the tongue that cannot lie. Butall depends on courage, and much on your
taking the sword or the horn first.”

Dick was much disposed to take the sword, but his bold spirit was
quailed by the supernatural terrors of the hall, and he thought to unsheath
the sword first, might be construed into defiance, and give offense to the
powers of the Mountain. He took the bugle with a trembling hand, and
a feeble note, but loud enough to produce a terrible answer. Thunder
rolled in stunning peals through the immense hall; horses and men started
to life; the steeds snorted, stamped, grinded their bits, and tossed on high
their heads—the warriors sprung to their feet, clashed their armor, and
brandished their swords. Dick’s terror was extreme at seeing the whole
army, which had been so lately silent as the grave, in uproar, and about to
rush on him. He dropped the horn, and made a feeble attempt to seize
the enchanted sword; but at the same moment a voice pronounced aloud
the mysterious words :—

“© Woe to the coward, that ever he was born,
Who did not draw the sword before he blew the horn

! ”

At the same time a whirlwind of irresistible fury howled through th
long hall, bore the unfortunate horse-jockey clear out of the mouth of tl
cavern, and precipitated him over a steep bank of loose stones, where tl
shepherds found him the next morning, with just breath sufficient to tell h
fearful tale, after concluding which he expired.

e
1e
1e
is

This legend, with several variations, is found in many parts of Scotland
and England—the scene is sometimes laid in some favorite glen of the
Highlands, sometimes in the deep coal-mines of Northumberland and
Cumberland, which run so far beneath the ocean. It is also to be found in
Reginald Scott’s book on Witchcraft, which was written in the sixteenth
century. It would be in vain to ask what was the original of the tradition.
The choice between the horn and sword may, perhaps, include as a moral,
that it is fool-hardy to awaken danger before we have arms in our hands to
resist it.

Although admitting of much poetical ornament, it is clear that this le-
gend would have formed but an unhappy foundation for a prose story, and
must have degenerated into a mere fairy tale. Dr. John Leyden has beauti
fully introduced the tradition in his Scenes of Infancy :—

Mysterious Rhymer, doomed by fate’s decree,

Still to revisit Eildon’s fated tree;

Where oft the swain, at dawn of Hallow-day,

Hears thy fleet barb with wild impatience neigh ;

Say who he is, with summons long and high,

Shall bid the charmed sleep of ages fly,

Roll the long sound through Eildon’s caverns vast,

While each dark warrior kindles at the blast ?

The horn, the falchion grasp with mighty hand,

And peal proud Arthur’s march from Fairy-land !
ScENES OF INFANCY, Part £.APPENDIX. 419

In the same cabinet with the preceding fragment, the following occurred
among other disjecta membra. It seems to be an attempt at a tale of a
different description from the last, but was almost instantly abandoned.
The introduction points out the time of the composition to have been
about the end of the eighteenth century.

THE LORD OF ENNERDALE.

IN A FRAGMENT OF A LETTER FROM JOHN B 5 HSQ., OF THAT ILK, TO
WILLIAM G 7 RsSAE,

 

 

‘Rill a bumper, ” said the Knight; “the ladies may spare us a little
longer—Fill a bumper to the Arch iduke Charles.”
1 a company did due honor to aS toast of their landlord.

 

[he success ei the Archduke,” said the muddy Vicar, “ will tend to
further our negotiation at Paris ; ands if
“ Pardon the interruption, ue quoth a thin emaciated figure, with

somewh: = of a foreign accent ; “ but w hy should you connect tioae events
unless to hope that the bravery and victories of our allies may supersede
the necessity of a degrading treaty ?”

‘We begi in to feel, Monsieur I’, bbé,” answered the Vicar, with some
asperity, “that a continental war entered into for the defence of an ally
who was unwilling to defend himself, and for the restoration of a royal
family, nobility, and priesthood, who tamely abandoned their own rights,
is a bt irden too much even for the resources of this country.”

‘And: was the wz ar then on the part of Great Britain,” rejoined the Abbé,
“a gratuitous exertion of See Was there no fear of the wide-
wasting spirit of innovation which had gone abroad? Did not the laity
tremble for their property, the clergy for their religion, and every loyal
heart for the constitution? Was it not thought necessary to destroy the
building which was on fire, ere the conflagration spread around the vicin-
ity?”
© © Vet, if upon trial,” said the doctor, “ the walls were found to resist our
utmost ‘eat prudence in persevering in our labor amid
the smouldering ruins.”

“What, Doctor,” said the Baronet, “must I call to your recollection
your own sermon on the late general fast?—did you not encourage us to
hope that the Lord of Hosts w ould go forth with our aCe, and that our
enemies, who bl isphemed him, should be put to shame?”

“Tt may please a kind father to chasten even his beloved children,” an-
swered the Vicar.

“T think,” said a gentleman near the foot of the table, “ that the Coven-
anters made some apology of the same kind for the failure of their prophe-
cies at the battle of Dunbar, when their mutinous preachers compelled the
prudent Lesley to go down against the Philistines in Gilgal.’

The Vicar fixed a scrutinizing and not a very complacent eye upon this
intruder. He was a young man of mean stature, and rather a reserved ap-
pearance. Early and severe study had quenched in his features the gayety
peculiar to his age, and impressed upon them a premature cast of thought-
fulness. His eye had, however, retained its fire, and his gesture its anima-
tion. Had he remained silent, he would have been long unnoticed ; but
when he spoke, there was something in his manner which arrested atten-

efforts, I see no ¢

tion.
“ Who is:this young man?” said the Vicar in a low voice, to his

neighbor.

 
 
 
 
     
 
  
  
 
  
     
 
 
 
  
 
    
 
 
 
 
    
  
   
   
  
    
     
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
    
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 

Le trary rary

a USOT

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Sore ect aa

ate Be
Rane eh aE

  

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"GP asain emery sees ori eee

So

See Ay

APPENDIX.

A Scotchman called Maxwell, on a visit to Sir Henry,” was the
answer. é

“1 thought so, from his accent and his manners,” said the Vicar.

It may be here observed, that the Northern English retain rather more
of the ancient hereditary aversion to their neighbors than their countrymen
of the South. The interference of other di Sua Ee each of whom urged
his opinion with all the vehemence of wine and politics, rendered the sume
mons to the drawing-room agreeable to the more sober part of the com-
pany.
The company dispersed by degrees, and at length the Vicar and the
young Scotchman alone remz uined, besides the Baronet, his lady, daughters,
and myself. The clergyman had not, it would seem, forgot the observation
which ranked him with the false prophets of Dunbar, for he addressed Mr,
Maxwell upon the first opportunity.

ss Hem I think, sir, you mentioned something about the civil wars of
last century? You must be deeply skilled in them, indeed, if you can
draw any parallel betwixt those and the present evil days—-days which I am
ready to maintain are the most gloomy that ever darkened the prospects of
Britain.”

“ God forbid, Doctor, that I should draw a ¢ tbe arison between the present
times and those you mention. I am too sensible of the advantages we enjoy
over our ancestors. Faction and ambition bate introduced division among
us; but we are still free from the guilt of civil bloodshed, and from all the
evils which fiow from it. Our foes, sir, are not those of our own household;
and while we continue united and firm, from the attacks of a foreign enemy,
however artful, or however inveterate, we have, I hope, little to dread.”

“Have you found anything curious, Mr. Maxwell, among the dusty
papers?” said Sir Henry, who seemed to dread a revival of political dis-
cussion.

‘*My investigation seo eae s to reflections which I have just
now hinted,” said Maxwell; ‘‘and I think they are pretty strongly exem-
plified by a story which I have hoc cae to arrange from some of
your family manuscripts.”

“You are welcome to make what use of them you please,” said Sir
Henry; “they have been undisturbed for many a day, and I have often
wished for some person as well skilled as you inthese old pot-hooks, to tell
me their meaning.”

“Those I just mentioned,” answered Maxwell, ‘‘ relate to a pee of
private Hcy savoring not a little of the mz rvelous, and intimately con-
nected with your family; if it is agreeable, I can read to you the anecdotes,
in the modern shape into which I have been endeavoring to throw them,
and you can then judge of the value of the originals.”

There was something in this proposal agreeable to all parties. Si
Henry had family pride, which prepared him to take an interest in what.
ever related to his ancestors. The ladies had dipped deeply into the
eon reading of the present day. Lady Ratcliff and her fair daugh-
ters had climbed every pass, viewed every pine-shrouded ruin, heard every
groan, and lifted every trap-door, in company with the noted heroine of
Udolpho. They had been heard, however, to observe, that the famous in-
cident of the Black Veil singularly resembled the ancient apologue of the
Fountain in Labor, so that they were unquestionably critics, as well as ad-
mirers. Besides all this, they had valoreusly mounted ev crouge behind the
ghostly horseman of Prague, through all his seven translators, arid followed
the footsteps of Moor through the forest of Bohemia. Moreover, it was
even hinted (but this was a greater mistery than all the rest), that a certain
performance, called the J/onz, in three neat volumes, had been seen, by a
prying eye, in the right-hand drawer of the Indian cabinet of Lady Ratcliff’s

ceAPPENDIX.

dressing room, Thus predisposed for Ms onders and signs, Lady Ratcliff and
her nymphs drew their chairs round a large blazing w ood- fire, and arranged
themselves to listen to the tale, To that fire I; also approached, mov ved
thereu ito partly by the inclemency of the season, and partly that my deaf-
ness, which you know, cousin, I acquired during my campaign under Prince
Charles Edward, might be no obstacle to the “gratification ‘of my curiosity,
which was awakened by what had any reference to the fate of such faithful
followers of royalty, as you well ee the house of Ratcliff have ever been,
To this wood-fire the Vicar like wise drew near, and reclined himself conve-
in his chair, se emingly disposed to testify his disrespect for the nar-
ration ad narrator By falling asle ep as soon as he conveniently could. By
the side of Maxwell (by the way, I cannot learn that he is in the’ least related
to the Nithsdale Fate) was placed a small table anda couple of lights, by
the assistance of which he read as follows:

ni entl

JOURNAL OF JAN Von EULEN.

On the 6th of November 1645, I, Jan Von Eulen, merchant in Rotter-
as embarked with my only daughter on board the good vessel Vryheid of
Amsterdam, in order to pass into the unhappy and disturbed kingdom of
England. 7th November—a brisk gale—dau Are sea-sick—myself unable
to complete the calcul. ution which I have be egun, of the inheritance left by
Jane Lansache of Carlisle, my late dear wite’s sister, the collection of which
is the object of my voyage. 8th November—wind still stormy and adverse
—a horrid disaster nearly happened—my dear child washed overboard as
the vessel lurched to leeward.—Memorandum, to reward the young sailor
who saved her, out of the first monies which I can recover from the inherit-
ance of bh a aunt Lansache. gth November—calm—P.M. light breezes
from N. [ talked with the captain about the inheritance of my sister-
in-law, =u Nok .—He says he knows the principal subject, which will
not exceed £1000 in value. > #. He is a cousin to a family of Petersons,
which was the name of the hus band of my sister-in-law ; so there is room
to hope it may be worth more than he reports. oe November, Io A.M.—
May God pardon all our sins !—An English frigate, bearing the Parliament
flag, has appear i in the offing, and gives chase.—11 A.M. She nears us
every moment, and the captain of our vessel prepares to clear for action.
—May God again have mercy upon us!”

 

s#'Ffere,” ‘said ee “the journal with which I have opened the
narration en ids somewhat a penptly. is

“T am glad of it,” said Lady Ratcliff.

“ But, Mr. Maxwell,” said feune Frank, Sir Henry’s grandchild, ‘shall
we not hear how the battle ended?”

[ do not know, cousin, whether I have not formerly made you acquainted ,
with the abilities of Frank Ratcliff. There is not a b rattle fought between
the troops of the Prince and of the Government, during the years 1745-6,
of which he is not able to give anaccount. It is true, ] have taken partic-
ular pains to fix the events of this important period upon his memory by
frequent repetition. ‘
a i No, Ae dear,” said Maxwell, in answer to young Frank Ratcliff—‘ No,
my dear, I cannot tell you the exact particulars of the engagement, but its
consequences appear from the following letter, despatched by Garbonete
Von Eulen, daughter of our journalist, to a relation in England, from whom
she implored assistance. After some general account of the purpose of the
voyage, and of the engagement, her narrative proceeds thus ;APPENDIX.

“The noise of the cannon had hardly ceased, before the sounds of a
language to me but half known, and the confusion on board our vessel, in-
formed me that the captors had boarded us, and taken possession of our

vessel. I went on deck, where the first spectacle that met my eyes was a
young man, mate of our vessel, who, though disfigured and covered with

lood, was loaded with irons, and whom they were forcing over the side of
the vessel i nto aboat. The two principal persons “among our enemies ap-
peared to be a man of a tall thin figure, with a high-crow vned hat and long
neckband, and_ short-cropped head of hair, accompanied by a bluff open-
looking elderly man ina eee uniform. ‘ Yarely! yarely! pull away my
hearts!’ said the latter, and the boat bearing the unlucky young man soon
carried him on board the frigate. Perhaps you will blame me for mention-
ing this circumstance ; but consider, my dear cousin, this man saved my
life, and his fate, even when my own and my father’s were in the balance,
could not but affect me nearly.

“‘¢Tn the name of him who is jealous, even to siaying,’ said the first ”>——

* * * * *

CETERA DESUNT

GENERAL PREPACE, p.xiL No Tt.
CONCLUSION OF MR. STRUTT’S ROMANCE OF
QUEENHOO-HALL.
BY THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.
CHAP THR POUR T EH.
A HUNTING PARTY—AN ADVENTURE—A DELIVERANCE.

THE next morning the bugles were sounded by day-break in the court of
Lord Boteler’s mansion, to call the inhabitants from their slumbers, to
assist in a splendid chase, with which the Baron had resolved to entertain
his neighbor Fitzallen, and his noble visitor St. Clere. Peter Lanaret,
the falconer, was in attendance, with falcons for the knights, and tercelets
for the ladies, if they should choose to vary their sport from hunting to
hawking. Five stout yeomen keepers, with their attendants, called Ragged
Robins, all meetly arrayed in Kendal green, with bugles and short hangers
by their sides, and quarterstaffs in their hands, led the slow- hounds or
brachets, by which the deer was to be. puteap.’ +fen brace of gallant
grayhounds, each of which was fit to pluck down, singly, the tallest red
deer, were led in leashes by as many of Lord Boteler’s foresters. ‘Ehe
ve squires, and other attendants of feudal splendor, well attired in

their best hunting-gear, upon horseback or foot, according to their rank,
mb their boar-spears, long-bows, and cross-bows, were in seemly waiting.

A numerous train of yeomen, called in the language of the times retainers,
who yearly received a livery coat and a small pension for their attendance
on such selemn occasions, appeared in cassocks of blue, bearing upon theirAPPENDIX. 122

ioe
arms the cognizance of the house of Boteler, as a badge of their adherence,
They were the tallest men of their hands tl iat the nighboring villages
could supply, with every man his good buckler on his shoulder, and a

bri ight burnished broadsword dangling from his leathern belt. On this
occasion they acted as rangers for beating up the thickets, and rousing the
game. These attendants filled up the court of the castle, spacious as it
was.

On the green without, you might have seen the motley assemblage of
peasantry, Convened by report of the splendid hunting, including most of
our old acquaintances from Tewin, as well as the jolly y partakers of good
cheer at Hob Filcher’s. Gregory the jester, it may well be euessed, had
no great mind to exhibit himself in public after his recent disaster ; but
Oswald the steward, a great formalist in whatever concerned the public
exhibition of his master’s household state, had positively enjoined his
attendance. ‘‘ What!” quoth he, “ shall the house of the brave Lord
Boteler, on such a brave day as this, be without a fool ? Certes, the good
Lord St. Clere, and his fair lady sister, might think our housekeeping as
niggardly as that of their churlish kinsman at Gay Bowers, who sent his
father’s jeste r to the hospital, sold the poor sot’s bells for hawk -jesses, and

 

 

made a nightc ap 0 f hi S long-eared 1 bonnet. And, sirrah, let me see thee
fool handsomel sak squibs and crackers instead of that dry, barren,
musty, gibing w hich thou hast used of late ; or, by the bones ! the porter

shall have thee to his lodge, and cob thee with Ae own wooden sword,
till thy skin is as motley as thy doublet.

To this stern injunction Gre gory made no reply, any more than to the
courteous offer of old Albert Drawslot, the chief park-keeper, who proposed
to blow vinegar in his nose to sharpen his wit, as he had done that blessed
morning to Bragger, the old hound, whose scent was failing. There was
indeed little time for ue , for the bugles, after a lively flourish, were now
silent, and Peretto, with his two attendant minstrels, stepping beneath the
windows of the strangers’ apartments, joined in the following roundelay,
the deep voices of the rangers and falconers making up a chorus that
caused the very battlements to ring again.

  

Waken, lords and ladies gay.

On the mountain dawns the day ;

All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk and horse, and hunting spear ;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, Merrily, mingle they

“6 Wak en, lords and ladies g gay ! 12?

 

Waken, lords and ladies gay!

The mist has left the mountain gray :
Springlets in the dawn are streaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming,
And foresters have busy been

To track the buck in thicket green 5
Now we come to chant our lay,

** Waken, lords and ladies gay! >?

Waken, lords and ladies gay!
To the green-wood haste away :
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made,
When ’gainst the oak his antlers frayed :
You shall see him brought to bay ;

“ Waken, lords and ladies gay! my?

Beet manastnn

 
 
  
    
   
 
 
  
   
    
 
 
 
   
     
 
  
  
     
      
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Beye

CRT DIT ara torrceans:

RRPRRSTE SSO rere

ohees

JET Sense Tae

 

APPENDIX.

Louder, louder, chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!

Tell them, youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a cours? as well as we;

Time, stern huntsmen! who can baulk,
Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk ?
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!

By the time this lay was finished, Lord Boteler, with his daughter and
kinsman, Fitzallen of Marden, and other noble guests, had mounted their
palfreys, and the hunt set cig ak in due order. The huntsman, having
carefully observed the traces of a large stag on the preceding ev ening, were
able, without loss of time, to conduct the company, by the marks w hich they
had made upon the rae to the side of the thicket in which, by the report
of Drawslot, he had harbored all night. The horsemen, spreading them-
selves along the side of the cover, waited until the keeper entered, leading
his ban-dog, a large blood-hound, tied ina leam or band, from which he
takes his name.

But it befell thus. A hart of the second year, which was in the same
cover with the proper object of their a chanced to be unharbored
first, and broke cover very near where the Lady Emma and her brother were
stationed. An inexperienced varlet, who was nearer to ae ee instantly un-
loosed two tall grayhounds, who abuts after the fugiti vith all the fleet-
ness of the north wind. Geogory, restored a little to ebisits by the enliven-
ing scene around him, followed, encouraging the hounds with a loud tayout,*
for which he had the hearty curses of the huntsman, as well as of the Baron,
who entered into the spirit of the chase with all the juvenile ardor of
twenty. “May the foul fiend, booted and spurred, ride down his bawling
throat, with a scythe at his girdle!” quoth Atbert Drawslot; “here have I
been telling him, that all the marks were those of a buck of the first head,
and he has halloos ed the hounds upon a vevlet-headed knobbler! By Saint
Hubert, if I break not his pate wit tht my cross-bow, may I never cast off
hound more! But, to it my lords and masters! the noble beast is here yet;
and, thank the saints, we have enough of hounds.”

The cover being now thoroughly beat by the attendants, the stag was
compelled to abandon it, and trust to his speed for his safety. Three gray-
hounds were slipped upon him, whom he threw out, after running a couple
of miles, by entering an extensive furzy brake, which extended along the

side of a hill. The horsemen soon came up, and casting off a sufficient
number of slow-hounds, sent them with the prickers into the cover, in order
to drive the game from his strength. ‘This object being accomplished,

afforded another severe chase of several miles, ina direction almost. circu-
lar, during which the poor animal tried every wile to get rid of his perse-
cutors. He crossed and traversed all such dusty paths as were likely to
retain the least scent of his foot steps } he laid himself close to the ground,
drawing his feet under his belly, and cl apping his nose close to the earth,
lest he ‘should be betrayed to the hounds by his breath and hoofs. When
all was in vain, and he found the hounds coming fast in upon him, his own
strength failing, his mouth embossed with foam, and the tears dropping
from his eyes, he turned in despair upon his pursuers, who then stood at
gaze, making a hideous clamor, and awaiting their two-footed auxiliaries.
Of these it chanced that the Lady Eleanor, taking more pleasure in the
sport than Matilda, and being a less burden to her palfrey than the Lord
Boteler, was the first who arrived at spot, and taking a cross-bow from an
attendant, discharged a bolt at the stag. When the infuriated animal felt
himself wounded, he pushed franticly toward her from whom he received

* Tailliers hors, 12 modern phrase, Tally-ho!APPENDIX.

425
the s hafe, and Lady Eleanor vee have had occasion to repent of her en-
terprise, had not your ng Fitzallen, who Kept near her during the whole day,
at that inst: int galloped briskly i in, < and ere the stag could ch: lange his object
of ass: Sault, dispatched him with his short t hunting s sword,

4ilbert Drawslot, who had just come up in terror for the young lady’s
aes broke out into loud enc ey upon Fitzallen’s strength and gal-

fantry. °* By’r Lady,” said he, taking off his cap, and wiping his sun-burnt
face with his sleeve, ‘ wel] struck, and in good time !—But now, boys, doff
your bonnets, and sound the mort.”

The sportsmen they n sounded a t
which, mingled with the
The huntsman

‘eble mort, and set up a general whoop,
yelping of ite dogs, made the welki In ring again.
then offered his knife to Lord Bx Oteler, t

 

 

   

 

hat he might ‘take
the say of the deer, but the Baron courteously insisted upon Fitzallen going
through tha ceremony. The Lady Matilda was now come up, with most of
th nts; and the interest of the chase bei ing oo ded, it excited some
Surprise, that neither St. Clere nor his sister made t their appearance. The
Lord Boteler commanded the horns again to sound the recheat, in hopes te
call in the stragglers, and said to Fitzallen, “ Methinks St. Clere, so distin-
guished for service jn war, should have been more forw ard in the chase,”
Pty trow,” said Peter Lanaret, “I know the reason of the noble lord’s
absence ; for when that mooncalf, Gregory, hallooed the dogs upon the
knobbler, and galloped like a green hiilding, as he is, after them, I saw the
Lady Emma’s palfrey follow apace after that varlet, who should be thrashed
for oy €r-running, and I think her noble brother has followed her, lest she
Should come to narm.—LBut here, by the rood, is Gregory, to answer for
himself,”

At this moment Gregory entered the circle which had been formed round
the deer, out of breath, and covered with blood. He kept for some time
uttering inarticulate cries of « Harrow!” and “ Well- away ! ” and other ex-
clamations of di tress and terror, pointing all the while to a thicket at some
distance from the spot where the deer had been killed.

“By my honor,” said the Baron, ‘‘I would gladly know who has dared

 

]
Ly
to array the poor knave thus: and I trust he should dearly abye his out-

 

reculdance, were he the best, save one. in England.’’ ‘
Gregory, who had now found more breath, cried, “‘ Help! an ye be
° a i‘ .
men! Save Lady Emma and _ her brother, whom they are murdering in
ro } | te?

his put all in motion. Lord Boteler hastily commanded a small party
of his men to abide for the defence of the ladies, while he himself, Fitzalle en,
and the rest, made what speed they could toward the thicket, eae by
Gregory, who for that purpose was mounted behind Fabian. Pushin 1g
through a narrow path, the first object they ence peer was a man of
small stature lying on the ground, mastered and almost strangled by two
l

nstantly recognized to be those that had accompanied
Gregory. A little further was an open space, where lay three bodies of
dead or wounded men ; beside these, was Lady Emma, apparently lifeless,
her brother and a young forester bending over and endeavoring to rec ee
her. By employing the usual remedies, this was si on accomp slis hed; w W hile
Lord Bote eler, astonished at such a Scene. anxiously inquired abst: Here
the meaning of what he saw. and whether more danger was to be expected:
‘“¢ Wor thé present, I trust not. used the young warrior, who they now
observed was slightly wounded ; ‘ but I pray you, of your nobleness, let
the woods BETS be se: arched ; for we were assaulted by four of these base
assassins, and I see three only on the sward,?’
The attendants now brought forward the person whom they had rescued
from the dogs. and Henry, with di sgust, shame, and a astonishment, recog-
nized his kinsm: an, Gaston St. Clere, his discovery he communicated in

 

  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
    
   
 
   
  
    
   
 
  
  
    
     
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
    
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
    
   
 
  
  
     
       
    
   
     
   
   
  
 
 

Pee sere pateaes Shia) NNT DOF RICE TT a
Ss sSateen

FS. alot AORN ERIS

a

 

APPENDIX.

a whisper to Lord Boteler, who commanded the prisoner to be conveyed te
Queenhoo-Hall, and closely guarded; meanwhile he anxiously inquired of
young St. Clere about his wound.

«“ A scratch, a trifle!” cried Henry; “(1am in less ‘haste to bind it than
to introduce to you one, without whose aid that of the leeeh would have
come too late.— Where is he ? Where is my brave deliverer ?”’

‘* Here, most noble lord,” said Gregory, sliding from his palfrey, and
stepping forward, ‘‘ ready to receive the guerdon which your bounty would
heap on him.”

“Truly, friend Gregory,” answered the young warrior, “thou shalt not
be forgotten, for thou didst run speedily, and roar manfully for aid, with-
out which, I think verily, we had not received it——But the brave forester,
who eame to my rescue when these three ruffans had nigh overpowered mc,
where is he? /

Iivery one locked around, but though all had seen him on entering the
thicket, he was not now to be found. They could only conjecture that he
had retired during the confusion occasioned by the detention of Gaston.

“Seek not for him,” said the Lady Emma, who had now in some degree
recovered her composure ; ‘‘he will not be found of mortal, unless at his
own season.”

The Baron, convinced from this answer that her terror had, for the time,
somewhat disturbed her reason, forbore to question her ; and Matilda and
Eleanor, to whom a message had been despatched with the result of this
strange adventure, arriving, they took the Lady Emma between them, and
all in a body returned to the castle.

The distance was, however, considerable ; and, before reaching it, they
had another alarm. The prickers, who rode foremost in the troop, halted,
and announced to the Lord Boteler that they perceived advancing toward
them a body of armed men. The followers of the Baron were numerous,
but they were arrayed for the chase, not for battle; and it was with great
pleasure that he discerned, on the pennon of the advancing body of men-at-
arms, instead of the cognizance of Gaston, as he had some reason to expect,
the friendly bearings of Fitzosborne of Diggswell, the same young lord who
was present at the May-games with Fitzallen of Marden. The knight
himself advanced, sheathed in armor, and, without raising his visor,
informed Lord Boteler, that, having heard of a base attempt made upon a
part of his train by ruffianly assassins, he had mounted and armed a small
party of his retainers, to escort them to Queenhoo-Hall. Having received
and accepted an invitation to attend them thither, they prosecuted their
journey in confidence and security, and arrived safe at home without any
further accident.

ce

CHAPTER FIFTH.

INVESTIGATION OF THE ADVENTURE OF THE HUNTING—A DISCOVERY—
GREGORY'S MANHOOD—FATE OF GASTON ST. CLERE—CONCLUSION.

SO soon as they arrived at the princely mansion of Boteler, the Lady
Emma craved permission to retire to her chamber, that she might compose
her spirits after the terror she had undergone. Henry St. Clere, in a few
words, proceeded to explain the adventure to the curious audience. “I
had no sooner seen my sister’s palfrey, in spite of her endeavors to the
contrary, entering with spirit into the chase set on foot by the worshipful
Gregory, than I rode after to give her assistance. So long was the chase,
that when the greyhounds pulled down the knobbler, we were out of hear-
ing of our bugles ; and having rewarded and coupled the dogs, I gave themTF AT 7
APPENDIX. 427
to be led by the jester, and we wandered in quest of our company whom it
would seem the sport had led in a different direction. At length, passing
through the thicket where you found us, I was surprised by a cross- bow
bolt whizzing past mine head. I drew my sword, and rushed into the
thicket, but was instantly assailed by two ruffians, while other two made
toward my sister and Gregory. The poor knave fled, crying for help,
pursued by my false kinsman, now your prisoner; and a designs of the

other on my poor Emma (murderous, no doul >t) were prevented by the
sudden apparition of a brave woodsman, who, after a short encounter,
stretched the miscreant at his feet, and came to a assistance. I was
already slightly wounded, and nearly overlaid with odds. The combat
lasted some time, for the caitiffs were both well armed, strong, and des-
perate ; at length, however, we had each mastered our antagonist, when
your pce my Lord Boteler, arrived to my relief. So ends my story ;
but, by my y knig ghthood, I would give an earl’s ransom for an opportunity
of thank: ng the gallant forester by whose aid I live to te LE rtsee
Fear not,” said I ord Boteler, “ he shall be found, if this or the four
ad jacent counties hold him—And now Lord Fitzosborne will be Gleseed to
doff the armor he has so kindly assumed for our sakes, and we will
ill bowne ourselves for the Beeches

When the hour of dinner r approached, the Lady Matilda and her cousin
visited the chamber of the fair Darcy. They found her ina composed but
melancholy posture. She turned the discourse upon the misfortunes of her
life, and hinted, that having recov eed her brother , and seeing him look
forward to the society of one who would amply repay to him the loss of
hers, she had thoughts of dedic ating her remaining life to Heaven, by whose
prov identi: il interference it had been so often preserved.

Mz til Ida colored deeply at something in this speech, and her cousin in-
veighed loudly against Ie ats resolution. ‘ Ah, mydear Lady Eleanor,”’
replied she, “‘I have to-day witnessed what I cannot but judge a super-

“cc

natural visitation, and to what end can it call me but-to give myself to the
altar? That peasant who guided me to Baddow through the Park of Dan-
bury, the same who appe ared before me at different times, and in different
forms, during that eventful journey ye wan youth, whose features are im-
prin - on my memory is the very individual forester who this dz ly rescued
us in the fores t. I cannot be mistaken; and connecting these marvellous
appearances with the spectre which I saw while at Gay Bowers, I cannot
resist the conviction that Heaven has permitted my guardian angel to
assume mortal shape for my re lief and protection.”

Whe fair cot isins, after exchanging looks which implied a fear that her
mind was wandering, answered her in soothing terms, and finally prevailed
upon her to accompany them to the banqueting- hall. Here the first person
they encountered was the Baron Fitzosborne of Diggswell, now divested of
his armor ; at the sight of whom the Lady Emma changed color, and ex-
claiming, ‘It is the same!’’ sunk senseless into the arms of Matilda

‘She is bewildered by the terrors of the day,” said Eleanor ; ‘“‘and we
have done ill in obliging her to descend.”

‘And I,” saia Fitzosborne, ‘‘have done madly in presenting before
her one, whose presence must recall moments the most alarming in her
FEL ?s

While the ladies supported Emma from the hall, Lord Boteler and St.
Clere requested an explanation from Fitzosborne of the words he had used.

‘Trust me, gentle lords,” said the Baron of Diggswell, “ye shall have
what ye de -mand, when I learn that Lady Emma Darcy, has not suffered
from my imprude sees”

At this moment Lady Matilda returning, said that her fair friend, onAPPENDIX.

   
  
  
  
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
    
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
    
    
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
    
     
 
 
 
 
  
   
  

| her recovery, had calmly and deliberately ae that she had seen Fitz
be ae osborne before, in the most dangerous crisis of her life.

“J dread,’’ said she, “ a disordered mind connects all that her eye
beholds with ite terrible passages that she has witnessed.”

‘¢ Nay,” sai | Fitzosborne, ‘‘if noble St. Clere can pardon the un-
authorized in terest whi ch, with the purest and most honorable intentions,
I have taken in his sister’s fate, it is easy for me-to explain this mysterious

eee

impression.”
“He proceeded to say, that happening to be in the hostelry called the
Griffin, ee Baddow, while upon a journey in that country, he had met
with the old nurse of the Lady Emma Darcy, who, being just expelled from
Gay Bowers, was in the height of her grief and indignation, and made loud
and public proclamation of Lady Emma’s wrongs. From the description
she gave of the beauty of her foster-child, as well as from the spirit of

 

Ee Teispaakiera tates

ay f \ ; ; ; pee 8
{ chivalry, Fit zosborne became interested in her fate. This interest was
i deep ly an inced, when, by a bribe to old Gaunt the Bete he procured a
view of the Lady Emma as she walked near the castle of Gay Bowers.

t
The aged churl refused to give him access to the castles yet dropped some
hints, as if he thought the | she were bi out of

it. His master, he sa i ha 1 heard she had a brother in life, and since
ha

¢
o
:
\

idy in danger, anc wished

rii1s aster, ald, )
that deprived him of all chance of gaining her domains by purchase, he
——in short, Gaunt Fea they were safely separated. “If any injury,”
quoth he, ‘“‘ should happen to the damsel here, it were ill for us all.
tried, by an innocent stratagem, to frighten her from the castle, by intro-

door, and warning her, as if by a voice from

 

ducing a figure throug
the dead, to retreat from thence; but the giglet is wilful, and is running
’ , oo > <

upon her fate.
Finding Gaunt, although covetous and communicative, too faithful a
| servant to his wicked master to take any active steps against his commands,
e applied bimself to old Ursely, whom he Py nd more fratiabie:

t

  

Fitzosborn |
Through her he learned the dreadful plot Gaston had laid to rid himself of
his kinswoman, and resolved to effect her ta ace But aware of the
delicacv of Emma’s situation, he charged Ursely to conceal from her the
interest he took in her distress, resolving to watch over her in disguise
until he saw her ina place of safety. Hence the appearance he mate > be-
; fore her in various dresses during her journey, in the course of which he
th was never far distant ; and he had always four stout yeomen wi Bick hear-
i ing of his bugle had assistance been necessary. When she was placed in
safety at the lodge, it was Fitzosborne’s intention to have prevailed upon
his sisters to visit, and take her under their protection ; but he found them
absent from Diggswell, having gone to attend an aged relation who lay
dangerously il] in a distant county. They did not return until the day be-
fore the May-games ; and the other events followed too rapidly to permit
Fitzosborne to lay any plan for introducing them to Lady Emma Darcy.
On the day of the chase he resolved to preserve his romantic disguise, and
. attend the Lady Emma as a forester, partly to have the pleasure of being
judge whether, according to an idle report in the

Le

 

se ak agtaa oe

Duriahnsnaancotetes

} near her, and partly to
country, she favored his friend and comrade Fitzallen of Marden. ‘This

last motive, it may easily be believed, he did not declare to the company.
After the skirmish with the ruffians, he waited till the Baron and the hun-
ters arrived, and then, still doubting the further designs of Gaston, hastened
to his castle, to arm the band which had escorted them to Queenhoo-Hall.

; Fitzosborne’s story being finished, he received the thanks of all the
i company, particularly of St. Clere, who felt deeply the respectful delicacy
iH with which he had conducted himself towards his sister. The lady was
carefully informed of her obligations to him : and itis left to the well-

judging reader, whether even the raillery of Lady Eleanor made her regret429

atural means for her security, and that
into a handsome, gallant, and enamourea

eT, t
po
cr
ee
py
oO
oO
~
a
rT)
a,
©
z

oO
a
"oS
—
oO
4
oO
Pu

1A 1Q@1rdi4

1€ guardian angel was converte di
company it { extended itself to the buttery, where
- narrate; Ls f arms oe by himself in the fray
ig as might have s shamed Bevis and Guy of Warwick. He
g to his nar rati ive, aa d out for meat taed ion by the gigantic

 

Gregory the jeste1

of the mort

  

- 3:
Vas, accordin

meaner hands the destruction ot St.

 

 

 
   

“e B yer 9
but certes Said he, “the fo. aynit yet his match: for
bude ee ee ee : the foul pa nim met his match ; for, ever as
1¢ foin oe me with his brand, I parried his blows with my bauble, and
closing with hi pon the third veny. threw a
\ wit him upon the third veny, threw him to the ground, and made
him cry recreant to an unarmed man,”
et } + ? *7)7 + a =;
Tush, man,” said Drawslot, 10u forgettest thy best auxiliaries, the

yunds, Help and I warrant thee, that when the
hee cowl, which he hat}

fair plight had they not remen
ome in to the rescue. Why, man, I found th

 

and there was odd x staving and stickling to make
Uheir mouths were full of the fl f |
garment from their jaws. I w: t
Helorannd ch Alar 1s aE ed a : ’
the groun da, thou fled’st like a frighted picket.”

 

-
juoed
emt
C
a

  

7

ees :
Fabian, “ why, he lies
color of a spider ina

a

Jane was a dwarf to him.”

Tasker is to be ae
Sheet hath br ought them

han i do for thy

 

_ later Panareae CET lt
said Peter Lanaret, ‘‘I will have one peep at this bu
aving the buttery, he went to the guard-room where Gaston

]

studded door of the apartment, said he believec

 

for that after
1

g the most horrid reget ions, he had been

raging, Stamp!

  

FA

a sliding board, o
1

of late peri
a foot sq

 

   

juare door, which covered a hole of the
same size, str ed, through which the warder, without opening the
door, could look in upon his prisoner. ‘y is aperture he beheld the
wretched Gasto1 pel own gir lle, to an iron ring
in the side of his prison. > had clambered to it by means of the table

    

on which his food had been placed ; and in the agonies of shame and dis-

appointed malice, had adopted this mode of nding himself of a wretched
life. He was found yet warm, but total ly lifeless. A proper account of

rtifiec a He was buried that

the manner of his death was drawn up and certifiec
ue in the chapel of the castle, out of res spect to his high birth; and
the chaplain of Fitzallen of Marden, who said t e service upon the occasion,

In
preac ched, the next Sunday, an excellent sermon oo the text, Radix malo.
rum est cupi eae S, which we have here transenped. ———
* * *

; Here het raanuscript, from which we have painfully transcribed, and
frequently, as it were, translated this tale, for the reader’s edification, is so
indistinct and detaced, that, excepting certain howbeits, nathlesses, le ye’s!
etc., we can pick out little that is intelligible, saving that avarice is defined
“a likourishness of heart after earthly things.” "A little further, there

*

  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
    
    
   
     
    
    
    
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
  
    
   
   
    
  
   
     
   
       
 
 
 
 
   
    
  
   
 

MEMENTOS ERNE PENSE TT

erect

pees eeTocatage

SAS

eects.

Tak

Peewee Sts PUr nr est elt

   

haere SL onesSeeker

Sa

ge

43°

seems
Mac ker, >
the occasion. ‘There are
Gregory upon that occasion, as, for example =—

 

APPENDIX,

to have been a gay account of Margery’s wedding with Ralph the
the running at the quintain, and other rural games Ser don
also fragments of a mock sermon preached by

“ My dear cursed caitiffs, there-was once a king, and he wedded a young
yid queen, and she had a child; and this child was sent to Solomon the

{

Sage, praying he would give it the same blessing* which he got from the
witch of Endor when she ‘bit him by the heel. Hereof speaks the worthy
Dr. Radigundus Potator : why should not mass be said for all the roasted

shoe souls served up in the king’s dish on Saturday ; for true it is, that
} )

St. Peter asked father Adam, as they journeyed to Camelot, an high, great,
and doubtful question, ‘Adam, Adam, why eatedst thou the apple without
paring : is

Wi h much goodly gibberish to the same effect, which display of Gre-
gory’s ready wit not only threw the whoie company into convulsions of
Jaugh s r. but made such an impression on Rose, the Potter’s daughter,
that it was thought it would be the Jester’s own fault if Jack was long
without his Jill. Much pithy matter, concerning the bringing the bride to

a

bed, the lone the brid grooms points, the scramble which ensued for
them, and the casting of the stocking, is also omitted from its obscurity.
‘The following song, which has been since borrowed by the worshipful
author of the famous ‘* History of Fryar Bacon,” has been with lificalty
deci phered. It seems to have been sung on occasion of carrying home the

ui “ S
BRIDAL SONG.

To the tune of—‘‘ I have been a Fiddler

>?

And did you not hear of a mirth befell
‘The morrow sfter a wedding day,

And carrying a bride at home to dwell?
And away to Tewin, away, away!

The quintain was set, and the garlands were made
Tis pity old customs should ever decay ;
And wo be to him that was horsed on a jade,

For he carried no credit away, away.

We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees ;

We set them a cockhorse, and made them play
The winning of Bullen, and Upsey-frees,

And away to ‘Tewin, away, away !

There was ne’er a Jad in al! the parish
That would go to the plough that day ;
But on his fore-horse his wench he carries,

And away to Tewin, away, away!

* This tirade of gibberish is literaily taken or selected from a mock discourse prox
a professed jester which occurs in an ancient mz nuscript in the Advocates’

nounced by r;

Library, the same form whicl h the late ingenious Mr. Weber published the « curious comic
romance of the Hunting of the Hare. It was introduced in compliance with Mr. Strutt’s
pian of rendering his tale an illustration of ancient manners. A sim ilar burlesque sermon
ts pronounced by the Fool in Sir David l.indesay’s Set of the ee Estates. The
nonsense and vulgar burlesque of that composition illustrate the ground of Sir Andrew
Agueche: k's eulogy on the exploits of the jes in ‘Twelfth Night, who, reserving his

she per jests for Sir Toby, had d loubtles ss enough ok Ethe jargon of his calling to captivate the

nbecility “a his Py knight, who is made to exclaim—‘‘In sooth thou wast in very
zracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Eigros re mitus, and of the vapors passing
the equinoctials A Cie mbus ; ’*twas very good, i’ faith! It is entertaining to find coms
inentators seeking to discover some meaning in the professional jargon of such a passage ag

this.AERPENDIX

The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap;
The maiden did make the chamber full gay,

The servants did give mea fuddling cup,
And I did carry’t away, away!

The smith of the town his liquor so took,

That he was persuaded that the ground looked blue
And I dare boldly be sworn on a book,

Such smiths as he there’s but a few,

A posset was made, and the women did sip,
And simpering said, they could eat no more;
Full many a mai was laid on the lip,—
I’ll say no more, but give o’er (give o’er).

   

But what our fair readers will chiefly regret, is the loss of three decla-
rations of love : the first by St. Clere to Matilda ; which, with the lady’s
answer, occupies fifteen closely-written pages of manuscript. That ‘of
Fitzosborne to Emma is not much shorter ; but the amours of Fitzallen
and Eleanor, being of a less romantic cast, are closed in three pages only.
The three noble couples were married in Queenhoo-Hall upon the same
day, being the twentieth Sunday after Easter. There is a prolix account
of the marriage-feast, of which we can pick out the names of a few dishes,
such as peterel, crAne, sturgeon, swan, etc. etc., with a profusion of wild.
fowl and venison. We also see that a suitable song was produced by
Peretto on the occasion; and that the bishop who blessed the bridal beds
which received the happy couples, was no niggard of his holy water, be-
stowing half-a-gallon upon each of the couches. We regret we cannot give
these curiosities to the reader in detail, but we hope to expose the manu-
Script to abler antiquaries, so soon as it shall be framed and glazed by the
ingenious artist who rendered that service to Mr. Ireland’s Shakspeare
MSS. And so (being unable to lay aside the style to which our pen is
habituated), gentle reader, we bid thee heartily farewell.]

NO. BET

ANECDOTE OF SCHOOL DAYS

We
UPON WHICH MR, THOMAS SCOTT PROPOSED TO FOUND A TALE OF FICTION.

Ir is well known in the South that there is little or no boxing at the
scottish schools, About forty or fifty years ago, however, a far more
dangerous mode of fighting, in parties or factions, was permitted in the
streets of Edinburgh, to the great disgrace of the police, and danger of the
parties concerned. These parties were generally formed from the quarters
of the town in which the combatants resided, those of a particular square
or district fighting against those of an adjoining one, _ Hence it happened
that the children of the higher classes were often pitted against those of
the lower, each taking their sides according to the residence of their friends.
So far as I recollect, however, it was unmingled either with feelings of
democracy or aristocracy, or indeed with malice or ill-will of any kind
towards the opposite party. In fact, it was only a rough mode of play.
Such contests were, however, maintained with great vigor, with stones, and
sticks, and fisticuffs, when one party dared to charge, and the other stood
their ground. Of course, mischief sometimes happened : boys are said to

  
  
   
   
  
    
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  

+
Safran seniiniersnnnn scentsRakLareastoere ger eee

aNesak neater?

Fo 3 aiken pehis SESE

 

432 APPENDIX.
have been killed at these Bickers, as they were called and serious accidents
certainly took plac e, aS many contemporaries can bear witness.

The Author’s father re ssiding in George Square, in the southern side of
Edinburgh, the boys belonging to that family y, with others in the Sanate,
were alr anged into a sort of company, to which a lady of distinction pre
sented a handsome set of colors. Now this co ympany or regiment, ASA
matter 3 course, was engaged in weekly w arfare with the boys i inhabiting
the Crosscauseway, Bristo Street, the Potterrow—in short, the neighbor-
ing suburbs These last were chiefly y of the lower rai nk, but hardy loons
who threw stones to a hair’s-breadth, and were very rugged antagonists at
close quarters. The skirmish sometimes lasted for a whole evening, until
one party or the other was victorious, when, if ours were successful, we
drove the enemy to their quarters, and were usually chased back by the re-
inforcements of bigger lads who came to their assistance. If, on the con-
trary, we were Ey -d, as was often the case, into the precincts of our
square, we were in our turn su] pported by our elder brothers, domestic ser-

ante and similar auxiliaries.

[It followed, from our frequent opposition to each other, that, though
not knowing the names of our enemies, we were yet well = quainted with

their appearance, and had nick-names for the most — arkable of them.
One very active and sHenice boy might pe considered as the principal lead-
er in the cohort of he uburbs. He was, I suppose, thirteen or fourteen
years old, finely-made - tall  eibnede with long fair ee air, the very picture
of a youthful Goth. T his iad. was always” first in the charge, and last in
the retreat—the Achilles, at once, and Ajax , of the Crosscauseway. He
was too formidable to us not to havea cognomen, and, like that of a knight
of old. it was taken from the most remarkable part of - dress, being a
pair of old green livery breeches, which was the princip: al part of his cloth-
ing; for, like Pentapolin, according to Don pun yte’s account, Green-
Breeks, as we called him, always entered the battle with bare arms, legs,
and feet.

It fell, that once upon a time, when the combat was at the thickest, this
plebeian champion headed a sudden charge, so rapid and furious that all
fled before him. He was several paces before his comrades, and had

actually laid his hands on the patrician sti undard, when one of our party,
whom some misjudging friend had entrusted with a cowteau de chasse, OY
hanger, inspired with a zeal for the honor of the corps, worthy of Major
Sturgeon himself, struck poor Green-Breeks over the head, with strength
sufficient to cut him down. When this was seen, the casualty was so far
beyond what had ever taken place before, that both parties fled different
ways, leaving poor Green-Breeks, with his bright hair plentifully dabbled
in blood, to the care of the watchman, who (honest man) took care not to
know who had done the mischief. ‘The bloody hanger was flung into one
of the Meadow ditches, and solemn secrecy was sworn on all hands 5 but
the remorse and terror of the actor were beyond all bounds, and his appre-
hensions of the most dreadful character. ‘The wounded hero was for a
few days in the Infirmary, the case being only a trifling one. But though
inquiry was strongly pre ssed on him, no argument could make him indi-
cate the person from whom he had received the wound, though he must
have been perfectly well known to him. When he recovered, and was
dismissed, the Author and his brothers opened 4 communication with him,
through the medium of a popular ginger-bread baker, of whom both

parties were customers, in order to tender a subsidy in name of smart-
money. The sum would excite ridicule were I to name it ; but sure I am,
that the pockets of the noted Green-Breeks never held as ‘much money of
his own. He declined the remittance, saying that he would not sell his
blood ; but at the same time reprobated the idea of being an informer, whichAPPENDIX, 433

he said was clam, i.e. base or mean. With much urgency he accepted a
pound of snuff for the use of some old w oman—aunt, grandmother, or the
like—with whom he lived. We did not become friends, for the lickers
were more agreeable to both parties than any more e pacific amusement ;
but we conducted them ever after under mutual assurances of the highest
consideration of each other.
SHER: was the hero whom Mr, Thomas Scott proposed to carry to
Canada ar nd involve i in adventures with the au es and colonists of that
{ ips the youthful ¢ generosity of the lad will not seem so great
f others as to those whom it was the means of screen ing from
severe rebuke and punishment. But it seemed, to those concerned, to. argue
a nobleness of sentiment far bey _ the pitch of most minds ; and however
obscurely the lad who showed such a frame of noble spirit may have lived
or died, I cannot help being of nae nm, that if fortune had placed him in
circumstances calling for gallantry or generosity, the man would have ful-
= the promises of the boy. Long afterward, when the story was told

 

 

 

*
O<
a

Y

 

 

 

to my father, he censured us severely for not telling the truth at the time,
that He might have attempted to be of use ‘to the young man in entering on
life. But our alarms for the consequence of the draw n sword, and the
icted with such a weapon, were far too predominant at the time

pitch of generosity.
Perhaps I ought not to have inserted this school- boy tale; but besides
the strong impression made by the incident at the time, the whole accom-
animents of the story are matters to me of solemn and s ad recollection.

]

Of all the little band who were concerned in those Juv enile ‘Spor rts or brawls,
[ can scarce recolleet a sin zle survivor. Some left the ranks of mimic war
to die in the active service of their country. Many sought distant lands to
return no more. Others, d lspemsedit in dif ferent paths of life, ‘my dim eyes
now seek for in vain.” Of five brothers, all heal thy and promising, in a
degree far beyond one whose infancy was visited by personal infirmity, and
whose health after this period seemed long rery precarious, I am, neverthe-

   

 

less, the only survivor. The best loved. and the best deserv ing to be loved,
who had destined this incident to be the foundation of literary composition,
died “ before his day ” in a distant and forei ign land ; and trifles assume an

importance not their own when connected with those who have been loved
ae lost.

be Pest aa raaeit

ee

4
F
|
i

SPR SE

  
 
  
   
    
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
    
   
 
  
    
  
   
     
   
  
    
   
     
 
 
 
   
  
 
    
   

noe Tet ts Sera ster itAPPENDIX.
TO INTRODUCTION (1829), p. xxiv.

THE mutual protection afforded by Waverley and Talbot to each other,
Hh upon which the whole plot depends, is founded upon one of these anecdotes
1 | which soften the features even of civil war ; and as it is equally honorable
to the memory of both parties, we have no hesitation to give their names at
te length. When the Highlanders, on the morning of the battle of Preston,
[, 1745, made their memorable attack on Sir John Cope’s army, a battery of
four field-pieces was stormed and carried by the Camerons and the Stewarts
of Appine. The late Alexander Stewart of Invernahyle was one of the
foremost in the charge, and observing an officer of the King’s forces, who,
scorning to join the flight of all around, remained with his sword in his
hand. as if determined to the very last to defend the post assigned to him,
Bee | the Highland gentleman commanded him to surrender, and received for re-
i ply a thrust, which he caught in his target. The officer was now defence-
less, 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 the enemy’s property, pro-
tected 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 honorable 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 re-
ae turned 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 good-humoredly 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 Inver:
nahyle (as the good old gentleman was wont to express it) appeared
‘© marked with the sign of the beast!” as a subject unfit for favor or

pardon.

At length Colonel Whitefoord applied to the Duke of Cumberland in
From him also he received a positive refusal. He then limited
his request, for the present, to a protection for Stewart’s house, wife, chil-
dren, and property. This was also refused by the Duke; on which Colo-
nel 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 van-
quished enemy. ‘The Duke was struck, and even affected. He bade the
Colonel take up his commission, and granted the protection he required.
[t 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

 

person.APPENDIX, 435

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 in-
surrection, 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-roil 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, where she deposited whatever small store of provisions she had in
charge at some marked spot where her father might find it, Invernahvle
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 itin 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 harboring one of
the prescribed 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
afterward pardoned under the Act of Indemnity.

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

Invernahyle chanced to be in Edinburgh when Paul Jones came into the
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 eccasion, when
the capital of Scotland was menaced by three trifling sloops or brigs, scarce
fit to have sacked a fishing village, hé 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 winning passages, in which they were likely 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 power-
ful west wind settled the matter, by sweeping Paul Jones and his vessels out
cf the Firth.

If there is something degrading in this recollection, it is not unpleasant te
compare it with those of the last war, when Edinburgh, beside regular
forces and militia, furnished a volunteer brigade of cavalry,* infantry, and
artillery, to the amount of six thousand men and upward, which was in

  
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
    
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
    
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 

aren srewry.

SESNERIRS LEANN

Seer asuiaris

Not may

  

ms
Pee eine .outuabisneehabasae tater: oe

i cetiabnmmmmen tne

 

APPENDIX,

 

436

readiness to meet and repel aforce of a far more formidable description
than was commanded by the adventurous American. Time and circum-
stances changed the character of nations and the fate of cities; and it is some
pride toa 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. ;

* (The Author was quarter-master of the Edinburgh Volunteer Light Horse.)

NOTE TO GENERAL PREFACE, p, xxii.
THE PUBLICATION OF WAVERLEY.
From Lockhart’s Alemoirs of Scoté.
[‘‘ There appeared in The Scots Magazine for February rst, 1884, and
announcement, that ‘ Waverley; or, ‘tis Sixty Years Since, a novel, in 3

vols. r2mo,’ would be published in March. And before Scott came into
he close of the Christmas vacation, on the r2thof January

Edinburgh, at t
Mr. Erskine had perused the greater part of the first volume, and expressed
1 on 4)

his decided opinion that Waverley would prove the most popular of all his

friend’s writings. The MS. was forthwith copied by John Ballantyne, and

sent to press.”

Ina letter to his friend 4: B. S. Morritt of Rokeby, dated July 9, 1814,
Sir Walter says :—

‘‘Now, to go from one important subject to another, I must account for
my own laziness, which I do by referring you to a small anonymous sort of
a novel, in three volumes, Waverley, which you will receive by the mail of
this day. It was a very old attempt of mine to embody some traits of those
characters and manners peculiar to Scotland, the last remnants of which
vanished during my own youth, so that few or no traces now remain. I
had written great part of the first volume, and sketched other passages,
when I mislaid the MS., and only found it by the merest accident as I was
rummaging the drawers of an old cabinet ; and I took t

]

he fancy of finish-
ing it, which I did so fast, that the last two volumes were written in three
weeks,

Again, in a subsequent note, he adds—

**As to Waverley, I will play Sir Fretful for once, and assure you that
T left the story to flag in the first volume on purpose; the second and
third have rather more bustle and interest. I wished (with what success
Heaven knows) to avoid the ordinary error of novel writers, whose first
volume is usually their best. But since it has served to amuse Mrs. Morritt
and you wsgue ab initio, Ihave no doubt you will tolerate it even unto the
end.” ;

The above statement respecting the time occupied in the composition of
the two Jast volumes is born out by the following annecdote, told by his
future son-in-law, J. G. Lockhart:—

“ Happening to pass through Edinburgh in June 1814, I dined one day
with William Menzies (afterward Judge at the Cape of Good Hope), whose
residence was then in George Street, situated very near to and within sight
of the back windows of Scott’s house in North Castle Street. It wasa party
of very young persons, most of them, like Menzies and myself, destined far

”APPENDIX,

the Bar of Scot] and, all ga
manhood, with little e remembrance of tl

‘When my Companion’s worthy father
three e bottles go round, left the

juveniles to themselves
hot, we adjourned to a libr

ary which had one
wards, After car< ousing here for an ]
ne on over the aspect of my friend,
diately op] posite to my self, and said something x th
being unwell. ‘No’ said he, ‘I shall be well

c ‘let me si ‘it where you are, and take my chair;

nd in sight of me here, which has often bothe
won't lets ne fi ll my gl:

 

n accordingly, and he pointec 1 out to me this hand which,

on Belshazzar’s wall. dj isturbed his hour of hj
€ said, ‘I have been watching it—it
page after page is finished and thrown on that Heap of MS., and still ;
on unwearied—and so it will be till candles
knows how lon g after that,
of it when Iam not at my Bots 3.’—* Some stupid,
probably, ’ exclaimed mys or some other giddy youth
‘No, boys,’ said our host, ‘ a ib ll know what I
This was the hand that, in the evenings of th
two last volumes of Wave rley.”—From the Me
I. G. Lockhart.]

(AUTHOR’S DEDICATION—ABBOTSFORD, 1829.)
To ‘THe Kinc’s Most Gr Acious Majzsry.

SIRE—The Author of t his Collection of Works of Fj
for them y r Majesty’s a

 

st Patronage were it not tha at the perusal h

   
 
  
 

 

some insta to have succeede 2d in amusing hours of rel aero nm, Or relieving those of
] m<UOr, pz i therefore must’ have so far aided the warmest wish of Your
Tajesty Ps hea ting in however small a degree e to the hap

y 1tr )
They are the are réfore hut nbly dedicated to your Majesty, agree ably to your Gracious
mission, by your Majesty’s dutiful subject

ay and thoughtl less, enjoying the first flush of
1€ yesterday, or care of the morrow,
and uncle, after seeing two or
the weather being
large wade locking north
10ur or more, I observed that - a shade
who happened to be placed imme-
nat intimated a fear of his
‘enou: gh presently, if you will
; for there i is a confounded
red me before, and now it
Slass with a good will.’ I Tose to change places with
hit o1y like the W riting
larity. ‘Since we sat down,
fascinates my eye—it never stor

re brought in, and Gad
t is the same ev ery nig eH F can’t stand a sight
dogged, engrossing clerk,
in our society.

1and it is—’tis Walter Scott’s.

ree summer weeks, wrote ie
mows of Str Walter Scott by

iction would not hay € presumed to solicit
las been supposed in

piness of your Pe copie.

WALTER Scort.

   
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
    
   
   
  
   
  
     
   
  
    
  
    
   
 
  
  
  
  
    
   
  
  
   
 

Wacwteeia hi pstieet see

;
F
4
4Miteais ceca eee ee SR

—
se

=

 

GLOSSARY.

 

 

Asoon, above.
An, if.
ASSYTHMENT, satisfaction,

Barr, bang, a blow.

Baie, Alderman or Magistrate.

Barn, child.

BARLEY, a truce, from Pavler.

BAWBEE, halfpenny.

BAXTER, baker.

BEES, IN THE, excited, bewildered.
BEFLUMMIT, palavered, bamboozled.
BEGUNK, a trick.

BEN, within, intimate.

3ENT, BIDE THE, endure misfortune.
—— TAK’ THE, take to the open country,
BICKER, wooden bowl.

BieLpy, sheltered.

BiGGinG, building.

BIRLIEMAN, peace-officer.

BoppLk, copper coin = to 1-3 of a penny.
BOGLE ABOUT THE BUSH, beat about the

 

 

OUNE, prepare.
RANDER, broil.

RAW, brave, beautiful.

ROGUES, Highland shoes.

ROO’, Sauce, or soup.

RUCKLE, ticklish, brittle, infirm.
RULZIE, brawl.

CALLANT, lad.

CARLE, fellow.

CLACHAN, hamlet.
CLAMHEWIT, hack with an axe,
CLASH, jabber.

CLAW FAVOR, Curry favor,
Coup, fall.

Cow YER CRACKS, hold your tongues.
CRAIG, neck.
CREAGH, Gaelic, a raid, spoil.
CuITTLg,. tickle.

DEI, devil.

DELIVER, active.

Dern, dark, secret.

DiaouL, Gaelic, devil.

Dina, beat, drive, surpass.

DotteD, stupid.

Dow, a dove.

Dor.Lacu, Gaelic, valise.

DOvERING, dozing.

lDowrr, deaf.

DROGHLING AND COGHLING, blowing and
wheezing.

 

DUINHE-WASSEL, Gaelic, gentlemar

 

EFFEIR, purtenance.
ETTeR-CAP, cantankerous person.
EVITE, escape.

EwEST, nearest.

Fa’rp, favored.

FECK, part.

FLEMIT, scared or chased.
FLeyT, chid.

ForBEARS, forefathers.

GAD, iron bar.
GATE, way, mode, direction.

GEAR, property, cattle.
Gin, if.

GIMMER, two years old ewe,
GiTE, noodle.

GLEG, smart.

GLED, kite.

GLIsk, sight, quick.
GRANING, groaning.

GREE, agree.

GRICE, young pig.
GUDEMAN, husband.

 

Hacais, a Scotch pudding made of mincet
meat, oatmeal, onions, etc.

HALLAN, partition at the doorway.

HANTLE, a good many.

HECK AND MANGER, to live in prodigality,
and unconcern, reckless.

Her, ighland, my.

HER NAIN SEL, myself.

HeErsuipP, plunder.

HET: hot.

HILL-FoLk, name given to Covenanters
(who worshipped on the hills).

Horsr-couprr, horse-dealer,

ILKa, each.
INGLE, fire.

KEMPLE, a quantity of straw.
KrppaGkE, fluster.

KitTLr, tickle, ticklish.
KyLog, small Highland cow.

LANDLOUPER, tramp, adventurer.
LimMe_r, jade.

Loon, idle fellow.

Loup, leap.

Lua, the ear.

Mans, farm-house.MAsk, mash, infuse.
MeErRsk, Berwickshire.
MisGuG@e, spoil, blunders
Moustep, powdered.

 

Nesp, nose.

Ow Over.
OYER AND - ERMINER, /egad, hearing and de-
termining a cause.

 

PAITRICK, partridge.
PANGED, stuffed.

PAUNIE, peacock.
PINNER, a cap with la ppets.
PLACK, small copper coin.
POTTINGER, sporieean:
PowTER, d ebb e.

QUEAN, a young woman, a hussy.

REDDING, clearing.

REISE, loose brushwood.
RINTHEROUTS, cut-throats.
XUDAS, rough, cantankerous,
XUNT, worn out cow.

—

SARK, a shirt.

SCART, ree
SHANKS, leg

SHE, A7z tn dd, I or He.
SHE ERS, scissors.
SHILPIT, puny-looking, sickly,
SHOON, shoes.

SICCAN, such a.

SILLER, money.

SopIreE, to quiet a brawl},
SOWENS, a sort of gruel.

 

 

GLOSSARY.

 

 

 

SPENCE, best room.

SPRACK, lively.

SPRECHERY, small plunder.
SPULZIE, spoil.

STIRK, a heifer.

SToor, stubborn.

SToOT, a bullock.

STREAK, to stroke-down

SYBO, a sort of onion or raddish,
Synz, since, ago.

‘Tarcuit, drooping and disordered
Tatzig, entail.

TAappit-HEN, whiskey measure.
THRAW, twist

THREEPIT, averred, insisted.
THROSTLE, the thrush.

Trrrivy, a tantrum.

TocuEr, dowry.

Tuxzigz, squabble or spree.

Unco, very, particularly.
Unsoncy, saucy, dangerous.
UsQuEBAUGH, whiskey,

VILIPEND, to hold of no consequence.

VIVERS, victuals.

yi ADSET, pledge.
NCHANCY, unlucky.
Ware. expend, waste.
WARR ANDICE, security.
WEEL-FAR’D, handsome,
WXISING, whis sking.
WHEEN, a few.

WHILK, which.
WHINGE, to whine.
Winna, will not.

 

YATE, gate.

eR ee EN eT SRT

    
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
     
 
  
    
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
      
      
 
  
  
    
 
   
  
   
  
  
 

SESTTICEONUS TTSUESTERSfaliataabacer ees

ieaabiebaiseicihahtastonss

Oe mtn ton a

 

NDEX TO WAVERLEY.

   

ee ieee

A LA Mort, Waverley? 146- :
Abercromby, his adventure with Rob Roy,

398. : :
Ablution and abstersion at Glennaquoich,

Absenc , effects of, on a lover, 160.

Ad tullam, cave of, 300.

Alice Bean Lean at the cave,os5. In the
hut, How she delivered up Waver-
ley’ S papers, 349.

Alick Polwarth, Wave rley’s servant, 304.

Amhurst, Nicholas, ae on, 394.

Anderson of Wh itburg h, note on, 405.

Andrea di Ferrara, note on, 407.

Arthur’s Seat before the battle, 24%.

thors address to all in ¢ ral

Authorship of Waverley, v-

 

eneral, 40%.

 

Bs
B

AT IOLYROOD, 2

ae Waverley’s
dine after the

    

  
  

: Laird 473 quarrel at
Luckie MacLeary’s, Apolog gy to Wa-
verley, 57. Rencontre with Bradwardine
69. Escorts Waverley y from Doune, 212.
Death of, at Preston, 258. Note on, 407.
Ban and Buscar, Bradwardine’s dogs, 60,

380.

Banquet at Tully:

Bard at Glennaquoich, rro, 116.

Battle song of Flora Mac-Ivor’s, 12x.

Bean Lean, Donald, interview in his cave
89. Raid on the bridegroom Gillie.
whackit, 98. Flora’s dislil ike to, 126.
Intriguing with Waverley’s seal, 276.
End of, and confession, 328. How he

 

eolan

AC
lan, 49.

 

 

rescued Ww averle} Vy 349.

Bear, the blessed, of Bradwardine, 50.
Restored, 387. Prototype at Glammis,
396.

Beaujeu, Comte de, 308.

Birch. trees, fragrance from, 87.

Black mail refused by Bradwardine, 76, 79.
Note on, 398

Bradwardine, Baron, origin of acquaintance,
28. Receives Waverk Y, 45-47: His
mer of literature, 63. The ‘barony in male

, 71 Quarrel with Mac-Ivor, 79. In
Aa ureh; 115. At evening service with
his troop, 252. Dilemma about pulling off
the Prince’s boots, 271. Performs the

 

 

 

ceremony, 27%. In concealment, 324i.

Receives his pardon, 358-360. Recovers

sed Bear,”’ 357-

Bridal favors for Fergus, 143. Garment for
Fergus, 38

3ridal song in “Queenhoo Hall, 43

Bodach Glas or Gray Spectre, 159, Beas

Boots, service of,. by Baron Bradwardine,

   

vet 271-
Buchan, : Mrs., of the Greenlaw inn, 395.
Byron and the aut thorship of Waverley, xix.
SAIRNVRECKAN VILLAGE, 168.

Callum Beg, objections to ‘ch aracter, vi. Ac«
companies Waverley south, 161. Edinburgh,
240. Aims at Colonel Gardiner, 305. Fires
at Waverley, 252.

Canting her: ildry; 700

Came roniansy 190.

Cannon in the Highland army, 244. Note on
404.

Canongate, Waverley’s lodgings, 223.

Carlisle, Maclvor a prisoner in, and executed
at, 364-375.

Caterans at.Tully-Veolan, 76. Note on, 399.

Cathleen’s song of ** ae my Cow, 724.

Cattle-li Seremencciai by he Highlanders,96.

Cervantes’ ‘° Open your ces aeebutearab le
Princess,’’ 134

Chapter, shall this be a long or short? 127,

Charles Edward. rinc

Chief, High! and, dk cription of, 84,103- Hos-
pit lity required from, tog.
Clans at the battle of P restonpans, 24

Clifton, skirmish at, 316, 320. M‘PI
account of, 410.

Conan the jeste ae note on, 401.

Cope, General, 405+

Countr y gentle smen, " effect of political perse
cution on, 125.

Courage, more, required to run away than to
fight, 283.

Coursing the roe, 62.

Crieff, kind ga allows at, 30%

Creagh on cae y-Veolan, 75.

Cruickshanks, Ebene zer, 162-1676

Cruden, Alexander, vii.

Curiosity and courage, 204.

  

 

 

 

    
 

 

Dance at Glennaquoich, 127.
] » 127.

Deer, charge of, 129.DEX.

 

Desk, author’s old, xiv. | poetry, 116,
Dinner-table, Scotch, note on, 400. policy, note on, 399.
tr }
Dirk, « oath upon, 329. politeness, 161.
Disciy am ng the Highlanders, 403. surgery, 130.
“an

Donal

 
   
  

See Bean.
ote on, 403.

 

village sixty years ago, 37.
Highlanders, dislike to, by T albot, 297.
march 1 into E ngland, 299.

 

=:
rigth Psalm, 192

| 472s bairns! 171.
at, 362. | Hog in Har’st at G lennaq juoich, 108.
| Holyre od entered by Waverley, 216, Ball
| at, 233. mi
| Home, author of “ Douglas,” escape -from
EAGLE at I 3rough, 8s. pote Aad,

 

y 2 Houghton, Sergean 76.
Ebrius and ebriosus, 58 | t ergeant, 176 Found dying.
Edgeworth, Miss, her rary achievements 247. Incits ed to mutiny by Ruffin, 275.
y ge yLISS, Ner -Tdry achieyements >
: t 1 ) he = | Hunt at Glennaquoich, 128, 132.

 

   
 

bute approached by Balmawhapple
1M averley, 216.

  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
       
       
  
 

MAGINATIONS of Waverley, 18.
nnocents, 44.

nns, Scottish, note on, 395

o d’Elicona niente, 124.
omicers, note on, 404,
rving, Joh Nn, Vill.

  

d
ish
sn

  

poten in En; gland, 404. Syme
, Author’s acquaintance with, “380,

ft the Needle, 227,

inet, Old, ake

kept by the nobility, 44.

ypson, eos b, shelters W averley, 310, 333:

 

quoich, rr2z,_ 113.
waterfall, 1x8, razr.
Meeting with

ng

 

128. M Ave
grace, Declines \

At Hol iy aaa. fs
bya Highlander, 273.
Rose, and opinion
Making Fergus’s

    
     
   
 
   
  

 

NCUREIT described by Brad wardine, 48,
Kind gallows of Crieff, note on, 399.

 

Farlane’s, 403.
fall, 401.
ym he me, 130.
rary at Waverley-Honour, 136
ibulero bullen a la,

‘

 

Athole hunt, zr
e at dinner, 400.
tly ambitious, 73,
inn, and quarrel in, 53-54.
emorated by Gunn, 128,

I

330. MaccomsB ICH, Evan Dhu, emb ret to Tully-
anet, the wit h, 68. | Veolan about the cattle, 82. In Edinburgh,
:ealogical stories narrated to Waverley 28. Warns Waverley of pssasminatien, 304.
Offers to die for his c hief,
ifted, and his y eey ers, 190. Sur- | Mac-Farlane’s lantern, note oe 403.
r the oe ulanders, Mac-Ivor, Fergus, ro o-105. Compared with
by De onald Bean, | his sister, 112. His song at the waterfall

123. Incites Waverley to rebellion, 14%
is Castle, note on, 396. 147. Meets Waverley at Holyrood, 217.
Glenaladale, where Prince Charles landed,| Re jected in his suit, 284. Quarrels with
| Wave rle Y, 300-306. Sees the ‘‘ Bodach
Glas,” 313. Made prisoner at Clifton, 316.

 

RN

 

    

 

 

§ |
5 . : : |
Glennaquoich House, and entertainments at, |

105-107. | Condemns d to deaths 365- 367.
Green-Breeks, 432. | Mac -Ivor, Flora. See Flora.
Maclearie. See Luckie e.
Hair to thee, thou holy herb! 131. | Macwheeble, Bailie, 49. In Edinburgh, 229.
Hanover, House of, Mac-Ivor’s declama-| On the battlefield, 264. Immersed in his
tion, 142. | papers, 349-350. Reads the assignation of

Hie away, over bat nk, over brae, 61. Mac- Murrough ‘tl he Bard, rro.

Highland chief and his tail, 84. Mac-Vicar’s prayer for Prince Charles, 272.
discipline, note on, 401. Manners, change in, chiefly external, 3.

fling or reel at Glennaquoich, 154. Matrimony described by Flora, 125, 172.

 

Helots am the Highlanders, 243. | Tully-Veolan, 383.
i
i

 

441

   
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
    
    
   
  
    
    
  
   
   
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
        
    
  
 
 
 
 
    
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
     
     
   
  
     
   
  
 
  
   
   
   
 
 

WRAR RSE REAR eet eee

  

Re ener a TT ees442

Melville, Major, of Cairnvreckan, 173, 181.

Military education, 33

Mirkwood Mere, sonnet, 24

Morrison Fynes, his tr avels in Scotland, 400.

Morton, minister of C airnvreckan, 172. Visits
Waverley in confinement, 187.

Mucklewrath, the smith of C airnvreckan, 168.

Murray, William, formerly Manager of
Theatre Royal, ‘dinburgh, 112.

My heart’s in the His eniands SHsds

My master ! 97.

 

NairNE, Miss, note on, 407+

Hewsne pe temp. Waverley, 6.

Nosebag, Mrs., 32:

Notes to W averley, author’s apology for,
Xxil.

Oatu upon the dirk, note on, 329.
Oggam hierog lyphic, 158.

O THA y of the desert, hail! 123.

O vous qui buvez, a tasse p leine, 123.

Pau. Jonss in Firth of Forth, 435.

Pedl a that joins Gilfillan, 197.

Pembroke the tutor, his interview with the
bookseller, 30. Detter of ten folio pages,
135. Inthe Priest’s Hole, 377.

Picara Justina Diaz, history of, ro2.

Pinkie House, near Musselburgh, 268.

Polonaise dress worn by Scotch boys, 130

Pork abhorred by the Scotch, 108.

Prestonpans battle-field, 249-258.

Prince Charles at Holyrood, 217. Separates
the combatants, 307. His alacrity at Pres-
tonpans, 405. Defence of, by the author,

note, 407.

QurENHOoO, HALL, edited by the author of
Waverley, 12, 422.

Racuet, Aunt, 17, 32- Letter from, inquir-
ing about oe 138.

Rank and ancestry, 48.

Ravelston garden, 40.

Reading desultory, 13.

Rhymer, Thomas the, 414.

Robertson, Rev. Dr., 172.

Rob Roy, note on, 398.

Romance, characters requisite to make in-
teresting, 3.

Romeo and Juliet, opinions on, 290.

Rose Bradwardine, 44. Apartment at Tully-

Veolan, 6s, 66, 71, 72, 73. Described by
ora, 125. Letter to Waverley, 155.

At Hol yrood, 238. Her interest in Waver-

L
» 2

ley, 281, 289. Assists him when a prisoner

at Cairnvreckan. 349.
Rubrick the clergyman, his conscience, 49.
Rubrick of the Duchran, 362.
Ruffin. See Bean, Donald.

St. JOHNSTONE’s tippet, 213.
ste " Swithin’s chair, sonnet, 66.

Saunderson, Alex., butler at Tully-Veolan,

2y 47°
School-days, anecdote of author’s, 431.

INDEX.

  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  

 

Scotland, effects of the Jacobite rebellion
upon, 388.

Scctt, Thos., soppOee author of ‘* Waver-
ey,’’ xx. His tale of fiction, 431.
eooacnaa persons, QI.

Sidier Dhu, 98.

Siddons, Mrs. Henry, 112.

Skene-occle or, Highlan d knife. 164.

Society, dislike oles:

Spontoon, Col. Talbot’s servant, 327.

Stag’s horn, wound from, 130,

Steakraid, 126,

Stewart, governor of Doune Castle, 210.
Stewart of se note ony 434-
Stirling Castle, defied by Balmawhapple, 214
Strutt, Joseph, posthumous works, Xll.
Stubbs, Cecilia, flirtation with, 20.

Stirrup cup, note on, 396.

Superstitions, surgery inthe Highlands, 131,

Taxzot, Colonel, Waverley’s prisoner, 263.

Character and opinions of, 278. Receives

ill-tidings from home, 293. Gets leave to

return home from Prince Charles, 295. Re-

ceives Waverley into his house in Lon-

don, 326. Letter to Waverley with pardon

for kita and Bradwardine, 356. At Tully-

Veolan, festivities, 381. Protection of by

W averley, note on, 434.

Tartans distinctive of clans, 2o1-

Taylor’s hunt in the braes of Mar, 128.

There is mist on the mountain, 121.

Thieves, Highland geztlemen, 96.

Thomas the ‘Rhymer, fra; ement of a romance,
414, 418.

Three things useless to a Highlander, 116,

Tinchel, a mode of driving the deer, 129.

Titus Livius, attachment to, 393.

To an eae 165.

Trimmel the bookseller, 30.

Tully-Veolan, village, 35. Manor-house, and
garden, 38, 40. Creagh on, from the High-
Jands, 75. Revisited by Waverley, de sola«
tion, 337- Restored, festivities at, 381.

Upepa, Francisco, a hair in his pen, 192
Unction, extreme, Donald Bean’s idea of oa,

VENISON of the roe, 60.
Vich Ian Vohr. See Mac- Tror, Fergus.
Von Eulen, journal of 421.

WakeEn, lords and ladies gay, 423.
W ashing scene at Tully-Veolan, 41.
W eer at Glennaquoich, trg. Note on

|

W nverley? ” authorship and origin of, v.

vii., xi., xvii., xiv., 436+ Revision of ‘the,
Novels, lil.

W averley, Edward’s first interview with his
uncle, 9. Education at the hall, 11. Choice
ofa profe ssion, 19. Military e duc ation, 33-
Reception of, at Tully-V eolan, 45. Jour-
ney to Glennaquoich, 84. Health drunk by
Mac-Ivor, 109. Emotions toward Flora,
120. His loyalty incited by the bard, 123.

 

 

re
aget
OT SO ana

Loss of his seal, 126. Wounded in the stagINDEX.

hunt, and conveved to Tomanrait, 130-133.
Returns to Glennaquoich (letters from
home), 138. Ordered to return to his regi-
it, 139. Undoes the sable ‘ cockade;”’
t meeting with Flora at the water-
5 “Inquired after’? by the sol-
diers at Tully-Veolan, 155
naquoich, 155. Detained
Cairnvreckan, 167. Examined befor
jor Melville, 173. scuec I
199. Night adventure,
Doune Castle, 209. L
escorted by Balmawhap
by Mac-Ivor to Pr
Assumes the
Repulsed by
the march
bot’s ey e missing
letters and the t against him, 274. His
courtships in Edinburgh, 2 Changes
his affections, 208. Quarrel with Mac-Ivor,
rated from the Highlanders

Ce
ple,
mce

,

as Clifton, ae

Journey to London, 300, |

 

443

Return to Scotland, 334. Receives explan<
ations of past events, 347. An accepted
lover, 362. Leaves for Carlisle to intercede
for Mac-Ivor, 364. Returns to Waverley.
Honour, 376 Nuptials at Tully-Veolan,

379.

Waverley, Sir Everard, his will and courtship
7, 8. His political susceptibilities 22. Part-
ing advice to his nephew, 27. Letter to his
nephew, 138.

Waverley, Richard, estrangement from his
brother, 4. Political intrigues and fall, 135.
Death of, 322.

Whisky among the Highlanders, Q2e

Whiteford, Colonel, note on Ags

Wilibert of Waverley, the crusader, 19.

Williams, Ned, caught sweethearting, 318.

Witchcraft in Scotland, 68.

Wogan, Captain, 148. Sung by Flora, 164.

Youne Men will love thee more fair and
more fast, 69.

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beTHE busy period of the great Civil War was one in which the
character and genius of different parties were most brilliantly dis-
played, and accordingly, the incidents which took place on either
side were of a striking and extraordinary character, and afforded
ample foundation for fictitious composition. The Author had in
some measure attempted such in ‘‘ Peveril of the Peak ; 2) but -the
scene was in a remote part of the kingdom, and mingled with other
national differences, which left him still at liberty to glean another
harvest out of so ample a store.

In these circumstances, some wonderful adventures which hap
pened at Woodstock in the year 1649, occurred to him as some
thing he had long ago read of, although he was unable to tell where
and of which the hint appeared sufficient, although, doubtless, it
might have been much better handled if the Author had not, in the
lapse of time, lost everything like an accurate recollection of the
real story.

[t was not until about this period, 1
thor, being called upon to write this introduction, obtained a ge
eral account of what really happened upon the marvellous occasic
in question, in a work termed ‘‘ The Every-day Book,” published
by Mr. Hone,* and full of curious antiquarian research, the object
being to give a variety of original information concerning man-
ners illustrated by curious instances, rarely to be found elsewhere.
Among other matter, Mr. Hone quotes an article from the Aritish
Mi ine for 1747, in the following words, and which is probably

the document which the Author of Woodstock had formerly pe-

* [Vol, ii., p. 582, London, 1827.]a

aasashacene

oa ee

ae

Fa

 

iv INTRODGECTION:

rused, although he was unable to refer to the source of his informa-
tion. The tract is entitled, ‘‘ The Genuine History of the Good
Devil of Woodstock, Cane in the world, in the year 1649, and
never accounted for or at all understood to this time.’

The teller of this ‘‘ genuine history” proceeds verbatim as
follows : ;

‘© Some original papers having lately fallen into my hands, under
the name of ‘Authentic Memoirs of the Memorable Joseph Collins
of Oxford, commonly known by the name of Funny Joe, and now
intended for the press,’ I was extremely delighted to find in them
a circumstantial and unquestionable account of the most famous
of all invisible agents, so well known in the year 1649, under the
name of the Good Devil of Woodstock, and even adored by the
people of that place, for the vexation and distress it occasioned
some people they were not much pleased with. As this famous
story, though related by a thousand people, and attested in all its
circumstances, beyond all possibility of doubt, by people of rank,
learning, and reputation, of Oxford and the adjacent towns, has
never yet been generally accounted for, or at all understood, and

is perfectly explained, in a manner that can admit of no doubt, in
these papers, I could not refuse my readers the pleasure it gave
me in reading.”
Gra ae) Fi f no doubt that. in the ve Gin a Sa be
Chere 1s, therefore, no doubt that, in the year 1049, a number
of incidents, supposed to be supernatural, took place at the King’s
palace of Woodstock, which the Commissioners of Parliament were

then and there endeavoring to dilapidate and destroy. The

account of this by the Commissioners themselves, or under their
as relation sixth of ‘‘Satan’s Invisible World Discovered,” by
George Sinclair, Professor of Philosophy in Glasgow,* an approved
i€s.
It was the object of neither of the great political parties of that
day to discredit this narrative, which gave great satisfaction both
2 te
the impious
desecration of the King’s furniture and apartments, so that the
gers of the cause of royalty ; while the friends of the Parliament,
on the athe? 1and, imputed to the malice of the fiend the obstruc-
At the risk of prolonging a curious quotation, I include a page
or two from Mr. Hone’s *‘ Every-day Book.”
manor-house, October 13th, and took up their residence in the
King’s own rooms. His Majesty’s bed-chamber they made their
was the place where they sat for dispatch of business. His
Majesty’s dining-room they made their woodyard, and stowed it
1

authority, was repeatedly published, and, in particular, is inserted

collector of such tal

to the cavaliers and roundheads; the former conceiving that the

license given to the demons was in consequence of

citizens of ne \dstock almost adored the supposed spirits, as aven-

tion of the pious work, as they jadged that which they had in hand.
‘The honorable the Commissioners arrived at Woodstock

kitchen, the council-hall their pantry, and the presence-chamber

with no ofl er wood but that of the famous Royal Oak from the

* [Originally published at Edinburgh, 1685, 12mo. |LINTRODUCTYT. ON. Vv
High Park, which, that n othing might be |

King about it, they had dug up by tl
fagots for their firing,

eft with the name of the
1€ roots, and bundled up into

Jctober 16th. Sei his day they fir

st sat for the dispatch of
oe

vate there entere d a large
), which made a terrible howling, over-
f their chairs, and doing some other damage,
went under the bed, and there gna wed ‘the cords; The door ae
while continued constantly shut, when, after some two or thre

hours, Giles Sharp, their sec cretary, looking 1 inder the bed, dee
ceived that the creature was y: unished, and that a plate of meat
that the servants had hid there was untouc hed, and showing them

oh the midst of their first deh
black dog {as they tho sught
urned tad, or thre ero

to their honors. che ey were all convinced there could be no real¢ dog
concerned in the c; es ae =e Giles also deposed on oath th at,
to his certain k movicdee: there was not.

~ October 17th.—As they were this day sitting at dinner in a

lower room, they heard pla inly the noise of persons walking over-
head, though they well ky new the doors were all a and there
could be none hare Presently after they heard also all the wood
of the King’s oak brou; ght by al arcels from the di ning-room, and
thrown with great violence into the presence a as also the
chairs, stele) ables, and other furniture, forcil oly hurled about
the room, their Own papers of the minutes

]

of their transactions

torn, and the Paws Fs broken. When all this had some time
ceased, the said Gil es proposed to enter first into these rooms,
and, in presence of the Comn nissioners, of whom h
r

C

pots bet
~

1€ received the
key, he opened the door a id entered the room, their honors follow-
ing him. He there foun: issn wood strewed about the room, the
chairs tossed about add sii
as

co

n, the papers torn, and the ink-glass
broken over them all they had heard, yet no footsteps. ap-
peared of any person whatever being there, nor had the doors
ever been oes to admit or let out any persons since their
honors were last the It was therefore voted, sem. con., that the
person who did this ace could have entered no other way
than at the key-hole of the said door:

‘In the night following a Sam
other of the Commissioners’ se

CL

n

‘day, the said Giles, and two
ints, as they were in bed in the
same room with their honors. i a their bed’s feet lifted up so
much higher than their heads, that they expected,to have their
necks broken, and then they were let fall at once with such vio-
lence as sho k them up from the bed to a good distance ; and this
was repeated many times, their honors bej Ing amazed spectators
Of its duvithe morning the bedsteads were found cracked and
broken, and the said Giles and ] his fellows declared they were sore
to the bones with the tossit ng and jolting of the beds.

‘* October roth.—As they were all in bed together, the candles
were all blown out together with a sulphurous smell, and instantly
many trenchers of w ood were h urled about the room ; and one of
them, putting his head above the clothes, had not less than six
throw n at hin 1, which wounded him very grievously. In the morn-
ing the trenchers were all found lying about the room, and were

o

nts

n— 7 p : = , :
pepbethbbhaed hohe tikhe washietanre eee

PPR oraeotan uate

 

 

vi INTRODUCTION.

observed to be the same they had eaten on the day before, none
being found remaining in the pantry.

‘’ October 20th.—This night the candles were put out as be-
fore; the curtains of the bed in which their honors lay were
drawn to and fro many times with great violence ; their honors
received many cruel blows, and were much bruised beside, with
eight great pewter dishes and three dozen wooden trenchers,
which were thrown on the bed, and afterward heard rolling about
the room.

‘‘Many times also this night they heard the forcible falling of
many fagots at their bedside, but in the morning no fagots were
found there, no dishes or trenchers were there seen either; and
the aforesaid Giles attests that, by their different arranging in the
pantry, they had assuredly been taken thence, and after put there
again.

‘¢ October 21st.—The keeper of their ordinary and his bitch lay
with them: This night they had no disturbance.

“ October 22.—Candles put out as before. They had the said
bitch with them again, but were not by that protected ; the bitch
set up a very piteous cry; the clothes of their beds were all
pulled off, and the pricks, without any wind, were thrown off the
chimney tops into the midst.

‘¢ October 24.—The candles put out as before. They thought
all the wood of the King’s Oak was violently thrown down by their
bedsides ; they counted sixty-four fagots that fell with great vio-
lence, and some hit and shook the bed—but in the morning none
were found there, nor the door of the room opened in which the
said fagots were.

‘© October 25.—The candles put out as before. The curtains
of the bed in the drawing-room were many times forcibly drawn ;
the wood thrown out as before ; a terrible crack like thunder was
heard : and one of the servants, running to see if his master was
not ‘killed, found, at. his return, ,three dozen trenchers laid
smoothly upon his bed under the quilt.

“ October 26.—The beds were shaken as before, the windows
seemed all broken to pieces, and glass fell in vast quantities all
about the room. In the morning they found the windows all
whole, but the floor strewed with broken glass, which they
gathered and jaid by.

“October 29.—At midnight candles went out as before, some-
thing walked majestically through the room and opened and shut
the window; great stones were thrown violently into the room,
some whereof fell on the beds, others on the floor; and about a
quarter after one, a noise was heard as of forty cannon discharged
together, and again repeated at about eight minutes distance.
This alarmed and raised all the neighborhood, who, coming into
their honors’ room, gathered up the great stones, four score in
number, many of them like common pebbles and bowlders, and
laid them by, where they are to be seen to this day, at a corner of
the adjoining field. This noise, like the discharge of cannon, was
heard throughout the country for sixteen miles round. DuringINTRODUCTION. vii

these noises, which were heard in both rooms toge ther, both the
Commissioners and_ their servants gave one another over for lost,
and cried out for help; and Giles Sharp, snatching up a sword,
had well-nigh killed one of their honors, taking him. for the spirit
as he came in his shirt into the room. While they were together
the noise was continued, and part of the tilting of the house and
all the windows of an upper room were taken away with it.

** October 30. —Something walked into the chamber, treading
like a bear ; it walked many times about, then threw the warming
pan violently upon the floor, and so bruised it that it was spoiled.
u ast quantities of glass were now thrown about the room, and

ast numbers of great stones and horses’ bones were thrown in.
These were all found in the morning, and the floors, beds, and
valls were all much damaged | by the violence they were thrown in.

- November 1.-_C andles were placed in all parts of the room,
and a great fire made. At midn ight, the candles all yet burning,
a noise like the burst of a cannon was heard in the room, and the
burning billets were tossed all over the room and about the beds ;
and had not their honors called in Giles and his fellows, the house
had assuredly been burnt. An hour after the candles went out, as
usual, the clack of many cannon was heard, and many pailfuls of
green stinking water were throw non their honors in bed ; great
stones were also thrown in as before, the bed curtains and bed-
steads torn and broken; the windows were now all really broken,
and the whole nei hborhood alarmed with the noises : nay, the
very rabbit-stealers that were abroad that night in the warren were
so frightened at the dismal thunde ‘ring, that they fled for fear, and
left their ferrets behind them.

‘One of their honors this night spoke, and in the name of God

sked what it was, and why it disturbed them so? No answer was
to this, but the noise ceased for a while, when the spirit
came « gain, and, as they all agreed, brou ght with it seven devils
worse than itself. One of = Serv ants now lighted a large candle
and set it in the door between the two chambers, to see what
passed; and as he* wate ied it, he plainly saw a hoof striking the
candle and candlestick into the mi iddle of the room, and afterward
making three scrapes over the snuff of the candle e, to scrape it out.
Upon this, the same person was so bold as to draw a sword; but
he had scarce got it out, when he perceived another invisible hand
had hold of it too, and pulled with him for it, and at last prevail-
ing, struck him so violently on the head with the pommel that he
fell down for dead with the blow. At this instant was heard an-
other burst like the discharge of the broadside of a ship of war,
and at about a minute or two’s distance each, no less than nine-
teen more such. These shook the house so violently, that they e ex-
pected every moment it would fall upon their heads. The neig
bors on this were all alarm and, running to the house,
joined in prayer and psalm-singing, during which the noise con-

* Probably this part was also played by Sharp, who was the regular ghost-
seer of the party.

 

ae ER eeevill INTRODUCTION.

ee tinued in the other rooms, and the discharge of cannon without,
though nobody was there.”

Dr. Plot concludes his relation of this memorable event * with

observing that, though tricks have often been played in affairs of

this kind, many of these things are not reconcilable with juggling ;

,

such as, Ist, The loud noises beyond the power of man to make,
without instruments which were not there; 2d, The tearing and
breaking of the beds ; 3d, The throwing about the fire ; 4th, The
hoof treading out the candle ; and 5th, The striving for the sword,
| and the blow the man received from the pommel of it.
Ae To show how great men are sometimes deceived, we may recur

| to a tract, entitled ‘*‘ The Secret History of the Good Devil of
Woodstock,” in which we find it, under the author’s own hand, that
| he, Joseph Collins, commonly called Funny Joe, was himself this

very devil; that, under the feigned name of Giles Sharp, he

hired himself as a servant to the Commissioners ; that by the help

of two friends, an unknown trapdoor in the ceiling of the bed-

chamber, and a pound of gunpowder, he played all these extraor-

dinary tricks by himself; that his fellow-servants, whom he had

ia iia introduced on purpose to assist him, had lifted up their own beds,

and that the candles were contrived, by a common trick of gun-
powder, to be extinguished at a certain time.

The dog who began the farce was, as Joe swore, no dog at all,

but truly a bitch, who had shortly before whelped in that room, and

made all this disturbance in seeking for her puppies; and which,
when she had served his purpose, he (Joe Sharp, or Collins) let out
and then looked for. The story of the hoof and sword he himself

bore witness to, and was never suspected as to the truth of them,

though mere fictions. By the trap-door his friends let down stones,

Ht fagots, glass, water, etc., which they either left there or drew up
Lt again, as best suited his purpose ; and by this way let themselves in
; and out, without opening the doors or going through the keyholes ;
i and all the noises described, he declares, he made by placing
quantities of white gunpowder over pieces of burning charcoal, on
plates of tin, which, as they melted, exploded with a violent noise.
[am very happy in having an opportunity of setting history
right about these remarkable events, and would not have the reader
disbelieve my author’s account of them, from his naming either
white gunpowder exploding when melted, or his making the earth
about the pot take fire of its own accord; since, however improb-
able these accounts may appear to some readers, and whatever se-
crets they might be in Joe’s time, they are now well known in chem-
istry. As to the last, there needs only to mix an equal quantity of
iron filings, finely powdered, and powder of pure brimstone, and
make them into a paste with fair water. The paste, when it hath
lain together about twenty-six hours, will of itself take fire, and
burn all the sulphur away witha blue flame and a bad smell. For
the others, what he calls white gunpowder is plainly the thunder-
ing powder called by our chemists pulvis fulminans. It is com-

posed of three parts of saltpetre, two parts of pearl ashes or salt of

 

* In his Natural History of Oxfordshire.

Stes Sseirere teetartar, and one part of flour of brimstone, mixed together and beat
to a fine powder ; a small quantity of this held on the point of a
knife over a candle will not go off till it melt, and then it gives a re-
port like that of a pistol; and this he might easily dispose of in
larger quantities, so as to make it explode of itself, while he, the
said Joe, was with his masters.

Such is the explanation of the ghostly adventures of Wood-
Stock, as transferred by Mr. Hone from the pages of the old tract,
termed ‘‘ The Authentic Memoirs of the Memorable Joseph Collins
of Oxford,” whose courage and loyalty were the only wizards which
conjured up those strange and surprising apparitions and works of
Spirits which passed as unquestionable in the eyes of the Parlia-
mentary Commissioners, of Dr. Plot, and other authors of credit;
The pulvis fulminans, the secret principle he made use of, is now
known to every apothecary’s apprentice.

If my memory be not treacherous, the actor of these wonders
made use of his skill in fireworks upon the following remarkable

Occasion: ‘I'he Commissioners had not. in their zeal for the pub-
lic service, overlooked their own private interests, and a deed was
drawn up upon parchment, recording the share and nature of the
advantages which they privately agreed to concede to each other ;
at the same time they were, it seems, loath to intrust to any one
of their number the keeping of a document in which al] were
equally concerned.

They hid the written agreement within a flower-pot, in which a
Shrub concealed it from the eyes of any chance spectator. But
the rumor of the apparitions having gone abroad, curiosity drew
many of the neighbors to Woodstock, and some in particular, to
whom the knowledge of this agreement would have afforded matter
of scandal. As the Commissioners received these guests in the
saloon where the flower-pot was placed, a match was suddenly set
to some fireworks placed there by Sharp, the secretary. The
flower-pot burst to pieces with the concussion, or was prepared so as
to explode of itself, and the contract of the Commissioners, bear-
ing testimony to their private roguery, was thrown into the midst
of the visitors assembled. If I have recollected this incident ac-
curately—for it is more than forty years since I perused the tract
—it is probable that in omitting it from the novel I may also have
passed over, from want of memory, other matters which might
have made an essential addition to the story. Nothing, indeed,
is more certain than that incidents which are real preserve an in-
finite advantage in works of this nature over such as are ficti-
tious. The tree, however, must remain where it has fallen.

Having occasion to be in London in October, 1831, I made
some researches in the British Museum, and in that rich collection,
with the kind assistance of the Keepers, who manage it with so
much credit to themselves and advantage to the public, I recovered
two original pamphlets, which contain a full account of the phe-
nomena at Woodstock in 1649.* The first is a satirical poem,
published in that year, which plainly shows that the legend was cur-

* See Appendix.

INTRODUCTION. ix

   
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

SSE Senet so ra

Si

3

Peers

3}
s

Bren yt en nt te eR

  

u +
Cs Ree Ceex INTRODUCTION.

    
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

WY rent among the people in the very shape in which it was afterward
Have ea made public.* I have not found the explanation of Joe Collins,
Ha which, as mentioned by Mr. Hone, resolves the whole into con-
Vie federacy. It might, however, be recovered by a stricter search
ih than I had leisure for. In the meantime, it may be observed that
neither the name of Joe Collins, nor Sharp, occurs among the
dramatis persone given in these tracts, published when he might
have been endangered by anything which directed suspicion toward
him, at least in 1649, and perhaps might have exposed him to
danger even in 1660, from the malice of a powerful though de-
feated faction.

{ih }) ist August 1832.

* [This is also referred to in a letter from Liddell to Aubrey, in Miscel-
lanies on Several Curious Subjects, 1714, p. 13.]

+{[Norkr.—It may be unnecessay to remind the reader that Woodstock
was written by the Author during his financial difficulties, and under painful
embarrassments.

“Jt is no wonder,” says Mr. Lockhart, ‘‘that the book which it was
known he had been writing during this crisis of distress, should have been
expected with solicitude. Shall we find him, asked thousands, to have been
Bia | master truly of his genius in the moment of this ordeal? Shall we trace any-
thing of his own experiences in the construction of his imaginary personages
and events ?

‘‘T know not how others interpreted various passages in Woodstock, but
there were not a few that carried a deep meaning for such of Scott’s own
friends as were acquainted with, not his pecuniary misfortune alone, but the
drooping health of his wife, and the consolation afforded him by the dutiful
devotion of his daughter Anne, in whose character and demeanor a change
had occurred exactly similar to that ascribed in Chapter XIII. to poor Alice
Lee: ‘A light joyous air, with something of a humorous expression, which
seemed to be looking for amusement, had vanished before the touch of
affliction, and a calm melancholy supplied its place, which seemed on the
watch to administer comfort to others.’ In several mo¢toes, and other scraps
of verse, the curious reader will also find similar traces of the facts and feel-
ings recorded in the Author's diary which he kept at this time.

i ‘As to the novel itself, none can pretend to class it in the very high-

| est rank of his works, since we feel throughout the effects of the funda-

mental error, likened by Mr. Senior to that of the writer who should Jay his

scene at Rome immediately after the battle of Philippi, and introduce Brutus

as the survivor, with Cicero as his companion in victory. Yet even this

censor is forced to allow that Woodstock displays certain excellencies, not

exemplified in all the Author's fictions, and which attest, more remarkably

than any others could have done, the complete self-possession of the mind
when composing it.

“ Moreover there is one character of considerable importance which this
reviewer does not allude to. If he had happened to have the slightest tinct-
ure of Sir Walter’s fondness for dogs, he would not have failed to say some-
thing of the elaborate and affectionate portraiture of old Maida, under the
name of Bevis.’’]PREFACE—(1826),

IT is not my purpose to inform my readers how the manuscripts
of that eminent antiquary, the Rey. J. A. Rochecliffe, DIDy
came into my possession. There are many ways in which such
things happen, and it is enough to say they were rescued from an
unworthy fate, and that they were honestly come by. As for the
authenticity of the anecdotes which I have gleaned from the writ-
ings of this excellent person, and put together with my Own un-
rivalled facility, the name of Docter Rochecliffe will warrant ac-
curacy, wherever that name happens to be known.

With his history the reading part of the world are y
quainted ; and we might refer the tyro to honest Anthony a
Wood, who looked up to him as one of the pillars of High Church,
and bestows on him-an exemplary character in the “ Athenee Ox-
onienses,” although the Doctor was educated at Cambridge, Eng-
land’s other eye.

It is well known that Doctor Rochecliffe early obtained prefer-
ment in the Church, on account of the spirited share which he
took in the controversy with the Puritans ; and that his work, en-
titled, ‘‘ Malleus Hzeresis,”’ was considered as a knockdown blow
by all except those who received it. It was that work which made
him, at the early age of thirty, Rector of Woodstock, and which
afterward secured him a place in the Catalogue of the celebrated
Century White,*—and worse than being shown up by that fanatic
among the catalogues of scandalous and malignant priests admit-
ted into benefices by the prelates, his opinions occasioned the
loss of his living of Woodstock by the ascendency of Presbytery.
He was chaplain, during most part of the Civil War, to Sir Henry
Lee’s regiment, levied for the service of King Charles; and it

was said he engaged more than once personally in the field. At
least it is certain that Dr. Rochecliffe was repeatedly in great
danger, as will appear from more passages than one in the follow-
ing history, which speaks of his own exploits, like Cesar, in the
third person. I suspect, however, some Presbyterian commenta-
tor has been guilty of interpolating two or three passages. The
manuscript was long in possession of the Everards, a distinguished
family of that persuasion. u

During the Usurpation, Doctor Rochecliffe was constantly en-
gaged in one or other of the premature attempts at a restoration

ell ace

* [See footnote to Peveril of the Peak, DD: 26: :
i It is hardly necessary to say, unless to some readers of very literal ca-
pacity, that Dr. Rochecliffe and his manuscripts are alike apocryphal.

   
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  

CSTE Crs

ge

RRNA

Erte rehire

SRE MOwet ty tt STS yrer et

   

   

Ayer eri Cn eeeEEE
= ~ ~ ee

   

x PREFACE,

 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
     
   
  
    
  
    
    
   
   
    
     
  

of monarchy; and was counted, for his audacity, presence of
mind, and depth fe one of the greatest undertakers for
‘ the King in that busy time; with this trifling drawback, that the
plots in which he busied himself were almost constantly detected.
Nay, it was suspected that Cromwell himself sometimes contrived
to suggest to him the rae ies in which he engaged, by which
means the wily Protector made experiments on the fidelity of
doubtful friends, and became well acquainted with the plots of de-
clared enemies, which he thought it more easy to disconcert and

disappoint than to punish severely.
Upon the Restoration, Doctor Rochecliffe regained his living
: of Woodstock, with other Church preferment, and gave up po-
th R lemics and political intrigues for philosophy. He was one of the
constituent ees of the Royal Society, and was the person
through whom eens required of that learned body solution of
the curious problem, ‘‘ Why, if a vessel is filled brimful of water,
and a large live fish plunged into the water, nevertheless it shall
not overflow the pitcher?” Doctor Rochecliffe’s exposition of this
phenomenon was the most eciemae is and instructive of four that
were given in; and it is certain » Doctor must have gained the
Bei | honor of the day, but for the eh racy of a plain, dull, country
gentleman, who insisted that the experiment should be, in the first
place, publicly tried. When this was done, the event showed it
would have been rather rash to have adopted the facts exclusively
on the royal authority; as the fish, however curiously inserted
into his native element, splashed the water over the hall, and de-
stroyed the credit of four ingénious essayists, besides a large Tur-

key carpet.

Doctor Rochecliffe, it would seem, died about 1685, leaving
many papers behind him of various kinds, and, above all, many
valuable anecdotes of secret history, from which the following
Memoirs have been extracted, on which we intend to say only a

Ns few words by way of illustration.
| The existence of Rosamond’s Labyrinth, mentioned in these
i pages, is attested by Drayton in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
‘Rosamond’s Labyrinth, whose ruins, together with her Well,
being paved with square stones in the bottom, and also her Tower,
from which the Labyrinth did run, are yet remaining, being vaults
arched and walled with stone and brick, almost inextricably wound
within one another, by which, if at any time her lodging were laid
about by the Queen, she might easily avoid peril imminent, and,
if need be, by secret issues take the air abroad, many furlongs
about Woodstock in Oxfordshire.”
It is highly probable that a singular piece of phantasmagoria,
which was certainly played off upon the Commissioners of the

Long Parliament who were sent down to dispark and destroy
| Woodstock, after the death of Charles I., was conducted by means
: of the secret passages and recesses in the ancient Labyrinth of

 

nA

* Drayton's England's Historical Epistles, Note A, on the Epistle, Rosa-

~< mond to King Henry.

  

ay

SRR easement
meh meainenenrcne.REFACE.

Rosamond, rouhd which SUCC
ting-seat or Lodge.

There is a curious account of the disturbance given to those
Honorable Commissioners, inserted } y Doctor Plot in his “‘ Natur: ul
=e Otony of Oxfordshire.” “But as 1 have not the book at hand, I
can only allude to the work of the celebrated Glanville upon
Witches, wie has extracted it as a highly accredited narrative of
supernatural dealing The beds of the Co1 mmissioners, and their
servants, were Raised up till they were almost inverted , and then
let down again so sudde nly, as to menace them with} oroken bones.
Unusual and horrible noises dis sturbed those scien intromit-
ters with royal Property. The devil, on one occasion, brought
them a warming-pan ; on another. pelted them with stones and
horses’ bones. Tubs of water were emptied on them in their
sleep ; and so man y other pranks of the same nature played at
their e: xpense, that they broke up house ‘keeping, and left Heir in-

-essive Monarchs had erected a Hun-

g,
tended spoliation only half completed. The goo d sense of Doc-
tor Plot suspected that these feats were € wrought by conspiracy and
confederation, which Glanville of course endeavor

all his might ; for it could scarce be expected that he, who believed
in SO Convenient a solution as that of supernatural agenc y, would
consent to relinquish the service of a key, which will answer any
lock, however intricate.

Ss to refute with

Nevertheless, it was afterward discovered that Doctor Plot was
perfectly AER and that the only demon who wrought all these
marvels was a disguised royalist—a fellow called Trusty Joe, or
some such name, fo1 nerly in the service of Kee sper of the Park,

but who engag di n feat of the Commissioners, on purpose to sub-
ject them to his persecution. I think I have seen some account
of the real state of the tr: unsaction, ar a of the machinery by which
the wizard eoehen his wonders ; but whether in a book, ora pam-
phlet, I am uncertain. I  emiceabee one passage particularly to
this purpose. The Commissioners having agreed to retain some

articles out of the public account, in order to be divided a nong
themselves, had entere¢ d into an indenture for ascertaining their
share in the peculati which they hid in a bow-pot for securit

V'.
Now, when an Seen of divines, aided by the most strict relig-
ious characters in the neighborhood of Woodstock. were assembled
to conjure down the sup »posed demon, Trusty Joe had contrived a
firework, which he let off in the midst-of the exorcism, and which
destroyed the bow-pot; and, to the shame and 1 confusion of the
Commissi loners, Sined their secret indenture into the midst of the
assembled ghost-seers, who became thus ac quainted with their se-
cret schemes of peculation.
It is, however, to little purpose for me to strain my memory

 

about ancient and imperfect recollections concernir > the particu-
lars of these ees disturbances at W sages: Sciice Doctor
Rochecliff e's papers give such a much more accuraten arrative than
could be obtained aah any account in existence before their pub-
lication. Indeed, J m ight have gone much more fully into this

part of my subject, for the materials aie ample; but to tell the

xili

eee penet et eet

  
   
  
  
     
     
  
  
  
 
   
  
   
   
    
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
   
     
  
  
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
      
 
  
   
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
     
  
    

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Xiv PREFACE.
reader a secret, some friendly critics were of opinion they made
the story hang on hand : and thus I was prevailed on to be more
concise on the subject than I might otherwise have been.

The impatient reader, perhaps, is by this time accusing me of
keeping the sun from him with acandle. Were the sunshine as
bright, however, as itis likely to prove ; and the flambeau, or link,
a dozen of times as smoky, my friend must remain in the inferior
atmosphere a minute longer, while I disclaim the idea of poaching
on another’smanor. Hawks, we say in Scotland, ought not to pick
out hawks’ eyes, or tire upon each other’s quarry ; and, therefore,
if 1 had known that, in its date and its characters, this tale was
likely to interfere with that recently published by a distinguished
contemporary, I should unquestionably have left Dr. Rochecliffe’s
manuscript in peace for the present season. But before I was
aware of this circumstance, this little book was half through the
press ; and | had only the alternative of avoiding any intentional
imitation, by delaying a perusal of the contemporary work in ques-
tion. Some accidental collision there must be, when works of a
similar character are finished on the same general system of his-
torical manners, and the same historical personages are introduced.
Of course, if such have occurred, I shall be probably the sufferer.
But my intentions have been at least innocent, since I look on it as
one of the advantages attending the conclusion of ‘‘ Woodstock,”
that the finishing of my own task will permit me to have the
pleasure of reading ‘‘Brambletye House,” from which I have
hitherto conscientiously abstained.*

+ [Brambletye House, or Cavaliers and Roundheads, a historical novel
by Horace Smith, which appeared in 1826. ]Some were for gospel ministers,

And some for red-coat seculars,

As men most fit ¢? hold forth the word,

And wield the one and th’ other sword.
BUTLER’s Hudzbras.

THERE is a handsome parish church in the town of Wood.
Stock,—I am told so. at least, for I never saw it, having scarce
time, when at the place, to view the magnificence of Blenheim,
its painted halls and t: -stried bowers, and then return in due
season to dine in hall with my learned friend, the provost
of —— ; being one of those occasions on which a man wrongs

himself extremely, if he lets his curiosity interfere with his
punctuality. I had the church accurately described to me, with
a view to this work ; but, as I have some re: son to doubt whether
my informant had ever seen the inside of it himself, shall
be content to say that it is now a handsome edifice, most part
of which was rebuilt forty or fifty years since. although it still
contains some arches of the old chantry, founded, it is said, by
inp Jolin. “Tt is. to this moc ancient part of the building
that my story reféfs.

On a morning in the end of September, or beginning of
October, in the year 1652, being a day appointed for a solemn
thanksgiving for the decisive victory at Worcester, a respect-
able audience was assembled in the old chantry, or chapel of2 WOODSTOCK.

    
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
   

. ine King John. The condition of the church and character of the
| audience both bore witness to the rage of civil war, and the
peculiar spirit of the times. i sacred edifice showed many

marks of dil: pid The windows, once filled with stained
. glass, had been dashed to pieces with pikes and muskets, as
matters of and pertaining to idolatry. The carving on the

ading-desk was damaged, and two fair screens of beautiful
scu culptured oak had been destro ee for the same pithy and c
Jlusive reason. The high altar had been removed, and a
rilded railing, which was once in it, was broken down
and carried off. The effigies of several tombs were mutilated,
and now lay scattered about the church,

Spel dar

©

Torn from their destined niche—unworthy meed
Of knightly counsel or heroic deed !,

The autumn wind piped through eunpEY aisles, in which the
remains of stakes and trevisses of ro ugh-hewn timber, as well
as a qui untity of scattered hay and trample -d straw, seemed to
intimate that the hallowed precincts had been, upon some late
emergency, made the quarters of a oe or horse.*

The audience, like the building, was abated in splendor.
None of the ancient and abil Ray re during peaceful
times, were now to be seen in their carved galleries, with hands
shadowing their brows, while composing their minds to pray
where ce ir fathers had prayed, and after the same mode of wor-

ship. ‘The eye of the yeoman and peasant sought in vain the tall
Hl form of old Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley, aS, wrapped i in his laced
cloak, and with be sf and whiskers duly composed, he moved
ly slowly through the aisles, followe dbythe pdithful nasty f, or blood-
hound, which in old time had saved his master by his fidelity,
and which regularly followed | nw tochurch. Bevis, indeed, fell
under the proverb which avers, “ He is a good dog which goes
to church ; ” for, bating an occasional temptation to warble along
with the accord, he Phapetg himself as decorously as any of the
congregation, and return 1ed as much edified, perhaps, as most of
them. Thed: tisels of Woodstock looked as vainly for the laced
cloaks, jingling spurs, slashed boots, and tall plumes, of the
young cavaliers of this and other high-born houses, moving
. through the streets and the churc hyard with the careless ease,
which indicates perhaps rather an overweenigg degree of self-
confidence, yet shows graceful when mingled with good humor

* [Little remains now of this ancient church, it being rebuilt in 1785,
| except on the southern side, where a portion of the old structure, with a
i Norman doorway it still preserved. ]

RIT eee cere

Viti ee

~good
gowns—their d:
yes,”’—where were they it now, who
church, used to divide men’s thou: €
§ But, ah! Alice Lee—so sweet So gentle,

DM

So condescending in thy loveliness— [thus proceeds a contem-
porary annalist, whose mant uscript we have deciphered]
iS Tay story to turn upon thy fallen fortunes? and \
rather to the period When, in the very dismountine fro

4

—why
av. Not
m your
palfrey, you attracted as many eyes as if an angel had de-

scent ded, as many blessings as if the benignant

 

‘ o being had
_ ht with ooad tidinencl. AG lear Se
come fra ight with good tidings! No creature wert thou of an

] ae 7 presi Pe fie age 1 a augiee: 4 : 1] } ee
idle rOMancers Imacinatlon—no Deng tantastically bedizened
with inconsistent perfections -—thy merits made me love thee
» > r > 114 } a 1
ell—and for fault show amid thy good

ighboring countries,

See age
VC ONE. OF tWO that

Be ’

VT TY OF \¢] mer of

fill a ka DAG Lede we)

ae boca alata ble

< ) pre ut SOMe Gr LHe Notables

; ;

ag tn Utlel 10Se

127 <a } z >
skill ; in used tn

  

Geo et aS aoe A yeas a pat be sue Fe Lg es
UL CILIZeN Ss. Ca ki ied ULES EE Bibles and

a+ +L, +A i> anid
au be NECK. an eit
memorandum-books at their girdles. instead of knife or sword.*

 

U
This respectable, but le ast numerous pal

were such dee ent persons as had ac

of the audience

-resbyterian form
of faith, renouncing the liturgy and hierarchy of the Church of
England, and living under the tuition of the Rev. Nehemiah
Holdenough, much famed for the length and strength of his
powers of predication. With these grave seniors sat their
goodly dames in ruff and gorget, like the portraits which in
ES of painting are designed “ wife of a burgomaster ; ”
and their pretty daughters, whose study, like that of Chaucer’s
physician lw in tl le, but who were, on the

  

1, Was not always in the Bib
contrary, when a glance could escape the vigilance of their
honored mothers, inattentive them selves, and the cause of in-
attention in ot hers.

But, besides these dignified persons, there were in the church

* This custom among the Puritans is mentioned often in old plays, and
]

among others in the Widow of Watling Street,

 
  
  
  
 

 
 
   
   
    
      
    
     
  
  
     
    
 
 
    
   
      
 
  
   
 
    
 
  
   

o

Soar

preter a

SEwOwe Lh Perec at yn

~
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a ae arene2m Rs Seren SS

 

4 WOODSTOCK.

a numerous collection of the lower orders, some brought thithei
by curiosity, but many of them unwashed artificers, bewildered
in the theological discussions of the time, and of as many vari-
ous sects as there are colors in the rainbow. ‘The presumption
of these learned Thebans being in exact proportion to their
ignorance, the last was total and the first boundless. Their
behavior in the church was anything but reverential or edifying.
Most of them affected a cynical contempt for all that was only
held sacred by human sanction—the church was to these men
but a steeple-house, the clergyman, an ordinary person ; her
ordinances, dry bran and sapless pottage,* unfitted for the
spiritualized palates of the saints, and the prayer, an address
to Heaven, to which each acceded or not as in his too critical
judgment he conceived fit.

mm

The elder amongst them sat or lay on the benches, with
their high-steeple crowned hats pulled over their severe and
knitted brows, waiting for the Presbyterian parson, as mastifis
sit in dumb expectation of the bull that is to be brought to the
stake. The younger mixed, some of them, a bolder license
of manners with their heresies; they gazed round on the
women, yawned, coughed and whispered, ate apples, and
cracked nuts, as if in the gallery of a theatre ere the piece
commences.

Besides all these, the congregation contained a few soldiers,
some in corselets and steel caps, some in buff, and others in
red coats. These men of war had their bandoleers, with am-
munition, slung round them, and rested on their pikes and
muskets. They, too, had their peculiar doctrines on the most
difficult points of religion, and united the extravagances of
enthusiasm with the most determined courage and resolution in
the field. The burghers of Woodstock looked on these military
saints with no small degree of awe; for though not often sullied
with deeds of plunder or cruelty, they had the power of both
absolutely in their hands, and the peaceful citizen had no alter-
native, save submission, to whatever the ill-regulated and en-
thusiastic imaginations of their martial guides might suggest.

After some time spent in waiting for him, Mr. Holdenough
began to walk up the aisles of the chapel, not with the slow
and dignified carriage with which the old Rector was of yore
wont to maintain the dignity of the surplice, but with a hasty
step, like one who arrives too late at an appointment, and
bustles forward to make the best use of his time. He was a
tall thin man, with an adust complexion, and the vivacity of his

* See a curious vindication of this indecent simile here for the Common
Prayer, in Note A.WOODSTOCK. 5
eye indicated some e irascibility of temperament. is dress was
Vee. - -

“frown, not black, and over his other vestments he wore, in
honor of Calvin, a Geneva cloak of a blue color, which fel]
pac aag from his shoulders as he posted on to the pulpit.

ns grizzled hair was cut as short as shears could perform the
feat. ‘and. oe with a blacl

tack silk skull-cap, which stuck so
close to his head, that the two ears expanded from under it as
if they had been intended as h: andles, by which to lift the whol
person. Moreover, the worthy divine wore spectacles, and a
long grizzled peaked beard, and he carried in his hand a small
pocket-bible with silver clasps. Upon arriving at the pulpit,
he paused a moment to take breath, then began to ascend the
steps by two ata ame:
But his course was arrested ] by : strong hand, which seized
his cloak. It was th: at of one who had detache¢ d himself from
the group of solk diery. Hewasa ee man of middle stature,
with a quick eye, and a counte nance, which, though plain, had
yet an expression that fixed the attention. His dress though
not strictly military, pening of that character. He wore lat rge
hose made of calves-_le: ather, and a tuck, as it was then called,
or rapier ; of tremendous le ength, balanced on the other side by
a ester The belt was morocco, garnished with pistols.

The minister, thus interc epted in his duty, faced round upon
he party who had seized him. and demanded, in no gentle tone
he meaning of the interruption, —

“ Friend,” - quoth the intruder, “is it thy purpose to hold
forth to these good people ?”

t
l

‘AY, Marry is it,” said the cle rgyman, “and such is my
bounden duty. Woe to meifI pre: ich not the gospel—Prithee,
frie nd, let me not in My Jabor 7

‘ Nay,” said the man of warlike mien, “ lam myself minded
to hold forth; therefore, do thou desist, or if thou wilt ao by
mine advice, remain and fr uctify with these poor goslings, to
whom I am presently about to shake forth the crumbs of com-
bors ible doctrine.”

_ Give place, thou man of Satan,” said the priest, waxing
wroth ; “respect mine order—my cloth.’
“T see no more to respect in the cut of thy Cloak, or in the
cloth of which it is fashioned,” said the other, “than thou didst
in the Bishop’s rochets—they were black and white, thou art
blue and brow n. Sleeping dogs every one of you, lying down,
loving to slumber—shepherds that st: irve the flock but will not
watch i it, each looking to his own gain—hum.”’
scenes of this indecent kind was so common at that time,

that no one thought of interfering ; the e congregation looked on

  
  
     
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
   
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
   
    
 
  
   
  
 
   
   
   
   
 
   
   
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 

Wiehe bite rg Tea Rh BNO ERESNERS6 WOODSTOCK.

in silence, the better class scandalized, and the lower orders,
some laughing, a 1d others backing the soldier or minister as
their fancy d ietated. Meantime “the struggle waxed fiercer ;
Mr. Holdenough clamored for assistance.

‘¢ Master Mayor of Woodstock,” he exclaimed, “ wilt thou
be among those wicked magistrates who bear the sword in
vain ?—Citizens, will you not help your pastor ?—Worthy Alder-
men, will you see me strangled on the pulpit stairs by this man
But lo, I will overcome him, and cast his

of buff and Belial ?—
ee a cords from me.”

ea As Holdenough spok e, he struggled to ascend the pulpit
' stairs, holding hard on the banisters. His tormentor held fast
by the skirts of the cl ool , which went nigh to the choking of
the wearer, until, as he spoke the words last mentioned, in a
half-strangled voice, Mr. Holdenough dexterously slipped the
string which tied it round his” a eck, so that the garment sud-
denly gave way; the soldier fell backward down che steps, and
the liberated divine aewlde into the pulpit, and began to give
forth a psalm of, triumph over his prostrate adversary. But a
‘reat hubbub in the church marred his exultation, and although
he and his faithful clerk continued to sing the hymn of victory,
heir notes were only heard by fits, like the whistle of a curlew
during a gale of wind.

The cause of the tumult was as follows :—The Mayor was a
zealous Presbyterian, and witnessed the intrusion of the soldier
with great indignation from the very beginning, though he
1esitated to interfere with an armed man while on his legs and
capable of resistance. But no sooner did he behold the ‘cham-
pion of independency sprawling on his back, with the divine’s
| Geneva cloak fluttering in his hands, than the magistrate

rushed forward, exclaiming that such insolence was not to be
endured, and ordered his constables to seize the prostrate
champion, procl: rab: in the magnanimity of wrath, “I will
commit every redcoat of the m all—I will commit him were he
Noll Cromwell himself ! ’
The worthy Mayor’s indignation had overmastered his
-eason when he made this mistimed vaunt; for three soldiers,
who had hitherto stood motionless like statues, made each a
stride in advance, which placed them betwixt the municipal
officers and the soldier, who was in the act of rising; then
making at once the movement of resting arms according to the
manual as then prac ticed, their musket- buts rang on the church
| pavement, wi ithin an inch of the gouty toes of “Master Mayor.
The energetic magistrate, whose efforts in favor of order were
thus checked, cast one glance on his supporters, but that was

Q

"0

oo. otWOODSTOCK.

‘

é
enc ugh to show him that force was not on his side. All had
shrunk back on hearing that ominous clatter of stone and iron.
He was obliged to descend to expostulation.,

‘What do you mean, my masters ?” said hes “issit like a
decent and Ged- fearing soldiery y, who have niohee such things
for the land as have never before been heard of, to brawl and
ou in the church, or to aid, abet , and comfort a eee fellow,
who hath, upon a solemn thanksgiving, excluded the m ninister
from his own pulpit 2’

“We have nought to do with thy church, as thou call’st ie

said he who, by a small feather in front of his morion, appeared
to be the corporal of the party ;—“‘ we see not why men of
gifts should not be heard within these citadels of superstition,
as well as the voic e of the men of crape of old, and the men of
cloak now. W herefore, we will pluck } yon Jack Presbyter out
of his wooden sentinel-box, and our own watehman shall r elieve
the guard, and mount thereon. ond cry aloud and spare not.’
‘“ Nay, gentlemen,” said the Ma ayor, “‘if such be your pur-
pose, we have not the means to withstand you, Pein as you
sce, peaceful and: quiet men—But let me fi rst speak with this
worthy minister, Nehemiah Holdenough, to persuade hi im to
yield up his place for the time without further scandal.”

The peace-making May or then interrupted the quavering of
Holdenough and the clerk. and prayed both to retire, else there
would, he said, be certainly strife,

‘ Strife,” replied the Exesbys terian divine, with scorn: “no
fear of strife among men that dare not tes tify against this open
p srofanati tion of the C hurch, and daring d lisp lay of heresy. Would
your neighbors of Ban bury hon : . brook ed such an insult 2?”

4 Come, come, Me Hold enough,” said the J Mayor, “ put
us not to mutiny and cry Clubs. I tel] you once more, we are

not men of war or blood.’

An

‘Not more than may be drawn by the point of a needle,”
said the preacher, scornfully,—‘ Ye tailors of Woodstock !—for
what is a glover but a tailor working on kidskin?—I forsake
you, in scorn of your faint hearts and ria ‘ble hands, and will

seek me elsewhere a flock which will not fly from their shep-
herd at the braying of the first wild ass a5 ich cometh from out
the great desert. a

So saying, the aggrieved divine departed from his pulpit,
and shaking the dust from his shoes, left the church as hastily
as he had entered it, though with a different reason for his
speed. The citizens saw his retreat with sorrow, and not with-
out a compunctious feeling, as if conscious that they were not
playing the most courageous part in the world. The Mayor

  
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
        
 
   
 
  
   
  
    
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
    
  
 
  
    
    
  
 
 
   
    
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 

Seat era tmr et UTE TEN ELST

   

Ree eerie? Ctra

%ps Mabbmeoectbdsana oes cies

Nee eee

Bites tees

r Ea

 

8 WOODSTOCK.

himself and several others left the church, to follow and ap-
pease him.

The independent orator, late prostrate, was now triumphant,
and, inducting himself into ene pulpit without further ceremony,
he pull ed a Bible from his pocket, and selected his text from
the forty-fifth Se —‘ Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most
mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty: and in thy majesty
ride prosper’ yusly.’’—Upon this theme, he commenced one of
those wild -declamations common at the period, in which men
were accustomed to wrest and Dae the language of Scrip
ture, by adapting it to modern events.* ‘The language which,
in its literal Ae ae was applied to King David, and typically
referred to the coming of the Messiah, was, in the opinion of
the military orator, most properly to be interpreted of Oliver
Cromwell, the victorious general of the infant Commonwealth,
which was never dest ned to come of ase. = ‘Gird "on thy
sword!” exclaimed the preacher, emphatically; ‘‘and was
not that a pretty bit of steel as ever dangled from a corselet, or
rung against a steel saddle? ay? ye prick up your ears now
ye cutlers of Woodstock, as if ye Tee know something of a
good f fox broadsword—Did you anos , | trow ?—was the steel
quenched with water from dowantaan s well, or the blade blest
by the old cuckoldy priest of Godstow ? You would have us
think, I warrant me, that you wrought it and welded it, grinded
and polished it, and all the while it never came on a Woodstock
stithy! You were all too busy making whittles for the lazy
crape-men of Oxford, bouncing priests, whose eyes were so
closed up an fat, that they could not see Destruction till she
had them by the throat. But I can tell you where the sword
was forged, and tempered, and welded, and grinded, and pol-
ished. When you were, as I said before, making whittles for
false priests, and daggers for dissolute G—d d—n me cavaliers,
fo cut the people of E ngland’s throat with—it was forged at
Long Marston Moor, where blows went faster than ever rung
hammer on anvil—and it was tempered at Naseby, in the best
blood of the cavaliers—and it was welded in Ireland against
the walls of Drogheda—and it was grinded on Scottish lives at
Dunbar—and now of late it was polished i in Worcester, till it
shines as bright as the sun in the middle heav en, and there is
no light in Ene cland that shall come nigh unto it.’

Here the m ilitary part of the congregation raised a hum of
approbation, which, being a sound like the “hear, hear,” of the
British House of Commons, was calculated to heighten the

* Note A. 300k of Common Prayer.WOODSTOCK. 9
enthusiasm of the orator, by intimating the Sympathy of the
audience. “ And then,” resumed the preacher, rising in energy
as he found that his audience partook in these feelings, “what
Saith the text ?Ride on Prosperously—do not stop—do not call
a halt—do not quit the saddle—pursue the scattered fliers—
sound the trumpet—not a levant or a flourish, but a point of
wat—sound, boot and saddle—to horse and away—a charge !|—
follow after the young Man !—what part have we in him ?—
Slay, take, destroy, divide the spoil! Blessed art thou, Oliver,
on account of thine honor—thy cause is clear, thy call is un-
doubted—never has defeat come near thy leading-staff, nor
disaster attended thy banner. Ride on, flower of England’s
soldiers ! ride on, chosen leaders of God’s champions! gird up
the loins of thy resolution, and be steadfast to the mark of thy
high calling!”

Another deep and stern hum, echoed by the ancient em-
bow’d arches of the old chantry, gave him an Opportunity of an
instant’s repose ; when the people of Woodstock heard him, and
not without anxiety, turn the stream of his oratory into another
channel.

“ But, wherefore, ye people of Woodstock, do I say these
things to you, who claim no portion in our David, no interest
in England’s son of Jesse ?—You, who were fighting as well
as your might could (and it was not very formidable) for the
late Man, under that old bloodthirsty papist, Sir Jacob Aston
~_are you not now plotting, or ready to plot, for the restoring,
as ye Call it, of the young Man, the unclean son of the slaugh-
tered tryrant—the fugitive after whom the true hearts of Eng-
land are now following, that they may take and slay him ?—
‘Why should your rider turn his bridie our way ?’ say you in
your, hearts; ‘we will none of him ; 1f we may help ourselves,
we will rather turn us to wallow in the mire of monarchy with,
the sow that was washed but newly.’ Come, men of Wood-
stock, I will ask, and do you answer me. Hunger ye still
after the flesh-pots of the monks of Godstow? and ye will say,
Nay ;—but wherefore, except that the pots are cracked and
broken, and the fire is extinguished wherewith thy oven used
to boil? And again, I ask, drink ye still of the well of the
fornications of the fair Rosamond ’—ye will say, Nay,—but
wherefore ? ” ee

‘ere the orator, ere he could answer the question in his own
Way, was surprised by the following reply, very pithily pro-
nounced by one of the congregation :—‘ Because you, and the
like of you, have left us no brandy to mix with it.”
All eyes turned to the audacious speaker, who stood beside

  
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
    
 
   
   
   
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 

esr. ee ee TS

  

~
SS ae SRT CeBites san ies oe ee

 

5G WOODSTOCK.
one of the thick sturdy Saxon pillars, which he himself some-
what resembled, ee e short of stature, but very strongly made,
a squat broad Li ohn sort of figure, leaning on a quarter-
staff, an id wearing a a jerkin, w hich, though now sorely stained
and discolored, had once been of the Lincoln.green, a and showed,
remnants of having been a - ere was an of air careless
good-humored aud acity — ‘the fello eh and though under
military restraint, there were some of! the cit Pai s who could

rving’ ete ‘WwW ell sa a Joceline Joliffe

]
L
> 5

\

“ Jolly Toceline, call ye him ’ proceede 2S the } pb with-
out showing male confusion or displea: sgh at the interruption.
—‘ J will make him Joceline of the ‘le if he interrupts me
again. One of your ark-keepers, I warrant, that can never

Dp
forget they have borne C. R. upon their badges and bugle
horns, eve 1as a dog ie his owner’s name on his~ collar—a
pretty emblem for Christian men! But the brute beast hath
the better of him.—the brute weareth his own coat, and the
caitiff thrall wears his master’s. I have seen such a wag make
a rope’s end wag ere now.—Where was I?—Oh, rebuking you
for your ba kslidings, men of Woodstock , then, ye will
say ye have renounced Popery, and ye have renounced Prelacy

    

and then ys oan vour mouth like Pharisees, as ye are; and
who but you for purity of religion! But, I tell you, ye are but
like Tehu the son of Nimshi, who broke down the house of

saal, yet de parted not from the sins of Jerob« oam. Even soye

eat not fish of Friday with the blinded oe sts, nor ee
on the 2cth day of December, like the slothful Prelatists ; but
ye will gorge on k-posset each night in the year with your
blind Presbyterian g b si

in guide, and ye will speak evil of dignities,
and revile the Commonwealth; and ye will glorify yourselves
park of Woodstock, and say, ‘Was it not e in
first of any other in England, and that by Henry son of William
the Conqueror?’ And ye have a princely fade thera
and call the same a Royal Lodge; and ye have an oak which
ye call the King’s Oak ; and ye steal and eat the venison of
the park, and ye say, ‘This is the k ing’s venison, we will wash
it down with a cup to the king’s health—better we eat tt than
those solfadnesded Commonwealth knaves.’ But listen unto
ne and take warning. For these things come we to contro
versy with you. And our name shall be a cannon-shot, before
which your Lodge, in the pleasantness whereof ye take pastime
shall be blown into ruins: and we will be as a wedge to split
asunder the King’s Oak — billets to heat a brown baker's
oven; and we w il] dispark your park, and slay your deer, and
eat them ourselves, neither shall you have any portion thereof,WOODSTOCK. : ¥t

whether in neck or haunch. Ye shall not haft a tenpenny
knife with the horns thereof, neither shall Ve2CUL a, pair (of
breeches out of the hide, for all ye be cutlers and glovers ; and
ye shall have no con per OT su pport neither from the aes
tered traitor Henry Lee, w d himself Ranger of Wood-
stock, nor from any on hi: ‘Shale for they are coming hither
who shall be called Mahar-shalal-hash- baz, because he “maketh
haste to the spoil.’

Here ended this wild eilusion, the latter part of which fell
heavy on the souls of the poor citizens of Woodstock, as tend-
ing to confirm a report of an unelleasias nature which had been
lately circulated. The communication with London was in-
deed slow, and the news which it transmitted were u rcertain ;
no less uncertain were the times themselves, and the rumors
which were circulated. exaggerated by the hopes and fears of
sO many various factions, But she general stream of report, SO
faras Woodstock was concerned, had of late run unit ‘ormly in

 

  

formed, that the

one direction. Day after day they had aa in
fatal fiat of pee yor ent had Bones out, for selling the park of
Woodstock, destri oyl cli ISp: arking its forest, and eras-

 

it
ine, as faras they c ould be eras ect, all traces of its ancient fame.
Many of the citizens were li ikely to be sufferers on this occa-
sion, as several of them enjoye d, erther me susleranee or r right,
various convenient privilege, of

the like, in the royal chase; and + ai the inhabit: ants bt the little
borough were hurt to ‘thi ik, that the scenery of the place was to

 

be destroyed, its edifices ruined, and its honors rent away. This
is a patriotic sensation often found in sae places, which ancient
distinetions and pee ners hae recollections of former days,
render so different from towns of recent date. The natives of
Woodstock felt it in the fullest force. ‘They had trembled at the
anticipated calamity; but now, when it was announced by the

appearance of those dark, stern, and at the same time omnip-

otent soldiers—now that they heard it proclaimed by the

mouth of one of their military preachers—they considered eae

Fat as inevitable. The causes ee disagre -ement among thet

selves were for the time forgotten, as the congregation, He
1

“Ansebe without psalmody or benedict LOM, went slowly and
mournfully homeward, each to his own place of abode.

BX

Prataay

Ser eS TON ESTES EST OTL Sys

agente eat evel cbalWOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER SECOND.

Come forth, old man—Thy daughter’s side
Is now the fitting place for thee 3;
When time hath quell’d the oak’s bold pride,
The youthful tendril yet may hide
The ruins of the parent tree.

| WHEN the sermon was ended, the military orator wiped his
{ brow ; for, notwithstanding the coolness of the weather, he was
heated with the vehemence of his speechand action. He then
descended from the pulpit, and spoke a word or two to the
corporal who commanded the party of soldiers, who, replying
by a sober nod of intelligence, drew his men together, and

marched them in order to their quarters in the town.
The preacher himself, as if nothing extraordinary had hap-
pened, left the church and sauntered through the streets of
Woodstock, with the air of a stranger who was viewing the
town, without seeming to observe that he was himself in his
turn anxiously surveyed by the citizens, whose furtive yet fre-
quent glances seemed to regard him as something alike sus-
[| pected and dreadful, yet on no account to be provoked. He
heeded them not, but stalked on in the manner affected by the
distinguished fanatics of the day; astiff solemn pace, a severe
and at the same time a contemplative look, like that of a man
tt discomposed at the interruptions which earthly objects forced
Ht upon him, obliging him by their intrusion to withdraw his
4 thoughts for an instant from celestial things. Innocent pleas-
‘| ures of what kind soever they held in suspicion and contempt,
and innocent mirth they abominated. It was, however, a cast
of mind that formed men for great and manly actions, as it
adopted principle, and that of an unselfish character, for the
ruling motive, instead of the gratification of passion. Some of
these men were indeed hypocrites, using the cloak of religion
only as a covering for their ambition ; but many really pos-
sessed the devotional character, and the severe republican virtue,
which others only affected. By far the greater number hovered
between these extremes, felt to a certain extent the power of
religion, and complied with the times in affecting a great deal.
The individual, whose pretensions to sanctity, written as they
! were upon his brow and gait, have given rise to the above
digression, reached at length the extremity of the principal
street, which terminates upon the park of Woodstock. A

F aBRigesccscseeces eet Ror

~WOODSTOCK. 13

battlemented portal of Gothic appearance defended the entrance
to the avenue. It was of mixed architecture, but on the whole,
though composed of the styles of the different ages when it had
received additions, had a striking and imposing effect. An im-
mense gate composed of rails of hammered iron, with many a
flourish and scroll, displaying as its uppermost ornament the ill-
fated cypher of C. R.. was. now decayed, being partly wasted
with rust, partly by violence.

The stranger paused, as if uncertain whether he should de-
mand or essay entrance. He looked through the grating down
an avenue skirted by majestic oaks, which led onward with
a gentle curve, as if into the depth of some ample and ancient
forest. The wicket of the large iron gate being left unwittingly
open, the soldier was tempted to enter, yet with some hesitation,
as he that intrudes upon ground which he conjectures may be
prohibited—indeed his manner showed more reverence for
the scene than could have been expected from his condition
and character. He slackened his stately and consequential
pace, and at length stood still, and looked around him.

Not far from the gate, he saw rising from the trees one or
two ancient and venerable turrets, bearing each its own vane of
rare device glittering in the autumn sun, These indicated the
ancient hunting seat, or Lodge, as it was called, which had,
since the time of Henry II., been occasionally the residence of
the English monarchs, when it pleases them to visit the woods
of Oxford, which then so abounded with game, that, according
to old Fuller, huntsmen and falconers were nowhere better
pleased. The situation which the Lodge occupied was a piece
of flat ground, now planted with sycamores, not far from the
entrance to that magnificent spot where the spectator first stops
to gaze upon Blenheim, to think of Marlborough’s victories,
and to applaud or criticise the cumbrous magnificence of Van-
brugh’s style.

There, too, paused our military preacher, but with other
thoughts, and for other purpose, than to admire the scene
around him. It was not long afterward when he beheld two
persons, a male and afemale, approaching slowly, and so deeply
engaged in their own conversation that they did not raise their
eyes to observe that there stood a stranger in the path before
them. The soldier took advantage of their state of abstraction,
and, desirous at once to watch their motions, and avoid their
observation, he glided beneath one of the huge trees which
skirted the path, and whose boughs, sweeping the ground on
every side, ensured him against discovery, unless in case of an
actual search.Bait kmeoahisssh ibaa ee .
a Ratios : , UNS oe

14 WOODSTOCK.

In the meantime, the gentleman and lady continued to ac-
vance, directing their course to a rustic seat, which still enjoyed
the sunbeams, and was placed adjacent to the tree where the
stranger was concealed.

The man was elderly, yet seemed bent more by sorrow and
infirmity than by the weight of years, He. wore a mourning
cloak, over a dress of the same melancholy color, cut in that
picturesque form which Vandyck has rendered immortal. But
although the dress was handsome, it was put on and worn with
a carelessness which showed the mind of the wearer ill at ease.
His aged, yet still handsome countenance, had the same air of
consequence which distinguished his dress and his gait. A
striking part of his appearance was a long white beard, which
descended far over the breast of his slashed doublet, and looked
singular from its contrast in color with his habit.

The young lady, by whom this venerable gentleman seemed
to he in some degree supported as they walked arm m arm, was
a slight and sylphlike form, with a person so delicately made,
and so beautiful in countenance that it seemed the earth on
which she walked was too grossly massive a support for a creat-
ure so aérial. But mortal beauty must share human sorrows.
The eyes of the beautiful being showed tokens of tears; her
color was heightened as she listened to her aged companion ;
and it was plain, from his melancholy yet displeased look, that
the conversation was as distressing to himself as to her. When
they sat down on the bench we have mentioned, the gentleman’s

discourse could be distinctly overheard by the eavesdropping

soldier, but the answers of the young lady reached his ear rather
less distinctly.

“Tt is not to be endured!” said the old man passionately ;
“it would stir up a paralytic wretch to start up a soldier. My
people have been thinned, I grant you, or have fallen off from
me in these times—I owe them no grudge for it, poor knaves ;
what should they do waiting on me when the pantry has no
bread and the buttery no ale? But we have still about us
some rugged foresters of the old Woodstock breed—old as my-
self most of them—what of that? old wood seldom warps in
the wetting ;—I will hold out the old house, and it will not be
the first time that I have held it against ten times the strength
that we hear of now.”

“ Alas! my dear father !”—said the young lady, in a tone
which seemed to intimate his proposal of defence to be alto-
gether desperate
“And why alas?”

said the gentleman, angrily; “is itWOODSTOCK. 15

because I shut my door against a score or two of these blood-
PB) hypocrites ?”

‘But their Masters €an as eas sily senda regiment or an army
if they will,’ replied the lady; “and what good would your
present defence do, excepting to €xasperate them to your utter
destruction ? ”

* Be it se,’ Alice,” replied her father; “I have lived my
time, and beyond it. I have outlived the kindest and most
princelike of masters. What do I do on the earth since the
dismal thirtieth of ] anuary? ‘The parricide of that day was a
signal to all true servants of Charles Stewart to avenge his
death, or die as soon after as they could find a worthy oppor-
tunity.” “

‘Do not speak thus, sir,” said Alice Lee: ‘it does not be-
come your Bravity a nd your worth to throw away that life which
may yet be of service to your king and country,—it will not

and cannot acs s be thus. E neland will not Ic ong endure the
rulers which these bad ee have assigned her. In the mean-

while—[here a few words escaped the listener’s ears|—and _be-
ware of that impatience, which makes bad worse.”

‘Worse ?” exclaimed the impatient oldman, “What can be
worse? Is it not the worst already? Will not these people
expel us from the only shelter we have left—dilapidate what
remains of royal p sroperty under my charge—make the palace
of princes into a den of thieves, and then wipe their mouths
and thank God, as if th 1ey had done an alms-deed?”

“Still,” said his daughter, “ There is hope behind, and I
trust the King is ere this out of their reac fae e have reason
to think well of my brother Albert’s safety.”

‘Ay, Albert! there again,” said the old man, in a tone of
reproach; “had it not been for thy entreaties I had gone to
Worcester myself; but I must needs lie here like a worthless
hound when the hunt is up, when who knows what service [I
might have shown? An old man’s head is sometimes useful
when his arm is but little worth. But you and Albert were so

desirous that he should go alone—and now who can say what
has become of him?”

“Nay, nay, father,” said Alice, “we have good hope that

Albert escaped from that fatal day; young Abney saw him a
mile from the field.”

‘‘ Young Abney lied, I believe,” said the father, in the same
humor of contradiction——Young Abney’ s tongue seems quicker
than his hand, but far slower than his horse’s heels when he
leaves the roundheads behind him. I would rather Albert’s

  
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
    
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
   
 
   
 
 
  
  

tts

SS

een ts ARR LUMAR SRSTWOODSTOCK.

dead body were laid between Charles and Cromwell, than hear
he fled as early as young Abney.”
“My dearest father,” said the young lady, weeping as she
i spoke, ‘what can I say to comfort you?”
we | ‘‘Comfort me, say’st thou, girl ? I am sick of comfort—an
| honorable death, with the ruins of Woodstock for my monument,
were the only comfort to old Henry Lee. Yes, by the memory
of my fathers! I will make good the Lodge against these re-
beliious robbers.”
‘‘Vet be ruled, dearest father,” said the maiden, ‘‘ and sub-
mit to that which we cannot gainsay. My uncle Everard ”’
Hi Here the old man caught at her unfinished words. ‘ Thy
ial uncle Everard, wench! Well, get on.—What of thy precious
: and loving uncle Everard ?”’
‘Nothing, sir,” she said, “if the subject displeases you.”
‘“‘Displeases me?” he replied, “‘ why should it displease me ?
or if it did, why shouldst thou, or any one, affect to care about
it? What is it that hath happened of late years—what is it can
be thought to happen that astrologer can guess at, which can
give pleasure to us?”
“Fate,” she replied, “‘may have in store the joyful restora-
tion of our banished Prince.”
| “Too late for my time, Alice,” said the knight; “if there
be such a white page in the heavenly book, it will not be turned
until long after my day.—But I see thou wouldst escape me.—
In a word, what of thy uncle Everard?”

“Nay, sir,” said Alice, ‘‘ God knows I would rather be silent
forever, than speak what might, as you would take it, add to
your present distemperature.”

‘“‘Distemperature !” said her father; ‘‘ Oh, thou art a sweet-
lipped physician, and wouldst, I warrant me, drop naught but
sweet balm, and honey, and oil, on my distemperature—if that
is the phrase for an old man’s ailment, when he is well-nigh
heart-broken.—Once more, what of thy uncle Everard?”

His last words were uttered in a high and peevish tone of
voice; and Alice Lee answered her father in a trembling and
submissive tone.

‘“T only meant to say, sir, that I am well assured that my
uncle Everard, when we quit this place ”
“That is to say, when we are kicked out of it by crop-eared
| canting villains like, himself.—But on with thy bountiful uncle—
what will he do ?—will he give us the remains of his worshipful
iw and economical housekeeping, the fragments of a thrice-sacked

| capon twice a-week, and a plentiful fast on the other five days?
| —Will he give us beds beside his half-starved nags, and put

 

 

 

 

haesaabigainheiichannass etna .WOODSTOCK. 17

them under a short allowance of straw, that his sister’s husband
—that I should have called my deceased angel by such a name!
—and his sister’s daughter, may not sleep on the stones? Or
will he send us a noble each, with a warning to make it last, for
he had never known the réady-penny so hard to come by? , Or
what else will your uncle Everard do for us? Getusa furlough
to beg? Why, I can do that without him.”

“You misconstrue him much,” answered Alice, with more
Spirit than she had hitherto displayed; “and would you but
question your own heart, you would acknowledge—I speak with
reverence—that your tongue utters what your better judgment
would disown. My uncle Everard is neither a miser nor a hypo-
crite—neither so fond of the goods of this world that he would
not supply our distresses amply, nor so wedded to fanatical
opinions as to exclude charity for other sects beside his own.”

“Ay, ay, the Church of England is a sect with him, I doubt
not, and perhaps with thee too, Alice,” said the knight. “What
isa Muggletonian, or ¢ Ranter, or a Brownist, but a sectary ?
and thy phrase places them all, with Jack Pres yter himself, on
the same footing with our learned prelate and religious clergy!
Such is the cant of the day thou livest in, and why shouldst
thou not talk like one of the wise virgins and psalm-singing
sisters, since, though thou hast a profane old cavalier for a
father, thou art own niece to pious uncle Everard ? ”

“ If you speak thus, my dear father,” said Alice, “what can
T answer you?) Hear me but one patient word, and I shall
have discharged my uncle Everard’s commission.”

‘Oh, it is a commission, then? Surely, I suspected so much
from the beginning—nay, have some sharp guess touching the
ambassador also.—Come, madam, the mediator, do your errand,
and you shall have no reason to complain of my patience.”

“Then, sir,” replied his daughter, “‘ my uncle Everard desires
you would be courteous to the commissioners, who come here
to sequestrate the parks and the property; or, at least heed-
fully to abstain from giving them obstacles or Opposition : it
can, he says, do no good, even on your own principles, and it
will give a pretext for proceeding against you as one in the
worst degree of malignity, which he thinks may otherwise be
prevented. Nay, he has good hope, that if you follow his
counsel, the committee may, through the interest he possesses,
be inclined to remove the sequestration of your estate on a
moderate fine. Thus says my uncle; and having communi-
cated his advice, I have no occasion to urge your patience with
further argument.”

“It is well thou dost not, Alice,” answered Sir Henry Lee,Rete
Po Pataca eee —

18 WOODSTOCK.

in atone of suppressed anger ; ‘‘for, by the blessed Rood, thou
hast well-nigh led me into the heresy of thinking thee no
daughter of mine,—Ah! my beloved companion, who art now
far from the sorrows and cares of this weary world, couldst
thou have thought that the daughter thou didst clasp to thy
bosom, would, like the wicked wife of Job,-become a temptress
to her father in the hour of affliction, and recommend to him
to make his conscience truckle to his interest, and to beg back
at the bloody hands of his master’s, and perhaps his son’s
murderers, a wretched remnant of the royal property he has
been robbed of !—Why, wench, if [ must beg, think’st thou I
will sue to those who have made me a mendicant? No, I will
never show my gray beard, worn in sorrow for my sovereign’s
death, to move the compassion of some proud sequestrator, who
perhaps was one of the parricides. No. If Henry Lee must sue
for food, it shall be of some sound loyalist like himself, who,
having but half a loaf remaining, will not nevertheless refuse to
share it with him. For his daughter, she may wander her own
way, which leads her to a refuge with her wealthy roundhead
kinsfolk: but let her no more call him father, whose honest
indigence she has refused to share ! x

“ You do me injustice, sir,” answered the young lady, with
a voice animated yet faltering, ‘¢ cruel injustice. God knows,
your way is my way, though it lead to ruin and beggary ; and
while you tread it, my arm shall support you while you will
accept an aid so feeble.”

“Thou word’st me girl,” answered the old cavalier, “ thou
yord’st me, as Will Shakspeare says—thou speakest of lending
me thy arm; but thy secret thought is thyself to hang upon
Markham Everard’s.”

“My father, my father,” answered Alice, in a tone of deep
erief, “what can thus have altered your clear judgment and
kindly heart !—Accursed be these civil commotions; not only
do they destroy men’s bodies, but they pervert their souls ; and
the brave, the noble, the generous, become suspicious, harsh,
and mean! Why upbraid me with Markham Everard? Have
I seen or spoken to him since you forbid him my company, with
terms less kind—I will speak it truly—than was due even to the
relationship betwixt you? Why think I would sacrifice to that
young man my duty to you? Know, that were I capable of
such criminal weakness, Markham Everard were the first to
despise me for it.”

She put her handkerchief to her eyes, but she could not hide
her sobs, nor conceal the distress they intimated. The oldman
was moved.WOODSTOCK. 19

“TY cannot tell,” he said, “ what to think of it, Thou seem’st
sincere, and wert ever a good and kindly daughter—how thou
hast let that rebel youth creep into thy heart I wot not; per-
haps it is a punishment on me, who thought the loyalty of my
hous e was like undefiled ermine. Yet here is a damned spot,
and on the fairest gem of all—my own dear Alice, But do not
weep—we have enough to vex us. Where is it that Shaks-
peare hath it :—

 

‘Gentle daughter,
Give even W ay unto my rough affairs;
Put you not on the temper of the times,
Nor be, like them, to Percy troubl esome.’ ,
“I am glad,” answered the young lady, “ to hear you quote
your favorite again, sir. Ou little jars are ever well-nigh
\

ended when spake spa ane comes in play =

‘‘ His book was the ch osest companion of my blessed master,”’
said Sir Henry ee ; “after the Bible (with reverence for
Pe Bae m together) he felt more comfort in it than in any

 

2 > . . 5
Other; and as | have shared his disease, why, it is natural I
sh Albeit, I pretend not to my master’s

 

and rustically brought up to arms and hunting.”
‘You have seen Shakspeare yourself, sir?” said the young

art in ne the dark peeoases ; for I am but a rude man,
1]

SX

;

64 Silly wench,” replied the knight, “he died when I was a
mere child—thou hast heard me say so twenty times; but
thou wouldst lead the old man away from the tender subject,
Well, though I am not blind, I can shut my eyes and follow.
Ben 8 ons« 0 I knew, and could tell thee many a tale of our
ea at the Mermaid, where, if there was much wine, there
was much wit also. We did not sit blowing tobacco in each
other’s faces, and turning.up the whites of our eyes as we
turned up the bottom of the wine-pot. Old Ben adopted me
as one of his sons in the muses. I have shown you, have I
not, the verses, ‘To my much beloved son, the worshipful Sir

4 woe ; cepted
Henry Lee of Ditchley, Knight and Baronet !
on nf = SES “ay .
do not remember them at present, sir,’”’ replied Alice.

66 [

‘¢T fear ye lie, wench,” said her father; “but no matter—
thou canst not get any more fooling out of me just now. The
Evil Spirit hath left Saul for the present. We are now to

: a Te Sty SFA
think what is to be done about leaving Woodstock—or defend
P 19

ly dearest father,” said Alice, ‘‘can you still nourish a
9
moment’s hope of making good the place?

ing y

  
 
 
    
  
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
     
   
 
  
     
 
   
   
 
 
   
   
     
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
     
  
  
 
 

att SSS

Base ere see rit ODES T TTS IST oTjardin gies os yi dsbbaaene ee eee

utthtim saath acne: oor

WOODSTOCK.

‘I know not, wench,” replied Sir Henry; “I would fain
have a parting blow with them, ’tis certain—and who knows
where a blessing may alight? But then, my poor knaves that
must take part with me in so hopeless a quarrel—that thought
hampers me I confess.”

“Oh, let it do so, sir,’ replied Alice; ‘there are soldiers in
the town, and there are three regiments at Oxford!”

“Ah, poor Oxford !” exclaimed Sir Henry, whose vacillat
ing state of mind was turned by a word to any new oe
that was suggested,—“ Seat of learning and loyalty ! these rude
soldiers are unfit inmates for thy learned halls and poetical
bowers ; but thy pure and brilliant lamp shall defy the foul
breath of a thousand churls, were they to blow at it like
Boreas. ‘The burning bush shall not be consumed, even by
the heat of. this persecution.”

“True, sir,”’ said Alice, “and it may not be useless to
recollect, that any stirring of ihe royalists at this unpropiti-
ous moment will make them deal yet more harshly with the
University, which they ome as being at the bottom of every
thing which moves for the King in these parts.”

“Tt is true, wench,” replied the knight; “and small cause
would make the villains sequestrate the poor remains which the
civil wars have left to the colleges. That, and the risk of my

i)

oe
poor fellows—Well! thou hast disarmed me, girl. I will be as
patient and calm as a martyr.”

“Pray God you keep your word, sir!” replied his daughter ;
“but you are ever so much moved at the sight of any of these
men, that. ——

“Would you make a child of me, Alice?” said Sir Henry.
‘“Why, know you not that I can look upon a viper, or a toad,
ora bunch of engendering adders, without any worse feeling
than a little disgust? and though a roundhead, and especially
a red-coat, are in my opinion more poisonous than vipers, more
loathsome than toads, more hateful than knotted adders, yet
can I overcome my nature so far, that should one of them ap-
pear at this moment, thyself should see how civilly I would
entreat him.”

As he spoke, the military preacher abandoned his leafy
screen, and ; stalking forward, stood unexpectedly before the o ld
cavalier, who stared at him, as if he had thought his expres-
sions had actually raised a devil.

“Who art thou?” at length said Sir Henry, ina raised and
angry voice, while his d: wughter clung to his arm in terror, little
confident that her father’s pacific resolutions would abide the
shock of this unwelcome apparition,WOODSTOCK. a
“Tam one,” replied the soldier, “who neither fear nor
shame to call myself a poor day-laborer in the great work Ss
Eng and —utiph ce Ay, a simple and sincere upholder of th
good old cause.’

_ And what the devil do you seek here?” said the old
knight, fiercely.

“The welcome due to the steward of the Lords Commis-
sioners, ” answered the soldier.

“ Welc ome art thou as salt would be to sore eyes)’ ‘said
the cavalier; “but who be your Commissioners, man ?? ”

The S\ ee with little courtesy held out a scroll, which Sir
Flenry took from him betwixt his finger and thumb, as if it
were a letter from a pest-house: and held it at as much distance
from his eyes, as his purpose of reading it would permit. He
then read aloud, and as he named the parties one by one, he
added a short commentary on each name, addressed, ind leed, to
Alice, but in such a tone that showed he cared not for its being
heard | by the soldier.

» Desborough—the ploughman Desborough—as groveling a
clown as is in England—a fellow that would be best at home,
like an ancient Scythian, under the tilt of a wagon—d—him.
ffarrison—a_ bloody-minded, ranting enthusiast, who read the
Bible to such purpose, that he never lacked a text to justify a
COS ae mene him too. Lletson—a true-blue Commonvwealth’s
man, one of Hariison’s Rota Club, with his noddle full of new-
fangled notions about government, the clearest object of which
is to establish the tail upon the head: a fellow who leaves you
the statutes and law of old England, to prate of Rome and
Greece—sees the Areopagus in Westminster Fall, and takes old
Noll for a Roman cor nsul——Adad, he is like to prove a dictator
amongst them instead. Never mind—d—n Bleston too,”

f Friend, ” said the soldier, “ I would wi lingly be civil, but
it consists not with my duty to hear these godly men, in w hose
service I am, spoken of after this irreverent and unbecoming
shit And albeit I know that you malignants think you
have a right to make free with that damnation, which you seem
to us€ as your own portion, yet it is superfluous to invoke it
against others, who have better hopes in their thoughts, and
better words in their mouths.”

“Thou art but a canting varlet,” replied the knight ; “and
yet thou art right in some sense—for it is superfluous to curse
men who already are damned as black as the smoke of hell
itself.”

‘I prithee forbear,” continued the soldier, “ for manners’

 

  

  
 
   
 
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
   
  
   
   
       
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 

seat DAIS CEEUEC EES ETTR TSP Ne eee eeeFRR ccs nce crate eee
. =— 7 x a a - Ae

as aT

22 WOODSTOCK.

sake, if not for conscience—grisly oaths suit ill with gray
beards,”

“‘ Nay, that is truth, if the devil spoke it.” said the knight ;
“and I thank Heaven I can follow good counsel, though old
Nick gives it. And so, friend, touc hing these same Commis-
sioners, bear them this message ; that Sir Henry Lee is keeper
of Woodstock Park, with right of waif and stray, vert and veni-
son, as complete as any of them have to their estate—that is, if
they possess any estate but what they have gained by plunder:
ing honest men. Nevertheless, he will give place to those who
have made their mi ght with right, and will not expose the lives
of good and true men, where the odds are so much against
them. And he protests that he makes this surrender, neither
as acknowledging of these so termed Commissioners, nor as for
his own individual part fearing their force, but purely to avoid
the loss of English blood, of which so much hath been spilt in
these late times.”

“Tt is well spoken,” said the steward of the Commissioners ;
‘Cand therefore, | pray you, let us walk together into the house,
that thou may’st deliver up unto me the vessels, and gold and
silver ornaments, belonping unto the Egyptian Pharoah, who
committec 1 them to thy keepi ing,”

‘What vessels?” excl: con the fiery old knight; ‘and be-
b l

longing to whom? Unbaptized dog, speak civil of the Martyr

in my presence, or I w ‘ll do a deed misbecoming of me on that

caitiff corpse of thine !’’—-And shaking his daughter from his
DS

right arm, the old man laid his hand on his rapier.

His antagonist, on the contrary, kept his temper completely,
and waiving his hand to add impression to his speech, said,
with a calmness whic h aggravated Sir Henry’s wrath, “ Nay,
good friend, I prithee be still, and brawl not—it becomes not
gray hairs and feeble arms to rail and rant like drunkards. Put
me not to use the carnal weapon in mine own defence, but
listen to the voice of reason. Seest thou not that the Lord
hath decided this great controversy in favor of us and ours,
against thee and thine? Wherefore, render up thy steward-
ship peacefully, and deliver up to me the chattels of the Man,
Charles Stewart.”

“Patience is a good nag, but she will bolt,” said the knight,
unable longer to rein in his wrath. He plucked his sheathed
rapier from his side, struck the soldier a sevete blow with it,
and instantly drawing it, and throwing the scabbard over the
trees, placed himself in a posture of defence, with his sword’s
point within half-a-yard of the steward’s body. The latter
stepped back with activity, threw his long cloak from hisWOODSTOCK. 23

shoulders, and drawing his long tuck, stood upon his guard.
/ he swords clashed smartly together, while Alice, in her terror,

Screamed wildly for assistance. But the combat was of short
duration. ‘The old cavalier had attacked a man as cunning of
fence as he himself, or a |

ittle more so, and possessing all the
strength and activity of which time had deprived Sir Henry,
and the calmness which the other had lost in his passion. They
had scarce exchanged three passes ere the sword of the knight
flew up in the air, as if it had gone in search of the scabbard
and burning with shame and anger, Sir Henry stood disarmed,
at the mercy of his antagonist. The republican showed no pur-
pose of abusing his victory ; nor did he, either during the com-
bat, or after the victory was won, in any respect alter the sour
and grave composure which reigned upon his countenance—a
combat of life and death seemed to him a thing as familiar, and
as little to be feared, as an ordinary bout with foils.
‘Thou art delivered into my hands,” he said, “and by the

c

aw of arms I might smite thee under the fifth rib, even as Asa-
el was struck dead by Abner, the son of Ner, as he followed
1e chase on the hills of Ammah, that lieth before Giah, in the
way of the wilderness of Gibeon : but far be it from me to spill
thy remaining drops of blood. True itis, thou art the captive
of my sword and of my spear: nevertheless, seeing that there
may bea turning from thine evil ways, and a returning to
those which are good, if the Lord enlarge thy date for re
pentance and amendment, wherefore should it be shortened by
a poor sinful mortal who is, spe king truly, but thy fellow-
worm ?”’

Sir Henry Lee remained still confused, and unable to an-
swer, when there arrived a fourth person, whom the cries of
Alice had summoned to the spot. ‘his was Joceline Joliffe,
one of the underkeepers of the walk, who seeing how matters
stood, brandished his quarterstaff, a weapon from which he
never parted, and having made it describe the figure of eight
in a flourish through the air, would have brought it down with
a vengeance upon the head of the steward, had not Sir Henry
interposed.

‘We must trail bats now, Joceline—our time of shoulder-
ing them is past. It skills not striving against the stream—the
devil rules the roost, and makes our slaves our tutors.”

At this moment another auxiliary rushed out of the thicket
to the knight’s assistance. It wasa large wolf-dog, in strength
a mastiff, in form and almost in fleetness a greyhound, Bevis
was the noblest of his kind which ever pulled down a stag,
tawny-colored like.a lion, with a black muzzle and black feet,

]
h
t]

  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
   
  
     
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
    
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Beate TR Aron TES EEE NNT SLUA TSN AtTSSion ee

just edged with a line of white
tractable as he was strong and bold.
rush upon the soldier,

if using all his sagacity to
be, toward whom, though of so
he was enjoined forbearance.

for he laid aside

WOODSTOCK.

round the

the words; *' Peace,
Henry, converted the lion into a lamb, and, instead of pulling
the soldier down, he walked round and round, and snuffed, as

Just as he was

 
    
 
   
  
     

toes. He was 2s
about tc
Bevis!” from Sit

discover who* the stranger could
questionable an appearance.
Apparently he was satisfied,
his doubtful and threatening demonstrations,

lowered his ears, smoothed down his bristles, and wagged his

tail.

Sir Henry, who h

ad great respect for
favorite, said in a low voice to Alice, “

and counsels submission.

this to punish the pride, ever

the sagacity of his
3evis is of thy opinion,

There is the finger of Heaven in

the fault of our house.—Friend,”’

he continued, addressing the soldier, ‘‘ thou hast given the

finishing touch to
fortune have
tinctly shown me

a lesson,
been unable ft

uly to teach me.

which ten years of constant mis-

‘Lhow- Hast dis-

the folly of thinking that a good cause can

strengthen a- weak arm.

I could almost turn infidel,

God forgive me for the thought, but

and believe that

Heaven’s blessing

goes ever with the longest sword; but it will not be always

thus. God knows his tim

e.—Reach me my

Toledo, Joceline,

yonder it les ; and the scabbard, see where it hangs on the

tree.—Do qa Dae at my cloak, Alice, and look

frightened ;

again, I ray thee.—For thee, good fellox
will make w ay for thy masters without dagen dispute or cere-

mony. Jocel

ine Joliffe

is

nearer thy degree

so miserably

shall be in no hurry to po bs me to bright steel
7, I thank thee, and

than I am, and

will make surrender to thee of the Lodge and household stuff.

—Withhold nothing, Joliffe—let them have

never cross the threshold again—but where t
I would trouble no one in Woodstock—hum—ay—it shall be
so. Alice and I, Joceline, will go down to oy hut by Rosamond’s
well ; we will borrow the shelter of thy roof
least ; thou wilt give us welcome, wilt thou not >—How now—

a Poaled 4 brow ?’

all. For me, I will

o rest for a night?

for one night, at

Joceline certainly looked embarrassed, directed first a glance

to Alice, then looked to heaven

four quarters

, then to earth, and last to the
of the horizon, and then murmured out, “ Cer-

tainly—without /question—might he but run down to put the

house in order.’

“ Order enough—ordere nough—for those that may soon be

elad of clean straw in a barn,

‘9 «
ee the knight ; “ but if thou
hae an ill-will to harbor any obnoxious or malignant persons,WOODSTOCK. 26
as the phrase goes, never shame to speak it out, man: °Tis
true, I took thee up when thou wert but a, rageed Robin,*
make a keeper of thee, and so forth. What of that? Sailors
think no letter of the wind than when it forw ards them on the
voyage—thy betters turn with the tide, why should not such a
poor knave as thou?”

“God pardon your honor for your harsh judgment,” said
Joliffe. “The hut is yours, such as it is, and should be were
it a king’s palace, as I wish it were even for your honor’s sake,
and Mistress atc -e’s—only I could wish your honor would
condescend to let me step down before, in case any neighbor
be there -——OI—or—]Just to put matters something | into order for
Mistress Alice and your honor—just to make things something
seemly and shapely.”

“Not a whit necessary,” said the knight, while Alice had
much trouble in c ncealing haere agitation. ‘If thy matters are
unseemly, they are fitter for a defeated knight—if they are un-

shi upely, why, t he liker to the rest of a world, which is all un-
shaped. Go thou wit 1 that man.—What is thy ame, friend ?”

“Joseph Tomkins js my name in the flesh,” said the steward,
sé Men call me Honest Joe, and trusty Tomkins.”

‘If thou hast deserved such names, considering what trade
thou hast driven, thou art 4 jewel indeed,” said the knight ;
“yet if thou hast not, never blush for the matter, Joseph, for
if thou art not in truth honest, thou hast all the better chance
to keep the frame of it—the title and the thing itself have long
walke separate ways. Farewell to thee,—and farewell to fair
Woodstock i”

So saying, the old kni ight turned round, and pulli ing his
daughter’s arm through his own, they walked onward into the
forest, in the same manner in which they were introduced to
the reader.

* The keeper’s followers in the New Forest are called in popular language
ragged Robins.WOODSTOCK.

 
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
   
    
  
   
   
    
    
   
  
   
     
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
    
     
     
  
 
  

CHAP TER ‘T HERD:

Now ye wild blades, that make loose in your stage,
To vapor forth the acts of this sad age,
Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the West,
And northern clashes, where you still fought best ;
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear,
Wher 7 bullets flew bet tween the head and ear,
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit,
Hh i Of con I speak.
qt LEGEND OF CAPTAIN JONES.

jJosepuH Tomkins and Joliffe the keeper remained for some
time in silence, as they stood together looking along the path
in which the figures of the knight of Ditchley and pretty Mis-
tress Alice had disappeared behind the trees. They then gazed
on each other in doubt, as men who scarce knew whether they
stood on hostile or on friendly terms together, and were at a
loss how to open a conversation. ‘They heard the knight’s
whistle summon Bevis ; but though the good iid turned his
head and pricked his ear at the sound, yet he did not obey the
call, but continued to snuff around Joseph Tomkin’s cloak.
‘Thou art a rare one, I fear me,” said the keeper looking
to his new acquaintance. ‘‘} have heard of men who have
charms to steal both dogs and deer.’
“Trouble not thyself about my qualities, friend,” said

n

ty Joseph Tomkins, ‘but bethink thee of ee thy master’s

it bidding.”

i Joceline did not immediately answer, but at length, as if in

| sign of truce, stuck the end of his quarterstaff upright in the
ground, and leant upon it as he said gruffly,—‘“ So, my tough

old knight and you were at drawn bilbo, by way of afternoon

service, sir preacher—Well for you I came not up till the
blades were done jingling, or I had rung even-song upon your
Dee.

The Independent smiled grimly, as he replied, “‘ Nay, friend,
it is well for thyself, for never should sexton have been better
paid for the knell he tolled. . Nevertheless, why should there

be war betwixt us, or my hand be against thine? Thou art
but a poor knave, doing thy master’s order, nor have I any
‘ desire that my own blood or thine should be shed touching

this matter.—Thou art, I understand, to give me peaceful pos-
session of the Palace of Woodstock, so called—though there is
now no palace in England, no, nor shall be in the days that

es Sa GAA LTA

| ener terres nore.“

WOODSTOCK. 24

come after, until we shall enter the palace of the New Jeru-
salem, and the reign of the Saints shall commence on earth.”
ees. well begdn already, friend Tomkins,” said the
keeper ; “you are little short of being kings alr eady upon the
matter as it now stands: and for your Jerusalem I wot not,
but Woodstock is a pretty nest-ege to begin with.—W ell, will
you shog-—will you ‘ou—will you take acm: and livery —

You heard my orders.” :
‘“Umph—I know not,” said Tomkins. I must beware of
ambuscades, and I am alone Ce Moreover, it is the High
Thanskgiving appointed by Parliament, and owned to by the
army—also the old man and ‘te young woman may want to
recover some of their clothes and personal property, and I
would not that they were baulked on my account. Wherefore,
if nen wilt deliver me possession to-morrow morning, it shall
. in personal presence of my own followers, and of the

~~
UW
oO
Co

3

aby terian man the M ayor, so that the transfer may be made
Before witnesses ; whereas, were there none with us but thou
to deliver, and I to take possession, the men of Belial] might
say, Go to, Trusty Tomkins hath been an Edomite —Honest
Joe hath been as an Ismaelite, rising up early and dividing the
spoil with them that served the Man—-yea, they that wore
beards and green jerkins, as in remembrance of the Man and
of his Soverl wed

Jocel line fixed his keen dark eyes upon the soldier as he
spoke, as if in design to discover whether there was fair play
in his mind or not. He then applied his five fingers to scratch
a large shock head of hair, as if that operation was necessary
to enable him to come to a conclusion. “ This -is all fair
sounding, brother, 7 Said he ; “but I tell you plainly, there are
some silver mugs, and platters, and flagons, and so forth, in
yonder house, which have survived the general sweep that sent
all our plate to the smelti ng-pot, to put our knight’s troop on
horseback. Now, if thou takest not these off my hand, I may
come to trouble, yee it may be thought I have minished their
numbers.—Whereas, I being as honest a fellow ”* _—

As ever Shale. venison,” said Tomkins—“ nay, 1 do owe
thee an interruption.”

“Go to, then,” replied the keeper; “if a stag may have
come to mischance in my walk, it was no way in the course of
dishonesty, but merely y to keep my old dame’s pan from rust-
ing; but for silver porringers, tankards , and such like, I would
as soon have drunk the melted silve ‘ as stolen the vessel made
out of it, So that I would not wish blame or suspicion fell
on me in this matter. And, therefore, if you will have the

1me
LX€

  
  
  
 
   
  
   
   
   
  
 
  
    
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
    
    
    
    
 
  
    
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
   

ee

Spot MET ster rit ytazes ssBimini Se

 

WOODSTOCK.

things rendered even now,—-why so—and if not, hold me
blameless.”

‘“ Ay, truly ?”’ said Tomkins; “‘and who is to hold me blame-
less, if they should see cause to think anything minished ? Not
the right worshipful Commissioners, to whom the property of
the estate is as their own; therefore, as thou say’st, we must
walk warily in the matter. To lock up the house and leave it,
were but the work of simple ones. What say’st thou to spend
the night there, and then nothing can be touched without the
knowledge of. us both?”

‘“Why, concerning that,” answered the keeper, ‘I should
be at my hut to make matters somewhat conformable for the
old knight and Mistress Alice, for my old dame Joan is some-
thing dunny, and will scarce know how to manage—and yet, to
speak the truth, by the mass I would rather not see Sir Henry
to-night, since what has happened to-day hath roused his spleen,
and it is a peradventure he may have met something at the hut
which will scarce tend to cool it.”

“It is a pity,” said Tomkins, “that, being a gentleman of
such grave and goodly presence, he should be such a maligant
cavalier, and that he should, like the rest of that generation of
vipers, have clothed himself with curses as with a garment.”

‘*‘ Which is as much as to say, the tough old knight hatha
habit of swearing,” said the keeper, grinning at a pun, which
has been repeated since his time; “ but who can help it ? it
comes of use and wont. Were you now, in your bodily self, to
light suddenly on a Maypole, with all the blithe morris-dancers
prancing around it to the merry pipe and tabor, with bells
jingling, ribbons fluttering, lads frisking and laughing, lasses
leaping till you might see where the scarlet garter fastened the
ight blue hose, I think some feeling, resembling either natural

] 1g
sociality, or old use and wont, would get the better, friend,
even of thy gravity, and thou wouldst fling thy cuckoldy steeple-
hat one way, and that bloodthirsty long sword another, and
trip like the noodles of Hogs-Norton, when the pigs play on
the organ.”

1
;
I

The Independent turned fiercely round on the keeper, and
replied, “ How now, Mr. Green Jerkin ? what language is this to
one whose hand is at the plough? J advise thee to put curb on
thy tongue, lest thy ribs pay the forfeit.”

“Nay, do not take the high tone with me, brother,” an-
swered Joceline ; “ remember thou hast not the old knight of sixty-
five to deal with, but a fellow as bitter and prompt as thyself—it
may be a little more so—younger, at all events—and prithee, why
shouldst thou take such umbrage at a Maypole ? I wouid thouWOODSTOCK. 29

hadst known one Phil Hazeldine of these parts—He was the
best morris-dancer betwixt Oxford and Burford.”

‘The more shame to him, ” answered the Independent ;
pend [ trust he has seen the error of his ways, and made him.
self (as, if aman of action. he easily might) fit for better com-

pany than wood-hunters, deer- stealers, Maid Marions, swash-
bucklers, deboshed revelers, bloodly brawlers, maskers s, and
mummers, lewd me n and light women, fools and fiddlers , and
carnal self-pleasers of ev ery descrip tion.’

SW. on, ” replied the keeper, ~ you are out of breath in time;
for here we stand before the famous Maypole of Woodstock.”

They paused in an open space of meadow-land, beautifully
shirted by large oaks and sycamores, one of which, as king of
the forest, stood a little detached from the rest, as if scorning
the vicinity of any rival. It was scathed and gnarled in the
branches, but the immense trunk still showed to what gigantic

size the monarch of the forest Can attain in the groves of merry
Eng gland,

‘That is called the King’s Oak,” said 1 Joceline ; “ the oldest
men of Woodstock know not how old it is ; they say Henry used
to sit under it with fair Rosamond, and see the lasses dance,
and the lads of the village run races, and wrestle for belts or
bonnets.

‘I nothing doubt it, friend,” said Tomkins ; “ a tyrant and
a harlot were fitting patron and patroness for such v ities”?

“Thou mayst say thy say, friend,” replied the keener, so

thou lettest me s: ry mine. ‘There stands the Maypole, as thou
seest, half 4 flig] ht-shot from the King’s Oak, in the midst of
the meadow. The King gave ten shillings from the customs of
Woodstock to make a new one yearly, besides a tree fitted for
the purpose on of the forest. Now it is w arped, and with ered,
and twisted, like a wasted brier-rod. The green, too, used to
be close-shav ed, and rolled till it was smooth as a velvet mantle
—now it is rough and overgrown,’

“Well, well, friend loceli ine,’ said the Independent, “ but
where was the edification of all this?—what use of doctrine
could be derived from a pipe and tabor? or was there ever aught
like wisdom in a bagpi Mp e 7

“You may ask better scholars that,” said Joceline ; “ but
methinks men cannot be al Vays grave, and with the hat over
their brow. A young maiden will laugh as a tender flower
will blow—ay, and a lad will like her the better for it ; just as
the same blithe S Spring that makes the young birds whistle e, bids
the blithe fawns skip. There have come worse days since the
jolly old times have gone by :—I tell thee, that in the holidays

VU
1

 

Byseuct i otreriteasy ths SSCS Da STE ST ESN GTIGS

stSeater

ee

NI
Ps PER See

 

WOODSTOCK.

which you, Mr. Longsword, have put down, I have seen this
ereensw ard alive wi ith merr y maidens and manly fellows. The
sood old rector himself thought it was no sinto come fora
while and look on, and his goodly cassock and scarf kept us
all in good order, and taught us to limit our mirth within the
bounds of discretion. We might, it may be, crack a ce or
pledge a friendly cup a turn too often, but it was in mirth and
good neighborhood—Ay, and if there was a bout at single-stick,
or a bell yful of boxing, it was all for love and kindness ; and
better a few dry blows in drink, than the bloody doings we
have had in sober earnest, since the presbyter’s cap got above
the bishop’s mitre, and we exchanged our goodly rectors and
learned doctors, whose sermons were all bolstered up with as
much Greek and Latin as might have confounded the devil him-
self, for weavers and cobblers, and such other pulpit volun-
teers, as—as we heard this morning—It will out.”

“Well, friend,” said the Inde -pendent, with patience scarcely
to have been expected, “ I quarrel not with thee for nauseat ing
my doctrine. If thine ear is so much tickled with tabor tunes
and morris tripping, truly it is not likely thou shouldst find
pleasant savor in more wholesome and sober food. But let
us to the Lodge, that we may go about our business there be-
fore the sun sets.”

“Troth, and that may be advisable for more reasons than
one,” said the keeper; ‘“‘for there have been tales about the
Lodge which have made men afeard to harbor there after
nightfall.”

“ Were not yon old knight, and yonder damsel his daughter,
wont to dwell there?” said the Independent. ‘‘ My informa-
tion said so.”’

ce

”)

said Joceline ; “and while they kept a
t well enough; for nothing banishes fear
ood ale. But afterthe best of our men went to the wars,
and were slain at Naseby fight, they who were left found the
Lodge more lonesome, and the old knight has been much
deserted of his servants :—marry, it might be, that he has
lacked silver of late to oe) groom and lackey.”

‘“‘ A potential reason for the diminution of a household,” said
the soldier.

‘Right, sir, even so,” replied the keeper. ‘‘ They spoke of
steps in the great gallery, heard by dead of the night, and voices
that whispered at noon in the matted chambers ; and the servants
pretended that these things scared them away ; but, in my poor
judgment, when Martinmas and Whitsunt ide came round with-
out a penny-fee, the old blue-bottles of serving-men began toVOODSTOCK. 3E
hink o creepi ing elsewhere before-the frost chilled th ne
de vil so fri chtful as that which dir 3 in the pocket where ther

is no cross to keep him out,”

‘ You were reduc ed, then, to a petty household ? ” said the

Indep endent.

“ Ay, marry were we,” said Joceline : “ but we kept some half-
score together, what with blue-bottles in the Lodge, what with
steen caterpillars of the chase, like him who is yours to
command ; we stuck ean ne we found a call to take
morning’s ride somewhe or other,

“To the n of Worcester,” said the soldier, “‘ where you
were crushed like vermin and pa ner worms, as you are,”

You may say your ple e,”’ replied the keeper. 777]

never contradict aman who has got 4 head under his belt,

Our bi — are at the wall, or you would not io 2 here.”

i
i,’ said the Independent, thou riskest nothing
and trust in me. I can be Jon camarado to a
ave striven with him even to the going
we are in front of the Lodge.’
They stood accordit ely in front of the old Gothic builc ding,
irrecul: arly ¢ onstruc sted and at different times, as the humor of
the Eneglis s ledt to taste the pleasures of Wood-

ote Ch: ise, “a C ake suc ht provements for their own
accommodation, as the incr uxury of each age required.
The aie lest part of the structure ad been named by tradition
Fair Rosamond’s Tower : it was a small turret of great height,
with narrow windows. ada walls of massive thickness. The
Tower had no opening to the ground, or means lescending,
a great part of the lower portion bei solid mason-work. It
was traditi esis Said to h: een accessible only by a sort of
small drawbridge, whi ight be dropped at pleasure from a
little portal near the summit of the ti irret, to the battlements of
another tower of the same co nstruction, but twenty feet lowe
and containing only a winc ling staircase, called in Woodstock
Love’s Ladder ; because it is said. that by ascending this staircase
to the top of the town, and than making use of the drawbridge,
Henry obtai ined access to the chamber of his paramour.

This tradition sie been keenly impugned by Dr. Rochecliffe,
the former rector of Woods tock, who insisted that what was
called Rosamond’s aren was merely an interior keep, or citadel,
to oe the lord or warden of the castle might retreat, when
other points of safety failed him : and either protract his defence,
or, at "thie worst, stipulate for reasonable terms of surrender,
The people of Woods stock, jealous of their ancient traditions,
did not relish this new mode of explaining them away ; and it isWOODSTOCK.

    
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   

32

ie even said that the Mayor, we have already introduced, became
Presbyterian, in revenge of the doubts cast by the fociar upon
this important subject, rather choosing to give up the Liturgy
than his fixed belief in Rosamond’s Tow er aad Love’s Ladder.
The rest of the Lodge was of considerable extent, and of
different ages ; comprehending a nest of little courts, surrounded
by buildings which corresponded with each other, sometimes
within-doors, some etimes by crossing the courts, and frequently
in both ways. The different heights of the buildings announced
. ij that they ee only be connected by the usual variety of
ye) staircases, which exercised the limbs of our ancestors in the
| sixteenth and earlier centuries, and seem sometimes to have
been contrived for no other purpose.

The varied and multiplied fronts of this irregular building
were, as Dr. Rochecliffe was wont to say, an absolute banquet
to the architectural antiquary, as they certainly contained speci-
mens of every style which existed, from the pure Norman of
Henry of Anjou, down to the composite, half Gothic, half
classical architecture of Elizabeth and her successor. Accord-
ingly, the rector was himself as much enamoured of Woodstock
as ever was Henry of Fair Rosamond ; and as his intimacy
with Sir Henry Lee permitted him entrance at all times to the
Royal Lodge, he used to spend whole days in wandering about
the antique apartments, examining, measuring, studying, and
finding out excellent reasons for architectural peculiarities,
which probably only owed their existence to the freakish fancy
of a Gothic artist. But the old antiquary had been expelled
from his living by the intolerance and troubles of the times,
and his successor, Nehemiah Holdenough, would have con-
sidered an elaborated investigation of the profane sculpture
and architecture of blinded and bloodthirsty papists, together
with the history of the dissolute amours of old Norman mon-
archs, as little better than a bowing down before the calves of
Bethel, and a drinking of the cup of abominations.—We return
to the course of our story.

“There is,” said the Independent Tomkins, after he had
carefully perused the front of the building, “‘many a rare
moment of olden wickedness about this miscalled Royal
Lodge; verily, I shall rejoice much to see the same destroyec 1,
yea, burned to ashes, and the ashes thrown into the brook
uu Kedron, or any other brook, that the land may be cleansed

from the memory thereof, neither remember the inquity with
i which their fathers have sinned.”

The keeper heard him with secret indignation, and began

to consider nah himself, whether, as they stood but one to one,

reer es

Sidra ae eeWOODSTOCK.

33
and without chance of speedy interference, he was not called
upon, by his official duty, to castigate the rebel who used lan-
Suage so defamatory. But he fortunately recollected that the
strife must be a doubtful one—that the adv antage of arms was
against him—and that, in especial, even if he should succeed
in the combat, it would be at the risk of severe retaliation.
It must be owned, too, that there was something about the
Independent so dark and mysterious, so grim and grave, that
the more open spirit of the keeper felt oppressed, and, if not
overawed, at least kept in doubt concerning him; and he
thought it wisest, as well as safest, for his master ar id fumsele
to avoid all subjects of dispute, and know better with x vhom he
was dealing, before he made either friend or enemy of him.

The great gate of the Lodge was strongly bolted, but the
wicket opened on Joceline’s rai sing the latch. There was a
short passage of ten feet, which had been formerly closed by a
portcullis at the inner end, while three loopholes opened on
either side, through which any once intruder might be an-
noyed, who, having Surprised the first gate, must be thus ex-
posed to a severe fire before he could force the second. But
the machinery of the portcullis was damaged, and it now re-
mained a fixture, brandishing its jaw, well furnished with
iron fangs. but incapable of dropping it across the path of in-
vasion.

The way, therefore, lay open to the
tibule of the Lodge. One end of thi
ment was entirely occupied by a ealle1
times served to accommodate the ieee and minstrels.
There was a clumsy staircase at either side of It, composed of
entire logs of a foot square; and in each angle of the ascent
was placed, by way of sentinel, the figure of a Norman foot-

ier, having an open casque on his head, which displayed
features as stern as the painter’s genius could devise. Their
arms were buff-jackets, or shirts of mail, round bucklers. with
spikes in the centre, and buskins which adorned and defended
the feet and ankles, but left the knees bare. These wooden
warders held great swords or maces in their hands, like military

17

reat hall or Cue ves-
long and dusky apart-
y, which had in ancient

Koo

o
oO
S

euards on dutv. Many an empty hook and br alone and the
walls of the gloomy apartment, marked the spots from which arms,

long preserved as trophies, had been, in the pressure of the

Ss, once more taken down, to do service i - field, like
veterans whom extremity of danger recalls to battle. 3.
other rusty fastenings were still displayed the hunting trophies
of the monarchs to whom the Lodge belonged, and of

 

 

Teeter) PYnar es

LOAD tue tb diee seems aei Varna

Lbaanasacaeinins sete

WOODSTOCK.

silvan knights to whose care it had been from time to time con
fided.

At the nether end of the hall, a huge, heavy, stone-wrought
chimney-piece projected itself ten feet from the wall, adorned
with many a cipher, and many a scutcheon of the Royal House
of England. In its present state, it yawned like the arched
mouth of a funeral vault, or pesners might be compared to the
crater of an extinguished voleai But the sable complexion of
the massive stone-work, and A iol aes it, showed that the time
had been when it sent its huge fires blazing up the huge chim-
ney, besides panes many a volume of smoke over the heads of
the jovial guests, whose royalty or pee did not render them
sensitive enough to quarrel with such sl ight inconvenience. On
these occasions it was the tradition of the house, that two cart-
loads of wood was the regular aM »wance for the fire between
noon and curfew, and the andirons, or dogs, as they were
termed, constructed for retainin es the blazing firewood on the
hearth, were wrought in the shape of lions of such gigantic
size as might well warrant the legend. There were long seats
of stone within the chimney, where in despite of the tremen-
dous heat, monarchs were sometimes said to have taken their
tation, and amused themselves with broiling the wsdles, or
dowscts of the deer, Bpon the glowing embers, with their own
royal hands, when happy the courtier who was invited to taste
the royal cookery. ty. adition was here also ready with her
record, to show what merry jibes, such as might be exchanged
between prince and peer, had flown about at the jolly banquet
which followed the Michaelmas hunt. She could tell, too, ex-
actly, whe
hose, and knew most of the odd tricks he had put upon little
Winkin, the tailor of Woodstock.

Most of this rude revelry belonged to the Plantagenet times
When the House of Tudor acceded to the throne, they were
more chary of their royal presence, and feasted in halls and
chambers far within, abandoning the outmost hall to the yeomen
of the guard, who mounted their watch there, and passed away
the night with wassail and mirth, exchanged sometimes for
frightful tales of apparitions and sorceries, which made some of
those grow pale, in whose ears the trumpet of a French foeman
would have sounded as jollily as a summons to the woodland
chase.

Jeceline pointed out the peculiarities of the place to his
gloc omy companion more briefly then we have detailed them to
the reader. The Independent seemed to listen with some in
terest at first, but flinging it suddenly aside, he said in a solemn

Qa

re King Stephen sat when he darned his own princelyWOOD

4

‘ish, Bal bylon, as

le is a wande rér,

l a wilde rhess—ye aoe desert of s

thirst and famine.”
There is |]
: _unle ss the good
must care fo
“bat in
Vhither lead these en
** That to the ri

called the state -apartments,

! eaeantcal
thou speak
beware the proclam

‘ =. Es >)
17m,

‘ 7 ce
dost

I meant no h:
tion make a
bolts and bu
whatever ma}
ved with bless l
of broad p ieces for th
S fri en a: i Sa
else one those besott
bestowing of alms is

OpDpresslo
cf

diSposl to

D :
CAaGe:

Ol

ns
. thes
Stewart :
* And
him, an

9

fore d bluff }
them all.
; there, I suj
awelt

6c No, 19

erence for—for
overence, at all—Besides
indifferent order, since of

replied Joceline

rey things wl

apartment lies by that passage to the left
ther goes yonder

‘And whi )
upward and downward? ”
Upward,” replied the k

“e

ments used for various purposes, of sleeping, and other accom-

to the
which, at this time of the evening, you cannot see

modation. Downward,

th > castle,
without lights

Ee
thy

ike to be enc ou rh
knight’s

creature

not

harsher

nement

suppose,

SPOCK.

ichadnezzar hath
a waste pl LCE
in which there

master Nel

and thou sh: e

Du
1
Salk

ult |
It,

it,” said Joce-
somewhat fuller than
said the Inde-
done,

comforts,’’

when our duties are
ds to what are
ir sixteen hun-

a voice of
bles >= sing,

ati

5 with
But yet,
> was fol-

nie is Zc
the Piace

+ 1 ~ +
TOPOTMS

Ge ata bee

t Ppapists, \
and washings

ha ve

S AWG re

of his ae James, before

had too much
no

Lee
thought worth
oO

ten aay,

aTre

6é Si t
Lich now

hit

eems both to lead

eeper, “it leads to many apart-

offices, and vaul

kitchen, ofFan cacn eas Se eee

 

  

36 WOODSTOCK.

‘We will to the apartments of your knight, then,” said the
Independent. “ Is there fitting accommodation there?”

‘“ Such as has served a person of condition, whose lodging
is now worse appointed,” answered the honest keeper, his bile
rising so fast that he added, in a muttering and inaudible tone,
‘‘ so it may well serve a crop-eared knave like thee.”

He acted as the usher, however, and led on toward the
ranger’s apartments.

This suite opened by a short passage from the hall, secured at
time of need by two oaken doors, which could be fastened by large
bars of the same, that were drawn out of the wall, and entered
into square holes, contrived for their reception on the other side
of the portal. At the end of this passage, a small anteroom re-
ceived them, into which opened the sitting apartment of the good
knight—which, in the style of the times, might have been termed
a fair summer parlor—lighted by two oriel windows, so placed
as to command each of them a separate avenue, leading distant
and deep into the forest. The principal ornament of the apart:
ment, besides two or three family portraits of less interest, was
ll full-length picture, that hung above the chimney-piece,
-h, like that in the hall, was of a heavy stone-work, orna-

a ta
whic
mented with carved scutcheons, emblazoned with various devices.
The portrait was that of a man about fifty years of age, in com-
plete plate armor, and painted in the harsh and dry manner of
Holbein—probably, indeed, the work of that artist, as the dates
corresponded. ‘The formal and the marked angles, points, and
projections of the armor, were a good subject for the harsh
pencil of that early school. The face of the knight was, from
the fading of the colors, pale and dim, like that of some being
from the other world, yet the lines expressed forcibly pride and
exultation.

He pointed with his leading-staff, or truncheon, to the back-
eround, where, in such perspective as the artist possessed, were
depicted the remains of a burning church, or monastery, and
four or five soldiers, in red cassocks, bearing away in triumph
what seemed a blazing font or laver. . Above their heads might
be traced in scroll, ‘* Lee Victor sic volutt.” “Right opposite to
the picture, hung, in a niche in the wall, a complete set of tilting
armor, the black and gold colors and ornaments of which ex-
actly corresponded with those exhibited in the portrait.

‘The picture was one of those which, from something marked
in the features and expression, attract the observation even of
those who are ignorant of art. The Independent looked at it
until a smile passed transiently over his clouded brow. Whether
he smiled-to see the grim old cavalier employed in desecrating

l¢WOODSTOCK. 37
a religious house—(an pee palen much conforming to the prac-
tice of his own eae vether he smiled in cont tempt of the old
painter’s harsh and dry mode of w orking—or whether the sight
of this romans ble portrait revived some other ide eas, the under-
keeper could not decide.

The smile passed aw ay in an instant, as the soldier looked to
the oriel windows. The recesses within them raised a step or
two from the wall. In one was placed a walnut-tree reading
desk, and a huge stuffed arm- chair, covered with Spanish le ather.

A little cabinet stood beside, with some of its shuttles and drawers
open, displaying hawks’ bells, dog-whistles, instruments for trim-
ming falcons’ feathers, bridle -bits of various constructions, and
other trifles connected with silvan sport.

The other little recess was differently furnished. There lay
some articles of needlework on a small tab ole, besides a lute,
with a book having some airs written down in it, and a frame
for working em broidery, Some tapestry was displayed around
the recess, with more attention to ornament than was visible in
the rest of the apartment; the arrangement of a few bow-pots,
with such flowers as the fac ling season afforded, showed also the
superintendence of female taste.

Tomkins cast an eye of careless regard upon these subjects of
female occupation, then stepped into the further window, and
began to turn-the leaves of a folio, which lay open on the read-
ing-desk, apparently with some interest. Joceline, who had
determined to watch his motions without interfering with them,
was standing at some distance in dejected silence when a door
behind the tapestry suddenly opened, and a pretty village maid
tripped out with a napkin in her hand, as if she had been about
some household duty.

‘“ How now, Sir Impudence ?” she said to Joceline, in a smart
tone; “what do you here prowling about the apartments when
the master is not to home?”

But instead of the answer which perhaps she expected, Joce-
line Joliffe cast a mournful glance toward the soldier in the
oriel window, as if to make what he said fully intelligible, and
eae with a dejected appearance and voice, “ Alack, my pretty

Phoebe, there come those here that have more right or might
than any of us, and will use little ceremony in coming when
they will, and staying while they please.”

He darted another glance at Tomkins, who still seemed busy
with the book before him, then sidled close to the astonished
girl, who had continued looki ing alternately at the keeper and at
the stranger, as if she had been unable to understand the words38 WOODSTOCK.

of the first, or to comprehend the meaning of the second being
Present.

“Go,” whispered Joliffe, approaching his mouth so near her
cheek, that is breath waved the curls of her hair; “go my
dearest Phcehe, trip it as fast as a fawn down to my I dee ==!
will soon be there, and ”’

‘Your lodge, indeed!” said Phcebe; “you are very bold,
for a poor killbuck that never fris
a dun deer— Your lodge, indeec
think.”

“‘ Hush, hush ! Phcebe—there is no time for jesting. Down
to my hut, I say, like a deer, for the knight and Mrs. Alice are
both there, and I fear will not return hither again.—All’s
a girl—and our evil days are come at last with a ven-

eance—we are fairly at bay ae fairly hunted down.”

 

} V7 y refAOTre cave
ehtened any thing before save
1!—I am like to go there, I

2

~ Can this be, Joceline?” said the poor girl, turning to the
keeper, with an expression of sy ht in her countenance, which

she had hitherto averted in rural coquetry.
“ As sure, my dearest Phoebe, as ’——
The rest of the asseveration was lost in Phcebe’s ear, so
closely did the keeper’s lips approach it ; and if they approached
so very near as to touch her cheek, grief, like impatience, hath
its privileges, and poor Phoebe had enough of serious alarm to
prevent her from demurring upon such a trifle.
Pp

But no trifle was the ap pro: ich of Joceline’s lips to Pheebe’s

pretty though sunburnt cheek, in the estimation of the Inde-
pendent, who, a little bef

re the object of Joceline’s vigilance,
had been more lately in his turn the

<=
observer of the keeper’s
demeanor, so soon as the interview betwixt Phcebe and him
had become so interesting. And when he remarked the close-
ness of Joceline’s argument, he raised his voice to a pitch of
harshness that would have rivaled that of an ungreased and
rusty saw, and which at once made Joceline and Pheebe spring
six feet apart, each in contrary directions, and if Cupid was of
the party must have sent him out at the window like a wild
duck flying from a culverin. Instant ly throwing himself into
the attitude of a preacher and a reprover of vice, “‘ Hownow !”’
he exel: auneth “ shameless and im ipudent as you are !—What—
chambering and wantoning in our very presence !—H ow—would
you play your pranks before the steward of the Commissioners
of the High Court of Parliament, as ye would m a booth at the
fulsome fair, or amidst the trappings and tracings of a profane
dancing school, where the scoundrel minstrels make their un-
godly weapons to squeak, ‘ Kiss and be kind, the fiddler’s blind ?
-But here,” he said, dealing a perilous thump upon the vol-WOODSTOCK. 39

‘“* Here is the King and | high priest of those vice S and

'—Here is he, whom men of fol ly profanely call this
!—Here is he, whom princes chose for their cabinet-

H is he, whom x for tl binet

naids of honor take for their bed-fellow !—
cher of fine words, foppery and folly—
thump upon the si anne seam oh!
1e, , at was ‘th 1e Brot folio—beloved of tl
3s and Condel*—it was the editig
scatiiiade on thee, William
rhate’er of such lawless idleness and im-
led the land since thy day!”
heavy accusation,” said Joceline, the bold
whose temper could not be long overawed :
is Our master’s old favorite. W ill of Stratford,
very buss that has been snatched since James’s
lous reckoning truly—but I wonder who is spon-
ls and 2 S did before his day?”
said 4
me,

j ae

mple for id:
+; rnished with
thor in the flesh, he

uld you be drunk,

uld you plunge in

rence, as with the

book is the well-

overrun the land

deniers, murder-

t, haunting unclean

Away with him,

‘with his wicked

-d bones!

~~ n we passedS tratford,
Wal ; but that our march

ay
le was after you with his cavaliers,
incorrigible Joceline.

o

-rince J

Hemming and Condell, 1623.40 WOODSTOCK.

“T say,” continued the zealous trooper, raising his voice and
extending his arm—“ but that our march was by command
hasty, and that we turned not aside in our riding, closing our
ranks each one upon the other as becomes men of war, I had
torn on that day the bones of that preceptor of vice and de-
bauchery from the grave, and given them to the next dunghill,
{ would have made his memory.a scoff and a hissing!”

“That is the bitterest thing he has said yet,” observed the
keeper. ‘ Poor Will would have lked the hissing worse than
alli the Tesh

“Will the gentleman say any more?” inquired Phcebe in a
whisper. ‘‘ Lack-a-day, he talks brave words, if one knew but
what they meant. But itis a mercy our good knight did not
see him ruffle the book at that rate—Mercy on us, there would
certainly have been bloodshed.—But oh, the father—see how
he is twisting his face about !—Is he ill of the colic, think’st
thou, Joceline? Or, may I offer him a glass of strong waters?”

‘“ Hark thee hither, wench!” said the keeper, “he is but
loading his blunderbuss for another volley ; and while he turns
up his eyes, and twists about his face, and clenches his fist,
and shuffles and tramples with his feet in that fashion, he is
bound to take no notice of anything. I would be sworn to
cut his purse, if he had one, from his side, without his feel-
ieeat,”’

‘La! Joceline,” said Phoebe; ‘and if he abides here in
this turn of times, I dare say the gentleman will be easily
served.”

“ Care not thou about that,” said Joliffe ; “ but tell me softly
and hastily what is in the pantry?”

‘Small housekeeping enough,” said Pheebe ; “a cold capon
and some comfits and the great standing venison pasty, with
plenty of spice—a manchet or two besides, and that is all.”

“Well, it will serve for a pinch—wrap thy cloak round thy
comely body—get a basket and a brace of trenchers and
towels, they are heinously impoverished down yonder—carry
down the capon and the manchets—the pasty must abide with
this same soldier and me, and the pie-crust will serve us
for bread.”

“Rarely,” said Phoebe ; “I made the paste myself—it is
as thick as the walls of Fair Rosamond’s Tower.”

“Which two pairs of jaws would be long in gnawing
through, work hard as they might,” said the keeper. “ But
what liquor is there?”

“Only a bottle of Alicant, and one of sack, with the stone
jug of strong waters,” answered Phoebe,WOODSTOCK. AY

‘Put the wine-flasks into thy basket,” said Joceline, “the
knight must not lack his evening draught—and down with thee
to the hut like a lapwing. There is enough for supper, and
to-morrow is a new day.—Ha! by heaven I thought yonder
man’s eye watched us—No—he only rolled it round him in a
brown study—Deep enough doubtless, as they all are.—But
d—n him, he must be bottomless if | cannot sound him before
the night’s out.—Hie thee away, Phoebe.”

But Phoebe was arural coquette, and, aware that Joceline’s
situation gave him no advantage of avenging the challenge in
a fitting way, she whispered in his ear, “Do you think our
knight’s friend, Shakspeare, really found out all these naughty
devices the gentleman spoke of ?”

Off she darted while she spoke, while Joliffe menaced
future vengeance with his finger, as he muttered, “Go thy way,

Phoebe Mayflower, the lightest-footed and lightest-hearted
wench that ever tripped the sod in Woodstock Park !—After
her, Bevis, and bring her safe to your master at the hut.”

The large grayhound arose like a human servitor who had
received an order, and followed Phebe through the hall, first
licking her hand to make her sensible of his presence, and then
putting himself to a slow trot, so as best to accommodate him-
self to the light pace of her whom he convoyed, whom Jfoceline

|

<

had not extolled for her activity without due reason. While
:

¢
Pheebe and |]
the Lodge.

The Independent now seemed to start as if from a reverie.
“Is the young woman gone?” said he.

“Ay, marry is she,” said the keeper = “ance th your wor-
ship hath further commands, you must rest contented with male
attendance.”

~ Commands—-umph—I think the damsel might have tar
ried for another exhortation,” said the soldier—* truly, I pro-
fess my mind was much inclined toward her for her edifica-
tion.”

“Oh, sir,” replied Joliffe, “ she will be at church next Sun-
day, and if your military reverence is pleased again to hold
forth amongst us, she will have use of the doctrine with the
rest. But young maidens of these parts hear no private homi-
lies.—And what is now your pleasure? Will you look at the
other rooms, and at the few plate articles which have been
lett?

“Umph—no,” said the Independent—“ It wears late, and
gets dark—thou hast the means of giving us beds, friend! ”

» Better you never slept in,” replied the keeper.

er guardian thread the forest glades, we return to

©SMG GR At eee

SLiitoaakist A Aes eee

 

WOODSTOCK.

fire, and a light, and some small pittance
£

of creature-comforts tor refreshment of the outward man a3
continued the soldier.

‘And wood for a

“Without doubt,” replied the keeper, displaying a prudent
anxiety to Baan this important personage,

In afew minutes a great standir ng Cc: andlestick was placed
on an oaken table. The mighty venison pasty, adorned with
parsley, was placed on the board on a clean napkin; the stone
bottle of strong waters, with a black- jack full of ale, formed
comfortable appendages; and to thi af meal sat down in social

E
le
k

nanner the soldier, accupying a great elbow-chair, and the

At a ee ee ter Toes
<CEper, at His Invitation, using the mo re lowly at >ommod: ation
Li

TY
Ai
k
ce ee te el : o : a Ct
Of a StO Gie Atle Opposite Sslae O£ the

{

ible, Thus PBS iat
employed, our history leaves them for the present.

Yon path of f greensward
Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ;

There is no flint to gail thy paadct | foot,

rhere’s ready shelter from each breeze or shower.—
=p 4 :

;
But duty guides not that way—see her stand,

With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliffs,
Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy fo ytsteps,
Oft where she leads thy hea l must bear t storm,
And thy shrunk form endure hx it, cold and hunger ;
But sne will guide tnee up to ne l © f) ; I ;
Which he who gains seems native of the sky
Whi thly s he stretch’d b feet

]

Diminish’d, shrunk, and valueles

Iu reader cannot have forgotten that after his scuffle with
the € Commonwealth soldier, Sir Henry Lee, with his daughter
Alice, had de >parted to take refuge in the hut of the stou keeper
li iff Re ks ON os ere Bea ad la
ilked slow. as betore, for the old

snignt was at once oppressed by p ‘rceiving these last vestiges of
e hands of republicans. and by the recollec-

tion of his recent defi at. At tim

es he paused, and with his arms
folded on his bosom, recalled - the circumstances attending
his expuaion trom a house so long his home. Tt seemed to him

that, like the ch: ampions of romance of whom he had sometimes
read, he himse lt was retiring from the post which it was his
ated by a Paynim knight, for whom the ad-

} y 1

duty to guard,
gee a ie

venture had ia reserved by fate,

Alice had her own painfulWOODSTOCK. 5
- 43
subjects of recollection, not had the tenor of her last conversa-
tion with her father been so pleasant as to make her anxious
to renew it until his temper should be more composed ; for
Al , 1} it] ba
with a1 nm, and much love to is dai ohter,
age ant

: si
i . Lol Ss L
. YY 8 7
misfortunes, which of late ca
1 oiven ft h ) ] ter Lett a
1ad given to the good knicht’:
7

1 excellent dispos u
l ame thicker and thicker
passions a wayward irritability
unknown to his better days. His daughter, anc one or two
a is decayed fortunes,

and pitied him even

e referred to an
ize. Ne Sard. -\ tee
and that fellow rather than
that his savacity saw

y

ht himself obliged to
remained with Toc ine,

Henry: “he leaves me
‘There is a feel ng in

it 1s called, of dumb

from misfortune. The very
k from the herd;

; ad
ul on him and worry

DUC

 

hat may be true of the more irrational kind of animals

 

among each other,” said Alice, “for their whole life is well

nigh a warfare: but the d ¢ leaves his own race to attach

himself to ours: forsakes. for his master, the company, food,

and pleasure of his own l; and surely the fidelity of such a
; . ¥ 1

C
been in particular,

ought not to be lichtly suspected.’

[ am not anery with the dog, Alice; I am only sorry,” re-
plied her father. “TI have read in faithful chronicles that when
Richard II. and Henry of Bolingbroke were at Berkeley Castle,
1. dog of the same kind deserted the Ki ¢, Whom he had always
1ttended upon, and attached himself ti Nenry, whom he then
saw for the first time. Richard foretold, from the desertion of
his favorite, his approaching deposition. The dog was after-
ward kept at Woodstock, and Bevis is said to be of his breed,

|
which was heedfully kept up. What I might foretell of mischief
from his desertion, I cannot guess, but my mind assures me it

)C ides no 9 OG.

* The story occurs, I think, in Froissart’s Chronicles

BYttnanasieatthbl ven ermcan id aame tebbaiéalinits44 WOODSTOCK.

There was a distant rustling among the withered leaves, a
bouncing or g all ping sound on the path, and the favorite dog
instantly j: yined his master.

“Come into court, old knave,” said Alice, cheerfully, ‘and
defend thy character, which is Sells nigh endangered by this
absence.” But the dog only paid her courtesy by gamboling
around them, and instantly plunged b back again as fast as he
could scamper.

“ How now, knave?” said the knight; “thou art too well
trained, surely, to take up the chase without orders.” A
minute more showed them Phoebe Mayflower approaching, her
light pace so little impeded by the burden which she bore, that
she joined her master and young mistress just as they arrived

-the keeper’s hut, which was the boundary of their journey.
pee who had shot eon to pay his compliments to Sir Henry,
his master, had returned again to his immediate duty, the
escorting Phoebe and her cargo of provisions. ‘The whole party
stood presently assembled before the fe of the keeper’s hut.

In pote times a substantial stone habitation, fit for the
yeoman-keeper of a royal walk had adorned this place. A fair
Spring § en out near the spot, and once traversed yards Ane
courts, ‘attached to well-built and convenient kennels and mews.
But in some of the skirmishes which were common during ihe
civil wars, this little silvan dwelling had been attacked and
defended, stormed and burnt. A neighboring squire, of the
Parliament side of the question, took advantage of Sir Henry
Lee’s absence, who was then in Charles’s camp, and of the
decay of the royal cause, and had, without scruple, carried off
the hewn stones, and such building materials as the fire left
unconsumed, and repaired his own manor-house with them.
The yeoman-keeper, therefore, our friend Jocel ine, had con-
structed, for his own accommodation, and that of the ‘old woman
he calle d his dame, a wattled hut, such as his own labor, with
that of a neighbor or two, had erected in the course of a few
days. The walls were plastered with clay, white-washed, and
covered with vines and other creeping plants ; the roof was
neatly aes and the whole, though merely a hut, had, by
the neat-handed Joliffe, been so ‘arranged as not to disgrace the
condition of the dweller.

The knight advanced to the entrance; but the ingenuity of
the architect, for want of a better lock to the door, which itself
was but of wattles curiously twisted, had contrived a mode of
securing the latch on the inside with a pin, which prevented it
frem rising; and in this manner it was at Bey fastened.
Conceiving that this was some precaution of Joliffe’s old house-

9)WOODSTOCK.

abe of whose deafness they were all aware, Sir Henry raised
his voice to demand admittance, but in vain. Irritated at this
delay, he pressed the door at once with foot and hand in a way
whic f the frail barrier was unable to resist ; it gave way accord-
ingly, and the ee thus forcibly entered the kitchen, or out-
ward apartment, of his servant. In the midst of the floor, and
with a posture w hich indicated embarrassment, stood a youthful
stranger in a riding-suit.

os This may be my last act of authority here,” said the knight,
seizing the stranger by the collar, “ but I am still Ranger of
Woodstock for this night at least—Who or what art thou?”

The stranger aap ed the riding-mantle in which his face
was muffled, and at the same time fell on one knee.

“Your poor kinsman, Markham Everard,” he said, ‘‘ who
came hither for your sake, although he fears you will scarce
make him welcome for his own.”

Sir Henry started back, but recovered himself in an instant,
as one who recollected that he had a part of dignity to perform.
He stood erect, therefore, and replied, with considerable
assumption of stately ceremony :

‘Fair kinsman, it pleases me that you are come to Wood-
stock upon the very first night that, for many years which have
passed, is likely to promise you a worthy or a welcome re-
ception.”

“Now God grant it be so, that I rightly hear and duly
understand you,” said the young man ; while Alice, though she
was silent, kept her looks fixed on her father’s face, as if desir-
ous to know whether his meaning was kind toward his nephew,
which her knowledge of his character inclined her greatly to
doubt.

The knight meanwhile darted a sardonic look, first on his
nephew, then on his daughter, and proceeded—“‘I need not, I
presume, inform Mr. Markham Everard, that it cannot be our
purpose to entertain him, or even to offer him a seat, in this
poor hut.”

“T will attend you most willingly to the Lodge,” said the
young gentleman. “I had, indeed, judged you were already
there for the ev ening, and feared to intrude upon you. —_ But if
you would permit me, my dearest uncle, to escort my kins-
woman and you back to the Lodge, believe me, amongst all
which you have so often done of good and kind, you never
conferred benefit that will be so dearly prized.”

“ You mistake me greatly, Mr. Markham Everard,” replied
the knight. “It is not our purpose to return to the Lodge
to-night, nor, by Our Lady, to-morrow neither. I meant but

7

)

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 

RE ae cai eel eee ne CE os a

arene eeNt

i

a

~

46 WOODSTOCK.

to intimate to you in all courtesy, that at Woodstock Heder
you will find those for whom you are fitting society, and wh
doubtless, will afford you a willing welcome; which £, sig, in
this my present retreat, do not presume to offer to a person of
your consequence

“ For Heaven's sake,” said the young man, turning to Alice,

tell me how I am to understand language so mysterious.”

\lice, to prevent his i aeese the restrained anger of her

father, eum pedir herself to answer, though it was with diff-
culty, “‘ We are exp elie -d from the Lox ige by. soldiers.”

““ Expelled—by s ldiers!” e3 «claimed Everard, in surprise—

there is no legal warrant for this.”

“None at all,” answered the knight, in the same tone of
cutting irony which he had all along used, “and yet as lawful
a warrant, as for aught that has been wrought in E ngland this
twelvemonth and more. You are, I think, or were, an Inns-of-

66

Court-man—marry, sir, your enjoyment of your profession is
ike that lease which a prodigal wishes to have of a wea thy
widow. You have already survived. the law which you studied,
and its expiry doubtless has not been without a legacy—some
decent pickings, some merciful increases, as the phrase goes

as Ie

 

You have deserved it two w agesHee wore buff and bandoleer,
as well as wielded pen and ink—lI have not heard if you held
forth too.”

“Think of me and speak of me as harshly as you will, sir,’
said Everard, submissively. ‘‘I have but, in this evil time,
guided myself by my conscience, and my father’s. commands.”

“QO; an you talk of conscience,” said. the old knight, “I
must have mine eye upon you, as Hamlet says. Never yet did
Puritan cheat so grossly as when he was appeali ing to his con-
science; and as for thy father ?——_

He was about to proceed in a tone of the same invective,
when the young man inte ne him, by saying, in a firm tone,

6. Sir Henry Lee, you have ever 1 oa thought noble—Say a
me what you will, but speak not of my fé ther what the ear of a

son should not endure, and which yet his arm cannot resent.
To do me such wrong is to insult an unarmed mz in, or to beat a
captive

Sir Henry paused, as if struck by the remark. “Thou hast
spoken truth in that, Mark, wert thou the blackest Puritan
whom hell ever vomited, to distract an unhappy country,”

“Be that as you will to think it,” replied Everard ; “ but let
me not leave you to the shelter of this wretched hovel. The
night is drawing to storm—let me but conduct you to the
Lodge, and expel those intruders, who can, as yet at least, haveWOODSTOCK. 47

no warrant for what they do. TI will not linger a moment. be-
hind them, save just to deliver my father’s message.—Grant me
f
k

but this much, or the love you once bore me!”

ae Wess shire answere d his uncle firmly, but sorrowfully,
“thou speekest truth—I did love thee once. The bright-haired
boy whom [| taught to ride, to shoot, to hint -whtose: hours of

Nappiness were spent with me, wherever those of graver labors
were employed—f did love that bov——av. and ]

 

am weak enough
to love even the memory of what he was.——But he is cone,
oe —he is gone; and in his room I only behold an avowed
and determined rebel to his relicion and to his king—a rebel

more detestable on account of his succe ss, the more infamous
through tino plundered wealth with which he hopes to gild his
villany.—But I am poor, thou think’st, and should hold mv
peace, lest men say, ‘ Speak, sirrah, when you should.’—Know,
indigent and plundered as I am, I feel myself
|

L

1

 

dishonored in holding even but this much talk with the tool of
usurping rebelsi—-Go' to: the Lodge, if thou wilt—vonder lies the
way—but think not that, to regain my dwe pond there, or all the
L Ever possessed in my wealthiest days, I would willingly

pany thee three steps on the greensward. If I must ‘be
Bom noe it shall be only when thy red-coats have tied my

}
I

vehind me, and
1ou mayst be my fellow-traveler
wilt, but not sooner.”
Alice, who suffered cruelly during this d
well aware that further areument wot uld only kindle the knight’s
resentment still more hi hly, ventured at last, in an anxiety, to
nake a sign to her cousin to break off the interview, and to
retire, since her father commanded his absence in a manner so
peremptory. Unhay a she was observed by Sir Henry, who,
concluding that what he saw was evidence of a private under-
standing betwixt the cousins, his wrath acquired new fuel, and
it required the utmost exertion of vel-bonmabn d and recollec-
tion of all ty, to enable him to veil
his real fu mde the same ironical manner which he had
adopted at the beginning of th is angry interview.

If thou art afraid,” he said, “ to trace our forest glades by
night, respected stranger, to whom I am perhaps bound to do
honor as my successor in the charge of these w calles here seems
to be a modest damsel, who will be most willing to wait on thee,
and be thy bow-bearer.—Only, for her mother’s sake, let there
pass some slight form of marriage between you—Ye need no
license or priest in these happy days, but may be buckled like

beggars in a ditch, with a hedge for a church-roof, and a tinke

I
bound my legs beneath my horse’s belly.
r then, I grant ide if thou

Y
2

eee and was

=)

that was due to his own digni
ry al

1
u

 

  
 
  
   
  
        
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
     
  
  
 
  
   
  
    
   
  
 
 
  
    
   
     
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 

casts dened tubbaseadas

  

2 NeiyanasunabiiivanerncissWBbiee so eae

r

a

48 WOODSTOCK.
for a priest. I crave pardon of you for making such an officious
and simple request—perhaps you are a Ranter—or one of the
family of Love, or hold marriage rites as unnecessary, as Knip-
perdoling, or Jack of Leyden ? ”

“¢ For mercy’s sake, forbear such dreadful jesting, my father!
and do you, Markham, begone, in God’s name, and leave us to
our fate—your presence makes my father rave.”

‘“ Jesting! ” said Sir Henry, ‘‘ I was never more serious—
Raving !—I was never more composed—I could never brook
that falsehood should approach me—I would no more bear by
my side a dishonored daughter than a dishonored sword; and
this unhappy day hath shown that both can fail.”

“ Sir Henry,” said young Everard, “ load not your soul with
a heavy crime, which be assured you do, in treating your
daughter thus unjustly. It is long now since you denied her to
me, when we were poor and you were powerful. I acquiesced
in your prohibition of all suit and intercourse. God knoweth
what I suffered—but I acquiesed. Neither is it to renew my
suit that I now come hither, and have, I do acknowledge,
sought speech of her—not for her own sake only, but for yours
also. Destruction hovers over you, ready to close her pinions to
stoop, and her talons to clutch—Yes, sir, look contemptuous as
you will, such is the case ; and it is to protect both you and her
that [am ere,’

“Vou refuse then my free pift,” said Sm Elenry Lee;
perhaps you think it loaded with too hard conditions ? ”

‘¢ Shame, shame on you, Sir Henry;” said Everard, waxing
warm in turn; ‘“‘ have your political prejudices so utterly
warped every feeling of a father, that you can speak with bitter
mockery and scorn of what concerns your own daughter’s
honor ?—Hold up your head, fair Alice, and tell your father
he has forgotten nature in his fantastic spirit of loyalty —Know,
Sir Henry, that though I would prefer your daughter’s hand
to ever blessing which Heaven could bestow on me, I would
not accept it—my conscience would not permit me to do so—
when I knew it must withdraw her from her duty to you.”

“Your conscience is over scrupulous, young man ;—carry it
to some dissenting rabbi, and he who takes all that comes to net,
will teach thee it is sinning against our mercies to refuse any
good thing that is freely offered to us.”

‘When it is freely offered and kindly offered—not when
the offer is made in irony and insult—Fare thee well, Alice—if
aught could make me desire to profit by thy father’s wild wish
to cast thee from him in a moment of unworthy suspicion, it
would be that, while indulging in such sentiments, Sir Henry

74 orWOODSTOCK. 49

Lee is tyrannically oppressing the creature, who of all others is
most de ependent on his kindness—who of all others will most
feel his severity, and whom, of all others, he is most bound to
cherish and support.”

“ Do not fear forme, Mr. Everard,” exclaimed Alice, arous-
ed from her timidity by a dread of the consequences not un-
likely to ensue, where civil war sets relations, as well as fellow-
citizens, in opposition to each other.—‘ Oh, begone, I conjure
you, Pee es ! Nothing stands betwixt me and my father’s kind-
ness, but these unhappy family divisions—but your ill-timed
presence here—for Heaven’s sake, leave us!”

“Soh, mistress !”” answered the hot old cavalier, ‘‘ you play
lady paramount already ; and who but you !—you would dictate
to our train, I warrant, like Goneril and Regan! But I tell
thee, no man shall leave my house—and, humble as it is, this
is now my house—while he has aught to say to me that is to be
a as this young man now speaks, with a bent brow anda
lo y tone—Spe ak out, sir, and say your worst ! ”

“Fear not my temper, Mrs. Alice,” said Everard, with equal
firmness and placidity of manner; “and you Sir Henry, do not
think that if I speak firmly, I mean therefore to speak in anger
or officiously. You have taxed me with much, and, were I
guided by the wiid spirit of romantic chivalry, much which,
even from so neara relative, I ought not, as being by birth,
and in the world’s estimation, a “gentleman to pass over with-
out reply. Is it your pleasure to give me patient hearing ?”

“If you stand on your defence,” answered the stout old
knight, ‘“‘ God forbid that you should not challenge a patient
ay, though your pleading were two parts disloyalty
this has already lasted

 

hearing
and one blasphemy—Only, be |
but too long.”
“ T will, Sir Henry,” replied the young man; “yet it is hard
to crowd into a few sentences the defence of a life which,
though short, has been a busy one—too busy, your indignant
gesture would assert. But I deny it; I have drawn my sword
neither hastily, nor without due consideration, for a people whose
rights have been tr ampled on, and whose consciences have been
O oppressed —F rown not, sir—such is not your view of the con-
test, but such is mine. For my religious principles, at which
you have scoffed, believe me, that though they depend not on
set forms, they are no less sincere than your own, and thus far
purer—e excuse the word—that they are unmingled with the
bloodthirsty dictates of a barbarous age, which you and others
have called the code of chivalrous honor. Not my own natural
disposition, but the better doctrine which my creed has taught,

      

   
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
    
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
    
 

ENIDN NLT

Pr rt rere erty a soc aR achiakat)

pe at50 WOODSTOCK.

enables: me to bear your harsh revilings without answering in 4
similar tone of wrath and reproach. You may carry insult i
extremity against me at your pleasure—not on ac count of ou
lationship: alone, but because I am bound in char ity t £8 entiads
eas CE his3: Sir Henry, is much from one of our howe: But, with
forbearance far more than this requires, I can rit at your

hands the gift, which most of all things under heaven, I should
desire to obtain, because duty calls upon her to ausiata and
comfort you, and because it were sin t > permit you, in your

blindness, to spurn your comforter fice your-side.— Farewell,
sir—not in anger—but in pi ity—We may meet in a better time,
Ww hen y« ur heart and your principles shall master the unha appy
prejudices by which they are now overclouded.—Farewell_—~
farewell, Alice ! ”’

 

 

 

The last words were rep eat d twice, and in a tone of fee! ling
and passionate grief, which differed utterly

ym the steac ly anc d
almost severe

tone in which he had addre neat Si He enry Lee.
eos - 2 : : A Ac 5 r LTA f
rie turned and left the hut so soon as he had uttered these last

words ; and as if ashamed of the tenderness which had mingled

with his accents, the young Commonwealth’s-man turned and
walked sternly anid resolvedly forth into the mo onlight, which
now was spreading its broad light and autumnal shadows over

the woodland.
SO Soon: as he departed, Alice, who had been

during the
whole scene in the utmost te

error that nee father might have
en Burried, by his natural heat of tem per, from violence of
language into violence of action, si ete ab n upon a settle
twiste dont of willow bous BBs; like most of hatte few mov-

ables, and endeavored to conceal the tears wit! sh ade compani ed

the thanks she rendered in bod ken accents to Heaven. that

, not-
withstanding the near all

lance and relationship of the parties
some fatal deed had not closed an interview so Oe and so
angry. Phoebe Mayflower blubbered heart ily for ompany,
though she understood but littie of what had d passed ; just, in-
deed, enough to enable her afterward to re
dozen particular friends, that her old mravER, Sir Henry, had
been perilous at igry, and almost fought with youne Master Eve.-
ard, because he h 1 1 well (

ort to some half-

-nig¢h carried away her young mistress.

—“ And what could oe have done better ?” said Phaebe, “ seeing

the old man cy id nothing left either for Mrs, Alice or himself ;

and as for \ doves ae E verard arate our young lady, oh! they had
o a J

spoken die ia ing things to each other as are not to be found
in the history of Areal us and Parthenia,* w ho, as the story-book

*[“The most pleasant and delightful history of Argatus and Parthenia”
was a chap-book very popular in the seventeenth century.]WOODSTOCK. 51

tells, were the truest pair of lovers in all Arcadia, and Oxford:
se 3
di OD

anne

Old Goody Jellycot had popped her scarlet hood into the
1 more than once while the 7 1€ was proceeding ; but,

as the worthy dame was parcel bli ena more than parcel
aeat, know!
heuel

ledge was excluded by two oF 1cipal entrances ; and
n ae instinct, that

’ chose J Joceline’s

hut for the scene af their dispute was as great a mystery as the

“ a <I ~ ey ba J + wy x ¥ c
ough she comprehended, by a sort es oe

entlefolk were at hi:

 

1

I been, by t the last
words of his departing nephew? The t an iss that ie was
hly moved than his pees eee and in al
is nephew’s bald defence of his religious and poli-
rather pacified diva aggravated his displeasure.
ciently Hace of contradiction, still evasion
as more al lien to the blunt old Ranger’s nature
lication and direct Opposition ; and he was wont

s the state of the old Sane S mood, thus con-
- ee é
a

po

      

I
ver loved the buck best who stooc
-d his nephew’s departure, however, with a quo-

kspeare, whom, as many others do, — was

oO
=

- LLOM 2&2 SOLE 0! h: ibi C and TESPECt tl, as a f: avori

master, without having either much obi tast

oO

  

M8 ] +] in rere
works, or great skill in applying the passage which he
L o > tL Oo
;
retained on his memory
NA os 7 : ] Lier, ANE a ah eae g Bae
Mark,” he said, “mark this, Alice—the devil can quote
Scrip > for his purpose. Why, this young fanatic cousin of
thine, with no more beard than I have seen ona clown playing
Maid Marion on May-day, when the villace barber had : = aved

E o I
him in too great a hurry, shall match any bea fo P Ose rlar
. a : : ]

 

 

ee ‘
i L &
with a ae ready mounted from the Slee. and the
: 4 hat not<he wonid hoe ee -d the Presbv
peptuagint, and what not—he would have battere; Coe resby-
erlan spirit cut of him with a wanion. However. I am glad
|
t

the young man is no sneaker, ; for, were a.man of the devil’s

opinion in religion, and of Old Noll’s in politics, he were better

open on it full cry, than deceive you by hunting counter, or

running a false scent. Come—wipe thine eyes—the fray is

over, ane not like to be stirred ey soon, [ trusty
Encouraged by these words,

~

Noe

Alice rose, and, bewildered as
he was, endeavored to superintend the arrangements for their

meal and their repose in their new habitation, But her tearsi?
;

a
4
i

H

4

p

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 

  

52 WOODSTOCK.

fell so fast, cae marred her counterfeited di ligence ; and it was

well for her t hat Pheebe, though too ignorant “and too simple to
comprehend the text of her < distress, eould afford her material
assistance, in lack of mere Sympathy,

With great readiness and address, the damsel set about
everything that was requisite for Pe oaring the supper and the
beds ; now screaming into Dame Tell yeot’s. €ar, now whisp ering
into her mistress’s, and artfully managing, as if she was merely
the agent, under Alice’s orders, W hen the cold viands were
set forth Sir } Henry Lee kindly pressed his daughter to take
refreshment, as if to make up, indire ectly, for his previous harsh-
hess toward her; while he hi Imself, like an experienced cam-
paigner, showed, that neither the mortification nor brawls of the
day, nor the thoughts of what was to come to- -morrow, could
diminish his appetite for supper which was his favorite meal.
He ate up two- ad ee the capon, nt devoting the first
bumper to the hap ‘estoration of Charles, second of the
name, he finished a nib of wine; for he balanced to a schoo]
accustomed to feed the flames of their loyalty wit a copious
brimmers. He ~ven Sang averse of “The King shall enjoy
his own again,” in which ] hoebe, h alf-sobbing, and ie Jelly-
cot, screaming against time and tune, were contented to lend
their aid, to cover Mistress Alice’s silence.

At length the jovial knight betook himself to his rest on the
keeper’s straw pallet, in a recess ac Joining to the kitchen, and,
etic. | by his change of dwe lling, slept fast and deep, Alice
had less quiet rest in old Goody Je Ilycot’s w icker couch, in the
Inner apartment: while the dame and Pheebe sle pt on a mat-
tress, stuffed with dry leaves, in the same chamber, soundly a
those whose daily toil gains their d: aily bread, and whom morn.
ing call up only to renew the toils of yesterday,WOODSTOCK.

CRAP TER: EVE re

My tongue pads slowly under this new language,
And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phrases.
They may be great in worth and weight, but hang
Upon the native glibness of my language
Like Saul’s plate armor on the shepherd boy,
Encumbering and not arming him.

p2B:

As Markham Everard pursued his way toward the Lodge,
through one of the long sweeping glades which traversed the
forest, varying in breadth, till the trees were now so close that
the boughs made darkness over his head, then receding further
to let in glimpses of the moon, and anon opening yet wider into
little meadows, or savannas, on which the moonbeams lay in
silvery silence ; as he thus proceeded on his lonely course, the
various effects produced by that delicious light on the oaks,
whose dark leaves, gnarled branches, and massive trunks it
gilded, more or less partially, might have drawn the attention
of a poet or a painter.

But if Everard thought of anything saving the painful
scene in which he had just played his part, and of which the
result seemed the destruction of all his hopes, it was of the
necessary guard to be observed in his night-walk. The times
were dangerous and unsettled; the roads full of disbanded
soldiers, and especially of royalists, who made their political
opinions a pretext for disturbing the country with marauding
parties and robberies. Deer-stealers also, who are ever a des-
perate banditti, had of late infested Woodstock Chase. In
short, the dangers of the place and period were such, that
Markham Everard wore 43s Icaded pistols Ab kis belt. and car-
ried his drawn sword underhis arm, that he might be prepared
for whatever peril should,cross, his path. :

He heard the bells of Wooilstock, Chutch ring curfew, just
as he was crossing oné df» the lttle meadows wepgye described,
and they ceased as he entered an overshadowed and twilight
part of the path beyond. It was there that he heard some one
whistling ; and, as the sound became clearer, it was plain the
person was advancing toward him. ‘This could hardly be a
friend; for the party to which he belonged rejected, generally
speaking, all music, unless psalmody. “Ifa manis merry, let

him sing psalms,” was a text which they were pleased to in-Saoaaahsa aL UDALainnsseaveS se Secon

a ¥ Ps

54 WOODSTOCK.

 

terpret as literally and to as little purpose as they did some
others; and yet it was too continued a sound to be a signal
amongst nig ht-walk ers, and too light and cheerful to argue any
purpose of concealment on the part of the traveler, w ho pres-
ently exchanged his whistling for singing, and trol led forth the
following stanza to a jolly tune, with which the old cavaliers
were wont to wake the night-owl :—

Hey for cavaliers! Ho for cavaliers }
Pray for cavaliers !

Rub a dub—rub a dub

Have at old peacoat
Oliver smokes for fear.

“I should know that voice,” said Everard. uncocking the
pistol which he had drawn from his belt, but continuing to Saald
itjm bis hand, Then Came another fragment :—

Hash them—slash them—
All to pieces dash them,

Oo NOt ened Markham, “ who goes there, and for
whom ?”

“For Church and Kir 1g,”” answered a voice, which presently
seeds No dn met mean against Church and Ki ing, and
for the people who are uppermost—I[ rect which they are
Roger Wildrake, as | guess ?” said Everard.

‘he same—Gentleman ; of
county of Lincoln.’

“ Wildrake !” said Markha
called. You have been
purpose, and using it to ¢
to be sure ! ”

Squattlesea-mere, | in the moist

m—* Wil dgoose you should be
moistening your own throat to some

rabble tunes very suitable to the tim les.

a

Taith. the t
fashion a little—the

* What; could ‘Texpectosdid Everard, “but to meet some
ranting, dtunken cavalier. as perate and dangerous as night
and sack usually.make thesr,? < What if-I had rewarded your
melody by a dallin the guliet :

une’s a pretty tune enough, Mark, only out of
he more’s, the. pity.”

“Wy

Why, there would hate béen a piper paid—that’s all,” said
Wildrake. “ But wherefore come you this way now? I was
about to see you at the hut.

“I have been obliged to 1
hereafter,” replied Markham.

“What! the old play-hunting cay
was unkind?”

eave it—I will te]] you the cause

alier was cross, or ChloeWOODSTOCK. GE

tn

Jest not, Wildrake—it js al] over with me,” said Everard
“The devil at, joes exclaanied Wildrake, “and you take it
thus quietly !—Zounds! let us back. together—I’]] plead your
cause for you—I know how to tickle up an old knight and <
pretty maiden—Let me alone for putting you rectus in cur a
you canting rogue.-—D—n me. Sit Hen iry Lee, says I, your
nephew is a piece of a Puritan—it won 't deny—but me pra
him agentleman anda pretty fellow, for all that oe
Says I, you may think your cousin looks like a psa]
weaver, in that bare f
that band, whi
{ th

 

1

Ste a 7
elt, and w th that rascally }

y 7 14 1 7
uch looks like a_ baby’s clout, a

I 9? wh, > e lf iz
Tay & & Wnole. cait- ‘

C
whi kin in each of them,—but let

3

boots
|

S
2 - tha . oe woe pe see +4 — is
um Wear on the one side of his head acastor, with a plume be-
fitting his quality ; give him a good Toledo by his side, with
a me deel mol an Sle : to Ge a a
a broidered felt and an | hilt, instead of the ton of iron

ee A ea Be :
black AANCTEW Frerrara ; put

mouth—and, blood and wounds!

contained in that RE peste a
few smart words in his !
madam, Says 1s)
Prithee, truce wit]
“and tell me if you
sober reason?”

1 this nOBREDEE Wildr: Bee said Everard,
are sober enough to hear a few words of

“ Pshaw ! man, I did but crack a brace of quarts with yon-
der puritanic, roundheaded soldiers, up yonder at the town:
and rat me but I passed myself for the best man of ane party

 

Fy
twanged my nose,-and turned up my eyes, as I took my can—
Pah! the very wine tasted of hypocrisy. I think the rogue
corporal smoked something at last—as for the common fellows,
never stir, but ¢heyp ; |

y asked me to say grace over another quart ! ?
“This is just what I wished to speak with you about, Wild-
‘ake,”’ said Markham—“ You hold me, I am sure, for your

{ s Inn—
irithous,
and, to sum up the whole with a puri-
tanic touch, Davi id and Jonathan, all in one breath. Not even
politics, the wedge that rends families and friendships asunder,
as iron rives oa 1ave been able to split us.”

athe ss

King r £O Nott

“True as steel. Chums. at College and at Lincoln’:
we have been Nisus and Euryalus, Theseus and P
Orestes and Pylades:

1

answered Markham: “and when you followed the
ingham, and I enrolled under K’ssex, we swore, at
our parting, that whichever side was victorious, he of us who
adhered to it should protect his less fortunate comrade.”

‘* Surely
cordingly? Di d- you not save me from han ging? and am I not
indebted to you for the bread I eat?”

£
“I have but done that which, had the times been otherwise,

Z

, man ae ; and have you not protected me ac-

 

Facer aT TED ros ta

  

my

.

  
 
  
    
   
  
  
    
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
   
   
     
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
       
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
   
  

Cy eee
Nr6 WOODSTOCK.
S

you, my dear Wildrake, would, I am sure, have done for me.
But, as I said, that is just what I wished to speak to you about.
Why render the task of protecting you more difficult than it
must necessarily be at any rate? Why thrust thyself into the com-
pany of soldiers, or such like where thou art sure to be warmed
into betraying thyself? Why come hallooing and whooping
out cavalier ditties, like a drunken trooper of Prince Rupert,
or one of Wilmot’s swaggering body-guards?”’

‘“‘ Because I may have been both one and t’other in my day,
for aught that you know,” replied Wildrake. “‘ But, oddsfish !
is it necessary I should always be reminding you, that our obli-
gation of mutual protection, our league of offensive and defen-
sive, as I may call it, was to be carried into effect without
reference to the politics or religion of the party protected, or
the least obligation on him to conform to those of his friend ?”

“True,” said Everard , “‘ but with this most necessary qual-
ification, that the party should submit to such outward con-
formity to the times as should make it more easy and safe for
his friend to be of service to him. Now, you are perpetually
breaking forth, to the hazard of your own safety and my credit.”

“TI tell you, Mark, and I would tell your namesake the
apostle, that you are hard onme. You have practiced sobriety
and hypocrisy from your hanging sleeves till your Geneva cas-
sock—from the cradle to this day,—and it is a thing of nature
to you; and you are surprised that a rough, rattling, honest
fellow, accustomed to speak truth all his life, and especially
when he found it at the bottom of a flask, cannot be so perfect
a prig as thyself—Zooks! there is no equality betwixt us—A
trained diver might as well, because he can retain his breath
for ten minutes without inconvenience, upbraid a poor devil for
being like to burst in twenty seconds, at the bottom of ten
fathoms water—And, after all, considering the guise is so new
to me, I think I bear myself indifferently well—try me !”

‘Are there any more news from Worcester fight ?’’ asked
Everard, in a tone so serious that it imposed on his companion,
who replied in his genuine cnaracter—

‘‘ Worse !—d——n me, worse an hundred times than reported
—totally broken. Noll hath certainly sold himself to the devil,
and his lease will have an end one day—that is all our present
comfort.”

“What! and would this be your answer to the first redcoat
who asked the question ? ” said Everard. ‘* Methinks you would
and a speedy passport to the next corps de garde.”

“Nay, nay,’ answered Wildrake, “I thought you asked me
In your own person.——Lack-a-day! a great mercy-—a glorify-

oO
>WOODS TO CIE SY

ing mercy—a crow ning mercy—a vouchsafing—an uplifting-—
I profess the malignants are scattered from Dan to Beersheba
—sml eee hip and thigh, even until the going down of the
Sunil

“Hear you aught of Colonel Thornhaugh’s wounds?”

‘Ele 1s deack % answered Wildrake, “that’s one comfort—
the roundheaded rascal !—Nay, hold! it was but a trip of the
tongue—I meant, the sweet godly 7 youth.”

And hear you aught of the young man, King of Scotland,
as they call him?” said Everard.

‘Nothing, but that he is hunted like a partridge on the
mountains, “May God deliver him, and confound his enemies!
—Zoons; Mark Everard, I can fool it no longer. Do you not
ren 1ember, that at the Lincoln’s-Inn gambols—though you did
not mingle much in them, I think—I used always to play as
well as any of them when it came to the action, but they could
never get me to rehearse conformably. It’s the same at this
day. I hear your voice, and I answer to it in the true tone of
my heart; but when I am in the company of your snuffling
friends, you have seen me act my part indifferent well.”

“But indifferent, indeed,” replied Everard; “ however,
there is little call on you to do aught, save to be modest and
silent. Speak little, and lay aside, if you can, your big oaths
and swaggering looks—set your hat even on your brows.”

«Ay. that is the curse! I have been always noted for the
jaunty manner in which I wear my castor—Hard when a man’s
merits become his enemies!”

‘You must remember you are my clerk.”

Secretary,” answered Wildrake; “let it be secretary if
you love me.”

“It must be clerk, and nothing else—plain clerk—and
remember to be civil and obedient,” replied Everard.

‘But you should not lay on your commands with so much
ostentatious superiority, Master Markham Everard. Remem-
ber I am your senior of three years’ standing. Confound me,
if I know how to take it!”

“Was ever such a fantastic wronghead !—For my sake, if
not for thine own, bend thy freakish fol y to listen to reason.
Think that I have incurred both risk and shame on thy ac-
count.”

“Nay, thou art a right good fellow, Mark,” replied the
cavalier; “and for thy sake I will do much—but remember to
cough and cry hem! when thou seest me like to break bounds.
And now, tell me whither we are bound for the night.”

“fo Woodstock Lodge, to look after my uncle’s property,”

 

,

Tyson ee ee ees)

  
 
  
 
  
  
 
    
 
 
 
 
   
  
    
 
 
 
    
   
 
  
   
    
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   

Sys UIE TE aT TarasSige ree ee ee

WOODSTOCK.

 

58

answered Markham Everard; “I am informed that soldiers
have taken possession—Yet how could that be if thou foundest
the party drinking in Woodstock? ”

“There was a kind of commissary, or steward, or some such
rogue had gone down to the Lodge,” replied Wildrake eed
had a peep at him.”

“indeed 4 7 re Everard.

" Ay, verily,” said Wildrake, “to speak your own language.
Why, as I passed through the pz ark in quest of you, scarce half-
an-hour since, I saw a light in the LodgeStep this w ay, you
will see it yourself.”

“In the north-west angle?” returned Everard. “TItis from
a window in what they call Victor Lee’s apartment.”

“Well,” resumed Wildrake, “I> had been long one of
Lundsford’
Seavs bit f
means. SBesides,
pretty cousin, I

could.”

s lads, and well used to patroling duty—So, rat me,
leave a light in my rear, without knowing what it

Mark, thou hadst said so much to me of thy
thought I might as well have a Peep, Inf
do you
antonness! But

* Thoughtless, incorrigible man! to pel dangers
XPOse yourself and your friends, in mere w
£0 On,’
“By this fair moonshine, I believe thou art jealous, Mark
/ J ;
Everard !” replied his Bay companion; ‘‘ there is no occasion :
for, in any case, I, who was to see the lac steeled by

y, was
ty J)
honor against the charms of my friend’s Chloe—Then the
so could make no comparisons to thy

lady was not to see me,
disadvantage, thou knowest—Lastly, as it fell out, neither of us
saw the other at all.”

“Of that Iam well aware. Mrs. Alice left the Lodge long
before sunset, and never returned. wi hat didst thou see to in-
troduce with such preface ?”’

—a

“Nay, no great matter,” replied Wildrake
upon a sort of buttress (for I
mewed in any

“only, getting
can climb like any cat that ever
gutter), and holding on by the vines and
creepers which grew around, I obtained a station where ]
could see into the inside of that same parlor thou spokest of
just now.

“€nd what saw’st thou there? ” once more
Everard.

demanded

“ Nay, no great matter, as I said before,” replied the cay
lier; “for in these times it is no new thing to see churls
carousing in royal or noble chambets. I saw two rascallions
engaged 1 In emptying a solemn stoup of strong waters, and de-
spatching a huge venison pasty, w hich greasy mess, for theirWOODSTOCK. 59
convenience, they had placed on a lady’s work-table—One of
them was tryin vail ain on. a-lute.?

‘The profane villains!” exclaimed Everard, “it was

¢
=

“ Well said, comrade—I am glad your phlegm can be
moved. I did but throw in these incidents e tl

1e lute and the
table, to try if it was po pale to get a spark of human spirit
out of you, besanctified a you are,”
‘What like were the men?” said vor ing Everard.
‘The one a slouch-hatted, long-cloz ake .d, sour-faced fanatic,

like the rest of you, whom I took to be the stewa ae Or com-
ke n the town; the other was a short
cnife at his vate and a long quar-
; e him—a black-haired knave, with white
teeth and a merry countenance—one of the under- rangers or
0w-bearers of these walks, I fancy.”

missary | heard ]
sturdy fellow, with a wood-k

terstaff lying

‘“‘’They must fe been Desborough’ s favorite, trusty Tom-
kins,” said Everard, “and Joceline Joliffe, the keeper. Tom-
<ins is Desborough’s right hand—an In dependent, and hath

ourings forth, as he calls them. Some think that his gifts
‘tof his grace, I have heard of ‘his abusing op-

{ ] we lela a ety E . at
ICllOw ilkKe Thee would have been Be tas Ui

ee o
be GOREe. Ei:

nu
make up his mind; but I, }

—

o

ney were i1mproving them when I saw them,” replied

Wild: iA. Cars ad . 1 te} a k 4 re ed a
VV 1lidrake, and made 1c. HDOLLIC SMOKE TOE it—when, as the

devil would have it, a stone, which had been dislodged from

A clumsy
tinking what was to
needs have followed it before he cou ld

7

Mark, I hx ee ike a squirrel to an

bling buttress, gave way under my weight,

“AS

9

ivy twig, and stood fast—was well-nigh shot, though, for the

know I can grimace

L

called. They were abominably startled.’

J
z

y
wall as long as I cou ie that Tam well-n

Too olor: hat! eT] 17 I¢ - he ] ’
101s€ alarmed them both. ‘They looked to the oriel, and saw

>on the outside: the fanatic fellow took out a pistol—as
] 4 Peet req Tete a ca rine ac » YE
lave always such texts In readiness hanging beside the

 

now’st ee oo eee his hunt-
oth to a roar and a Brin—thou must

oO

fat Siac aS TS] 3 bday Sale
ittle clasped Bible, thou

Y gf he es j 1
x pole— £ eared: them

aboon—I learned the trick from a

French player, who could twist his jaws into a pair of nut-
crackers di

] {
gyass, and ran. oi

and eee |

 

FORRES, myself sweetly on the
, keeping the dark side of the

righ persuaded they
hought I was an kinsman, the devil, come among them un-

i?

sO ppingly
Wildrake,”

“Thou art most fearfully rash, said his come

anion; “we are now bound for the house—what if they

hould remember thee ? ”

ROS ea nant

OECr TTS aes Rea TsPraha eee ehheee eth eset ata reaents

Re ae ee

Zz

6 WOODSTOCK.

“Why, it is no treason, is it? No one has paid for peep-
ing since Tom of Coventry’s days; and if he came in fora
reckoning, belike it was for a better treat than mine. But
EuSt me, “they will no more know me than a man who had only
seen your friend Noll at a conventicle of saints, would know
the same Oliver on horseback, and charging with his lobster-
tailed squadron ; or the same Noll cracking a jest and a bottle
with wicked Waller the poet.”

“Hush! not a word of Oliver, as thou dost value thyself
and me, If is-il jesting with the rock you may split on.—But
here is th 1€ gate—we will disturb these honest gentlemen’s re-
creations.’

As he spoke, he applied the large and ponderous knocker
to the hall-door.

“ Rat-tat-tat-too!”’ said Wildrake; “there is a fine alarm
to you cuckolds and roundheads.” He then half- mimicked,
half-sung, the march so called :—

*“Cuckolds, come dig euehal ds, come dig ;

Ss?

Round about cuckolds, come dance to my jig!”

“By Heaven! this passes Midsummer frenzy,” said Ever-
ard, turning angrily to him.

‘Not a bit, not a bit,” replied Wildrake : “ it is but a slight
expectoration, just like what one makes bet fore beginning a
long speech. I will be grave for an hour together, now I have
got that point of war out of m y head.”

As he spoke, steps were heard in the hall, and the wicket
of the great door was partly opened, but secured with a chain
in Case of accidents. The visage of Tomkins, and that of
Joceline beneath it, appeared at the chink, illuminated by the
lamp which the latter held in his hand, and Tomkins demanded
the meaning of this alarm.

“I demand instant admittance !”? said Everard. “ Joliffe,
you know me well ?”

‘I do sir,” replied Joceline, “and could admit you with all
muy heart ; ‘but, alas } ‘sir, you see I am not key-keeper—Here
is the gentleman whose warrant I must walk by—The Lord
help me, mae times are such as they be!”

“* And wi nen that gentleman, who I think may be Master
Desborough’s valet ?——_ :

“ His honor’s unworthy secretary, an it please you,” intet-
posed Tomkins; while Wildrake whispered in Everard’s ear,
~ I will be no longer secretary. Mark, thou wert quite right—
the clerk must be the more gentlemanly c alling.’

“And if you are Master Desborough’s secret ary, | presumeWOODSTOCK. 6x

you know me and my condition well enough,” said Everard,
addressing the Independent, “not to hesitate to admit me and
my a attendant to a night’s quarters in the Lodge?

‘‘ Surely not, surely not,” said the Independent—“ that i 1S; 1
your worship thinks you would be better accommodated here
than up at the house of entertainment in the town, which men
unprofitably call St. George’s Inn. peor is but confined ac-
commodation here, your honor—and we have been frayed out
of our lives already by the visitation of peta his fiery
dart is now quenched.”

“This may be all well in its place, Sir Secretary,” said
Everard: “and you may find a corner for it when you are next
tempted to play the preacher. But I will take it for no apology
for keeping me here in the cold harvest wind; and if not pres-
ently received, and suitably too, I will report you to your master
for insolence in your office.’

The secretary of Desborough did not dare offer further op-
position ; for it is well known that Desborough himself only
held his consequence as a kinsman of Cromwell - and the Lord
General, who was well-nigh paramount already, was known to
be strongly favorable both to the elder and younger Everard.
It is true, they were Presbyterians and he an Independent ;
and that though sharing those feelings of correct mot rality and
more devoted religious feeling, by which, with few exceptions,
the Parliamentary party were distinguished, the Everards were
not disposed to carry these attributes to the extreme of enthus-
lasm, practiced by so many others at the time. Yet it was well
known that whatever might be Cromwell’s own religious creed,
he was not uniformly bounded by it in the choice of his favor-
ites, but extended his countenance to those who could serve
him, even although, according to the phrase of the time, they
came out of the darkness of Egypt. The character of the elder
Everard stood very high for wisdom and sagacity ; besides,
being of a good family and competent fortune, his adherence
would lend a dignity to any side he might espouse. Then his
son had been a distinguished and successful soldier, remarkable
for the discipline he maintained among his men, the bravery
which he showed in the time of action, and the humanity with
which he was always ready to qualify the consequences of vic-
tory. Such men were not to be neglected, when many signs
combined to show that a parties in the state, who had ‘suc-
cessfully accomplished t e deposition and death of the King,
were speedily to oe among themselves about the division
of the s poils. The two Everards were therefore much es
by C ae ell, and their influence with him was supposed to be

MEINEDTRES Ie ENBe ey Se steer’ y gece eee

St oe
a

Hal

L

62 WOODSTOCK.

SO great, that trusty Master Secretar
expose himself to risk, by contendi
such a trifle as a nigh a Ss lodging,

oceline was active on his. bide tion lights were obtained—
more wood ue: on the fire—and the two newly arrived
strangers were introduced into Victor Lee’s ae as it was
called, from the picture over the chimney-piece, which we have
already describec i It was several minutes ere Colonel Ever-
ard could recover his_general stoicism of deportment, so
strongly was he impresse sd | by finding himself in the apartment,
under whose roof he had passed so many of the hap]
of his life. There was the cabinet
with on h ce ling gs of

y Tomkins cared not to
ing with Colonel Everard for

siest hours
which he had seen opened
delight when a Henry Lee deigned to
give him instructions in fishing, and to exhibit hooks and lines,
toge ther with ie the materials for making the artificia] fly,
then little known. There hung the ancient family p picture, which
from some odd mysterious expressions of his uncle relating
to it, had become to his boyhood, nz ty, his early youth, a sub.
ject of curiosit y and of fear. Te remembered how, when left
alone in the apartment, the searching eyes of the old
ways bent upon his, in whateve
placed himself, and how his chi
at a phenomenon, for wl

With these came
of his early

walrior
t part of the room he
dish imagination was perturbed
1ich he could not account.
a thousand dearer and warmer recollections
attachment to his pretty cousin Alice, sdhet he
assisted her at her lessons, brought water for her flowers, or
accompanied her while she sung; and he remembered that
while her father looked at them with a good- humored an
careless smile, he had o nce heard him mutter, “ And if it shoulc
hy, it might be best for both,” and the theories
of happiness he had reared on these words. All these visions
had been dispelled by the trumpet of war, which called Sir
Henry Lee and pense lf te © opposite sides; and the transactions
of this very day had show n, that even Everard’s success as a
soldier anda statesman se emed absolutely to prohibit the
chance of their bei ng revived,

He was waked out of this unpleasing reverie by tl
proach of Joceline, who, being possibly a seasoned toper, had
made the additional] arrangements with more expedition and
accuracy, then could have been expected from a person en-
gaged as he had been since night-fall,

He now wished to know the Colonel’s directions for the
night.

; : is
seemed al

]
1
J
a

turn out so—vy

1€ ap-

“ Would he eat anything ? ”

“ No.”WOODSTOCK.
“ Did his honor choose to accept Sir Henry Lee’s bed, which
was ready prepared ? ”

Yess

‘ That of Mistress Alice Lee should be prepared for the
Secretary.”

On pain of thine ears—No,” replied Everard,

‘* Where then was the worthy Secretary to be quartered?

‘in the dog-kennel, if you list,” replied Colonel Everard ;
“ but,” added he, stepping to the sleeping apartment of Alice,
which opened from the parlor, locking it, and taking out the
key, “no one shall profane this chamber.”

“Had his honor any other commands for the night ?”

‘‘ None, save to clear the As of yonder man. My
clerk will remain with me—I have orders which must be. writ-
ten out. Yet stay—Thou gavest my letter this morning to

Mistre Ss Alice???
eldids”
Tell me, good Joceline, what she said when she received
we”

“She seemed much concerned, sir

she wept a little—but indeed she seemed very much distressed
‘ And what message did she send to me ?”

** None, may it please your Hoop eecne began to say, ‘ Tell
my cousin Everard that I will communicate my uncle’s kind
purpose to my father, if I can get fittin ng opportunity—but that
[ greatly fear ’—and there checked herself, as it were, and said.
‘I will write to my cousin; and as it may be late ere I have
an opportunity of speaking with my father, do thou come for
my answer after service.’—So I went to church myself, to while
away the time; but when I returned to the Chase, I ae this
man had summoned my master to surrender, and, right or
wrong, I must put him in possession of the Lodge. I oe
fain have given your honor a hint that the old knight and 1
young mistress were like to take you on the form, but I dea
not mend the matter

“ Thou hast done well, good fellow, and I will remember
thee.—And now, my aa ” he said, advancing to the brace
of clerks or secretaries, who had in the meanw hile sat quietly
down beside the stone bottle, and made up acquaintance over
a glass of its contents—‘‘ Let me remind you, that the night
wears late.”

There is something cries tinkle tinkle, in the bottle Fete
said Wildrake, in reply.

“Hem! hem! hem!” coughed the Colonel of the Parlia-
ment service; and if his lips did not curse his companion’s

39

Bee TUS ASNT ees

; and indeed I think thata

ithe Sete ee Sse eco eScaeceA tae aa

La

64 WOODSTOCK.

 

imprudence, I will not answer for what arose in his heart
—“ Well!” he said, observing that Wildrake had filled his
own glass and Tomkins’s, “take that parting glass and begone.”

“Would you not be pleased to hear first,’” said Wildrake,
“ how this honest gentleman saw the devil to-night look through
a pane of yonder window, and how he thinks he had a mighty
strong resemblance to your worship’s humble slave and varlet
scribbler? Would you but hear this, sir, and just sip a glass of
this very recommendable strong waters ?”

“I will drink none, sir,” said Colonel Everard sternly ; “and
I have to tell you, that you have drunken a glass too much al-
ready.—Mr. Tomkins, sir, I wish you good night.”

‘A word in season at parting,” said Tomkins, standing up
behind the long leathern back of a chair, hemming and snuffling
as if preparing for an exhortation,

PaEXCUse, “me, jee replied Markham

<

 

Everard sternly ;
“you are not now sufficiently yourself to guide the devotion of
offers.’

‘“Woe be to them that reject! * said the Secretary of the
Commissioners, stalking out of the room—the rest was lost in
shutting the door, or suppressed for fear of offence.

‘And now, fool Wildrake, begone to thy bed—yonder it
les,” pointing to the knight’s apartment.

“What, thou hast secured the lady’s for thyself? I saw
thee put the key in thy pocket.”

‘I would not—indeed I could not sleep in that apartment
—I can sleep nowhere-—but I will watch in this arm-chair.—]
have made him place wood for repairing the fire.—Good, now
go to bed thyself, and sleep off thy liquor.”

‘Liquor!—I laugh thee to scorn, Mark—thou art a mill
sop, and the son of a milkso
low can do in the way of c

i
p, and know’st not what a good fel-
rushing an honest cup.”

“ The whole vices of his faction are in this poor fellow indi-
vidually,” said the Colonel to himself

Be
, eying his protégé askance,
as the other retreated into t]

1e bedroom with no very steady
pace— He is reckless, intemperate, dissolute ;—and if I can-
not get him safely shipped for France, he will certainly be both
his own ruin and mine.—Yet. withal, he is kind, brave and gen-
erous, and would have kept the faith with me which he now ex-
pects from me; and in what consists the merit of our truth, if
we observe not our plighted word when we have promised, to
our hurt? I will take the liberty, however, to secure mysel
against further interruption on his part.”

So saying, he locked the d
sleeping-room, to which the

oor of communication betwixt the
cavalier had retreated, and the par-WOODSTOCK.

lor ;—and then, after pacing the floor thoughtfully, returned to
his seat, trimmed the lamp, and drew out a number of letters.—
“ I will read these over once more,” he said, “ that, if possible,
the thought of public affairs may expel the keen sense of per-
sonal sorrow. Gracious Providence, where is this toend? We
have sacrified the peace of our families, the warmest wishes of
our young hearts, to right the country in which we were born,
and to free her from oppression : yet it appears, that every step
we have made toward liberty, has but brought us in view of
new and more terrific perils, as he who travels in a mountainous
region, is, by every step which elevates him higher, placed in a
situation of more imminent hazard.”

He read long and attentively various tedious and embar-
rassed letters, in which the writers, placing before him the glory
of God and the freedom and liberties of England, as their su-
preme ends, could not, by all the ambagitory expressions they
made use of, prevent the shrewd eye of Markham Everard from
seeing, that self-interest and views. of ambition were the prin-
cipal moving springs at the bottom of their plots.

CHAPTER SIF EH:

Sleep steals on us even like his brother Death—

We know not when it comes—we know it must come—

We may affect to scorn and to contemn it,

For ’tis the highest pride of human misery

To say it knows not of an opiate ;

Yet the reft parent, the despairing lover,

Even the poor wretch who waits for execution,

Feels this oblivion, against which he thought

His woes had arm’d his senses, steal upon him,

And through the fenceless citadel—the body—

Surprise that haughty garrison—the mind.
HERBERT.

COLONEL EVERARD experienced the truth contained in the
verses of the quaint old bard whom we have quoted above. Amid
private grief and anxiety for a country long a prey to civil war,
and not likely to fall soon under any fixed or well-established
form of government, Everard and his father had, like many
others, turned their eyes to General Cromwell, as the person
whose valor had made him the darling of the army, whose
strong sagacity had hitherto predominated over the high talents
by which he had been assailed in Parliament, as well as over his

REESSRERT SERENE REIT FRC FEES MISUSE RSTOPe et ee

66 WOODSTOCK.
enemies in the ce d, and yee was ace in the situation to settle

the eae b of f eouernmioar, T he ee and son were both reputed
8 stand high i in the General’s favor. But Markham Everard

was conscious of some particulars, which induced him to doubt
Sr oacs Cromwell actually, and at heart, bore either to his
father or to himself that good-will which w as generally believed.
He knew him for a profound politician, who could veil for any
length of time his real sentiments of men and things, until they
could be displayed without prejudice.to his interest. And he
moreover knew that the aaa was not likely to forget the
opposition which the Presbyterian party had offered to what
Oliver called the Great Matter—th btrlad namely, and execution
of the King. In this opposition, his father and he had a
concurred, nor had the arguments, nor even the half-ex xpressed
threats of Cromwell, induced them to flinch from that course, fat
less to permit their names to be introduced into the commission
nominated to sit in judgment on that memorable occasion.

This hesitation had occasioned some temporary coldness
between the General and the Everards, father and son, {But
as the latter remained in the army, and bore arms under Crom-
well, both in Scotland, and finally at Worcester, his services
very frequently called

e

forth the approbation of his commander.
After the fight at Worcester, in particular, he was among the
number of those officers on whom Olivet r, rather considering
the actual and practical extent of his own power, than the name
under which he exercis d it, was with difficulty withheld from
imposing the dignity of Knights-Bannerets at his own will and
pleasure. It therefore seemed that all recollection of former
disagreement was obliterated, and that the Everards had
regained their former stronghold in the General’s affections.
There were, indeed, several who doubted this, and who endeay-

ored to bring over this distinguished young officer to some

other of the parties which divided i infant Commonwealth.
But to these proposals he turned a deafear. Enough of blood,
he said, had been spilled—it was time that the mars should

nave repose under a firm] y-estal
sufficient to protect pr roperty
the return of GE aia

lished government, o f strength
, and of lenity Seen to encourage
ity. This he thought, could only be
accomplished by means of Cromwell. and the greater part of
England was of the same opinion. It is true, that, in thus
submitting to the domination of a successful soldier, those who
did so forgot the principles upon which they had drawn the
sword against the late King, But in revolutions, stern and
high principles are often obliged to give way to the current ofWOODS

ee crcl
‘ed for points of metap
y terminated, upon
y, as, after man
omit on mere securit
Colonel Everard, therefore,
afforded Cromwell
of evils,
ral’s wisdom and valor being
and he was sensible, (
his attachment as lu
gratitude for it upon the sam
In the meanw thile,
make trial «
Woodstock,

i tOr

hi WEY

7
EG eve by
and was

ger to keep terms.

7

aS ‘and his daughte
Stas cg: ; : ‘ .
himself in the ma

connected with their inte

1
}

ULE Er =

immed

Lalrsy Colo

ight in arranging his
which he thou
t exhorted him,

> eftate
> SUaAtG, 1

by Het ad placing himself

sral and established governn
q an: ERY in which the nz
ing a
5, and
ehowed how
om this topic I

ove
As
i
Ot

the state, he
or violence. Fr

imstances ; and in many a Cane;
hysical right, they
the THEFE

a long : siege

felt t
was only under ae idea, that, amid a choice
the least was likely to ensue from a
placed at the head of
er himself

Fi Was tO int 6GIest,

and revolving

1a€as aI

i z ]
He! ral view O 1
the various factions whic
this m1

LOGIE 64
wars have
have been a
> hope of obtaining general
a garrison is often glad
lI nb,

the sup

where

life ane lh
1av

ort which he
Gene

the state;
r ae ee nb oe
was likely to cons a

and measure hi

nan of the

im}

nites scale,

erfect,

elled him to
stration of
dispose
but ae
iths d eferred

blow
on his

ae

the

mode he ole "

reneral

ercourse, Cr one

es
iately

¥Y SEVETE
remained.
request fr
t to have his v
Iie
cao The

ve tie state of

vritten opinior
part oO
-ommon-
to
to

€al lier

the ¢
‘ceptable
Providence,
free P arliamer ;
some form of

oe the

EL
totally Biok en Cc yndit )
ch now convulsec
bloodshed

priety of

a uci be without b
proP  paebRabess tar guacstuonaastor) Nulla ahovcansieresna shes soboea ca un hanSanaa rss
» of
es

WOODSTOCK.

keeping up the becoming state of the Executive Government, in
whose hands soever it should be lodged, and thus showed Crom-
well, as the future Stadtholder, or Consul, or Lieutenant-Generai
of Great Britain and Ireland, a prospect of demesne and resi-
dences becoming his dignity. Then he naturally passed to the
disparking and destroying of the royal residences of England,
made a woeful picture of the demolition which impended over
Woodstock, and interceded for the preservation of that beauti-
ful seat, as a matter of personal favor, in which he found him-
self deeply interested.

Colonel Everard, when he had finished his letter, did not
find himself greatly risen in his own opinion. In the course of
his political conduct, he had till this hour avoided mixing up
personal motives with his public grounds of action, and yet he
now felt himself making such acomposition. But he comforted
himself, or at least silenced this unpleasing recollection, with
the consideration, that the weal of Britain, studied under the
aspect of the times, absolutely required that Cromwell should
be at the head of the government; and that the interest of Sir
Henry Lee, or rather his safety and his existence, no less em-
phatically demanded the preservation of Woodstock, and his
residence there. Was it a fault of his, that the same road
should lead to both these ends, or that his private interest, and
that of the country, should happen to mix in the same letter ?
He hardened himself, therefore, to the act, made up and ad-
dressed his packet to the Lord-General, and then sealed it with
his seal of arms. This done he lay back in the chair; and, in spite
of his expectations to the contrary, fell asleep in the course of his
reflections, anxious and harassing as they were, and did not
awaken until the cold gray light of ‘dawn was peeping through
the eastern oriel.

He started at first, rousing himself with the sensation of one
who awakes in a place unknown to him; but the localities
instantly forced themselves on his recollection. The lamp
burning dimly in the socket, the wood fire almost extinguished
in its own white embers, the gloomy picture over the chimney-
piece, the sealed packet on the table—all reminded him of the
events of yesterday, and his deliberations of the succeeding
night.

~ There is no help for ig? he said: “4-anuse -be Cromwell
or anarchy. And probably the sense that his title, as head of
the Executive Government, is derived merely from popular con-
sent, may check the too natural proneness of power to render
itself arbitrary. If he govern by Parliaments, and with regard to
the privileges of the subject, wherefore not Oliver as well asWOODSTOCK. 69

Charles ? But I must take measures for having this conveyed
safely to the hands of this future sovereign prince. It will be
well to take the first word of influence with him since there
must be many who willnot hesitate to recommend counsels
more violent and precipitate.”

He determined to intrust the important packet to the charge
of Wildrake, whose rashness was never so distinguished, as when
by any chance he was left idle and unemployed ; besides, even
if his faith had not been otherwise unimpeachable, the obliga-
tions which he owed to his friend Everard must have rendered
it such.

These conclusions passed through Colonel Everard’s mind,

e

as, collecting the remains of wood in the chimney, he gathered

c
t

hem into a hearty blaze, to remove the uncomfortable feeling
of chillness which pervaded his limbs; and by the time he was
a little more warm, again sunk into a slumber, which was only
dispelled by the beams of morning peeping into his apartment.

He arose, roused himself, walked up and down the room,
and looked from the large oriel window on the nearest objects,
which were the untrimmed hedges and neglected walks of a
certain wilderness, as it is called in ancient treatises on garden-
ing, which, kept of yore well ordered, and in all the pride of the
topiary art, presented a succession of yew-trees cut into fantas-
tic forms, of close alleys, and of open walks, filling about two or
three acres of ground on that side of the Lodge, and forming a
boundary between its immediate precincts and the open Park.
[ts enclosure was now broken down in many places, and the
hinds with their fawns fed free and unstartled up to the very
windows of the silvan palace.

This had been a favorite scene of Markham’s sports when a
boy. He could still distinguish, though now grown out of
shape, the verdant battlements of a Gothic castle, all created
by the gardener’s shears, at which he was accustomed to shoot
his arrows; or, stalking before it like the Knight-errants of
whom he read. was wont to blow his horn, and bid defiance to
the supposed giant or Paynim knight, by whom it was gar-
risoned. He remembered how he used to train his cousin,
though several years younger than himself, to bear a part in
these revels of his boyish fancy, and to play the character of an
elfin page, or a fairy, or an enchanted princess. He remem-
bered, too, many particulars of their later acquaintance, from
which he had been almost necessarily ied to the conclusion, that
from an early period their parents had entertained some idea
that there might be a well-fitted match betwixt his fair cousin and
himself. A thousands visions, formed in so bright a prospect,

Oras saat anon

STUNTS

Ss

3

aePPM eee oes

mweneee

70 WOODSTOCK.

had vanished along with it, but now returned like shadows, to
remind him of all he had lost—and for what ?—“ For the sake ot
England,” his proud consciousness replied,—* Of England, in
danger of becon ung the prey at once of bigotry and ty ranny.”
And 1 he strengthened himself with the re collection. “Tf J] have
sacrificed my private happiness, it is that my country may enjoy
liberty of conscience, and personal freedom ; which, under a
weak ae and usurping statesman, she was but too likely to
have lost.”

But the busy fie nd in his breast would not be re pulsed by
the bold answer. “Has th y resistance,” it demanded, “ availed

thy country, Markham one erard > Lies not England, after so

much inoue hed, and so much mise ry, aslow be ‘neath the sword
of a fortunate soldier. as formerly under the sceptre of an en-
croaching prince ; re Parliament, o what remains of them
fitted to contend with a epte Yr, mast ey his soldiers’ hearts,
as b rae subtle as he is imt penetr a le j in his designs? T his
ae eral who holds the ar my, and by that the fate of the nation
in his hand, will he la ty down his power because philosophy
would pronounce it his duty to become a subject ?”

He ‘a red not answer that his kno vledg eof Cromwell autho-
rized him to ex pect any such act of teiedec st Yet still he con-
sidered that in times of such infinite diffi culty

  

, that must be
est government, however ee desirable i ae itself. which
should most speedily restore peace to the land. and s stop the
wounds which the conte: iding parties were daily inflicting on
each other. He im agined that Cromwe ll was the only author-
ity under i = ady government could be forme Z and
therefore had a iched himself to his fortune, though not with-
out considerable az a: recurring doubts, how far serving the
views of this Impenetr able and mysterious General was con-
sistent with th ¢ principles under which he had assumed arms.

1
While the se think

Ing Ss passed in his mind, Everard looked upon
the ps icket W thich layo n the table addressed temic Lord-General,

and which he had made w p before sleep.

times, when he remembered its purport, and in what degree he
must stand committed with tha

personage, and bound to Sup-

port his plans of agerandizement t, when once that communica-
tion was in Oliver € romwell’s possession.

“Yet it must be so,” he said « at last, with a deep sigh.

“ Among the contendi ng parties, he is the strongest—the wisest

and most mode rate—and, ambitious though he be, perhaps not

the most dangerous, Some one must be trusted with power to

preserve anc d enforce gene ral order, and who can possess or wield

such power like him that is head of the victorious armies of

He hesitated severa]

ryWOODSTOCK. 71

‘ngland? Come what willin future, peace and the restoration
of law ought to be our first and most pressing object. This
remnant of a parliament cannot keep their ground against the
army, by mere appeal to the sanetion of opinion. Ift they design
to reduce the soldiery, it must be by actual warfare, ‘and the
land has been too long steeped in blood. But Cromwell may,
and I trust will, make a moderate accommodation with them,
on grounds by which peace may be preserved ; and it is to this
which we must look and trust fora settlement of the kingdom,
alas! and for the chance of protecting my obstinate kinsman
from the consequences of his honest though absurd _per-
tinacity.”’

Silencing some internal feelings of doubt and reluctance by
such reasoning as Markham Everard continued in his

lution to unite himself with Cromwell in the struggle which
was evidently approaching betwixt the civil and military author-
itles; not as the course which, if at perfect liberty, he would
have preferred adopting, k s the best choice between two
dangerous ‘emities to which the times had reduced ues
He could not help trembling, however, when he recollected th
his father, though hitherto the admirer of Cromwell, as the 1m-
plement by whom so many marvels had been wroughtin England,
might not jb disposed to unite with ee is interest against that of
the Long P sl conte ut, of which he had been, till partly laid aside
by continued indisposition, an active and leading member.
This doubt also he was obliged to swallow, or Aimigle as he
might; but consoled himself with the ready argument, that it
vas impossible his father could see matters in another light
than that in which they occu red to himself.

CHAPTER SEVE

DETERMINED at le ee to despatch his packet to the Gene
without delay, Color rel erard ac eae the door of
apartment, in which, as was evident from the heavy breathi
within, the prisoner Wildrake enjoyed a deep slumber, unde1
the influence of liquor at once.and of fatigue. In turning the
key, the bolt, which was rather rusty, made a resistance so
noisv, as partly to attract the sleeper’s attention, though not to
awake him. Everard stood by his bedside, as he heard him
mutter, ‘Is it morning already, jailer ?—-Why, you dog, an you
had but a cast of humanity in you, you would qualify your viliahietnabiadniahicabhaier ate teeth eee es pa

  

42 WOODSTOCK.

hews with a Cup of sack ;—h
and sorrow’s dry.”

“Up, Wildrake up, thou ill-omened dreamer,” said
friend, shaking him by the collar,

* Hands off!” answered the sleeper.—* JI can cl
der without help, I trow.”——He then
opening his eyes, stared around hj
Mark, is it only thou? I thought it was all over with me—
fetters were struck from my legs—rope drawn around my gullet
—irons knocked off my hands—hempen cravat tucked on—all
peadly for a dance in the open element upon slight footing.”

"Truce with thy folly, Wildrake ; Sure the devil of drink, to
whom thou hast, I thin] k, sold thyself ”’
Hoye) hogshe ‘ad of sack,

e ¢ interrupte d Wildrake ; “ the bar-
gain was made in a cellar in the Vj niry.”

~T amas mad as thou art, to trust anything to the
Markham ; “I scarce belj leve thou hast tl

“What should aj] me ?” said Wild

anging is sorry work, my masters—

 

his

imb a Jad-
Sat up in the bed, and
aim, and exclaimed, “Zounds!

 

* Said
WW: SEWUSES yeu

rake—“ ] trust I have
not tasted liquor in my sl se Saving that I dreamed of drinking
small Be er with Old Nol] Foi: own brewing, But do not look

so glum, man—I am a same Roger * Wildrake that lever was-

as wild as a malla rd, but as true as a game-cock. I am thine
deeds—wer 27ctus

own chum, man—bound to thee by thy ki ind
; and where is the thing thou wilt

encyicto—there is Latin foy “ag
Charge me with, that ] will not, or dare not, execute, were it to
rapier, after he had breakfasted

Si

pick the devil’s teeth with my
upon roundheads?
“You will drive me mad.”
about to intrust all I have most
. ry rN fs te 1 leaicse
agement, your conduct and language are those of a mere Bed-

lamite. Last night I made allowanc ce for thy drunken fury ;
but who can endure thy morning

said Everard.“ When I am
valuable on earth to vour man-

§ madness ?—it is unsafe for
thyself and me, Wildrake—it js unkind—I might say un-
grateful.”

“ Nay, do not say that, my friend,”
some show of feel] ing; and do not judge of me with a seve erity
that cannot apply to such as I am. W € who have lost our all
in these sad jars, w a are compelled to shift for our living, not
from day to day, but from meal to m eal—we whose only hiding
place is the jail, aH prospect of final repose is the gallows,—
what canst thou €xpect from us. Be to bear such a lot with a

ligt ht heart, since we should break down under it with a heavy
One?”

said the Cavalier, with

This was spoken in a tone of feeling which found a respond-WOODSTOCK. 72
ing string in Everard’s bosom. He took his friend’s hand, and
pressed it kindly.

‘‘ Nay, if I seemed harsh to thee, Wil drake, I profess it was

for thine own sake more than mine. I know thou h ast at the
bottom of thy levity as deep a principle of honor and feeling
as ever governed a human heart. But thou art thoughtless—
thou art rash—and I protest to thee, that wert thou to betray
thyself in this matter, in which I trust thee, the evil conse-
quences to myself would not aff lict me more than the thought
of putting thee into such danger.’

‘ Nay, if you take it on that tone, Mark,” said the cavalier,
making an effort to laugh, evidently that he might conceal a
tendency to a different emotion, “thou wilt make children of
us both—babes and sucklings, by the hilt of this bilbo.—Come,
trust me; I can be cautious when time requires it—no man
ever saw me drink when an alert was expected—and not one
poor pint of wine will I taste until I have managed this matter
for thee. Well, I am thy secretary—clerk—I[ had forgot—and
carry thy desps Fe to Cromwell, taking good heed not to be
surprised or choused out of my lump of loyalty [striking his
finger on the packet], and I am to deliver it to the most loyal
h ands to which it is most humbly addressed— Adzooks, Mark,
think of it a moment longer—Surely thou wilt not carry thy
perverseness so far as to strike in with this bloody-minded
rebel ?—Bid me give him three inches of my dudgeon- dagger,
and [ will do it much more willingly than present him with ‘thy
packet.”

“Go to,” replied Everard, “this is beyond our bargain. If
you will help me, itis well; if not, let me lose no time in debat-
ing with thee, since I think every moment an age till the packet
is in the General’s possession. It is the only way left me to
obtain some protection, and a place of refuge, for my uncle and
his daughter.”

“That being the case,” said the cavalier, “I will not spare
the spur. My nag up yonder at the town will be ready for the
road in a trice, and thou may’st reckon on my being with Old
Noll—thy General, I mean—in as short time as man and horse

may consume betwixt Woodstock and Windsor, where I think I
shall for the present find thy friend keeping possession where
he has slain.”

‘Hush, not a word of that. Since we parted last night, I
have shaped thee a path which will suit thee better than to
assume the decency of language and of outward manner, of
which thou hast so little. I have acquainted the General that
thou hast been by bad example and bad education ”

SOS eT Henan TORRE SY

SENSShiai LAAT

eae

| EI ae

  

74 WOODSTOCK.

 

¢

‘Which is to be interpreted by contraries, I hope,” said
Wildrake ; “for sure I have been as well born and bred up as
any lad of Leicestershire might desire
“Now, I prithee, hush—thou hast, I say, by bad example

become at one time a oe and mixed in the party of the
late King. But seeing what things were wrought in the nation
by the General, thou hast come to a clearness touching his
calling to bea great implement in the settlement of these dis-
tracted kingdoms. This account of thee will not only lead him
to pass over some of ay ECCEé -ntricities, should they break out

pite of thee, but will also give thee an interest with him as
being more especially att: vee .d to his own person.”
‘ Doubtless,” said Wildrake, “as every fisher loves best

the trouts pis ire of his own tickling.”

" It is likely, I think, he will send thee hither with letter
to me,” said the Colonel, “ enabling me to put a stop to the
proceedings of these sequestrators,.and to give poor old Siz
Henry Lee permission to linger out his days among the oaks
he loves to look upon. I hz ve made > this my request to General
Cromwell, and I think my father’s friends ship and my own may
stretch so far on his reg: ard without risk of cr acking, es pecially

 

standing matters as they now do—thou dost understand ?’

~ Entirely well,” said the cavalier ; “stretch, quotha !—]
would rather stretch a rope than hold commerce with the old
King-killing ruffian. But I have said I will be guided by thee,
Markham, and rat me but I will.”

‘Be cautious, then,” said Everard. “ mark well what he
does and sayS—more especially what he does : for Oliver is one

of those whose mind is better ] known by his actions than by his

words; and stay—I warrant thee thou wert setting « off without

a cre in thy purse ?
Too true, Mark,” said Wildrake: “ the last noble melted
last night amo ig yonder blackguard troopers of yours.”
“Well, Re oer’ replied the Colonel, “that is easily mended.’
So saying, he slipped his purse into his friend’s hand. “Bi

ut
art thou not an inconsiderate ib headers fellow, to set
forth, as thou wert about to do, without anything to bear thy
charges ; what couldst thou have done?’

‘ Faith, I never thought of that; I must have cried Stand,
I suppose, to the first pursy townsman or greasy grazier that ]
met o’ the heath—it is manv a good fellow’s shift in these bad
times.”

~ Go to,” said Everard: “ be cautious—use none of youl
loose acquaintance—rule your tongue—beware of the wine-pot

—for there is little danger if thou couldst only but keep thyselfWOODSTOCK. 1

sober—Be moderate in speech, and forbear oaths or vaunting.”

“Tn short, metamorphose myself into such a prig thou art,
Mark.—Well,” said Wildrake, “so far as outside will go, I
think I can make a Hope-on-High-Bomby * as well as thou canst,
Ah! those were merry days when he saw Mills present Bomby
at the Fortune playhouse, Mark, ere I had lost my laced cloak
and the jewel in my ear, or thou hadst gotten the wrinkle on thy
brow, and the puritanic twist of thy mustache! ”

“ They were like most worldly pleasures, Wildrake,” replied
Everard, “sweet in the mouth and bitter in digestion—But
away with thee ; and when thou bring’st back my answer, thou
wilt find me either here or at Saint George’s Inn, at the little
borough.—Good luck to thee.—Be thou cautious how thou
bearest thyself.”

The Colonel remained in deep meditation.—* I think,” he
said, “I have not pledged myself too far to the General. A
breach between him and the Parliament seems inevitable, and
would throw England back into civil war, of which all men are
wearied. He may dislike my messenger—yet that I do not
greatly fear. He knows I would choose such as I can myself

depend on, and hath dealt enough with the stricter sort to be
i >

 

aware that there are among them, as well as elsewhere, men
who can hide two faces under one hood.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIGHTH.

For there in lofty air was seen to stand
The stern Protector of the conquer’d land;
Drawn in that look with which he wept and swore,
Turn’d out the members, and made fast the door,
Ridding the house of every knave and drone,
Forced—though it grieved his soul—to rule alone.
: THE FRANK COURTSHIP.—CRABBE.

Lravinc Colonel Everard to his meditations, we follow the
jolly cavalier, his companion, who, before mounting at the
George, did not fail to treat himself to his morning draught of
eggs and muscadine, to enable him to face the harvest wind.

~~ Although he had suffered himself to be sunk in the extrava-
gant license which was practiced by the cavaliers, as 1 to
oppose their conduct in every point to the preciseness of their
enemies, yet Wildrake, well born and well educated, and

* A puritanic character in one of Beaumont and Fletcher’s plays.

ewer tie rt

RTE RCEee
a . See aati
Shai eee ALLL Ee .

76 WOODSTOCK.

endowed with good natural

Parts, and a heart which even
debauchery, and the wild ]

ife of a roaring cavalier, had not
been able entirely to corrupt, moved on his present embassy

with a strange mixture of feelings, such as perhaps he had
never in his life before experienced

Ais feelings as a loyalist led

him to detest Cromwell, whom
in other circumstances he would scarce have wished to Seg,

except in a field of battle, where he could have had the pleasure
to exchange pistol-shots with him, But with this hatred there
was mixed a certain degree of fear. Always victorious where-
ever he fought, the remarkable Person whom Wildrake was now
approaching had acquired that influence over the minds of his
enemies, which constant SUCCESS 1S so apt to inspire—they
dreaded while they hated him—and joined to these feelings
was a restless meddling Curiosity, which made a particular
feature in Wildrake’s character, who, having long had little
business of his Own, and caring nothing about that which he
had, was easily attracted by the desire of seeing whatever was
curious or interesting around him,
“I should like to see the old
“were it but to say that I had seen him,”
He reached Windsor in the afternoon, and fe]
the strongest inclination tot
old haunts, when he had

rascal after all,” he said,

t on his arrival
ake up his residence at some of his
occasionally frequented that fair town
In gayer days. But, resisting all temptations of this kind, he
went courageously to the principal inn, from which its ancient
emblem, the Garter, had long disappeared, The master, too,
whom Wildrake, experienced in his knowledge of landlords
and hostelries, had remembered a dashing Mine Host of Queen
Bess’s school, had now sobered down to the temper of the
times, shook his head when he spoke of the Parliament,
wielded his spigot with the gravity of a priest conducting a
sacrifice, wished England a happy issue out of all her afflictions,
and greatly lauded his Excellency the Lord-General. Wildrake
also remarked that his wine was better than it was wont to be,
the Puritans having an excellent gift at detecting every fallacy
in that matter ; and that his measures were less and his charges
larger—circumstances which he was induced to attend to, by
mine host talking a good deal about his conscience.

He was told by this important personage, that the Lord-
General received frankly all sorts of persons; and_ that he
might obtain access to him next morning, at eight o’clock. for
the trouble of presenting himself at the Castle-gate, and

announcing himself as the bearer of despatches to his Ex-
cellency,WOODSTOCK.

To the Castle the disguised cavalier repaired at the hour
ointed. Admittance was freely permitted to him by the
red-coated soldier, who with austere looks, and his musket on
his shoulder, mounted guard at the external gate of that noble
building. Wildrake passed through the underward or court,
gazing as he passed upon the beautiful Chapel, which had but
lately received, in darkness and silence, the unhonored remains
of the slaughtered King of England. Rough as Wildrake
was, the recollection of this circumstance affected him so
strongly, that he had nearly turned back in a sort of horror,
rather than face the dark and daring man, to whom, amongst
all the actors in that melancholy affair, its tragic conclusion
was chiefly to be imputed. But he felt the necessity of subdu-
ing all sentiments of this nature, and compelled himself to pro-
ceed in a negotiation intrusted to his conduct by one to whom
he was so much obliged as Colonel Everard. At the ascent, which
passed by the Round Tower, he looked to the ensign-staff,
from which the banner df England was wont to float. It was
gone, with all its rich emb lazonry, its gorgeous quarterings,
and splendid embroidery; and in its room waved that of the
commonwealth, the cross of Saint George, in its colors of blue
and red, not yet intersected by the diagonal cross of Scotland,
which was soon after assumed, as if in evidence of England’s
conquest over her ancient enemy. This change of ensigns
increased the train of his gloomy reflections, in w ‘hich ; although
contrary to his wont, he became so deeply wrapped, that the
first thing which recalled him to himself, was the challenge from
the sentinel, accompanied with a stroke of the butt of his mus-
ket on the pavement, with an emphasis which made Wildrake
start.

“Whither away, and who are you?”

“The bearer of a packet,’ answered Wildrake, “to the
worshipful the Lord-General.”

“Stand till I call the officer of the guard.”

The corporal made his appearance, distinguished above
those of his command by a double quantity of band round his
neck, a double height of steeple-crowned hat, a larger allowance
of cloak, and a treble proportion of sour gravity of aspect, It
might be read on his countenance, that he was one of those
resolute enthusiasts to whom Oliver owed his conquests, whose
religious zeal made them even more than a match for the high-
spirited and high-born cavali ers, that exhausted their valor in
defence of their sovereign’s person and crown. He looked
with grave solemnity at Wildrake, as if he was making in hisdees er

78 WOODSTOCK.

own inind an inventory of his features and dress; and having
fully perused them, he required “to know his phone, ‘A

“ My business, ” said Wi ildrake, as firmly as he could—for
the close inv estigation of this man had given him some un pleas:
ant nervous sensations—“ my business is with your Poor @

With his Excellency the Lord-General, thou wouldst say?”
replied the corporal. ‘“ Thy s speech, my friend, savors too. little
of the reverence due to his E xcellency.”

“D-—n his Excellency!’ was at the ee of the cavalier ;
but prudence kept guard, and permitted not the offensive words
to escape the barrier. He only bowed, and was silent.

“* Follow me,” said the starched f figure whom he adc lressed :
and Wildrake followed him accordingly into the guard- house,
which exhibited an interior characteristic of the times, and
very different from what such military stations present at the
present day.

By the fire sat two or three musketeers, listening to one
who was expounding some religious mystery to them. He be-
gan half beneath his breath, but in tones of great volubility,
which tones, as he approached the conclusion, became sharp
and eager, as challenging either instant answer or silent ac-
quiescence. The audience seemed to the speaker with inmmov-
able features, only answ ering him with clouds of tobacco- smoke,
which they rolled from under their thick mustaches. On a
bench lay a soldier on his face: whether asleep, or in a fit of
contemplation, it was impossible to decide. In the midst of the
floor stood an officer, as he seemed by his embroidered-shoulder
belt and scarf round his waist, otherwise very plainly attired, who
was engaged in drilling a stout bumpkin, lately enlisted, to the
manual, as it was then used. The motions and words of com-
mand were twenty at the very least; and until they were regu-
larly brought to an end, the corporal did not permit Wildrake
either to sit down or move forw ard. beyond the threshold of the
guard-house. So he had to listen in. succession to—Poise your
musket—Rest your musket—Cock your musket—-Handle your
primers—-and many other foreotten words. of discipline, until
at length the words, “ Order your musket,” ended the drill fox
the time.

“Thy name, friend?” said the officer to. the recruit, when
the lesson was over.

“Ephraim,” answered the fellow, with an affected twang
fhrough the nose.

“ And what besides Ephraim ? ”

“Ephraim Cobb, from the godly city of Gloucester, where IWOODSTOCK, 79

have dwelt for seven years, serving apprentice to a praiseworthy
cordwainer.”

“It is. a goodly craft,” answered the officer ; “ but casting in
thy lot with ours, doubt not that thou shalt be set beyond thine
awl, and thy last to boot.” ‘

A grim smile of the speaker accompanied this poor attempt
at a pun; and then turning round to the corporal, who stood
two paces off, with the face of one who seemed desirous of
speaking, said, ‘“‘ How now, corporal, what tidings ?”

‘“‘Hfere is one with a packet, an it please your Excellency,”
said the corporal—“ Surely my spirit doth not rejoice in him,

eeing I esteem him a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

By these words Wildrake learned that he was in the actual
presence of the remarkable person to whom he was commis-
sioned ; and he paused to consider in what manner he ought to
address him. °*

The figure of Oliver Cromwell was, as is generally known,
in no way prepossessing. He was of middle stature, strong
and coarsely made, with harsh and severe features, indicative,
however, of much natural sagacity and depth of thought. His
eyes were gray and piercing; his nose too large in proportion
to his other features, and of a reddish hue.

His manner of speaking, when he had the purpose to make

himseif distinctly understood, was energetic and forcible,
though neither graceful nor eloquent. No man could on such
oceasion put his meaning into fewer and more decisive words.
3ut when, as it often happened, he had a mind to play the
orator, for the benefit of people’s ears, without enlightening
their understanding, Cromwell was wont to invest his meaning,
or that which seemed to be his meaning, in such a mist of
words, surrounding it with so many exclusions and exceptions,
and fortifying it with such a labyrinth of parentheses, that
though one of the most shrewd men in England, he was, per:
haps, the most unintelligible speaker that ever perplexed an
audience. It has been long since said by the historian, that a
collection of the Protector’s speeches would make, with a few
exceptions, the most nonsensical book in the world; but he
ought to have added, that nothing could be more nervous, con-
cise, and intelligible, than what he really intended should be
understood.

It was also remarked of Cromwell, that though born of a
cood family, both by father and mother, and although he had
the usual opportunities of education and breeding connected
with such an advantage, the fanatic democratic ruler could
never acquire, or else disdained to practice, the courtesies

Res

aa

Cae

Peermncentstn cotaeS

80 WOODSTOCK.

usually exercised among the € higher classes in their intercourse
with each other. His demeanor was so blunt as sometimes
might be termed clownish , yet there was in his language and
manner a force and energy corresponding to his “character

which impressed awe, if it did not impose respect ; and there
were even times when that dark and subtle spirit expanded
itself, so as almost to conciliate affection. The turn for humor,
which displayed itself by fits, was broad, and of a low, and
sometimes practical ch varacter, Something there was in his
disposition congenial to that of his countrymen ; a contempt of
folly, a hatred of affect: ition, and a dislike of ceremony, which,

joined to the strong intrinsic qualities of sense and ‘ courage,

made him in many respects not an unfit representative of the
democracy of E ngland.

His religion must always be a subject of much doubt, and
probably of doubt which he himself could hardéy have cleared
up. Unquestionably there was a time in his life when he was
sincerely enthusiastic, and° when his natural temper, shghtly
subject to hypochondria, was Strangely agitated by the same
fanaticism which influenced so many persons of the time. On
the other hand, there were periods during his political career,
when we certainly do him no injustice in ch larging him with
hypocritical affectation. We shall prob aah y judge him, A
others of the same age, most truly, if we suppose that their
religious professions were partly in Anenael in their own breast,
partly assumed in compliance with their own interest. And
So ingenious is the human heart in deceiving itself as well as
others, that it is probable neither Cromwell himself, nor those
making similar pretensions to distinguished piety, could exactly
have fixed the point at which their enthusiasm terminated and
their hypocrisy commenced ; or rather, it was a point not fixed
in itself, but fluctuating with the state of healt h, of good or
bad fortune, of high or low spirits, affe ecting the individual at
the period,

Such was the celebrated person, who, turning round on Wild-
rake, and scanning his countenance ines y; seemed so little
satisfied with what he be held, that he instinctively hitched for-
ward his belt, so as to bring the handle of his tuck-sword
within his reach. But yet, folc ling his arms in his cloak, as if
upon second thoughts laying aside suspicion, or thinking pre-
caution beneath him. he asked the cavalier what he was, and
whence he came ?

“A poor gentleman, sir »—that is, amy dond?——
W drake “last from Woodstock.’

“And what may your tidings be, sir gentleman?”

answered

saidWOODSTOCK.

Cromwell, with an emphasis. “ Truly I have seen those most
willing to take upon them that title, bear themselves somewhat
short of wise men, and good men, and true men, with all their
gentility; yet gentleman was a good title in old England, when
men remembered what it was construed to mean.”

“You say truly, sir,” replied Wildrake, suppressing, with
aifficulty, some of his usual wild expletives; “ formerly gentle-
men were found in gentlemen’s places, but now the world is so
changed that you shall find the broidered belt has changed
place with the under spur-leather.”

“Say’st thou me?” said the General; “I profess thou art
a bold companion, that can bandy words so wantonly ;—thou
ring’st somewhat too loud to be good metal, methinks. And,
once again, what are thy tidings with me?”

“This packet,” said Wildrake, ‘‘ commended to your hands
by Colonel Markham Everard.”

‘“ Alas, I must have mistaken thee,” answered Cromwell,
mollified at the mention of a man’s name whom he had great
desire to make his own; “forgive us, good friend, for such, we
doubt not, thou art. Sit thee down, and commune with thy-
self, as thou may’st, until we have examined the contents of
thy packet. Let him be looked to, and have what he lacks.”
So saying, the General left the guard-house, where Wildrake
took his seat in the corner, and awaited with patience the
issue of his mission. :

The soldiers now thought themselves obliged to treat him
with more consideration, and offered him a pipe of Trinidado,
and a black jack filled with October. But the look of Crom-
well, and the dangerous situation in which he might be placed
by the least chance of detection, induced Wildrake to decline
these hospitable offers, and stretching back in his chair, and
affecting slumber, he escaped notice or conversation, until a
sort of aid-de-camp, or military officer in attendance, came to
summon him to Cromwell’s presence.

By this person he was guided to a postern-gate, through
which he entered the body of the Castle, and penetrating
through many private passages and staircases, he at length
was introduced into a small cabinet, or parlor, in which was
much rich furniture, some bearing the royal cipher displayed,
but all confused and disarranged, together with several paint-
ings in massive frames, having their faces turned towards the
wall, as if they had been taken down for the purpose of being
removed.

In this scene of disorder, the victorious general of the
Commonwealth was seated in a large easy-chair, covered withDade eee ee

a

ce WOODSTOCK.

damask, and deeply embroidered, the splendor of which made
a strong contrast with the plain, and even homely character of
his apparel ; although in look and action he seemed like one
who felt that the seat which might have in former days held a
prince, was not too much distinguished for his own fortunes
and ambition. Wildrake stood before him, nor did he ask him
to sit down.

“Pearson,” said Cromwell, addressing himself to the
officer in attendance, “wait in the gallery, but be within call.”
Pearson bowed, and was retiring. “Who are in the gallery
besides ?”

“Worthy Mr. Gordon, the chaplain, was holding forth but
now to Colonel Overton, and four captains of your Excellency’s
regiment.”

““We would have it so,” said the General ; “we would not
there were any corner in our dwelling where the hungry soul
might not meet with manna. Was the good man carried on-
vard in his discourse ? ”

‘“Mightily borne through,” said Pearson ; “and he was
touching the rightful claims which the army, and especially
your Excellency, hath acquired by becoming the instruments in
the great work ;—not instruments to be broken asunder and
cast away when the day of their service is over. but to be pre-
served, and held precious, and prized for their honorable and
faithful labors, for which ~they have fought and marched. and
fasted, and prayed, and suffered cold and sorrow ; while others,
who would now gladly see them disbanded, and broken, and
cashiered, eat of the fat, and drink of the strong.”

“ Ah, good man!” said Cromwell, “and did he touch upon
this so feelingly! TI could say something—but not now. Be-
gone, Pearson, to the gallery. Let not our friends lay aside
their swords, but watch as well as pray.”

Pearson retired: and the
Everard in his hand, |
Wildrake, as if consid
him.

When he did speak, it was. at first, in one of those am-
biguous discourses which we have already described, and by
which it was very difficult for any one to understand his mean-
ing, if, indeed, he knew it himself. We shall be as concise in
oul statement, as our desire to give the very words of a man so
extraordinary will permit.

“This letter,” he said, “you have |
master, or patron, Markl E
honorable gentleman as

General, holding the letter of
ooked again for a long while fixedly at
ering in what strain he should address

Drought us from your
1am Everard ; truly an excellent and
ever bore a sword upon his thigh, andWOODSTOCK.

one who hath ever distinguished himself in the great work of
delivering these three poor and unhappy nations. Answer me
not; I len 10w what thou wouldst say.—And this letter he hath
sent to me by thee, his clerk, or secretary, in whom he hath
confidence, and in tone he prays me to have trust, that there
may be a careful messenger between us. And lastly, he hath
sent thee to me—Do not answer—I know what- thou wouldst
say,—to me, who, albeit I am of that small consideration, that
it would be too much honor for me even to bear a halberd in
this great and victorious army of England, am nevertheless ex
alted to the rank of holding the guidance and the leading-sta off
thereof. Nay, do not answer, my uhh know what thou
wouldst say. Now, when commu 2 , our dis-
h, in respect to w Hats i 1ave aa a three-fold argu
7 master; secondly,
our office; thirdly and lastly, as it
eo aaa this good and worthy
Everard, oy he hath played
f these unhappy bufletings, not
ft, but holding ee in his eye the
y, truly, a faithful, honorable gen-
ell call me friend; and truly I am
-vertheless, in this vale
must be governed less by our private respe
than by those higher principles and points

‘eupon the good Colone Mele Everard hak: ever

his purpose, as

pu
; alk act as becometh a Englishmen and worthy

5S

as for W oodstock, it is a great thing which the
en should be taken from the spoil of

of the men of Moab, and especially

g ae whose hand hath been ever
when he mig i find room to raise it; I say, he hath
a great thing, both in respect of himself and me. for
we of this poor but godly army of England, are holden, by
those of the Parliament, as men who should render in spoil for
. sharer of it ourselves; even as the buck, which
no part of their own food,

off from the carcass with whips, like those

punishment for their forwardness, not reward

vices. Yet I speak not this so much in respect of

this grant of Woodstock, in regard that, perhaps, their Lord-
ships ot the Council, and also the Committeemen of this Par.
iament, may graciously think they have given me a portion in
1e matter, in relation that my kinsman Desborough hath an

seat

a

=

PRs

ahSci Nuinaigualibisshantackierahe ieee nets

84 WOODSTOCK.

interest allowed him therein ; which interest, as he hath well de.
served it for his true and faithful service to these unhappy and
devoted countries, so it would ill become me to diminish the
same to his prejudice, unless it were upon great and public
respects. ‘T’hus thou seest how it stands with me, my honest
friend, and in what mind I stand touching thy master’s request
to me; which yet I do not say that I can altogether or uncon-
ditionally grant or refuse, but only tell my simple thoughts with
regard thereto. Thou understandest me, I doubt not ? ”

Now, Roger Wildrake, with all the -attention he had been
able to pay to the Lord-General’s speech, had got so much
confused among the various clauses of the harangue, that his
brain was bewildered, like that of a country clown when he
chances to get himself involved among a crowd of carriages,
and cannot stir a step to get out of the way of one of them
without being in danger of being ridden over by the others.

The General saw his look of perplexity, and began a new
oration, to the same purpose as before ; spoke of his love for
his kind friend the Colonel—his regard for his pious and godly
kinsman, Master Desborough—the great importance of the
Palace and Park of Woodstock—the determination of the Par-
liament that it should he confiscated, and he produce brought
into the coffers of the state—his own deep veneration for the
authority of Parliament, and his no less deep sense of the in-
justice done to the army—how it was his wish and will that all
matters should be settled in an amicable and friendly manne,
without self-seeking, debate, or strife, betwixt those who ha‘
been the hands acting, and such as had been the heads govern-
ing, in that great national cause—how he was willing, truly
willing, to contribute to this work, by laying down, not his com-
mission only, but his life also, if it were requested of him, or
could be granted with safety to the poor soldiers, to whom, silly
poor men, he was bound to be asa father, seeing that they had
followed him with the duty and affection of children.

And here he arrived at another dead pause, leaving Wild-
rake as uncertain as before, whether it was or was not his pur-
pose to grant Colonel Everard the powers he had asked for the
protection of Woodstock against the parliamentary Commis-
sioners. Internally he began to entertain hopes that the jus-
tice of Heaven, or the effects of remorse, had confounded the
regicide’s understanding. But no—he could see nothing but
Sagacity in that steady stern eye, which, while the tongue
poured forth its periphrastic language in such profusion, seemed
to watch with severe accuracy the effect which his oratory pro-
duced on the listener,=
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ulWOODSTOCK, 85

‘‘ Egad,” thought the cavalier to himself, becoming a litile

familiar with the situation in which he was placed, and rather
impatient of a conversation which led to no visible conclusion
or termination, “If Noll were the devil himself, as he is the
devil’s darling, I will not be thus nose-led by him. J’ll e’en
brusque it a little, if he goes on at this rate, and try if I can
bring him to a more intelligible mode of speaking.”

Entertaining this bold purpose, but half afraid to execute it,
Wildrake lay by for an opportunity of making the attempt,
while Cromwell was apparently unable to express his own
meaning. He was already beginning a third panegyric upon
Colonel Everard, wilth sundry varied expressions of his own
wish to oblige him, when Wildrake took the opportunity to
strike in, on the General’s making one of his oratorical pauses.

~ So please you,” he said bluntly, “your worship has al-
ready spoken on two topics of your discourse, your own worthi-
ness, and that of my master, Colonel Everard. But, to enable
me to do mine errand, it would be necessary to bestow a few
words on the third head.”

“The third ?” said Cromwell.

“ Ay,” said Wildrake, “ which, in your honor’s subdivision
of your discourse, touched on my unworthy self. What am I
to do—what portion am I to have in this matter ? ”

Oliver started at once from the tone of voice he had hitherto
used, and which somewhat resembled the purring of a domestic
cat, into the growl of the tiger when about to spring.‘ Thy
portion, jail-bird!” he exclaimed, “the gallows—thou shalt
hang as high as Haman, if thou betray counsel i, Buea he
added softening his voice, “keep it like a true man, and my
favor will be the making of thee. Come hither—thou art bold,
[ see, though somewhat saucy. Thou hast been a malignant—
so writes my worthy friend Colonel Everard ; but thou hast
now given up that falling cause. I tell thee, friend, not all
that the Parliament or the army could do would have pulled
down the Stewarts out of their-high places, saving that Heaven
had a controversy with them. Well, it is a sweet and comely
thing to buckle on one’s armor in behalf of Heaven’s cause;
otherwise truly, for mine own part, these men might have re-
mained upon the throne even unto this day. Neither do I
blame any for aiding them, until these successive great judg-
ments have overwhelmed them and their house. I am not a
bloody man, having in me the feeling of human frailty ; but,
friend, whosoever putteth his hand to the plough, in the great
actings which are now on foot in these nations, had best be-
ware that he do not look back ; for, rely upon my simple word,

SsRTs Sih pesnabiauakstinababbactionaMeskies toes etre
BS es -

WOODSTOCK.

 

86

that if you fail me, I will not spare on you one foot’s length of
the gallows of Haman. Let me therefore know, at a word, if
the leaven of thy malignancy is altogether drubbed out of
lies 2”

‘Your honorable lordship,” said the cavalier, shrugging up
his shoulders, ‘‘ has done that for most of us, so far aS cudgel:
ing to some tune can perform it.”

““Say’st thou?” said the General, with a grim smile on his
lip, which seemed to intimate that he was not quite inaccessible
to flattery ; “‘ yea, ny thou dost not-he in that—we have
been an instrument. Neither are we, as I have already hinted,
so severely bent against those who have striven against us as
malignants, as others may be. ‘The parliament-men best know
their own interest and their own pleasure; but, to my poor
thinking, it is full time to close these jars, and to allow men oe

all kinds the means of doing service to their country; and we
think it will be thy fault if thou art not employed to good pur-
pose for the state and thyself, on condition thou puttest away
the old man entirely from thee, and givest thy earnest attention
to what I have to tell thee.”

“Your lordship need not doubt my attention,” said the
cavalier.

And the republican General, after another pausé, as one who
gave his confidence not without hesitation, proceeded to explain
his views with a distinctness which he seldom used, yet not
without his being a little biassed now and then, by his long
habits of circumlocution, which indeed he never laid entirely
aside, save in the ield of battle.

Thou seest,” he said, “ my friend, how things stand with
me, The Parliament, I care not who knows it, love me not—-
still less do the Council of State, by whom they manage the ex-
ecutive government of the kingdom. I cannot tell why they
nourish suspicion against me, unless it is because I will not de-
liver this poor innocent army, which has followed me in so many
military actions, to be now pulled asunder, broken piecemeal
and reduced, so that they i have protected the state at the
expense of their blood, will not have, perchance, the means of
feeding themselves by their labor; which methinks, were hard
measure, since it is taking from Esau his birthright, even with-
out giving hiin a poor mess of . tage.’

“ Risau is likely to help himself, [ think,” replied Wildrake

‘Truly, thou say’st Wisely,” replied the General; * it is ill
starving an armed man if there is food to be had for taking—
nevertheless, far be it from me to encotirage rebellion, or want
of due subordination to these our rulers, I would only petition,

99

{
]
SAWOODSTOCK. 85

In a due and becoming, a sweet and harmonious manner, that
they would listen to our conditions, and consider our necessities.
But, sir, looking on me, and estimating me so little as they do,
you must think that it would be a provocation in me toward the
Council of State, as well as the Parliame: nt, if, simply to gratify
your worthy master, I were to act contrary to their purpose,
or deny currency to the commission under their authority,
which is as yet the highest in the State—and lone may it be
so for nas to carry on the sequestration which they intend.
And would it not also be said, that I was lending my self to the
malignant interest, affording this den of the bloodthirsty and
lascivious tyrants of yore, to be in this our day a place of refuge
to that old and inveterate Amalel kite, Sir Henry Lee, to keep
possession of the place in which he hath so long glorified him-
self? ‘Truly it would be a perilous matter.”
‘Am I then to report,” said Wildrake, “and it please you,
that you cannot stead Colonel Everard in this matter ?”
‘ Unconditionally, ay —but, taken conditionally, the answer

may be otherwise,”’—answered Cromwell. “I see thou art
10t able to fathom my ions and therefore I will partly un-
fold it to thee.—But take notice, that, should thy tongue betray
my counsel, save in so far as carrying it to thy eee by all
the blood which has been shed in these wild times, thou shalt
die : a thousand deaths in one.”

‘Do not fear me, sir,” said Wildrake, whose natural bold-
ness and carelessness of character was for the present time
borne down and quelled, like that of falcons in the presence
of the eagle.

‘Hear me, then,” said Cromwell, “and let no syllable es-
cape thee. Knowest thou not the young Lee, whom they call

Albert, a tna enant like his father, and one who went up with
the young Man to that last ruffle which we had with him at
Worcester—May we be grateful for the victory !

‘“T know there is such a young gentleman as Albert Lee,”
said Wildrake.

And knowst thou not—I speak not by way of prying into
the good Colonel’s secrets, but only as it behoves me to know
something of the matter, that I may best judge how I am to

serve him—-Know est thou not that thy master, Markham Everard,
is a suitor after the sister of this same malignant, a daughter of
the old Keeper, called Sir Henry Lee ?”

“ All this I have heard,” said Wildrake, “nor can I deny
that I believe in it.”

“Well, then, go to.—When the young man Charles Stewart
fled from the field of Worcester, and was by sharp chase and

 

  
 
 
   
    
   
  
     
    
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
  
 
     
     
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
   
 
 
  
    
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
   

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88

pursuit compelled to separate himself from his followers, I know
by sure intelligence that this Albert Lee was one of the last whe
remained with him, if not indeed the very last.”

“Tt was devilish like him,” said the cavalier, without suffi-
ciently weighing his expressions, considering in what presence
they were to be uttered—“ And I’ll uphold him with my rapier,
to be a true chip of the old block!”

‘“‘ Ha, swearest thou?” said the General. ‘“‘Is this thy re
formation ?”’

‘‘J never swear, so please you,” replied Wildrake, recol-
lecting himself, “except there is some mention of malignants
and cavaliers in my hearing; and then the old habit returns,
and I swear like one of Goring’s troopers.”

‘Out upon thee,” said the General; ‘‘ what can it avail thee
to practice a profanity so horrible to the ears of others, and
which brings no emolument to him who uses it ?”’

“There are, doubtless, more profitable sins in the world
than the barren and unprofitable vice of swearing,” was the
answer which rose to the lips of the cavalier; but that was
exchanged for a profession of regret for having given offence.
The truth was, the discourse began to take a turn which ren-
dered it more interesting than ever to Wildrake, who therefore
determined not to lose the opportunity for obtaining possession
of the secret that seemed to be suspended on Cromwell’s lips;
and that could only be through means of keeping guard upon
his own.

“What sort of a house is Woodstock?” said the General
abruptly.

“An old mansion,” said Wildrake, in reply; “‘ and, so far
as I could judge by a single night’s lodgings, having abundance
of backstairs, also subterranean passages, and all the communi-
cations under ground, which are common in old raven-nests of
the sort.”

“And places for concealing priests, unquestionably,” said
Cromwell. ‘It is seldom that such ancient houses lack secret
stalls wherein to mew up these calves of Bethel.”

“Your Honor’s Excellency,” said Wildrake, “‘ may swear to
that.”’

‘ T swear not at all,” replied the General, dryly.—‘“‘ But what
think’st thou, good fellow ?—I will ask thee a blunt question—
Where will those two Worcester fugitives that thou wottest of
be more likely to take shelter—and that they must be sheltered
somewhere I well know—that in this same old palace, with all
the corners and concealment whereof young Albert hath been
acquainted ever since his earliest infancy ?”

)

;

33WOODSTOCK. Se
9
“Truly,” said Wildrake, making an effort to answer the
question with seeming indifference, “while the possibility of such
an event, and its consequences, flashed fe earfully upon his mina,
—* Truly I should be of your Honor’ S opinion, but that I think
the company, who, by the commission of -arliament, have occu-
pied Woodstock, are ‘likely to frighten them thence, asa cat scares
doves from a pigeon-house. The neighborhood, with reverence,
eo : eases Desborough and Harrison, will suit ill with fugi-
es from Worcester fiel is
“thought as oe and so, indeed, would I have it,”
answered the General. ‘ Long may it be ere our names shall
be aught but a terror to our enemies. But in this matter, if
thou art an active plotter for thy master’s interest, thou
might’st, I should think, work out something favorable to his
present object.”

‘‘ My brain is too poor to reach the depth of your honorable
purpose,” said Wildrake.

- Listen, then, and let it be to profit,” answered Cromwell.

Assuredly the conquest at Worcester was a great and crown-
ing mercy; yet might we seem to be but small in our thankful-
ness for the same, did we not do what in us lies toward the
ultimate improvement and final conclusion of the great work
which has .been thus prosperous in our hands, professing, in
pure humility and singleness of heart, that we do not, in any
way, deserve our instrumentality to be remembered, nay, would
rather pray and entreat, that our name and fortunes were for-
gotten, than that the great work were in itself incomplete
Nevertheless, truly, placed as we now are, it concerns us more
nearly than otl hers,—th at is, if so poor creatures should at all
speak of themselves as concerned, whether more or less, with
these changes which have been wrought around,—not, I say, by
ourselves, or our own power, but by the destiny to which we
were called, fulfilling the same with all meekness and humility,
—I say it concerns us nearly that all things should be done in
conformity with the great work which hath been wrought, and
is yet working, in these lands. Such is my plain and simple
meaning. Neverthless, it is much to be desired that this young
man, this King of Scots, as he called himself—this Charles
Stewart—should not oe forth from the nation, where his
arrival has wrought so much disturbance and bloodshed.”

‘“‘T have no doubt,” said the cavalier, looking down, “ that
your lordship’s wisdom hath directed all things as they may
best lead toward such a consummation ; and I pray your pains
may be pi iid as they deserve.”

cs %

thank thee, friend,” said Cromwell, with much humility ;SN

Witiuies Soci eae cee ny

WOODSTOCK.

‘* doubtless we shall meet our reward, being in the hands of a
good paymaster, who never passeth Saturday night. But under-
Sand me, friend—I desire no more than my own share in the
good work. I would heartily do what poor kindness I can to
your worthy master, and even to you in your degree
as I do not converse with ordinary men, that our presence may
be forgotten like an every-day’s occurrence. We speak to men
like thee for their reward or their punishment ; and I trust it
will be the former which thou in thine office wilt merit at my
hand.”

“ Your honor,”
to command.”

“True ; men’s mindsare likened to those of my degree by fear
and reverence,” said the General ; “ but enough of that, desiring,
as I do, no other dependency on my special person than is
alike to us all upon that which is above us. But I would
desire to cast this golden ball into your master’s lap. He hath
served against this Charles Stewart and his father. But heisa
kinsman near to the old knight, Lee, and stands well affected
toward his daughter. Zou also wilt keep a watch, my friend
—that ruffling look of thine, will procure thee the confidence of

          

said Wildrake, ‘‘ speaks like one accustomed

every malignant, and the prey cannot eds ch this cover, as
though to shelter, like a eoney in the rocks, but thou wilt be

sensible of his presence.”

“T make a shift-to comprehend your Excellency,” said the
cavalier ; “ and I thank you heartily for the good opinion you
have put upon me, and which, I pray, | may have some hand-
some opportunity of deserving, that | may show my gratitude
by the event. But still, with reverence, your Excellency’s scheme
seems unlikely, while Woodstock remains in possession of the
sequestrators. Both the old knight and his son, and far more
such a fugitive as your honor hinted at, will take special care
not sa ee h it till they are removed.”

is for that I have been dealing with thee thus long,”
said the General—*‘ I told thee that I was something unwill-
ing, upon slight occasion, to dispossess the sequestrators by
my own proper warrant, although having, perhaps, sufficient
authority in the state both to do so, and to despise the murmurs
of those who blame me. In brief, I would be loath to tamper
with my privileges, and make experiment between their
strength, and the ] f the commission granted by others,
without pressing need, or at least great prospect of advantage.
So, if thy Colonel will aeons: for his love of the Republic,
to find the means of preventing its worst and nearest danger,
which must needs occu manish the escape of this young Man,

=)
lesmd  pamabe

a,

DOWEITS ¢WOODSTOCK. gi

and will do his endeavor to stay him, in case his flight should
lead him to Woodstock, which I hold very likely, I will give
thee an order to these sequestrators, to evacuate the palace
instantly ; and to the next troop of my regiment, which lies
at Oxford, to turn them out by the shoulders, if they make
any scruples—ay, even, for example’s sake, if they drag Des-
borough out foremost, though he be wedded to my sister.”

‘So please you, sir,’ said Wildrake, “ and with your most
powerful warrant, I trust I might expel the commissioners,
even without the aid of your most warlike and devout troopers.”

“ That is what I am least anxious about,” replied the Gene-
ral; “J should like to see the best of them sit after I had
nodded to them to begone—always excepting the worshipful
House, in whose name our commissions run ; but who, assome
think, will be done with politics ere it-be time to renew them.
Therefore, what chiefly concerns me to know, is, whether thy

! ll embrace a traffick which hath such a fair promise of
profit with it. I am well convinced that, with a. scout like
thee, who hast been in the cavaliers’ quarters, and canst, I
should guess, resume thy drinking, ruffianly, health-quaffing
manners whenever thou hast a mind, he must discover where
this Stewart hath ensconced himself. Either the young Lee will
visit the old one in person, or he will write to him, or hold
communication with him by letter. At all events, Markham
Everard and thou must have an eye in every hair of your
head.” While he spoke, a flush passed over his brow, he rose
from his chair, and paced the apartment in agitation. “ Woe
to you, if you suffer the young adverturer to escape me !—-you
had better be in the deepest dungeon in Europe, than breathe
the air of England, should you but dream of playing me false.
I have spoken freely to thee, fellow—more freely than is my
wont—the time required it. But, to share my confidence is
-~ping a watch over powder-magazine, the least and
most insignificant spark blows thee to ashes. ‘Tell your master
what I said—but not how I said it—Fie, that I should have
been betrayed into this distemperature of passion !—begone,
sirrah Pearson shall bring thee sealed order—Yet, stay—thou
hast something to ask.”

“ T would know,” said Wildrake, to whom the visible anx-
iety of the General gave some confidence, “ what is the figure
of this young gallant, in case I should find him?”

“A tall, rawboned, swarthy lad, they say he has shot up
into. Here is his picture by a good hand, some time since.” He
turned round one of the portraits which stood with its face

like keePy, spp cOconi gas clubansastion anes ST eT

g2

WOODSTOCK.

against the wall, but it proved not to be that of Charles the

Second, but of his
The first motio

unhappy father.
n of Cromwell indicated a purpose of hastily

replacing the picture, and it seemed as if an effort was neces-
sary to repress his disinclination to look upon it. But he did
repress it, and placing the picture against the wall, withdrew

slowly and sternly,

as if, in defiance of his own feelings, he was

determined to gain a place from which to see it to advantage.

It was well for Wi

Idrake that his dangerous companion had

not turned an eye on him, for zs blood also kindled when he

saw the portrait

of his master in the hands of the chief

author of his death. Being a fierce and desperate man, he
commanded his passion with great difficulty ; and if, on its first
violence, he had been provided with a suitable weapon, it is
possible Cromwell would never have ascended higher in his
bold ascent toward supreme power.

But this natural and sudden flash of indignation, which
rushed through the veins of an ordinary man like Wildrake ;
was presently subdued, when confronted with the strong yet
stifled emotion displayed by so powerful a character as Crom-
well. As the cavalier looked on his dark and bold countenance

agitated by inward

and indescribable feelings, he found his own

violence of spirit die away and lose itself in fear and wonder.
So true it is, that as greater lights swallow up and extinguish

the display of those
and overruling min

a brook

> which are less, so men of great, capacious,
ds, bear aside and subdue, in their climax

of passion, the more feeble wills and passions of others as
t
>

when a river joins ;

the smaller stream.
Wildrake stood

he fiercer torrent shoulders aside

a silent, inactive, and almost a terrified

spectator, while Cromwell, assuming a firm sternness of eye

and manner, as one

strong internal feel
proceeded, in brief
firm voice, to comn
words seemed less

who compels himself to look on what some

ing renders painful and disgustful to him,

and interrupted expressions, but yet with a
1ent on the portrait of the late King. His
addressed to Wildrake, than to be the spon-

taneous unburdening of his own bosom, swelling under recollec-
tion of the past and anticipation of the future.

‘* That Flemish
—what a power he
and destroy—still t

painter,” he said—* that Antonio Vandyck
has ! Steel may mutilate, warriors may waste
he King stands uninjured by time ; and our

grandchildren, while they read his history, may look on his
image, and compare the melancholy features with the woeful

tale-—It was a ster
calm pride of that

n necessity—it was an awful deed! The

eye might have ruled worlds of crouching

oWOODSTOCK. 93
Frenchmen, or ae Italians, or formal Spaniards; but its
glances only roused the native courage of the stern Englishman.
2 lay not on poor sinful man, whose breath is in his nostrils,
the blame that he falls, when Heaven never gave him strength
of nerves to stand! The weak rider is thrown by his unruly
horse, and trampled to death—the strongest man, the best cava-
springs to the empty ee: and uses bit and spur till the

y steed knows its master. ho blames him, who, mounted

, rides triumphantly oo the people ce for having suc-
ceeded, where the unskilful and feeble fell and died ? Verily he
hath his reward; then, what is that piece of painted canvas tome
more than others? No; let him show to others the reproaches
of that cold calm face, that proud yet complaining eye : Those
who have aeree on higher respects have no cause to start’ at
painted shadows. Not wealth “nor power brought me from my
ybscurity. ‘The oppressed consciences, the inj iured liberties of

an oa were the banner that I followed.”

ae raised his voice so high, as if pleading in his own defence
before some tribunal, that Pearson, the officer in attendance,
looked into the apartment; and observing his master, with his
eyes kindling, his arms extended, his foot advanced, and his
voice raised, like a generalin the act of commanding the
advance of his army, he instantly withdrew.

‘“‘ It was other than selfish regards that drew me forth to
action,’ continued Cromwell, “ and I dare the world—ay, living
or dead I challenge—to assert that I armed for a private cause,
or as a means of enlarging my fortunes. Neither was there a
trooper in the regiment who came there with less of personal
evil vil to yonder unhappy 7——

At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and a
sentlewoman entered, who, from her resemblance to the Gen-
eral, although her features were soft and feminine, might be
immediately recognized as his daughter. She walked up to
Cromwell, gent tly but firmly passed her arm through his,
and. said to . him, in. a) .persuasive “tone, “Father, ) this as
not well—you have promised me this should not happen.”

The General hung down his head, like one who was either
ashamed of the passion to which he had given way, or of
the influence which was exercised over him. He yielded,
however, to the affectionate impulse, and left the apart-
ment, without again turning his head toward the portrait
which had so much affected him, or looking toward Wiid-
rake, who remained fixed in astonishment.ee ee

WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER NINTH.

Doctor.—Go to, go to,—You have known what you should not.
MACBETH,

WILDRAKE was left in the c real as we have said, aston-
ished and alone. It was often noised about. that Crom-
well, the deep and sagacious sash sinh the calm and in-
trepid commander, he who had overcome such difficulties
and ascended to such heights, that he seemed already to
bestride the land which he had conquered, had, like many
other men of great genius, a constitutional taint of mel-
ancholy, which sometimes displayed itself both in words
and actions, and had been first observed in that sudden
and striking cHange » When, abandoning entirely the disso-
lute freaks of his youth, he embraced a very strict course
of religious observances, which, upon some occasions, he
seemed to consider as bringing him into more near and
close contact with the spiritual world. This extraordinary
man is said sometimes, during that period of his life, to
have given way to. spiritual delusions, or, as he himself
conceived them, prophetic inspirations of Aas eran-
deur, and of strange, deep, and mysterious agencies, in
which he was in future to be engaged, in the same man-
ner as his younger years had been marked by fits of ex-
uberant and excessive frolic and debaucheries. Something
of this kind seemed to explain the
which he had now manifested.

With wonder at what he had witnessed, Wildrake felt
some anxiety on his own account. Though not the most
reflecting of mortals, he had sense enough to know that
it is dangerous to be a witness of the infirmities of men
high in power; and he was left so long by himself, as
induced him to entertain some secret doubts whether the
General might not be tempted to take means of confin-
Ing or removing a witness who had seen him lowered, as it
seemed, by the suggestions of his own conscience, beneath
that lofty fight which, in general, he affected to sustain above
the rest of the sublu inary world.

In this, however, he wronged Cromwell, who was free
either from an extreme degree of jealous suspicion, or
from anything which approached toward  bloodthirstiness.
Pearson appeared, after a lapse of about an hour, and, inti-
mating to Wildrake that he was to follow, conducted him into

ebullition of passionWOODSTOCK. 95

a distant apartment, in which he found the General seated on
alow couch. His Ties was in the ape but remained
at some distance, apparently busied with some female needle-
work, and scarce turned her head as Pearson and Wildrake
entered.

At a sign from the Lord General, Wildrake approached him
as before. ‘ Comrade,” he said, “‘ your old friends the cava-
liers look on me as their enemy, and conduct themselves
toward me as if they desired to make me such. I profess
they are laboring to their own prejudice; for I regard and
have ever r ded them as honest and honorable fools, who
were silly enough to run their necks into nooses and their
heads against stone walls, that a man called Stewart, and

‘over them. Fools! are there no
hat would sound as well as Charles
title beside them? Why, the word
ed lamp, that throws the same bright
vilding upon any combination of the alphabet, and yet you
must shed your blood for a name! But thou, for thy part,
shalt have no wrong from me. Here is an order, well
warranted, to clear the Lodge at Woodstock, and aban-
don it to thy master’s keeping, or those whom he shall
appoint. He will have his uncle and pretty cousin with him,
doubtless. Fare thee well—think on what I told thee. They
say beauty is a loadstone to yonder long lad thou dost wot of ;
but I reckon he has other stars at present to direct his course
than bright eyes and fair hair. Be it as it may, thou knowest
my purpose—peer out, peer out; keep a constant and careful
look-out on every ragged patch that w anders by hedge-row or
lane—these are days when a beggar’s cloak may cover a ae S
ransom. ‘There are some broad Portug:
something strange to thy Saat h, I ween. Once more, think on
what thou hast heard, an he added in a lower and more
impressive tone Of Voice, 7 “forget what thou hast seen. My
service to thy master;—and yet once again, remember—and
forget.’ —Wildrake made his obeisance, and, returning to his
inn, left Windsor with all possible speed.

It was afternoon in the same day when the cavalier rejoined
his roundhead friend, who was ae expecting him at the
inn in Woodstock appointed for their rendezvous.

“ Where hast thou been ?—what hast thou seen ?—what
strange uncertainty is in thy looks >—and why dost thou not
answer me?”

“ Because,” said Wildrake, laying aside his riding-cloak and
rapier, ‘ ‘you ask so many questions at once. A man has buteS eet ee

96 WOODSTOCK,

one tongue to answer with, and mine is well-nigh glued to th
roof of my mouth.’

“Will drink unloosen it ?” said the Colonel; “ though, I
dare i thou hast tried that spell at every ale pholse on the
road. all for what thou wouldst have, maa only be quick.”’

‘ ea Everard,” answered W ildrake, “T have not tasted
so much as a cup of cold water this day.”

8 ben thou art out of humor for that reason,” said the
Colonel; “salve thy sore with brandy, if thou wil , but leave
being so fantastic and unlike to thyself, -as thou eee in this
silent mood.”

“Colonel Everard,” replied the cavalier very gravely, “Iam
an altered man.”

“I think thou dost alter,” said Everard, “every day in the
year, and every hour of the day. Gone good now, tell me,
hast thou seen the General, and got his warrant for clearing
out the sequestrators from Woodstock ? ”

“I have seen the devil,” said Wildrake, “and hay e, as thou
say’st, got a warrant from him.”

‘Give it me hastily,” said Everard, catching at the packet.

‘Forgive me, Mark,” said Wildrake; “if thou knewest the
purpose with which this deed is gzanted—if thou knewest—
what it is not my purpose to tell thee—what manner of aye
are founded on thy accepting it, I have that opinion of thee,
Mark Everard, that thou wouldst as soon take a red-hot horse-
shoe from th e anvil with thy bare hand, as receive into it this
slip of paper.”

“Come, come,” said Everard, “ this comes of some of vour
exalted ideas of loyalty, which, excellent within certain bounds,
drive us mad when enogaree 4 up to some heights. Do not
think, since I must needs spe ak plainly with thee, that I see
without sorrow the downfall of our ancient monarchy, and the
substitution of another form of government in its stead; but
ought my regret for the past to prevent my apatnescins and
aiding in such measures as are li kely to se ttle the future? The
royal c cause is ruined, hadst thou and ever ry cavalier in E1 nel and
sworn the contrary ; dined, not to rise again—for many a day
at least. The Parliament, so often draughted and drained of
those who were courageous enough to maintain their own free-
dom of opinion, is now reduced to a handful of statesmen, who
have lost the respect of the people from the length of time dur-
ing which they have held the sat ia
d ‘hey cannot stand long unless they were to reduce the army ;
and the army, late servants, are now masters, and will refuse to
be reduced. They know their strength, and that they may be

management of affairsWOODSTOCK. 97
an army subsisting on pay and free quarters throughout Ene-
land as long as they will. I tell thee, Wildrake, unless we look
to the only man who can rule and manage them, we may expect
military law throughout the land; and I, for mine own part,
look for any preservation of our privileges that may be vouch-
safed to us, only through the wisdom and forbearance of Crom-
well. Now, you have my secret. You are aware that lam
not doing the best I would, but the best I can. I wish—not
so ardently as thou, perhaps—yet I do wish that the King could
have been restored on good terms of composition, safe for us
and for himself. And now, good Wildrake, rebel as thou think-
est me, make me-no worse a rebel than an unwilling one. God
knows, I never laid aside love and reverence to the King, even
in drawing my sword against his ill advisers.”

‘Ah, plague on you,” said Wildrake, “ that is the very cant
of it—that’s what you all say. All of you fought against the
King in pure love and loyalty, and not otherwise. However,
[ see your drift, and I own that I like it better than I expected.
The army is your bear now, and old Noll is your bearward ;
and you are like a country constable, who makes interest with
the bearward that he may prevent him from letting bruin loose.
Well, there may come a day when the sun will shine on our
side of the fence, and thereon shall you, and all the good fair-
weather folks who love > stronger party, come a
common cause with us.”

Without much attending to what his friend said, Colonel
Everard carefully studied the warrant of Cromwell. “It is
bolder and more peremptory than I expected,” he said. ‘‘The
General must feel himself strong, when he cpposes his own
authority so directly to that of the Council of State and the
Parliament.”

“You will not hesitate to act upon it?” said Wildrake.

“That I certainly will not,’ answered Everard ; “‘ but I must
wait till I have the assistance of the Mayor, who, I think, will
eladly see these fellows ejected from the Lodge. I must not go
altogether upon military authority, if possible.” Then, stepping
to the door of the apartment, he despatched a servant of the
house in quest of the Chief Magistrate, desiring he should be
made acquainted that Colonel Everard desired to see him with
as little loss of time as possible.

‘You are sure he will come, like a dog at a whistle

U

Oo
ec

1d make

Oo 3
Wildrake. ‘The word captain, or colonel, makes the fa

trot in these days, when one sword is worth fifty corporation
charters. But there are dragoons yonder, as well as the grim-
faced knave whom I frightened the other evening when |

: said

11
LTBRETT SR oimaaere eee

98 WOODSTOCK.

showed my face in at the window. ‘Think’st thou the knaves
will show rough play?”

“The General’s warrant will wei igh more with them than a
dozen acts of Parliament,” said Everard.—‘“ But it is time thou
eatest, if thou hast in truth ridden from Windsor hither without

aoe

 

q
oo
pais
AEX
2)

g
“I care not about it,” said Wildrake: “TI tell thee, your
General gave me a breakfast which, I think, will serve me one
while, if 1 am ever able to digest it. By the mass, it lay so
heavy on my conscience, that I carried it to church to sé ce ides}
could digest it there with my other sins. But not a whit.”

“’To church !—to the door of the church, thou meanest,’
said Everard. “I know thy way—thou art ever wont to pull
thy hat off reverently at the threshold; but for crossing it, that
day seldom comes.”

“Well,” replied Wildrake, “and if I do pull off my castor
and Ree is it not seemly to sho yw the same respects in a
church which we offer in a palace? It is a dainty matter, is it
not, to see “one Anabaptists, and ay nists, and the rest of you,
gather to asermon with as little ceremony as hogs toa trough!
But here comes food, and now for a grace, if I can remember
one.”’

Everard was too much interested about the fate of his uncle
and his fair cousin, and the Prospeet of restoring them to their
quiet home, under the protection of that formidable truncheon
which was already regarded as the leading staff of England, to
remark, thats certainly a great alteration had taken place in the
manners and outward behavior at least of his companion. His
demeanor frequently evinced a sort of struggle betwixt old
habits of indulgence, and some newly formed resolutions of
abstinence ; and i was ane ludicrous to see how often the
hand of the neophyte directed itself naturally to a large black
leathern jack, whi Ht contain a two double flagons of strong ale,
and how often, diverted from its purpose by the better reflections
of the reformed toper, it seized, instead, upon a large ewer of
salubrious and pure water.

It was not difficult to see that the task of sobriety was not
yet become easy, and that, if it had the recommendation of the
intellectual portion of the party who had resolved upon it, the
outward man yielded a reluctant and restive compliance. But
honest Wildrake had been dreadfully frightened at the course
proposed to him by Cromwell, and, with a feeling, not peculiar
to the. Gat tholi Gre ligion, had forme d a solemn resolution within
his own mind, tl iat, if he came off safe and with honor from this
dangerous interview, he would show his sense of Heaven’s favor,

OWOODSTOCK. 99

by renouncing some of the sins which most easily beset him,

ao ve ven thos Ek 4 os : 2 4 3 z Ee
and especially that of intemperance, to which, like many of his
wild compeers, he was too much A eaS

] r -]11t4 01 Tr NAT XAT< 9 O VAT Se io
his resolution or vow, was partly prudential as well as relig-
for i

1ous ; for it occurred to him as ve ee e, that some matters
of a diffi ‘licate nature mig ht be thrown into his hands

t the pr during the conduct of which it would
be fitting oy some better oracle than that of uae
Bottel, c: E y Rabelais. In full compliance with thi
prudent lination, he touched neither the ale nor the
brandy whi ed before him, and declined peremp-
torily the s ch his friend would have garnished the
board.

 

2
evert ry re the trenchers
and napki ns, together with the large black

>

which we have
already mentioned, and was one or two ste

‘
9s on his way to the
door, the sinewy arm of the cavalier, which seemed to elongate
itself urpos the folds of the

sress of the retirmg Gany-
e black jack, conveyed it to the - lips,
)

7 -
a 2c i+ oe ta es hatnanc
(AS Le "CRXtCN Cie € ar peyond

cet), a oe th pi 10.

 

ee Baath in efortl th the aspiration, “

 

 

T
j
c

poor creatures of clay—one

niodlbet sip mu St

ust be permit sa to our frailty.’

So murmuring he glued the huge flagon to his lips, and as
the head was slowly and gradually i nclined backward, in pro-
portion as the right hand elevated the bottom of the pitcher,
Everard had great doubts whether the drinker and the c cup
were likely to part until the whole contents of the latter had
been transferred to the person of the former. Roger Wildrake

aa however, when, by a moderate computation, he had

wallowed at one draught about a quart and a a
c

H hen replaced it on the salver, fetched a long breath to

4

refresh he lungs, bade the boy oat him gone W ith the rest of
the liquors, in a tone which oe some dread of his con-

stancy, and then, turning to his friend Everard, he expatiated

in praise of moderation, observing that the mouthful which he
i a :

had just taken had been of more service to him ia if he had

14

remained quaffng healths at table for four hours together.
His friend made no ae but could not help being privately
of opinion that Wildrake’s temperance had done as much execu-
tion on the tankard in his single draught, as some more moder-
ate topers might have effected if they had sat sipping for an
evening. But the subject was changed by es entrance of the
landlord, who came to announce to his honor Colonel Ev erard,

that the worshipful Mayor of Woodstock, with the Rev. Master
Holdenough, was come to wait upon him.Se srhetaahieinieeiabbiaatianahtee

aa

 

WOODSTOCK,

CHART ita a.

Here we have one head
Upon two bodies—your two-headed bullock
Is but an ass to such a prodigy.
These two have but one meaning, thought, and counsel $
And, when the single noddle has spoke out,
The four legs scrape assent to it.
OLD PLAY.

In the goodly form of the honest Mayor, there was a bus
tling mixture of importance and embarrassment, like the deport-
ment of a man who was conscious that he had an important
part to act, if he could but exactly discover what that part was.
But both were mingled with much pleasure at seeing Everard,
and he frequently repeated his welcomes and all-hails before he
could be brought to attend to what that gentleman said in
reply.

‘Good, worthy Colonel, you are indeed a desirable sight to
Woodstock at all times, being, as I may say, almost our towns-
man, as you have dwelt so much and so long at the palace.
Truly, the matter begins almost to pass my wit, though I have
transacted the affairs of this borough for many a long day; and
you are come to my assistance like, hike ’”——

“ Tanguam Deus ex machina, as the Ethnic poet hath it,”
said Master Holdenough, ‘although I do not often quote from
such books.—Indeed, Master Markham Everard,—or worthy
Colonel, as I ought rather to say—you are simply the most
welcome man who has come to Woodstock since the days of
old King Harry.”

““T had some business with you, my good friend,” said the
Colonel, addressing the Mayor; “I shall be glad if it should
so happen at the same time, that I may find occasion to pleas-
ure you or your worthy pastor.”

‘“‘No question you can do so, good sir;”’ interposed Master
Holdenough ; *‘ you have the heart, sir, and you have the hand;
and we are much in want of good counsel, and that from a man
of action. I am aware, worthy Colonel, that you and your
worthy father have ever borne yourselves in these turmoils like
men of a truly Christian and moderate spirit, striving to pour
oil into the wounds of the land, which some would rub with
vitriol and pepper; and we know you are faithful children of that
church which we have reformed from its papistical and prelati-
cal tenets.WOODSTOCK. Ior

the piety and lear ning of many of your teachers ; But I am also
for liberty of conscience to all men. I aeHther side with sec-
taries, nor do I desire to see them the objects of suppression by
violence.” :

“Sir, sir,” said the presbyterian, hastily “ all this hath a fair

sound ; but I would you should think what a fine country and
church we are like to have of it, amidst the errors, blasphemies,
and schisms, which are daily introduced into the church and
kingdom of England, so that worthy Master Edwards, in his
rangrena, declareth, that our native country is about to be
come the very sink and cesspool of all schisms, heresies, blas-
phemies, and confusions, as the army of Hannibal was said to
be the refuse of all nations—Co/uvies omnium gentium.—Believe
me, worthy Colonel, that they of the Honor able House view all
this over fone and with the winking connivance of old Eli.
These instructors, the schismatics, shoulder the Orthodox min-
isters out of their oe thrust themselves into families, and
break up the peace thereof, stealing away men’s hearts from
the established faith.’

“My good Master Holdenough ,’ replied the Colonel, in-
terrupt ing the zealous pres icher, “ there is ground of sorrow for
all these unh appy discords ; and I hold with you that the fiery
oirits of the present time have raised men’s minds at once
»0ve sober-minded and sincere religion, and above decorum
and common-sense. But there is no help save patience. En-
thusiasm is a stream that may foam off in its own time, where-
as it is sure to bear down every barrier which is directly Op-
posed to it—But what are these schismatical proceedings to
our present purpose?”

‘““Why, partly this, sir,” said Holdenough, ‘although per-
haps you may make less of it than I should have thought before
we met.—I was myself—I, Nehemiah Holdenough [he added
consequently], was forcibly expelled from my own pulpit, even
as a man should have been thrust out of his own house, by an
alien, and an intruder—a wolf, who was not at the trouble even
to put on sheep’s cl pee ae came in his native wolfish attire
of buff and bandoleer, and held forth in my stead to the people,
who are to me asa flock to the lawful shepherd. It is too
true, sir—Master Mayor saw it and strove to take such order to
prevent it as man muaks though,” turning to the Mayor, “I
ma k still you might have striven a little more

Good now, good Master Holdenough, a6 not let us go
back on that ee aid the Mayor. “Guy of Warwickor
Bevis of Hampton, might do something with this generation ;

“My good and reverend friend,” said ets TI respect

~SAL ee

Re eat nine

   

as WOODSTOCK

but truly, they are too many and too strong for the Mayor of
Woodstock.”

“I think Master Mayor speaks very good sense,” said the
Colonel; “if the Independents are not allowed to preach, I fear
me they will not fight ;—then if you were to have another rising
GE cavalier. 7

‘There are worse folks may rise than cavaliers,” said Hold-
enough.

‘“‘ How, sir?’ replied Colonel Everard. ‘‘ Let me remind
you, Master Holdenough, that this is no safe language in the
present state of the nation.”

“Sl say,;said. the Presbyterian... © a vere are worse folk may
rise than cavaliers ; and I will prove what I say. The devil is
worse than the worst cavalier that ever drank ahealth, or swore
an oath—and the devil has arisen at Woodstock Lodge.”

“Ay, truly hath he,” said the Mayor, “ bodily and visibly, in
figure and form—An awful time we live in!”

‘“Gentlemen, I really know not how I am to understand
you,” said Everard.

‘““Why, it was even about the devil we came to speak to
you,” said the Mayor; “but the worthy minister is always so hot
upon the sectaries ’

‘Which are the devil’s brats, and nearly akin to him,” said
Master Holdenough. ‘ But true it is, that the growth of these

oOo

 

1

sects has brought up the Evil One even upon the face of the
earth, to look after his own interest, where he finds it most
thriving.”

‘Master Holdenough,” said the Colonel, “if you speak
figuratively, I have already ee ou that I have neither the
means nor the skill sufficient to temper these religious heats.
But if you design-to say there has been an actual apparition of
the devil, I presume to think that you, with your doctrine and
your learning, would be a fitter match for him than a soldier
like me.”

‘ True, sir; and I have that confidence in the commission
which I hold, that I would take the cee 1 against the foul fiend
without a moment’s delay,” said Hol denpngh + Sut the place
in which he hath of late appeared, being Woodstock, is filled
with those dangerous and impious Pea of whom I have
been but now compl: ining $ and though, confident in my own
resources, I dare venture in disputation with their Great Master
himself ; yet, without your protection, most worthy Colonel, I
see not that | may with prudence trust myself with the tossing
and goring ox Desborough, or the bk ody and devouring bear
Harrison, or the cold and poisonous snake Bletson—all of whomWOODSTOCK. 103
are now at the lodge, doing license and taking spoil as they
think meet; and, as all men say, the devil has come to make

’

a fourth with them.”

‘In good truth, worthy and noble sir,” said the Mayor, “it
is even as Master Hold lenough says—our priv ileges are declared
void, our cattle seized in the very pastures. They talk of cut-
ting down and disparking the fair Chase, which has been so
i er the pleasure of so many kings, and making Woodstock of
s little note as any paltry village. I assure you we heard of
your arrival balks joy, and wondered at your keeping yourself
so close in your or We know no one save your father
or you, that are like to stand the poor burgesses’ friend in this
extremity, since almost al the gentry around are malignants,
and under sequestration. We trust, therefore, you will make
strong intercession in our behalf.” :

“Certainly, Master Mayor,” said the Colonel, who saw him-
self with pleasure anticipated; “it was my very purpose to
1 in this matter; and I didb ut keep myself alone
be furnished with some autho1 ‘ity on the Lord-

LOr

jo)

e
l
}
a!

have interferex
until I should
General.”

‘“* Powers from the Lord-General !” said the Hs thrusting
the clergyman with his elbow—*“ Dost thou hear that? >—W hat
cock will fight that cock? We shall carry it now over their
necks, and Woodstock shall be brave Woo dstock still!”

“Keep thine elbow from my side, friend,” said Holdenough,
annoyed by the action which the Mayor hz ed suited to his words;
‘and may the roe send that Cromwell prove not as sharp to
the people of Eng ee as ai bones against my person! Yet
I approve that we shc use his authority to stop the course
of these men’s pr i

“Let us set out, then,” said Colonel Everard: “ ou I trust
we shall find the gentlemen reasonable and obe dien

a
1
uld

deecaiies

The functionaries, laic and clerical, assented wi a nfuehi joy
and the Colonel require d and eet Wildrake’s assistance in

l

putting on hi ipier, as if he had been the dependent
whose part he acted. The pasiien contrived, however, while
doing him these menial offices, to give his friend a shrewd
pinch, in order to maintain the footing of secret equality be-
twixt them.

The Colonel was saluted, as they passed through the streets,
by many of the anxious inhabitants, who seemed to consider his
intervention as affording the only chance of saving their fine
Park, and the rights of the corporation, as well as of individuals,
from ruin and confiscation.

As they entered the Park, the Colonel asked his companions,

us cloak andr:
rayStages tere eee ee

   

or WOODSTOCK.
‘‘ What is this you say of apparitions being seen amongst
them ?”

“Why, Colonel,” said the clergyman, “ you know vourself
that Woodstock was always haunted?”

‘“‘T have lived therein many a day,” said the Colonel; “and
I know that I never saw the least sign of it, although idle people
spoke of the house as they do of all old mansions, and gave the
apartments ghosts and spectres to fill up the places of as many
of the deceased great as had ever dwelt there.”

“Nay, but, good Colonel,” said the clergyman, “I trust you
have not reached the prevailing sin of the times, and become
indifferent to the testimony in favor of apparitions, which
appears so conclusive to all but atheists, and advocates for
witches ?”

‘““T would not absolutely disbelieve what is so generally
affirmed,” said the Colonel; ‘‘ but my reason leads me to doubt
most of the stories which I have heard of this sort, and my own
experience never went to confirm any of them.”

‘“Ay, but trust me,” said Holdenough, “‘ there was always a
demon of one or the other species about this Woodstock. Not
a man or woman in the town but has heard stories of appari-
tions in the forest, or about the old castle. Sometimes it is a
pack of hounds, that sweep along, and the whoops and halloos
of the huntsmen, and the winding of horns and the galloping
of horse, which is heard as if first more distant, and then close
around you—and then anon it is a solitary huntsman, who asks
if you can tell him which way the stag has gone. He is always
dressed in green; but the fashion of his clothes is some five
hundred years old. ‘This is what we call Demon Meridianum—
the noonday spectre.”

‘“My worthy and reverend sir,” said the Colonel, “I have
lived at Woodstock many seasons, and have traversed the Chase
at all hours. ‘Trust me, what you hear from the villagers is the
growth of their idle folly and superstition.”

“Colonel,” replied Holdenough, “a negative proves nothing,
What signifies, craving your pardon, that you have not seen
anything, be it earthly or be it of the other world, to detract
from the evidence of a score of people who have >—And besides,
there is the Demon Nocturnum—the being that walketh by
night; he has been among these Independents and schismatics
last night. Ay, Colonel, you may stare ; but it is even so—they
may try whether he will mend their gifts, as they profanely call
them, of exposition and prayer. No, sir, I trow, to master the
foul fiend there goeth some competent knowledge of theology,WOODSTOCK. 105
aad an acquaintance of the humane letters, ay, and a regular
clerical education and clerical calling.”

‘I do not in the least doubt,” said the Colonel, “the efficacy
of your qualifications to lay the devil ; but still I think some
odd mistake has occasioned this confusion amongst them, if
there has any such in reality existed. Desborou gh isa block-
head, to be sure; and Harrison is fanatic enough to b
anything. But there eis Bletson, on the other hand, who be
not hing.- —W hat do you know of this matter, good Mas
May or??

“In sooth, and it was Master Bletson who gave the first
alarm,” replied the magistrate ; ‘or at least the first distinct
one. You see, sir, I was in bed with my wife, and no one else;
and I was as fast asleep ) as a man can desire to be at two hours
after midnight, when, behold you, they came knocking at my
bedroom door, to tell me there was an alarm in Woodstock, and
that the bell of the Lodge was ringing a at that dead hour of the
uight as hard as ever it rung when it called the court to dinner,”

‘Well, but the cause of this alarm?” said the Colonel.

‘You shall hear, worthy Colonel, you shall hear,” answered
the Mayor, waving his hand with dignity ; for he was one of
those persons who will not be hurried out of their own pace.
“So Mrs. Mayor would have persuaded me, in her love and
affection, poor wretch, that to rise at such an hour out of my
own warm bed, was like to bring on my old complaint the lum-
bago, and that I should send the people to Alderman Dutton.—
Alderman Devil, Mrs. Mayor, said I ;—I beg your reverence’s
pardon for u sing such a phr ase—Do you think I am going to
lie a-bed when the town is on fire, and t ‘the cavaliers up, and the
devil to pay ?—I beg your pardon again, parson—But here we
are before the gate of the Palace ; will it not please you to
enter +?

‘I would first hear the end of your story,” said the Colonel ;

That is, Master Mayor, if it happens to have an end.”

a Everything hath an end,” “said the Mayor, “and ‘tha
which we call-a pudding hath two.—Your worship will forgive
me for being facetious. Where was I ?—Oh, I jumped out of
bed, and put on my red plush breeches, with the blue nether
stocks, for I always make a point of being dressed suitably to
my dignity, night and day, summer and winter, Colonel Everard :

2° . .
and I took the Constable along with me, in case the alarm

should be raised by night-walkers or thieves, and called up
worthy Master Holdenough out of his bed, in case it should turn
cut to be the devil. And so I thought I was provided for the
worst, and so away we came; and, by and by, the soldiers who

care eve
lie

ul .
Ran
., :VED TAN A

Spbiisestearacatee!

ea

Se ree

LOCKS

 

506 WOODS

ame to town with Master Tompkins, who had been called ta
arms, came marching down to Woodstock as fast as their feet
would carry them; so I gave our people a sign to let them pass
us, and outrnarch us, as it were, and this for a twofold reason.’
“‘T will be satisfied,” interrupted the Colonel, “‘ with one

good reason. You desired the red-coats should have the first
of the fray?”

“True, sir, very true ;—and also that they should have the
last of it, in respect that fighting 1s their especial business.
However, we came on at a slow pace, ag men who are deter-

mined to do their duty without fear or favor, when suddenly we

way up the avenue toward the
town, when sixof our constables and assistants fled at once, as
be an apparition called the White Woman of

Les es + ¢ +
saw something white haste «
CONEEIVINe
Woodstock.

" 1 or ss . 1
‘‘ Look you there, Colonel,’”’ said Master Holdenough

lemons of more mids: than one, which

told VOU: THEFe: Were
a oy ° pee : pee sek
haunt tHe ancIe Alt SCENES Ol royal qdepau ~he “Ty anc
ih opr ce } vour own or A M { Mavor?” said
it hope you stood your own ground, aster IVLayvor : SAIC

y—that is, I did not, strictly speak-

ing, keep my ground ; but the town-clerk and 1] Rete aIeEG <5
honor, and too!

post behind worthy Master Holdenough, who, with the spirit of

\ ] 1 ] a es e i a Bs
FOLTE Aes d, (5O1ONCL ana wit! 1LOUL CONLUS1ON OY dISsi

a lion, threw himself in the way of the supposed spectre, and
1 atin as might have scared
the devil himself, and RHEL plain ste discovered that it was no
devil at all, nor white woman, neither woman of any color, but
sletson, a member of the House of
Commons, and one of the commissioners sent hither upon this
unhappy sequestration of the Wood, Chase, and Lodge ot
Woodstock.”’
‘‘ And this was all you saw of the demon ?” said the Colone!
“Truly, yes,’’ answered the Mayor ; “‘ and 4 poieen no wish to

see more. However, we conveyed Master Bletson, as in dut\
]

attacked it with such a siserary of I

VT Ps 1
worshipful Master |]

bound, back to the Lodge, and he was ever maunderi ng by the
way how that he met a party of scarlet devils incarnate march-
ing down to the Lodge ; but, to my poor thinking, it mu ist t have
been the Ind ependent dragoons who had just passed u

And more incarnate devils I would never wis!
said Wildrake, who
so suddenly heard, showed how much the Mayor’s nerves were
still alarmed, for he started and jumped aside with an alacrity
of which no one would at first sight suppose a man of his portly
dignity to have been capable, Everard imposed silence on his

ee

), tO. SCE:

1 remain silent no longer. Fils voice,

1
JWOODSTOCK.
intrusive attendant : and. de sirous to hear the conclusion of tl a
strange story, requested the Mayor to tell him how the matte
Shs and whether they stopped the supposed spectre.
] S peab oe ery), oe F
* ‘Truly y, worthy sir,” said the Mayor, “ Master Hol Idenough

was quite venturous upon confronting, as it were, the devil, and

compelling him to aj ypear under the real form of Master Joshua
ae EA : J
letson, member of Bae for the borough of Littlefaith. :
“Ff Fett Micke A 4 a G6
th, Mastet Mayor,” said the divine, ““I were

strangely ignorant of my own commission and its cnnenn ee
if I were to value opposing myself to Satan, or any Independent
in his likeness, all of whom, in the name of Him I sery re, L alo
, and trample under my feet; and because
Master Mayor is something tec

defy, spit at

V5 OPVLC a

bh

edious, I will briefly nkogm your
honor that we saw little of the = nemy that ni ight, ¢ save what
Bletson said in the first feeling of his terrors, cna save
what we might collect from hee heendeed oi a eres of the

Honorable Colonel Desborough and Major Gene ral Harrison.”’
‘And what plight were they in, I pray you?” demanded
1 z ‘ , %

]
i
Vhy, worthy sir, every one might see with half an eye

] et a S e us 4
that they had been engaged in a fight wherein they had
not been hon es with perfect victory ; seeing that General
Taso = 2 3 ea weg 1a ee ET as Roe
larrison was stalkir 1g up and down the parlor, with his drawn

self, his doublet unbuttoned,
IS garters aa and like to throw him

1

1
down as he now and then t 1 A eA sears. inl
qownl aS Ne now anc iy fLOcd 10M the 7, iat Cl gapin and Sree
; |

ning like amad oo, And yonder sat t Desborough with a dry
noattlea of sacl jefore hin ic] L > hz ee eae rt eel 1 ie h
pottle of sack before him, which he had just emptied, and which,

thouoch + 1 ala st J urhich he trn 1 had A restored hir
though the element in which he trusted, had not restored him

>
tad
J
Ge
oe
2)

ough to speak, or courage enough to look over his
shoulder. He had a Bibl

ble in his hand, forsooth, as if it would
uinst the Evil One ; but I peered ove

 

L good gentleman held the bottom
of the page uppermost. It was as if one of ce musketeers,

T
noble and valued sir, were to present the butt of his piece at ie
]
}

enemy instead of the muzzle—ha, ha, ha ! it was a sight to
judge of schismatics by ; both in point of head, and in point of
1 a - ] : ix kG

heart, in point of skill, and in point of courage.—Oh !
then was the time to see the true character of an aut
pastor of souls over those unhappy men, who leap into the folc
without due and legal authority, and will, forsooth, preach,
teach, and st : and blasphemously term the doctrine of the
Church saltless porridge and dry chips ! ”

S
“T have no doubt you were ready to meet the danger,

   

SReNNpe Des etna

Rees keeneties eet a eters owe

     
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
   

108 WOODSTOCK.

reverend sir: but I would fain know of what nature it was,
and from w hence it was to be apprehended Pe

‘© Was it for me to make such inquiry ?” said the clergyman,
triump shantly. <“ Is it for a brave soldier to number his enemies,
or inquire from what quarter they are to come 2 No, sir, I was
there with match lighted, bullet in my mouth, and my harque-
buss shouldered, to encounter as many devils as hell could pour
in, were they countless as motes in the sunbeam, and although
they came from all points of the compass. ‘The Papists talk of
the tempt ation of St. Anthony—psh aw ! let them double all the
myriads which the brain of a crazy Dutch painter h 1ath invented
and you will find a poor Presbyterian div
one at least,—who, not in his own strength, but his netic S,
will receive the assault in such sort, that far from returning
against him as against yonder poor hound, day after day, and
night after night, he will at once pack them off as with a ven-
geance to the uttermost parts of Assyria!”

“Still,” said the Colonel, “I pray to know whether you
saw anything upon which to exercise your pious learning ?”’

“Saw?” answered the divine; ‘‘no, truly, I saw nothing,
nor did I look for anything. ‘Thieves will not attack well-
armed travelers, nor will devils or evil spirits come against
one who bears in his bosom the word of truth in the very
language in which it was first dictated, No, sir; they shun a
divine who can understand the holy text, as a crow is said to
keep wide of a gun loaded with hailshot.”

They had walked a little way back upon their road to give
time for this conversation; and the Colonel, perceiving it was
about to lead to no satisfactory explanation of the real cause
of alarm on the preceding night, turned around, and, observing
it was time they should go to the Lodge, began to move in
that direction with his three e€ companions.

It had now became dark, and the towers of Woodstock
arose high above the umbrageous shroud which the forest spread
around the ancient and venerable mansion, From one of the
highest turrets, which could still be distinguished as it rose
against the clear blue sky, there gleamed a light like that of a
candle within the building. The Mayor stopped short, and
catching fast hold of the divine, and then of Colonel Everard,
exclaimed, in a trembling and hasty, but suppressed tone,

‘Do you see yonder light?”

‘Ay, marry do ly’ said Colonel Everard: ‘‘and what does
that matter ?—a light in a garret-room of such an old mansion

°

as Woodstock is no subject of wonder, I trow.”WOODSTOCK. 109
‘ But a light from Rosamond’s Tower is surely so,” said the
Mayor.

“True,” said the Colonel, something surprised, when, after
a careful examination, he satisfied himself that the worthy
magistrate’s conjecture was right. “‘ That is indeed Rosamond’s
Tower ; and as the drawbridge by which it was accessible has
been destroyed for centuries, it is hard to say what chance
could have lighted a lamp in such an inaccessible place.”
“That light burns with no earthly fuel,” said the Mayor;
“neither from whale nor olive oil, nor bees-wax, nor mutton-
suet either. I dealt in these commodities, Colonel, before I
went into my present line; and I can assure you I could dis-
tinguish the sort of light they give, one from another, at a
greater distance than yonder turret—Look you, that is no
earthly flame.—See you not something blue and reddish upon
the edges ?—that bodes full well where it comes from.—Colo-
nel, in my opinion we had better go back to sup at the town, and
leave the devil and the red-coats to settle their matters to-
gether for to-night; and then, when we come back the next
morning, we will have a pull with the party that chances to
keep afield.”

“You will do as you please, Master Mayor,” said Everard,
but my duty requires me that I should see the Commissioners
to-night.”

‘‘ And mine requires me to see the Foul Fiend,” said Master
Holdenough, “‘if he dare make himself visible to me. I won-
der not that, knowing who is approaching, he betakes himself
to the very citadel, the inner and the last defences of this an-
cient and haunted mansion. He is dainty, I warrant you, and
must dwell where is a relish of luxury and murder about the
walls of his chamber. In yonder turret sinned Rosamond, and
in yonder turret she suffered; and there she sits, or more
likely, the Enemy in her shape, as I have heard: true men of
Woodstock tell. I wait on you, good Colonel—Master Mayor
will do as he pleases. The strong man hath fortified himself
in his dwelling-house, but, lo, there cometh another stronger
than he.”

‘For me,” said the Mayor, ‘‘ who am as unlearned as I am
unwarlike, I will not engage either with the Powers of the
Earth, or the Prince of the Powers of the Air, and I would we
were again at Woodstock !—and hark ye, good fellow,” slapping
Wildrake on the shoulder,‘‘ I will bestow on thee a shilling wet
and a shilling dry if thou wilt go back with me.”

“ Gadzookers, Master Mayor,” said Wildrake, neither flat-
tered by the magistrate’s familiarity of address, nor captivated

1g
5

J

4ee eee

   

TIO WOODSTOCK.

by his munificence—“ I wonder who the devil made you and me
fellows? and, besides, do you think I would go b ack to Wood-
stock with your worship ful cod’s-head, when, by good manage-
ment, I may get a peep of fair Rosamond, and see whether she
was that choice and incomparable piece of ware, which the
world has been told of by rhymers and ballad-makers ? ”

‘Speak less hghtly and wantonly, friend,” said the divine ;
‘we are to resist the devil that he may flee from us, and not te
tamper with him, or enter into his counsels, or traffic with the
merchandise of his great Vanity Fair.”

“Mind what the good man says, Wildrake,” said the Colonel;
‘and take heed another time how thou dost suffer thy wit to
outrun discretion.”

“IT am beholden to the reverend gentleman for his advice,’
answered Wildrake, upon whose tongue it was difficult to impose
any curb whatever, even when his own safety rendered it most
desirable. “ But, gadzookers, let him have had what experi-
ence he will in fight ing with the devil, he never saw one so black
as I had a tussle with—not a hundred years ago,”

‘“ How, friend,” said the clergymen, who understood every-
thing literally when apparitions were mentioned, “ have you had
so late a visitation of Satan? Believe me, then, that I wonder
vhy thou darest toe ntertain his name so often and so lightly,
as I see thou dost use it in thy ordinary discourse. But when
and where didst thou see the Evil O

Everard hastily interposed, lest by something yet more
strongly alluding to Cromwell, his imprudent squire should, in
mere wantonness, betray his interview with the General. ‘‘The
young man raves,” he said, “ of a dream which he had the other
night when he and [ slept together in Victor Lee’s chamber, be-
long’ ing to the Ranger’s apartments at the Lodge.

‘Thanks for help at a pinch, good patron,” said Wil nee;
whispering into Everard’s ear, who in vain endeavored to shake
him off—“ a fib never failed a fanatic.”

“You also spoke something too lightly of these matters,
considering the work which we have in hand, worthy Colonel,
said the Presbyterian divine. ‘‘ Believe me, the young man thy
servant was more likely to see visions than to dream merely
idle dreams in that apartment; for I have always heard, that,
next to Rosamond’s Tower, in which, as I said, she played the
wanton, and was afterward poisoned by Queen Eleanor, Victor
Lee’s chamber was the place in the Lodge of Woodstock more
peculiarly the haunt of evil spirits—I pray you, young man,
tell me this dream or vision of yours.”

“With all my heart, sir,” said Wildrake—then addressingWOODSTOCK.

his patron, who began to interfere, he said, lush, ‘siz; ]
have had the discourse for an hour, and why should not I hold
forth in my turn? But this darkness, if you keep me silent oe
longs pod pol turn Independent vahonce and stand up in you
despite for the freedom of private judgment.—And SO, rev nied
sir, I was Ghee of a carnal diver tisement called a bull-bait-
ing; and methought they were ve bie: g dogs at head, as
merrily as e’er I saw them at Tutb

n
nN

>
ss

tbury bul il- Tunning ; and me-
thought I heard some one say, there was the devil Come ta
have a sight of the bull-ring. Well, Id thought that, gadswoon S,
l would fae a peep at his Infernal

Majesty. So ie looked,
and there was a butcher in greasy woolen, with his steel by hi

h e 1S
side ; but he was none of 1 the devil. eee there was a drunken
he keg with his mouth full of oaths, and his stomach full of

emptiness, and a gold-laced waistcoat in a very dilapidated con-
dition, and a ragged hat, with a piece of a feather in it ;
and he was none of the devil neither. And here was a mille:
his hands dusty with meal, and every atom of it stolen . and
there was

was a init ner, his green apron stained with wine, and

every drop of it sophisticated - ba neither was the old gentle-
man | ated for to be detected among these artisans of j iniquity.
ne ‘as igth, sir, 1 saw a grave person wit h cropped hi alr, a pair of
loneis|

L projecting ears, a eel as broad as asl obbering bib
ler his chin, abe own coat surmounted by a Geneva cloak,
and I had old Nicholas at once in his genuine paraphernalia,

‘Shame, shame!” said Colonel Everard. “ What! behave
thus to an old gentleman and a divine!”

Nay let him proceed,” said the minister, with perfect
equanimity ; “if thy friend, or secretary, is gibing, I must a AVE
less patience than becomes my profession, if I coulc 1 not bear
an idle jest, and forgive him who makes it, Or if, on the other

@

Li
hand, the enemy has really presented himself to the young man
in such a guise as cs intimates, wherefore should we be surprised
that he who can take upon him the form of an angel « of light,
should be able to assume that of a frail and peccable mortal,

whose spiritual calling and profession ought, indeed, to induce
him to make his life an example to others ; but whose conduct,
nevertheless, such is the imperfection of our unassisted nature,
sometimes rather presents us with a w arning of what we should
shun |?

‘Now, by the mass, honest on cae! mean reverend sir—
I crave you a thousand pardons,” said W drat ke, eee by
the quietness and patience of the presiyter rebuke. By

SE. George, if quiet patience will do it, ibe art fit to play aeS oe on ee

Rae Fe eeen et ea ch abaearneneaes

5 ETRE TT at

aa
“ae

    

112 WOODSTOCK.

game at foils with the devil himself, and I would be contented

to hold stakes.”

- As he concluded an apology, which was certainly not un-
called for, and seemed to be received in perfectly good part,
they approached so close to the exterior door of the Lodge,
that they were challenged with the emphatic Stand, by a senti-
nel who mounted guard there. Colonel Everard replied, 4
friend; and the sentinel, repeating his command, “Stand,
friend,” proceeded to call the corporal of the guard. ‘The cor-
poral came forth, and at the same time turned out his guard.
Colonel Everard gave his name and designation, as well as
those of his companions, on which the corporal said;**! ie
doubted not there would be orders for his instant admission ;
but, in the first place, Master Tomkins must be consulted, that
he might learn their honors’ mind.”

“How, sir!” said the Colonel, “do you, knowing who I
am, presume to keep me on the outside of your post Eve

“Not if your honor pleases to enter,” said the corporal,
“and undertakes to be my warranty ; but such are the orders
of my post.”

“Nay, then, do your duty,” said the Colonel ; “ but are the
cavaliers up, or what is the matter, that you keep so close and
strict a watch ?”’

The fellow gave no distinct answer, but muttered between
his mustaches something about the Enemy, and the roaring
Lion, who goeth about seeking whom he may devour. Pres-
ently afterward Tomkins appeared, followed by two servants
bearing lights in great standing brass candlesticks. They
marched before Colonel Everard and his party, keeping as
close to each other as two cloves of the same orange, and
starting from time to time; and shouldering as they passed
through sundry intricate passages, they led up a large and
ample wooden staircase, the banisters, rail, and lining of which
were executed in black oak, and finally into a long saloon, or
parlor, where there was a prodigious fire, and about twelve
candles of the largest size distributed in sconces against the
wall. There were seated the Commissioners, who now held in
their power the ancient mansion and royal domain of Wood-

stock,WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER J ELEV ENEEE

: :

Vhe bloody bear, an independent beast,

Unlick’d to forms, in groans his hate express’d—
* * *

Next him the buffoon ape, as atheists use,
Mimick’d all sects, and had his own to choose.
HIND AND PANTHER.

THE strong light in the parlor which we have described served
to enable Everard easily to recognize his acquaintances, Des-
borough, Harrison, and Bletson, who had assembled round an
oak table of large dimensions, placed near the blazing chim-
ney, on which were arranged wine and ale, and materials for
smoking, then the general indulgence of the time. There
was a species of movable cupboard set betwixt the table and
the door, calculated originally for a display of plate upon
prand occasions, but at present only used as a, sereen:
which purpose it served so effectually, that, ere he had
coasted around it, Everard heard the following fragment of
what Desborough was saying, in his strong coarse voice :
—‘' Sent him to. share with us, I’se warrant ye—lIt was
always his Excellency my brother-in-law’s way—if he made
a treat for five friends, he would invite more than the table
could hold—I have known him ask three men to eat two
ESP:
‘Hush, hush,’ said Bletson; and the servants, making
their appearance from behind the tall cupboard, announced
Colonel Everard. It may not be uninteresting to the
reader to have a description of the party into which he now
entere

Desborough was a stout, bull-necked man, of middle-size,
with heavy vulgar features, erizzled bushy ey ebrows, and wall-
eyes. The flourish of his powerful relative’s fortunes had
burst forth in the finery of his dress, which was much
more ornamented than was usual among the Roundheads.
There was embroidery on his cloak, and lace upon his Peas
his hat displayed a feather with a golden clasp, and all
his eer were those of a “cavalier, or follower
of the court, rather than the plain dress of a parliamen-
tarian officer. But, Heaven knows, there was little of court-
like grace or dignity in the person or demeanor of theSees

Wiese

os

NOTRE

 

114 WOODSTOCK.

individual who became his fine suit as the hog on the sign-post
does his gilded armor. Itwas not that he was positively
deformed or misshaped, for, taken in det: ul, the figure was well
enough. But his coe Secnied to act upon dif erent and con-
tradicto ry principles. They were not, as the play says, in a
concatenation accordingly ;—the right hand moved as if it were
upon bad terms with the left, and the legs showed an inclina-
tion to foot it in different and Opposite directions. In short,
to use an extravagant comparison, the members of Colonel
Desborough seemed rather to resemble the disputatious represen-
tatives of a federative congress, than the well-ordere -d union of
the orders of the state, in a firm and well-compacted monarchy,
where each holds his own place, and all obey the dictates of a
common head.

General Harrison, the second of the Comissioners, was a
tall, thin, middle-age: d man, who had risen into his high situa-
tion in the army, and his intimac y with Cromwell, by his daunt-
less courage in the fie id, and the popularity he had acquired by
his exalted enthusiasm amon: ost fe m i itary saints, sectaries, and
Ind e] endents, who con posed the streneth of the existing army.
Harrison was of mean extraction. and bred up tohis father’s
employment of a butcher. Nevertheless. his appearance, though
coat ‘se, Was not vulgar, like that of Desborough, who had so
much the advantage of him in birth and education. He hada
masculine height and strength of f figure, was well made, and in
his manner announced a rot igh 1 military character, which might
be feared, but could not easi ly become the obj ect of contempt
or ridicule. His aquiline nose and dark black eyes set off to

me advantage a countenance otherwise irre cular, and the wild
exitlineh lasm that sometimes sparkled in them as he dilated on

his opinions to others, and often seemed to slumber under his
long da rk aos ashes as he mused upon them himself, : gave some-

thing strikingly wild, and even nob le, to his aspect. He was
one of the “chiet leaders of those who were called Fifth-Mon-
archy men, who, going even beyond the general fanaticism of
the age, presumptu ously interprete d the Book of the Revelations
after their own fancies, considered that the second Advent of
the Messiah, and the Millennium, or reign of the Saints upon
earth, was close at hand, and that they themselves, illuminated,
as they believed, with the power of foreseeing these approaching
rents, were the chosen th sfrufhenis for the establishment of
as New Reign, or Fifth Mon: irchy, as it was called, and
were fated also to win ie honors, whether
trial.

When this spirit of enthusiasm, which operated like a _par-

elestial or terres-WOODSTOCK.

1rs
tial insanity, was not immedi: itely affecting H

Tarrison’s mind, he
was a shrewd worldly man, and a good solc die ; one w ee missed
no opportunity of mending

his fortune, and who, in expecting
the exaltati on of the Fifth Monarchy, was, in the meanwhile.
ready instrument for the establishment of the Lord-General’s
Supremacy. Whether it was owing to his early occupation, and
habits of indifference to pain or bloodshed acquired in the

shambles, to natural d isposition and want of feeling, or, finally,

a

to the awakened character of his ent husiasm, w hich made him
look upon those who opposed him as opposing the Divine will,
and therefore merit ing no favor

or mercy, is not easy to Say

after a victory, or the successful storm ‘of
was one of the most cruel and pitiless men in
Cromwell’s army; always urging some misapplied text to
authorize the continued execution of the fugitives, and some-
times even putting to death those RO had surrendered them-
selves prisoners. It was said. that at times the recollection of
some of these cruelties troubled his conscience, and d listurbed
the dreams of beatification in which his tear S| indulged.

but all agreed, that
a town, Harrison

When Everard entered the apartment, this true TeRIese snta-
tive of the fanatical soldiers of the day, who filled those ranks
and regiments which C romwell had poli Sinai ’ kept on foot,
while he procured reduction of those in which the Pres] byterian
interest predominated, was seated a little apart from the others,

egs crossed, and stretched out at length toward th

e
&

 

S head resting on his elbow, and turned upward, as if study-
ing, withthe most profound gravity, the half-seen carving of

Bletson remains to be mentioned, who, in personand figure
was diametrically a ferent from the other two. There was
neither foppery nor slovenliness in his exterior, nor had he any
marks of Aaa service or rank about his person. A small
walking rapier seemed merely worn as a badge of his rank as a
gentleman, without his hand hav ing the least purpose of becom:
ing acquainted with the hilt, or his eye with the blade. His
countenance was thinand acute, marked with lines which thought
rather than age had traced upon it; and a habitual sneer on his
countenance, even when he least wished to express contempt on
his features, seemed to assure the individual ade dressed, that in
Bletson he conversed with a person of intellect far superior to
his own. ‘This was a triumph of intellect only, however; for
on all occasions of difference respecting speculative opinions,
and indeed on all controversies whatsoever, Bletson avoided
the ultimate vatzo of blows and knocks.

: peaceful gentleman had found himself obliged to

Ree eran oer rearsPeer eta

Gal

as

py TOT ae se

ai

t

%
al

r6 WOODSTOCK.

serve personally in the Parliamentary army at the commence-
ment of the Civil War, till happening unluckily to come in
contact with the fiery Prince Rupert, his retreat was judged so
precipitate, that it required all the shelter his friends could
afford, to keep him free of an impeachment or a court-martial.
But as Bletson spoke well, and with great effect, in the House
of Commons, which was his natural sphere, and was on that ac-
count high in the estimation of his party, his behavior at Edge-
hill was passed over, and he continued to take an active share
in all the political events of that bustling period, though he faced
not again the actual front of war.

Bletson’s theoretical politics had long inclined him to espouse
the opinions of Harrington and others, who adopted the vision-
ary idea of establishing a pure democratical republic in so ex-
tensive a country as Britain. This was a rash theory, where
there is such an infinite difference betwixt ranks, habits, educa-
tion, and morals—where there is such an immense disproportion
betwixt the wealth of individuals—and where a large portion of
the inhabitants consist of the inferior classes of the large towns
and manufacturing districts—men unfitted to bear that share in
the direction of a state, which must be exercised by the mem-
bers of a republic in the proper sense of the word. Accordingly,
as soon as the experiment was made, it became obvious that no
such form of government could be adopted with the smallest
chance of stability ; and the question came only to be, whether
the remnant, or, as it was vulgarly called, the Rump of the
Long Parliament, now reduced by the seclusion of so many of
the members to a few scores of persons, should continue, in spite
of their unpopularity, to rule the affairs of Britain? Whether
they should cast all loose by dissolving themselves, and issuing
writs to convoke a new Parliament, the composition of which
no one could answer for, any more than for the measures they
might take when assembled? Or lastly, Whether Cromwell, as
actually happened, was not to throw the sword into the balance,
and boldly possess himself of that power which the remnant of
the Parliament were unable to hold, and yet afraid to resign ?

Such being the state of parties, the Council of State, in dis-
tributing the good things in their gift, endeavored to soothe
and gratify the army, as a beggar flings crusts to a growling
mastiff. In this view Desborough had been created a Commis-
sioner in the Woodstock matter to gratify Cromwell, Harrison
to soothe the fierce Fifth-Monarchy men, and Bletson as a sin-
cere republican, and one of their own leaven.

But if they supposed Bletson had the least intention of
becoming a martyr to his republicanism, or submitting to anyWOODSTOCK. 117

serious loss on account of it, they much mistook the man. He
entertained their principles sIncerely, and not the less that they
were found impracticable ; for the miscarriage of his e experiment
no more converts the political speculator, than the explosion of
a retort undeceives an alchymist. But Bletson was quite pre-
pared to submit to Cromwell, or any one else who might be
possessed of the actual authority. He was a re eady subje ect in
practice to the powers existing, and made little difference be-
twixt various kinds of government, holding in theory all to be
nearly equal in imperfecti on, sO soon as they diverged from the
model of Harrington’s Oceana. Cromwell had already been
tampering with him, like wax between his fingers and thumb,
and which he was ready shortly to seal with, smiling at the same
time to himself when he beheld the Council of State giving
reward to Bletson, as their faithful adherent, while he himself
was secure of his allegiance, how soon soever the expected
change of government should take place.

But Bletson was still more attached to his metaphysical than
his political creed, and carried his doctrines of the perfectibility
of mankind as far as he did those respecting the conceivab E
perfection of a model of government; and as in the one cas
he declared against all power which did not emanate from fe
people themselves, so, in his moral speculations, he was unwilling
to refer any of the phenomena of nature to afinal cause. When
pushed, indeed, very hard, Bletson was compelled to mutter
some inarticulate and unintelligible doctrines concerning an

Animus mundi, or Creative Power in the works of Nature, by
which she orginally called into existence, and still continues to
preserve, her works. ‘To this power, he said, some of the purest
metaphysicians rendered a certain degree of homage ; nor was
he himself inclined absolutely to censure those, who, by the
institution of holidays, choral dances, songs, and harmless feasts
and libations, might be disposed to celebrate the ereat goddess
Nature; at least dancing, singing, “eaeneS: and sporting, being
comfortable things to both young and old, they might as well
sport, dance, and feast, in honor of such appointed holidays, as
under any other pretext. But then this moderate show of re-
ligion was to be practiced under such exceptions as are ad-
mitted by the Highgate oath; and no one was to be compelled
to dance, drink, sing, or feast whose taste did not happen to in-
cline them to such divertisements ; nor was any one to be obliged
to worship the creative power, whether under the name of the

Animus Mundi, or any other whatsoever. ‘The interference of
the Diety in the affairs of mankind he entirely disowned, having
proved to his own satisfaction that the idea originated entirelyWOODSTOCK.

 

118

in priestcraft. In short, with the shadowy metaphysical excep-
tien aforesaid, Mr. Joshua Bletson of Darlington, member for
Littlefaith, came as near the predicament of an atheist, as it is
perhaps ane ole for a man to do. But we say this with a
necessary salvo; for we have known many like Bletson, whose
curtains have been shrewdly shaken by superstition, though
their fears were unsanctioned by any religious faith. The
devils, we are assured, believe and tremble, while on earth
there are many, who, in worse plight than even the natural
children of perdition, tremble without believing, and fear even
while they blaspheme.

It follows, of course, that pence 2 could be treated with

more scorn by Mr. Bletson, than the debates about Prelacy
and Presbytery, about Apereirats ad [Independency, about
Quakers and Anabaptist , Muggletonians and Brownists, and
all the various sects with aie the Civil War had commenced,

and by which its dissensions were still continued. “It was,”
he said, “as if beasts of burden should quarrel amongst them-
ae the fashion of their halters and pack-saddles, in-
‘mbracing a favorable opportunity of throwing them
1er witty and pithy remarks he used to make when
ace suited ; for instance, at the club called the Rota,
ee by St, John, and established by Harrington, for the
free disc uss101 of political and religious subjects.

time and p

But when Bletson was out of this academy, or stronghold of
philosophy, he was very cautious how he carried his contempt
of the gener: 1] prejudic >in favor of religion and Christianity
further than an in iplie ‘d objection orasneer. If he had an
epnatiahy of talking in private with an ingenious and intelli-
gent youth, he sometimes attempted to make a proselyte, and
Showed much address in bribing the vanity of inexperience, by
suggesting that a mind like his ought to spurn the prejudices
impressed upon it in childhood; and when assuming the /atus
clavus of reason, assuring him that such as he. laying aside the
budla of juvenile incapacity, as Bletson called it, should proceed
to examine and decide for himself. It frequently happened,
that the youth was induced to adopt the doctrines in whole, or
in part, of the sage who had seen his natural genius, and who
had urged him to exert it in examining, detecting, and declar-
ing for himself; and thus flattery gave ]
which could not have been gained by allt
or artful sophistry of the infidel.

These attempts to axial the influence of what was called
free-thinking and philosophy, were carried on, as we have hinted,
with a caution dictated by the timidity of the philosopher’s dis:

roselytes to infidelity,
1e powerful eloquenceWOODSTOCK. 11g

position. He was conscious his doctrines w ere suspected, and
his proceedings watched, by the two principal sects of Prelat-
Ists and Presbyterians, who, however inimical to each other.
were still more hostile ee one wie was an oppenene not only to

  

a church establishment of any kind, but to eve ry denomination
Christianity. He found it more easy to shroud himself

nds were for a general
ted toleration, and whose
ering in all respects see ee was by some
-d into such wild errors, as to get totally beyond the bounds
Ty species of C hristianity, and approach 4a ry near to in-
itself, as extremes of each find are said to approach

ier. Bletson mixeda good deal a among those sectaries :
and such was his confidence in his own lo: gic and address, that
he is supposed to have entertained hoy pes of bringing to his
opinions in time the enthusiastic Vane, as well as the no less en-
thusiastic Harrison, provided I he could but get the ]
their visions of a Fiftl

» T ¢ \ Aner » T ~ xr} ‘ TY « y
the Independents, whose dem
Or conscience, or an unlimi

1X
de

3
fi

1 Monarchy, and maddie hone
fented with a reign of P hilosophers s in England for th
period of thei r lives, instead of he reign of the Sa
the Millennium.

ct

unt

Such was the similar Bru 9 into which Everard was now in-
troduced ; showing in their various Opinions, upon how mz any
devious coasts kuman nature may make shi pwreck, when she
has once let go her-hold on the liga 1
her to lean upon ; the acute self-conceit and work 1
of Bletson—the rash and ignorant conclusions of the fierce an
underbred oe leading them into the GPR OE ie extremes
h nfidelity, while Desborough, constitutionally
hing about religion at all: nd while the
others were active in making sail on different but equally
erroneous courses, he might be said to perish like a vessel,
which springs a leak and founders in the roadstead. It was

 

1

of enthusiasm and i
stupid, pane not

wonderful to tetold what a strange variety of mistakes and
errors, on the part of the King and his Ministers, on the part
of the Parliament and their ] ee on the part of the allied
kingdoms of Scotland and England toward each other, had
combined to rear up men of such dangerous opinions and inter-
ested characters among the arbiters of the destiny of Britain.
[hose who argue for party’s sake, will see all the faults on
the one side, without deigning to look at those on the other;
those who study history for instruction, will perceive that noth-
ing but the want of concession on either side, and the deadly
height to which the animosity of the King’s and Parliament
parties had arisen, could have so totally overthrown the well-

ySales Seteiassoe ee eee

120 WOODSTOCK.

poised balance of the English constitution. But we hasten to
quit political reflections, the rather that ours, we believe, will
please neither Whig nor Tory.

 

CHAPTER DWELE TH,

Three form a College—and you give us four.
Let him bring his share with him.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Mr. BLetTson arose and paid his respects to Colonel Ever-
ard, with the ease and courtesy of a gentleman of the time ;
though on every account grieved at his intrusion, as a religious
man who held his free-thinking principles in detestation, and
would effectually prevent his conversion of Harrison, and even
of Desborough, if anything could be moulded out of sucha
clod, to the worship of the Anzmus Mundi. Moreover, Bletson
knew Everard to be a man of steady probity, and by no means
disposed to close with a scheme on which he had successfully
sounded the other two, and which was calculated to assure the
Commissioners of some little private indemnification for the
trouble they were to give themselves in the public business.
The philosopher was yet less pleased, when he saw the magis-
trate and the pastor who had met him in his flight of the pre-
ceding evening, when he had been seen, arma non bene relicta,
with cloak and doublet left behind him.

The presence of Colonel Everard was as unpleasing to Des-
borough as to Bletson; but the former having no philosophy
in him, nor an idea that it was possible for any man to resist
helping himself out of untold money, was chiefly embarrassed
by the thought, that the plunder which they might be able to
achieve out of their trust, might, by this unwelcome addition to
their number, be divided into four parts instead of three ; and
this reflection added to the natural awkwardness with which he
grumbled forth a sort of welcome, addressed to Everard.

As for Harrison, he remained like one on higher thoughts
intent ; his posture unmoved, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as
before, and in no way indicating the least consciousness that
the company had been more than doubled around him.

Meantime, Everard took his place at the table, as a man
who assumed his own right, and pointed to his companions to
sit down nearer the foot of the board. Wildrake so far mis-
understood his signals, as to sit down above the Mayor ; buat,WOODSTOCK.

bo

i21
rallying his recollection at a look
took his place lower, w histling, however, as he went, a sound at
which the company stared, as at a freedom highly unbecoming,
To complete his indecorum, he seized upon a pipe, and filling
it from a large tobacco-box, was soon immersed in a cloud of
his own raising ; from which a hand shortly after
seized on the black-jack of ale, withd
sanctuary, and, after a potential draught, replaced it upon the
table, its owner beginning to renew the cloud which his inter-
mitted exercise of the tube | had almost allowed to subside,
Nobody made any observation on his conduct, out of respect,
probably, to ee Everard, who bit his lip, but continued
silent ; aware that censure might extract some escapade more
unequivocally sie iracteristic of a cavalier, from his refractory
companion. As silence seemed awkward, ‘and the others made
no advances to break it, beyond the ordinary salutation, Colonel
Everard at length said, “J presume, centlemen, that you are
somewhat surprised at my atrival here, and thus intruding my-
self into your meeting?’

1g

“Why the dickens Pi we be surprised, Colonel ?” said
Desborough; “we know his Exc ellency, my _ brother-in-law
Noll’s—I mean my Edta? Cromwell’s way, of ov erquartering his
men in the towns he marches through. Thou hast obtaine da
shi are in our commi ssion 2?

‘And in that,” said Bletson, smiling and bowing, “the Lord-
General has given us the most acceptab le colleague that could
have been added to out number. No doubt your authority for
joining with us must be under warrant of the Council of
State ?”

“Of that, gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “I will presently
advise you.”—He took out his warrant accordingly, and was
about to communicate the contents ; when observing that there
were three or four half- empty flasks upon the table, that Desbor-
ough looked more stupid than usual, and that the philosopher’s
eyes were reeling in his head, notwithstanding the temperance
of Bletson’s usual habits, he concluded that they had been
fortifying themselves against the horrors of the haunted man-
sion, by | laying in a store of what is called Dutch courage, and
therefore prudently y resolvéd to postpone his more important
business with them till the cooler hour of morning. He, there-
fore, instead of presenting the General’s warrant superseding
their commission, contented himself with rep olying,—“ My busi-
ness has, of course, some reference to your proceedings here. But
here is—excuse my curiosity—a reverend gentleman,” pointing

to Holdenough, “who has told me that you are so strangely

from his patron, he rose and

emerged,
rew it within the vaporyate eee

bibnocuaaEasaeee ese

AB WOODSTOCK.

embarrassed here, as to require both the civil and spiritual
authority to enable you to keep possession of Woodstock.

“‘ Before we go into that matter,” said Bletson, blushing up
to the eyes at the recollection of his own fears, so manifestly
displayed, yet so inconsistent with his principles, “1 should
like to know who this other stranger is, who has come with the
worthy magistrate, and the no less worthy Presbyterian ?”’

“ Meaning me?” said Wildrake, laying his pipe aside;
‘‘Gadzooks, the time hath been that I could have answered
the question with a better title; but at. present I am only
his honor’s poor clerk, or secretary, whichever is the current
phrase.”

‘“‘?Fore George, my lively b lade, thou art a frank fellow of
thy tattle,” said Desborough. “There is my secretary Tom-
kins, whom men sillily enough call Fibbet, and the honorable
Lieutenant-General Harrison’s secretary Bibbet, who are now
at supper below stairs, that dnrst not for their ears speak a
phrase above their breath in the presence of their betters,
unless to answer a question.”

“ Yes, Colonal Everard,” said the philosop her, , with his quiet
smile, glad, apparently, to divert the conversatioi 1 from the to opic
of last night’s alarm, and recollections which humbled his self-

love and self-satisfaction ,—‘‘ yes; and when Master Fibbet and
Master Bibbet do speak, their affirmations are as much ina
common mould of mutual attestation, as their names would
accord in the verses of a poet. If Master Fibbet happens to
tell a fiction, Master Bibbet swears it as truth. If Master
Bibbet chances to have gotten drunk in the fear of the Lord,
Master Fibbet swears he is sober. I have called my own secre-
tary Gibbet, though his name chances to be only Gibeon, a
worthy Israelite at your service, but as pure ayouth as ever
picked a lamb-bone at Paschal. But I call him Gibbet, merely
to make up the holy trefoil with another rhyme. This squire
of thine, Colonel Everard, looks’as if he might be worthy to be
coupled with the rest of the fraternity.”

“Not I, truly,” said the cavalier; “Ill be coupled with no
Jew that was ever whelped, and no Jewess either.”

“Scorn not for that, young man,” said the philosopher;
“the Jews are, in point of religion, the elder brethren, you
know.”

“The Jews older than the Christians?” said Desborough,
“fore George, they will have thee be fore the General Assembly,
Bletson, if thou venturest to say so.

Wildrake laughed without ceremony at the gn
of Desborough, and was joined by a sniggling

s ignorance
ie fromWOODSTOCK. 123

ehind the cupboard, which, when inquired int proved to be

produced by the serving men. These cane timorous as
their nesiars, when they were suppose ed to have left the room
had only withdrawn to their present place of concealment.

9 She now, ye rogues,” said Bletson, angrily; “do you not
know your duty better?”

ond

Cie

O
LA

g§ your worthy honor’s pardon,” said one of the
men, “ but we dared not go down stairs ae a light.”

‘A light, ye cowardly poltroons?” said the philosopher :

‘ what—to show which of you looks palest when a rat squeaks?
—but take a candlestick aud begone, you cowardly Aen the
devils you are so much afraid of must be but paltry kites, if
they hawk at such bats as you are.”

The servants, without replying, took up one of the candle-
sticks, and prepared to retreat. Trusty Tomkins at the head of
the troop, when suddenly, as they arrived at the door of the
parlor, which had been left half Open, it was shut violently,
The three terrified domestics tumbled back into the middle of
the room, as if a shot had been discharged in their face, and
all who were at the table started to their feet.

Colonel Everard was incapable of a moment’s fear, even if
anything frightiul had been seen: but he remained stationary,
to see what his companions would do, and to get at the bottom,
if epessibky of the cause of their cae upon an occasion so

he phi ulpsopher seemed to think that Ae was the
person chiefly concerned to show manhood on the occasion.

He walked to ae door accordingly, murmuring at the cow-
ardice of the servants; but at such a snail’s pace, that it seemed
he would most willingly have been anticipated by any one whom
his reproaches had roused to exertion. “ Cowardly block-
pees Hi ” he said at last, seizing hold of the handle of the door,
but without turning it effectual lly round—‘ dare you not open
a door? eee till fumbling with’ the lock)—“ dare you not go

downa aise without a light? Here, bring me the candle,
you cowardly villains !—By Heaven, something sighs on the
ontside! ”

As he sp 0ke, he let -go the handle of the parlor door, and
stepped back a pace or two into the apartment, with cheeks as
pale » as the band he wore.

‘Leus adjutor meus!” said the Presbyterian clergyman,
rising from his seat, ‘Give place, sir,” ad dressing Bletson :
“it woul 1 seem I know more of this matter than thou, and I
bless Heaven I am armed for the conflict.”

Bold as a grenadier about to mount a breach, yet with the
same belief in the existence of a great danger to be encoun-WOODSTOCK.

   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
      

124
ne tered, as well as the same reliance on the goodness of his cause,
the worthy man stepped before the philosophical Bletson, and
taking a light from a sconce in one hand, quietly opened the
door with the other, and standing in the threshold, said, “‘ Here
is nothing!”
“ And who expected to see anything,” said Bletson, “ except-
ing those terrified oafs, who take fright at every puff of wind
that whistles through the passages of this old dungeon ! a
‘Mark you, Master Tomkins,” said one of the waiting-men
in a whisper to the steward,—‘ See how boldly the minister
i pressed forward before all of them. Ah! Mr. Tomkins, our
i parson is the real commissioned officer of the church—your lay-
preachers are no better than a parcel of club-men and volun-

teers.

“Follow me, those who list,’”’ said Master Holdenough, “ or
go before me those who choose, | will walk through the habita-
ble places of this house before I leave it, and satisfy myself

A whether Satan hath really mingled himself among these dreary
ae dens of ancient wickedness, or whether, like the wicked of
| whom holy David speaketh, we are afraid, and flee when no one
et pursueth.”
i Harrison, who had heard these words, sprung from his seat,
| and drawing his sword, exclaimed, “ Were there as many fiends
in the house as there are hairs on my head, upon this cause I
| will charge them up to their very trenches be

So saying, he brandished his weapon, and pressed to the
head of the column, where he moved side by side with the
minister. The Mayor of Woodstock next joined the body,
thinking himself safer perhaps in the company of his pastor;
and the whole train moved forward in close order, accompanied
by the servants bearing lights, to search the Lodge for some
cause of that panic with which they seemed to be suddenly seized.

“Nay, take me with you, my friends,” said Colonel Ever-
ard, who had looked on in surprise, and was now about to
follow the party, when Bletson laid hold on his cloak, and
begged him to remain.

“Vou see, my good Colonel,” he said, affecting a courage
which his shaking voice belied, “here are only you and I and
honest Desborough left behind in garrison, while all the others

1 are absent on a sally. We must not hazard the whole troops
| , in one sortie——_that were unmilitary—Ha, ha, ha!”

“Tn the name of Heaven, what means all this?” said
Everard. “I heard a foolish tale about apparitions as ] came
this way, and now I find you all half mad with fear, and
cannot get a word of sense among so many ofwyou * Be,

ENE ne

THIS canis NER

Pr
a

oPWOODSTOCK.

Colonel Desborough—fie, Master Bletson—try to compose
yourselves, and let me know in Heaven’s name the cause of
all this disturbance. One would be apt to think your brains
were turned.”

‘And so mine well may,” said Desborough, “ay, and over-
turned too, since my bed last night was turned upside down,
and I was placed for ten minutes heels uppermost, and head
downmost, like a bullock going to be shod.”

“ What means this nonsense, Master Bletson ?—Desborough
must have had the nightmare.”

“No, faith, Colonel: the goblins, or whatever else they
were, had been favorable to honest Des] »orough, for they re-
posed the whole of his person on that part of his body which
—Hark, did you not hear something ?—is the central point of
Bray ity, nan 1ely, his head.”

‘Did you see anything to alarm you?” said the Colonel.

“ Nothing, ” said Bletson; “but we heard hellish noise
as all our people did; and : believing little of ghosts and
apparitions, concluded the cavaliers were > taking us at advan-
tage : so, remembering R: oe rough’s fate, I e’en jumped the
vindow, and ran to Woodstock, to call the soldiers to the
rescue of Harrison and Desborough.”

And did you not first go to see what the danger was?”

“ Ah, my good friend, you forget that I laid oS n my com-
mission at the time of the s elf-denyi ing ordinan It would
have been quite inconsistent with my duties as a Pale ament-
man to be brawling amidst a set of ruffians. without any military
authority. No—when the Parliament commanded me _ to
sheathe my sword, Colonel, I have too much veneration for
their authority to be found again with it drawn in my hand.”

“But the Parliament,” said Desborough, hastily, “ did not
command you to use your heels when your hands could have
saved a man from choking. Odds dickens ! you might have
oR per when you saw my bed canted heels uppermost, and me
half stifled in the bed-clothe ‘s—you might, I say, have stopped
and lent a hand to put it to rights, instead of jumping out of
the window, like a new-shorn ae, so soon as you had run
across my room.”

‘Nay, worshipful Master Desborough,” said Bletson, wink-
ing on Everard, to show that he was playing on his thick-skulled
colleacue, ‘““how could I tell your particular mode of reposing?
—there are many tastes—I have known men who slept by
choice ona slope or angle of forty-five.”

‘Yes, but did ever aman sleep standing on his head except
miracle?” said Desborough.

by

   

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.

   
    
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
     
  
  
  
   
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
     
  
  
     
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
   
    
 
 
  

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136 WOODSTOCK.

 

““Now, as to miracles’’—said the philosopher, confident in the
presence of Everard, besides that an opportunity of scoffing at
religion really in some degree diverted his fear—‘ I leave these
out of the question, seeing that the evidence-on such subjects
seems as little qualified to carry conviction as a horse-hair to
land a leviathan.”

A loud clap of thunder, or a noise as formidable, rang
through the Lodge as the scoffer nad ended, which struck him
pale and motionless, and made Desborough throw himself on
his knees, and repeat exclamations and prayers in much admired
confusion,

“There must be contrivance here,” exclaimed Everard;
and snatching one of the candles from a sconce, he rushed out
of the apartment, little heeding the entreaties of the philoso-
pher, who, in the extremity of his distress, conjured him by the
Animus Mundi to remain to the assistance of a distressed
philosopher endangered by witches, and a Parliament-man as-
saulted by ruffians. As for Desborough, he only gaped like a
clown in a pantomime ; and, doubtful whether to follow or stop,
his natural indolence prevailed, and he sat still.

When on the landing-place of the stairs, Everard paused a
moment to consider which was the best course to take. He
heard the voices of men talking fast and loud, like people who
wish to drown their fears, in the lower story; and aware that
nothing could be discovered by those whose inquiries were con-
ducted in a manner so noisy, he resolved to proceed in a
different direction, and examine the second floor, which he had
now gained.

He had known every corner, both of the inhabited and un-
inhabited part of the mansion, and availed himself of the can-
dle to traverse two or three intricate passages, which he was
afraid he might not remember with sufficient accuracy. ‘This
movement conveyed him to a sort of @é/-de-beuf, an octagon
vestibule, or small hall, from which various rooms opened,
Amongst these doors, Everard selected that which led to a very
long, narrow, and dilapidated gallery, built in the time of Henry
VIITL., and which, running along the whole south-west side of
the building, communicated at different points with the rest of
the mansion. This he thought was likely to be the post
occupied by those who proposed to act the sprites upon the
occasion ; especially as its length and shape gave him some
idea that it was a spot where the bold thunder might in many
ways be imitated.

Determined to ascertain the truth, if possible, he placed his
light on a table in the vestibule, and applied himself to openWOODSTOCK.

the door into the gallery. At this point he found himself
strongly opposed either by a bolt drawn, or, as he rather con-
ceived, by somebody from within resisting his attempt. He
was induced to believe the latter, because the resistance slack-
ened and was renewed, like that of human strength, instead of
presenting the permanent oposition of an inanimate obstacle.

ugh Everard was a strong and active young man, he exhaust-

5 > ~ VLIVe hiichi Lu

pe
=)

ed his strength in the vain attempt to open the door, ; and having
paused to take breath, was about to renew his efforts with foot
and shoulder, and to call at the same time for assistance, when,
to his surprise, on again attempting the door more gently, in order

to ascertain if possible where thx as of t opposing yy

 
 

stacle was situated, he found it give way to a very slight in npuls
some impedi men fell broken to the eround, and the door ee
wide open.—The gust of wind occasioned by the sudden open-

rd was left in
long side-row

D>

ing of the door, blew out the candle, and Everar
darkness, save where the moonshine, which the
of latticed windows dimmed, could imperfectly force its way
into the gallery, which lay in
The melancholy and doubtful twilig it was increased by a
quantity of creeping plants on the outside, which since all had

+ ¥ Y

(
1a
D

been neglecte din these ancient halls, now comple tely overgrown,
had in some instances greatly diminished, and in others almost
quite choked up, the space of the lattices, extending between
t] ¥ stone shaftwork which divided the windows, both
lengthways and across, On the other side there we

windows at all, and the ; r
paintings, chiefly port a

 

j f the apartment
had been adorned. Most of the pictures had been removed,
yet the empty frames of some, and the tattered remnants of
others, were still visible along the extent of the waste gallery;
the look of which was so desolate, and it appeared so well
adapted for mischief, supposing there were enemies near him,
that Everard could not help pausing at the entrance, and recom.
mending himself to God, ere, drawing his sword, he advanced
into the apartment, treading as ligh tly as possible, and keeping
in the shadow as much as he could.

Markham Everard was by no means superstitious, but he
had the usual predanty of the times; and though he did not
yield easily to tales of supernatural visitations, yet he could not
help thinking he was in the ve ry situation, where, if such things
were ever permitted, they might be expected to take plaee,
while his own ro and acne pace, his drawn weapon,
and extended arms, being the very attitude and action of doubt
aud suspicion, aad to increase in his mind the gloomy feel-

Sor

it
Su

aS

RONOwer tr sr etre S)

  

rateerr ergy sree:128 WOODSTOCK.

5

are constantly associated. Under such unpleasant impressions,
and conscious of the neighborhood of something unfriendly,
Colonel Everard had already advanced about half along the
gallery, when he heard some one sigh very near him, and A low
soft voice pronounce his name.

“Here Iam,” he replied, while his heart beat thick and
short. ‘‘ Who calls on Markham Everard ?”

Another sigh was the only answer.

“ Speak,” said the C olonel, “ whoever-or whatsoever you are,
and tell with w what intent and purpose you are lurking in these
apartments ?

ings of which they are the usual indications, and with which they

‘With a better intent than yours,” returned the soft voice.

“Than mine!” answered Everard in great surprise. ‘‘ Who
are you that dare judge of my intents?”

‘“ What or who are you, Markham Everard, who wander by
moonlight through these deserted halls of royalty, where none
should be but those who mourn their downfall, or are sworn to
avenre att?

“It is—and yet it cannot be,” said Everard: “ yet it is, and
must be. Alice Lee, the devil or you speaks. Answer me, I
conjure you !-speak openly—on what dangerous scheme are
you en gaged ? where is your father? why are you here ?—
wherefore do you run so deadly a venture ?—Speak, I conjure
you, Alice Lee! ”

“She whom you call on is at the distance of miles from this
SP ot. What if her Genius speaks when she is absent ?—what

the soul of an ancestress of hers and yours were now address-
oe you ?—what if ?””—_—_

“Nay,” answered Everard, “but what if the dearest of
human beings has caught a touch of her father’s enthusiasm !
—what if she is exposing her person to danger, her reputation
to scandal, by traversing in disguise and darkness a house
filled with armed men? Speak to me, my fair cousin, in your
Own person. I am furnished with powers to protect my uncle,
Sir Henry—to protect you too, dearest Alice, even against the
consequences of this visionary and wild attempt. Speak—I
see where you are, and, with all my respect, I cannot submit
to be thus practiced upon. Trust me—trust your cousin Mark-
ham with your hand, and believe that he will die or place you
in honorable safety.”

As he spoke, he exercised his eyes as keenly as possible to
detect where the speaker stood: and it seemed to him, that
about three yards from him there was a shadowy form, of

which he could not discern even the outline, placed as it wasWOODSTOCK. 129
within the deep and prolonged shadow thrown by a space of
wall intervening betwixt two windows, upon that side of the
room from which the light was admitted. He endeavored to
calculate, as well as he could, the distance betwixt himself and
the object which he watched, under the impression, that if, by
even using a slight degree of compulsion, he could detach his
beloved Alice from the confederacy into which he supposed
her father’s zeal for the cause of royalty had engaged her, he
would be rendering them both the most essential favor, He
could not indeed but conclude, that however successfully the
plot which he conceived to be in agitation had proceeded
against the timid Bletson, the stupid Desborough, and the
crazy Harrison, there was little doubt that at length their arti-
fices must necessarily bring shame and danger on those en-
gaged in it.

It must also be remembered, that Everard’s affection to his
cousin, although of the most respectful and devoted character,
partook less of the distant veneration which a lover of those
days entertained for the lady whom he worshiped with humble
diffidence, than of the fond and familiar feelings which a
brother entertains toward a younger sister, whom he thinks
himself entitled to guide, advise, and even in some degree to
control. So kindly and intimate had been their intercourse,
that he had little more hesitation in endeavoring to arrest her
progress in the dangerous course in which she seemed to be
engaged, even at the risk of giving her momentary offence,
than he would have had in snatching her from a torrent or con-
flagration, at the chance of hurting her by the violence of his
grasp. All this passed through his mind in the course ofa
single minute; and he resolved at all events to detain her on
the spot, and compel, if possible, an explanation from her,

With this purpose, Everard again conjured his cousin, in
the name of Heaven, to give up this idle and dangerous mum-
mery; and, lending an accurate ear to her answer, endeavored
from the sound to calculate as nearly as possible the distance
between them.

“Tam not she for whom you take me,” said the voice ;
“and dearer regards than aught connected with her life or
death, bid me warn you to keep aloof, and leave this place.”

‘“ Not till I have convinced you of your childish folly,” said
the Colonel, springing forward, and endeavoring to catch hold
of her who spoke to him. But no female form was within his
grasp. On the contrary, he was met by a shock which could
come from no woman’s arm, and which was rude enough to
stretch him on his back on the floor. At the same time heSe a ee eco

     
  
 
 
  
  
  
    
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
    
  
 
  
  
    
   
   
     
  
   
   
   
   
     
   
   
   
   
      
  
   
 
  
  
   

130 WOODSTOCK.

felt the point of a sword at his throat, and his hands so com-
pletely mastered, that not the slightest defence remained to
him.

‘A cry for assistance,” said a voice near him, but not that
which he had hitherto heard, ‘will be stifled in your blood !—
No harm is meant you—be wise and be silent.”

The fear of death, which Everard had often braved in the
field of battle, became more intense as he felt himself in the
hands of unknown assassins, and totally devoid of all means of
defence. The sharp point of the sword pricked his bare
throat, and the foot of him who held it was upon his breast.
He felt as if a single thrust would put an end to life, and all
the feverish joys and sorrows which agitate us so strangely,
and from which we are yet so reluctant to part. Large drops
of perspiration stood upon his forehead—his heart throb bed, as
if it would burst from its confinement in the bosom—he expe-
rienced the agony which fear imposes on the brave man, acute
in proportion to that hie pain inflicts when it subdues the
robust and healthy.

“Cousin Alice,”—he attempted to speak, and the sword’s
point pressed his throat yet more closely,— Cousin, let me
not be murdered in a manner so fearful!”

“I tell you,” replied the voice, “that you speak to one who
is not here ; but your life is not aimed at, provided you swear,
on your faith as a Christian and your honor as a gentleman,
that you will conceal what has happened, whether from the
people below, or from any other person. On this condition
you may rise ; and if you seek her, you will find Alice Lee at
Joceline’s cottage in the forest.”

“Since I may not help myself otherwise,” said Everard, “I
swear, as I have a sense of religion and honor, I will say nothing
of this violence, nor make any search after those who are con-
cerned in it,”

‘For that we care nothing,” saidthe voice. ‘Thou hast an

example how well thou mayst catch mischief on thy own part;
but we are in case to defy thee. Rise and begone.”
The foot, the sword’s-point, were withdrawn, and Everard,
was about to start up hastily, when the voice, in the same soft-
ness of tone which distinguished it at first, said, ““No haste—
cold and bare stBel is yet around thee. Now—now—now—
[the words dying away as at a distance -|—thou art free. Be
secret and be safe

Markham Everard arose, and in rising embarrassed his feet
with his own sword, which he had dropped when spr inging
forward, as he supposed, to lay hold of his fair cousin. HeWOODSTOCK.

snatched it up in haste, and as his hand clasped the hilt, his
courage, which had given way under the apprehension of in-
stant death, began to return; he considered, with almost his
usual composure, what was to be done next. Deeply affronted
at the disgrace which he had sustained, he questioned for an
instant whether he ought to keep his extorted promise, or
should not rather summon assistance, and make haste to dis-
cover and seize those who had been recently engaged in such
violence on his person. J]

would, had had his life in their power—he had pledged his word
in ransom of it—and what was re, he coulc livest him-
self of the ic ant, at least,
if not an actor, in the confederacy which had thus baffled him.

ut these persons, be they who they

 

RO .¢

 

+e

This prepossession determined his conduct ; for, though angry
at supposing she must have been accessory to his personal ill-
treatment, he could not in any event think of an instant search
through the mansion, which might have compromised her safety

or that of his uncle. “ But I will to the hut.” he said—*‘ I will

 

: PX RA Lie REPRO ate eo Cha 2, a
instantly to the hut, ascertain her share in this wild and dan-
rer 1 . f lararwand L, j as : ee ; a4 9
gerous conrederacy and snatcn her trom ruin, it it be possible.
] } oe 7 fe 7 7 i
As under the influence of the resolution which he had
rOTrmed. tverara PTODPCa TIS Way ba K tp OUL NTC VAanery and
a. Fgh see PE a Pe a hs Tie BE fee
regainea LIS VCSuUpurc. 7 heard his name called by bart. well-
Bee es Ci ARTS Aud t KATE 28 ] PAL. 4 ee
Known voice ol Wildrake. * What—ho !—holla Colonel
arian seg Nino Geka Pe Seale 4a ee lease mai
rard—Mark POVCL ATP IS Uae a5 mic Cv Ss mouth—
1 cs eg > ] «pals eee Spar eee eer Be
k—where are you ?—l tches are keeping their hellish
+] . ; he : ae 92
yatn here, AS | (nink— V € re: WA E
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you peen sr ne saliaq— V\ (

Bletson and the brute Desborough terrified out of their lives.

and Harrison ravine mad. 1 ainee tha daw will oy rig

and t1arrison faving Mad, pecause the Gevil Will not pe Civil
1 : c 1 ow 73 “se ~ 1; 7 Pe 3

€nougen to rise to heht him in single @7zeédo.

Saw or heard you nothing as you came along?

Everard.

said

‘‘ Nothing,” said his friend “ excepting that when I first en-
tered this cursed ruinous labyrinth, the light was struck out of my
hand, as if by a switch, which obli

bliged me to return for another.”
must come by ; h ao tantly Wildrake p 1 ‘ a he
lust come by a horse instantly, Wiudrake, and another
it be possible.”
‘We can take two of those belonging to the troopers,” an-
swered Wildrake. ‘ But for what purpose should we run away,
time in the evening ?—Is the house falling? ”

pecan

 

like rats, at this

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132 WOODSTOCK.

‘“‘T cannot answer you,” said the Colonel, pushing forward
into a room where there was some remains of furniture.

Here the cavalier took a more strict view of his person, and
exclaimed in wonder, ‘‘ What the devil have you been fighting
with, Markham, that has bedizened you after this sorry
fashion ?”’

“ Fighting !”’ exelaimed Everard.

“Yes,” replied his trusty attendant, “I say fighting. Look
at yourself in the mirror.”

“He did, and saw he was covered with dust and blood.
The latter proceeded from a scratch which he had received in
the throat, as he struggled to extricate himself. With unaffected
alarm, Wildrake undid his friend’s collar, and with eager haste
proceeded to examine the wound, his hands trembling and his
eyes glistening with apprehension for’ his benefactor’s life.
When, in spite of Everard’s opposition, he had examined the
hurt, and found it trifling, he resumed the natural wildness of
hfs character, perhaps the more readily that he had felt shame
in departing from it, into one which expressed more of feeling
than he would be thought to possess.

“If that be the devil’s work, Mark,” said he, “the foul
fiend’s claws are not nigh so formidable as they are repre-
sented ; but no one shall say that your blood has been shed
unrevenged, while Roger Wildrake was by your side. Where
left you this same imp? I will back to the field of fight, con-
front him with my rapier, and were his nails tenpenny nails,
and his teeth as long as those of a harrow, he shall render me
reason for the injury he has done you.”

‘“ Madness—madness!”’ exclaimed Everard ; “I had this
trifling hurt by a fall—a basin and towel will wipe it away.
Meanwhile, if you will ever do me a kindness, get the troop:
horses—command them for the service of the public, in the
name of his Excellency the General. I will but wash, and join
you in an instant before the gate,”

‘Well, I will serve you, Everard, as a mute serves the
Grand Signior, without knowing the why or wherefore. But
will you go without seeing these people below ?”’

“Without seeing any one,” said Everard : “lose no time,
for God’s sake.”

He found out the non-commissioned officer, and demanded
the horses in a tone cf authority, to which the corporal yielded
undisputed obedience, as one well aware of Colonel Everard’s
military rank and consequence. So all was in a minute or two
ready for the expedition.WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

She kneel’d, and saint-like
Cast her eyes to heaven, and pray’d devoutly.
KinGc HEnry VIII.

COLONEL EVERARD’s departure at that late hour, for so it
was then thought, of seven in the evening, excited much s
ul:
the outer chamber or hall, for no one doubted that his sudden
departure was owing to his having, as they expressed it, ‘seen

> ¢
PEG

I
ition. ‘There was a gathering of menials and dependents in

£

something,” and all desired to know how a man of such ac-
knowledged courage as Everard looked under the awe of a recent
apparition. But he gave them no time to make comments:
for, striding through the hall wrapped in his riding suit, he

threw himself on horseback, and rode furiously through the
Chase, toward the hut of the keeper Joliffe. : i

It was the disposition of Markham Everard to be hot. keen,
earnest, impatient, and decisive to a degree of precipitation.
The acquired habits which education had taught, and which
the strong moral and religious discipline of his sect had greatly
strengthened, were-such as to enable him to conceal, as well
as to check, this constitutional violence, and to place him upon
his guard against indulging it. But when in the high tide of
violent excitation, the natural impetuosity of the young sol-
dier’s temper was sometimes apt to overcome these artificial
les, and then, like a torrent foaming over a wier, it be-
came more furious, as if in revenge for the constrained calm
which it had been for some time obliged to assume. In these
instances he was accustomed to see only that point to which
his thoughts were bent, and to move straight toward it, whether
a moral object, or the storming of a breach, without either cal-
culating, or even appearing to see, the difficulties which were
before him.

At present, his ruling and impelling motive was to detach
his beloved cousin, if possible, from the dangerous and discredit-
able machinations in which he suspected her to have engaged,
or, on the other hand, to discover that she really had no con-
cern with these stratagems. He should know how to judge o
that in some measure, he thought, by finding her present or ab-
sent at the hut, toward which he was now galloping. He had
read, indeed, in some ballad or minstrel’s tale, of a singular de-

1 ew
ODSTac

  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
    
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   

Cera

\144 WOODSTOCK.

ception practiced on a jealous old man, by means of a subtet
ranean communication between his house and that of a neigh-
bor, which the lady in question made use of to present herself
in the two places alternately, with such ee and so much ad:
dress, that, after repeated experiments, the dotard was deceived
into the opinion, that his wife, and the lady who was so ery
like her, and to whom his neighbor paid so much attention,
were two different persons. But in the present case there was
no room for such a deception; the distance was too great, and
as he took by much the nearest way from the castle, and rode
full ae -d. it would be impossible, cnew, for his cousin, who

was a im orous horsewoman, even by daylight, to have got

<

 

1
Her father might indeed be displeased at his interference ;

but what title had he to be so ?—Was not Alice Lee the ee

relation of his blood, the dearest object of his heart, and would

he now abstain from an effort to save her from the conseqiiences
illy and wild ye leg acy, because the old knight’s spleen
might be awakened by Everard’s making his appearance at their

ling his commands? )} He would
endute the old man’s harsh language, as he endured the blast
of the autumn wind, which was howling around him, and swing-
ing the crashing branches of the trees under which he passed,
but could not oppose, or even oe his journey.

If he found not Alice, as he had reason to believe she would
be absent, to Sir Henry Lee himself he would elas og what he
had witnessed. However she might have become accessory to
the juggling tricks performed at Woodstock, he could not but
think it was without her father’s knowledge, so severe a judge
was the hui knight of female propriety, and so strict an assertor
|

  

ling contrary to No.

female decorum. He would tak e the same opportunity, he
thought, of stating to him oi ell-grounded hopes he enter

the Lodge might be prolonged, and
from t oe royal mansion and domains,
by other means than those of the absurd species of intimidation
1 seemed to be resorted to, to scare them from thence.

ll this seemed to be Soungeh within the line of his duty as
a relative, that it was not until he halted at the door of the
ranger’s hut, and threw his bridle into Wildrake’s hand, that

tained, that his dwelling at
1
|

the sequestrators removed
-

Ev erard recollected the fiery, high, and unbending character of
- Henry Lee, and felt, even whe his fish ces! were on the

bic a rai ‘tance to intrude himself upon the presence of the
irritable old k ae

But there was no time for hesitation. Bevis, who had already
bayed more Sean once from within the Lodge, was growingWOODSTOGK 135

impatient, and Everard had but just time to bid Wildrake hold
the horses until he should send Joceline to his assistance, when
old Joan unpinned the door, to demand who was without at
that time of the night. To have attempted anything like an
explanation with poor dame Joan, would have been quite
hopeless; the Colonel, therefore, put her gently aside, and
shaking himself loose from the hold she had laid on his cloak,
entered the kitchen of Joceline’s dwelling. Bevis, who had
advanced to support Joan in her opposition, humbled his lion-
port, with that wonderful instinct which makes his race re-
member so long those with whom they have been familia ar, and
acknowledged his master’s relative, by doing homage in his
fashion, with his head and tail.

Colonel Everard, more uncertain in his purpose every
moment as the necessity of its execution drew near, stole over
the floor like one who treads in a sick chamber, = opening
the door of the interior apartment with a slow and trembling
hand, as he would have withdrawn the curtains of a 1s
friend, he saw, within, the scene which we are about to
describe.

Sir Henry Lee sat ina wicker arm-chair by the ae He was
wrapped in a cloak, and his limbs extended on a stool, a
were suffering from gout or indisposition. His long wh ;
flowing over the dark-colored garment, gave » him more the
appearance of a-hermit than of an aged ne or man of
quality; and that character was increased by the deep and
devout attention with which he |
man, whose dilapidated dress showed still something of the
clerical habit, and who, with a low, but full and deep voice,
was reading the Evening Service according to the Church of
England. Alice Lee kneeled at the feet of her father, and
made the responses with a voice that might have suited the
choir of ane and a modest and serious devotion, which
ly of hertone. ‘The face of the OR CRONE

suited the m oday )
clergyman wi uk id have been good-looking, had it not been dis
left eye and a part

 

FAG

1 1}

istened to a respectable old

¥
1
1
L

figure »d with a black patch which covered the
of his face, Hi ol not the features eh were visible been
marked with the traces of care sa sufferin:

When Colonel Everard entered, the cle rgyman raised his
finger, as cautioning him to forbear disturbing the div ine service
of the evening, and pointed to a seat; to which, struck deeply
with the scene he had witnessed, the intruder stole with as light
a step as possible, and knelt devoutly down as one of the little

congregation.

Everard had been bred by his father what was called a Puritan;

Ree ere Seen tt et a136 WOODSTOCK.

a member of a sect who, in the primitive sense of the word, were
eens that did not «¢ except against the doctrines of the Church
of England, or even in all respects against its hierarchy, but
ch iefly dissented from it on the subject of certain ceremonies
habits, and forms of ritual, which were insisted upon by the
celebrated and unfortunate Laud with ill-timed tena cle But
even if, from the habits of his father’s house, Everard’s opinions
had been diametri cally opposed to the doctrines of the English
Church, he must have been reconciled by them to th eregula arity
with which the services were performed -in his uncle’s family at
Woodstock, who, during fia blossoms of his fortunes, gener-
ally had a chaplain residing in the Lodge for that special pur-
pose.

Yet deep as was the habitual veneration with which he heard
the impressive > services of the Church, Everard’s eyes could not
help straying toward Alice, and his thoughts w andering to the
purpose of his presence there. She seemed to have recognised
him at once, for there was a deeper glow than usual upon her
cheek, her fingers trembled as they turned the leaves of her
prayer-book, and her voice, lately as firm as it was melodious,
faltered when she repeated the responses. It appeared to
Everard, as far as he faecillid collect by the stolen glances which
he directed toward her, that the character of her beauty,
as well as of her outward appearance, had changed with her
fortunes.

The beautiful and high-born young lady had now approached
as nearly as possible to the brown se dress of an ordinary
village maiden ; but what she had lost in gayety of appearance,
she had gained seemed in eee Her beautiful light-
brown tresses, now folded around her head, and only curled
where nature had so arranged them, gave her an air of Pee lic-
ity, which did not exist when her head-dress showed the skill of
a curious tire-woman. A light joyous air, with something
of a humorous expression, which seemed to be looking
for amusement, had vanished before the touch of affliction.
and a calm melancholy supplied its place, which seemed
on the watch to administer comfort to others. Perhaps the
former arch, though innocent expression of countenance, was
uppermost in her lover’s recollection, when he concluded that
Alice had acted a part in the disturbance which had taken place
at the Lodge. It is certain that when he now looked upon her,
it was with shame for having nourished such a suspicion, and
the resolution to believe rather that the devil had imitated her
voice, than that a creature who seemed so much above the feel-
ings of this world, and so nearly allied to the purity of the next,WOODSTOCK. 137
should have had the indelicacy to mingle in such manceuvres
as he himself and others had been subjected to.

These thoughts shot through his mind, in spite of the im-
propriety of indulging them at such a moment. The service
now approached the close, and a good deal to Colonel Everard’s
surprise, as well as confusion, the officiating priest, in firm and
audible tone, and with every attribute of dignity, prayed to the
Almighty to bless and preserve “Our Sovere eign Lord, King

Charles, the lawful and undoubted King of these ‘tealms,” The
petition (in those days most dangerous) was pronounced with
full, raised, and distinct articulation, as if the priest ohallentea
all who heard him to dissent, if they dared.” If the republican
officer did not assent to the petition, he thought at least it was
no time to protest against it.

The service was concluded in the usual manncr, and the
little congregation arose. It now included Wildrake, who had
entered during the latter prayer, and was the first of the party
to speak, running up to the priest, and shaking him by the hand
most heartily, swearing at the same time that he truly ee
to see him. “he good clergyman returned the pressure with
smile, observing that he should have believed his assev efation
without an oath. Inthe meanwhile, Colonel Everard, approach-
ing his uncle’s seat, made a deep inclination of respect, first to
Sir Henry Lee, and then to Alice, whose color now spread trom
her cheek to her brow and bosom.

‘“‘T have to crave your excuse,” said the Colonel with hesita-
tion, “for having chosen for my visit, which I dare not hope
will be very agreeable at any time, a season most peculiarly un-
suitable

‘So far from it, nephew,” answered Sir Henry, with much
more mildness of manner than Everard had dared to expect,
‘that your visits at other times would be much more welcome,
had we the fortune te see you often at our hours of worship.”

“‘T hope the time will soon come, sir, when Englishmen of
all sects and denominations,” replied ui, ‘¢ will be free in
conscience to worship in common the great Father, w hom they
all after their manner call by that affectionate name.’

‘““T hope so too, nephew,” said the old man in the same un-
altered tone; “and we will not at present dispute, whether you
would have the Church of England coalesce with the Conventicle,
or the Conventicle conform to the Church. It was, I ween, not
to settle jarring creeds, that you have honcred our poor dwell-
ing, anar to say the truth, we dared scarce have expected to
see you again, so coarse was our last welcome.”
“ ¥ should be happy to believe,” said Colonel Everard, hesi13 8 WOODSTOCK.

tating, “ that—that—-in short my presence was not now so up
welcome here as on that occasion.”

‘‘ Nephew,” said Sir Henry, “I will be frank with you.
When you were last here, I thought you had stolen from me a
precious pearl, which at one time it would have been my pride
and happiness to have bestowed on you ; but which, being such
as you have been of late, J would bury in the depths of the earth
rather than give to your keeping. This somewhat chafed,
honest Will says, ‘ the rash humor which my mother gave me.’
I thought I was robbed, and I thought I saw the robber before
me, I am mistaken—I am not robbed ; and the attempt with-
out the deed I can pardon.”

“I would not willingly seek offence in your words, sir,” said
Colonel Everard, when their general purport sounds kind ; but
I can protest before Heaven, that my views and wishes toward
you and your family are as void of selfish ] hopes and selfish ends,
as they are fraught with love to you and to yours.”

“ Let us hear them, man ; we are not much accustomed to
good wishes now-a-days ; and their very rarity will make them
welcome, a

‘I would willingly, Sir Henry, since you might not chose
me to give youa more affectionate name, convert those wishes
into somethii ng effectual for your comfort. Your fate, as th

(@e

world now sta1 nds, is bad, and, I fear, like to be worse.”

** Worse than I re ie cannot be. Nephew, I do not
shrink before my changes of fortune. I shall wear coarser
clothes,—-I shall feed on more ordinary food,—men will not
doff their cap to me as they were wont, \ _ I was the great
and the wealthy. What of that ? Old He iry Lee loved his
honor better than | his ne his faith better tl an his land and
lordship. Have I not seen the zoth of January ? I am neither
philomath nor astrologer ; but old Will teaches me, that when
green leaves fall winter is at hand, and that darkness will come
when the sun sets.”
* Bethink you, sir,” said Colonel Everard, “ if, without any
submission asked, any oath taken, any engagement imposed,
express or tacit, excepting that you are not to excite disturbances
in the pub slic peace, you can be restored to your residence in
the Lodge, and your usual fortunes and perquisites there—I
have great reason to hope this may be permitted, if not expressly,
at least on sufferance.”

“Yes, I understand you, I am to be treated like the royal
coin, marked with the ensign of the Rump to make it pass cur-
rent, although I am too old to have the royal insignia grinded
off from me. Kinsman, I will have none of this. I have livedWOODSTOCK. 139

8 the Te o@ee te ses

t the Lodge too long ; and let me tell you, I had left it in scorn

long since, but for the orders of one whom I may yet live to do
ke

servic@ to: I will ta ee from the usurpers, be th

name Rump or Cromwell—be they one devil or legion rill
not take from them an “ola cap to cover my gray fairsoe3 east
cloak to protect my frail lin

      

ibs from the colc 1 They shall not

a the y have, by a unwilling bounty, made Abraham rich—
I will i ive, as T will the Loyal Lee ?

‘May I hope vote: will think of it, SIT ; and that you will,

perhaps, considering what slight submission is asked, give me a

better answer ?”

“Sir. if I retract my opinion, which is not my wont, you
shall near of it—And now, cousin, have you more tosay ? We
keep that worthy clergyman in the outer room.”

“ Something I had to say—something touching my cousin
Alice,” said Everard, with embarrassment ; “ but I fear that
the prejudices of both are so strong against me”

‘Sir, I dare turn my daughter Joose to you—I will go join

 

the good doctor in dame Joan’s apartment. I am not “unwill:
ing that you shome | know that the girl hath, in all reasonable
sort, the exercise of her free will.’

He tihitew: and left the cousins together.
Colonel Everard adva nced to Alice, and was about to take
her PELs She drew back, took the seat which her father had
occupied, and pointed out to him one at some distance.
Are we then so much estranged, my dearest Alice ?” he

said.

“ We will speak of that presently,” she replied. “In the
first place, let me ask the cause of your visit here at so late an

39

hour.
“Vou heard,” said By erard, “ what I stated to your father?”
“ T did ; but that seems to have been only part of your

errand—something tiered seemed to be which applied partic-
ularly to me.”
“Tt was a fancy—a strange mistake,” answered Ev erard.
‘¢ May I ask if you have Dees abroad this evening?’
“Certainly not,” she replied. “I heve small temptation to
wander from my present ee poor as it is; and whilst here,
have important duties to discharge. But why does Colonel
iver ae ask so strange a question ?’

‘ell me in turn, why your cousin Markham has lost the
name of friendship and kindred and even of some nearer feel-
ing, and then I will answer you, Alice,

“Tt is soon answered,” she said. ‘When you drew your
sword against my father’s ‘cause—almost against his persc on—I

   
  
  
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
     

x
Coe aD a

os
\SSR Aeon RENTER RGR reread rer Sasa

140 WOODSTOCK.

studied, more than I should have done, tc find excuse for you.
I knew, that is, I thought I knew, your high feelings of public
duty—I knew the opinions in which you had been brought up ;
and I said, I will not, even for this, cast him off—he opposes
his King because he is loyal to his country. You endeavored
to avert the great and concluding tragedy of the 30th of
January; and it confirmed me in my opinion, that Markham
Everard might be misled, but could not be base or selfish.”

‘And what has changed your opinion, Alice? or who dare,”
said Everard, reddening, “ attach such epithets to the name of
Markham Everard?”

+ Lam.mo subject,” she said, “for exercising your valor,
Colonel Everard, nor do I mean to offend. But you will find
enough of others who will avow, that Colonel Everard is truck-
ling to the usurper Cromwell, and that all his fair pretexts of
forwarding his country’s liberties, are but a screen for driving
a bargain with the successful encroacher, and obtaining the
best terms he can for himself and his family.”

‘““ For myself—Never ! ”

‘“ But for your family you have—Yes, I am well assured that
you have pointed out to the military tyrant the way in which
he and his satraps may master the government. Do you think
my father or I would accept an asylum purchased at the price
of England’s liberty, and your honor?”

“Gracious Heaven, Alice, what is this? Youaccuse me of
pursuing the very course which so lately had your appro-
bation!”

‘When you spoke with authority of your father, and recom-
mended our submission to the existing government, such as it
was, | own I thought—that my father’s gray head might, with-
out dishonor, have remained under the roof where it had so
long been sheltered. But did your father sanction your be-
coming the adviser of yonder ambitious soldier to a new course
of innovation, and his abettor in the establishment of a new
species of tyranny?—It is one thing to submit to oppression,
another to be the agent of tyrants—And oh, Markham—their
bloodhound! ”

“How! bloodhound ?—what mean you ?—I own it is true
I could see with content the wounds of this bleeding country
stanched, even at the expense of beholding Cromwell, after his
matchless rise, take a yet further step to power—but to be his
bloodhound! What is your meaning?”

“It is false, then ?—I thought I could swear it had been
false.”

“What, in the name of God, is it you ask?”WOODSTOCK. 1At
“Tt is false that you are engaged to betray the young King
of Scotland ?” :
“Betray him! J betray him, or any fugitive? Never! I
would we were well out of England—I would lend him my aid
to escape, were he in the house at this instant; and think in
acting so I did his enemies good coes by pre eventing the
soiling themselves with his blood—but betray him, never !”

‘I knew it—I was sure it was impossible. Oh, be yet more
honest ; disengage yourself from yonder gloomy and ambitious
soldier! Shun him and his schemes, which are formed in in-
justice, and can only be realized in yet more blood !”

‘‘ Believe me,” replied Everard, “that I choose the line of
policy best befitting the times.”

‘Choose that,” she said, “which best befits duty, Mark-
thich best befits truth and honor. Do your duty, and
let Providence decide the rest.—Farewell! we tempt my
father’s patience too far—you know his temper—farewell,
Markham.”

   

 

She extended her hand, which he pressed to his lips, and
left the apartment. A silent bow to his uncle, and a sign to
Wildrake, whom he found in the kitchen of the cabin, were the
only tokens of recognition exhibited, and leaving the hut, he
was soon mounted, and, with his companion, advanced on his
return to the Lodge

y¢
Sian

 

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

Deeds are done on earth

Which have their punishment ere the earth closes _

Depp the perpetrators. Be it the working s

Of the remorse- stirr’d fancy, or the vision,

Distinct and real, of unearthly being,

All age S os itness, that beside the couch

Of the fel pharm: » oft stalks the ghost

Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. ~
OLD PEAY.

EVERARD h at come to Joceline’s hut as fast as horse could
bear him, and with the same impetuosity of purpose as of spe ed.
He saw no ee in the course to be pursued, and felt in his
own imagination the strongest right to direct, and even reprove,
his cousin, beloved as she was, on acount of the dangerous
machinations with which she appeared to have connected her-
self. He returned slowly, and in a very different mood.

?

   
  
   
    
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
 
     
 
    
  
   
     
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
    

Muerreusert ce srs suBa eee ee et aT eat

5 AORTA re

WOODSTOCK.

Not only had Alice, prudent as beautiful, appeared com-
pletely free from the weakness of conduct which seemed to
zive him some authority over her, but her views of policy, if less
practicable, were so much more direct and noble than his own,
as led him to question whether he had not compromised him-
self too rashly with Cromwell, even although the state of the
country was <0 Sia divided and torn by faction, that the
promotion of the General to the possession of the executive gov
ernment seeme ip the only chance of escaping a renewal of the
Civil War. The more exalted and purer sentiments of Alice
towered him in his own eyes; and though unshaken in his

pinion, that it were better the vessel should be steered by a
ope iaving no good title to the office, than that she should
‘akers, he felt that he was not espousing the
y and disinterested side of the question.
on, immersed in these unpleasant contempla

rably lessened in his own esteem by what had
rake, who rode by his side, and was no friend
began to enter into conversation. “ I have
cing, Mark,” said he, “ thatif you and I had been
called to the bar—as, by the by, has been in danger of happen-

ay

 

ing to me in more senses than one—I say, had we become bar-
risters, I would have had the better oiled tongue of the two—
the fairer art of persuasion.”

thee u

sé any, save to induce an usurer to lend thee money, or

3

‘Perhaps so,” replied Everard, “ though I never heard
|

: ] : :
a TavVeIner to abate a TeCKOnING,

“And yet this day, or rather night, I could have, as I think,

r
made a conquest which baffled you.”
Indeed ?”
Why, look you,” said Wildrake, ‘it was a main object
vith you to induce Mistress Ali ‘e Lee—By Heaven, she is an
Exquisite creature—l] : approve of your taste, Mark—] Say, you
desire to persuade her, and the stout old Trojan her father, to
consent toreturn to the Lodge, and live there quietly, and
under connivance, like

said the Col nel, becoming attentive.

<>

gentle folk, instead of lodging in a hut
oO 2 Ce
’ y oT ”
hi mal ‘fit to harbor a Tom of Bedlam.
Thou art right ; such, indeed, was a great part of mj
object in this visit,” answered Everard.
‘ But perhaps you also expected to visit there yourself, and
so keep watch over pretty Mistress Lee—eh ?”
‘I never entertained so selfish a thou ight,’’ said Everard ;
“and if this nocturnal disturbance at the mansion were
plained and ended, I would instantly take my departure.’
‘Your friend Noll would expect something more from you,”

CxWOODSTOCK.

said Wildrake ; “ he would expect, in case the knight’s reputa-
tion for loyalty should draw any of our poor exiles and wanderers
about the Lodge, that you should be on the watch and ready to
snap them. In a word, as far as, I can understand his long-
winded speeches, he would have Woodstock a trap, your uncle
ae his ptetty daugh iter the bait of toasted cheese—craving your
yhloe’s pardon fot the comparison—you the spring-fall which
ee d bar their escape, Be Lords hip himself being the great
erimalkin to w ae they are to be given over to be devoure ed.”

‘“ Dared Cromwell mention this to thee in express terms | re
said Everard, pulling up his horse, and stopping in the midst
of the road.

“ Nay, not in express terms, which I do not believe he ever
used imhis life: you might as well expect a drunken man to
eo straight forw: ‘rd: but he insinuated as much to me, and
indicated that you might deserve well of him—Gadzo, the
damnable proposal sti ‘ks in my throat—by betraying our noble

and rightful King [here he pulled off his hat], whom God grant

 

| €
in health and wealth long to reign, as the worthy clergyman
says, though I fear just now his } VLaj esty is both sick and sorry,
and never a penny im his pouch to boot.”

This tallies with what Alice hinted,” said

 

Le: Everard: “‘ but
how could she know it? didst thou give her any hint of such
a thine 2

“JT!” replied the cavalier, “I, who never saw Mistress

Alice in my life till to-nicht, and then only for an instant—

  

zooks, man, how is that possible?”

‘True,” replied Everard, and seemed lost in thought. At
length he spoke—‘ I should call Cromwell to account for his
bad opinion of me; for, even though not seriously expressed,
but, as ; am convinced it was with the sole view of proving
you and perhaps myself, it was, nevertheless, a misconstruc-

tion to be resented.”

«Pib carry 2 cartel for you with all my heart and soul,”
said Wildrake : “and turn out with his godlin ess’s eae

t eood will as I ever drank a glass of caGas

a Pshaw,” replied Everard, “those in his high place figh
no sl side combats. But tell me, Roger W ildrake, didst thou
thyse lf think me capable of the falsehood and tre sachery implied

in such a message >?

71 ie -xclaimed Wildrake. ‘“ Markham Everard, you have

1
been my aay friend, my constant benefactor. When Col.
chester was reduced, you saved me from the gallows, and since
that thou hast twenty times saved me from starv ing. But, by

‘
Heaven, if I thought you capable of such villainy as your

Ripe eee RSTRNT

  

x
% _ 3
Cama AE
. ?See

SP tit ee

144 WOODSTOCK.

General recommended, — by yonder blue sky, and all the works
of creation which it bends over, I would stab you with my own
hand ! ”

«Death, rephed Everard, “1 should’ indeed deserve, but
not from you, perhaps; but fortunately, I cannot if I would,
be guilty of the treachery you would punish. Know that I had
this day secret notice, and from Cromwell himself, that the
young Man has escaped by sea from Bristol.’

“Now, God Al mighty be blessed, who protected him through
so many dangers!” exclaimed Wildrake. ‘* Huzza !—- Up
hearts, cavaliers !—Hey for cavaliers—God bless King Charles !
-—Moon and stars, catch my hat!” and he threw it up as high
as he could into the air. The celestial bodies which he invoked
did not receive the present despatched to them; but, as the
case of Sir Henry Lee’s scabbard, an old gnarled oak became
a second time the receptacle of a waif and stray of ao en-
thusiasm. Wildrake looked rather foolish at the circums ance,
and his friend took the opportunity of admonishing him.

‘Art thou not ashamed to bear thee so like a schoolboy? ”

‘‘Why,” -said Wildrake,” I have but sent a Puritan’s hat
upon a loyal errand. I laugh to think how many of the school-
boys thou talk’st of will be cheated into climbing the pollard
next year, expecting to find the nest of some unknown bird in
yonder unmeasured margin of felt.

- Hush now, for God’s sake, and let us speak calmly,” said
Everard. ‘‘ Charles has escaped, and I am glad of it. I would
willingly have seen him on his father’s throne by composition
but not by the force of the Scottish army, and the incensed and
vengeful loyalists.”

‘“ Master Markham Everard,” began the cavalier, interrupting
ai

‘““Nay, hush, dear Wildrake,” said Everard: “let us not
lispute a point on which we cannot agree, and give me leave
o go on.—I say, since, the young Man has escaped, Cromwell’s
offensive and injurious stipulation falls to the ground; and I
see not why my uncle and his family should not again enter
their own house, under the same terms of connivance as many
other royalists. What may be incumbent on me is different.
nor can I determine my course until J] have an interview with
the General, which, I think, will end in his confessing that
he threw in this offensive proposal to sound us both. It is
much in his manner; for he is blunt, and never sees or feels
the punctilious honor which the gallants of the day stretch to
such delicacy.”

“Tl acquit him of having any punctilio about him,” said

4
4
T
LWOODSTOCK. 146
Wildrake, «“ on touching honor or hone esty. Now, to come
back to where we started, Supposing you were not to reside
In person at the Lodge, and to forbear even visiting there,
unless on invitation, when such a thing can be brought about,
I tell you frankly, I think your uncle “and his ¢ daughter might
be induced to come back to the Lodge, and reside ere as
usual. At least the clergyman, that w orthy old cock, gave me
to hope as much.”

‘He had been hasty in bestowing his confidence,” said
Everard.

True,” replied Wildrake ; “he confided in me at once ; for
he instantly saw my regard for the Church. I th ank Heaven
I never passed a clergyman in his canonicals without pulling
my hat off—(and thou knowest, the most desperate duel I ever
fought was with young Grayless of the Inner Temple, for taking
the wall of the ‘Reverend Dr. Bunce)—Ah, I can gain a chap-
lain’s ear instantly. Gadzooks, they know whom they have to
trust to in such a one as I.”

“ Dost thou think, then,” said Colonel Everard, “ or rather
does this clergyman think, that if they were secure of intrusion
from me, the family would return to the Lodge, supposing the
intruding Commissioners gone, and this nocturnal disturbance
explainec d and ended 2 ”

ea old Knight,” ash ae
upon by the Doctor to return, if he is secure against intrusion.
As for disturbances, the aout ae boy, so far as I can learn in
two minutes’ conversation, laughs at all this turmoil as the work
of mere imagination, the consequence of the remorse of their
own evil consciences ; and says that goblin or devil was never
heard of at Woodstock, until it became the residence of such
men as they, who have now usurped the possession.

“There is more than imagination in it,” said Everard. “TI
have personal reason to know there is some conspiracy carry-
ing on, to render the house untenable by the Commissioners.
I acquit my uncle of accession to such a silly trick; but J must
see it ended ere I can agree to his and my cousin’s residing
where such a confederacy exists; for they are likely to be con-
sidered as the contrivers of such pranks be the actual agent
who he may.”

“ With reference to your better acquaintance with the gentle-
men, Everard, I should rather suspect the old father of Puri-
tans (I beg your pardon again) has something to do with the
business ; and if so, Lucifer will never look near the true old
Knight’s beard, nor abide a glance of yonder maiden’s innocent

Wildrake, “ may be wrought

  
  
  
     
   
      
     
  
 
 
   
  
  
    
   
  
  
     
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
   
   
    
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  

- ements
SPT Serene Le

Ssee Patt Sot ee Se acne

 

146 WOODSTOCK.
blue eyes. I will uphold them as sate as pure gold in a miser’s
Chest

““ Sawest thou aught thyself, which makes thee think thus ? ”

“Not a quill of the devil’s pinion saw I,” replied Wildrake.
‘“’ He supposes himself too secure of an old cavalier, who must
steal, hang, or drown, in the long run, so he gives himself no
trouble to look after the assured booty. But I heard the serv-
ing-fellows prate of what they had seen and heard ; and though
their tales were confused enough, yet if there was any truth
among them at all, I should say the devil-must have been in
the dance.—But, holla! here comes some one upon us.—Stand,
friend—who art thou?”

“A poor day-laborer in the great work of England—Joseph
Tompkins by name—Secretary to a godly and well-endowed
leader in this poor Christian army of England, called General
Harrison.”

“What news, Master Tomkins?” said Everard; “ and why
are you on the road at this late hour ?”’

‘“‘T speak to the worthy Colonel Everard, as I judge?” said
Tomkins ; “and I truly am glad of meeting your honor.
Heaven knows I need such assistance as yours.—Oh, worthy
Master Everard !—Here has been a sounding of trumpets, and
a breaking of vials, and a pouring forth, and ”

“ Prithee, tell me in brief what is the matter——-where is thy
master—ahd in a word, what has happened ?”

“My master is close by, parading it in the little meadow,
beside the hugeous oak, which is called by the name of the
late Man; ride-but two steps forward, and you may see him
walking swiftly to and fro, anvancing all the while the naked
weapon.”

Upon proceeding as directed, but with as little noise as pos-
sible, they descried a man, whom of course they concluded
must be Harrison, walking to and fro beneath the King’s oak,
as a sentinel nnder arms, but with more wildness of demeanor.
The tramp of the horses did not escape his ear, and they heard
him call out, as if at the head of the brigade—‘ Lower pikes
against cavalry !—Here comes Prince Rupert—Stand fast, and
you shall turn them aside, as a bull would toss a cur-dog.—
Lower your pikes still, my hearts, the end secured against your
foot—down on your right knee, front rank—spare not for the
spoiling of your blue aprons.—Ha—Zerobabel—ay, that is the
word !”

‘“TIn the name of Heaven, about whom or what is he talk-
ing ?” said Everard ; “ wherefore does he go about with his
weapon drawn ?”y r/ O ? ./71 ny z

‘ Truly, sir, when aught disturbs my master, General Har
rison, he is something rapt in the spirit, and conceives that he is
cc ymmanding a reserve of pikes at the great battle of Armaged-
don—and for his w eapon, alack, worthy sir, wherefore s hould he
keep Sheffield steel in calves’ leather, when there are fiends to
be combated—incarnate fiends on earth, and raging infernal
fiends under the earth ?”’

his is intolerable,” said Everard. “ Listen to me, Tom-
kins. Thou art now in ae pulpit, and I desire none ‘of thy
preaching language. I know thou canst speak intelligibly when
thou art so minded. 1ember, I may serve or harm thee
and as you hop e or fear anything on my part, answer straight-

 

 

)

forward—What has happened to drive out thy master to the
wild wood at this time of night?”

Forsooth, worthy and honored sir, I will speak with the
precision I may. ‘True it is, and of verity, that the breath of
1 ich is i ; nostrils, goeth forth and returneth ’’-

“ Hark you, sir,” said Colonel Everard, ‘ take care where

 

 

 

you ramble in your correspondence with me. You have heard
how at the great battle of Edoumans n Scotland, the General! him-
self held a pistol to the id of Lieutenant Hewcreed, threat-
ening to shoot him a the brain if he did not give up hold-
ing forth, and put his squadron in line to the front. Take care,
si”

Verily the Lieutenant then charged with an even and un-
broken order,” said Tompkins, “and bore a thousand plaids

and banneits over the beach before him into the sea. Neither

shall I pretermit or postpone your honor’s commands, but
9

speedily obey them, and that without delay
‘Go to, fellow; thou knowest what I would have,” said
Everard; ‘‘speak at once—I know thou canst if thou wilt.

Trusty Tomkins is better known than he thinks for.”
areas sir,” said Tomkins, in a much less periphrastic
‘I will obey your worship at far as the spirit will permit.

Truly, it was not an hour since, when my worshipful master
at table with Master Bibbet and myself, not to mention
the worshipful Master Bletson and C olonel Desborough, and
behold ee was a violent knocking at the gate, as of one in
haste. Now, of a certainty, so much had our household been
harassed with cies and spirits, and other objects of sound
and sight, that the sentinels could not be brought to abide upon
their posts out doors, and it was only by a provision of beef
and strong liquors that we were able to maintain a guard of
oe men ‘in the hall, who nevertheless ventured not to ong
he d lest they sponta be surprised with some of the goblins

¢

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Cae Perret Se nernees
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jf TREAT et eae

148 WOODSTOCK.

eee their 1maginations were overwhelmed. And they
heard the knocking, “which increased until it seemed that the
door was well-nigh ‘about to be beaten down. Worthy Master
Bibbet was a little overcome with liquor, (as is his fashion,
good man, about this time of the evening), not that he is in the
least given to ebriety, but simply, that since the Scottish cam-
paign he hath had a perpetual ague, which obliges him so to
nourish his frame against the damps of the night ; wherefore,
as it is well known to your honor that I discharge the office of
a faithful servant, as well to Major-General Harrison, and the
other Commissioners, as to my just and lawful master Colonel
Desborough”

“YT know all that.—And now that thou art trusted by both,
[ pray to Heaven thou mayst merit the trust,” said Colonel
Everard.

‘And devoutly do I pray,” said Tomkins, “ that your wor-
shipful prayers may be answered with favor; for certainly to
be, and to be called and entitled, Honest Joe, and ‘Trusty
Tomkins, is to me more than ever would be an Earl’s title,
were such things to be granted anew in this regenerated gov-
ernment.”

ee go on—go on—or if thou dalliest much longer, I
will make bold to dispute the article of your honesty. T like
short tales, sir, and doubt what is told with a long unnecessary
train of words,”

“Well, good sir, be not hasty. As I said before, the doors
rattled till you would have thought the knocl king was reiterated
in every room of the Palace, The bell rung out for company,
though we could not find that any one tolled the clapper, and
the guards let off their firelocks, merely because they knew not
what better to do, So, Master Bibbet being, as I said, unsus-
ceptible of his duty, I went down with my poor rapier to the
door, and demanded who was there ; and I was answered in a
voice, which, I must say, was much like another voice, that it
was one wanting Major-General Harrison. So, as it was then
late, I answered mildly, that General Harrison was betaking
himself to his rest, and that any who wished to speak to him
must return on the morrow morning, for that after nightfall the
door of the Palace, being in the room of a garrison, would be
opened to no one. So the voice replied, and bid me open
directly, without which he would blow the folding leaves of the
door into the middle of the hall. And therewithal the noise
recommenced, that we thought the house would have fallen;
and I was in some measure constrained to open the door, even
like a besieged garrison which can hold out no longer.”WOODSTOCK. 149
- by my honor, and it was stoutly done of you, I must
say,” said W ildrake, who had been listening with much interest.
[ am a bold dare- devil enough, yet w hen. I had two inches of
oak plank between the actual fiend and me, hang him that
would demolish the barrier between us, say I—I would as soon,
when aboard, bore a hole in the ship, and let in the waves ; for
you know we always compare the devil to the deep sea.”

“ Prithee, peace, Wildrake,” said Everard, “and let him go
on with his history.—Well, and what saw’st thou when the door
was opened ?—the great Devil with his horns and claws thou
wilt say, no doubt.’

‘No, sir, I will say nothing but what is true. When I un-
did the door, one man stood there, and he, to seeming, a man
of no extraordinary appearance. He was wrapped in a taffeta
cloak, of a scarlet color, and with a red lining. He seemed as
if he might ie been in his time a very handsome man, but
ng « a paleness and sorrow in his face—a long
ng hair he wore, even after the abomination of

1d the fuaieeine as learned Master Prynne
well-termed it, of love locks—a jewel in his ear—a blue scarf
over his shoulder, like a military commander for the King, and
a hat with a white plume, bearing a peculiar hatband.”

Some unhappy officer of cavaliers, of whom so many are
in hiding, and seeking shelter through the country,’ ’ briefly re
plied Everard.

True, worthy sir—right as a judicious exposition. Sut
there was something about this man Gf he was a man) whom
I, for one, could not look upon without trembling; nor the
musketeers, who were in the hall, without betraying much
alarm, and swallowing, as they themselves will aver, the very
bullets which they had in their mouths for loading their cara-
bines and muskets. Nay, the wolf and deer dogs, that are the
fiercest of their kind, fled from this visitor, and crept into holes
and corners, moaning and wailing in a low and broken tone.
He came into the middle of the hall, and still he seemed no
more than an ordinary man, only somewhat fantastically dressed
in a doublet of black velvet pinked upon scarlet satin under
his cloak, a jewel in his ear, with large roses in his shoes,
ee a kerchief in his hand, which he sometimes pressed against
his left side.

‘Gaaceds Heavens!” said Wildrake, coming close up to
Everard, and whispering in his ear, with accents which terror
rendered tremulous (a mood of mind most unusual to the
daring man, who seemed now overcome by it)—“it must have
been poor Dick Robison the player, in the very dress in which

love lock and ie )1
an

tne cavaliers,

 

    
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
    
   
      
  
     
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
    

Re D SS
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150 WOODSTOCK.

I have seen him play Philaster—ay, and drunk a jolly bottle
with him after it at the Mermaid! I remember how many
frolic we had together, and all his little fantastic fashions,
He served for his old master, Charles, in Mohun’s troop, and
was murdered by this butcher’s dog, as I have heard, after
surrender, at the battle of Naseby-field.”

“Hush! I have heard of the deed,” said Everard ; ‘for
God’s sake hear the man to an end.—Did this visitor speak to
thee, my friend?”

“ Ves, sir, ina pleasing tone of voice, but somewhat fanci-
ful in the articulation, and like one who is speaking to an
audience as from a bar or a pulpit, more than in the voice
of ordinary men on ordinary matters. He desired to see
Major-General Harrison.”

‘He did !—and you,” said Everard, infected by the spirit
of the time, which, as is well known, leaned to credulity upon
all matters of supernatural agency,—“ what did you do?”

‘““I went up to the parlor, and related that such a person
inquired for him. He started when I told him, and eagerly
ead to know the man’s Breses but no sooner did I mention
his dress, and the jewel in his ear, that he said, ‘Begone! tell
him I will not dat him to speech of me. Say that I defy
him, and will make my defiance good at the great battle in
the valley of Armageddon, when the voice of the angel shall
call at fowls which fly under the face of heaven to feed on
the flesh of the captain and the soldier, the war-horse and his
rider. Say to the Evil One, I have power to appeal our con-
fict even till that day, and that in the front of that fearful day
he will again meet with Harrison.’ I went back with this
answer to the stranger, and his face was writhed into such a
deadly frown as a mere human brow hath seldom worn. ‘ Re-
turn to him,’ he said, ‘and say it is My HOUR, and that if he
come not instantly down to speak with me, I will mount the
stairs to him. Say that I commanp him to descend by the
token, th at, on the field of Naseby, he did not the work negli-
gently,” ;

éT have heard,” whispered Wildrake—who felt more and
more strongly the contagion of superstition—* that these words
were blasphemously used by Harrison when he shot my poor
mend Dick,”

‘What happened next?” said Everard. “See that thou
speakest t the truth.

As gospel unexpounded by a steeple-man,” said the Inde-
pendent; “yet truly it is but little I have to say. I saw my
master come down, with a blank. vet resolved air; and when

 

a
lWOODSTOCK.

Crt

1, . eds ee
ne entered the hall and saw the stranger, he made a pause.
ihe other waved on him as if to follow, and walked out at the
portal. My w ane patron seemed as if he were about to fol-
low, yet again paused, when this visitant, be he man or fiend,
re-entered, hee said, ‘Obey thy doom.

‘ By pathless march, by greenwood tree,

It is thy weird to follow me—

To follow me through the ghastly moonlight—
To follow me through the shadows of n ight—

l’o follow me, comrade, stil] art thou bound ;

I conjure thee by the unstanch’d ead —

I conjure thee by the last words I s spoke,
When the body slept and the ie Hees

In the very last pangs of the deadly stroke ! ’
So saying, he stalked out, and my master followed him into the
ee. J £ 5, = >

owed also at a distance. But when I came up,

my master was alone, and | bearing himself as you now behold
him.”

wood.—TI foll

“"Thou hast had a wonderful memory, friend,” said the
Colonel. coldly, “‘ to remember these rhymes ina single recita-

tion—there seems somethi Ing of pr actice in all this

cA ee. recitati ion, my honored sir,” exclaimed the Inde-
pendent—“‘alack, the rhyme is seldom out of my poor master’s

mouth, when, as uscnues haps, he is less triumphant in his

- tlac vu714 Na fA+ rit at ae ae 7 Ak +4 _ Soe
wrestles with Satan. But it was the first time I ever heard it
uttered by another; and, to say truth, he

ever seems to repeat
as a child after his pedagogue, and as it was not
indited by his own head, as the Psalmist saith.”

“Tt js lar.” said
Cis sin Sular;r, Sala
1
i

it unwillingly,

Everard ;—“ JI have heard and read
s of the slaughtered have strange power over the
yut I am astonished to Bats it insisted upon that there

Lulat the SpE it:
Iaver- |
SIa2yerE: put

may be truth in such tales. ger Wildrake—what art thou
atraid of, man ?—why dost choi anit thy place thus?”
‘ Fear? it is nof Oe ak is hate, deac dly hate.—I see the

murderer of poor Dick before me, and—see, he throws himself
into a ‘posture of fence—Sa—sa—say’st thou, brood of a
butcher’s mastiff ? thou shalt not want an antagonist.”

Ere any word could stop him, Wildrake threw aside his
cloz ikl ide his sword, and almost with a single bound cleared
the distance betwixt him and Harrison, and crossed swords
with the latter, as he stood brandishing his weapon, as if in
immediate expectation of an assailant. Accordingly, the Re-
publican General was not for an instant taken at unawares, but
the moment the swords clashed, he shouted, “Ha! I feel thee

 

Cee aes Te
Y 2
‘

 

%TG 2 WOODSTOCK.

now, thou hast come in body at last—Welcome ! welcome !-
the sword of the Lord and of Gideon !”

Part tl 1em, part them,” cried Everard, as he and Tomkins,
at first astonis shed at the suddenness of the affray, hastened to
interfere. Everard, seizing on the cavalier, drew him forcibly
backward, and Tomkins contrived, with risk and c difficulty, to
master Harrison’s sword, while the General exclaimed,  Eha |
two to one—two to one !—thus fight demons.” Wildrake, on
his side, swore a dreadful oath, and added, ‘ Markham, you
have canceled every obligation I owed -_you—they are all out
of sight—gone, d—n me!

‘You have indeed acquitted these obligations rarely;” said
Everard. “Who knows how this affair shall be explained and
answered ?”

“‘T will answer it with my life,” said Wildrake.

‘“¢Good now, be silent,” said Tomkins, ‘‘ and let me manage.
It shall be so ordered that the good General shall never know
that he hath encountered with a mortal man; only let that
man of Moab put his sword into the scabbard’s rest, and be
si”

‘“ Wildrake, let me entreat thee to sheathe thy sword,” said
Everard, “else, on my life, thou must turn against me.”

‘“‘ No, fore George, not so mad as that neither, but I’ll have
another day with him.”

bus another day!” exclaimed Harrison, whose eye had
still remained fixed on the spot where he found such palpable
resistance. ‘‘ Yes, I know thee well; day by day, week by
week, thou makest the same idle request, for thou knowest
that my heart quivers at thy voice. But my hand trembles
not when opposed to thine—the spirit is willing to the combat,
if the flesh be weak when opposed to that which is not of the
flesh.”

 

** Now, peace all, for Heaven’s sake,’—said the steward
Tomkins ; then added, addressing his master, ‘‘ There is no one
here, if-it ‘please your Excellence, but Tomkins and the worthy
Colonel Everard.”

General Harrison, as sometimes happens in cases of partial
insanity (that is, supposing his to have been a case of mental
delusion), though firmly and entirely persuaded of the truth of
his own visions, yet was not willing to speak on the subject to
those who, he knew would regard them as im: uginary. Upon
this occasion, he assumed the appearance of perfect ease and
composure, after the violent agitation he had just manifested,
in a manner which showed how anxious he was to disguise hisWOODSTOCK.

real feelings from Everard, whom he considered as unlikely to
participate them.
He saluted the Colonel with profound ceremony, and talked
of the fineness of the e evening, which had summoned him forth
of the Lodge, to take a turn in the Park, and enjoy the favor-
able weather. He then took Everard by the arm, and walked
back with him toward the Lodge, W ildrake and Tomkins

following close bel hind and leading the horses. Everard, de-

sirous to gain some light on these mysterious incidents, eng
ored to come on the subject more than once, by a mode of
interrogation, which Harrison (for madmen are very often
unwilling to enter on ca subject of their mental delusion)
parried with some skill, or addressed himself for aid to his stew-
ard ‘Tomkins, who was in the habit of being vou icher for his
master upon all occasions, which led to Desborough’s ingenious
nickname of Fibbet.

“And wherefore had you your sword drawn, my worthy
General,” said Everard, “when you were only on an evening
walk of pleasure ? ”

“Truly, excellent Colonel, these are times when men must
watch with their loins girded, and their lights burning, and
their weapons drawn. The day draweth nigh, believe me or
not as you will, that men must watch lest they be found naked
and unarmed, when the seven trumpets sh a sound, Boot and
saddle ; and the pipes of Jezer shall strike up, Horse and away.

“True, good general; but methot icht i saw you making
passes, €ven now, as if you were geen ng,” said Everard.

““T am of a strange fantasy, friend Everard,” answered Har-
rison ; “‘and when I- walk alone, and happen, as but now, to
have my weapon drawn, I sometimes, for exercise sake, will
practice a thrust against such atree as that. It is a silly pride
men have in the use of weapons. I have been accounted a
master of fence, and a @ fousty przes when I was unregener-
ated, and before I was 2d to do my part in the great work,
entering asa trooper a our victorious general’s first reg iment
of horse.”

“ But methought,” said Everard, ‘‘I heard a weapon clash
with yours ?”

‘How? a weapon clash with my sword ?—How could that
be, Tomkins?”

‘ Truly, sir,” said Tomkins, “it must have been a bough of
the ie they | 1ave them of all kinds here, and your honor may
have pushed against one of them, which the Brazilians call iron-

:
wood, a block of which ee struck with a hammer, saith
Purchas, in his pilgrimage, ringeth like an anvil,’

“

* R 7 = gun
eS see) yannanaatiabbbeiastencssaeednaseentsthiihe)Soa

Se aie en laah

£5 ARI IE ret roae

   

154 WOODSTOCK.

“ Truly, it may be so,” said Harrison ; “ for those rulers who
are gone, assen ibled in this their abode of pleasure many strange
trees and plants, though they gathered not of the fruit of that
tree which beareth twelve manner of fruits, or of those leaves
which are for the healing of the nations.”

Everard pursued his investigation; for he was struck with
the manner in which Harrison evaded his questions, and the
dexterity with which he threw his transcendental and fanatical
notions, like a sort of veil, over the darker visions excited by
remorse and conscious guilt.

“* But,” said he, ‘tif J may trust my eyes and ears, I cannot
but still think that you had a real antagonist.—Nay, I am sure
I saw a fellow, in a dark-colored je rkin, retreat through the
wood.”

“Did you?” said Harrison, with a tone of surprise, while
his voice faltered in spite of him—‘ Who could he be >—Tom-
kins, did you see the fellow Colonel Everard talks of with the
napkin in his hand—the bloody napkin which he always pressed
to his side? ”’

This last expression, in which Harrison gave a mark different
from that which Everard — assigned, but corresponding to
Tomkins’s original description of the supposed spectre, had
more effect on Everard in c afirminie the steward’s story, than
anything he had witnessed or heard. ‘The voucher answered
the draft upon him as promptly as usual, that he had seen

la
l

such a fellow glide past them into the thicket—that he dared
to say he was some anit. for he had heard they were

become very audacic

“Look ye there now, Master Everard,” said Harrison, hurry-
ing from the subject—“ not time now that we should lay
aside our controversies, and join hand in hand to repairing the
breaches of our Zion? Happy and contented were J, my ex-
cellent friend, to be a treader of mortar, or a bearer of a hod,
upon this occasion, under our great leader, with whom Provi-
dence has gone forth in this great national controversy; and
truly, so devoutly do I hold by our excellent and victorious
General Oliver, whom Heaven | long preserve—that were he to
command me, J should not scruple to pluck forth of his high
place, the man whom they call Speaker, even as I lent a poor
hand to pluck down the man whom they called King.
Wherefore, as I know your judgment hol leth with mine on
this matter, let me urge unto you lovingly, re we may act as
brethren, and build up the breaches, and re-establish the bul
watks of our English Zion, whereby we a ill be doubtless
chosen as pillars and buttresses, under our excellent Lord-WOODSTOCK.

General, for supporting and sustaining the same, and endowed
with proper revenues and incomes, both s spiritual and temporal,
to serve as a pedestal, on which we may stand, seeing that
otherwise our foundation will be on the loose sand.—Never-
theless,”’ continued he, his mind again diverging from his views
of temporal ambition, into his Visions of the Fifth Monarchy,

these things are but vanity in respect of the opening of the
book which is sealed ; for all things approach speedily toward
lightning and thundering, and un nlo¢ osing a the great dragon
ha

rn

) r
>

J
from the bottomless pit, wherein he is chained.”

With this mingled strain of earthly Si and fanatical
prediction, Harrison so overpoweé ered Colonel Everard, as to

leave oT no time to urge him further on the particular cir-

>

cumstan¢ of his nocturnal skirmish, concerning which it is
lain he h: ta no desire to be interrogated. ‘They now reached

ot hy

he Lodge of Woodstock.

 

CHAPTER PIPTEEN TPH,

Now the wasted brands do glow,
While the screech-owl, sounding loud,
Puts the wretch that hes in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves all g g wide,
Every one lets out its sprite
In the church-way paths to glide.
MIDSUMMER NIGHT’s DREAM.

  

BeEForE the gate of the palace, the guards were now doubled.
Everard demanded the reason of this from the Corporal, whom
he found in the hall with his soldiers, sitting or soon around
a great fire, maintaine -d at the expense of the carved chairs and
benches, with fragments of which it was furnished.

f Why, Pahige’ answered the man, “the corps-de-garde, a
your worship says, will be harassed to pieces by such ee ;
nevertheless, fear hath sone abroad among us, and no man will
mount cuard alone. We have drawn in, however, one or two
of our outposts from Banbury and elsewhere, and we are to
have a relief from Oxford to-morrow.”

Everard continued minute inquiries concerning the sentinels
that were posted within as well as without the Lodge; and
found that, as they had been stationed under the eye of
Harrison himself, the rules of prudent discipline had been

- "
Cs eee oo
\e >Noe Ue

156 WOODSTOCK.

exactly observed in the distribution of the posts. There re-
mained nothing therefore for Colonel Everard to do, but,
remembering his own adventure of the evening, to recommend
that an additional sentinel should be placed, with a companion
if judged indispensable, in that vestibule, or anteroom, from
which the long gallery where he had met with the rencontre,
and other suites of apartments, diverged. The corporal respect:
fully promised all obedience to his orders. The serving-men
being called, appeared also in double force. Everard demanded
to know whether the Commissioners hdd gone to bed, or
whether he could get speech with them ?

“They are in their bedroom, forsooth,” replied one of the
fellows; ‘but I think they be not yet undressed.”

‘What! ” said Everard, ‘are Colonel Desborough and
Master Bletson both in the same sleeping apartment? ”

‘Their honors have so chosenit,” and the man; “and their
honors’ secretaries remain upon guard all night.”

‘Tt is the fashion to double guards all over the house,” said
Wildrake. ‘ Had I a glimpse of a tolerably good-looking house-
maid now, I should know how to fall into fashion.”

“Peace, fool!” said Everard—‘“ And where are the Mayor
and Master Holdenough ?”

“The Mayor is returned to the borough on horseback, be-
hind the trooper who goes to Oxford for the reinforcement ;
and the man of the steeple-house hath quartered himself in the
chamber which Colonel Desborough had last night, being that
in which he is most likely to meet the your honor under-
stands. ‘The Lord pity us, we are a harassed family !”

‘¢ And where be General Harrison’s knaves,” said Tomkins,
“that they do not marshal him to his apartment? ”

‘“FTere—here—here, Master Tomkins,” said three fellows,
pressing forward, with the same consternation on their faces
which seemed to pervade the whole inhabitants of Woodstock.

“Away with you, then,” said Tomkins ;—‘‘ speak not to his
worship—you see he is not in the humor.”

“Indeed,” observed Colonel Everard, ‘ he looks singularly
wan—his features seemed writhen as by a palsy stroke; and
though he was talking so fast while we came along, he hath not
opened his mouth since we came to the light.”

‘Tt is his manner after such visitations,” said Tomkins.—
‘Give his honor your arms, Zedekiah and Jonathan, to lead him
off—I will follow instantly.—You, Nicodemus, tarry to wait upon
me—it is not well walking alone in this mansion.”

 

o

‘¢ Master Tomkins,” said Everard, ‘‘I have heard of youWOODSTOCK. : roy
often as a sharp, intelligent man—tell me fairly, are you in
earnest afraid of anything supernatural h: aunting this house ? ”

‘I would be loath to run the ch lance, sir,” said Tomkins,
very gravely ; “by looking on my worshipful master, you may
form a guess how the living look after ey have spoken with
the dead.” He bowed low, and took his ] Jeave. Everard pro-
ceeded to the chamber which the two remaining Commissoners
had, for comfort’s sake, chosen to inhabit in company. They
were prep aring for bed as he went into their apartment. Both

started as the door opened—both re joiced when they saw it was
nly Everard who entered.

“Hark ye hither,” said Bletson, pulling him aside ; “ sawest
thou ever ass equal to D esborough ?—the fellow is as big as an
ox, and as timorous as a sheep. He has insisted on my sleep-
ing here, to protect him. Shall we have a merry night on’t ha ?
We will, if thou wilt take the third bed, which was prepared for
SEO Re But he is gone out, like a mooncalf, to look for the
valley Armageddon in the Park of Woodstock.”

ee al Harrison has returned with me but now,” said
Everard.

‘* Nay but, as I shall live, he comes not into our apartment,”
said Desborough, overhearing his answer. “No man that has
been supping, for aught I know, with the Devil, has a right to
sleep among Christian folk.”

‘* He does not propose so,” said Everard ; “he slee ps, as I
understand, apart—and alone.”

“ Not quite alone, I dare say,” said Desborough ; “for Har-
rison hath a sort of attraction: for goblins—they fly round him
like moths about a candle: But, I prithee, good Everard, do
hou stay with us. I know not how it is, but although thou
last noGtyy re ligion always in thy mouth, nor speakest many
hard words about it, like Harrison—nor makest long preach-
ments, hie a certain most honorable relation of mine who shall
be nameless, yet somehow I feel myself safer in thy company
than with any of them. As for this Bletson, he is such a mere
DiesP Dente that I fear the Devil will carry him away ere
morning.”

. Di id you ever hear such a paltry coward ?” said Bletson,
apart to Everard. “Do tarry, however, mine honored Colonel
—I know your zeal to assist the distressed, and you see Des-
borough is in that predicament, that he will require near him
more than one good example to prevent him thinking of ghosts
und fiends.”

“I am sorry I cannot oblige you, gentlemen,” said Everard ;
“but I have settled my mind to sleep in Victor Lee’s apartment,eee es

AERA

See tts

a re

 

158 WOODSTOCK.
so I wish you good night; and if you would repose with
out disturbance, I would advise that you commend your-
selves, during the watches of the night, to Him unto whom
night is even as mid-day. J had intended have spoken to
with you this evening on the subject of my being here ; but I
will defer a conférence till to-morrow, when, I think, I will
be able to show you excellent reasons for leaving Woodstock.”

“We have seen plenty such already,” said Desborough ;
‘for one, I came here to serve the estate, ‘with some moderate
advantage doubtless to myself for my trouble ; but if lam ‘set
upon my head again to-night, as I was the night before, I
would not stay longer to gain a king’s crown; for I am sure

+]

my neck would be unfitted to bear the weight of it.”

“Good night,” exclaimed Everard; and was about to go,
when Bletson ae pressed close, and whispered to him,
“Hark thee, Colonel—you know my friendship for thee—I do

4

implore thee to leave the door of thy apartment open, that if
thou meetest with any disturbance, I may hear thee call, and
be with thee upon the very instant. Do this, dear Everard,
my fears for thee will keep me awake else ; for I know that,
notwithstanding your excellent sense, you entertain some of
those superstitious ideas which we suck in with our mother’s
milk, and which constitute the ground of our fears in situations
like the present; therefore leave thy door open, if you love
me, that you may have ready assistance from me in case of
Teed.)

‘“My master,” said Wildrake, “ trusts, first, in his Bible,
sir, and then in his good sword. He has no idea that the
Devil can be bs iffled by the charm of two men lying in one
room, still less that the foul fiend can be argued out of exist-
ence by the Nu llifid lians of the Rota.”

Everard ime his imprudent friend by the collar, and
dragged him off as he was speaking, keeping fast hold of him
till they were both in the chamber of Victor Lee, where they
had slept on a former occasion. Even then he continue sdto
hold wil drake, until the servant had arranged the lights, and
was dismissed from the room; then letting him go, addressed
him with the upbraiding question, “ Art thou not a prudent and
sagacious person, who in times like these seek’st every oppor-
tunity to argue yourself into a broil, or embroil yourself in an
argument. Out on you!”

“Ay, out on me, indeed,” said the cavalier;
for a poor tame-spirited creature, that submits to be bandied
about in this manner, by a man who is neither better born nor
better bred than myself, I tell thee, Mark, you make an

a
1
i

¢

FOUT...ONn meis
WOODSTOCK. 159
unfair use of your advantages over me. Why will you not let
me go from you, and live eh die after my own fashion ?”’

‘Because before we had been a week separate, I should
hear of your dying after the fashion of a dog. Come, my good
friend, what ma ie €ss was it in thee to fall foul on ‘Harrison.
and ‘hen to enter into useless argument with Bletson ?”

“Why, we are in the Devil’s house, I think, and I would
willingly give the landlord his due wherever I travel. To have
sent him Harrison, or Bletson now, just as a lunch to stop his
appetite, till Crom”

“Hush ! stone walls have ears,” said Eve rard, looking around

him: * ae stands thy night-drink. Look to thy arms, for
we must be as careful as if the Avenger of Blood were behind
us. Yonder is thy bed—and I, as thou seest, shave one pre-
pared in the parlor. The door only divides us.”

‘Which I will leave open, in case thou shouldst holla for
assistance, as yonder Nullifidian hath it.—But how hast thou
got all this so well put in order, good patron?”

“I gave the steward Tomkins notice of my purpose to sleep
here. .

 

“A strange fellow that,” said Wildrake, “and, as I judge,
has taken measure of every one’s foot—all seems to pass
through his hands.”

“He is, I have understood,” replied Everard, “one of the
men formed by the times—has a ready gift of preaching and
expounding, which kee ps him in high terms with the Indepen-
dents ; and recommends himself to the more moderate people
by his intelligence and activity.”

“ Has his sincerity ever been doubted ?” said Wildrake.

“Never, that I heard of,” said the Colonel; “on the con-
trary, he has been familiarly called Honest Joe, and Trusty
Tomkins. For my part, I believe his sincerity has always kept
pace with his interest.—But come, finish thy cup, and to ed
—What, all emptied at one draught?”

“ Adzookers, yes—my vow forbids me to make two on’t;
but, never fear—the ni ightcap will only warm my brain, not
clog it. So, man or devil, give me notice if you are disturbed,
and rely on me ina twinkling.” So saying, the cavalier re-
treated into his separate apartment, and Colonel Everard, tak-
ing off the most cumbrous part of his dress, lay down in his
hose and doublet, and composed himself to rest.

He was awakened from sleep by a slow and solemn strain
of music, which died away as at a distance. He started up,
and felt for his arms which he found close beside him. His
temporary bed being without curtains, he could look around

 
 
 
 
    
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
      
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
    
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
   

ROR RCTS:160 WOODSTOCK.

him without difficulty ; but as there remained in the chimney
only a few red embers of the fire which he had arranged before
he went to sleep, it was impossible he could discern anything.
He felt, therefore, in spite of his natural courage, that undefined
and thrilling species of tremor which attends a sense that dan-
ger is near, and an uncertainty concerning its cause and
character. Reluctant as he was to yield belief to supernatural
occurrences, we have already said he was not absolutely in-
credulous; as perhaps, even in this more sceptical age, there
are many fewer complete and absolute infidels on this particular
than give themselves out for such. Uncertain whether he had
not dreamed of these sounds which seemed yet in his ears, he
was unwilling to risk the raillery of his friend by summoning
him to his assistance. He sat up, therefore, in his bed, not
without experiencing that nervous agitation to which brave
men as well as cowards are subject; with this difference, that
the one sinks under it like the vine under the hail-storm and
the other collects his energies to shake it off, as the cedar of
Lebanon is said to elevate its boughs to disperse the snow
which accumulates upon them.

The story of Harrison, in his own absolute despite, and not-
withstanding a secret suspicion which he had of trick or con-
nivance, returned on his mind at this dead and solitary hour.
Harrison, he remembered, had described the vision by a cir-
cumstance of its appearance different from that which his own
remark had been calculated to suggest to the mind of the
visionary ;—that bloody napkin, always pressed to the side, was
then a circumstance present either to his bodily eye, or to that
of his agitated imagination. Did, then, the murdered revisit
the living haunts of those who had forced them from the stage
with all their sins unaccounted for? And if they did, might
not the same permission authorize other visitations of a similar
nature, to warn—to instruct—to punish? Rash are they, was
his conclusion, and credulous, who receive as truth every tale
of the kind; but no less rash may it be, to limit the power of
the Creator over the works which he has made, and to suppose
that, by the permission of the Author of Nature, the laws of
Nature may not, in peculiar cases, and for high purposes be
temporarily suspended.

While these thoughts passed through Everard’s mind feel-
ings unknown to him, even when he stood first on the rough
and perilous edge of battle, gained ground upon him. He
feared he knew not what; and where an opén and discernible
peril would have drawn out his courage, the absolute uncer-

tainty of his situation increased his sense of the danger. HeWOODSTOCK GA
felt an almost irresistible desire to spring from his bed and
heap fuel on the dying embers, expecting by the blaze to see
some strange sight in his chamber, He was also strongly
tempted to awaken Wildrake; but shame, stronger than fear
itself, checked these impulses. What! should it be thought
that Markham Everard, held one of the best soldiers who had
drawn a sword in this sad war—Markham Everard, who had
obtained such distinguished rank in the army of the Parliament
though so young in years, was afraid of remaining by himself
in a twilight room at midnight : e “Ti never oat be said.

This was, however, no charm for this unpleasant current of
thought. There rushed on his mind the various traditions of
Victor Lee’s chamber, which, though he had often despised
them as vague, unauthenticated, and inconsistent rumors,
engendered by ancient superstition, and transmitted from gene-
ration to generation by loquacious credulity, had something in
them, which did not tend to allay the present unpleasant state
of his nerves. Then, when he recollected the events of that
very afternoon, the weapon pressed against his throat, and the
strong arm which threw him backward on the floor—if the
remembrance served to contradict the idea of flitting phantoms,
and unreal daggers, it certainly induced him to believe that
there was in some part of this extensive mansion a party of
cavaliers, or malignants, harbored, who might arise in the
night, overpower the guards, and execute upon them all, but on
Harrison in particular, as one of the regicide judges, that ven-
geance, which was so eagerly thirsted for by the attached fol-
lowers of the slaughtered monarch.

He endeavored to console himself on this sub ject by the
number and position of the guards, yet still was dissatisfied
with himself for not having taken yet more exact precautions,
and for keeping an extorted promise of silence, which might
consign so many of his party to the danger of assassination.
These thoughts, connected with his military duties, awakened
another train of reflections. He bethought himself, that all
he could now do, was to visit the sentries, and assertain that
they were awake, alert, on the watch, and so situated, that in
time of need they might be cae to support each ona

This better befits me,” he thought, “than to be here like
child, frightening myself with the old woman’s legend, which I
have laughed at “whe na boy. What although old Victor Lee
was a sacrilegious man, as common report goes, and brewed
ale in the font which he brought from the ancient palace ot
Holyrood, while church and building were in flames? And
what althouyh his eldest son was when a child scalded to death

oO
Ss
O

     

    
   
    
   
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
    
 
  
     
      
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
 
 
    
   
    
   
   
    
  
    
   
    
 

4
%
\

be rm
(a isSe alee

162

in the same vessel ?
ished since his time ?

 

WOODSTOCK.

How many churches have been demol-
How many fonts desecrated? So many

indeed, that, were the vengeance of Heaven to visit such ag-
gressions in a supernatural manner, no corner in England, no,
not the most petty parish church, but would have its apparition.
—Tush, these are idle fancies, unworthy, especially, to be en-
tertained by those educated to believe that sanctity resides in
the intention and the act, not in the buildings or fonts, or the

9)

form of worship

As thus he called together the articles of his Calvinistic
creed, the bell of the great clock (a token seldom silent in such
narratives) tolled three, and was immediately followed by the
hoarse call of the sentinels through vault and gallery, up stairs
and beneath, challenging and answering each other with the
\ll’s Well.” ‘Their voices mingled with the
deep boom of the bell, yet ceased before that was silent, and
when they had died away, the tingling echo of the prolonged
udible. Ere yet that last distant tingling
had finally subsided into silence, it seemed as if it again was
awakened ; and Everard could hardly judge at first whether a
new echo had taken up the falling cadence, or whether some
other and separate sound was disturbing anew the silence to
which the deep knell had, as its voice ceased, consigned the

usual watchword, “‘

{

knell was scarcely a

ancient mansion and the woods around it.
But the doubt was soon cleared up.
which had mingled with the dying echoes of t

at first to prolong
strain of melody, t

5
ie

and afterward to

Oo

The musical tones
he knell, seemed

survive them. A wild
ginning at a distance, and growing louder

as it advanced, seemed to pass from room to room, from cabinet
to gallery, from hall to bower, through the deserted and dis-
honored ruins of the ancient residence of so many sovereigns;
and, as it approached no soldier gave alarm, nor did any of the
numerous guests of various degrees, who spent an unpleasant
and terrified night in that ancient mansion, seem to dare to an-
nounce to each other the inexplicable cause of apprehension.
Everard’s excited state of mind did not permit him to be so
passive. ‘The sounds approached, so nigh, that it seemed they

were performing, in tl

o?)

1e very next apartment, a solemn service

for the dead, when he gave the alarm, by calling loudly to his
trusty attendant and friend Wildrake, who slumbered in the
next chamber with only a door betwixt them, and even that

ajar,

 Wildrake—Wildrake !—Up—up!

alarm ? ”’

There was now no answer from Wildrake, though the must

Dost thou not hear theWOODSTOCK.

cal sounds, which now rung through the apartment, as if the
performers had actually been within its precincts, would have
been sufficient to awaken a sleeping person, even without the
shout of his comrade and patron.

“ Alarm !—Roger Wildrake—alarm !” again called Everard,
getting out of bed, and grasping his weapons—“Get a light,
and cry alarm!”

There was no answer. His voice died away as the sound
of the music seemed also to die; and the same soft sweet
voice, which still to his thinking resembled that of Alice Lee,
was heard in his apartment, and, as he thought, at no distance
from him.

“Your comrade will not answer,” said the low soft voice.
“Those only hear the alarm whose consciences feel the call!”

“ Aoain this mummery!” said Everard. “J am_ better
armed than I was of late; and but for the sound of that voice,
the speaker had bought his trifling dear.”

t was singular, we may observe in passing, that the instant
the distinct sounds of the human voice were heard by Everard,
all idea of supernatural interference was at an end, and the
charm by which he had been formerly fettered appeared to be
broken : so much is the influence of imaginary or superstitious
yendent (so far as respects strong judgments at least)
t is vague or ambiguous; and so readily do distinct

J

terror de]
upon wha \
tones, and express ideas, bring such judgments back to the
current of ordinary life. The voice returned answer, as ad-
dressing his thoughts as well as his words.

“ We laugh at the weapons thou thinkest should terrify us
Over the guardians of Woodstock they have no power. Fire,
if thou wilt, and try the effect of thy weapons. But know, it
is not our purpose to harm thee—thou art of a falcon breed,
and noble in thy disposition, though, unreclaimed and ill-
nurtured, thou hauntest with kites and carrion crows. Wing
thy flight from hence on the morrow, for if thou tarriest with
the bats, owls, vultures and ravens, which have thought to
nestle here, thou wilt inevitably share their fate. Away, then,
that these halls may be swept and garnished for the reception
of those who have a better right to inhabit them.”

Everard answered in a raised voice.—‘‘ Once more I warn
you, think not to defy me in vain. Iam no child to be fright-
ened by goblins’ tales: and no coward, armed as I am, to be
alarmed by the threats of a banditti. If I give youa moment’s
induleence, it is for the sake of dear and misguided friends,
who may be concerned with this dangerous gambol. Know, I
can bring a troop of soldiers round the castle, who will searchae a ernie SRA

164 WOODSTOCK.

its most inward recesses for the author of this audacious frolic,
and if that search should fail, it will cost but a few barrels of
gunpowder to make the mansion a heap of ruins, and bury
under them the authors of such an ill-judged pastime.”

“You speak proudly, Sir Colonel,” said another voice,
similar to that harsher and stronger tone by which he had been
addressed in the gallery; “try your courage in this direction.”

“You should not dare me twice,” said Colonel Everard,
‘“‘had I a glimpse of light to take aim by.”

As he spoke, a sudden gleam of hght was thrown wih a
orilliancy which almost dazzled the speaker, showing distinctly
a form somewhat resembling that of Victor Lee, as represented
in his picture, holding in one hand a lady completely veiled,
and in the other his leading-staff, or truncheon. Both figures
were animated, and, as it appeared, standing within six feet of
him.

‘““'Were it not for the woman,” said Everard, “I would not
be thus mortally dared.”

“Spare not for the female form, but do your worst,” replied
the same voice. . ‘1 defy you.’

‘“‘ Repeat your defiance when IJ have counted thrice,” said
Everard, ‘‘and take the punishment of your insolence. Once
—I have cocked my pistol—Twice—I never missed my aim—
By all that is sacred, I fire if you do not withdraw. When I
pronounce the next number, I will shoot you dead where you
stand. I am yet unwilling to shed blood—lI give you another
chance of flight—once—twice—THRICE ! ”

Everard aimed at the bosom, and discharged his pistel.
The figure waved its arm in an attitude of scorn; and a loud
laugh arose, during which the light, as gradually growing
weaker, danced and glimmered upon the apparition of the aged
knight, and then disappeared. Everard’s life-blood ran cold to
his heart—‘‘ Had he been of human mould,” he thought, “ the
bullet must have pierced him—but I have neither will nor
power to fight with supernatural beings.”

The feeling of oppression was now so strong as to be actu-
ally sickening. He groped his way, however, to the fireside,
and flung on the embers, which were yet gleaming, a handful of
dry fuel. It presently blazed, and afforded him light to see the
room in every direction. He looked cautiously, almost timidly,
around, and half expected some horrible phantom to become
visible, But he saw nothing save the old furniture, the reading
desk, and other articles, which had been left in the same state
as when Sir Henry Lee departed. He felt an uncontrolable
desire, mingled with much repugnance, to look at the portraitWOODSTOCK. 165

of the ancient knight, which the form he had seen so strongly
resembled. He hesitated betwixt the opposing feelings, but at
length snatched, with desperate resolution, the taper which he
had extinguished, and relighted it ere the blaze of the fuel had
again died away. He held it up to the ancient portrait of
Victor Lee, and gazed on it with eager curiosity, not unmingled
with fear. Almost the childish terrors of his earlier days
returned, and he thought the severe pale eye of the ancient
warrior followed his, and menaced him with its displeasure.
And although he quickly argued himself out of such an absurd
belief, yet the mixed feelings of his mind were expressed in
words that seemed half addressed to the ancient portrait.

“ Soul of my mother’s ancestor,” he said, “be it for weal or
for woe, by designing men, or by supernatural beings, that these
ancient halls are disturbed, I am resolved to leave them on the
morrow.”

‘I rejoice to hear it, with all my soul,” said a voice behind
him.

He turned, saw a tall figure in white, with a sort of turban
upon its head, and dropping the candle in the exertion, instantly
grappled with it.

‘“ Thou at least are palpable,” he said.

“ Palpable ?” answered he whom he grasped so strongly—
“ ?Sdeath, methinks you might know this without the risk of
choking me; and if you loose me not, 1’ll show you that two
can play at the game of wrestling.”

“ Roger Wildrake !” said Everard, letting the the cavalier
loose, and stepping back.

“Roger Wildrake ? ay, truly. Did you take me for Roger
Bacon, come to help you to raise the devil ?—for the place
smells of sulphur consumedly.”

“Tt is the pistol I fired—Did you not hear it?”

“Why, yes, it was the first thing waked me—for that night-
cap which I pulled on made me sleep like a dormouse—Pshaw,
I feel my brains giddy with it yet.”

“And wherefore came you not on the instant ?—I never
needed help more.”

“T came as fast as I could,” answered Wildrake ; “but it
was some time ere I got my senses collected, for I was dream-—
ing of that cursed field at Naseby—and then the door of my
room was shut, and hard to open, till I played the locksmith
with my foot.”

“ How! it was open when I went to bed,” said Everard.

“Tt was locked when I came out of bed, though,” saidene Ss

7

 

166 WOODSTOCK.

Wildrake, “‘and I marvel you heard me not when I forced it
open.”

‘““My mind was occupied otherwise,” said Everard.

“Well,” said Wildrake, “but what has happened ?—Here
am I bolt upright, and ready to fight, if this yawning fit will give
me Jeave—Mother Redcap’s mightiest is weaker than I drank
last night by a bushel to a barleycorn—I have quaffed the very
elixir of malt—Ha—yaw.”

“And some opiate besides, I should think,” said Edward.

“Very like—very like—less than the pistol-shot would not
waken me; even me, who, with an ordinary grace-cup, sleep
as lightly as a maiden on the first of May, when she watches
for the earliest beam to gather dew. But what are you about
to do next?”

‘“ Nothing,” answered Everard.

‘Nothing ?” said Wildrake in surprise.

“I speak it,” said Colonel Everard, “ less for your informa-
tion, than for that of others who may hear me, that I will leave
the Lodge this morning, and, if it is possible, remove the Com-
missioners.”

“ Hark,” said Wildrake, “do you not hear some noise like
the distant sound of the applause of a theatre? The goblins
of the place rejoice in your departure.”

“I shall leave Woodstock,” said Everard, “to the occupa-
tion of my uncle Sir Henry Lee and his family, if they choose
to resume it; not that I am frightened into this as a concession
to the series of artifices which have been played off on this oc-
casion, but solely because such was my intention from the be-
ginning. But let me warn,” (he added, raising his voice) “ let
me warn the parties concerned in this combination, that though
it may pass off successfully on a fool like Desborough, a _ vis-
ionary like Harrison, a coward like Bletson ”»———

Here a voice distinctly spoke, as standing near them—“ or
a wise, moderate, and resolute person like Colonel Everard.”

‘“ By Heaven, the voice came from the picture,” said Wild-
rake, drawing his sword; “I will pink his plaited armor for
him.”

‘Offer no violence,” said Everard, startled at the interrup-
tion, but resuming with firmness what he was saying—‘ Let
those engaged be aware, that however this string of artifices
may be immediately successful, it must, when closely looked
into, be attended with punishment of all concerned—the total
demolition of Woodstock, and the irremediable downfall of the

family of Lee. Let all concerned think of this, and desist in
time.”WOODSTOCK. 167

He paused, and almost expected a reply, but none such
came.

“It isa very odd thing,” said Wildrake; “but yaw-ha—my
brain cannot compass it just now; it whirls round like a toast
in a bowl of muscadine; I must sit down—ha-yaw—and dis-
cuss it at leisure—Gramercy, good elbow-chair.”

So saying, he threw himself, or rather sank gradually down
on a large easy-chair, which had been often pressed by the weight
of stout Sir Henry Lee, and in an instant was sound asleep.
Everard was far from feeling the same inclination for slumber,
yet his mind was relieved of the apprehension of any further
visitation that night; for he considered his treaty to evacuate
Woodstock as made known to, and accepted in all probability,
by those whom the intrusion of the Commissioners had induced
to take such singular measures for expelling them. His opinion,
which had for a time bent toward a belief in something super-
natural in the disturbances, had now returned to the more
rational mode of accounting for them by dexterous combina-
tion, for which such a mansion as Woodstock afforded so many
facilities.

He heaped the earth with fuel, lighted the candle, and
examining poor Wildrake’s situation, adjusted him as easily in
the chair as he could, the cavalier stirring his limbs no more
than an infant. His situation went far, in his patron’s opinion,
to infer trick and confederacy, for ghosts have no occasion to
drug men’s possets. He threw himself on the bed, and while
he thought these strange circumstances over, a sweet and low
strain of music stole through the chamber, the words “ Good
night—good night—good night,” thrice repeated, each time in
a softer and more distant tone, seeming to assure him that the
goblins and he were at truce, if not at peace, and that he had
no more disturbance to expect that night. Hehad scarcely the
courage to call out a “ good night ;” for, after all his conviction
of the existence of a trick, it was so well performed as to bring
with it a feeling of fear, just like what an audience experience
during the performance of a tragic scene, which they know to
be unreal, and which yet affects their passions by its near
approach to nature. Sleep overtook him at last, and left him
not till broad daylight on the ensuing morning.

 

 

et PTO

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cigSS Sone chars ebdi eat abekhar aiken ee

Shs akA SERS Sees

 

WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER SIXTEENTH,

And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,
At whose approach ghosts, wandering here and there,
Troop home to churchyard.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM.

WitH the fresh air and the rising of morning, every feeling
of the preceding nighthad passed away from Colonel Everard’s
mind, excepting wonder how the effects which he had witnessed
could be produced. He examined the whole room, sounding
bolt, floor, and wainscot with his knuckles and cane, but was
unable to discern any secret passages ; while the door, secured
by a strong cross-bolt, and the lock besides, remained as firm
as when he had fastened it on the preceding evening. The
apparition resembling Victor Lee next called his attention.
Ridiculous stories had been often circulated, of this figure, or
one exactly resembling it, having been met with by night
among the waste apartments and corridors of the old palace ;
and Markham Everard had often heard such in his childhood.
He was angry to recollect his own deficiency of courage, and
the thrill which he felt on the preceding night, when, by con-
federacy doubtless, such an object was placed before his eyes.

“Surely,” he said, “ this fit of childish folly could not make
me miss my aim—more likely that the bullet had been with-
drawn clandestinely from the pistol.”

He examined that which was undischarged—he found the
bullet in it. He investigated the apartment opposite to the
point at which he had fired, and, at five feet from the floor in
a direct line between the bed-side and the place where the
appearances had been seen, a pistol-ball had recently buried
itself in the wainscot. He had little doubt, therefore, that he
had fired in a just direction; and indeed, to have arrived at
the place where it was lodged, the bullet must have passed
through the appearance at which he aimed, and proceeded
point blank to the wall beyond. This was mysterious, and in-
duced him to doubt whether the art of witchcraft or conjuration
had not been called in to assist the machinations of those
daring conspirators, who, being themselves mortal, might,
nevertheless, according to the universal creed of the times,
have invoked and obtained assistance from the inhabitants of
another world.

His next investigation respected the picture of Victor LeeWOODSTOCK. 169

itself. He examined it minutely as he stood on the floor before
it, and compared its pale, shadowy, faintly-traced outlines, its
faded colors, the stern repose of the eye, and death-like pallid-
ness of the countenance, with its different aspect on the preced-
ing night, when illuminated by the artificial light which fell full
upon it, while it left every other purt of the room in comparative
darkness. The features seemed then to have an unnatural glow,
while the rising and falling of the flame in the chimney gave the
head and limbs something which resembled the appearance of
actual motion. Now, seen by day, it was a mere picture of the
hard and ancient school of Holbein; last night, it seemed for
the moment somethingmore. Determined to get to the bottom
of this contrivance if possible, Everard, by the assistance of a
table and chair, examined the portrait still more closely, and
endeavored to ascertain the existence of any private spring, by
which it might be slipt aside,—a contrivance not unfrequent
in ancient buildings, which usually abounded with means of
access and escape, communicated to none but the lords of the
castle, or their immediate confidants. But the panel on which
Victor Lee was painted was firmly fixed in the wainscoting of
the apartment, of which it made a part, and the Colonel satis-
fied himself that it could not have been used for the purpose
which he had suspected.

He next roused his faithful squire, Wildrake, who, not-
withstanding his deep share of the “blessedness of sleep,” had
scarce even yet got rid of the effects of the grace-cup of the
preceding evening. “It was the reward,” according to his
own view of the matter, “ of histemperance; one single draught
having made him sleep more late and more sound than a matter
of half-a-dozen or from thence to a dozen pulls, would have
done, when he was guilty of the enormity of rere-suppers,* and
of drinking deep after them.”

“Had your temperate draught,” said Everard, “been but
a thought more strongly seasoned, Wildrake, thou hadst slept
so sound that the last trump only could have waked thee.”

‘And then,’ answered Wildrake, “I should have waked
with a headache, Mark; for I see my modest sip has not ex-
empted me from that epilogue.—But let us go forth, and see
how the night, which we have passed so strangely, has been

 

* Rere-suppers (quasi arriere) belonged to a species of luxury introduced
in the jolly days of King James’s extravagance, and continued through the
subsequent reign. The supper took place at an early hour, six or seven
o’clock at the latest-the rere supper was a postliminary banquet, a “ors
d@auvre, which made its appearance at ten or eleven, and served as an
apology for prolonging the entertainment till midnight.WOODSTOCK.

 

170

spent by the rest of them. I suspect they are all right willing
to evacuate Woodstock, unless they have either rested better
than we, or at least been more lucky in lodgings.”

“Tn that case, I will despatch thee down to Joceline’s hut,
to negotiate the re-entrance of Sir Henry Lee and his family
inio their old ap oartments, where, my interest with the General
being joined with the indifferent repute of the place itself, I
think they have little chance of being disturbed either by the
present, or by any new Commissioners.”

“But how are they to defend themselve S against the fiends,
my gallant Colonel?” said Wildrake. “Methinks had I an
interest in yonder pretty girl, such as thou dost boast, I should
be loath to expose her to the terrors of a residence at Wood-
stock, where these devils—I be -g their pardon, for I suppose
bey hear every word we say these metry goblins—make such

gay work £ from twilight till morning.”

My dear Wildrake,” said i C Okipbet, “IT, as well as you,
lee it sewn that our speech may be overheard; but I
care not, and will speak my mind plainly. I trust Sir Henry
and Alice are not engaged in this s ily plot ; I cannot reconcile
it with the pride of the one, the modes sty of the other, or the
good sense of both, that any motive could engage them in so
strange a conjunction. But the fiends are all of your own
political persuasion, Wildrake, all true-blue cavaliers ; and I
am convince o that Sir Henry and Alice Lee, though they be
unconnected with them, have not the sli ehtest cause to be
apprehensive of their goblin machinations. Besides, Sir Henry
and Joceline must know every corner about the place : it will
be far more difficult to play off any ghostly machinery upon
him than upon strangers. But let us to our toilet, and when
water and brush have done their work, we will inquire what is
next to be done.”

“Nay, that wretched puritan’s earb of mine is hardly worth
brushing,” said Wildrake; “and but for this hundredweight
of rusty iron, with w — ie hast bedizened me, I look more
like a bankrupt Quaker than anything else. But Pi make you
as spruce as ever was a canting rogue of your party.’

So saying, and humming at the same time the cavalier
tyne,—

 

*** Though for a time we see Whiteh: all
With cobwebs h tung around the wall,
Yet Heaven sha!] make amends for all,
When the King shall enjoy his own again.’ ?—

“Thou forgettest who are without,” said Colonel Everard.
“ No—I remember who are e within,” replied his friend, “JWOODSTOCK.

only sing to my merry goblins, who will like me all the better
for it. Tush, man, the devils are my Jonos socios, and when I
see them, I will warrant they prove such roaring boys as I knew
when I served under Lunford and Goring, fellows with long
nails that nothing escaped, bottomless stomachs, that nothing
filled—mad_ for ‘pillaging, ranting, drinking, and fighting,—
sleeping rough on the trenches, and d ying s stubbornly in their
boots. ‘Ah ! hose merry days are e gone. Well, it is the fashion
to make a grave face on’t among cavaliers, and specially the
parsons that have lost their tithe-pigs ; but I was fitted for the
element of the times, and never did or can desire merrier days
than I had during that same barbarous, bloody, and unnatural
rebellion.”

“Thou wert ever a wild sea-bird, Roger, even according to
your name; like the gale better than the calm, the boisterous
ocean better than the smooth lake, and your rough, wile 1 strug-
gle against the wind, than daily food, ease, and quiet.”

‘Pshaw! a fig for your smooth lake, and your old woman
to feed me with brewer’s grains, and the poor drake obliged to
come swattering wherever she whistles! Everard, I like to feel
the wind rustling against my pinions,—now diving, now on the
crest of the wave, now in ocean, now in sky—that is the wild-
drake’s joy, my grave one! And i in the Civil War so it went
with us—down in one county, up in another, beaten to-day,
victorious to-morrow—now starving in some barren leaguer—
now reveling in a Presbyterian’s pantry—his cellars, his plate-
chest, his old judicial thumb-ring, his pretty serving wench, all
at command !”

“* Hush, friend,” said Everard ; ‘‘ Remember I hold that per-
suasion.”

“More the pity, Mark, more the pity,” said Wildrake ; “ but
as vou say, it is needless talking of it. Let us e’en go and see

 

   

how your Presbyterian pastor, Mr. Holdenough, 7 nas fared, and
whether he has proved more able to foil the foul fiend than have
you his disciple and auditor.”
' They left the apartment accordingly, and were overwhelmed
with the various incoherent accounts of sentinels and others,
all of whom had seen or heard something extraordinary in the
course of the night. It is needless to describe particularly the
various rumors which each contributed to the common stock,
with the greater alacrity that in such cases there seems always
to be a sort of disgrace in not having seen or suffered as much
as others.
The most moderate of the narrators only talked of sounds
like the mewing of a cat, or the growling of a dog, especially

 )
\

— a172 WOODSTOCK.

the squeaking of a pig. They heard also as if it had been nails
driven and saws used, and the clashing of fetters, and the rust-
ling of silk gowns, and the notes of music, and in short all sorts
of sounds, which have nothing to do with each other. Others
swore they had smelt savors of various kinds, chiefly bitumi-
nous, indicating a Satanic derivation; others did not indeed
swear, but protested, to visions of men in armor, horses with-
out heads, asses with horns, and cows with six legs, not to
mention black figures, whose cloven hoofs gave plain informa-
tion what realm they belonged to. .

But these strongly-attested cases of nocturnal disturbances
among the sentinels had been so general as to prevent alarm
and succor on any particular point, so that those who were on
duty called in vain on the corps-de-garde, who were trembling
on their own post; and an alert enemy might have done com-
plete execution an the whole garrison. But amid this general
alerte, no violence appeared to be meant, and annoyance, not
injury, seemed to have been the goblins’ object, excepting in
the case of one poor fellow, a trooper, who had followed Harri-
son in half his battles, and now was sentinel in that very vesti-
bule upon which Everard had recommended them to mount a
guard. He had presented his carabine at something which
came suddenly upon him, when it was wrested out of his hands,
and he himself knocked down with the butt-end of it. His
broken head, and the drenched bed of Desborough, upon whom
a tub of ditch-water had been emptied during his sleep, were
the only pieces of real evidences to attest the disturbances of
the night.

The reports from Harrison’s department were, as delivered
by the grave Master Tomkins, that truly the General had
passed the night undisturbed, though there was still on him a
deep sleep, and a folding of the hands to slumber; from which
Everard argued that the machinators had esteemed Harison’s
part of the reckoning sufficiently paid off on the previous eve-
ning.

He then proceeded to the apartment doubly garrisoned by
the worshipful Desborough and the philosophical Bletson.
They were both up and dressing themslves; the former open-
mouthed in his feelings of fear and suffering. Indeed, no
sooner had Everard entered, than the ducked and dismayed
Colonel made a dismal complaint of how he had spent the
night, and murmured not a little against his worshipful kins-
man for imposing a task upon him which inferred so much
annoyance.

“Could not his Excellency, my kinsman Noll,’ he said,WOODSTOCK. 173

“have given his poor relative and brother-in-law a sop some:
where else than out of this Woodstock, which seems to be the
devil’s own porridge-pot ? I cannot sup broth with the devil;
I have no long spoon—not I: Could he not have quartered
me in some quiet corner, and given this haunted place to some
of his preachers and prayers, who know the Bible as well as the
muster-roll? whereas I know the four hoofs af a clean-going
nag, or the points of a team of oxen, better than all the books
of Moses. But I will give it over at once and forever ; hopes
of earthly gain shall never make me run the risk of being car-
ried away bodily by the devil, besides being set upon my head
one whole night, and soused with ditch water the next—No,
no; I am too wise for that.”

Master Bletson had a different part to act. He complained
of no personal annoyances; on the contrary, he declared he
should have slept as well as ever he did in his life, but for the
abominable disturbances around him, of men calling to arms
every half-hour, when so much as a cat trotted by one of their
posts—He would rather, he said, “ have slept among a whole
sabaoth of witches, if such creatures could be found.”

Then you think there are no such things as apparitions,
Master Bletson? ”’ said Everard. ‘ I used to be sceptical on
the subject; but, on my life, to-night has been a strange one.”

‘“ Dreams, dreams, dreams, my simple Colonel,” said Bletson,
though his pale face and shaking limbs belied the assumed
courage with which he spoke. “ Old Chaucer, sir, hath told
us the real moral on’t—He was anold frequenter of the for-
est of Woodstock, here ”

‘¢ Chaser?’ said Desborough ; “ some huntsman, belike, by
his name. Does he walk like Hearne at Windsor?”

“Chaucer,” said Bletson, ‘‘ my dear Desborough, is one of
those wonderful fellows, as Colonel Everard knows, who live
many a hundred years after they are buried, and whose words
haunt our ears after their bones are long mouldered in the
dust.”

“ Ay, ay! well !’answered Desborough, to whom this descrip-
tion of the old poet was unintelligible—* I for one desire his
room rather than his company ; one of your conjurors, I warrant.
But what says he to the matter?”

“ Only a slight spell, which I will take the freedom to re-
peat to Colonel Everard,” “ said Bletson ; ‘“ but which would
be as bad as Greek to thee, Desborough, Old Geoffrey lays
the whole blame of our nocturnal disturbance on superfluity ot
humors.

 

 

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   

Raper hres st

aan
“MiWOODSTOCK.

‘ Which causen folke to dred in their dreams
Of arrowes, and of fire with red gleams,
Right as the humor of Melancholy
Causeth many a man in sleep to cry
For fear of great bulls and bears. black,
| And others that black devils will them take,’ ”

While he was thus declaiming, Everard observed a book stick
ing out from beneath the pillow of the bed lately occupied by
the honorable member.

“Is that Chaucer?” he said, making to the volume nite |
1 would like to look at the passage’’
ey “ Chaucer?” said Bletson, hastening to interfere + * ne+-
i that is Lucretius, my darling Lucretius. I cannot let you see
tH it; I have some private marks.”

But by this time Everard had the book in his hand. “ Lucre-
tius?,”” he said; ‘no, Master Bletson—this is not Lucretius,
but a fitter comforter in dread or in danger—Why should you
be ashamed of it ? Only, Bletson, instead of resting your head
if you can but anchor your heart upon this volume, it may
serve you in better stead than Lucretius or Chaucer either.”

i ‘““ Why, what book is it?” said Blestson, his pale cheek
| coloring with the shame of detection. “Oh! the Bible!”
i throwing it down contemptuously; “ some book of my fellow
; \ Gibeon’s; these Jews have been always superstiitous—ever
since Juvenal’s. time,thou knowest—

 

>

‘Qualiacunque voles Judzi somnia vendunt,

| | He left me the old book for a spell, I. warrant you; for ’tis a
ri well-meaning fool.”
. ‘‘ He would scarce have left the New Testament as well as
. the Qld,” said Everard. “ Come, my dear Bletson, do not be
ashamed of the wisest thing you ever did. in your life, suppos-
Hy ing you took your Bible in an hour of apprehension, with a
, | view to profit by the contents.”
Bletson’s vanity was so much galled that it overcame his
constitutional cowardice. His little thin fingers quivered for
eagerness, his neck and cheeks were as red as scarlet, and his
articulation was as thick and vehement as—in short, as if he
had been no philosopher.
“Master Everard,” he said, “ you are a man of the sword,
bah sir; and, sir, you seem to suppose yourself entitled to say what-
ever comes into your mind with respect to civilians, sir. But
I would have you remember, sir, that there are bounds beyond
which human patience may be urged, sir—and jests which noWOODSTOCK. 75

man of honor will endure, sir—and, therefore, I expect an apol-
ogy for your present language, Colonel Everard, and this un-
mannerly jesting, sir—or you may chance to hear from me in
a way that will not please you.”

Everard could not help smiling at this explosion of valor,
engendered by irritated self-love.

‘Look you, Master Bletson,” he said, “I have been a sol-
dier, that is true, but I was never a bloody-minded one; and,
as a Christian, [ am unwilling to enlarge the kingdom of dark-
ness by sending a new vassal thither before his time. If
Heaven gives you time to repent, I see no reason why my
hand should deprive you of it, which, were we to have a ren-
contre, would be your fate in the thrust of a sword, or the pull-
ing of a trigger—I therefore prefer to apologize; and I call
Desborough, if he has recovered his wits, to bear evidence
that I do apologize for having suspected you, who are com-
pletely the slave of your own vanity, of any tendency, however
slight, toward grace or good sense. And I further apologize
for the time that I have wasted in endeavoring to wash an
Ethiopian white, or in recommending rational inquiries to a
self-willed atheist.”

Bletson, overjoyed at the turn the matter had taken—for
the defiance was scarce out of his mouth ere he began to trem-
ble for the consequences—answered with great eagerness and
servility of manner,—‘“ Nay, dearest Colonel, say no more of
it—an apology is all that is necessary among men of honor—
it neither leaves dishonor with him who asks it, nor infers
degradation on him who makes it.”

‘Not such an apology as I have made, I trust,” said the
Colonel.

“No, no—not in the least,” answered Bletson—“ one apol-
ogy serves me just as well as another, and Desborough will
bear witness you have made one, and that is all there can be
said on the subject.”

‘Master Desborough and you,” rejoined the Colonel, “ will
take care how the matter is reported, I dare say; and I only
recommend to both, that, if mentioned at all, it may be told
correctly.”

“ Nay, nay, we will not mention it at all,” said Bletson ; “ we
will forget it from this moment. Only, never suppose me
capable of superstitious weakness. Had I been afraid of an
apparent and real danger—why such fear is natural to man—
and I will not deny that the mood of mind may have happened
to me as well as others. But to be thought capable of resort-
ing to spells, and sleeping with books under my pillow to se-

 

 

»?

 

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

Nae SeenNoe ehieee Seal acath bask y amaknroents aes

Me iene

   

176 WOODSTOCK.
cure myself against ghosts,—on my word, it was enough to
provoke one to quarrel, for the moment, with his very best
friend.—And now, Colonel, what is to be done, and how is our
duty to be executed at this accursed place? If I should get
such a wetting as Desborough’s, why, I should die of catarrh,
though you see it hurts him no more than a bucket of water
thrown over a post-horse. You are; I presume, a brother in
our commission,—how are you of opinion we should proceed ?”

“ Why, in good time here comes Harrison,” said Everard,
“and I will lay my commission from the Lord-General before
you all; which, as you see, Colonel Desborough, commands
you to desist from acting on your present authority, and inti-
mates his pleasure accordingly, that you withdraw from this
place,”

Desborough took the paper and examined the signature.—
“Tt is Noll’s signature sure enough,” said he, dropping his
under jaw; “ only, every time of late he has made the Oliver
as large as a giant, while the Cromwe/l creeps after like a
dwarf, as if the surname were like to disappear one of these
days altogether. But is his Excellency, our kinsman, Noll
Cromwell (since he has the surname yet) so unreasonable as
to think his relations and friends are to be set upon their heads
till they have the crick in their neck—drenched as if they had
been plunged in a horse-pond—frightened, day and night, by
all sort of devils, witches, and fairies, and get not a penny of
smart-money? Adzooks (forgive me for swearing), if that’s the
case I had better home to my farm, and mind team and herd,
than dangle after such a thankless person, though I Aave wived
his sister. She was poor enough when I took her, for high as
Noll holds his head now.”

‘“‘Tt is not my purpose,” said Bletson, “ to stir debate in this
honorable meeting; and no one will doubt the veneration and
attachment which I bear to our noble General, whom the current
of events, and his own matchless qualities of courage and con-
stancy, have raised so high in these deplorable days.—If I were
to term him a direct and immediate emanation of the Azzmus
Mundi itselfi—something which Nature had produced in her
proudest hour, while exerting herself, as is her law, for the
preservation of the creatures to whom she has given existence
—I should scarce exhaust the ideas which I entertain of him.
Always protesting, that I am by no means to be held as admit-
ting, but merely as granting for the sake of argument, the pos-
sible existence of that species of emanation, or exhalation, from
the Animus Mundi, of which I have made mention. I appeal
to you, Colonel Desborough, who are his Excellency’s relationWOODSTOCK. 177

—to you, Colonel Everard, who hold the dearer title of his
friend, whether I have overrated my zeal in his behalf ? ”
Everard bowed at this pause, but Desborough gave a more
complete authentication. “ Nay, I can bear witness to that. I
have seen when you were willing to tie his points or brush his
cloak, or the like—and to be treated thus ungratefully—and
gudgeoned of the opportunities which had been given you ”’——
= Tt is not for that,” said Bletson, waving his hand gracefully.
“You do me wrong, Master Desborough—you do indeed,
kind sir—although I know you meant it not—No, sir,—no partial
consideration of private interest prevailed on me to undertake
this charge. It was conferred on me by the Parliament of England,
in whose name this war commenced, and by the Council of
State, who are the conservators of England’s liberty. And the
chance and serene hope of serving the country, the confidence
that I—and you, Master Desborough—and you, worthy General
Harrison—superior, as I am, to all selfish considerations—to
which Iam sure you also, good Colonel Everard, would be
superior, had you been named in this Commission, as I would
to Heaven you had—I say, the hope of serving the country,
with the aid of such respectable associates, one and all of them
— as well as you, Colonel Everard, supposing you to have been
of the number, induced me to accept of this opportunity,
whereby I might, gratuitously, with your assistance, render so
much advantage to our dear mother the Commonwealth of
England.—Such was my hope—my trust—my confidence. And
now comes my Lord-General’s warrant to dissolve the authority
by which we are entitled to act. Gentlemen, I ask this honorable
meeting (with all respect to his Excellency), whether his com-
mission be paramount to that from which he himself directly
holds Azs commission ? No one will say so. I ask whether he
has climbed into the seat Irom which the late Man descended,
or hath a great seal, or means to proceed by prerogative in
such a case ? I cannot see reason to believe it, and therefore I
must resist such doctrine. I am in your judgment, my brave
and honorable colleagues ; but, touching my own poor opinion,
I feel myself under the unhappy necessity of proceeding in our
commission, as if the interruption had not taken place ; with
this addition, that the Board of Sequestrators should sit, by
day, at this same Lodge of Woodstock, but that, to reconcile
the minds of weak brethren, who may be afflicted by supersti-
tious rumors, as well as to avoid any practice on our persons by
the malignants, who, Iam convinced, are busy in this neigh-
borhood, we should remove our sittings after sunset to
the George Inn, in the neighboring borough.”

 

 

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
  

S Se

ee

at

  

ow
Gos Sere aes

PT
%
\178 WOODSTOCK.

“Good Master Bletson,” replied Colonel Everard, “ it is
not for me to reply to you ; but you may know in what characters
this army of England and their General write their authority.
I fear me the annotation on this precept of the General, will be
expressed by the march of a troop of horse from Oxford to see it
executed. I believe there are orders out for that effects and
you know, by late experience, that the soldier will ebey his
General equally against King and Parliament.”

“That obedience is conditional,” said Harrison, starting
fiercely up. “ Know’st thou not, Markham Everard, that [

have followed the man Cromwell as close as the bull-dog follows
his master ?—and so I will yet ;—but I am no spaniel, either to
be beaten, or to have the food I have earned snatched from me,
as if I were a vile cur, whose wages are a whipping, and free
leave to wear my own skin. I looked, amongst the three of us,
that we might honestly, and piously, and with advantage to the
Commonwealth, have gained out of this commission threé;-or’ it
may be five thousand pounds. And does Cromwell imagine I
will part with it for a rough word ? No man goeth a warfare
on his own charges. He that serves the altar, must live by the
altar—and the saints must have means to provide them with
good harness and fresh horses against the unsealing and the
pouring forth. Does Cromwell think I am so much of a tame
tiger as to permit him to rend from meat pleasure the miserable
dole he hath thrown me? Of a surety I will resist ; and the
men who are here, being chiefly of my own regiment—men who
wait and who expect, with lamps burning and loins girded, and
each one his weapon bound upon his thigh, will aid me to make
this house good against every assault—ay, even against Crom-
vell himself, until the latter coming—Selah! Selah!”

“And IJ,” said Desborough, “ will levy troo
your out-quarters, not choosing at present to cl
garrison 7? ===

 

ps and protect
ose myself up in

“And I,” said Bletson, “will do my part, and hie me to
town and lay the matter before Parl
for that effect.”

Everard was little moved by all these threats. The only
formidable one, indeed, was that of Harrison, whose enthusiasm,
joined with his courage, and obstinacy, and character among
the fanatics of his own principles, made him a dangerous enemy.
Before trying any arguments with the refractory Major-General,
Everard endeavored to moderate his feelings, and threw some-
thing in about the late disturbances.

“Talk not to me of supernatural disturbances, young man—
talk not to me of enemies in the body or out of the body. Am

lament, arising in my placeWOODSTOCK. 179
I not the champion chosen and commissioned to encounter and
to Ps the Great Dragon, and the Beast which cometh out
of the sea? Am I not to command the left wing, and two regi-
ments of the centre, when the saints shall encounter with the
countless legions of Gog and Magog? I tell thee that my
name is written on the sea of glass “mingled with fire, and that
I will keep this place of W oodstock against all mortal men, and
against all devils, whether in field or chamber, in the forest or
in the meac low, even till the Saints reign in the fulness of their
glory.’

Everard saw it was then time to produce two or three
lines under Cromwell’s hand, which he had received from the
General, subseqt ently to the communication through Wildrake.
The information t hey contained was calculated to allay the dis-
appoint ment of the Commissioners. This document assigned
as the reason of eRicevuline the Woodstock Commission, that
he should probably propose to the Parliament to require the
assistance of General Harrison, Colonel Desborough, and Mas-
ter Bletson, the honorable member of Littlefaith, in a much
greater matter, namely, the disposing of the royal property, and
disparking of the King’s forest at Windsor. So soon as this
idea was started, all parties picked up their ears; and their
drooping, and gloomy, and vindictive looks began to give place
to courteous smiles, and to a cheerfulness, which laughed in
their eyes, and turned their mustaches upward.

Colonel Desborough acquitted his right honorable and
excellent cousin and kinsman of all species of unkindness ;
Master Bletson discovered, that the interest of the state was
trebly concerned in the good administration of Windsor more
than in that of Woodstock. As for Harrison, he exclaimed,
without disguise or hesitation, that the gleaning of the grapes
of Windsor was better than the vintage of Woodstock. Thus
speaking, the glance of his dark eye expressed as much triumph
in the proposed earthly advantage, as if it had not been, accord-
ing to his vain persuasion, to be shortly exchanged for his share
in the general reign of the Millennium. His delight, in short,
resembled the joy of an eagle, who preys upon a lamb in the
evening with not less relish, because she descries in the dis-
tant landscape a hundred thousand men about to join the battle
with daybreak, and to give her an endless feast on the hearts
and lifeblood of the valiant.

Yet though all agreed that they would be obedient to the
General’s pleasure in this matter, Bletson proposed, as a pre-
cautionary measure, in which all agreed, that they should take
up their abode for some time in the town of Woodstock, to wait180 WOODSTOCK.
for their new commissions respecting Windsor ; and this upon
the prudential consideration, that it was best not to slip one
knot until another was first tied.

Each commissioner, therefore, wrote to Oliver individually,
stating, in his own way, the depth and height, length and
breadth, of his attachment to him. Each expressed himself
resolved to obey the General’s injunctions to the uttermost ;
but with the same scrupulous devotion to the Parliament, each
found himself ata loss how to lay down the commission intrusted
to them by that body, and therefore felt bound in conscience to
take up his residence at the borough of Woodstock, that he
might not seem to abandon the charge committed to them,
until they should be called to administrate the weightier matter
of Windsor, to which they expressed their willingness instantly
to devote themselves, according to his Excellency’s pleasure.

This was the general style of their letters, varied by the
characteristic flourishes of the writers. Desborough, for ex-
ample, said something about the religious duty of providing for
one’s own household, only he blundered the text. Bletson
wrote long and big words about the political obligation incum-
bent on every member of the community, on every person, to
sacrifice his time and talents to the service of his country ;
while Harrison talked of the littleness of present affairs, in
comparison of the approaching tremendous change of all things
beneath the sun. But although the garnishing of the various
epistles was different, the result came to the same, that they
were determined at least to keep sight of Woodstock, until they
were well assured of some better and more profitable com-
mission.

Everard also wrote a letter in the most grateful terms to
Cromwell, which would probably have been less warm had he
known more distinctly than his follower chose to tell him, the
expectation under which the wily’General had granted his re-
quest. He acquainted his Excellency with his purpose of con-
tinuing at Woodstock, partly to assure himself of the motions
of the three commissioners, and to watch whether they did not
again enter upon the execution of the trust, which they had for
the present renounced,—and partly to see that some extraordi-
nary circumstances, which had taken place in the Lodge, and
which would doubtless transpire, were not followed by any ex-
plosion to the disturbance of the public peace. He knew (as
he expressed himself) that his Excellency was so much the
friend of order, that he would rather disturbances or insurrec-
tions were prevented than punished: and he conjured the
General to repose confidence in his exertions for the publicWOODSTOCK. 181
service by every mode within his power; not aware, it will be
observed, in what peculiar sense his general pledge might be
interpreted.

These letters, being made up into a packet, were forwarded
to Windsor by a trooper, detached on that errand.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.

We do that in our zeal,
Our calmer moments are afraid to answer.
ANONYMOUS,

WHILE the Commissioners were preparing to remove them-
selves from the Lodge to the inn at the borough of Woodstock,
with all that state and bustle which attend the movements of
great persons, and especially of such to whom greatness is not
entirely familiar, Everard held some colloquy with the Presby-
terian clergyman, Master Holdenough, who had issued from the
apartment which he had occupied, as it were in defiance of the
spirits by whom the mansion was supposed to be disturbed, and
whose pale cheek, and pensive brow, gave token that he had
not passed the night more comfortably than the other inmates
of the Lodge of Woodstock. Colonel Everard, having offered
to procure the reverend gentleman some refreshment, received
this reply :—“ This day shall I not taste food, saving that which
we are assured of as sufficient for our sustenance, where it is
promised that our bread shall be given us, and our water shall
be sure. Not that I fast, in the papistical opinion that it adds
to those merits, which are but an accumulation of filthy rags ;
but because I hold it needful that no grosser sustenance, should
this day cloud my understanding, or render less pure and vivid
the thanks I owe to Heaven for a most wonderful preservation.”

“Master Holdenough,” said Everard, “you are, I know,
both a good man and a bold one, and I saw you last night cour-
ageously go upon your sacred duty, when soldiers, and tried
ones, seemed considerably alarmed.”

“Too courageous—too venturous,’’ was Master Holden-
ough’s reply, the boldness of whose aspect seemed completely
to have died away. ‘“* We are frail creatures, Master Everard,
and frailest when we think ourselves strongest. Oh, Colonel
Everard,” he added, after a pause, and as if the confidence was
partly involuntary, “I have seen that which I shall never

survive ! ”

     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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aes WOODSTOCK:

“You surprise me, reverend sir,” said Everard ;—“ may I]
request you will speak more plainly ? Ihave heard some stories
of this wild night, nay, have witnessed strange things myself ;
but, methinks, I would be much interested in knowing the na-
ture of your disturbance.”

“Sir,” said the clergyman, “ you are a discreet gentleman ;
and though I would not willingly that these heretics, schisma-
tics, Brownists, Muggletonians, Anabaptists, and so forth, had
such an opportunity of triumph, as my defeat in this matter
would have afforded them, yet with you, who have been ever a
faithful follower of our Church, and are pledged to the good
cause by the great National League and Covenant, surely I
would be more open. Sit we down, therefore, and let me call
for a glass of pure water, for as yet I feel some bodily falter-
ing; though, I thank Heaven, I am in mind resolute and com-
posed asa merely mortal man may after such a vision.—They
say, worthy Colonel, that looking on such things foretells, or
causes, speedy death—I know not if it be true; but if so, I
only depart like the tired sentinel when his officer releases him
from his post; and glad shall I be to close these wearied eyes
against the sight, and shut these harassed ears against the
croaking, as of frogs, of Antinomiansj’and Pelagians, and So-
cinians, and Arminians, and Arians, and Nullifidians, which
have come up into our England, like those filthy reptiles into
the house of Pharaoh.”

Here one of the servants, who had been summoned, en-
tered with a cup of water, gazing at the same time in the face
of the clergyman, as if his stupid gray eyes were endeavoring
to read what tragic tale was written on his brow; and shaking
his empty skull as he left the room, with the air of one who
was proud of having discovered that all was not exactly right,
though he could not so well guess what was wrong.

Colonel Everard invited the good man to take some re-
freshment more genial than the pure element, but he declined:
‘I am in some sort a champion,” he said; “and though I have
been foiled in the late controversy with the Enemy, still I have
my trumpet to give the alarm, and my sharp sword to smite
withal; therefore, like the Nazarites of old, I will eat nothing
that cometh of the vine, neither drink wine nor strong drink,
until these my days of combat shall have passed away.”

Kindly and respectfully the Colonel anew pressed Master
Holdenough to communicate the events that had befallen him

on the preceding night; and the good clergyman proceeded as
follows, with that little characteristical touch of vanity in his
narrative, which naturally arose out of the part he had playedWOODSTOCK. 183

in the world, and the influence which he had exercised over the
minds of others. “I was a young man at the University of
Cambridge,” he said, “when I was particularly bound in friend-
ship to a fellow-student, perhaps because we were esteemed
(though it is vain to mention it) the most hopeful scholars at
our college; and so equally advanced, that it was difficult,
perhaps, to say which was the greater proficient in his studies,
Only our tutor, Master Purefoy, used to say, that if my comrade
had the advantage of me in gifts, I had the better of him in
grace ; for he was attached to the profane learning of the clas-
sics, always unprofitable, often impious and impure; and I had
light enough to turn my studies into the sacred tongues. Also
we differed in our opinions touching the Church of England, for
he held Arminian opinions, with Laud, and those who would
connect our ecclesiastical establishment with the civil, and make
the Church dependent on the breath of an earthly man. In
fine, he favored Prelacy both in essentials and ceremonial; and
although we parted with tears and embraces, it was to follow
very different courses. He obtained a living, and became a
great controversial writer in behalf of the Bishops and of the
Court. I also, as is well known to you, to the best of my poor
abilities, sharpened my pen in the cause of the poor oppressed
people, whose tender consciences rejected the rites and cere-
monies more befitting a papistical than a reformed Church,
and which, according to the blinded policy of the Court, were
enforced by pains. and penalties. Then came the Civil War,
and I—called thereunto by my conscience, and nothing fear-
ing or suspecting what miserable consequences have chanced
through the rise of these Independents—consented to lend my
countenance and labor to the great work, by becoming chap-
fain to Colonel Harrison’s regiment. Not that I mingled with
carnal weapons in the field—which Heaven forbid that a min-
ister of the altar should—but I preached, exhorted, and, in
time of need, was a surgeon, as well to the wounds of the body
as of the soul. Now, it fell, toward the end of the war,
that a party of malignants had seized on a strong house
in the shire of Shrewsbury, situated on a small island,
advanced into a lake, and accessible only by a small and
narrow causeway. From thence they made excursions, and
vexed the country; and high time it was to suppress them, so
that a part of our regiment went to reduce them; and I was
requested to go, for they were few in number to take in so
strong a place, and the Colonel judged that my exhortations
would make them do valiantly. And so, contrary to my wont,
I went forth with them, even to the field, where there was valiantNt Tw ee ee
ee

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oz
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184 WOODSTOCK.

fighting on both sides. Nevertheless, the malignants shooting
their wall-pieces at us, had so much the advantage, that, after
bursting their gates witha salvo of our cannon, Colonel Har-
rison ordered his men to advance on the causeway, and try to
carry the place by storm. Natheless, although our men did
valiantly, advancing in good order, yet being galled on every
side by the fire, they at length fell into disorder, and were re-
treating with much loss, Harrison himself valiantly bringing up
the rear, and defending them as he could against the enemy,
who sallied forth in pursuit of them, to-smite them hip and
thigh. Now, Colonel Everard, I am a man of quick and
vehement temper by nature, though better teaching than the
old law hath made me mild and patient as you now see me. I
could not bear to see our Israelites flying before the Philistines,
so I rushed upon the causeway, with the Bible in one hand, and
a halberd, which I had caught up, in the other, and turned back
the foremost fugitives, by threatening to strike them down,
pointing out to them at the same time a priest in his cassock,
as they call it, who was among the malignants, and asking them
whether they would not do as much fora true servant of Heaven,
as the uncircumcised would for a priest of Baal. My words
and strokes prevailed; they turned at once, and shouting out,
Down with Baal and his worshipers! they charged the malig-
nants so unexpectedly home, that they not only drove them back
into their house of garrison, but entered it with them, as the
phrase is, pell-mell. I also was there, partly hurried on by the
crowd, partly to prevail on our enraged soldiers to give quarters ;
for it grieved my heart to see Christians and Englishmen hashed
down with swords and gunstocks, like curs in the street, when
there is an alarm of mad dogs. In this way, the soldiers fight-
ing and slaughtering, and I calling to them to stay their hand,
we gained the very roof of the building, which was in part
leaded, and to which, as a last tower of refuge, those of the
cavaliers, who yet escaped, had retired. I was myself, ] may
say, forced up the narrow winding staircase by our soldiers, who
rushed on like dogs of chase upon their prey; and when extri-
cated from the passage, I found myself in the midst of a horrid
scene. The scattered defenders were, some resisting with the
fury of despair; some on their knees, imploring for compas-
sion in words and tones to break a man’s heart when he thinks
on them; some were Calling on God for mercy ; and it was time,
for man had none. They were stricken down, thrust through,
flung from the battlements into the lake; and the wild cries of
the victors, mingled with groans, shrieks, and clamors, of the
vanquished, made a sound so horrible, that only death can eraseWOODSTOCK. 133
it from my memory. And the men who butchered their fellow-
creatures thus, were neither pagans from distant savage lands,
nor ruffans, the refuse and offscourings of our own people.
They were in calm blood reasonable, nay, religious men, main-
taining a fair repute, both heavenward and earthward. Oh
Master Everard, your trade of war should be feared and avoided,
since it converts such men into wolves toward their fellow-
creatures 12

“Tt is a stern necessity,” said Everard, looking down, “ and
as such alone is justifiable. But proceed, reverend sir; I see
not how this storm, an incident but e’en too frequent on both
sides during the late war, connects with the affair of last
might.”

‘You shall hear anon,” said Mr. Holdenough; then paused
as one who makes an effort to compose himself before continu-
ing a relation, the tenor of which agitated him with much
violence.—“ In this infernal tumult,” he resumed,—“ for surely
nothing on earth could so much resemble hell, as when men go
thus loose in mortal malice on their fellow-creatures,—I saw
the same priest whom I had distinguished on the causeway,
with one or two other malignants, pressed into a corner by the
assailants, and defending themselves to the last, as those
who had no hope.—I saw him—I knew him—Oh, Colone
Everard !”

He grasped Everard’s hand with his own left hand, and
pressed the palm of his right te his face and forehead, sobbing
aloud.

“Tt was your college companion?” said Everard, anticipat:

ing the catastrophy.

“Mine ancient—mine only friend—with whom I had spent
the happy days of youth !—I rushed forward—I struggled—l
ae But my eagerness left me neither voice nor lan-
guage—all was drowned in the wretched cry which I had
my a raised—Down with the priest of Baal—Slay Mattan—
slay him were he between the altars !—Forced over the battle-
ments, but struggling for life, I could see him cling to one of
those projections which were formed to carry the water from
the leads, but they hacked at his arms and hands. I heard
the heavy fall into 1 the bottomless abyss below. Excuse me—I
cannot go on.’

“He may have escaped.”

“Oh! no, no, no—the tower was four stories in height.
Even those who threw themselves into the lake from the lower
windows, to escape by swimming, had no safety ; for mounted
troopers on the shore caught the same bloodthirsty humor

 

    
   
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
   

ne

Pree ern

ESS 7 iQR TA aneminanmmtr ais nase eee seers ans

136 WOODSTOCK.

which had seized the ae party, galloped around the
margin of the lake, and shot those who were struggling for life
in the water, or cut them down as they strove to get to land.
They were all cut off and destroyed. = On may the ‘blood shed
on that day remain silent !—Oh! that the earth may receive it
in her recesses!—Oh! that it may be mingled forever with
the dark waters of that lake, so that it may never cry for
vengeance against those w need anger was fierce, and who
slaughtered in their wrath !—And, oh! may the erring man be
forgiven who came into their assembly, and lent ie voice to
encourage their cruelty !—Oh ! Albany, my brother, my brother,
I have lamented for thee even as David for Jonathan’ eer

The good man sobbed a loud, and so much did Colonel
Everard sympathize with his emotions, that he forbore to press
him upon the subject of his own curiosity until the full tide of
remorseful passion had for the time abated. It w as, however,
fierce and agitating, the more so, per rhaps, that indulgence in
strong mental feeling of any kind was foreign to the severe and
ascetic character of ‘the man, and was therefore the more over-
powering when it had at once surmounted all restraints. Large
tears flowed down the tre embling features of his thin and usually
stern, or at least austere countenance ; he eagerly returned the
compression of Everard’s hand, as if thankful for the sympathy
which the caress implied.

Presently after, Master Holdenough wiped his eyes, with-
drew his hand gently from that of Ever rard, shaking it ‘kindly as
they parted, and proceeded with more composure: “ Forgive
me this burst of passionate feeling, worthy Colonel. I am con-
scious it little becomes a man of my cloth, who should be the
bearer of consolation to others, to give way in mine own person
to an extremity of grief, weak at least. if indeed it is not sinful ;
for what are me, that we should weep and murmur touching
that which is permitted? But Albany was to me as a brother.
The happiest days of my life, ere my call to mingle myself in
the strife of the land had awakened me to my duties, were
spent in his company. I—but I will make the rest of my story
short.—‘ Here he drew his chair close to that of E ‘verard, and
spoke in asolemn and mysterious tone of voice, almost lowered
to a whisper—‘ I saw him last night.”

“Saw him—saw whom?” said Eve rard. ‘Can you mean
the person whom”
‘“ Whom I saw so ruthlessly slaughtered,” said the clergy-

man—* My ancient college f1 riend—Josepl 1 Albany. .

 

Note B, Dr. Michael Hudson.HMOLDENOUGH RALLYING THE PARLIAMENTARY SOLDIERS.

   

 

 

ERE
‘a
i
4
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iWOODSTOCK. 187
‘““Master Holdenough, your cloth and your characte: alike
must prevent your jesting on such a subject as this.”

‘“ Jesting!”’ answered Holdenough ; “ I would as soon jest
on my deathbed—as soon jest upon the Bible.”

“But you must have been deceived,” answered Everard,
hastily ; ‘‘ this tragical story necessarily often returns to your
mind, and in moments when the imagination overcomes the
evidence of the outward senses, your fancy must have presented
to you an unreal appearance. Nothing more lkely, when the
mind is on ae stretch after something supernatural, than that
the imagination should supply the place with a chimera, while
the over ated feelings render it difficult to dispel the delu-
sion.”

“Colonel Everard,” replied Holdenough, with austerity,

‘in discharge of my duty I must not fear the face of man; and,
therefore, I tell you plainly, as I have done before with more
observance, that when you bring your carna! learning and
judgment, as it is but too much your nature to do, to investigate
the hidden things of another world, you might as well measure
with the palm of your hand the waters of the Isis. Indeed,
good sir, youerrin this, and give men too much pretence to
confound your honorable name with witch-advocates, free-
thinkers, and atheists, even with such as this man Bletson,
who, if the discipline of the church had its hand stre sngthened,
as it was in the beginning of the great conflict, would have
been long ere now cast out of the pale, and delivered over to
the punishment of the flesh, that his spirit might, if possible,
be yet saved.”

“ You mistake, Master Holdenough,” said Colonel Everard ;
“1 do not deny the existence of such preternatural visitations,
because I cannot, and dare not, raise the voice of my own
opinion against the testimony of ages, supported by such learned
men as yourself, Nevertheless, though I grant the possibility
of such things, I have scarce yet heard of an instance in my
days so well fortified by evidence, that I could at once and dis-
tinctly say, ‘This must have h appened by supernatural agency,
and not otherwise.’ ”

‘‘ Hear, then, what I have to a ’? said the divine, “ on the
faith of a man, a Christian, and, what is more, a servant of our
Holy Church: and, therefore, though unworthy, an elder and
a teacher among Christians. Thad taken my post yester even-
ing in the half-furnished apaMens, wherein hangs a huge
mirror, which might have served Goliath of Gath to have ad-
mired himself in, when aoiten from head to foot in his brazen
armor. I the rather chose this place, because they informed

 

x
JeDa ST errs at ae ae ae

188 WOODSTOCK.

   

me it was the nearest habitable room to the gallery in which
they say you had been yourself assailed that evening by the
Evil One.—Was it so, I pray you?”

“By some one with no good intentions I was assailed in
that apartment. So far” said Colonel Everard, “you were
correctly informed.”

‘Well, I chose my post as well as I might, even as a re-
solved general approaches his camp, and casts up his mound as
nearly as he can to the besieged city. And, of a truth, Colonel
Everard, if I felt some sensation of bodilyfear—for even Elias,
and the prophets, who commanded the elements, had a portion
in our frail nature, much more such a poor sinful being as
myself—yet was my hope and my courage high; and I thought
of the texts which I might use, not in the wicked sense of
periapts, or spells, as the blinded papists employ them, together
with the sign of the cross, and other fruitless forms, but as
nourishing and supporting that true trust and confidence in
the blessed promises, being the true shield of faith wherewith
the fiery darts of Satan may be withstood and quenched. And
thus armed and prepared, I sat me down to read, at the same
time to write, that I might compel my mind to attend to those
subjects which became the situation in which I was placed, as
preventing any unlicensed excursion of the fancy, and leaving
no room for my imagination to brood over idle fears. So I
methodized, and wrote down what I thought meet for the time,
and peradventure some hungry souls may yet profit by the food
which I then prepared.”

‘‘Tt was wisely and worthily done, good and reverend sir,”
replied Colonel Everard. ‘I pray you to proceed.”

“While I was thus employed, sir, and had been upon the
matter for about three hours, not yielding to weariness, a
strange thrilling came over my senses, and the large and old-
fashioned apartment seemed to wax larger, more gloomy, and
more cavernous, while the air of the night grew more cold and
chill. JI know not if it was that the fire began to decay, or
whether there cometh before such things as were then about ta
happen, a breath and atmosphere, as it were, of terror, as Job
saith in a well-known passage, ‘ Fear came upon me, and trem-
bling, which made my bones to shake;’ and there was a
tingling noise in my ears, and a dizziness in my brain, so that
I felt like those who call for aid when there is no danger, and
was even prompted to flee, when I saw no one to pursue. It
was then that something seemed to pass behind me, casting a
reflection on the great mirror before which I had placed my
writing-table, and which I saw by assistance of the large stand-WOODSTOCK.

ing light which was then in front of the glass. And I looked
up, and saw in the glass distinctly the appearance of a man—
as sure as these words issue from my mouth, it was no other
than the same Joseph Albany—the companion of my youth—
he whom I had seen precipitated down the battlements of
Clidesthrough Castle into the deep lake below !”’

“What did you do?”

“It suddenly rushed on my mind,” said the divine, “that
the stoical philosopher Athenodorus had eluded the horrors of
such a vision by patiently pursuing his studies; and it shot at
the same time across my mind, that I, a Christian divine, and a
Steward of the Mysteries, had less reason to fear evil, and
better matter on which to employ my thoughts, than was pos-
sessed by a Heathen, who was blinded even by his own wisdom.
So, instead of betraying any alarm, or even turning my head
around, I pursued my writing, but with a beating heart, I
admit, and with a throbbing hand.”

“Tf you could write at all,” said the Colonel, “ with such
an impression on your mind, you may take the head of the
English army for dauntless resolution.”

“Our courage is not our own, Colonel,” said the divine,
“and not as ours should it be vaunted of. And again, when
you speak of this strange vision as an impression on my fancy,
and not a reality obvious to my senses, let me tell you once
more, your worldly wisdom is but foolishness touching the
things that are not worldly.”

“Did you not look again upon the mirror?” said the
Colonel.

“T did, when I had copied out the comfortable text, ‘Thou
shalt tread down Satan under thy feet.’ ”

‘‘ And what did you then see?”

“The reflection of the same Joseph Albany,” said Hold-
enough, “passing slowly as from behind my chair—the same in
member and lineament that I had known him in his youth, ex-
cepting that his cheek had the marks of the more advanced age
at which he died, and was very pale.”

“What did you then?”

“ IT turned from the glass, and plainly saw the figure which
had made the reflection in the mirror retreating toward the
door, not fast, nor slow, but with a gliding steady pace. It
turned again when near the door, and again showed me its pale,
ehastly countenance, before it disappeared. But how it left the
room, whether by the door, or otherwise, my spirits were too
much hurried to remark exactly ; nor have I been able, by any

effort of recollection, distinctly to remember.”190 WOODSTOCK.

This is a strange, and, as coming from you, a most excel-
lently well-attested apparition,” answered Everard. “ And yet,
Master Holdenough, if the other world has been actually dis-
played, as you apprehend, and I will not dispute the possibility,
assure yourself there are also wicked men concerned in these
machinations. I myself have undergone some rencontres with
visitants who possessed _ bodily strength, and wore, I am sure,
earthly weapons.”

“Oh! doubtless, doubtless,” replied Master Holdenough ;
“ Beelzebub loves to charge with horse and foot mingled, as
was the fashion of the old Scottish general, Davie Leslie. He
has his devils in the body as well as his devils disembodied,
and uses the one to support and back the other.”

“ It may be as you say, reverend sir,” answered the Colonel.
—“ But what do you advise in this case? ”

“For that I must consult with my brethren,’ said the
divine; ‘and if there be but left in our borders five ministers
of the true kirk, we will charge Satan in full body, and you
shall see whether we have not power over him to resist till he
shall flee from us.
these strange and

But failing that ghostly armament against

unearthly enemies, truly I would recommend,
that as a house of witchcraft and abomination, this polluted
den of ancien. tyranny and prostitution should be totally con-
sumed by fire, lest Satan, establishing his head-quarters so
much to his mind, should find a garrison and a fastness from
which he might sally forth to infest the whole neighborhood.
Certain it is, that I would recommend to no Christian soul to
inhabit the mansion; and, if deserted, it would become a place
for wizards to play their pranks, and witches to establish their
Sabbath, and those who, like Demas. go about after the wealth
of this world, seeking for gold and silver, to practice spells and
charms to the prejudice of the souls of the covetous. Trust
me, therefore, it were better that it were spoiled and broken
down, not leaving one stone upon another.”

“I say nay to that, my good friend,” said the Colonel | “for
the Lord-General hath permitted, by his license, my mother’s
brother, Sir Henry Lee, and his family, to return into the house
of his fathers, being indeed the only roof under which he hath
any chance of obtaining shelter for his gray hairs.”

“And was this done by your advice, Markham Everard ? ”
said the divine, austerely,

“ Certainly it was,” returned the Colonel.—* And wherefore
should I not exert mine influence to obtain a place of refuge
for the brother of my mother?”

“ Now, us sure as thy soul liveth,’”’ answered the Presbyter,WOODSTOCK. 191

“T had believed this from no tongue but thine own. ‘Tell me,
was it not this very Sir Henry Lee, who, by the force of his
buffcoats and his green-jerkins, enforced the papist Laud’s order
to remove the altar to the eastern end of the church at Wood-
stock ?—and did not he swear by his beard, that he would hang
in the very street of Woodstock whoever should deny to drink
the King’s health ?—and is not his hand red with the blood of
the saints ?—and hath there been a ruffler in the field for pre-
lacy and high prerogative more unmitigable or fiercer ? ”

‘“ All this may have been as you say, good Master Hold-
enough,” answered the Colonel ; “but my uncle is now old and
feeble, and hath scarce a single follower remaining, and his
daughter is a being whom to look upon would make the
sternest weep for pity; a being who’

““ Who is de ne to Everard,” said Holdenough, “ than his
good name, his faith 1 to his friends, his ee to his religion ;—
this is no time to speak with sugared lip The paths in which
you tread are dangerous. You are sHnvde to raise the papisti-

cal candlestick which He: aven in its justice remov ed out of its
place—to bring back to this ca ill of sorceries those very sinners
who are bewitched wit us the I will not permit the land to be
abused by their witchcrafts th ey shall not come hither.”

He spoke this with vehe smence, and striking his stick against
the ground ; the Colonel, very much dissat Ge began to ex-
press himself haughtily in return. “ You ad better consider
your power to acc¢ mplish your threats, a tee Holdenough,”
he said, ‘“‘ before you urge them so peremptorily.’

And have I not the power to bind and to loose ?”’ said the
clergyman.

“Tt is a power little available, save over those of your own
Church,” said Everard, ie a tone something me

Take heed—take he > said the divine, who, though a
excellent, was, aS we hav Boh sewhere seen, an irritable man.—

‘¢Do not insult me; but fi 1k honorably of the messenger, for
ine HS of Him whose commission he carries. I say,
am bound to discharge my duty, were it to the dis
pleasing of my twin brother.”

‘T can see nought your office has to do in the matter, ”” said
Colonel. Everard ; “ and i, on my Sl de, give e you warning not to
attempt to meddle beyond your commission.’

‘Right—you hold me already to be as submissive as one of
your grenad diers,” replied the clergyman, his acute features
trembling with a sense of indignity, so as even to agitate his
gray hair; “but beware, sir, I am not so power: less as you sup-
pose. I will invoke every true Christian in Woodstock to gird

 

       

           

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192 WOODSTOCK.

up his loins, and resist the restoration of prelacy, oppression,
and malignancy within our borders. I will stir up the wrath
of the righteous against the oppressor—the Ishmaelite—the
Edomite—and against his race, and against those who support
him and encourage him to rear up his horn. I will call aloud,
and spare not, and arouse the many whose love hath waxed
cold, and the multitude who care for none of these things.
There shall be a remnant to listen to me: and I will take the
stick of Joseph, which was in the hand of Ephraim, and ge
down to cleanse this place of witches and sorcerers, and of en-
chantments, and will cry and exhort, saying—Will you plead
for Baal ?—will you serve him? Nay, take the prophets of Baal
—let not a man escape !”

“Master Holdenough, Master Holdenough,” said Colonel
Everard, with much impatience, “ by the tale yourself told me,
you have exhorted upon that text once too often already.”

The old man struck his palm forcibly against his forehead,
and fell back into a chair as these words were uttered, as sud-
denly, and as much without power of resistance, as if the Colo-
nel had fired a pistol through his head. Instantly regretting
the reproach which he had suffered to escape him in his im-
patience, Everard hastened to apologize, and to offer every con-
ciliatory excuse, however inconsistent, which occurred to him
on the moment. But the old man was to deeply affected—he
rejected his hand, lent no ear to what he said, and finally
started up, saying sternly, “‘ You have abused my confidence, sir
—abused it vilely, to turn it into my own reproach : had I been

a man of the sword, you dared not—But enjoy your triumph,
sir, over an old man, and your father’s friend—strike at the
wound his imprudent confidence showed you.”

“ Nay, my worthy and excellent friend,” said the Colo-
nel

 

“Friend!” answered the: old man, starting up—We are
foes, sir—foes now, and forever!”

So saying, and starting from the seat into which he had
rather fallen than thrown himself, he ran out of the room with
a precipitation of step which he was apt to use upon occasions
of irritable feeling, and which was certainly more eager than
dignified, especially as he muttered while he ran, and seemed
as if he were keeping up his own passion, by recounting over
and over the offence which he had received

~ Soh!” said Colonel Everard, “and there was not strife
enough between mine uncle and the people of Woodstock
already, I must but needs increase it, by chafing this irritable
and quick-tempered old man, eager as I knew him to be in hisWOODSTOCK. 193

ideas of church-government, and stiff in his prejudices respect:
ing all who dissent from him! The mob of Woodstock will
rise; for though he would not get a score of them to. stand by
him in any honest or intelligible purpose, yet let him cry havoc
and destruction, and I will warrant he has followers enow.
And my uncle is equally wild and unpersuadable. For the
value of all the estate he ever had, he would not allow a score
of troopers to be quartered in the house for defence ; and if he
be alone, or has but Joceline to stand by him, fie will be as
sure to fire upon those who come to attack the Lodge, as if he
had a hundred men in garrison; and then what can chance
but danger and bloodshed ?”’

This progress of melancholy anticipation was interrupted by
the return of Master Holdenough, who, hurrying into the room
with the same precipitate pace at which he had left it, ran
straight up to the Colonel, and said, “Take my hand, Markham
—take my hand hastily ; for the old Adam is w hispering at
my fee art, that it is a disgrace to hold it extended so long.’

“ Most heartily do I receive your hand, my v enerable friend, 7
said Everard, “ and I trust in sign of renew ed amity.”

fe Surely, surely, said the divine, shaking his hand kindly
“thou hast, it is true, spoken bitterly, but thou hast Salen
truth in good time; and I think —though your words were
severe—with a good and kindly purpose. Verily, and of a
truth, it were sinful in me again to be hasty in provoking
violence, remembering that which you have upbraided me
with ”’

¢ ome » me, good Master Holdnough,” said Colonel Ever-
ard, “it was a hasty word; 1 meant not in serious earnest to
upbraia? o

‘Peace, I pray you, peace,” said the divine; “ I say, the
allusion to th at which you have most justly upbraid ed me with
—though the charge aroused the gall of the old man within
me, the inward tempter being ever on the watch to bring us to
his lure—ought, instead of being resented, to have been ac-
knowledged by me as a favor, for. so are the wounds of a friend
termed faithful. And surely I, who have by one unhappy ex
hortation to battle and strife sent the living to the dead—and
I fear brought back even the dead among the living—should
now study peace and good- will, and reconciliation of difference,
leaving punishment to the Great Being whose laws a are broken,
and vengeance to Him who hath said, I will repay it.’

The old man’s mortified features lighted up with a humble
confidence as he made this acknowl ledement; and Colonel
Everard, who knew the constitutional infirmities, and the early

 

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194 WOODSTOCK.

prejudices of professional consequence and exclusive party opin-
lon, which he must have subdued ere arriving at such a tone of
candor, hastened to express his admiration of his Christian char-
ity, mingled with reproaches on himself for having so deeply
injured his feelings.

“Think not of it—think not of it, excellent young man,” said
Holdenough; “we have both erred—lI in suffering my zeal to
outrun my charity, you perhaps in pressing hard on an old and
peevish man, who had so lately poured out his sufferings inte
your friendly bosom. Be it all forgotten. Let your friends, if
they are not deterred by what has happened at this manor of
Woodstock, resume their habitations as soon as they will. If
they can protect themselves against the powers of the air, be-
lieve me, that if I can prevent it by aught in my power, they
shall have no annoyance from earthly neighbors; and assure
yourself, good sir, that my voice is still worth something with
the worthy Mayor and the good Aldermen, and the better sort
of housekeepers up yonder in the town, although the lower
classes are blown about with every wind of doctrine. And yet
further, be assured, Colonel, that should your mother’s brother,
or any of his family, learn that they have taken up a rash bargain
in returning to this unhappy and unhallowed house, or should
they find any qualms in their own hearts and consciences which
require a ghostly comforter, Nehemiah Holdenough will be as
much at their command by night or day, as if they had been bred
up within the holy pale of the church in which he is an unwor-
thy minister ; and neither the awe of what is fearful to be seen
within these walls, nor his knowledge of their blinded and
carnal state, as bred up under a prelatic dispensation, shall pre-
vent him doing what lies in his poor abilities for their pre tection
and edification.”

‘I feel all the force of your kindness, reverend sit,’ said
Colonel Everard, “ but I do-not think it likely that my uncle
will give you trouble on either score. He is a man much accus-
tomed to be his own protector in temporal danger, and in
spiritual doubts to trust to his own prayers and those of his
Church??

‘I trust I have not been superfluous in offering mine assist
ance,” said the old man, something jealous that his proffered
spiritual aid had been held rather intrusive. “I ask pardon if
that is the case, I humbly ask pardon—I would not willingly be
superfluous.”

The Colonel hastened to appease this new alarm of the
watchful jealousy of his consequence, which, joined witha naturalWOODSTOCK. 19s

heat of temper which he could not always subdue, were the
good man’s only faults.

They had regained their former friendly footing, when Roger
Wildrake returned from the hut of Joceline, and whispered his
master that his embassy had been successful. The Colonel
then addressed the divine, and informed him, that as the Com-
nissioners had already given up Woodstock, and as his uncle,
Sir Henry Lee, proposed to return to the Lodge about noon,
he would, if his reverence pleased, attend him up to the bor
ough,

“Will you not tarry,” said the reverend man, with some-
thing like inquisitive apprehension in his voice, “ to welcome
your relatives upon their return to this their house ? ”

“No, my good friend,’’ said Colonel Everard; “ the part
which I have taken in these unhappy broils, perhaps also the
mode of worship in which I have been educated, have so prej-
udiced me in mine uncle’s opinion, that I must be for some
time a stranger to his house and family.”

“Indeed! I rejoice to hear it with all my heart and soul
said the divine. ‘Excuse my frankness—I do indeed rejoice ;
I had thought—no matter what I had thought; I would not
again give offence. But truly, though the maiden hath a pleas-
ant feature, and he, as all men say, is in human things unex-
ceptionable, yet,—but I give you pain—in sooth, I will say no
more unless you ask my sincere and unprejudiced advice, which
you shall command, but which I will not press on you super-
duously. Wend we to the borough together—the pleasant

solitude of the forest may dispose us to open our hearts to each

22,
)

 

other,”

They did walk up to the little town in company, and, some-
what to Master Holdenough’s surprise, the Colonel, though
thev talked on various subjects, did not request of him any
chostly advice on the subject of his love to his fair cousin,

ns

while, greatly beyond the expectation of the soldier, the clergy-
man kept his word, and in his own phrase, was not so supet™
fluous as to offer upon so delicate a point his unasked counsel.

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
    

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WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.

Then are the harpies gone—Yet ere we perch

Where such foul birds have roosted, let us cleanse

The foul obscenity they’ve left behind them.
AGAMEMNON.

THE embassy of Wildrake had been successful, chiefly
through the mediation of the Episcopal divine, whom we for-
merly found acting in the character of a chaplain to the family,
and whose voice had great influence on many accounts with its
master.

A little before high noon, Sir Henry Lee, with his small
household, were again in unchallenged possession of their old
apartments at the Lodge of Woodstock; and the combined ex-
ertions of Joceline Joliffe, of Phoebe, and of old Joan, were em-
ployed in putting to rights what the late intruders had left in
great disorder.

Sir Henry Lee had, like all persons of quality of that period,
a love of order amounting to precision, and felt, like a fine
lady whose dress has been disordered in a crowd, insulted and
humiliated by the rude confusion into which his household
goods had been thrown, and impatient till his mansion was
purified from all marks of intrusion. _ In his anger he uttered
more orders than the limited number of his domestics were
likely to find time or hands to execute. ‘The villains have
left such sulphureous steams behind them, too,” said the old
knight, “as if old Davie Leslie and the whole Scottish army had
quartered among them.”

“It may be near as bad,” said Joceline, “for men say, for
certain, it was the devil came down bodily among them, and
made them troop off.”

“Then,” said the knight, “is the Prince of Darkness a
gentleman, as old Will Shakspeare says. He never interferes
with those of his own coat, for the Lees have been here, father
and son, these five hundred years, without disquiet ; and no
sooner came these misbegotten churls, than he plays his own
part among them.”

“Well, one thing he and they have left us,” said Joliffe,
‘which we may thank them for ; and that is, such a well-filled
larder and buttery as has been seldom seen in Woodstock
Lodge this many a day : carcasses of mutton, large rounds of
beef, barrels of confectioners’ ware, pipes and runlets of sack,WOODSTOCK. 197

muscadine, ale, and what not. We shall havea royal time on’t
through half the winter: and Joan must get to salting and
pickling presently.”

“ Out, villain!” said the knight; “are we to feed on the frag-
ments of such scum of the earth as these? Cast them forth
instantly! Nay,” checking himself, “ that were a sin ; but give
them to the poor, or see them sent to their owners. And, hark
ye, I will none of their strong liquors. I would rather drink like
a hermit all my life, than seem to pledge such scoundrels as
these in their leavings, like a miserable drawer, who drains off
the ends of the bottles after the guests have paid their reckon-
ing, and gone off. And hark ye, I will taste no water from
the cistern out of which these slaves have been serving them-
selves—fetch me down a pitcher from Rosamond’s spring.”

Alice heard this injunction, and well guessing there was
enough for the other members of the family to do, she quietly
took a small pitcher, and flinging a cloak around her, walked
out in person to procure Sir Henry the water which he desired.
Meantime, Joceline said, with some hesitation, “that a man
still remained, belonging to a party of these strangers, who
was directing about the removal of some trunks and mails
which belonged to the Commissioners, and who could receive
his honor’s commands about the provisions.”

“Let him come hither.” (The dialogue was held in the
hall.) ‘Why do you hesitate and drumble in that manner ?”’

“ Only, sir,” said Joceline, “ only perhaps your honer might
not wish to see him, being the same who, not long since :

He paused.

“Sent my rapier a-hawking through the firmament, thou
wouldst say? Why, when did I take spleen at a man for
standing his ground against me ? Roundhead as he is, man, I
like him the better of that, not the worse. I hunger and thirst
to have another turn with him. I have thought on his passado
ever since, and I believe, were it to try again, I know a feat
would control it. Fetch him directly.”

Trusty Tomkins was presently ushered in, bearing himself
with an iron gravity, which neither the terrors of the preceding
night, nor the dignified demeanor of the high-born personage
before whom he stood, were able for an instant to overcome.

“ How now, good fellow?” said Sir Henry ; “ T would fain
see something more of thy fence, which baffled me the other
evening ; but truly, I think the light was somewhat too faint
for my old eyes. ‘Take a foil, man—l walk here in the hall,
as Hamlet says; and ’tis the breathing-time of day with me.
Take a foil, then, in thy hand.”' nt Satta aaaoe tas keane ee eee eerie or
F saieiiiate ine teatiatahsiubabiadenaet eee eae ~ :
4

198 WOODSTOCK.

“Since it is your worship’s desire,” said the steward, letting
fall his long cloak, and taking the foil in his hand.

| Now; said the Imesh, eu your fitness speaks, mine is
teady. Methinks the very stepping on the same old pavement
hath charmed away the gout which threatened me.
tread as firm as a game-cock.”

They began the play with great spirit; and whether the old
knight really fought more coolly with the blunt than with the
sharp weapon, or whether the steward gave him some grains of
advantage in this merely sportive encounter, it is certain Sir
Henry had the better in the assault. Hig success put him into
excellent humor.

There,” said he, “I found your trick—nay, you cheat me
not twice the same way. There was a very palpable hit. Why
had I had but light enough the other night—But it skills not
speaking of it—Here we leave off. I must not fight, as we
unwise Cavaliers did with you roundhead rascals, beating you
so often that we taught you to beat us at last. And good now,
tell me why you are leaving your larder so full here? Do you
think I or my family can use broken victuals? What, have
you no better employment for your rounds of sequestrated beef
than to leave them behind you when you shift your quarters ?”

‘So please your honor,” said Tomkins, “it may be. that
you desire not the flesh of beeves, of rams, or of goats. Never-
theless, when you know that the provisions were provided and
paid for out of your own rents and stock at Ditchley, seques-
trated to the use of the state more than a year since, it may be
you will have less scruple to use them for your own behoof,”’

“ Rest assured that I shall,” said Sir Henry; “and glad
you have helped me to a share of mine own. Certainly I was
an ass to suspect your masters of subsisting, save at honest
men’s expense,”

aa Sa

“ And as for the rumps of beeves,”
with the same solemnity, “there is a rump at Westminster,
which will stand us of the army much hacking and hewing yet,
ere it is discussed to our mind.”

Sir Henry paused, as if to consider wl
of this innuendo; for he was not a
hension. But having at length caught the meaning of it, he
burst into an explosion of louder laughter than Joceline had
seen him indulge in for a good while,

“ Right, knave,” he said, “I taste thy jest—It is the very
moral of the puppet-show. Faustus raised the devil, as the
Parliament raised the army, and then, as the devil flies away
with Faustus, so will the army fly away with the Parliament.

continued Tomkins,

1at was the meaning
person of very quick appre-WOODSTOCK. 199

or the rump, as you call’st it, or sitting part of the so-called
Parliament. And then, look you, friend, the very devil of all
hath my willing consent to fly away with the army in its turn,
from the highest general down to the lowest drum-boy. Nay,
sever look fierce for the matter; remember there is daylight
enough now for a game at sharps.”

v URHUBLY Tomkins appeared to think it best to suppress his
displeasure ; and observing that the wains were ready to trans-
port the Commissioner's property to the borough, took a grave
leave of Sir Henry Lee.

Meantime the old man continued to pace his recovered hall,
rubbing his hands, and evincing greater signs of glee than he
had shown since the fatal 30th of January.

“Here we are again in the old frank, Joliffe ; well victualed
too. How the knave solved my point of conscience !—the
dullest of them is a special casuist where the question concerns
profit. Look out if there are not some of our own ragged

regiment lurking about, to whom a bellyful would be a God-
send, Joceline. Then his fence, Joceline, though the fellow
foils well, very sufficient well. But thou saw’st how I dealt
with him when I had fitting light, Joceline.”

“ Ay, and so your honor did,” said Joceline. “ You taught

him to know the Duke of Norfolk from Saunders Gardner.
ll warrant him he will not wish to come under your honor’s
thumb again.”

“Why, I am waxing old,” said Sir Henry; “ but skill will
not rust through age, though sinews must stiffen. But my age
is like a lusty winter, as old Will says, frosty but kindly ; and
what if, old as we are, we live to see better days yet! Lf pro-
mise thee, Joceline, I love this jarring betwixt the rogues of
the board and the rogues of the sword. When thieves quarrel,
true men have a chance of coming by their own.”

Thus triumphed the old cavalier, in the treble glory of
having recovered his dwelling,—regained, as he thought, his
character as a man of fence, and finally, discovered some pros:
pect of a change of times, in which he was not without hopes
that something might turn up for the royal interest.

Meanwhile, Alice, with a prouder and a lighter heart than
had danced in her bosom for several days, went forth with
a gayety to which she of late had been a stranger, to corr
tribute her assistance to the regulation and supply of the house-
hold, by bringing the fresh water wanted from Fair Rosamond’s
well.

Perhaps she remembered, that when she was but a girl, her
cousin Markham used, among others, to make her perform thatSee WOODSTOCK.
duty, as presenting the character of some captive Trojan
princess, condemned by her situation to draw the waters from
some Grecian spring, for the use of the proud victor. At any
rate, she certainly joyed to see her father reinstated in his
ancient habitation ; and the joy was not the less sincere, that
she knew their return to Woodstock had been procured by
means of her cousin, and that, even in her father’s prejudiced
eyes, Everard had been in some degree exculpated of the accu-
sations the old knight had brought against him; and that if a
reconciliation had not yet taken place, the preliminaries had
been established on which such a desirable conclusion might
easily be founded. It was like the commencement of a bridge ;
when the foundation is securely laid, and the piers raised above
the influence of the torrent, the throwing of the arches may be
accomplished in a subsequent season.

The doubtful fate of her only brother might have clouded
even this momentary gleam of sunshine; but Alice had been
bred up during the close and frequent contest of civil war, and
had acquired the habit of hoping in behalf of those dear to her,
until hope was lost. In the present case, all reports seemed to
assure her of her brother’s safety.

Besides these causes for gayety, Alice Lee had the pleasing
feeling that she was restored to the habitation and the haunts
of her childhood, from which she had not departed without
much pain, the more felt, perhaps, because suppressed, in order
to avoid irritating her father’s sense of his misfortune. Finally,
she enjoyed for the instant the gleam of self-satisfaction by which
we see the young and well-disposed so often animated, when they
can be, in common phrase, helpful to those whom they love, and
perform at the moment of need some of those little domestic
tasks, which age receives with so much pleasure from the duti-
ful hands of youth. So that, altogether, as she hasted through
the remains and vestiges of a wilderness already mentioned,
and from thence about a bow-shot into the Park, to bring a
pitcher of water from Rosamond’s spring, Alice Lee, her features
enlivened and her complexion a little raised by the exercise had,
for the moment, regained the gay and brilliant vivacity of expres-
sion which had been the characteristic of her beauty in her
earlier and happier days.

This fountain of old memory had been once adorned with
architectural ornaments of the style of the sixteenth century,
chiefly relating to ancient mythology. All these were now
wasted and overthrown, and existed only as moss-covered ruins,
while the living spring continued to furnish its daily treasures,
unrivaled in purity, though the quantity was small gushingWOODSTOCK. 201

out amid disjointed stones, and bubbling through fragments of
ancient scu!pture.

With a light step and laughing brow the young Lady of
Lee was approaching the fountain usually so solitary, when she
paused on beholding some one seated beside it. She proceeded,
however, with confidence, though with a step something less
gay, when she observed that the person was a female; some
menial perhaps from the town, whom a fanciful mistress occa-
sionally despatched for the water of a spring, supposed to be
peculiarly pure, or some aged woman, who made a little trade
by carrying it to the better sort of families, and selling it for a
trifle. ‘There was no cause, therefore, for apprehension.

Yet the terrors of the times were so great, that Alice did
not see a stranger even of her own sex without some apprehen-
sion. Denaturalized women had as usual followed the camps
of both armies during the Civil War; who on the one side with
open profligacy and profanity, on the other with the fraudful
tone of fanaticism or hypocrisy, exercised nearly in like degree
their talents for murder or plunder. But it was broad daylight,
the distance from the Lodge was but trifling, and though a little
alarmed at seeing a stranger where she expected deep solitude,
the daughter of the haughty old Knight had too much of the
lion about her, to fear without some determined and decided
cause.

Alice walked, therefore, gravely on toward the fount, and
composed her looks as she took a hasty glance of the female
who was seated there, and addressed herself to her task of
filling her pitcher.

The woman, whose presence had surprised and somewha
startled Alice Lee, was a person of the lower rank, whose red
cloak, russet kirtle, handkerchief trimmed with Coventry blue,
and a coarse steeple hat, could not indicate at best anything
higher than the wife of a small farmer, or, perhaps, the help-
mate of a bailiff or hind. It was well if she proved nothing
worse. Her clothes, indeed, were of good materials ; but, what
the female eye discerns with half a glance, they were indifferently
adjusted and put on. ‘This looked as if they did not belong to
the person by whom they were worn, but were articles of which
she had become the mistress by some accident, if not by some
successful robbery. Her size, too, as did not escape Alice,
even in the short perusal she afforded the stranger, was
unusual; her features swarthy and singularly harsh, and
her manner altogether unpropitious. ‘The young lady almost
wished, as she stooped to fill her pitcher, that she had rather
turned back, and sent Joceline on the errand; but repentance

 

 

LORONC a, = caelA WOODSTOCK.

was too late now, and she had only to disguise as well she
could her unpleasant feelings,

“The blessings of this bright day to one as bright as it is,”
said the stranger, with no unfriendly, though a harsh voice.

“ I thank you,” said Alice in reply ; and continued to J
her pitcher busily, by assistance of an iron bow] which remained
still chained to one of the stones beside the fountain.

‘* Perhaps, my pretty maiden, if you would accept my help,
your work would be sooner done,” said the stranger,

“ I thank you,” said Alice ; “but, had-I needed assistance, [
could have brought those with me who had rendered it,”

‘‘ I do not doubt of that, my pretty maiden,” answered the
female ; “ there are too many lads in Woodstock with eyes in
their heads—No doubt you could have brought with you any
one of them who looked on you, if you.had listed ? ”

Alice replied not a syllable, for she did not like the freedom
used by the speaker, and was desirous to break off the conver-
sation,

“ Are you offended, my pretty mistress ? ” said the stranger:
‘* that was far from my purpose.—I will put my question other-
wise—Are the good dames of Woodstock so careless of their
pretty daughters as to let the flower of them all wander about
the wild chase without a mother, or a somebody to prevent the
fox from running away with the lamb ?—that carelessness,
methinks, shows small kindness.”

~ Content yourself, good woman, I am not far from protection
and assistance,” said Alice, who liked less and less the effrontery
of her new acquaintance.

“ Alas! my pretty maiden,” said the stranger, patting with
her large and hard hand the head which Alice had kept bended
down toward the water which she was laving, “it would be
difficult to hear such a pipe as yours at the town of Woodstocl
scream as loud as you would.”

i

hg
3

Alice shook the woman’s hand angrily off, took up her pit-
cher, though not above half full,

and as she saw the stranger
risێ at the same time, said,

10t without fear, doubtless, but
with a natural feeling of resentment and dignity, “I have no
reason to make my cries heard as far as Woodstock ; were there
occasion for my crying for help at all, it is nearer at hand,”
She spoke not without a warrant : for, at the moment, broke
through the bushes, and stood by her side, the noble hound
Bevis ; fixing on the stranger his eyes that gleamed fire, rais-
ing every hair on his gallant mane as upright as the bristles of

a wild boar when hard pressed, grinning till a case of teeth,

which would have matched those of any wolf in Russia, wereWOODSTOCK. 203
display ed in full array, and, without either barking or springing,
ee by his low determined growl, to await ‘but the signal

or dashing at the female, whom he plainly considered as a sus-
sides person.

But the stranger was undaunted. “My pretty maiden,’
she said, “ you have indeed a formidable guardian there where
cockneys or bumpkins are concerned ; but we who have been
at the wars know spells for taming such furious dragons; and
therefore let not your four-footed protector go loose on me, for
he is a noble animal, and nothing but self-defence would induce
me to do him injury.” So saying, she drew a pistol from her
bosom, and cocked pei ointing it toward the dog, as if appre-
hensive that he would spring upon her.

“ Hold, woman, hold!” said Alice Lee; “the dog will not
a you no harm.—Down, Bevis, couch down.—And ere you at-

tempt to hurt him, know he is the favorite hound of Sir Henry
Lee of Ditchley, the keeper of W oodstock Park, who would
severely revenge any injury offered to him.”

‘And you, pretty one, are the old knight’s housekeeper,
doubtless! I have often heard the Lees have good taste.’

“T am his daughter, good Ww oman.’

“His daughter !—I wz yet it is true, nothing
less perfe sct could answer t the ee rion which all the world
has given of Mistress Alice Lee. I trust that my folly has
given my young mistress no offence, and that she will allow me,
in token of reconcili ation, to fill her pitcher, and carry it as far
as she will permit.’

“As you will, Bas mother: but I am about to return in-
stantly to the Lodge, to which, in these times, I cannot admit
strangers. You can 1 follows me no further than the verge of the
wi Iderness, and I am already too long from home 5 I will send
some one to meet and relieve you of ‘the pitcher.” So saying
she turned her back, with a feeling of terror which she could
hardly accot ae t for, and began to Ww ralk quickly tow ard the Lodge,
tl hinking thus to get rid of her troublesome acquaintance.

But she reckoned without her host ; for in a moment her
new companion was by her side, not running indeed, but walk-
ing with prodigious long unwomanly str ides, which soon broug “ht
her up with the hurried ‘and timid ste eps of the frightened maiden.
But her manner was more respectful than formerly, though her
voice sounded remarkably harsh and disagreeable, and her
whole appearance suggested an undefined, yet irresistible feel-

                 

ing ee apprehension.
“Pardon a stranger, lovely Mistress Alice,” said her perse-

cutor, ‘‘that was not capable ‘of distinguishing between a lady204 WOODSTOCK.
of your high quality and a peasant wench, and who spoke to
you with a degree of freedom, ill befitting your rank, certainly,
and condition, and which, I fear, has given you offence.”

“ No offence whatever,” replied Alice ; “ but, good woman,
[am near home, and can excuse your further company.—You
are unknown to me.”

“But it follows not,” said the stranger, that your fortunes
may not be known to me, fair Mistress Alice. Look on my
swarthy brow—England breeds none such—and in the lands
from which I come, the sun which blackens our complexion,
pours, to make amends, rays of knowledge into our brains, which
are denied to those of your lukewarm climate. Let me look
upon your pretty hand—l[attempting to possess herself of it],
—and I promise you, you shall hear what will please you.”

“I hear what does zot please me,’’ said Alice, with dignity .
“you must carry your tricks of fortune-telling and palmistry to
the women of the village—We of the gentry hold them to be
either imposture or unlawful knowl adore.”

“Yet you would fain hear of a

a certain Colonel, I warrant
you, whom certain unhaj

j py circumstances have separated from

his family ; you would give better than silver if I could assure

you that you would see him in a day or two—ay, perhaps,
s 27

sooner,

“I know nothing of what you speak, good woman; if you
want alms, there is a piece of silver—it is all I have in my
purse.

“It were pity that I should take it,” said the female; “and
yet give it me—for the princess in the fairy tale must ever
deserve, by her generosity, the bounty of the benevolent fairy,
before she is rewarded by her protection.”

“Take it—take it—give me my pitcher,” said Alice, “and
begone,—yonder comes one of my father’s servants.—What,
ho !—Joceline—Joceline ! ”

The old fortune-teller hastily dropped something into the
pitcher as she restored it to Alice Lee, and, plying her long
limbs, disappeared speedily under cover of the wood.

Bevis turned, and backed, and showed some inclination to
harass the retreat of this suspicious person, yet, as if uncertain,
ran toward Joliffe, and fawned on him, as to demand his advice
and encouragement. Joceline pacified the animal, and, coming
up to his young lady, asked her with surprise what was the

matter, and whether she had been frightened? Alice made
light of her alarm, for which, indeed, she could not have
assigned any very competent reason, for the manners of the
woman, though bold and intrusive, were not menacing. SheWOODSTOCK. 206

only said she had met a fortune-teller by Rosamond’s Well, and
had had some difficulty in shaking her off.

“ Ah, the gypsy thief,” said Joceline, “ how well she scented
there was food in the pantry !—they have noses like ravens
these strollers. Look you, Mistress Alice, you shall not see a
raven, or a carrion-crow, in all the blue sky for a mile round
you; but let a sheep drop suddenly down on the greensward.
and before the poor creature’s dead you shall see a dozen of
such guests croaking, as if inviting each other to the banquet.
—Just so it is with these sturdy beggars. You will see few
enough of them when there’s nothing to give, but when hough’s
in the pot, they will have share OnAt «

“You are §o proud of your fresh supply of provender,” said
Alice, “that you suspect all of a design on’t. I do not think
this woman will venture near your kitchen, Joceline.”’

“Tt will be best for her health,” said Joceline, “Jest I give
her a ducking for digestion —But give me the pitcher, Mistress
Alice——meeter I bear it than you.—How now ? what jingles
at the bottom? have you lifted the pebbles as well as the
water ?”’

“T think the woman dropped something into the pitcher,”
said Alice.

“ Nay, we must look to that, for it is like to be a charm, and
we have enough of the devil’s ware about Woodstock already—
we will not spare for the water—I can run back and fill the
Pitcner Etc poured out the water upon the grass, and at the
bottom of the pitcher was found a gold ring, in which was set a
ruby, apparently of some value.

“Nay, if this be not enchantment, I know not what is, 4 Sala
Joceline. “ Truly, Mistress Alice, I think you had better throw
away this gimcrack. Such gifts from such hands are a kind of
press-money which the devil uses for enlisting his regiment of
witches; and if they take but so much as a bean from him,
they become his bond slaves for life—Ay, you look at the gew-
gaw, but to-morrow you will find a lead ring, and a common
pebble in its stead.”

“ Nay, Joceline, I think it will be better to find out that
dark-complexioned woman, and return to her what seems of
some value. 90, cause inquiry to be made, and be sure you
return her ring. It seems too valuable to be destroyed.”

“Umph! that is always the way with women,” murmured
Toceline. ‘“ You will never get the best of them, but she is
willing to save a bit of finery—Well, Mistress Alice, I trust
that you are too young and too pretty to be enlisted in a regr
ment of witches.”206 WOODSTOCK.

“I shall not be afraid of it till you turn conjuror,” said
Alice; “so hasten to the well, where you are like still to find
the woman, and let her know that Alice Lee desires none of
her gifts, any more than she did of her society.”

So saying, the young lady pursued her way to the Lodge,
while Joceline went down to Rosamond’s Well to execute her
commission. But the fortune-teller, or whoever she might be,
was nowhere to be found ; neither, finding that to be the case,
did Joceline give himself much trouble in tracking her further,

“If this ring, which I dare say the jade stole somewhere,”
said the under-keeper to himself, “be worth a few nobles, it is
better in honest hands th

an in that of vagabonds. My master
has aright to all waifs and Strays, and certainly such a ring,
in possession of a &ypsy, must be a waif. So I shall confiscate
it without scruple, and apply the produce to the support of Sir
Henry’s household, which is like to be poor enough. Thank
Heaven, my military experience has taught me how to carry
hooks at my finger-ends—that is trooper’s law. Yet, hang it,
after all, I had best take it to Mark Everard, and ask his advice
—I hold him now to be your learned counselor in law where
Mistress Alice’s affairs are concerned, and my learned Doctor,
who shall be nameless, for such as concern Church and State
and Sir Henry Lee—And [’ll give them leave to give mine
umbles to the kites and ravens if they find me conferring my
confidence where it is not safe.”

ptt — teenie ets

CHAPTER NINETEENTH.

Being skilless in these parts, which, to
Unguided and unfriended
Rough and inhospitable.

a Stranger,
, often prove

TWELFTH NIGHT.

THERE was a little attempt at preparation, now that the
dinner hour was arrived, which showed that, in the opinion of
his few but faithful domestics. the good knight had returned in
triumph to his home.

The great tankard, exhibiting in bas-rel
Michael subduing the Arch-enem
and Joceline and Phebe dutifull
the chair of Sir Henry, the other to wait upon her young mis-

tress, and both to make out, by formal and regular observance,
the want of a more numerous train.

ief the figure of
y, was placed on the table,
y attended ; the one behindWOODSTOCK.

‘“‘ A health to King Charles!” said the old knight, handing
the massive tankard to his daughter; “drink it, my love,
though it be rebel ale which they have left us. J will pledge
thee; for the toast will excuse the liquor, had Noll himself
brewed it.”

The young lady touched the goblet with her lips, and re-
turned it to her father, who took a copious draught.

“ T will not say blessing on their hearts,” said he ; ” though
I must own they drank good ale.”

‘‘ No wonder, sir; they come lightly by the malt, and need
not spare it,” said Joceline.

““Say’st thou?” said the knight; “thou shalt finish the
tankard thyself for that very jest’s sake.”

Nor was his follower slow in doing reason to the royal
pledge. He bowed and replaced the tankard, saying, after a
triumphant glance at the sculpture, “Iha a gibe with that
same red-coat about the Saint Michael just now.” é

“ Red-coat—ha! what red-coat?” said the hasty old man.
“Do any of these knaves still lurk bout Woodstock ?—Quoit
him down stairs instantly, Joceline—Know we not Galloway
nags ?”

“So please you, he is in some charge here, and will speedily
be gone.—It is he—he who had a rencontre with your honor in
the wood.” :

“ Ay, but I paid him off for it in the hall, as you yourself
saw.—lI was never in better fence in my life, Joceline. That
same steward fellow is not so utterly black-hearted a rogue as
the most of them, Joceline. He fences well—excellent well.
I will have thee try a bout in the hail with him to-morrow,
though I think he will bé too hard for thee. I know thy
streneth to an inch.”

He might say this with some truth; for it was Joceline’s
fashion, when called on, as sometimes happened, to fence with
his patron, just to put forth as much of his strenght and skill
as obliged the knight to contend hard for the victory, which,
in the long run, he always contrived to yield up to him, lke a
discreet serving-man.

“ And what said this roundheaded steward of our great
Saint Michael’s standing cup?”

“ Marry, he scoffed at our good saint, and said he was little
better than one of the golden calves of Bethel. But I told him
he should not talk so, until one of their own roundheaded
saints had given the devil as complete a cross-buttock as Saint
Michael had given him, as ’tis carved upon the cup there. I
trow that made him silent enough. And then he would know

~ -_
5 tS RT : Rite isis
Re cee a elaine
~ ‘208 WOODSTOCK.

whether your honor and Mistress Alice, not to mention old
Joan and myself, since it is your honor’s pleasure I should
take my bed here, were not afraid to sleep in a house that had
been so much disturbed. But I told him we feared no fiends
or goblins, having the prayers of the Church read every
evening.”

‘ Joceline,” said Alice, interrupting him, ‘wert thou mad?
You know at what risk to ourselves and the good doctor the
performance of that duty takes place.”

“Oh, mistress Alice,’ ’ said Joceline, a little abashed, “you
may be sure I spoke not a word of the doctor—No, no—I did
not let him into the secret that we had such a reverend ch lap-
Jain.—I think I know the length of this man’s foot. We have
had a jollification or so toge »ther. He is hand and glove with
me, for as great a fanatic as he is.’

Trust: him snot téo“far;’? said - the knight, ‘Nay, I fear
thou_hast been imprudent already, and that it will be unsafe for
the good man to come here after nightfall, as is proposed.
These Independents have noses like bloodhounds, and can
smell out a lvelist under any disguise. "

“= Tt your bonor thinks SO, said Joceline, “I’ll watch for the
doctor with good will, and } sting him into the Lodge by the old
condemned postern, and so up to this apartment ; ‘and sure this
mati ‘l’omkins would never presume to come hither; and the
ee may have a bed in Woodstock Lodge, and he never the
wiser: or, if you honor does not think that safe, I can cut his
throat for you, and I would not mind it a pin. :

“God forbid!” said the knight. “He is under our roof,
and a guest, though not an invited one.—Go, Joceline ; it
shall be thy penance, for having given thy tongue too much
license, to watch for the good doctor, and to take care of his
safety while he continues with us. An October night or two in
the forest would finish the good man.’

( lets more likely to finish our October than our October is
to finish him,” said the keeper, and withdrew under the en-
couraging smile of his patron.

He whistled Bevis along with him to share in his watch;
and having received exact information where the clergyman was
most likely to be found, assured his master that he would give
the most pointed attention to his safety. When the attendants
had withdrawn, having previously removed the remains of the
meal, the old knight, leaning back in his chair, encouraged
pleasanter visions than had of late passed through his imagina-
tion, until by degrees he was surprised by actual slumber ;
while his daughter, not venturing to move but on tip toe, took

)WOODSTOCK. 209

some needle-work, and bringing it close to the old man’s side,
employed her fingers on this task, bending her eyes from time
to time on her parent, with the affectionate zeal, if not the
effective power, of a guardian angel. At length, as the light
faded away, and night came on, she was about to order candles
to be brought. But remembering how indifferent a couch
Joceline’s cottage had afforded, she could not think of interrupt-
ing the first sound and refreshing sleep which her father had en:
joyed, in all probability, for the last two nights and days.

She herself had no other amusement, as she sat facing one
of the great oriel windows, the same by which Wildrake had on
a former occasion looked in upon Tompkins and Joceline while
at their compotations, than watching the clouds, which a lazy
wind sometimes chased from the broad disk of the harvest-
moon, sometimes permitted to accumulate, and exclude her
brightness. There is, | know not why, something peculiarly

easing to the imagination in contemplating the Queen of
ight, when she is wadig, as the expression goes, among the
vapors, which she has not the power to dispel, and which on
their side are unable entirely to quench her lustre. It is the
striking image of patient virtue, calmly pursuing her path

&
through good report and bad report, having that excellence in

herself which ought to command all admiration, but bedimmed
in the eyes of the world, by suffering, by misfortune, by
calumny.

As some such reflections, perhaps, were passing through
Alice’s imagination, she became sensible, to her surprise and
alarm, that some one had clambered up upon the window, and
was loking into the room. The idea of supernatural fear did
not in the slishtest degree agitate Alice. She was too much
accustomed io the place and situation ; for folk do not see
spectres in the seenes with which they have been familiar from
infancy. But dangers from marauders in a disturbed country
was a more formidable subject of apprehension, and the thought
armed Alice, who was naturally high-spirited, with such
desperate courage, that she snatched a pistol from the wall, on
which some firearms hung, and while she screamed to her fathet
to awake, had the presence of mind to present it at the intruder.
She did so more readily, because she imagined she recognized
in the visage, which she partially saw, the features of the
woman whom she had met with at Rosamond Well’s, and which
had appeared to her peculiarly harsh and suspicious. Her
father at the same time seized his sword and came forward
while the person at the window, alarmed at these demonstra:

tions, and endeavoring to descend, missed footing, as hadee Tree eee

210 WOODSTOCK.

Cavaliero Wildrake before, and went down to the earth with no
small noise. Nor was the reception on the bosom of our com
mon mother either soft or safe ; for, by a most terrific bark
and growl, they heard that Bevis had come up and seized on
the party, ere he or she could gain their feet,

“ Hold fast, but worry not,’
thou art the queen of wenches !
and secure the rascal.”

‘‘ For God’s sake, no, my dearest father!” Alice exclaimed ;
“ Joceline will be up immedi lately —Hark !—J hear him.”
There was indeed a bustle e below, and more than one light
danced too and fro in confusion, while those who bore them
called to each other, yet suppressing their voices as they spoke,
as men who would only be heard by those they addressed. The
individual who had fallen under the power of Bevis was most
impatient in his situation, and called with least precaution—

ee Here, Lee ores ales the dog off, else I must shoot
him,”

’ said the old knight,—“ Alice,
Stand fast here fill I run down

“Tf thou dost,’ said Sir Henry from the window, “I blow
thy brains out on the spot. Thieves, Joceline, thieves ! come
up and secure this ruffiz in—Bevis, hold on! ”

* Back Bevis ; down, sir. * i ontcll Joceline. “TT am coming,

I am coming, Sir Henry—Saint Michael, I shall 20 distracted.”
A terrible t thought sud denly cccurre ato Alice : ‘could Joceline
have become unfaithful. that he was calling Bevis off the
villain, instead of encouraging the trusty dog to secure him?
Her father, meantime, moved ‘perhaps by some suspicion of the
same kind, hastily stepped aside out of the moonlight, and
pulled Alice close to him, so as to be invisible from “without,
yet so placed as to hear what should pass. ‘The scuffle between
Bevis and his prisoner seemed to be ended by Joceline’s inter-
ference, and there was close whispering for an instant, as of
people i in consultation.
‘All is quiet, ie said one voice :

“I will up and_pre-
pare the way for you.” And

immediately a form presented
itself on the outside of the window, esa open the lattice, and

sprung into the parlor. But almost ere his step was upon the
floor, certainly efis he had obtained any secure footing, the
old knight, who stood ready with his rapier drawn, made a des-
p€rate pass, which bore the intruder to the ground, Joceline,
who clambered up next with a-vdark lantern in his hand,
uirered 4 dreadful exclamation, when he saw what had hap-
poued, crying out, “Lord in heav ren, he has slain his own son! ”
“No, no—I tell you no,’ 2id the fallen young man, who

was indeed young Albert Lee, fie only son of the old knight;7
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SIR HENRY FAINTING AT

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“T am not hurt. No noise, on your lives ; get lights instantly.”
At the same time, he started from the floor as quickly as he
could, under the embarrassment of a cloak and ‘doublet
skewered as it were together by the rapier of the old knight,
whose pass, most fortunately, had been diverted from the body
of Albert by the interruption of his cloak, the blade passing
right across his back, piercing the clothes, while the hilt,
coming against his side with the whole force of the lounge, had
borne him to the ground.

Joceline all the while enjoined silence to every one, under
the strictest conjurgations. ‘Silence, as you would long live
on earth—silence as ye would have a place in heaven; be but
silent for a few minutes—all our lives depend on it.”

Meantime he procured lights with inexpressible despatch,
and they then beheld that Sir Henry, on hearing the fatal
words had sunk back on one of the large chairs, without either
motion, color, or sign of life.

“OQ brother, how could you come in this manner?” said
Alice.

Ask no questions—Good God! for what am I reserved !”
He gazed on his father as he spoke, who, with clay-cold
features rigidly fixed, and his arms extended in the most
absolute helplessless, looked rather the image of death upon a
monument, than a being in whom existence was only sus-
pended. ‘Was my life spared,” said Albert, raising his
hands with a wild gesture to Heaven, “only to witness such a
sight as this?”

“ We suffer what Heaven permits, young man; we endure
our lives while Heaven continues them. Let me approach.”
The same clergyman who had read the prayers at Joceline’s hut,
now came forward. “ Get water.” he said, instantly.”? And
the helpful hand and light foot of Alice, with the ready-witted
tenderness which never stagnates in vain lamentations while
there is any room for hope, provided with incredible celerity
all that the clergyman called for.

“Tt is but a swoon,” he said, on feeling Sir Henry’s palm;
‘‘a swoon produced from the instant and unexpected shock.
Rouse thee up, Albert ; I promise thee it will be nothing save
a syncope—A cup, my dearest Alice, and a ribbon or a ban-

dage. I must take some blood—some aromatics, too, if they
= ’

 

can be had, my good Alice.’

But while Alice procured the cup and bandage, stripped her
father’s sleeve, and seemed by intuition even to anticipate every
direction of the reverend doctor, her brother, hearing no word,
and seeing no sign of comfort, stood with both:hands claspedTe aan ea ee oa

a

    

DED WOODSTOCK.

and elevated into the air, 4 monument of speechless despair,
Every feature in his face seemed to express the thought, ‘ Here
lies my father’s corpse, and it is I whose rashness has slain
him !”

But when a few drops of blood began to follow the lancet—
at first falling singly, and then trickling in a freer stream—
when, in consequence of the application of cold water to the
temples, and aromatics to the nostrils, the old man sighed
feebly, and made an effort to move his limbs, Albert Lee
changed his posture, at once to throw himself at the feet of the
clergyman, and kiss, if he would have permitted him, his shoes,
and the hem of his raiment.

“Rise, foolish youth,” said the good man, with a reproving
tone ; “must it be always thus with you? Kneel to Heaven, not
to the feeblest of its agents. You have been saved once again
from great danger; would you deserve Heaven’s bounty, re-
member you have been preserved for other purposes than you
now think on. Begone, you and Joceline—you have a duty to
discharge ; and be assured it will go better with your father’s
recovery that he see you not for a few minutes. Down—down
to the wilderness, and bring in your attendant.”

“Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks,” answered Albert
Lee; and springing through the lattice, he disappeared as un-
expectedly as he had entered. At the same time Joceline fol-
lowed him, and by the same road.

Alice, whose fears for her father were now something abated,
upon this new movement among the persons of the scene could
not resist appealing to her venerable assistant. ‘Good doctor,
answer me but one question. Was my brother Albert here just
now, or have I dreamed all that has happened for these ten
minutes past? Methinks, but for your presence, I could sup-

pose the whole had passed in my sleep; that horrible thrust—
that deathlike, corpselike old man—that soldier in mute. de-
spair ; I must indeed have dreamed.”

“If you have dreamed, my sweet Alice,” said the doctor,
“I wish every sick-nurse had your property, since you have
been attending to our patient ‘better during your sleep than
most of these old dormice can do when they are most awake.
But your dream came through the gate of horn, my pretty darl
ing, which you must remind me to explain to you at leisure,
Albert has really been here and will be here again,’

“Albert !” repeated Sir Henry ; “who names my son?”
“Tt is I, my kind patron,” said the doctor. “ permit me to
bind your arm.”

“My wound ?—with all my heart, doctor,’’ said Sir Henry,WOODSTOCK, 213

raising himself, and gathering his recollection by degrees. “I
knew of old thou wert body-curer as well as soul-curer, and
served my regiment for surgeon as well as chaplain.—But where
is the rascal I killed >—I never made a fairer stramagon in my
life. The shell of my rapier struck against his ribs. So, dead
he must be, or my right hand has forgot its cunning.”

‘““ Nobody was slain,” and the doctor; “ we must thank God
tor that, since there were none but friends to slay. Here isa
good cloak and doublet though, wounded in fashion which will
require some skill in tailor-craft to cure. But I was your last
antagonist, and took a little blood from you, merely to prepare
you for the pleasure and surprise of seeing your son, who,
though hunted pretty close, as you may believe, hath made
his way from Worcester hither, where, with Joceline’s assistance,
we will care well enough for his safety. It was even for this
reason that I pressed you to accept of your nephew’s proposal
to return to the old Lodge, where a hundred men might be con-
cealed, though a thousand ‘were making search to discover
them. Never such a place for hide-and-seek, as I shall make
good when I can find means to publish my Wonders of Wood-
stock.”

“ But, my son, my dear son,” said the knight; “ shall I not
then instantly see him? and wherefore did you not forewarn
me of this joyful event?”

“ Because I was uncertain of his motions,” said the doctor,
“and rather thought he was bound for the sea-side, and that it
would be best to tell you of his fate when he was safe on board,
and in full sail for France. We had appointed to let you know
all when I came hither to-night to join you. But there is a red-
coat in the house whom we care not to trust further than we
could not help. We dared not, therefore, venture in by the
hall; and so, prowling round the building, Albert informed us,
that an old prank of his when a boy consisted in entering by
this window. A lad who was with us would needs make the
experiment, as there seemed to be no light in the chamber, and
the moonlight without made us liable to be detected. His foot
Slipped, and our friend Bevis came upon us.”

“In good truth, you acted simply,” said Sir Henry, “to
attack a garrison without a summons. But all this is nothing
to my son, Albert—where is he ?—let me see him.”

“But, Sir Henry, wait,” said the doctor, “ till your restored

strength”

“A plague of my restored strength, man !° answered the
knight, as his old spirit began to awaken in him.—‘“ Dost not
remember that I lay on Edgehill-field all night bleeding like a

1!»

 

 

Pee

Poniing under great ad
In Common.

the pressure of mental
began to subside; and Sir Henry, sti

son by the hand, resumed t}
he usually practiced,

said, “and tl
rebels.’’

the die was thrown, anc

214 WOODSTOCK.
bullock from five several wounds, and wore my armor within
six weeks? and you talk to me of the few drops of blood that
follow such a scratch as a cat’s claw might have made ! ”

‘Nay, if you feel so courageous,”’ said the doctor, “T will
fetch your son—he is not far distant.”

So saying, he left the
remain, in case any Sy
return.

It was fortunate, perhaps, tl
recollect the precise nature of
and effectually as the shock of t
suspended his faculties. Sometl
being certain he had done mischief with that stramatcon, as he
called it; but his mind did not recur to that danger as having
been incurred by his son. Alice, glad to see that her father
appeared to have forgotten a circumstance so fearful (as men

often forget the blow, or other sudden cause, which has thrown
them into a swoon), readily excused herself from throwing
much light on the matter, by pleading the general confusion.
And ina few minutes, Albert cut off all further inquiry, by
entering the room, followed | y the doctor, and throwing himself
alternately into the arms of his father and of his sister.

apartment, making a sign to Alice to
mptoms of her father’s weakness should

iat Sir Henry never seemed to
the alarm, which had at once,
he thunderbolt, for the moment

ng he said more than once of

CHAPTER TWENTIET ee

Phe boy is—hark ye, sirrah—w]

2at’s your name ?—
Oh, Jacob—ay, I recollect—the

same,
CRABBE,
THE affectionate relatives were united as those who, meet-
versity, feel still the happiness of sharing it
They embraced again and again, and gave way to
10S expansions of the heart, which at once express and relieve.
agitation. At length the tide of emotion
ll holding his recovered
1€ Command of his feelings which
“So you have seen the last of our battles, Albert,” he
1€ King’s colors have fallen forever before the
“ It is but even so,”’ said the young man—“ the |]

ast cast of
l, alas! lost at Worcester

; and Crom.WOODSTOCK. ars

we

well's fortune carried it there, as it has wherever he has shown
himself.”

‘**Well—it can but be for a time—it can but be for a time,”
answered his father; “the devil is potent, they say, in raising
and gratifying favorites, but he can grant but short leases.—
And the King o—the King, Albert—the King—in my ear—close,
close L 2

“Our last news were confident that he had escaped from
Bristol.’

‘Thank God for that—thank God for that!” said the knight,
“Where didst thou leave him?”

‘“Our men were almost all cut to pieces at the bridge,”
Albert replied; ‘but I followed his Majesty with about five
hundred other officers and gentlemen, who were resolved to
die around him, until, as our numbers and appearance drew the
whole pursuit after us, it pleased his Majesty to dismiss us,
with many thanks and words of comfort to us in general, and
some kind expressions to most of us in special. He sent his
royal greeting to you, sir, in particular, and said more than be-
comes me to repeat.”

‘Nay, I will hear it every word, boy,” said Sir Henry; “is
not the certainty that thou hast discharged thy duty, and that
King Charles owns it, enough to console me for all we have
lost and suffered, and wouldst thou stint me of it from a false
shame-facedness ?—I will have it out of thee, were it drawn
from thee with cords !”’ .

‘‘ It shall need no such compulsion,” said the young man—
‘‘ It was his Majesty’s pleasure tu bid me tell Sir Henry Lee,
in his name, that if his son could not go before his father in
the race of loyalty, he was at least following him closely, and
would soon move side by side.

“ Said he so?” answered the knight—‘ Old Victor Lee will
look down with pride on thee, A Albert !—But I forget—you must
be weary and hungry.”

“Even so, sir,” said Albert; “‘ but these are things which
of late I have been in the habit of enduring for safety’s sake.”

‘¢ Joceline !—what ho, Joceline !”

The under-keeper entered, and received orders to get sup-
per prepared directly.

‘““ My son and Dr. Rochecliffe are half starving,” said the
knight.

‘“‘ And there is a lad, too, below,” said Joceline ; Sa pave,
he says, of Colonel Albert’s, whose bel ly rings cupboard too,
and that to no common tune; for I think he could eat a horse,
as the Yorkshireman says, behind the saddle. He had better

1?Scare APTA OTR
ShibeeeasaALeL aaa NESSES Sasa NENA 5

216 WOODSTOCK.

eat at the sideboard ; for he has devoured a whole loaf of

bread and butter, as fast as Phoebe could cut it, and it has not
staid his stomach for a minute—and truly I think you had bet-
ter keep him under your own eyes, for the steward beneath
might ask him troublesome questions if he went below—and

then he is impatient as all your gentlemen pages are, and is
saucy among the women.”

“ Whom is it he talks of ?—what page hast thou got, Albert,
that bears himself so ill?” said Sir Henry.

“The son of a dear friend, a noble lord of Scotland, who
followed the great Montrose’s banner—afterward joined the
King in Scotland, and came with him as far as Worcester, He

, and conjured mé to

was wounded the day before the battle
take this youth under my charge, which I did, something un-
willingly ; but I could not refuse a father, perhaps on his death-
bed, pleading for the safety of an only son,”

** Thou hadst deserved an hal
Sir Henry; “ the smallest tree
and it pleases me to think tl
tally prostrate, but it ma

 

ter hadst thou hesitated,” said
can always give some shelter,—
1e old stock of Lee is not so to-
y yet be a refuge for the distressed.
Hetch the youth in -—he 4s. of noble blood, and these are no
times of ceremony—he shall sit with us at the same table, page
though he be; and if you have not schooled him handsomely
in his manners, he may not be the worse of some lessons from
me.”

“ You will excuse his national drawling accent, sir?” said
Albert, “ though I know you like it not.”

““ T have small cause, Albert,” answered the ]
cause.—Who stirred up these disunions ?——the Scots. Who
stengthened the hands of Parliament, when their cause was
well nigh ruined ?—the Scots again. Who delivered up the
King, their countryman, who had flung himself upon their
protect‘on ?—the Scots again. But this lad’s father, you say,
has fought on the part of the noble Montrose; and such a man
as the great Marquis may make amends for the degeneracy of a
whole nation.’

‘ Nay, father,” said Albert, “ and
this lad is uncouth and wa
thing wilful, yet tl

knight—“ small

I must add, that though
yward, and, as you will see, some-
1¢ King has nota more zealous friend in
England; and. when occasion offered, he fought stoutly, too,
in his defence—JI marvel he comes not.”

> ie hath taken the bath,”

said Joceline, “ and nothing
less would serve than that ]

1e Should have it immediately—the
supper, he said, might be got ready in the meantime: and he
commands all about him as jf he were in his father’s old castle,WOODSTOCK. 217

where he might have called long enough, I warrant, without
any one to hear him.”

“Indeed?” said Sir Henry, “ this must be a forward chick
of the game to crow so early——What is his name?”

“ His name ?—it escapes me every hour, it is so hard a one,”
said Albert—* Kerneguy is his name—Louis Kerneguy ; his
father was Lord Killstewers, of Kincardineshire.”

“Kerneguy, and Killstewers, and Kin—what d’ye call it?
—* Truly? said the knight, “these northern men’s names and
titles smack of their origin—they sound like a north-west wind,
rumbling and roaring among heather and rocks.”

‘“ Itis but the asperities of the Celtic and Saxon dialects,”
said Dr. Rochecliffe, “which, according to Verstegan, still
linger in those northern parts of the island.—But peace—here
comes supper, and Master Louis Kerneguy.”

Supper entered accordingly, borne in by Joceline and Phcebe
and after it, leaning on a huge knotty stick, and having his
nose in the air like a questing hound—for his attention was
apparently more fixed on the good provisions that went before
him, than anything else—came Master Kerneguy, and seated
himself, without much ceremony, at the lower end of the
table.

He was a tall, rawboned lad, with a shock head of hair, fiery
red, like many of his country, while the harshness of his na-
tional features was increased by the contrast of his complexion,
turned almost black by the exposure to all sorts of weather,
which, in that skulking and rambling mode of life, the fugitive
royalists had been obliged to encounter. His address was by
no means prepossessing, being a mixture of awkwardness and
forwardness, and showing in a remarkable degree how a want
of easy address may be consistent with an admirable stock of
assurance. His face intimated having received some recent
scratches, and the care of Dr. Rochecliffe had decorated it with
a number of patches, which even enhanced its natural plain-
ness. Yet the eyes were brilliant and expressive, and, amid
his ugliness—for it amounted to that degree of irregularity—
the face was not deficient in some lines which expressed both
sagacity and resolution.

The dress of Albert himself was far beneath his quality, as
the son of Sir Henry Lee, and commander of a regiment in the
royal service; but that of his page was still more dilapidated.
A disastrous green jerkin, which had been changed toa hun-
dred hues by sun and rain, so that the original could scarce be
discovered, huge clouterly shoes, leathern breeches—such as

were worn by hedgers—coarse gray worsted stockings, were the

iC oe Peatver rere nen

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
      

Merete yt218 WOODSTOCK.

attire of the honorable youth, whose limping gait, while it
added to the ungainliness of his manner, showed, at the same
time, the extent of his sufferings, His appearance bordered so
much upon what is vulgarly called the queer, that i with

Alice it would have évattad some sense of ridicule, had not

compassion been predominant.

The grace was said, and the young squire of Ditchley, as
well as Dr. Rochecliffe, made an excellent figure at a meal, the
like of which, in quality and abundance, did. not seem to have
lately fallen to their share. But their feats were child’s-play to
those of the Scottish youth. Far from betra aying any symptoms
of the bread and butter with which he had attempted to close
the orifice of his stomach, his epee appeared to have been
sharpened by a nine- -days’ fast; and the knight was disposed to
think that the very genius of Eanttnié himself, come forth from
his native regions of | the north, was in tl
with a Visit, While. as if afraid of losing
Master Kerneguy never looked
a single word to any at table.

“T am glad to see that you have brougl
for our count try fare, young gentleman.” sa, id Sir Henry,

“Bread of gude! sir, ” said the page, “an yell find flesh,
I’se find appetite conformi Ing, one day o’ the year. But. the
truth is, sir, that the appeteezement has been coming on for
three days or four, and the meat in this Southland of yours has

been scarce, and hard to come by ; so, sir, ’m making up for

lost time, as the piper of Sligo ; said, when he ate a hail side 0’
mutton,’

1ecactiof honoring him
a moment’s exertion,
either to right or left, or spoke

it a good appetite

‘You have been cou ntry-bre¢
who, like others of his time. hel
ticht over the rising generation ;
youth of Scotland whom I have
court in former days; they had less appetite, and more—
more ’’—As he sought the qualifying phrase, which might sup-
ply the place of “ good manners,” his guest closed the sentence

in his ow n way—‘“ And more meat, it may be—the better luck
theirs.’

l, young man,” said the knight,
l the reins of ¢ discipline rather
‘at least, to judge from the
seen at his late Maj Jesty’s

Sir Henry stared and was silent. His son seemed to think
it time to inter rpose—“ My dear father,” he said, “think how
Many years have run since the Thirty-eight, when the Scottish
troubles first began, and I am sure that you wil not wonder
that, while the Barons of Scotland have been, for
other, perpetual lly in the field,
at home must h

one cause or
the education <i their children
lave been much neglected, and that young menWOODSTOCK. 219
of my friend’s age know better how to use a broadsword, or
to toss a pike, than the decent ceremonials of society.”’

‘“‘ Phe :reasomas: a suficient oné, said the knight, “and,
since thou sayest thy follower Kernigo can fight, we’ll not let
him lack victuals, a God’s name. Be he looks angrily still at
yonder cold loin of mutton—for God’s sake put it all on his
plate!”

1

‘T can bide the bit and the buffet,” said the honorable
Master Kerneguy—‘a hungry tike ne’er minds a blaud with a
rough bane.”

‘““ Now, God hae mercy, Albert, but if this be the son of a
Scots peer,” said Sir Henry to his son, in a low tone of voice,
““T would not be the English ploughman who would change
manners with him for his ancient blood, and his nobility, and
to boot, as he has one.—He has eaten, as lama
Christian, near four pounds of solid butcher’s meat, and with
the grace of a wolf tugging at the carcass of a dead horse.—
Oh, he is about to drink at k is mouth,
though, and dips his fingers in the ewe lries them,
profess, with the napkin!—there is some grace in him, after
all,”

his estate

                     

        

‘Here vs res all your vera gude healths!” said the
youth of quality, and took a draught in proportion to the solids
which he had sent before; he then flung his knife and fork

awkwardly on ‘he trencher, which he pushed back toward the
ie.
i

It
|
L

centre of the table, extended his feet beneath it till they rested
on their heels, folded his arms on his well-replenisbed stomach,

ck in his chair, looked much as if he was about
to whistle himself asleep.

“Soh!” said the knight—‘“ the honorable Master Kernigo
hath laid down his arms.—Withdraw these things, and give us
our glasses—Fill them around, Joceline ; and it the devil or
the w vhole Parliament were within hearing, let them hear Henry
Lee of Ditchley drink a health to King Charles, and contusion
to his enemies!”

“Amen!” said a voice from behind the door.

All the company looked at eek other in astonishment, at a
response so little expected. It was followed by a solemn and
peculiar tap, such as a kind of freemasonry had introduced
among royalists, and by which they were accustomed to make
themselves and their principles known to each other, when
they met by accident.

““ There is no danger,” said Albert, knowing the sign—‘ it
is a friend ;—yet I wish he had been at a greater distance just
now.”

and, lolling bac

oO
h
it

aPRET TR enoseauaneerert si Saha soncuhieek SeiSSSeAL ARN OMAN
.S as i oscian i -

WOODSTOCK.

“And why, my son, should you wish the absence of one true
man, who may, perhaps, wish to share our abundance, on one
of those rare occasions when we have superfluity at our dis.
posal ?—Go, Joceline, see who knocks—and, if a safe man,
admit him.”

“And if otherwise,” said Joceline » “methinks I shall be
able to prevent his troubling the good company.

“No violence, Joceline, on your life,” said Albert bee >and
Alice echoed, “ For God’s sake, no violence Ly

‘“No unnecessary violence atleast,” said the good knight;

‘for if the time demands it, I will have it seen that | am
master of my own house.” Joceline Joliffe nodded assent to
all parties, and went on tiptoe to cba ange one or two other

mysterious symbols and knocks, ere he opened the-doorn sit
may be here remarked, that this species of secret association,
with its signals of union, existed among the more dissolute and
desperate class of cav aliers, men h abituated to the dissipated
life which they had been accustomed to in an ill-disciplined
army, where everything like order and regularity was too apt
to be accounted a badge > of puritanism. These were the “roar-
ing boys”? who met in at lee alehouses, and when they had by
any chance obtained a little money or a little credit, deter-
mined to create a counter-revolution by declaring their sittings

permanent, and proclaimed, in the words of one of their
choicest ditties, —

“We'll drink till we bring
In triumph adh the king. ?

The leaders and gentry, of a higher description and more
regular morals, did not indeed partake such excesses, but they
still kept their eye upon a class of persons, who, from courage
and desperation, were capable of serving on an advantageous
occasion the fallen cause of royalty ; and recorded the lodges
and blind taverns at which they met, as wholesale merchants
know the houses of call of the mechanics whom they may have
occasion to employ, and can tell where they may find them
when need requires. It is scarce necessary to add, that among
the lower class, and sometimes even among the higher, there
were men found capable of betraying the “projects and con-
Spiracies of their associates, whether well or indifferently com-
bined, to the governors of the state. Cromwell, in particular,
had gained some correspondents of this kind of the highest
rank, and of the most undoubted character, among the Toy-
alists, who, if they made scruple of impeaching or betraying in:

dividuals who confided in rene had no hesitation in giving theWOODSTOCK. 221

government such general information as served to enable him
to disappoint the purposes of any plot or conspiracy.

_ . Tofreturn to ours story. 71a much shorter time than we
have spent in reminding the reader of these historical particu-
lars, Joliffe had made his mystic communication; and being
duly answered as by one of the initiated, he undid the door,
and there entered our old friend Roger Wildrake, roundhead
in dress, as his safety and his dependence on Colonel Everard
compelled him to be, but that dress worn in a most cavalier:
like manney, and forming a stronger contrast than usual with
the demeanor and language of the wearer, to which it was never
very congenial.

His puritanic hat, the emblem of that of Ralpho in the
prints to Hudibras, or, as he called it, his felt umbrella, was set
most knowingly on one side of the head, as if it had been a
Spanish hat and feather ; his straight square-caped sad-colored
cloak was flung gayly upon one shoulder, as if it had been of
three-piled taffeta, lined with crimsen silk ; and he paraded
his huge calf-skin boots, as if they had been silken hose and
Spanish leather shoes, with roses on the instep. In short, the
airs which he gave himself, of a most thorough-paced wild gak
lant and cavalier, joined to a glistening of self-satisfaction in
his eye, and an inimitable swagger in his gait, which completely
announced his thoughtless, conceited, and reckless character,
formed a most ridiculous contrast to his gravity of attire.

It could not, on the other hand, be denied, that in spite of
the touch of ridicule which attached to his character, and the
loose morality which he had learned in the dissipation of town
pleasures, and afterward in the disorderly life of a soldier, Wild-
rake had points about him both to make him feared and respect-
ed. He was handsome, even in spite of his air of debauched
effrontery ; a man of the most decided courage, though his
vaunting rendered it sometimes doubtful; and entertained a
sincere sense of his political principles, such 4s they were,
though he was often so imprudent in asserting and boasting of
them, as, joined with his dependence on Colonel Everard, in-
duced prudent men to doubt his sincerity.

Such as he was, however, he entered the parlor of Victor
Lee, where his presence was anything but desirable to the par-
ties present, with a jaunty step, and a consciousness of deserv-
ing the best possible reception. This assurance was greatly
aided by circumstances which rendered it obvious, that if the
jocund cavalier had limited himself to one draught of liquor
that evening, in terms of his vow of temperance, it must have

been a very deep and long one.

a
B ; e S . - rr 8
aSeacze Macey HIERN
SINTHStes..g cock GN TERRA  ioens ee : .

ee

 

  

222 WOODSTOCK.

“Save ye, gentlemen, save ye.—Save you, good Sir Henry
Lee, though I have scarce the honor to be known to you.u—
Save you, worthy doctor, anda speedy resurrection to the fallen
Church of England.”

‘You are welcome, sir,” said Sir Henry Lee, whose feelings
of hospitality, and of the fraternal reception due to a royalist
sufferer, induced him to tolerate this intrusion more than he
might have done otherwise. “Tf you have fought or suffered
for the King, sir, it is an excuse for joining us, and command-
ing our services in anything in our power—although at present
we are a family-party.—But I think I saw you in waiting upon
Master Markham Everard, who calls himself Colonel Everard.
—If your message is from him, you may wish to see me in
private ?”

‘Not at all Sir Henry, not at all.—It is true, as my ill hap
will have it, that being on the stormy side of the hedge—like
all honest men—you understand me, Sir Henry—I am glad, as
it were, to cain something from my old friend and comrade’s
countenance—not by truckling or disowning my principles, sir
—I defy such practice ;—but, in short, by doing him any
kindness in my power when he is pleased to callon me. Sol]
came down here with a message from him to that old round-
headed son of a —— (I beg the young lady’s pardon from the
crown of her head down to the very toes of her slipper)—And
So, sir, chancing as I was stumbling out there ia the dark, I heard
you give a toast, sir, which warmed my hecrt, sir, and ever will,
sir, till death chills it;—and so I made bold to let you know
there was an honest man within hearing.’

Such was the self-introduction of Master Wildrake, to which
the knight replied, by a.!ing him to sit down, and take a glass
of sack to his Majesty’s glorious restoration, Wildrake, at this
hint, squeezed in without ceremony beside the young Scotsman,
and not only pledged his landlord’s toast but seconded its im-
port, by volunteering a verse or two of his favorite loyal ditty,
The Kineshall enjoy his own again.” The heartiness which
he threw into his song opened still further the heart of the old
knight, though Albert and Alice looked at each other with looks
resentful of the intrusion, and desirous to put an end to it.
The honorable Master Kerneguy either possessed that happy
indifference of temper which does not deign to notice such cir-
cumstances, or he was able to assume the appearance of it to
perfection, as he sat sipping sack, and cracking walnuts, without
testifying the least sense that an addition had been made to
the party. Wildrake, who liked the liquor and the company,WOODSTOCK. 224

showed no unwillingness to repay his landlord, by being at the
expense of the conversation.

“You talk of fighting and suffering, Sir Henry Lee. Lord
help us, we have all had our share. All the world knows what
Sir Henry Lee has done from Edgefield downward, wherever a
loyal sword was drawn, or a loyal flag fluttered. Ah, God help
us ! I have done something too. My name is Roger Wildrake
of Squattleseamere, Lincoln; not that you are ever like to
have heard it before, but I was captain in Lunsford’s light-
horse, and afterward with Goring. I was a child-eater, sir—a
babe-bolter.”

‘“‘T have heard of your regiment’s exploits, sir; and perhaps
you may find I have seen some of them, if we should spend ten
minutes together. And I think I have heard of your name too.
I beg to drink your health, Captain Wildrake of Squattle-
seamere, Lincolnshire.’

“‘Sir Henry, I drink yours in this pint bumper. and ee
my knee; and I would do as much for that young gentleman ’
(looking at Albert)—‘ and the squire of the green cassock too,
holding it for green, as the colors are not to my eyes altogether
clear and listingui shable.’

[t was a re markable part of what is called by theatrical folk
the by-play - this scene, that Albert was conversing apart with
Dr. Rochecliffe in whis] pers, even more than the divine seemed
desirous of encourag ing’; yet, to whatever their private conver-
sation referred, it did not deprive the young Colonel of the
power of listening to what was going forward in the party at
large, and interfering from time to time, like a watch-dog, who
can distinguish the slightest a alarm, even when employ ed in the

2

engrossing process of taking his food.

“ Captain Wildrake,” said Albert, “‘ we have no objection—I
mean, my friend and I—to be communicative on proper occa-
sions ; but you, sir, who are so old a sufferer, must needs know,
that at such casu: al meetings as this men do not mention their
homes unless they are > specially wanted. It is a point of con-
science, sir, to be able to say, if your principal, Captain Everard,
or Colonel Everard, if he be a Colonel, should examine you
upon oath, I did not know who the persons were whom I heard
drink such and such toasts.”

“Faith, I have a better way of it, worthy sir,” answered
Wildrake ; “‘I never can, for the life of me, remember that
there were any such and such toasts drunk at all. It’sastrange
ift of forgetfulness I have:

a Well, sir,” replied the younger Lee; ‘“ but we, who have

0Gre ret ratte

=> oir, J thank you for your courage—Sir, I am glad to see

    
     
   
  
 
    
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
  
   
    
   
  
 
   
  

 

224 WOODSTOCK,

unhappily more tenacious memories, would willingly abide by
the more general rule.”

“Oh, sir,” answered Wildrake, “with all my heart. I in-
trude on no man’s confidence, d—n me—and I only spoke for
civility’s sake, having the purpose of drinking your health in a
good fashion.” —(Then he broke forth into melody) —

‘“ Then let the health go round, a-round, a-round, a-round,
Then let the health go round ;
For though your stocking be of silk,
Your knee shall kiss the ground, a-ground, a-ground, a-ground,
Your knee shall kiss the ground,’ ”

“Urge it no further,” said Sir Flenry, addressing his son ;
““ Master Wildrake is one of the old school—one of the tantivy
boys ; and we must bear a little, for if they drink hard they
fought well. I will never forget how a party came up and
rescued us clerks of Oxford, as they called the regiment I
belonged to, out of a cursed embroglio during the attack on
Brentford. I tell you we were enclosed with the cockneys’
pikes both front and rear, and we should have come off but ill
had not Lunsford’s light-horse, the babe-eaters as they called
them, charged up to the pike s point, and brought us off.”

“I am glad you thought on that, Sir Henry,” said Wildrake ;
“and do you remember what the officer of Lunsford’s said ? ”

» I think I do,” said Sir Henry smiling,

“Well, then, d.d not he call out, when the women were
coming down, howling like sirens as they were—‘ Have none
of you a plump child that you could give us to break our fast
upon ?’”

“Truth itself!” said the knight; “anda great fat woman
stepped forward with a baby, and offered it to the suppesed
cannibal,”

All at the table, Master Kerneguy excepted, who seemed to
think that good food of any kind required no apology, held up
their hands in token of amazement,

SAY, Said Wildrake,. “the: a-hem!—I. crave -the lady’s
pardon again, from tip of top-knot to hem of farthingale—
but the cursed creature proved to be a parish nurse, who had
been paid for the child half-a-year in advance. Gad, I took
the babe out of the bitch-wolf’s hand, and I have contrived,
though God knows I have lived in « skeldering sort of way
myself, to breed up bold Breakfast, as I call him, ever since,
It was paying dear for a jest, though,’

“Sir, I honor you for your humanity,” said the old knight,WOODSTOCK. oat
you here,” oa the good knight, his eyes watering almost to
overflowing. ue you were the wild officer who cut us out of
the toils - oh, s , had you but stopped when I called on you,
and allowed us to clear the streets of Brentford with our
musketeers, we would have been at London Stone that day!
3ut your good will w as the same.’ f
« Ay, truly was it,” said W aed who now sat triumphant
and glorious in his easy-chair; ‘ and here is to all the brave
hearts, sir, that fought and fell in that same storm of Brentford.
We drove all before us like chaff, till the shops, where they sold
strong waters, and other temptations, brought us up. Gad, sir,
we, the babe-eaters, had too many acquaintances in Brentford,
and our stout Prince Rupert was ever better at making way
than fine off. Gad, sir, for my own poor share, I did but
go into the house of a poor widow lady, who maintained a ch arge
of daughters, and whom I had known of old, to get my horse
fed, a morsel of meat, and so forth, when these cockney pikes of
the artillery ground, as you very well call them, rallied, and
came in with their armed heads, as boldly as so many Cotswold
rams. I sprang down stairs, got to my but, egad, I
fancy all my troop had widows and orphan maidens to comfort
as well as I, for only five of us got together. We cut our way
through successfully ; and, Gad, gentlemen, I carried my little
Breakfast on the pommel before me; and there was such a
hallooing and screeching, as if the whole town thought I was
to kill, roast, and eat the poor child, so soon as I got to quarters.
But devil a cockney charged up to my bonny bay, poor lass, to
rescue little cake-breac d;t hey only cried haro, and out upon me.”
“ Alas! alas!” said the knight,’ we made ourselves seem
worse than we were; and we were too bad to deserve God’s
blessing even in a good cause. But itis needless to look back
—we did not deserve victories when God gave them, for we
never improved them like good soldiers, or like Christian men ;
and so we gave these canting scoundrels the advantage of us,
for they assumed, out of mere hypocrisy, the discipline and
orderly behavior which we who drew our swords in a better
cause, ought to have practiced out of true principle. But here
is my ‘hand, Captain. I have often wished to see the honest
fellow who charged up so smartly in our behalf, and I rever-
ence you for the care you took of the poor child. I am glad
this dilapidated place has still some hospitality to offer you,
ie we ee treat you to roasted babes or stewed suck
lings— +h, Captain?”
oe By Sir Henry, the scandal was sore against us on that
score. I remember Lacy, who was an old play-actor, and aee ne

   

22 WOODSTOCK.
lieutenant im ours, made drollery on it in a play which was
sometimes acted at Oxford, when our hearts were something
up, called, I think, the Old Troop.”*

So saying, and feeling more familiar as his merits were
known, he hitched his chair up against that of the Scottish lad,
who was seated next him, and who, in shifting his place, was
awkward enough to disturb, in his turn, Alice Lee, who sat
opposite, and, a little offended, or at least embarrassed, drew
her chair away from the table.

‘“‘T crave pardon,” said the honorable Master Kerneguy ;
“but, sir,” to Master Wildrake, “ye hae e’en garr’d me hurt the
young lady’s shank.”

“‘T crave your pardon, sir, and much more that of the fair
lady, as is reasonable ; though, rat me, sir, if it was I set your
chair a trundling in that way. Zooks, sir, I have brought with
me no plague, nor pestilence, nor other infectious disorder, that
ye should have started away as if I had been a leper, and dis-
composed the lady, which I would have prevented with my hfe,
sir. Sir, if ye be northern born, as your tongue bespeaks, egad,
it was I ran the risk in drawing near you; so there was small
reason for you to bolt.”

“Master Wildrake,” said Albert, interfering, “‘ this young
gentleman is a stranger as well as you, under protection of Sir
Henry’s hospitality, and it cannot be agreeable for my father
to see disputes arise among his guests. You may mistake the
young gentleman’s quality from his present appearance—this is
the Honorable Master Louis Kerneguy, sir, son of my Lord
Killstewers of Kincardineshire, one who has fought for the
King, young as he is.”

‘No dispute shall rise through me, sir—none through me,”
said Wildrake ; ‘“‘ your exposition sufficeth, sir—Master Louis
Girnigo, son of my Lord Killsteer, in Gringardenshire, I am
your humble slave, sir, and drink your health, in token that I
honor you, and all true Scots who draw their Andrew Ferraras
on the right side, sir.”

““T’se beholden to you, and thank you, sir,” said the young
man, with some haughtiness of manner, which hardly corre-
sponded with his rusticity ; ‘and I wuss your health in a ceevil
way.”

Most judicious persons would have here dropped the con-
versation; but it was one of Wildrake’s marked peculiarities,
that he could never let matters stand when they were well. He
continued to plague the shy, proud, and awkward lad with his

’

* Note C. Cannibalism imputed to the Cavaliers.WOODSTOCK.

observations, * You aor your national dialect pretty strongly,
Master Girnigo,” said he, ‘‘ but I think not quite the language
of th ie eallants that I fae known among the Scottish cavaliers
—I kne 1ew, for example, some of the Gordons, and others of
good repute, who always put an ffor the wh, as faat ‘for what,
Jan for when, and the like.”

Albert Lee here interposed, ve aid that che oe of
Scotland, like those of England, ad ere different modes of
pronunciation.

“Vou are very right, sir,’ said Wildrake. ‘I reckon myself,
now, a pretty good speaker of their cursed jargon—no offence,
young gentleman ; and yet, \ when I took a turn with some of

Montrose’ s folk, in the South Hielands, as they call their beastly

wilderness (no offence again), I anced to be by myself, and

to lose my way, when I said to a shepherd-fellow, making my
mouth as wide, and my voice as broad as I could, where am J

ganging tiii?—confound me if the fellow could answer me,

unless, indeed, he was sulky, as the bumpkins will be now and
2 ? mag 4 :
then to the gent he sword.

 

This was familiarly spoken, and though partly addressed to
Albert, was still more directed to his immediate neighbor, the
young Scotsman, who se emed from bashfulness, or some othe
reason, rather shy of Bis timacy. To one or two personal
touches from Wildrake’s aie administered during his last
speech, by way of practical appeal to him in part! icular, he
only answered, ‘Misut ider: standing xs were to be expected ee

men CONVETSE in nation: il dee ¢ alects.’

 

] Caen BR eet
Wildrake, now considerably than he ought to have

 

ate 1 : = Beet teed cs e
been in civil company, caught at the phrase, and repeated 1t :—
“ Misunderstanding, TEE TEE nde rseuaine sir?-I do not

 

know how I am to construe that, sir; but to judge from the
information of these scratches on your honorable visnomy, I

uld augur that you had been of late at misunderstanding
with the cat, sir?”

“ Vou are mistaken, then, friend, for it was with t
answered the Scotsman, dryly, and cast a look tow: ard Albert.

‘We had some trouble with the watch-c dogs in enterin s SO
late in the evening,” said Albert, in explanation, “and this

youth had a fall among some rubbish, by which he came by
these scratches.’

‘And now, dear Sir Henry,” said Dr. Roch ecliffe, ‘* allow
us to remind you of your gout, and our fee: journey. I doit
‘ather 1 ties my good friend your son has been, during the

supper, putting questions to me aside, which had

at

a
1
I

sy 2
ENG do wg,

by

i .
ene -
‘ .

Rewer tat Str esoFMA aens eee FEaSAEA MRAM

a8 WOODSTOCK.
much better be reserved till to-morrow—May we therefore ask
permission to retire to our night’s rest ?”

“These private committees in a merry meeting,” said
Wildrake, “are a solecism in breeding. They always put me
in mind ‘of the cursed committees at Westminster.—But shall
we to roost before we rouse the night-owl with a catch ?”

“Aha, canst thou quote Shakspeare?”’ said Sir Henry,
pleased at discovering a new good qual
whose military services were otherwise but just able to coun-
terbalance the intrusive freedom of his conversation, “ In the
name of merry Will,” he continued,—whom I never saw, though

I have seen many of his comrades, as Alleyn, Hemmings, and
so on——we will have a single catch, and one rose about, and
then to bed.”

After the usual discussion about the choice of the song, and
the parts which each was to bear, they united their voices in
trolling a loyal glee, which was popular among the party at the
time, and in fact believed to be composed by no less a person
than Dr. Rochecliffe himself.

ity in his acquaintance,

GLEE FOR KING CHARLES

Bring the bowl which you boast, Though he wanders through dangers,
Fill it up to the brim : Unaided, unknown,

’Tis to him we love most, Dependent on strangers,
And to all who love him, Estranged from his own ;

Brave gallants, stand up, Though ’tis under our breath,
And avaunt, ye base carles ! Amidst forfeits and perils,

Were there death in the cup,

Here’s to honor and faith,
Here’s a health to King Charles ' And a health to King Charles !

Let such honors abound

As the time can afford,
The knee on the ground,

And the hand on the sword :
But the time shall come round,

When, ’mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls,
The loud trumpets shall sound
Here’s a health to King Charles !

After this display of loyalty, anda final |
took leave of each other for the night.
old acquaintance Wildrake a bed for the
the matter somewhat in this fashion: ‘¢ Why, to speak truth,
my patron will expect me at the borough—but then he is used
to my staying out of doors a-nights. Then there’s the devil,
that they say haunts Woodstock : but with the blessing of this
reverend Doctor, | defy him and all his works—I saw him not

ibation, the party
Sir Henry offered his
evening, who weighedWOODSTOCK. 229

when I slept here twice before, and I am sure if he was absent
then, he has not come back with Sir Henry Lee aad his family.
so I accept your courtesy, Sir Henry, and I thank you, as a
cavalier of Lunsford should thank one of the fighting clerks of
Oxon, God" bless the Hing) « fcare nee who hears it, and
confusion to Noll and his nose!” Off he went accordingly
with a bottle-swagger, guided by Joceline, to whom Albert, in
the meantime, had whispered to be sure to quarter him fat
enough from the rest of the family.

Young Lee then saluted his sister, and, with the formality
of those times, asked and received his father’s blessing with an
affectionate embrace. His page seemed desirous to imitate one
part of his example, but was repelled by Alice, who only replied
to his offered salute with a courtesy. He next bowed his head
in an awkward fashion to her father, who wished him a good
night. “Iam glad to see, young man,” he said, ‘‘ that you
have at least learned the reverence due to age. It should
always be paid, sir; because in doing so you render that honor
to others which you will expect yourself to receive when you
approach the close of your life. More will I speak with you at
leisure, onggour duties as a page, which office in former days
used to be ye very school of chivalry ; whereas of late, by the
disorderly times, it has become lttle better than a school of
wild and disordered license ; which made rare Ben Jonson
exclaim”’
“ Nay, father,” said Albert, interposing, “ you must consider

 

this day’s fatigue, and the poor lad is almost asleep on his legs
__to-morrow he will listen with more profit to your kind admo-
nitions.—And you, Louis, remember at least one part of your
luty—take the candles and light us—here Joceline comes to
show us the way. Once more, good night, good Dr. Rochecliffe

°C

”
.

—good night, all

 

CH APTER TWENTY-FIRST.

Groom. ail, noble prince !

King Richard. Thanks, noble peer
The cheapest of us is a groat too dear.
RrcHarp IT,

ALBert and his page were ushered by Joceline to what was
called the Spanish Chamber, a huge old scrambling bedroom,

rather in a dilapidated condition, but furnished with a large
standing-bed for the master, and a truckle-bed for the domestic,

     
  
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
     

ayanaaretabninsaNg on eeaen en eae en

WOODSTOCK,

 

230

S was common at a much later period in old English houses,
where the gentlemen often required the assistance of a sroom of
the chambers to help him to bed, if the hospitality had been
exuberant. ‘The walls were covered with hangings of cordovan
leather, a with gold, and representing firhts between the
Spaniards and \ Moriscoes, bull- feasts, and other sports peculiar
to the Peninsula, from which it took its name of the Spanish
Chamber. These hangings were in some places entirely torn
down, in others defaced and hanging in tatters. But Albert
stopped 1 ot to make observations, anxious, it seemed, to get
Joceline out of the room ; which he achieved by hastily answer-
ing his offers of fresh fuel, and more liquor, in the negative
and returning, with equal conciseness, the under-kee per’s aia
wishes for the evening. He at length retired, somew hat unwill-
ingly, and as if he thought that his young master might have
bestowed a few more words upon a faithful old retainer after so
long absence.

Joliffe was no sooner gone, than, before a single word was
spoken between Albert Lee and his page, the former hastened
to the door, examined lock, latch, and bolt, and made them fast,
with the most scrupulous attention. He superadded to these
precautions that of a long screw-bolt, which he brought out of
his pocket, and which he screwed on to the staple in such a
manner as to render it impossible to withdraw it, or open the
door oe by breaking it down. The page held a light to bim
during the operation, which his master went through with much
exactness and dext terity. But when Albert arose from his knee,

mn which he had rested during the accomplishment of this task,
the manner of the companions was on the sudden entirely
changed toward each other. The honorable Master Kerneguy,
from a cubbish lout of a raw Scotchman, seemed to have ac-
quired at once all the grace and ease of motion and manner,
which could be given by an acquaintance of the earliest and
most familiar kind with the best company of the time.

He gave the light he held to Albert with the easy indiffer-
Bnce of a superior, who rather graces than troubles his depend:
ant by giving him some slight service to perform. Albert, with
the greatest appearance of deference, assumed in his turn the
character of torch-bearer, and lighted his page across the cham-
ber, without turning his back upon him ashe did so. He then
set the light on the table by the bedside, and approaching the
young man with deep reverence, received from him the soiled
green jacket, with the same profound respect as if he had been
a first lord of the bedchamber, or other officer of the household
of the highest distinction, disrobing his Sovereign of the MantleWOODSTOCK. 231

of the Garter. The person to whom this ceremony was ad-
dressed endured it for a minute or two with profound gravity,
then bursting out a-laughing, exclaimed to Albert, “What a
devil means all this formality ?—thou complimentest with
these miserable rags as if they were silks and sables, and
with poor Louis Kerneguy as if he were the King of Great
Britain !’

“ And if your Majesty’s commands, and the circumstances of
the time, have made me for a moment seem to forget that you
are my sovereign, surely I may be permitted to render my
homage as such while you are in your own royal palace of
Woodstock ?

“Truly,” replied the disguised Monarch, “the sovereign and
the palace are not ill-matched ;—these tattered hangings and
my ragged jerkin suit each other admirably.— Z/is W ‘oodstock !
this the bower where the royal Norman reveled with the
fair Rosamond Clifford !—Why, it is a place of assignation for
owls!” Then, suddenly recollecting himself, with his natural
BOUTESy; he added, as if fearing he might have hurt Albert’s
feelings—‘ But the more obscure and retired, it is the fitter for
our purpose, Lee; and if it does seem to bea roost for owls, as
there is no denying, why we know it has nevertheless brought
up eagles.

He threw himself as he spoke upon a chair, and indolently
but gracefully, received the kind offices of Albert, who undid G

the coarse buttonings of the leathern gamashes which defended
his legs, and spoke to him the whilst :—‘“ What a fine specimen
of the olden times is your father, Sir Henry ! It is strange I

should not have seen him before ; but I heard my father often

speak of him as being among the flower of our real old Eng-
lish gentry. By the mode in which he began to school me, 1
can guess you h rad a tight taskmaster of him, Albert—I w arrant
you never wore hat in his presence, ebi ny

“T never cocked it at least in his presence, please your
Majesty, as I have seen some youngsters do,” answered AAEM;
‘indeed, if I had, it must have been a stout beaver to have
saved me from a broken head.”

“ Oh, I doubt it not,” replied the King ; “a fine old gentle-
man—but with that, methinks, in his ¢ sountenance, that assures
you he w ould not hate the c hild in sparing the rod.—Hark ye,
Albert—Suppose the same glorious Restoration come round—
which, if drinking to its arriv al can hasten it, should not be far
distant,—for in “that particular our adherents never neglect
their duty,—suppose it come, therefore, and that thy father,
as must be of course, becomes an Earl and one of the Privy

f
ye
¥

 

 

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
      

sibeeae =v EAE Eas

Sree

eee er

eer trot ae

2eehyaapananabbiesa seemsKy

- . RetiSanastitenian nasser ee
PSRs Lineeaniokanetaasiaaiaenssoneesseeees) miey these waceess <3

  

23 | WOODSTOCK.

Council, oddsfish, man, I shall be as much afraid of him ag
ever was my grandfather Henri Quatre of old Sully.—Imagine
there was such a trinket now about the Court as the Fair
Rosamond, or La Belle Gabrielle, what a work there would be
of pages, and grooms of the chamber, to get the pretty rogue
clandestinely shuffled out by the backstairs, like a prohibited
commodity, when the step of the Earl of Woodstock was heard
in the antechamber!”

"Tam glad to see your Majesty so merry after your fatigu-
ing journey.”

“The fatigue was nothing, man,” said Charles; “a kind
welcome and a good meal made amends for all that, But they
must have suspected thee of bringing a wolf from the braes of
Badenoch along with you, instead of a two-legged being, with
no more than the usual allowance of mortal stowage for provi-
sions. I was really ashamed of my appetite; but thou know-

est I had eat nothing for twenty-four hours save the raw egg
you stole for me from the old woman’s hen-roost-—I tell thee I
blushed to show myself so ravenous before that high-bred and
respectable old gentleman your father, and the very pretty girl
your sister—or cousin, is she?”

‘She is my sister,” said Albert Lee, dryly, and added, in the
same breath, ‘ Your Majesty’s appetite suited well enough with
the character of a raw northern lad.—Would your Majesty now
please to retire to rest?”

‘Not for a minute or two,” said the King, retaining his seat.
“Why, man I have scarce had my tongue unchained to-day ;
and to talk with that northern twang, and besides the fatigue
of being obliged to speak every word in character,—Gad, it’s
like walking as the galley-slaves do on the Continent, with a
twenty-four pound shot chained to their legs—they may drag it
along, but they cannot move with comfort. And, by the way,
thou art slack in paying me my well-deserved tribute of compli-
ments on my counterfeiting.—Did I not play Louis Kerneguy
as round as a ring?”

(

“If your Majesty asks my serious opinion, perhaps I may be
forgiven if I say your dialect was somewhat too coarse for
Scottish youth of |}
too churlish,
ful—that
genuine.”

a
uigh birth, and your behavior perhaps a little
I thought too—though I pretend not to be skil-
some of your Scottish sounded as if it were not

“Not genuine ?—there is no pleasing thee, Albert.—Why,
who should speak genuine Scottish but myself ?.Was I not their
King fora matter of ten months? and if I did not get knowledge
of their language, I wonder what else I got by it. Did not eastWOODSTOCK. 233

country, and south country, and west country, and Highlands,
caw, croak, and shriek about me, as the deep guttural, the broad
drawl, and the high sharp yelp ‘redone “by turns ?—Odds-
fish, man, have I not been speeched at by their orators, ad-
dressed by their senators, rebuked by their ‘kirkmen? Have I
not sat on the cutty-stool, mon [again assuming the northern
dialect], and thought it grace of w orthy Mas John Gillespie,
that I was permitted to do penance in mine own privy chamber,
instead of the face of the congregation? and wilt thou tell me,
after all, that I cannot speak Scotch enough to baffle an Oxon
Knight and his family?”

May it please your Majesty,—I began by saying I was no
judge of the Scottish language.

‘“‘ Pshaw—it is mere envy; just so you said at Norton’s that
I was too courteous and civil for a young Dee you think
me too rude.

‘“‘ And there is a medium, if one could find it,” said Albert,
defending his opinion in the same tone in which the King at-
tacked him; “‘so this morning, when you were in the woman’s
dress, you raised your petticoats rather unbecomingly high, as
you waded through the first little stream; and when I told you
of it, to mend the matter, yow draggled through the next without
raising them at all.”

“O, the devil take the woman’s dress!” said Charles; “I
hope I shall never be driven to that disguise again. Why, my
ugly face was enough to put gowns, caps, and kirtles, out of
fashion forever—the very dogs fled from me—Had I passed
any hamlet that had but five huts in it, I could not have escaped
the cucking-stool.—I was a libel on womanhood. These leathern
conveniences are none of the gayest, but they are propria gue
maribus; and right glad am I to be repossessed of them. I
can tell you too, my friend, I shall resume all my masculine
privileges with my proper habiliments; and as you say I have
been too coarse to night, I will behave myself h ke a courtier to
Mistress Alice to-morrow. I made a sort of acquaintance with
her already, when I seemed to be of the same sex with herself,
and found out there are other Colonels in the wind besides you,
Colonel Albert Lee.”

“May it please your Majesty,” said Albert—and then stopped

short, from the difficulty of finding words to express the un-
pleasant nature of his feelings. They could not escape Charles ;
but he proceeded without scruple. ‘I pique myself on seeing
as far into the hearts of young ladies as most folk, though God
knows they are sometimes too deep for the wisest of us. But
I mentioned to your sister in my character of fortune-teller,—: Bates ae onl ee SSnaheees ahdbeckaheengntey wabunoes

a

 

  

234 WOODSTOCK.

thinking, poor simple man, that a country girl must have no one
but her brother to dream about,—that she was anxious about
a certain Colonel. I had hit the theme, but not the person ;
for I alluded to you, Albert ; and I presume the blush was too
deep ever to be given to a brother. So up she got, and away
she flew from me like a lapwing. I can excuse her—for, look-
ing at myself in the well, I think if I had met such a creature
as I seemed, I should have called fire and fagot against it.—Now,
what think you, Albert—who can this Colonel be, that more
than rivals you in your sister’s affection >”

Albert, who well knew that the King’s mode of thinking,
where the fair sex was concerned, was far more gay than
delicate, endeavored to put a stop to the present topic by a
grave answer.

‘‘ His sister,” he said, “‘had been in some measure educated
with the son of her maternal uncle, Markham Everard; but as
his father and he himself had adopted the cause of the round-
heads, the families had in consequence been at variance ; and
any projects which might have been formerly entertained were
of course long since dismissed on all sides.”

“You are wrong, Albert, you are wrong,” said the King,
pitilessly pursuing his jest. ‘ You Colonels, whether you wear
blue or orange sashes, are too pretty fellows to be dismissed so
easily, when once you have acquired an interest. But Mistress
Alice, so pretty, and who wishes the restor ‘tion of the King with
such a look and accent, as if she were an angel whose prayers
must needs bring it down, must not be allowed to retain any
thoughts of a canting roundhead—What say you—will you give
me leave to take her to task about it ?—After all, I am the party
most concerned in maintaining true allegiance among my sub-
jects; andif I gain the pretty maiden’s good will, that of the
sweetheart will soon follow. This was jolly King Edward’s way
—Edward the Fourth, you know. The king-making Earl of
Warwick—the Cromwell of his day—dethroned him more than
once; but he had the hearts of the merry dames of London,
and the purses and veins of the cockneys bled freely, till they
brought him home again. How say you ?—shall I shake off
my northern slough, and speak with Alice in my own character,
showing what education and manners have done for me, to make
the best amends they can for an ugly face ?”

“May it please your Majesty,” said Albert, in an altered
and embarrassed tone, “I did not expect 7?

ée

 

Here he stopped, not able to find words adequate at the
same time to express his sentiments, and respectful enough to the
King, while in his father’s house, and under his own protection.WOODSTOCK.

& And what is it that Master Lee does not expect?” said

Charles with marked gravity on his part.

Again Albert attempted a reply, but advanced no further
than, “ I would hope, if it please your Majesty,—when he again
stopped short, his deep and hereditary respect for his sovereign,
and his sense of the hospitality due to his misfortunes, prevent-
ing his giving utterance to his irritated feelings.

« And what does Colonel Albert Lee hope?” said Charles in
the same dry and cold manner -n which he had before spoken.—
“No answet ?——Now, J Aope that Colonel Lee does not see in a
silly jest anything offensive to the honor of his family, since
methinks that were an indifferent compliment to his sister, his
father, and himself, not to mention Charles Stewart, whom he
calls his King ; and / expect, that I shall not be so hardly con-
strued, as to be supposed capable of forgetting that Mistress
Alice Lee is the daughter of my faithful subject and host, and
the sister of my guide and preserver.—Come, come, Albert,” he
added, changing at once to his naturally frank and unceremo-
nious manner, ‘ you forget how long I have been abroad, where
men, women, and children, talk gallantry morning, noon, and

serious thought than just to pass away the
and 1 forgot, too, that you at of the old-fashioned
English school, a son after Sir Henry’s own heart, and don’t
understand raillery upon such subjects.—But Task your pardon,
Albert, sincerely, if I have really hurt you.”

So saying, he extended his hand to Colonel Lee, who, feeling
he had been rather too hasty in construing the K
nse, kissed it with reverence, and attempted an

i

night, with no more
time ;

ing’s jest in an

un pleasant se
apology.

“ Not a worc good-natured Prince,

Ix Swe

Fay
=

i—not a word,” said the
raising his penitent adherent as he attempted to knee
understand each other. You are somewhat afraid of the gay
reputation which I acquired in Scotland; but I assure you, I
will be as stupid as you or your cousin Colonel could desire, in
presence of Mistress Alice Lee, and only bestow my gallantry,
should I have any to throw away, upon the pretty little waiting-
maid who attended at supper—unless you should have mono-
polized her ear for your own benefit, Colonel Albert ? iH

“Jt is monoplized, sure enough, though not by me, if it
please your Majesty, but by Joceline J oliffe. the under-keeper,
whom we must not disoblige, as we have trusted him so far al-
ready, and may h

ave occasion to repose evel entire confidence
‘in him. I half think he suspects who Louis Kerneguy may 10
reality be.”

, : rye 2799
“Vou are an engrossil odstock,

a Sek, your avederts of Wo; : es ais ant beoaassemires Seinen een
FR Sesame ond aT ‘ x

236 WOODSTOCK.

said the King, laughing. “Now, if Ihada fancy, as a French-
man would not fail to have in such a case, to make pretty
speeches to the deaf old woman I saw in the kitchen, as a pis-
aller, dare say I should be told that Aer ear was engrossed for
Dr. Rochecliffe’s sole use ?”

“I marvel at your Majesty’s good spirits,” said Albert,
“that, after a day of danger, fatigue, and accidents, you should
feel the power of amusing yourself thus.”

“ That is to say, the groom of the chamber wishes his Maj-
esty would go to sleep?—Well, one,word or two on more
serious business, and I have done—I have been completely
directed by you and Rochecliffe—I have changed my disguise
from female to male upon the instant, and altered my desti-
nation from Hampshire to take shelter here—Do you still hold
it the wiser course ? ”

‘I have great confidence in Dr, Rochecliffe,” replied Albert,
‘whose acquaintance with the scattered royalists enables him

to gain the most accurate intelligence. His pride in the extent
of his correspondence, and tl

1e€ complication of his plots and
schemes for your Majesty’s service is indeed the very food he
lives upon ; but his Sagacity is equal to his vanity.
besides, the utmost faith in Joliffe.
would say nothing; yet I would not, without reason, extend
the knowledge of your Majesty’s person further than it is indis-
pensably necessary.”
“Is it handsome in me,” said Charles, pausing, “ to with
hold my full confidence from Sir Henry Lee?”
“Your Majesty heard of his almost death-swoon of last
night—what would agitate him most deeply must not be hastily
communicated.”

I repose,
Of my father and sister J

“ True; but are we safe from a visit of the red-coats—they
have them in Woodstock as well as in Oxford?” said Charles,

‘** Dr. Rochecliffe Says, not unwisely,” answered Lee, “ that
it is best sitting near the fire when the chimney smokes; and
that Woodstock, so lately in possession of the sequestrators, and
still in the vicinity of the soldiers, will be less suspected, and
more carelessly searched, than more distant corners which might
seem to promise more safety. Besides,” he added, *“* Roche-
cliffe is in possession of curious and important news concerning
the state of matters at Woodstock, highly favorable to your
Majesty’s being concealed in the palace for two or three days,
till shipping is provided, The Parliament, or usurping Council
of State, had sent down sequestrators, whom their own: evi]
conscience, assisted, perhaps, by the tricks of some daring cav:
aliers, had frightened out of the Lodge, without much desireWOODSTOCK. 237

to come backagain. Then the more formidable usurper, Crom-
well, had granted a warrant of possession to Colonel Everard,
who had only used it for the purpose of repossessing his uncle
in the Lodge, and who kept watch in person at the little bor-
ough, to see that Sir Henry was not disturbed.”

“What! Mistress Alice’s Colonel?” said the King—*“ that
sounds alarming -—for grant that he keeps the other fellows
at bay, think you aot, Master Albert, he will have an hundred
errands a-day to bring him here in person?”

‘Dr. Rochecliffe says,” answered Lee, “the treaty between
Sir Henry and his nephew binds. the latter not to approach the
Lodge, unless invited ; ;—indeed, it was not without great diffi-
culty, and strongly arguing the good consequences it might
produce to your Maj esty’s cause, “th at my father could be pre-
vailed on to occupy W oodstock at all: but be assured he will
be in no hurry to send an invitation to the Colonel.”

‘““And be you assured that the Colonel will come without
waiting for one,” said Charles. “ Folk cannot judge rightly
where sisters are concerned—they are too familiar with the mag-
net to judge of its powers and attraction—Everard will be here,
as if drawn by cart-ropes—fetters, not to talk of promises, will
not hold him—and then, methinks, we are in some danger.”

‘““T hope sae said Albert. “In the first place, I know

Markham is a slave to his word ; besides, were any chance to
bring him here, I think I could pass your SLANE upon him
vithout difficulty, as Louis Kerneguy. Then, although my
cousin and I have not been on good terms for these some years,
1 believe him incapable of betra aying your Majesty; and lastly,
if I saw the least oe of - 1, T would, were he ten times the
son of my mother’s sister, run my sword through his body, ere
he had time to execute his purpose.”

“There is but another question,” said Charles, ‘‘ and I will
release you, Albert :—You seem to think yourself secure from
search. It may be so; but, in any other country, this tale of
eoblins which is flying anor would bring down priests and
ministers of justice to examine the reality of the story, and
mobs of idle eoale to satisfy their curiosity.”

‘Respecting the first, sir, we hope and understand that
Colonel Everard’s influence will prevent any immediate inquiry,
for the sake of preserving undisturbed the peace of his uncle’s
family ; and as for any one coming without some sort of autho-
rity, the whole neighbors have so much love and fear of my
father and are, besides, so horribly alarmed about the goblins
of Woodstock, aha fear will silence curiosity.”

“On the whole, then,” said Charles, ‘‘the chances of safety

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
  
  
   
  
    
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

.Maa sere erin set ahaa eee eee

va

WOODSTOCK.

seem to be in favor of the plan we have adopted, which is all
I can hope for in a condition where absolute safety is out of
the question. ‘The Bishop recommended Dr. Rochecliffe as
one of the most ingenious, boldest, and most loyal sons of the
Church of England; you, Albert Lee, have marked your fidelity
by a hundred proofs. ‘To you and your local knowledge I sub-
mit myself.—And now prepare our arms—alive I will not be
taken ; yet I will not believe that a son of the King of England,
and heir of her throne, could be destined to danger in his own
palace, and under the guard of the loyal Lees.”

Albert Lee laid pistols and swords in readiness by the
King’s bed and his own; and Charles, after some slight apol-
ogy, took his place in the larger and better bed, with a sigh of
pleasure, as from one who had not lately enjoyed such an in-
dulgence. He bid good night to his faithful attendant, who
deposited himself on his truckle; and both monarch and sub-
ject were soon fast asleep.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.

Give Sir Nicholas Threlkeld praise ;

Hear it, good man, old in days,

Thou tree of succor and of rest

To this young bird that was distress’d;

Beneath thy branches he did stay ;

And he was free to sport and play,

When falcons were abroad for prey.
WORDSWORTH.

THE fugitive Prince slept, in spite of danger, with the pro-
found repose which youth and fatigue inspire. But the young
cavalier, his guide and guard, spent a more restless night, start-
ing from time to time, and listening; anxious, notwithstanding
Dr. Rochecliffe’s assurances, to procure yet more particular
knowledge concerning the state of things around them, than he
had been yet able to collect.

He rose early after daybreak ; but although he moved with
as little noise as was possible, the slumbers of the hunted
Prince were easily disturbed. He started up in his bed, and
asked if there was any alarm.

‘“None, please your Majesty,” replied Lee; “ only, think-
ing on the questions your Majesty was asking last night, and
the various chances there are of your Majesty’s safety being
endangered from unforeseen accidents, I thought of going thusWOODSTOCK.

early, both to communicate with Dr. Rochecliffe, and to keep
such a look-out as befits the place, where are lodged for the
time the fortunes of England. I fear I must request of your
Majesty, for your own gracious security, that you have the
soodness to condescend to secure the door with your own hand
after I go out.”

“Oh, talk not to Majesty, for Heaven’s sake, dear Albert!”
answered the poor King, endeavoring in vain to put on a part
of his clothes, in order to traverse the room.—“ When a King’s
doublet and hose are so ragged that he can no more find his
way into them than he could have traveled through the forest
of Deane without a guide, good faith, there should be an end
of Majesty, until it chances to be better accommodated. Be-
sides. there is the chance of these big words bolting out at
unawares, when there are ears to hear them whom we might
think dangerous.”

“ Your commands shall be obeyed,” said Lee, who had now
succeeded in opening the door, from which he took his depart-
ure, leaving the King, who had hustled along the floor for that
purpose, with his dress wofully ill arranged, to make it fast
again behind him, and begging him in no case to open to any
one, unless he or Rochecliffe were of the party who summoned
him.

Albert then set out in quest of Dr. Rochecliffe’s apartment,
which was only known to himself and the faithful Joliffe, and
had at different times accommodated that steady churchman
with a place of concealment, when, from his bold and busy
temper, which led him ‘nto the most extensive and hazardous
machinations on the King’s behalf, he had been strictly sought
after by the opposite party. Of late, the inquest after him had
died entirely away, as he had prudently withdrawn himself from
the scene of his intrigues. Since the loss of the battle of
Worcester, he had been afloat again, and more active than ever ;
and had, by friends and correspondents, and especially the
Bishop of , been the means of directing the King’s

flight toward Woodstock, although it was not until the very
day of his arrival that he could promise him a safe reception at
that ancient mansion.

Albert Lee, though he revered both the undaunted spirit
and ready resources of the bustling and intriguing churchman,
felt he had not been enabled by him to answer some ob
Charles’s questions yesternight, in a way so distinct as one
trusted with the King’s safety ought to have done; and it was
now his object to make himself personally acquainted, if
possible, with the various bearings of so weighty a matter, asPsa es aniston RSS aS

  

240 WOODSTOCK.

became a man on whom so much of the responsibility was
likely to descend.

Even his local knowledge was scarce adequate to find the
Doctor’s secret apartment, had he not traced hi
genial flavor of roasted game through divers blind passages,
and up and down certain very useless stairs, through cupboards
and hatchways, and so forth, to a species of sanctum sanctorum,
where Joceline Joliffe was ministering to the good Doctor a
solemn breakfast of wild-fowl, with a cup of small beer stirred
with a sprig of Rosemary, which Dr. Rochecliffe preferred to all
strong potations. Beside him sat Bevis on his tail, slobbering
and looking amiable, moved by the rare smell of the breakfast,
which had quite overcome his native dignity of disposition.

The chamber in which the Doctor had established himself
was a little octangular room, with walls of great thickness,
within which were fabricated various issues, leading in different
directions, and communicating with different parts of the build-
ing. Around him were packages with arms, and near him one
small barrel, as it seemed, of gunpowder; many papers in
different parcels, and several keys for correspondence in cipher ;
wo or three scrolls covered with hieroglyphics were also beside
him, which Albert took for plans of nativity; and various
models of machinery, in which Dr. Rochecliffe was an adept.
There were also tools of various kinds, masks, cloaks, and a
dark lantern, and a number of other indescribable trinkets, be-
longing to the trade of a daring plotter in dangerous times,
Last, there was a casket with gold and silver coin of different
countries, which was left carelessly open, as if it were the least
of Dr. Rochecliffe’s concern, although his habits in general
announced narrow circumstances, if not actual poverty. Close
by the divine’s plate lay a Bible and Prayer-book, with some
proof-sheets, as they are technically called, seemingly fresh
from the press. There were also within the reach of his hand
a dirk, or Scottish poniard, a powder-horn, and a musketoon, or
blunderbuss, with a pair of handsome pocket-pistols. In th
midst of this miscellaneous collection the Doctor sat eating hi
breakfast with great appetite, as little dismayed with the
various implements of danger around him, as a workman is
when accustomed to the perils of a gunpowder mauufactory.

“Soh, young gentleman,” he said. getting up, and extending
his hand, “are you come to breakfast. with me in good fellow-
ship, or to spoil my meal this morning, as you did my supper
last night, by asking untimely questions ? ”

“Twill pick a bone with you with all my heart,” said Albert ;

S way after a

cS
>WOODSTOCK. 2At
‘Cand if you please, Doctor, I would ask some questions which
seem not quite untimely.”

So saying, he sat down and assisted the Doctor in giving a
very satisfactory account of a brace of wild ducks and a leash
of teal. Bevis, who maintained his place with great patience
and insinuation, had his share of a collop, which was also
placed on the well-furnished board; for, like most high-bred
dogs, he declined eating water-fowl.

“Come hither, then, Albert Lee,” said the Doctor, laying
down his knife and fork, and plucking the towel from his
throat, so soon as Joceline was withdrawn; “thou art still the
same lad thou wert when I was thy tutor—never satisfied with
having got a grammar rule, but always persecuting me with
questions why the rule stood so, and not otherwise—over
curious after information which thou couldst not comprehend,
as Bevis slobbered and whined for the duck-wing, which he
could not eat.”

‘“ Thope you will find me more reasonable, Doctor,” answered
Albert; “and, at the same time, that you will recollect I am
not now szb_feruda, but am placed in circumstances where I am
not at liberty to act upon the gse dixit of any man, unless my
own judgment be convinced. I shall deserve richly to be
hanged, drawn, and quartered, should any misfortune happen
by my misgovernment in this business.”

‘‘ And it is therefore, Albert, that I would have thee trust
the whole to me, without interfering. Thou sayest, forsooth,
thou art not szb ferula ; but recollect that while you have been
fighting in the field, I have been plotting in the study—that |
know all the combinations of the King’s friends, ay, and all the
motions of his enemies, as well as a spider knows every mesh
of his web. Think of my experience, man. Not a cavalier in
the land but has heard of Rochecliffe the Plotter. I have been
a main limb in everything that has been attempted since forty-
two—penned declarations, conducted correspondence, com-
municated with chiefs, recruited followers, commissioned arms,
levied money, appointed rendezvouses. I was in the Western
Rising ; and before that, in the City Petition, and in Sir John
Owen’s stir in Wales; in short, almost in every plot for the
King since Tomkins and Challoner’s matter.”

“ But were not all these plots unsuccessful?” said Albert ;
“ and were not Tomkins and Challoner hanged, Doctor ?”

‘Ves, my young friend,” answered the Doctor, gravely, CaS
many others have been with whom I have acted; but only
because they did not follow my advice implicitly. You never
heard that I was hanged myself.”Se ee staat

a

bo

   

2A? WOODSTOCK.

“The time may come, Doctor,” said Albert; “ the pitcher
goes oft to the well—The proverb, as my father would say, is
somewhat musty. But I, too, have some confidence in my own
judgment; and, much as I honor the Church, I cannot alto-
gether subscribe to passive obedience. I will tell you in one
word what points I must have explanation on; and it will
remain with you to give it, or to return a message to the King
that you will not explain your plan; in which case, if he acts
by my advice, he will leave Woodstock, and resume his purpose
of getting to the coast without delay.”

“Well, then,” said the Doctor, “thou suspicious monster,
make thy demands, and, if they be such as I can answer with-
out betraying confidence, I will reply to them.”

‘In the first place, then, what is all this story about ghosts,
and witchcrafts, and apparitions ? and do you consider it as safe
tor his Majesty to stay in a house subject to such visitations,
real or pretended ?”

“You must be satisfied with my answer zz verbo sacerdotis—
the circumstances you allude to will not give the least annoy-
ance to Woodstock during the King’s residence. I cannot
explain further; but for this I will be bound, at the risk of my
neck.”

“"Then,” said Lee, “ we must take Dr. Rochecliffe’s bail
that the devil will keep the peace toward our Sovereign Lord
the King—good. Now, there lurked about this house the
greater part of yesterday, and perhaps slept here, a fellow

c
oe

called Tomkins—a bitter Independent, and a secretary or
lerk, or something or other, to the regicide dog Desborough.
The man is well known—a wild ranter in religious opinions,
but in private affairs far-sighted, cunning and interested, even
as any rogue of them all.”

‘Be assured we will avail ourselves of his crazy fanaticism
to mislead his wicked cunning ;—a child may lead a hog if it
has wit to fasten a cord to the ring in its nose,” replied the
Doctor.

“You may be deceived,” said Albert; ‘“‘ the age has many
such as this fellow, whose views of the spiritual and temporal
world are so different, that they resemble the eyes of a squint-
ing man; one of which, oblique and distorted, sees nothing but
the end of his nose, while the other, instead of partaking the
same defect, views strongly, sharply, and acutely, whatever is
subjected to its scrutiny.”

‘‘ But we will put a patch on the better eye,” said the Doc
tor, “and he shall only be allowed to speculate with the imper-
fect optic You must know, this fellow has always seen theWOODSTOCK. 243

greatest number, and the most hideous apparitions ; he has not
the courage of a cat in such matters, though stout enough
when he hath temporal antagonists before him. I have placed
him under the noe of Joceline Joliffe, who betwixt plying
him with sack and ghost stories, would make him incapable of
knowing what was “done, if you were to proclaim the King in
his presence.’
‘But why keep such a fellow here at all?”
‘¢Oh, sir, content you; he hes leaguer, as a sort of ambas-
Sé sador for his worthy masters, and we are secure. from any intru-
on so long as they get all the news of Woodstock from ‘Trusty
Panik. "
‘‘T know Joceline’s hone a well,” said Albert; ‘and if he
n assure me that he will keep a watch over this fellow, I will
so fat trust in him, tHe decks not know the depth of the Es)
tis true, but that my life is concerned will be quite enough to
iant.—Well, then, I proceed :—what if Markham
comes down on us?”
“ We have his word to the contrary,” answered Rochecliffe

— ‘his word of honor transmitted by his friend:—Do you

 

think it likely he will break it ae

“ T hold e m incapa ible of doing so,” answered Albert; “ and,
besides, at ink Markham wou fa make no bad use of anything
which 1 Bee come to his knowledge.— Yet God forbid we cohen

be ee r the necessity of trusting any who ever wore the ‘Par-
liament’s colors ; in a matter of such dear concernment!”

“Amen!” said the Doctor.—‘“ Are your doubts silenced
now?”

“JT still have an objection,” said Albert, “ to yonder impu-
lent rakehelly fellow, styling himself a cavalier, who pushed

.
himself on our company last night, and gained my father’s
heart by a story of the storm at Brentford, which, I dare say,
the bogee never saw.”

‘You mistake e him, dear Albert,” replied Rocl
sf ee Wildrake, although till of late I only knew ee e
name, is a gentleman, was bred at the Inns of Court, and spent

Y
2 ”
t
4

+3

       

1is estate in the King’s ser rvice.

‘Or rather in the devil’s service,” said Albert. ~ It is such
fellows as he, who, Brier from the license of their military habits
‘nto idle debauched ruffians, infest the land with riots and
robberies, brawl in hedge alehouses, and cellars where strong
7 at midnigh it, and with their deep oaths, their

Ls

waters are sold:
hot loyalty, and their dru nken ralor, make decent men abomi-
nate the very name of eaeaiey a

Alas!” said the Doctor, “it is but too true; but what can. etiam aaeote ae eee ee
Fs, Saas Cemarisdane setae esses Senses > ; .
ca Pa Wen

2A4 WOODSTOCK

you expect? When the higher and more qualified classes are
broken down and mingled undistinguishably with the lower
orders, they are apt to lose the most valuable marks of their
quality in the general confusion of morals and manners—just
as a handful of silver medals will become defaced and dis-
colored if jumbled about among the vulgar copper coin.
Even the prime medal of all, which we royalists would so will-
ingly wear next our very hearts, has not, perhaps, entirely es.
caped some deterioration—But let other tongues than
speak on that subject.” :

Albert Lee paused deeply after having heard these commu-
nications on the part of Rochecliffe.  « Doctor,” he said, “it
is generally agreed, even by some who think you may occasion-
ally have been a little overbusy in putting men upon danger-
ous actions ”’

mine

 

“May God forgive them wl
Of me,” said the (Doctor
——" That, neverthe]
in the King’s behalf tl

Chis

10 entertain so false an opinion

ess, you have done and suffered more
lan any man of your function.”
Chey do me but justice there,” said Dr. Rochecliffe—
“absolute justice.”

“I am therefore disposed to abid
things considered
Woodstock.”

e by your opinion, if all
» you think it safe that we should remain at

‘That is not the question,” answered the divine.

“And what is the question, then?” replied the young sol-
dier.

‘Whether any safer course can be pointed out.
to say, that the question must be comparative as to tl
of option. Absolute safety is—alas the whil
question on all sides. Now. I say Woodstock
guarded as at present, by far tl
cealment.”

I grieve
1€ point
é !-—out’ of the

is, fenced and
1€ most preferable place of con-

“ Enough,” replied Albert; “ ] give u]
as to a person whose knowledge of such important affairs, not
to mention your age and experience, is more intimate and ex.
tensive than mine can be,”

“You do well,” answered Rochecliffe ; “and if ot]
acted with the like distrust of their own knowledge, and con-
fidence in competent persons, it had been better for the age.
This makes Understanding bar himself up within his fortalice,
and Wit betake himself to his high tower.” (Here he looked
around his cell with an air of self-complacence.) “The wise
man foreseeth the tempest and hideth himself.”

** Doctor,” said All

) to you the question,

1ers had

ert, “let our foresight serve others farWOODSTOCK. 245
more precious than either of us. Let me ask you, if you have
well considered whether our precious charge should remain in
society with the family, or betake himself to some of the more
hidden corners of the house ?”

“ Hum!” said the Doctor, with an air of deep reflection—
‘“‘T think he will be safest as Louis Kerneguy, keeping himself
close beside you”

‘J fear it will be necessary,” added Albert, “that I scout
abroad a little, and show myself in some distant part of the
country, lest coming here in quest of me, they should find
higher game.”

‘Pray do not interrupt me—Keeping himself close beside
you or your father, in or near to Victor Lee’s apartment, from
which you are aware he can make a ready escape, should danger
approach. ‘This occurs to me as best for the present—I hope
to hear of the vessel to-day—to-morrow at furthest.”

Albert Lee bid the active but opinionated man good-morrow ;
a miring how this species of intrigue had become a sort of ele-

ment in which the Doctor seemed to enjoy himself, notwith-
standing all that the poet has said concerning the horrors which
intervene betwixt the concep and execution of a conspiracy.

In returning from Dr. Rochecliffe’s sanctuary, he met with
Joceline, who was anxiously seeking him. “ The young Scotch
gentleman,” he said, in a mysterious manner, “ has arisen from
bed, and | hearing me pass, he called me into his apartment.”

“ Well,” replied Albert, “I will see him presently.”

“ And he asked me for fresh linen and clothes. Now, sir,
he is like a man who is quite accustomed to be obeyed, so I gave
him a suit which happened to be in a wardrobe in the west
tower, and some of your linen to conform ; and when he was
dressed he commanded me to show him to the presence of Sir
Henry Lee and my young lady. I would have said something,
sir, about waiting till you came back, but he pulled me good-
naturedly by the hair (as, indeed he has a rare humor Of his
own), and told me, he was guest to Master Albert Lee, and not
his prisoner ; So, sir, though I thought you might be displeased
with me for giving him the means of stirring “abroad, and per-
haps being seen by those who should not see him, what could
i say

¢f Y ou are a sensible fellow, Joceline, and comprehend

always what is recommended to you. This youth will not be
controlle d, I fear, by either of us; but we must look the close
after his safety. You keep your ‘watch over that prying allen
the steward ?”
“Trust him to my care—on that side have no fear. ButST ne re eee eRe AAScenNCASaoneah baad

246 WOODSTOCR.

ah, sir! I would we had the young Scot in his old clothes again,
for the riding-suit of yours which he now wears hath set him off
in other-guess fashion.”

From the manner in which the faithful dependant expressed
himself, Albert saw that he suspected who the Scottish page in
reality was ; yet he did not think it proper to acknowledge to
him a fact of such importance, secure as he was equally of his
fidelity, whether explicitly trusted to the full extent, or left to
his own conjectures. Full of anxious thought, he went to the
apartment of Victor Lee, in which Joliffe told him he would
find the party assembled. The sound of ‘laughter, as he laid
his hand onthe lock of the door, almost made him Stent. so
singularly did it jar with the doubtful and melancholy reflec-
tions which engaged his own mind. He entered, and found
his father in high good humor, laughing and conversing freely
with his young charge, whose appearance was, indeed, so much
changed to the better in externals, that it seemed scarce pos-
sible a night’s rest, a toilet, and a suit of decent clothes, could
have done so much in his favor in so short atime. It could
not, however, be imputed to the mere alteration of dress,
although that, no doubt, had its effect. There was nothing
splendid in that which Louis Kerneguy (we continue to call
him by his assumed name) now wore. It was merely a riding-
suit of gray cloth, with some silver lace, in the fashion of a
country gentleman of the time. But it happened to fit him very
well, and to become his very dark complexion, especially as he
now held up his head, and used the manners. not only of a
well-behaved, but of a highly-accomplished gentleman. When
he moved, his clumsy and awkward limp was exchanged fora
sort of shuffle, which, as it might be the consequence of a wound
in those perilous times, had rather an interesting than an un-
gainly effect. At least it was as genteel an expression that
the party had been over-hard traveled, as the most polite
pedestrian could propose to himself,

The features of the Wanderer were harsh as ever, but his red
shock peruke, for such it proved, was laid aside, his sable elf-
locks were trained, bya little of Joceline’s assistance, into curls,
and his fine black eyes shone from among the shade of these
curls, and corresponded with the animated, though not hand-
some, character of the whole head. In his conversation, he
had laid aside all the coarseness of dialect which he had so
strongly affected on the preceding evening; and although he
continued to speak a little Scotch, for the support of his
character as a young gentleman of that nation, yet it was not
in a degree which rendered his speech either uncouth or unin-WOODSTOCK. 247

telligible, but merely afforded a certain Doric tinge essential to
the personage he represented. No person on earth could better
understand the society in which he moved; exile had made
him acquainted with life in all its shades and varieties—his
spirits, if not uniform, were elastic—he had that species of
Epicurean philosophy, which, even in the most extreme diffi-
culties and dangers, can, in an interval of ease, however brief,

D5

avail itself of the enjoyments of the moment—he was, in short,
in youth and misfortune, as afterward in his regal condition,
a good-humored but hard-hearted voluptuary—wise, save
where his passions intervened—beneficent, save when prodi-
gality had deprived him of the means, or prejudice of the wish,
to confer benefits—his faults such as might often have drawn
down hatred, but that they were mingled with so much
urbanity, that the injured person felt it impossible to retain the
full sense of his wrongs.

Albert Lee found the party, consisting of his father, sister,
and the supposed page, seated by the breakfast-table, at which
he also took his place. He wasa pensive and anxious beholder
of what passed, while the page, who had already completely
gained the heart of the eood old cavalier, by mimicking the
manner in which the Scottish divines preached in favor of Ma
gude Lord Marquis of Argyle and the Solemn League and
Covenant, was now endeavoring to imterest the fair Alice by
such anecdotes, partly of warlike and perilous adventure, as
possessed the same degree of interest for the female ear which
they have had ever since Desdemona’s days. But it was not
only of dangers by land and sea that the disguised page spoke ;
but much more, and much oftener, on foreign revels, banquets,
balls, where the pride of France, of Spain, or of the Low
Countries, was exhibited in the eyes of their most eminent
beauties. Alice, being a very young girl, who in consequence
of the Civil War, had been almost entirely educated in the
country, and often in great seclusion, it was certainly no
wonder that she should listen with willing ears, and a ready
smile, to what the young gentleman, their guest, and her
brother’s protégé, told with so much gayety, and mingled with
such a shade of dangerous adventure, and occasionally of
serious reflection, as prevented the discourse from being re-
garded as merely light and frivolous.

In a word, Sir Henry Lee laughed, Alice smiled from time
to time, and all were satisfied but Albert, who would himself,
however, have been scarce able to allege a sufficient reason for
his depression of spirits.

The materials of breakfast were at last removed, under the

 

   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
   

OGG
Rete Teron ot

aStat ansstasstas ee cae eee
Se peaeanisseAbeaaaieanadSial eeeerene sees naeer NeseenS .

Fp

Py

248 WOODSTOCK.

active superintendence of the neat-handed Phoebe, who looked
over her shoulder, and lingered more than once, to listen to the
fluent discourse of their new guest, whom, on the preceding
evening, she had, while in attendance at supper, accounted one
of the most stupid inmates to whom the gates of Woodstock
had been opened since the times of Fair Rosamond.

Louis Kerneguy then, when they were left only four in the
chamber, without the interruption of domestics, and the suc-
cessive bustle occasioned by the discussion and removal of the
morning meal, became apparently sensible, that his friend and
ostensible patron Albert ought not altogether to be suffered to
drop to leeward in the conversation, while he was himself suc-
cessfully engaging the attention of those members of his family
to whom he had become so recently known. He went behind
his chair, therefore, and leaning on the back, said with a good-
humored tone, which made his purpose entirely intelligible,—

“ Hither my good friend, guide, and oatron, has heard worse
news this morning than he cares to tell us, or he must have
stumbled over my tattered jerkin and leathern hose, and ac-
quired, by contact, the whole mass of stupidity which I threw
off last night with those most dolorous garments. Cheer up,
my dear Colonel Albert, if your affectionate page may presume
to say so—you are in company with those whose society, dear
to strangers, must be doubly so to you. Oddsfish, man, cheer
up ! I have seen you gay on a biscuit and a mouthful of water-
cresses—don’t let your heart fail you on Rhenish wine and
venison,”

‘ Dear Louis,” said Albert, rousing himself into exertion,
and somewhat ashamed of his own silence, “I have slept
worse, and been astir earlier than you.”

“ Be it so,” said his father; “yet I hold it no good excuse
for your sullen silence. Albert, you have met your sister and
me, so long separated from you, so anxious on your behalf,
almost like mere strangers, and yet you are returned safe to

us, and you find us well.”

“Returned indeed—but for safety, my dear father, that
word must be a stranger to us Worcester folk for some time.
However, it is not my own safety about which I am anxious.”

‘* About whose, then, should you be anxious ?—All accounts
agree that the King is safe out of the dogs’ jaws.”

“ Not without some danger, though,” muttered Louis,
thinking of his encounter with Bevis on the preceding evening,

“No, not without danger, indeed.” echoed the knight ;
“but, as old Will says,—WOODSTOCK.

There’s such divinity doth hedge a king,
hat treason dares not peep at what it would.’

No, no—thank God, that’s cared for; our Hope and Fortune is
escaped, so all news affirm, escaped from Bristol—if I thought

otherwise, Albert, I should be as sad as you are.

For the rest

of it, I have lurked a month in this house when discovery
would have been death, and that is no longer since than after
Lord Holland and the Duke of Buckingham’s rising at King-
ston; and hang me, if I thought once of twisting my brow into
such a tragic fold as yours, but cocked my hat at misfortune as

a cavalier should.”’

‘‘If I might put in a word,” said Louis, ‘it would be to
assure Colonel Albert Lee that I verily believe the King would
think his own hap, wherever he may be, much the worse that

his best subjects were

seized with dejection on his account.”

“You answer boldly on the King’s part, young man,”’ said

Sir Henry.

99

“Oh, my father was meikle about the King’s hand,” an-
swered Louis, recollecting his present character.

‘“ No wonder, then,

” said Sir Henry, “‘ that you have so soon

recovered your good spirits and good breeding, when you heard
of his Majesty’s escape. Why, you are no more like the lad we

saw last night, than the best hunter I ever had was like a dray-

horse.”’

‘Oh, there is much in rest, and food, and grooming,’’ an-

swered Louis.

** You would hardly know the tired jade you

dismounted from last night, when she is brought out prancing

and neighing the next

morning, rested, refreshed, and ready to

start again—especially if the brute hath some good blood, for
such pick up unco fast.”
“Well, then, but since thy father was a courtier, and thou

hast learned, I think,

something of the trade, tell us a little,

Master Kerneguy, of him we love most to hear about—the

King; we are all safe

was a hopeful youth ;
promise of fruit ? ”

and secret, you need not be afraid. He

I trust his flourishing blossom now gives

As the knight spoke, Louis bent his eyes on the ground, and

seemed at first uncertain what to answer.

3ut, admirable at

extricating himself from such dilemmas, he replied, “that he
really could not presume to speak on such a subject in the
presence of his patron, Colonel Albert Lee, who must be a
much better judge of the character of King Charles than he

could pretend to be.”

Albert was accordingly next assailed by the knight, seconded

by Alice, for some account of his Majesty’s character.

a

.
“apps Rr eer
t, :SRT asomremnn AER AR Utes Sereeees Seka recta naaNA panacea done nes eek eat een
M renee

250 WOODSTOCK.

“* T will speak but according to facts, ’ said Aibert ; “ and then
I must be acquitted of partiality. If the King had not possessed
enterprise and military skill, a never would have attempted
the expedition to Worcester ;—had he not h: ad personal courage,
he had not so long disputed the battle that Cromwell almost
judged it lost. That he possesses prudence and patience, must
be argued from the circumstances attending his flight ; and

hat he has the love of his subjects is evident, since, neces-
sarily known to many, he has been betrayed by none.”

‘For shame, Albert!” replied his sister ; “is that the way
a good cavalier doles out the character of his Prince, applying
an instance at every concession, like a pie measuring linen
with his rod ?—Out upon you!—no wonder you were beaten,
if you fought as coldly for your King as you now talk
for him.”

‘“‘T did my best to trace a likeness from what I have seen
and known of the original, sister Alice,” replied her brother.—
‘Tf you would have a fancy portrait, you must get an artist of
more imagnation than I have to draw it for you.”

‘““T will be that artist myself,” said Alice, “and in my por-
trait, our Monarch shall show all that he ought to be, having
such high pretensions—all fey he must be, being so loftily
descended—all that I am sure he is, and that every loyal heart
in the kingdom ought to Relig: him.”

‘Well said, Alice,” quoth the old knight—“ Look thou upon
this picture, and on this!—Here is our young friend shall
judge. I wager my best nag—that is, I would wager him had
I one left—that Alice proves the better painter of the two.—
My son’s brain is still misty, I think, since his defeat—he has
not got the smoke of Worcester out of it. Plague on thee !—a
young man, and cast down for one beating! Had you beet
banged twenty times like me, it had been time to look grave.
—But come, Alice, forward; the colors are mixed on your
pallet—forward with something that shall show like one of
Vandyck’s living portraits, placed beside the dull dry presenta-
tion there of our ancestor Victor Lee.”

Alice, it must be observed, had been educated by her
father in the notions of high and even exaggerated loyalty,
which characterized the cavaliers, and she was really an en-
thusiast in the royal cause. But, besides, she was in good
spirits at her brother’s happy return, and wished to prolong
the gay humor in which her father had of late scarcely ever in
dulged.

“Well, then,” she said, “ though I am no Apelles, I will try
to paint an Alexander, such as r hope, and am determined toWOODSTOCK.

believe, exists in the person of our exiled sovereign, soon I
trust to be restored. And I will not go further than his own
family. He shall have all the chivalrous courage, all the war-
like skill, of Henry of France, his grandfather, in order to place,
im on the throne: all his benevolence, love of his people
patience even of unpleasing advice, sacrifice of his own wishes
and pleasures to the commonweal, that, seated there, he may
be blest while living, and so long remembered when dead, that
for ages after it shall be thought sacrilege to breathe an asper
sion against the throne which he has occupied! Long after
he is dead while there remains an old man who has seen him,
were the condition of that survivor no higher than a groom or
a menial, his age shall be provided for at the public charge,

it

and his gray hairs regarded with more distinction than an earl’s

coronet, because he remembers the Second Charles, the mon-
arch of every heart in England !”

While Alice spoke, she was hardly conscious of the presence

of any one save her father and brother; for the page withdrew

ircle, and there was nothing to

|

himself somewhat from the c
e reins therefore, to her enthu-

remind her of him. She gave th
Stree el > “oO a need 2 2 2 ms
siasm; and as the tears glittered in her eye, and her beautiful

features became animated, she seemed like a descended
cherub proclaiming the virtues of apatriot monarch, The person
chiefly interested in her description held himself back, as we
have said. and ‘concealed his own features, yet so as to pre
serve a full view of the beautiful speaker.

Albert Lee, conscious in whose presence this eulogium was
pronounced, was much embarrassed; but his father, all whose
feelings were flattered by the panegyric, was in rapture.

“So much for the Kzzg, Alice,” he said; ‘and now for the

man.’

“ For the man,” replied Alice, in the same tone, ‘need I
wish him more than the paternal virtues of his unhappy father,
of whom his worst enemies have recorded, that if moral virtues
and religious faith were to be selected as the qualities which
merited a crown, no man could plead the possession of them
in a higher or more indisputable degree. ‘Temperate, wise and
frugal, yet munificent in rewarding merit—a friend to letters and
the muses, but a severe discourager of the misuse of such gifts
—a worthy gentleman—a kind master—the best friend, the
best father, the best Christian” Her voice began to falter,
and her father’s handkerchief was already at his eyes.

” exclaimed Sir Henry; “but no
more on’t—enough ; let his son but
and better fortunes,

UO

 

“He was, girl, he was!
more on’t, I charge ye-——no
possess his virtues, with better advisers,

   

a

:
«
Co ae ae anna
&, :

*Faia POTEET

  

252 WOODSTOCK.
and he will be all that England, in her w
desire?

There was a pause after this; for Alice felt as if she had
spoken too frankly and too zealously for her sex and youth,
Sir Henry was occupied in melancholy recollections on the fate
of his late sovereign, while Kerneguy and his supposed patron
felt embarrassed, perhaps from a consciousness that the rea]

Charles fell far short of his ideal character, as designed in such
glowing colors. In some Cases, exaggerated or unappropriate
praise becomes the most severe satire.

But such reflections were not of a nature to be ]
cherished by the person to whom they might have been of great
advantage. He assumed a tone of raillery, which is, perhaps,
the readiest mode of escaping from the feelings of self-reproof.
“ Every cavalier,” he said. “ should bend his knee to thank Mis-
tress Alice Lee for having made such a flattering portrait of the
King their master, by laying under contribution for his benefit
the virtues of all his ancestors ; only there was one point he
would not have expected a female painter to have passed over
in silence. When she made him, in right of his grandfather and
father, a muster of royal and individual excellencies, why could
she not have endowed him at the same time with his mother’s
personal charms? Why should not the son of Henrietta Maria,
the finest woman of her day, add the recommendations of a
handsome face and figure to his internal qualities? He had
the same hereditary title to good looks as to mental qualifica-
tions; and the picture, with such an addition would be perfect
in its way—and God send it might be a resemblance ! ”

‘** l understand you, Master Kerneguy,” said Alice: “but I
am no fairy, to bestow, as those do
which Providence has denied. I am woman enough to have
made inquiries on the subject, and I know the general report is,
that the King, to have been the son of such handsome parents,
is unusually hard-favored.”

“Good God, sister !”’ said Albert, starting impatiently from
his seat.

“Why, you yourself told me so,” said Al
emotion he testified; “and you said ”’

“This is intolerable,” muttered
speak with Joceline without delay—Louis ” (with an imploring
look to Kerneguy), “ you will surely come with me ?”

“IT would with all my heart,” said Kerneguy, smiling mali-
ciously ; “ but you see how I suffer still from lameness.—Nay,
nay, Albert,” he whispered, resisting young Lee’s attempt to pre-
vail on him to leave the room, “can you suppose I am fool

armest wishes, could

ee
ong willingly

in the nursery tales, gifts

ice, surprised at the

 

Albert; I must out toWOODSTOCK.

enough to be hurt by this >—On the contrary, I have a desire
of profiting by it.”

‘May God grant it!” said Lee to himself, as he left the
room—“ it will be the first lecture you ever profited by ; and the
devil confound the plots and plotters who made me bring you
to this place!” So saying, he carried his discontent forth into
the Park.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.

For there, they say, he daily doth frequent
With unrestrained loose companions ;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honor, to support
So dissolute a crew.
RICHARD II,

Tue conversation which Albert had in vain endeavored to
interrupt, flowed on in the same course after he had left the
room. It entertained Louis Kerneguy; for personal vanity,
or an over sensitiveness to deserved reproof, were not among
the faults of his character, and were indeed incompatible with
an understanding, which, combined with more strength of prin-
ciple, steadiness of exertion, and self-denial, might have placed
Charles high on the list of English monarchs. On the other
hand, Sir Henry listened with natural delight to the noble sen-
timents uttered by a being so beloved as his daughter. His own
parts were rather steady than brilliant; and he had that species
of imagination which is not easily excited without the action of
another, as the electrical globe only scintillates when rubbed
against its cushion. He was well pleased, therefore, when
Kerneguy pursued the conversation, by observing that Mistress
Alice Lee had not explained how the same good fairy that
conferred moral qualities, could not also remove corporal
blemishes.”

“Vou mistake, sir,” said Alice. ‘I confer nothing. I do
but attempt to paint our King such as I hope he is—such as I
am sure he may be, should he himself desire to be so. - he
same general report which speaks of his countenance as unpre-
possessing, describes his talents as being of the first order. He
has. therefore, the means of arriving at excellence, should he
cultivate them sedulously and employ them usefully—should he
rule his passions and be guided by his understanding. EveryFRET Aosiaunmi cana: SS eee Seca ARNO
F ¥ ,

ar

® pal asi ate

254 WOODSTOCK.

good man cannot be wise ; but it is in the power of every wise
man, if he pleases, to be as eminent for virtue as for talent.”

Young Kerneguy rose briskly, and took a turn through the
room ; and ere the knight could make any observation on the
singular vivacity in which he had indulged, he threw himself
again into his chair, and said, in rather an altered tone of voice
—"‘It seems, then, Mistress Alice Lee, that the good friends
who have described this poor King to you, have been as un-
favorable in their account of his morals as of his person?”

“The truth must be better known to you, sir,” said Alice,
“than it can be tome. Some rumors there have been which
accuse him of a license, which, whatever allowance flatterers
make for it, does not, to say the least, become the son of the
Martyr—I shall be happy to have these contradicted on good
authority.”

“Iam surprised at your folly,” said Sir Henry Lee, “in
hinting at such things, Alice; a pack of scandal, invented by
the rascals who have usurped the government—a thing devised
by the enemy.”

“ Nay, sir,” said Kerneguy, laughing, “we must not let our
zeal charge the enemy with more scandal than they actually
deserve. Mistress Alice has put the question tome. I can
only answer, that no one can be more devotedly attached to
the King than I myself,—that I am very partial to his merits
and blind to his defects; and that, in short, I would be the
last man in the world to give up his cause where it was tena:
ble. Nevertheless, I must confess, that if all his grandfather
of Navarre’s morals have not descended to him, this poor King
has somehow inherited a share of the specks that were thought
to dim the lustre of that great Prince—that Charles js a little
soft-hearted, or so, where beauty is concerned.—Do not blame
him too severely, pretty Mistress Alice; when a man’s hard
fate has driven him among thorns, it were surely hard to pre-
vent him from trifling with the few roses he may find among
them?”

Alice, who probably thought the conversation had gone far
enough, rose while Master Kernezuy was speaking, and was
leaving the room before he had finished, without apparently
hearing the interrogation with which he concluded. Her father
approved of her departure, not thinking the turn which Kerne-
guy had given to the discourse altogether fit for her presence ;
and, desirous civilly to break off the conversation, ‘“‘ [ see,” he
said, ‘this is about the time. when, as Will says, the household
affairs will call my daughter hence; I will therefore challenge
you, young gentleman, to stretch your limbs in a little exerciseWOODSTOCK. 2nc

with me, either at single rapier, or rapier and poniard, back-
sword, spadroon, or your national weapons of broadsword and
target; for all or any of which I think we shall find imple
ments in the hall.”

It would be too high a distinction, Master Kerneguy said,
for a poor page to be permitted to try a passage of arms with
a knight so renowned as Sir Henry Lee, and he hoped to
enjoy so great an honor before he left Woodstock; but at the
present moment his lameness continued to give him so much
pain, that he should shame himself in the attempt.

Sir Henry then offered to read him a play of Shakspeare,
and for this purpose turned up King Richard II. But hardly
had he commenced with

** Old John of Gaunt, time honored Lancaster,”’

when the young gentleman was seized with such an uncontrol-
able fit of the cramp as could only be relieved by immediate
exercise. He therefore begged permission to be allowed to
saunter abroad for a little while, if Sir Henry Lee considered
he might venture without danger.

‘‘T can answer for the two or three of our people that are
still left about the place,” said Sir Henry; “and I know my
son has disposed them so as to be constantly on the watch.
If you hear the bell toll at the Lodge, I advise you to come
straight home by the way of the King’s Oak, which you see in
yonder glade towering above the rest of the trees. We will
have some one stationed there to introduce you secretly into
the house.”

The page listened to these cautions with the impatience of
a school-boy, who, desirous of enjoying his holiday, hears with-
out marking the advice of tutor or parent, about taking care
not to catch cold, and so forth.

The absence of Alice Lee had removed all which had
rendered the interior of the Lodge agreeable, and the
mercurial young page fled with precipitation from the ex-
ercise and amusement which Sir Henry had proposed. He
girded on his rapier, and threw his. eloak, .or: sarher
that which belonged to his borrowed suit, about him,
bringing up the lower part so as to muffle the face
and show only the eyes over it, which was a common way of
wearing them in those days, both in streets, in the country, and
in public places, when men had a mind to be private, and to
avoid interruption from salutations and greetings in the market-
place, He hurried across the open space which divided the

es

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
     

Pewee tt

s
Sg ORT ET
(spas ever rer scenesWOODSTOCK.

   

256

front of the Lodge from the wood, with the haste of a bird es.
caped from the cage, which, though joyful at its liberation, is at
the same time sensible of its need of protection and shelter.
The wood seemed to afford these to the human fugitive, as it
might have done to the bird in question.

When under the shadow of the branches, and within the
verge of the forest, covered from observation, yet with the
power of surveying the irone or tie Loedve, and ‘all’ the open
eround before it, the supposed Louis Kerneguy meditated on
his escape.

“What an infliction—to fence with a gouty old man, who
knows not, I dare say, a trick of the sword which was not
familiar in the days of old Vincent Saviolo! or, as a change
of misery, to hear him read one of those wildernesses of scenes
which the English call a play, from prologue to epilogue—from
Enter the first to final Axeunt omnes—an unparalleled horror

—a Det ce which would have sete a dungeon darker, and
added dulness even to Woodstock

Here he stopped and looked a then continued his
meditations—‘“ So then, it was here that the gay old Norman
secluded his pretty mistress—I warrant, without Beate seen her,
that Rosamond Clifford was never half so handsome as that
lovely Alice Lee. And what a soul there is in the girl’s eye!
~—with what abandonment of all respects, save that expressing
the interest of the moment, she poured forth her tide of
enthusiasm! Were I to be long here, in spite of prudence,
and half-a-dozen very venerable obstacles besides, I should be
tempted to try to reconcile her to the indifferent visage of this
same hard-favored Prince.—Hard-favored ?—it is a_ kind of
treason for one who pretends to so much loyality, to say so of
the King’s features, and in my mind deserves punshment.—
Ah, pretty Mistress Alice! many a Mistress Alice before you
has made dreadful exclamations on the irregularities of mankind,
and the wickedness of the age, and ended by being glad to look
out for apologies for their own share in them. But then her
father—the stout old cavalier— my father’s old friend—should
such a thing befall, it would break his heart——Break a pud-
ding’s-end—he has more sense. If I give his grandson a title
to quarter the arms of England, what matter if a bar sinister is
drawn across them ?—Pshaw! far from an abatement, it is a
point of addition—the heralds in their next visitation will ite
him higher in the roll for it. Then, if he did wince a little at
nrst, does not the old traitor deserved it;—first, for his disloyal
intention of punching mine anointed body black and blue with
his vile foils—and secondly, his atrocious complot with WilWOODSTOCK. 257

Shakspeare, a fellow as much out of date as himself, to read me
to death with five acts of a historical play, or chronicle, ‘ being
the piteous Life and death of Richardthe Second ?’ Oddsfish
my own life is piteous enough, as I think; and my death may
match it, for aught I see coming yet. Ah, but then the brother
—my friend—my guide—my guard—So far as this little pro-
posed intrigue concerns him, such practicing would be thought
not quite fair. But your bouncing, swaggering, rev engetul
brothers exist only on the theatre. Your dire revenge, “with
which a brother persecuted a poor fellow who had seduced his
sister, or been seduced by her, as the case might be, as relent-
lessly as if he had trodden on his toes without making an oP ue
ogy, is ey out of fashion, since Dorset killed the Lord
Bruce many a long year since.* Pshaw! when a King is the
offender, the bravest man sacrifices nothing by pocketing a
little wrong which he cannot personally resent ; ‘and in France
there is not a noble house where each individual would not
cock his hat an inch higher, if they could boast of such a left-
handed alliance with the Grand Monarque.”

Such were the thoughts which rushed through the mind of
Charles, at his first quitting the Lodge of Woodstock, and
plunging into the forest that surrounded it. His profligate
logic, however, was not the result of his natural disposition,
nor received without scruple by his sound understanding. It
was a train of réasoning which he had been led to adopt from his
too close intimacy with the witty and profligate youth of qual-
ity by whom he had been surrounded. It arose from the
evil communication with Villiers, Wilmot, Sedley, and others,
whose genius was destined to corrupt that age, and the Monarch
on whom its character afterward came so much to depend.
Such men, bred amidst the license of civil war, and without ex-
periencing t that curb which in ordinary times the authority of
parents ni relations imposes upon the headlong passions of
youth, were practiced in every species of vice, and could recom-
mend it as well by precept as exam] yle, turning into pitiless
ridicule all those nobler feelings a hice withhold men from
gratifying lawless passion. The events of the King’s life had

also fav ored his re ception of this Epicurean doctrine. He saw
himself, with the highest claim to sympathy and assistance,
coldly treat ed by the Courts which he visited, rather as a per-
mitted suppliant, than an exiled Monarch. He beheld his own

* This melancholy story may be found in the Guardian An intrigue

of Lord Sackville, afterward Ear 1 of Dorset, was the cause of the fatal duel
|which took pl ace at Bergen op-Zoom, in A ugust 1613]:Ra Tee et ree ee eee Tee SEX Nebsornea Sea

on

21 Ke WOODSTOCK.

rights and claims treated with scorn and indutrerence ; and, in
the same proportion, he was reconciled to the hard-hearted and
selfish course of dissipation, which promised him immediate in-
dulgence. If this was obtained at the expense of the happi-
ness of others, should he of all men be scrupulous upon the
subject, since he treated others only as the world treated
him ?

But although the foundation of this unhappy system had
been laid, the Prince was not at that early period so fully de-
voted to it as he was found to have become, when a door was
unexpectedly opened for his restoration. On the contrary,
though the train of gay reasoning which we have above stated,
as if it had found ventin uttered language, did certainly arise
in his mind, as that which would have been suggested by his
favorite counselors on such occasions, he recollected that what
might be passed over as a peccadillo in France or the Nether-
lands, or turned into a diverting novel or pasquinade by the
wits of his own wandering Court, was likely to have the aspect
of horrid ingratitude and infamous treachery among the Eng-
lish gentry, and would inflict a deep, perhaps an incurable
wound upon his interest, among the more aged and respectable
part of his adherents. Then it occurred to him—for his own
interest did not escape him, even in this mode of considering
the subject—that he was in the power of the Lees, father and
son, who were always understood to be at Teast sufficiently
punctilious on the score of honor ; and if they should suspect
such an affront as his imagination had conceived, they could
be at no loss to find means of the most ample revenge, either
by their own hands, or those of the ruling faction.

“The risk of re-opening the fatal window at Whitehall, and
renewing the tragedy of the Man in the Mask, were a worse
penalty,” was his final reflection, “ than the old stool of the
Scottish penance; and pretty though Alice Lee is, I cannot
alford to intrigue at such a hazard. So, farewell, pretty maiden!
unless, as sometimes has happened, thou hast a humor to
throw thyself at thy King’s feet, and then I am too magnani-

mous to refuse thee my protection. Yet, when I think of the
pale clay-cold figure of the old man, as he lay last night ex-
tended before me, and imagine the fury of Albert Lee raging
with impatience, his hand on a sword which only his loyalty
prevents him from plunging into his sovereign’s heart—nay,
the picture is too horrible ! Charles must forever change his
name to Joseph, even if he were strongly tempted ; which may
Fortune in mercy prohibit ! ”

To speak the truth of a prince, more unfortunate in his earlyWOODSTOCK 29

companions, and the callousness which he acquired by his juve-
nile adventures and irregular mode of life, than in his natural
disposition, Charles came the more readily to this wise conclu-
sion, because he was by no means subject to those violent and
engrossing passions, to gratify which, the world has been
thought well lost. His amours, like many of the present day,
were rather matters of habit and fashion, than of passion and
affection ; and, in comparing himself in this respect to his
erandfather, Henry IV., he did neither his ancestor nor himself
perfect justice. He was, to parody the words of a bard, him-
self actuated by the stormy passions which an intriguer often
only stimulates,—

None of those who loved so kindly,
None of those who loved so blindly.

An amour was with him a matter of amusement, a regular con-
se ay ence, as it seemed to him, of the ordinary course of things
in society. He was not at the trouble to practice seductive
arts, because he had seldom found occasion to make use of
them ; his high rank, and the profligacy of part of the female
society with which he had mingled, rendering them unneces-
sary. Added to this, he had, for the same reason, seldom been
crossed by the obstinate interference of relations, or even of
husbands, who had generally seemed not unwilling to suffer
such matters to take their course.

So that, notwithstanding his total looseness of principle, and
systematic disbelief in the virtue of women, and the honor of
men, as connected with the character of their female relatives,
Charles was not a person to have studiously introduced disgrace
into a family, where a conquest might have been violently dis-
puted, attained with difficulty, and accompanied with general
distress, not to mention the excitation of all fiercer passions
against the author of the scandal.

But the danger of the King’s society consisted in his being
much of an unbeliever in the existence of such cases as were
likely to be embittered by remorse on the part of the principal
victim, or rendered perilous by the violent resentment of her
connections or relatives. He had even already found such
things treated on the Continent as matters of sedi occur:
rence, subject in all cases where a man ol high influence was
concerned, to an easy arrangement; and he was really, gener-
ally spe aking, sceptical on the subject of severe virtue in either
sex, and apt to consider it as a veil assumed by peudey in
women, and hypocrisy in men, to extort a higher rew ard for their

compliance.

  

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abe WOODSTOCK,

While we are discussing the character of his disposition to
gallantry, the Wanderer was conducted, by the walk he had
chosen, through several whimsical turns, until at last it brought
him under the windows of Victor Lee’s apartment, where “he
descried Alice watering and arranging some flowers placed on
the oriel window, which was easily accessible by daylight, al-
though at night he had found it a dangerous attempt to scale
it. But not Alice only, her father also showed himself near the
window, and beckoned him up. The family party seemed now
more promising than before, and the fugitive Prince was weary
of playing battledore and shuttlecock with his conscience, and
much disposed to let matters go as chance should determine,

He climbed lightly up the broken ascent, and was readily
welcomed by the old knight, who hel a activity in high honor,
Alice also seemed glad to see the lively and interesting young
man; and by her pre sence, and the unaffected mirth with w hich
she enjoyed his sallies she was animated to display those quali-
ties a wit and humor, which nobody possessed in a higher
degre
Hi = satire delighted the old gentleman, who laughed till his
yes ran over as he heard the youth, whose claims to his respect
little dreamed of, amusing him with successive imitations of
e Scottish Presbyterian cle srgymen, of the proud and poor
Hidalgo of the North, of the fierce and overw eening pride and
Celtic dialect of the mountain chief, of the slow and more pe-
dantic Lowlander, with all of which his residence in Scotland
had made him familar. Alice also laughed and applauded,
amused herself, and delighted to see that her father was so ;
and the whole party were in the highest glee, when Albert Lee
entered, eager to find Louis Kerneguy, and to lead him away to
a private colloquy with Dr. Rochecliffe, whose zeal. assiduity,
and wonderful possession of FEamaatibn, had constituted him
their master-pilot in those difficult times

It is unnecessary to introduce the reader to the minute par-
ticulars of their conference. The information obtained was so
far favorable, that the enemy seemed to have had no intelligence
of the King’s route toward the south, and remained persuaded
that he had made his escape from Pe as had been reported,
and as had indeed been proposed ; but the master of the vessel
prepared for the King’s passage had taken the alarm, and sailed
without his royal freight. His departure, however, and the
suspicion of the service in which he was engaged, served to
make the belief general, that the King had gone off along with
him,

ae
m Xe

Coe et
Cws

But though this was cheering, the Doctor had more unpleas-WOODSTOCK.

ant tidings from the sea-coast, alleging great difficulties in se-
curing a vessel, to which it might be fit to commit a charge so
precious ; and, above all, requesting his Majesty might on no
account venture to approach the shore, until he should receive
advice that all the previous arrangements had been completely
settled.

No one was able to suggest a safer place of residence than
that which he at present occupied. Colonel Everard was
deemed certainly not personally unfriendly to the King; and
Cromwell, as was supposed, reposed in Everard an unbounded
confidence. ‘The interior presented numberless hiding-places,
and secret modes of exit, known to no one but the ancient
residents of the Lodge—nay, far better to Rochecliffe than to
any of them ; as, when the Rector at the neighboring town, his
prying disposition as an antiquary had induced him to make
very many researches among the old ruins—the results of which
he was believed, in some instances, to have kept to himself.

To balance these conveniences, it was no doubt true, that
the Parliamentary Commissioners were still at no great distance,
and would be ready to resume their authority upon the first
opportunity, but no one supposed such an opportunity was
likely to occur; and all believed, as the influence of Cromwell
and the army grew more and more predominant, that the disap-
pointed Commissioners would attempt nothing in contradiction
to his pleasure, but wait with patience an indemnification in
some other quarter for their vacated commissions. Report,
through the voice of Master Joseph Tomkins, stated, that they
had determined, in the first place, to retire to Oxford, and were
making preparations accordingly. This promised still further
to insure the security of Woodstock. It was therefore settled
that the King, under the character of Louis Kerneguy, should
remain an inmate of the Lodge, until a vessel should be pro-
cured for his escape, at the port which might be esteemed the

safest and most convenient,

.

erehoe ert rr

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4Se eet eet tesltees,

ail

WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.

The deadliest a akes are those which, twined ’mongst flowers,
Blend their bright coloring with the varied | lossoms,

Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dew-drops;

a all so like what nature has most harmless,

That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger,

Is poison’d unawares. ‘

OLD Puay.

CHARLES (we must now give him his own name) was easily
reconciled to the circumstances which rendered his residence at
Woodstock advisable. No doubt he would much rather have
secured his safety by making an immediate escape out of Eng-
land; but he had been condemned alre eady to many uncomfort-
able eerie places, and more disagreeable disguises, as well as
to long and difficult journeys, during which, between pragmati-
cal officers of justice belonging to the prevaili ing party, and
parties of soldiers whose officers usu ally took on them to act on
their own warrant, risk of discov ery had more than once
become very imminent. He was glad, therefore, of comparative
repose, and of comparative safety.

Then it must be considered, that Charles had been entirely
reconciled to the society at Woodstock since he had become
better acquainted with it. He had seen, that, to interest the
beautiful Alice, and procure a great deal of her company, noth-
ing more was necessary than to submit to the humors, and
cultivate the intimacy of the old cavalier, her father. A few
bouts at fencing, in which Charles took care not to put out his
more perfect skill, and youthful strength and activity—the en-
durance of a few scenes from Sh: ikspeare, which the knight
read with more zeal than taste—a little skill in music, in which
the old man had been a proficient—the deference paid to a fey
old-fashioned opinions, at which Charles laughed in his sleeve
——were all sufficient to gain for the disguised Prince an interest
in Sir Henry Lee, and to conciliate in an equal degree the
good-will of his lovely daughter.

Never were there two young persons who could be said to
commence this species of intimacy with such unequal advan-
tages. Charles was a libertine who, if he did not in cold blood
resolve upon prosecuting his pEeeios for Alice to a dishonorable
conclusion, was at every moment liable to be provoked to
attempt the strength of a virtue, in which he was no believer,WOODTOCK.

Then Alice, on her part, hardly knew even what was implied
by the word libertine or seducer. Her mother had died early
in the commencement of the Civil War, and she had been bred
up chiefly with her brother and cousin; so that she had an
unfearing and unsuspicious frankness of manner, upon which
Charles was not unwilling or unlikely to PH a construction
favorable to his own views. Even Alice’s love for her cousin—
the first sensation which awakens the most een and simple
mind to feelings of shyness and restraint toward the male sex
in general—had failed to excite such an alarm in her bosom.
They were nearly related; and Everard, though young, Was
several years her elder, and had, from her infancy, been an
object of her respect as well as of her affection. When this
early and chucish intim: icy ripened into youthful love, con:
fessed and returned, still it differed in some shades from the
passion existing between lovers originally strangers to each
other, until their affections have been united in the ordinary
course a Rss Their love was fonder, more familiar,
more perfectly confidential ; purer, too, perhaps, and more free
rom starts ‘of passionate violence or ap prehensive jealousy.
Lhe possibility that anyone coul ld have at tempted to rival
Everard in her affection, was a cit stance which never occur-
red to Alice ; and that this si ares Sc Bee lad, whom she
laughed with on account of his humor, and lat ched at for his
Pp ECU aT HES, should be an object of danger or of caution, never
nce entered her imagination. The sort of intimacy to which
she ‘admitted Kernegu y was the same to which she would have
received acompanion of her own sex, whose manners she did
not always approve, but whose society she found always
amusing.

It was natural that the Aacee of Alice Lee’s conduct,
which arose from the most perfect indifference, should pass fox
something approaching to encouragement in the royal gallant’s
apprehension, and that any re solution he had formed against
being tempted to violate the hospitality of Woodstock, should
begin to totter, as Oppo ortunities for doing so became more fré-

quent.

These opportunities were favored by Albert’s departure from
Woodstock the very day after his art ival. It had been agreed,
in full council with Charles and Rochecliffe, that he should go
to visit his uncle Everard in the county of Kent, and, by show-
ing himself there, obviate any cause of suspicion eee mig o ght
ae from his residence at W oodstoc k, and remove any pretext
for disturbing his fath r’s family on account of their harboring

one who had been so lately in arms. He had also Edenatce

 

Oree ee ss :

264 WOODSTOCK.

at his own great personal risk, to visit different points on the
s€a-coast, and ascertain the security of different places for
viding shipping for the King’s leaving England.

These circumstances were alike calculated to procure the
King’s safety, and facilitate his escape. But Alice was thereby
deprived of the presence of her brother, who would have been

her most watchful guardian, but who had set down the King’s
light talk upon a former occ

asion to the gayety of his humor,
and would have thought he had done his sovereign great in-
justice, had he seriously suspected him-of such a breach of
hospitality as a dishonorable pursuit of Alice would hz

plied.

ave im-
There were, however, two of the household

who appeared not so entirely reconciled with L
or his purposes. The one was B
first unfriendly rencontre, to have
new guest, which no advances on the part of Charles were able
tosoften. If the page was by chance left alone witl
mistress, Bevis chose always to be one of tl
by Alice’s chair, and growled audibl
near her, Utes 4 pity,” said

pro-

at Woodstock,
ouis Kerneguy
evis, who seemed, from their
kept up a pique against their

1 his young
1€ party; came close
y when the gallant drew
the disguised Prince, “ that your
3evis is not a bull-dog, that we might dub him a roundhead at
once—He is too handsome, too noble, too aristocratic, to nourish
those inhospitable prejudices against a poor houseless cavalier,

am convinced the spirit of Pym or Hampden has transmi-
grated into the rogue, and continues to demonstrate his hatred
against royalty and all its adherents,”

Alice would then reply, that Bevis was loyal in word and
deed, and only partook her father’s prejudices against the Scots,
which, she could not but acknowledge, were tolerably strong.

“Nay, then,” said the supposed Louis, “I must find some
other reason, for I cannot allow Sir Bevis’s resentment to rest
upon national antipathy: So we will suppose that some gallant
cavalier, who wended to the wars and never returned, has
adopted this shape to look back upon the haunts he left so un-
willingly, and is jealous at seeing even poor Louis Kerneguy
drawing near to the lady of his lost affections.”—He approach-
ed her chair as he spoke, and Bevis gave one of his deep
growls,

“In that case you had best keep your distance,”
laughing, “for the bite of a dog, possessed by the
jeaious lover cannot be very Safe.”
the dialogue in the
apprehend nothing more serious than the
fantastic boy, certainly induced the su

said Alice,
ghost of a
And the King carried on
Same strain—which, while it led Alice to
apish gallantry of a
posed Louis KerneguyWOODSTOCK.

to think that he had made one of those conquests which often
and easily fall to the share of sovereigns. Notwithstanding the
acuteness of his apprehension, he was not sufficiently aware
that the Royal Road to female favor is only open to monarchs
when they travel in grand costume, and that when they woo
incognito, their path of courtship is liable to the same windings
and obstacles which obstruct the course of private individuals.

There was, besides Bevis, another member of the family, who
kept a look-out upon Louis Kerneguy, and with no friendly eye.
Phoebe Mayflower, though her experience extended not beyond
the sphere of the village, yet knew the world much better than
her mistress, and besides she was five years older. More know-
ing, she was more suspicious. She thought that odd-looking
Scotch boy made more up to her young mistress than was proper
for his condition of life; and, moreover, that Alice gave him a
little more encouragement than Parthenia would have afforded
to any such Jack-a-dandy, in the absence of Argalus—for the
volume treating of the loves of these celebrated Arcadians was
then the favorite study of swains and damsels throughout merry
England. Entertaining such suspicions, Phoebe was at a loss
how to conduct herself on the occasion, and yet resolved she
would not see the slightest chance of the course of Colonel
Everard’s true love being obstructed, without attempting a
remedy. She had a peculiar favor for Markham herself; and,
moreover he was; according to her phrase, as handsome and
personable a young man as was in Oxfordshire ; and this
Scottish scarecrow was no more to be compared to him than
chalk was to cheese. And yet she allowed that Master Girnigy
had a wonderfully well-oiled tongue, and that such gallants were
not to be despised. What was to be done ?—she had no facts
to offer, only vague suspicion ; and was afraid to speak to her
mistress, whose kindness, great as it was, did not, nevertheless,
encourage familiarity.

She sounded Joceline; but he was, she knew not why, so
deeply interested about this unlucky lad, and held his import-
ance so high, that she could make no impression on him. Go
speak to the old knight, would have been to raise a general
tempest. The worthy chaplain, who was at Woodstock, grand
referee on all disputed matters, would have been the damsel’s
most natural resource, for he was peaceful as well as moral by
profession, and politic by practice. But it happened he had
given Phoebe unintentional offence by speaking of her under
the classical epithet of Rustica Midele, the which epithet, as she
understood it not, she held herself bound to resent as contume-
lious, and, declaring she was not fonder of a fdd/e than otherFs pp Goerarissaneabectan Se ee

   

266 WOODSTOCK.
folk, had ever since shunned all intercourse with Dr. Roche
cliffe which she could easily avoid.

Master Tomkins was always coming and going about the
house under various pretexts; but he was a roundhead, and
she was too true to the cavaliers to introduce any of the enemy
as parties to their internal discords; besides, he had talked to
Phcebe herself in a manner which induced her to decline every-
thing in the shape of familiarity with him. Lastly, Cavaliero
Wildrake might have been consulted; but Phoebe had her own
reasons for saying, as she did with some-emphasis, that Cava-
liero Wildrake was an impudent London rake. At length she
resolved to communicate her suspicions to the party having
most interest in verifying or confuting them.

““T’ll let Master Markham Everard know, that there is a
wasp buzzing about his honey-comb,’’ said Phoebe; “and,
moreover, that I know that this young Scotch Scapegrace
shifted himself out of a woman’s into a man’s dress at Goody
Green’s, and gave Goody Green’s Dolly a gold piece to say
nothing about it; and no more she did to any one but me, and
she knows best herself whether she gave change for the gold or
not—but Master Louis is a saucy jackanapes, and like enough
tb: aSkig.””

Three or four days elapsed while matters continued in this
condition—the disguised Prince sometimes thinking on the
intrigue which Fortune seemed to have thrown in his way for
his amusement, and taking advantage of such opportunities as
occurred to increase his intimacy with Alice Lee; but much
oftener harassing Dr. Rochecliffe with questions about the pos-
sibility of escape, which the good man finding himself unable
to answer, secured his leisure against royal importunity, by
retreating into the various unexplored recesses of the Lodge,
known perhaps only to himself, who had been for nearly a score
of years employed in writing the Wonders of Woodstock.

It chanced on the fourth day, that some trifling circumstance
had called the knight abroad ; and he had left the young Scots-
man, now familiar in the family, along with Alice, in the parlor
of Victor Lee. Thus situated, he thought the time not unpro-
pitious for entering upon,a strain of gallantry, of a kind which
might be called experimental, such as is practiced by the
Croats in skirmishing, when they keep bridle in hand, ready
to attack the enemy, or canter off without coming to close
quarters, as circumstances may recommend. After using for
nearly ten minutes a sort of metaphysical jargon, which might,
according to Alice’s pleasure, have been interpreted either
into gallantry, or the language of serious pretension, and whenWOODSTOCK.

he supposed her engaged in fathoming his meaning, he had
the mortification to find, by a single and brief question, that
he had been totally unattended to, and that Alice was think-
ing on anything at the moment rather than the sense of
what he had been saying. She asked him if he could tell what
it was o’clock, and this with an air of real curiosity concern-
ing the lapse of time, which put coquetry wholly out of the
question.

“T will go look at the sun-dial, Mistress Alice,” said the

gallant, rising and coloring, throu oh a sense of the contempt
with which he thought himself treated.

“Vou will do me a pleasure, Master Kerneguy,” said Alice,
without the least consciousness of the indignation she had
excited.

ee Louis Kerneguy left the room accordingly, not, how-
ever, to procure the information required, but to vent his anger
an id mortification, and to swear, with more serious purpose than
He had dared to do before, that Alice shouid rue her insolence.
Good-natured as he was, he was still a prince, unaccustomed to
contradiction, far less to contempt, and his sell- -pride felt, for
the moment, wounded to the quick. With a hasty step he

plunged into the Chase, only remembering ee own safety so far
as to choose the deeper and sequestered avenues, where, walk-
ing on with the speedy and active step which his recovery from
fatigue now permitt ed him to exercise according to his wont,
he solaced his angry purposes, by devising schemes of revenge
on the insolent country coquette, os which no consideration
of hospitality was in future to have weight enough to save her.

The irritated gallant passed

“The dial-stone, aged and green,”

without deigning to ask it a single question; nor could it have
satisfied his curiosity if he had, ‘for no sun happened to shine at
the moment. He then hastened forward, mufiling himself in
his cloak, and assuming a ae and slouching gait, which
diminished his apparent height. He was soon inv volved in the
deep and dim alleys of the 1 wood, into which he had insensibly
plunged himself, and was trav ersing it at a great rate, without
having any distinct idea in what direc tion he was going, when
suddenly his course was arrested, first by a loud hollo, and then

y a summons to stand, accompanied by what seemed still
more startling and extraordinary, the touch of a cane upon his
shoulder, imposed i in a good- humored but somewhat imperious

manner,

Beer etre ot

 

ae

o
iaS RRERR CRE dagen Se ehoors coh ornkeclho-aiehdoo wabhknoe

ol aE n=

268 WOODSTOCK.

There were few symptoms of recognition which would have
been welcome at this moment; but the appearance of the per
son who had thus arrested his course, was least of all that he
could have anticipated as timely or agreeable. When he turned,
on receiving the signal, he beheld himself close to a young
man, nearly six feet in height, well made in joint and limb, but
the gravity of whose apparel, although handsome and gentleman:
like, and a sort of precision in his habit, from the cleanness and
stiffness of his band to the unsullied purity of his Spanish-leather
shoes, bespoke a love of order which was foreign to the im-
poverished and vanquished cavaliers, and proper to the habits
of those of the victorious party, who could afford to dress them-
selves handsomely ; and whose rule—that is, such as regarded
the higher and more respectable classes—enjoined decency and
sobriety of garb and deportment. There was yet another
weight against the Prince in the scale, and one still more char-
acteristic of the inequality in the comparison, under which he
seemed to labor. There was. strength in the muscular form
of the stranger who had brought him to this involuntary parley,
authority and determination in his brow, a long rapier on the
left, and a poniard or dagger on the right side of his belt, and
a pair of pistols stuck into it, which would have been sufficient
to give the unknown the advantage (Louis Kerneguy having
no weapon but his sword), even had his personal strength
approached nearer than it did to that of the person by whom
he was thus suddenly stopped.

Bitterly regretting the thoughtless fit of passion that brought
him into his present situation, but especially the want of the
pistols he had left behind, and which do so much to place
bodily strength and weakness upon an equal footing, Charles
yet availed himself of the courage and presence of mind, in
which few of his unfortunate family had for centuries been
deficient. He stood firm and without motion, his cloak still
wrapped round the lower part of his face, to give time for ex-
planation, in case he was mistaken for some other person.

This coolness produced its effect ; for the other party said,
with doubt and surprise on his part, ‘‘ Joceline Joliffe, is it
not ?—if I know not Joceline Joliffe, I should at least know my
own cloak.”

“T am not Joceline Joliffe, as you may see, sir,” said Ker-
neguy, calmly, drawing himself erect to show the difference of
size, and dropping the cloak from his face and person.

hindeed!’’ replied the’ stranger in surprise; “then, Sim
Unknown, I have to express my regret at having used my cane
in intimating that I wished you to stop. From that dress,

)

 

eeWOODSTOCK.

which I certainly recognize for my own, I concluded you must
be Joceline, in whose custody I had left my habit at the
Lodge :

“Tf it had been Joceline, sir,” replied the supposed Kerne-
uy, with a perfect composure, “ methinks you should not have
truck so hard.” ;

The other party was obviously confused by the steady calm-
ness with which he was encountered. The sense of politeness
dictated, in the first place, an apology for a mistake, when he
thought he had been tolerably certain of the person. Master
Kerneguy was not in a situation to be punctilious ; he bowed
gravely, as indicating his acceptance of the excuse offered, then
turned, and walked, as he conceived, toward the Lodge ;
though he had traversed the woods, which were cut with vari-
ous alleys in different directions, too hastily to be certain of
the real course which he wished to pursue.

He was much embarrassed to find that this did not get him
rid of the companion whom he had thus involuntarily acquired.
Walked he slow, walked he fast, his friend in the genteel but
puritanic habit, strong in person, and well armed, as we have
described him, seemed determined to keep him company, and,
without attempting to join, or enter into conversation, never
suffered him to outstrip his surveillance for more than two or
three yards. ‘The Wanderer mended his pace; but, although
he was then, in his youth, as afterward in his riper age, one
of the best walkers in Britain, the stranger, without advancing
his pace to a run, kept fully equal to him, and his persecution
became so close and constant, and inevitable, that the pride
and fear of Charles were both alarmed, and he began to think
that, whatever the danger might be of a single-handed rencontre
he would nevertheless have a better bargain of this tall satellite
if they settled the debate betwixt them in the forest, than if
they drew near any place of habitation, where the man in au-
thority was likely to find friends and concurrents.

Betwixt anxiety, therefore, vexation, and anger, Charles
faced suddenly round on his pursuer, as they reached a small
narrow glade, which led to the little meadow over which pre-
sided the King’s Oak, the ragged and scathed branches and
gigantic trunk of which formed a vista to the little wild avenue.

“Sir,” said he to his pursuer, “ you have already been guilty
of one piece of impertinence toward me. You have apolo-
gized ; and knowing no reason why you should distinguish me as
an object of incivility, I have accepted your excuse without
scruple. Is there anything remains to be settled betwixt us,
which causes you to follow me in this manner? If so, I shall

Q

woNi SN ee een re ee ee eRe eee eee eae abit shane rates

    
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

270 WOODSTOCK.

be glad to make it a subject of explanation or satisfaction, as
the case may admit of. I think youcan owe me no malice ; for
I never saw you before to my knowledge. If you can give any
sood reason for asking it, 1 am willing to render you personal
satisfaction. If your purpose is merely impertinent curiosity,
I let you know that I will not suffer myself to be dogged in my
private walks by any one.”

“When I recognize my own cloak on another man’s shoul-
ders; replied the stranger, dryly, “ methinks I have a natural
right to follow and see what becomes-of it; for know, sir,
though I have been mistaken as to the wearer, yet I am confi-
dent I had as good a right to stretch my cane across the cloak
you are muffled in, as ever had any one to brush his own gar-
ments. If therefore, we are to be friends, I must ask, for in-
stance, how you came by that cloak, and where you are going
with it? I shall otherwise make bold to stop you, as one who
has sufficient commission to do so.”

“Oh, unhappy cloak,” thought the Wanderer, “ay, and
thrice unhappy the idle fancy that sent me here with it
wrapped around my nose, to pick quarrels and attract observa-
tion, when quiet and secrecy were peculiarly essential to my
safety!”

‘Tf you will allow me to guess, sir,” continued the stranger,
who was no other than Markham Everard, “I will convince you
that you are better known than you think for.”

“‘Now, Heaven forbid!” prayed the party addressed, in
silence, but with as much devotion as ever he applied to a prayer
in his life. Yet even in this moment of extreme urgency his
courage and composure did not fail; and he recollected it was
of the utmost importance not to seem startled, and to answer
so as, if possible, to lead the dangerous companion with whom
he had met, to confess the extent of his actual knowledge or
suspicions concerning him.

“If you know me, sit,” he said, ‘and are a gentleman, as
your appearance promises, you cannot be at a loss to discover
to what accident you must attribute my wearing these clothes,
which you say are yours.”

‘Oh, sir,” replied Colonel Everard, his wrath in no sort
turned away by the mildness of the stranger’s answer—‘ we
have learned our Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and we know for
what purposes young men of quality travel in disguise—we
know that even female attire is resorted to on certain occasions
—We have heard of Vertumnus and Pomona.”

The Monarch, as he weighed these words, again uttered a

devout prayer, that this ill-looking affair might have no deeperWOODSTOCK.

root than the jealousy of some admirer of Alice Lee, promising
to himself, that, devotee as he was to the fair sex, he would
make no scruple of renouncing the fairest of Eve’s daughters
in order to get out of the pres sent dilemma

{Sin,? the saidyo* ‘you seem to be a gentleman. I have no
objection to tell you, as such, that I also am. of sit class.”

“ON somewhat higher, perhaps?” said Everarc

‘A gentleman,” replied Charles, pearl 8 compre:
hends all ranks entitled to armorial bearings—A duke, a lord,
a prince, is no more than a gentleman ; and if in misfortune,
as I am, he may be glad if that general term of courtesy is
allowed him.’

‘* Sir,” replied Everard, ‘‘I have no purpose to entrap you
to any relad pldtlbaucst ae to your own safety,—nor do I
hold it my business to be active in the arrest of private indi
viduals, whose perverted sense of national duty may have led
‘them into errors, rather to be pitied than punished by candid
men. But bi those who have brought civil war and disturbance
into their native country, proceed. to carry dishonor and dis-
grace foe can of families hey attempt to carry on
their private debaucheries to the injury of the hospitable roofs
which afford them refuge from the consequences Sof their public
crimes, do you think, my lord, that we shall bear it with
patience ? ”

‘If it is your purpose to quarrel with me,’ said: the ance,
“speak it out at once like a gentleman. You have the advan-
tage, no doubt, of arms; but it is not that odds which wil
induce me to fly from a single man. If, on the other hand,
you are disposed to hear reason, I tell.you in calm words, that
[ neither suspect the offence to ‘which you allude, nor compre-
hend why you give me the title of my Lord.”

“ You deny, then, being the Lord Wilmot?” said Everard.

“T may do so most safely, said the prince.

“ Perhaps you rather style yourself Earl of Rochester? We
heard that the issuing of some such patent by the King of Scots
was a step which your ambition proposed.”

‘Neither lord nor earl am J, as sure as I have a Christian
soul to be saved. My name is’

“Do not degrade yourself by unnecessary falsehood, my
lord; and that to a single man, who, I promise you, will not
invoke public justice to assist his own good sw ord, should he
see cause to use it. Can you look at that ring and deny that
you are Lord Wilmot?”

He handed to the disguised Prince a ring which he took from
his opponent instantly knew it for the same he

     

 

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%272 WOODSTOCK.

had dropped into Alice’s pitcher at the fountain, obeying only,
though imprudently, the gallantry of the moment, in giving a
pretty gem to a handsome girl, whom he had accidentally
frightened.

“I know the ring,” he said ; “it has been in my possession.
How it should prove me to be Lord Wilmot, I cannot con-
ceive ; and beg to say, it bears false witness against me.”

‘You shall see the evidence,” answered Everard ; and,
resuming the ring, he pressed a spring ingeniously contrived in
the collet of the setting, on which the stone flew back, and
showed within it the cipher of Lord Wilmot beautifully
engraved in miniature, with a coronet.—‘‘ What say you now,
sir fey

“That probabilities are no proofs,” said the Prince; “ there
is nothing here save what can be easily accounted for. I am
the son of a Scottish nobleman, who was mortally wounded
and made prisoner at Worcester fight. When he took leave,
and bid me fly, he gave me the few valuables he possessed,
and that among others. I have heard him talk of having
changed rings with Lord Wilmot, on some occasion in Scotland,
but I never knew the trick of the gem which you have shown
me.”

In this it may be necessary to say, Charles spoke very
truly; nor would he have parted with it in the way he did, had
he suspected it would be easily recognized. He proceeded
after a minute’s pause :—“‘ Once more, sir—I have told you
much that concerns my safety—if you are generous, you will
let me pass, and I may do you on some future day as good
service. If you mean to arrest me, you must do so here, and
at your own peril, for I will neither walk further your way, nor
permit you to dog me on mine. If you let me pass, I will
thank you ; if not, take to your weapon.”

‘Young gentleman,” said Colonel Everard, “ whether you
be actually the gay young nobleman for whom I took you, you
have made me uncertain ; but, intimate as you say your family
had been with him, I have little doubt that you are proficient
in the school of debauchery of which Wilmot and Villiers are
professors, and their hopeful Master a graduated student.
Your conduct at Woodstock, where you have rewarded the
hospitality of the family by meditating the most deadly wound
to their honor, has proved you too apt ascholar in such an
academy. I intended only to warn you on this subject—it will
be your own fault if I add chastisement to admonition.”

‘“ Warn me, sir!” said the Prince, indignantly. ‘“ and chas-
tisement ! This is presuming more on my patience than is con:

 

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SG OC ST crac =WOODSTOCK.

sistent with your own safety—Draw, sir,”—So saying, he laid
his hand on his sword.

““ My religion,” said Everard “ forbids me to be rash in shed-
ding blood—Go home, sir—be wise—consult the dictates of
honor as well as prudence. Respect the honor of the House
of Lee, and know there is one nearly allied to it, by whom your
motions will be called to severe account.”

“ Aha!” said the Prince, with a bitter laugh, “I see the
whole matter now—we have our roundheaded Colonel, our
puritan cousin, before us—the man of texts and morals, whom
Alice Lee laughs at so heartily. If your religion, sir, prevents
you from giving satisfaction, it should prevent you from offering
insult to a person of honor.”

The passions of both were now fully up—they drew mutually
and began to fight, the Colonel relinquishing the advantage he
could have obtained by the use of his firearms. A thrust of
the arm, or a slip of the foot, might, at the moment, have
changed the destinies of Britain, when the arrival of a third
party broke off the combat.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH.

Stay—for the King has thrown his warder down.
RicHarp II.

Tur combatants whom we left engaged at the end of the last
chapter, made mutual passes at each other with apparently
equal skill and courage. Charles had been too often in action,
and too long a party as well as a victim to civil war, to find
anything new or surprising in being obliged to defend himself
with bis own hands ; and Everard had been distinguished, as
well for his personal bravery, as for the other properties of a
commander. But the arrival of a third party prevented the

tragic conclusion of a combat, in which the success of either
h cause for regretting his

party must have given him muc
victory.

It was the old knight himself, who arrived, mounted upon a
forest pony, for the war and sequestration had left him no steed
of a more dignified description. He thrust himself between the
combatants, and commanded them on their lives to hold. So
xe other had ascertained to him

soon as a glance from one to tl
whom he had to deal with, he demanded, ‘“* Whether the devils

, eS “
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244 WOODSTOCK.
of Woodstock, whom folk talked about, had got possession of
them both, that they were tilting at each other within the verge
of the royal liberties ? Let me tell both of you,” he said,
“ that while old Henry Lee is at Woodstock, the immunities of
the Park shall be maintained as much as if the King were still
on the throne. None shall fight duellos here, excepting the
stags in their season. Put up, both of you, or I shall lug out

as thirdsman and prove perhaps the worst devil of the three !—
As Will says—

*T’ll so maul you and your toasfing-irons
That you shall think the devil has. come from hell.’ ”

The combatants desisted from their encounter, but stood

looking at each other sullenly, as men do in such a situation,
each unwilling to seem to desire peace more than the other,
and averse therefore to be the first to sheathe his sword.

‘““ Return your weapons, gentlemen, upon the spot,” said the
knight yet more € peremptorily, “one and both of you, or you
will h nave something to do with me, I promise you. You may
be thankful times are changed. I have known them such, that
your insolence might have cost each of you your right |]
not redeemed with a round sum of money. Nephew, if you do
not mean to alienate me forever, I command you to put up.—
Master Kerneguy, you are my guest. I request of you not to
do me the insult of rem: aining with your sword drawn where it
is my duty to see peace observed.”

oe obey you, Sir Henry,” said the King
pier—“T hardly indeed know wherefore I
this gentleman.

1and, if

, Sheathing his ra-

was assaulted by

[ assure you, none respects the King’s person

or privileges more th: an myself—though the devotion is some-
what out of fashion.’

“We may find a place to meet, sir,” replied Everard,

where neither the royal person nor privileges can be of-
rence,”

“‘ Faith, very hardly, sir,” said Charles, unable to suppress
the rising jest—“ I mean, the King has so few followers, that
the loss of the least of them might be some small damage to
him; but, risking all that, I will meet you wherever there is
fair field for a poor cavalier to get off in safety, if he has t
luck in fight.”

Sir Henry Lee’s first idea had been fixed upon the insult
offered to the royal demesne; he now began to turn them to-
ward the safety of his kinsman, and of the young roy alist, as
he deemed him. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I must insist on
this business being put to a final end, Nephew Markhan,, is

heWOODSTOCK.

this your return for my condescension in coming back to Wood-
stock on your warrant, that you should take an opportunity to
cut the throat of my guest?”

“Tf you knew his purpose as well as I do,’—said Mark-
ham, and then paused, conscious that he might only incense
his uncle without convincing him, as anything he might say of
Kerneguy’s addresses to Alice was likely to be imputed to his
own jealous suspicions—he looked on the ground, therefore,
and was silent.

“ And you, Master Kerneguy,”’ said Sir Henry, “can you
give me any reason why you seek to take the life of this young
man, in whom, though unhappily forgetful of his loyalty and
duty, I must yet take some interest, as my nephew by affinity?”

“T was not aware the gentleman enjoyed that honor, which
certainly would have protected him from my sword,” answered
Kemeguy. “ But the quarrel is his: nor can I tell any reason
why he fixed it upon me, unless it were the difference of our
political opinions.”

“Vou know the contrary,” said Everard ; “ you know that
I told you you were safe from me as a fugitive royalist—and
your last words showed you were at no loss to guess my COn-
nection with Sir Henry. That, indeed, is of little consequence.

I should debase myself did I use the relationship as a means
of protection from you, or any ones!

As they thus disputed, neither choosing to approach the
real cause of quarrel, Sir Henry looked from the one to the
other, with a peace-making countenance, exclaiming—

__—_“«« Why, what an intricate impeach is this ?
I think you both have drunk of Circe’s cup.’

Come, my young masters, allow an old man to mediate be
tween you. I am not shortsighted in such matters—The
mother of mischief is no bigger than a enat’s wing: and I have
known fifty instances in my own day, when, as Will says—

‘ Gallants have been confronted hardily,
In single opposition, hand to hand,’

in which, after the field was fought, no one could remember the

of quarrel—Tush! a small thing will do it—the taking
of the wall—or the gentle rub of the shoulder in passing each
other, or a hasty word, or a misconceived gesture—come, for-
cet your cause of quarrel, be what it will—you have had your
breathing, and though you put up your rapiers unblooded, that
was no default of yours, but by command of your elder, and

Cause

   

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Ca a Werner!
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276 WOODSTOCK.

one who had right to use authority. In Malta, where the
duello is punctiliously well understood, the persons engaged in
a single combat are bound to halt on the command of a knight,
or priest, or lady, and the quarrel so interrupted is held as
honorably terminated, and may not be revived.—Nephew, it is,
I think, impossible that you can nourish spleen against this
young gentleman for having fought for his king. Hear my
honest proposal, Markham—You know I bear no malice,
though I have some reason to be offended with you—Give the
young man your hand in friendship, and we will back to the
Lodge, all three together, and drink a cup of sack in token of
reconciliation.”

Markham Everard found himself unable to resist this approach
toward kindness on his uncle’s part. He suspected indeed, what
was partly the truth, that it was not entirely from reviving good-
will, but also, that his uncle thought, by such attention, to se-
cure his neutrality at least if not his assistance, for the safety
of the fugitive royalist. He was sensible that he was placed in
an awkward predicament; and that he might incur the suspl-
cions of his own party, for holding intercourse even witha near
relation, who harbored such guests. But, on the other hand,
he thought his services to the Commonwealth had been of suff.
cient importance to outweigh whatever envy might urge on that
topic. Indeed, although the Civil War had divided families
much, and in many various ways, yet when it seemed ended by
the triumph of the republicans, the rage of political hatred began
to relent, and the ancient ties of kindred and friendship regained
at least a part of their former influence. Many reunions were
formed ; and those who, like Everard, adhered to the conquer-
ing party, often exerted themselves for the protection of their
deserted relatives.

As these things rushed through his mind, accompanied with
the prospect of a renewed intercourse with Alice Lee. by means
of which he might be at hand to protect her against every chance,
either of injury or insult, he held out his hand to the supposed
Scottish page, saying at the same time, “That for his part, he
was very ready to forget the cause of quarrel, or rather, to con-
sider it as arising out ofa misapprehension, and to offer Master
Kerneguy such friendship as might exist between honorable
men, who had embraced different sides in politics.”

Unable to overcome the feeling of personal dignity, which
prudence recommended to him to forget, Louis Kerneguy in
return bowed low, but without accepting Everard’s proffered
hand.

‘““He had no occasion,” he said, “ to make any exertions toWOODSTOCK. 277

forget the cause of quarrel, for he had never been able to com-
prehend it; but as he had not shunned the gentleman’s resent-
ment, so he was now willing to embrace and return any degree
of his favor, with which he might be pleased to honor him,”

Everard withdrew his hand with a smile, and bowed in
return to the salutation of the page, whose stiff reception of his
advances he imputed to the proud pettish disposition of a
Scotch boy, trained up in extravagant ideas of family conse-
quence and personal importance, which his acquaintance with
the world had not yet been sufficient to dispel.

Sir Henry Lee, delighted with the termination of the quarrel,
which he supposed to be in deep deference to his own authority,
and not displeased with the opportunity of renewing some ac-
quaintance with his nephew, who had, notwithstanding his polit-
ical demerits, a warmer interest in his affections than he was,
perhaps, himself aware of, said, in a tone of consolation, ‘‘ Never
be mortified, young gentlemen. I protest it went to my heart
to part you, when I saw you stretching yourselves so handsomely,
and in fair love of honor, without any malicious or bloodthirsty
thoughts, I promise you, had it not been for my duty as Ranger
here, and sworn to the office, I would rather have been your
umpire than your hindrance.—But a finished quarrel is a for-
gotten quarrel; and your tilting should have no further con-
sequence excepting the appetite it may have given you.”

So saying, he urged forward his pony, and moved in triumph
toward the Lodge by the nearest alley. His feet almost touch-
in the ground, the ball of his toe just resting in the stirrup,—
the forepart of the thigh brought round to the saddle,—the heels
turned outward, and sunk as much as possible,—his body pre-
cisely erect,—the reins properly and systematically divided in
his left hand, his right holding a riding-rod diagonally pointed
toward the horse’s left ear,—he seemed a champion of the
manege, fit to have reined Bucephalus himself. His youthful
companions, who attended on either hand like equerries, could
scarcely suppress a smile at the completely adjusted and syste-
matic posture of the rider, contrasted with the wild and diminu-
tive appearance of the pony, with its shaggy coat, and long
tail and mane, and its keen eyes sparkling like red coals from
amongst the mass of hair which fell over its small countenance.
If the reader has the Duke of Newcastle’s book on horseman-
ship (splendida moles /) he may have some idea of the figure
of the good knight, if he can conceive such a figure as one of
the cavaliers there represented, seated, in all the graces of his
art, on a Welch or Exmoor pony, in its native savage state,
without grooming or discipline of any kind; the ridicule beingPSPs Gon massana tenet eans oases ee is

278 WOODSTOCK.

greatly enhanced by the disproportion of size betwixt the animal
and its rider.

‘‘ Perhaps the knight saw their wonder, for the first words he
said after they left the ground were, ‘ Pixie, though small, is
mettlesome, gentlemen” (here he contrived that Pixie should
himself corroborate the assertion, by executing a gambade),—
“he is diminutive, but full of spirit ;—indeed, save that I am
somewhat too large for an elfin horseman” (the knight was
upward of six feet high), “I should remind myself when I
mount him, of the fairy King as described by Mike Drayton :—

Himself he on an earwig set,
Yet scarce upon his back could get,
So oft and high he did curvet,
Ere he himself could settle,
He made him stop, and turn, and bound,
To gallop and to trot the round,
He scarce could stand on any ground,
He was so full of mettle. ”

““ My old friend, Pixie,” said Everard, stroking the pony’s
neck, “I am glad that he has survived all these bustling days
—Pixie must be above twenty years old, Sir Henry ?”

“Above twenty years, certainly. Yes, nephew Markham,
war is a whirlwind in a plantation, which only spares what is
least worth leaving. Old Pixie and his old master have sur-
vived many a tall fellow and many a great horse—neither of
them good for much themselves. Yet, as Will says, an old man
can do somewhat. So Pixie and I still survive.”

So saying, he again contrived that Pixie. should show some
remnants of activity.

“ Still survive?” said the young Scot, completing the sen-
tence which the good knight had left unfinished—“ ay, still
survive,

 

* To witch the world with noble horsemanship. ’ ”’

Everard colored, for he felt the irony ; but not so his uncle,
whose simple vanity never permitted him to doubt the sincerity
of the compliment.

“Are you avised of that?” he said. “In King James’s
time, indeed, I have appeared in the tilt-yard, and there you
might have said—

* You saw young Harry with his beaver up.’

 

As to seeing o/d Harry, why” Here the knight paused, and
looked as a bashful man in labor of a pun—* As to old HarryWOODSTOCK. 249

—why, you might as well see the devz7. You take me, Master
Kerneguy—the devil, you know, is my namesake—ha—ha—
ha !—Cousin Everard, | hope your precision is not startled by
an innocent jest?”

He was so delighted with the applause of both his com-
panions, that he recited the whole of the celebrated passage re-
ferred to, and concluded with defying the present age, bundle
all its wits, Donne, Cowley, Waller, and the rest of them
together, to produce a poet of a tenth part of the genius of old
Will.

‘“ Why, we are said to have one of his descendants among
us—Sir William D’Avenant,” said Louis Kerneguy ; “‘ and many
think him as clever a fellow.”

“What!” exclaimed Sir Henry—‘“ Will D’Avenant, whom
I knew in the North, an officer under Newcastle, when the
Marquis lay before Hull?—why, he was an honest cavalier, and
wrote good doggerel enough; but how came he akin to Wiil
Shakspeare, I trow?”

“ Why,” replied the young Scot, “by the surer side of the
house, and after the old fashion, if D’Avenant speaks truth.
It seems that his mother was a good-looking, laughing, buxom
mistress of an inn between Stratford and London, at which
Will Shakspeare often quartered as he went down to his native
town; and that, out of friendship and gossipred, as we say in
Scotland, Will Shakspeare became godfather to Will D’Avenant ;
and not contented with this spiritual affinity, the younger Will
is for establishing some claim to a natural one, alleging that his
mother was a great.admirer of wit, and there were no bounds
to her complaisance for men of genius.” *

“Out upon the hound!” said Colonel Everard ; ‘“‘ would he
purchase the reputation of descending from poet or from
prince, at the expense of his mother’s good fame ?>—his nose
ought to be slit.” ore

“That would be difficult,” answered the disguised Prince,
recollecting the peculiarity of the bard’s countenance.T

“Will D’Avenant the son of Will Shakspeare!” said the
knight, who had not yet recovered his surprise at the enormity
of the pretension ; ‘‘ why, it reminds me of a verse in the puppet
show of Phaeton, where the hero complains to his mother—

*This gossiping tale is to be found in the variorum Shakspeare.
D’Avenant did not much mind throwing out hints, in which he sacrificed
his mother’s character to his desire of being held a descendant from the
admirable Shakspeare. —o

+ D’ Avenant actually wanted the nose, the foundation of many a Jest of
the day.

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‘ Besides, by all the village boys I am sham’d ;
You the Sun’s son, you rascal be d—-d !’ *

I never heard such unblushing assurance in my life!—Will
D’Avenant the son of the brightest and best poet that ever
was, is, or will be ?—But I crave your pardon, nephew—You,
I believe, tove no stage plays.”

‘“Nay, I am not altogether so precise as you would make me,
uncle. 1 have loved them perhaps too well in my time, and
now I condemn them not altogether, or in gross, though I,
approve not their excesses and extravagances.—I cannot, even
in Shakspeare, but see many things both scandalous to decency
and prejudicial to good manners—many things which tend to
ridicule virtue, or to recommend vice,—at least to mitigate the
hideousness of its features. I cannot think these fine poems
are a useful study, and especially for the youth of either sex, in
which bloodshed is pointed out as the chief occupation of the
men, and intrigue as the sole employment of the women.”

In making these observations, Everard was simple enough
to think that he was only giving his uncle an opportunity of
defending a favorite opinion, without offending him by a con-
tradiction which was so limited and mitigated.—But here, as
on other occasions, he forgot how obstinate his uncle was in
his views, whether of religion, policy, or taste, and that it would
be as easy to convert him to the Presbyterian form of govern-
ment, or engage him to take the abjuration oath, as to shake
his belief in Shakspeare. There was another peculiarity in the
good knight’s mode of arguing, which Everard, being himself
of a plain and downright character, and one whose religious
tenets were in some degree unfavorable tothe suppressions and
simulations often used in society, could never perfectly under-
stand. Sir Henry, sensible of his natural heat of temper, was
wont scrupulously to guard against it, and would for some time
when, in fact, much offended, conduct a debate with all the
external appearance of composure, till the violence of his feel-
ings would rise so high as to overcome and bear away the arti-
ficial barriers opposed to it, and rush down upon the adversary
with accumulating wrath. It, thus frequently happened, that,
like a wily old general, he retreated in the face of his disputant
in good order and by degrees, with so moderate a degree of
resistance, as to draw on his antagonist’s pursuit to the spot,

* We observe this couplet in Fielding’s farce of Zusmble-down-Dick
founded on the same classical story. As it was current in the time of the
Commonwealth, it must have reached the Author of Zom Jones by tradition
—-for no one will suspect the present Author of making the anachronism,WOODSTOCK. 281

where, at length, making a sudden and unexpected attack, with
horse, foot, and artillery at once, he seldom failed to confound
the enemy, though he might not overthrow him.

It was on this principle, therefore, that, hearing Everard’s
last observation, he disguised his angry feelings, and answered,
with a tone where politeness was called in to keep guard upon
passion, ‘‘ That undoubtedly the Presbyterian gentry had given,
through the whole of these unhappy times, such proofs of a
humble, unaspiring, and ambitious desire of the public good,
as entitled them to general credit for the sincerity of those very
strong scruples which they entertained against works, in which
the noblest sentiments of religion and virtue,—sentiments which
might convert hardened sinners, and be place& with propriety
in the mouths of dying saints and martyrs, happened, from the
rudeness and coarse taste of the times, to be mixed with some
broad jests, and similar matter, which lay not much in the way,
excepting of those who painfully sought such stuff out, that they
might use it in vilifying what was in itself deserving of the
highest applause. But what he wished especially to know from
his nephew was, whether any of those gifted men, who had
expelled the learned scholars and deep divines of the Church of
England from the pulpit, and now flourished in their stead,
received any inspiration from the muses (if he might use so pro-
fane a term without offence to Colonel Everard), or whether they
were not as sottishly and brutally averse from elegant letters,
as they were from humanity and common sense i

Colonel Everard might have guessed by the ironical tone in
which this speech was delivered, what storm was mustering
within his uncle’s bosom—nay, he might have conjectured the
state-of the old knight’s feelings from his emphasis on the word
Colonel, by which epithet, as that which most connected his
nephew with the party he hated, he never distinguished Everard,
unless when his wrath was rising ; while, on the contrary, when
disposed to be on good terms with him, he usually called him
Kinsman, or Nephew Markham. Indeed it was under a partial
sense that this was the case, and in the hope to see his cousin
Alice, that the Colonel forbore making any answer to the ha-
rangue of his uncle, which had concluded just as the old knight
had alighted at the door of the Lodge, and was entering the
hall, followed by his two attendants.

Phoebe at the same time made her appearance in the hall,
and received orders to bring some “ beverage” for the gentle-
men. The Hebe of Woodstock failed not to recognize and
welcome Everard by an almost imperceptible courtesy ; but she
did not serve her interest, as she designed, when she asked the

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83 WOODSTOCK.
knight, as a question of course, whether he commanded the at
tendance of Mistress Alice. A stern /Vo, was the decided reply;
and the ill-timed interference seemed to increase his previous
irritation against Everard for his depreciation of Shakspeare.
‘“T would insist,” said Sir Henry, resuming the obnoxious sub-
ject, “were it fit for a poor disbanded cavalier to use such a
phrase toward a commander of the conquering army,—upon
knowing whether the convulsion which has sent us saints and
prophets without end, has not also afforded us a poet with
enough both of gifts and grace to outshihe poor old Will, the
oracle and idol of us blinded and carnal cavaliers ? ”

“Surely, sir,’ replied Colonel Everard ; I know verses
written by a friend of the Commonwealth, and those, too, of a
dramatic character, which, weighed in an impartial scale, might
equal even the poetry of Shakspeare, and which are free from the
fustion and indelicacy with which that great bard was sometimes
content to feed the coarse appetites of his barbarous audience.”

“Indeed! said the knight, keeping down his wrath with
difficulty. “TI should like to be acquainted with this master-
piece of poetry !—May we ask the name of this distinguished
person?”

“It must be Vicars, or Withers, at least,” said the feigned
page.

“No, sir, replied Everard, nor Drummond of Hawthorn-
den nor Lord Stirling neither. And yet the verses will vindicate
what I say, if you will make allowance for indifferent recitation,
for I am better accustomed to speak to a battalion than to those
who love the muses. The speaker is a lady benighted, who,
having lost her way in a pathless forest, at first expresses her-
self agitated by the supernatural fears to which her situation
gave rise.”

‘A play, too, and written by a roundhead author!” said Sir
Henry in surprise.

“ A dramatic production at least, replied his nephew ; and
began to recite simply, but with feeling, the lines now so well
known, but which had then obtained no celebrity, the fame of
the author resting upon the basis rather of his polemical and
political publications, than on the poetry doomed in after days
to support the eternal structure of his immortality,

“ These thoughts may startle but will not astound
The virtuous mind that ever walks attended
By a strong-siding champion, Conscience.’

“* My own opinion, nephew Markham, my Own opinion,” said

sir Henry, with a burst of admiration: better expressed, butWOODSTOCK. 283

just what I said when the scoundrelly roundheads pretended to
see ghosts at Woodstock—Go on, I prithee.”
Everard proceeded :—

“Oh welcome pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope.
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemish’d form of Chastity !
I see ye visibly, and now believe
That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honor unassail’d,
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud,
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?’

“The rest has escaped me,” said the reciter ; “and I marvel
I have been able to remember so much.”

Sir Henry Lee, who had expected some effusion very
different from those classical and beautiful lines, soon changed
the scornful expression of his countenance, relaxed his contorted
upper lip, and stroking down his beard with his left hand, rested
the forefinger of the right upon his eyebrow, in sign of profound
attention. After Everard had ceased speaking, the old man
sighed as at the end of astrain of sweet music. He then spoke
in a gentler manner than formerly.

“(Cousin Markham,” he said, “these verses flow sweetly, and
sound in my ears like the well-touched warbling of a lute. But
thou knowest Iam something slow of apprehending the full
meaning of that which I hear for the first time. Repeat me
these verses again, slowly and deliberately; for I always love
to hear poetry twice, the first time for sound, and the latter
time for sense.”

Thus encouraged, Everard recited again the lines with more
hardihood and better effect; the knight distinctly understand-
ing and from his looks and motions, highly applauding them.

“Yes!” he broke out, whe. Everard was again silent—
“Ves, I do call that poetry—though it were even written by
a Presbyterian, or a Anabaptist either. Ay, there were good
and righteous people to be found even amongst the offending
towns which were destroyed by fire. And certainly I have
heard, though with little credence (begging your pardon, cousin
Everard), that there are men among you who have seen the
error of their ways in rebelling against the best and kindest of
masters, and bringing it to that pass that he was murdered by
a gang yet fiercer than themselves. Ay, doubtless, the gentle-
ness of spirit, and the purity of mind, which dictated those
beautiful lines, has long ago taught a man so amiable to say, IPARA kaeinsnisaaiubecaa ene eee are

234 WOODSTOCK.

have sinned, I have sinned. Yes, I doubt not so sweet a harp
has been broken, even in remorse, for the crimes he was witness
to; and now he sits drooping for the shame and sorrow of
England,—all his noble rhymes, as Will says

‘ Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh,’

Dost thou not think so, Master Kerneguy ?”

“Not I, Sir Henry,” answered the page, somewhat mali-
ciously.

‘“ What, dost not believe the author of these lines must
needs be of the better file, and leaning to our persuasion ? ”

“I think, Sir Henry, that the poetry qualifies the author to
write a play on the subject of Dame Potiphar and her recusant
lover; and as for his calling—that last metaphor of the cloud
in a black coat or cloak, with silver lining, would have dubbed
him a tailor with me, only that I happen to know that he is a
schoolmaster by profession, and by political opinions qualified
to be Poet Laureate to Cromwell ; for what Colonel Everard has
repeated with such unction, is the production of no less cele-
brated a person than John Milton.”

“ John Milton!” exclaimed Sir Henry in astonishment—
“What! John Milton, the blasphemous and bloody-minded
author of the Defensio Populi Anglicani!—the advocate of the
infernal High Court of Fiends; the creature aud parasite of
that grand impostor, that loathsome hypocrite, that detestable
monster, that prodigy of the universe, that disgrace of mankind,
that landscape of iniquity, that sink of sin, and that compen-
dium of baseness, Oliver Cromwell!”

‘* Even the same John Milton,” answered Charles ; “ school-
master to little boys, and tailor to the clouds, which he furnishes
with suits of black, lined with silver, at no other expense than
that of common sense.”

“Markham Everard,” said the old knight “* I will never
forgive thee—never, never. Thou hast made me speak words
of praise respecting one whose offal should fatten the region-
kites. Speak not to me, sir, but begone! Am I, your kinsman
and benefactor, a fit person to bejuggled out of my commen-
dation and eulogy, and brought to bedaub such a whitened
sepulchre as the sophist Milton ? ”

‘I profess,” said Everard, “ this is hard measure, Sir
Henry. You pressed me—you defied me to produce poetry as
good as Shakspeare’s. I only thought of the verses, not of the
politics of Milton.”
© yes; sir,” replied Sir Henry, “we well know your powerWOODSTOCK. 285

of making distinctions; you could make war against the King’s
prerogative, without having the least design against his person.
Oh, Heaven forbid! But Heaven will hear and judge you.—
Set down the beverage, Phaebe”—(this was added by way of
parenthesis to Phcebe, who entered with refreshment)— “ Col-
onel Everard is not thirsty——You have wiped your mouths,
and said you have done no evil. But though you have deceived
man, yet God you cannot deceive. And you shall wipe no
lips in Woodstock, either after meat or drink, I promise you.”

Charged thus at once with the faults imputed to his whole
religious sect and political party, Everard felt too late of what
imprudence he had been guilty in giving the opening, by dis-
puting his uncle’s taste in dramatic poetry. He endeavored to
explain—to apologize.

“IT mistook your purpose, honored sir, and thought you
really desired to know something of our literature ; and in
repeating what you deemed not unworthy your hearing, I pro-
fess I thought I was doing you pleasure, instead of stirring your
indignation.”

“QO ay!” returned the knight, with unmitigated mgor of
resentment—* profess—profess—Ay, that is the new phrase of
asseveration, instead of the profane adoration of courtiers and
cavaliers—Oh, sir, profess less and practice more—and so good
day to you—Master Kerneguy, you will find beverage in my
apartment.”

While Phoebe stood gaping in admiration at the sudden
quarrel which had arisen, Colonel Everard’s vexation and re-
sentment was not a little increased by the nonchalance of the
young Scotsman, who, with his hands thrust into his pockets
(with a courtly affectation of the time), had thrown himself into
one of the antique chairs, and, though habitually too polite to
laugh aloud, and possessing that art of internal laughter by
which men of the world learn to indulge their mirth without
incurring quarrels, or giving direct offence, was at no particular
trouble to conceal that he was exceedingly amused by the re-
sult of the Colonel’s visit to Woodstock. Colonel Everard’s
patience, however, had reached bounds which it was very likely
to surpass; for, though differing widely in politics, there was
a resemblance betwixt the temper of the uncle and nephew.

“ Damnation !”? exclaimed the Colonel, in a tone which
became a puritan as little as did the exclamation itself.

“ Amen!” said Louis Kerneguy, but in a tone so soft and
eentle, that the ejaculation seemed rather to escape him than
to be designedly uttered.

“Sir,” said Everard, striding toward him in that sort of

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286 WOODSTOCK.

humor, when a man, full of resentment, would not unwillingly
find an object on which to discharge it.

“ Plait-il ?” said the page, in the most equable tone, look-
Ing up in his face with the most unconscious innocence.

‘“‘T wish to know, sir,” retorted Everard, “ the meaning of
that which you said just now ?”

‘Only a pouring out of the spirit, worthy sir,” returned
Kerneguy—‘“a small skiff despatched to Heaven on my own
account, to keep company with your holy petition just now ex-
pressed.”

‘Sir, I have seen a merry gentleman’s bones broken for
such a smile as you wear just now,” replied Everard.

“There, look you now! ” answered the malicious page, who
could not weigh even the thoughts of his safety against the
enjoyment of his jest—‘“ If you had stuck to your professions,
worthy sir, you must have choked by this time; but your
round execration bolted like a cork from a bottle of cider, and
now allows your wrath to come foaming out after it, in the
honest unbaptized language of common ruffians.”

“ For Heaven’s sake, Master Girnegy,” said Phoebe, “ for-
bear giving the Colonel those bitter words! And do you, good
Colonel Markham, scorn to take offence at his hands—he js
but a boy.”

“If the Colonel or you choose, Mrs. Pheebe, you shall find
me a man—I think the gentleman can say something to the
purpose already.—Probably he may recommend to you the part
of the Lady in Comus ; and I only hope his own admiration of
John Milton will not induce him to undertake the part of Sam-
son Agonistes, and blow up this old house with execrations, or
pull it down in wrath about our ears.”

“Young man,” said the Colonel, still in a towering passion,
“if you respect my principles for nothing else, be grateful to
the protection which for them, you would not easily attain.”

“Nay, then,” said the attendant, “I must fetch those who
have more influence with you than I have,” and away tripped
Phoebe ; while Kerneguy answered Everard in the same pro-
voking tone of calm indifference,— :

Before you menace me with a thing so formidable as your
resentment, you ought to be certain whether I may not be com-
pelled by circumstances to deny you the opportunity you seem
to point at.”

 

At this moment Alice, summoned no doubt by her attend-
ant, entered the hall hastily.

‘“ Master Kerneguy,” she said, “ my father requests to see
you in Victor Lee’s apartment.”CODSLOGK 28

207
Kerneguy arose and bowed, but seemed determined to re-
main till Everard’s departure, so as to prevent any explanation

betwixt the cousins

“Markham,” said Alice, hurriedly—‘‘ Cousin Everard—lI
have but a moment to remain here—for God’s sake do you in-
stantly begone !—be cautious and patient—but do not tarry
here—my father is fearfully incensed.”

‘“‘J have had my uncle’s word for that, madam,” replied
Everard, ‘‘as well as his injunction to depart, which I will obey
without delay. I was not aware that you would have seconde d
so harsh an order quite so willingly ; but I go, madam, sensible
I leave those behind whose company is more a wesepla? ;
ful!” said Ali out fearful

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‘“* Unjust—ungenerous—ung! 5
her words might reach ears for which they were not designed,
she spoke them in a voice so feeble, that her cousin, for whom
they were intended, lost the consolation they were calculated to
convey.
He bowed coldly to Alice, as taking leave, and said, with
an air of that constrained courtesy which sometimes covers,
among men of condition, the most deadly hatred, ‘“‘ I believe,
Master Kerneguy, that I must make it convenient at present to
suppress my own peculiar opinions on the matter which we
have hinted at in our conversation, in which case I will send a
gentleman who, I hope, may be able to conquer yours.”
The supposed Scotsman made him a stately, and at the
same time a condescending bow, said he should expect the
honor of his commands, offered his hand to Mistress Alice, to
conduct her back k to her father’s apartment, and took a triumph-
ant leave of his rival.
Everard, on ie e other hand, stung beyond hi S patien ce, and,
from the grace a ae ymposed assurance of the youth’s carriage,
still conceiving hi im to be either Wilmot, or some of his com-
peers in rank and profligacy, returned to the town of Wood-
stock, determined not to be outbearded, even though he should
seek redress by means which his principles forbade him to con-
sider as justifiable

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WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH.

 

Boundless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny—it hath been

The untimely emptying of many a throne,
And fall of many kings

 

MACBETH.

WHILE Colonel Everard retreated in | hig! 1 indignation from
the little refection, which Sir Henry Lee had in his. good humor
offered, and wit hdraw n under the circumstances of provocation
which we have detailed, the good old knight, scarce recovered
from his fit of passion, partook of it with his daughter and
guest, and shortly after, recollecting some silvan ‘task (for,
though to little efficient purpose, he still regularly attended to
his duties as Ranger), he called Bevis, and went out, leaving
the two Os Se together.

“ Now,” said the amorous Prince to himself, “that Alice is.
left without Hie lion, it remains to see whether she i is herself of
a tigress breed.—So Sir Bevis has left his ch 1arge,” he said
aloud; ‘“‘I thought the knights of old, those stern cuardians of
which he is so fit a representative, were more rigorous in main-
taining a vigilant guard.”

“Bevis,” said Alice, “knows that his attendance on me is
totally needless ; and, moreover, he has other duties to perform,
which every true knight prefers. to dangling the whole morning
by a lady’s sleeve.”

“You speak treason against all true affection,” said th
gallant; ‘a lady’s lightest wish should to a true knight be more
binding than aught excepting the summons of his sov erelgn.
[ wish, Mistress Alice, you would but intimate your slightest
desire to me, and you should see how I have practiced obe-
dience.7

‘You never brought me word what o’clock it was this morn-
ing,” replied the young lady, “and there I sat questioning of
the wings of Time, w hen I should have remembered that gen-
tlemen’s gallantry can be quite as fugitive as Time himself.
How do you know what your disobec Jience may have cost me
and others ? oe ling and pasty may have been burned to a
cinder, for, sir, I pr ractice the old domestic rule of visiting the
kitchen; or L may have missed prayers, or I may have been too
late for an appointment, simp ly by the shaeipettes of Master
Louis Kerneguy failing to let me know the hour of the day.”WOODSTOCK. 289

“Oh,” replied Kerneguy, “I am one of those lovers who
cannot endure absence—I must be eternally at the feet of my
fair enemy—such, I think, is the title with which romances
ceach us to grace the fair and cruel to whom we devote our
hearts and lives.—Speak for me, good lute,” he added, taking
up the instrument, ‘‘and show me whether I know not my
duty.”

He sung, but with more taste than execution, the air of a
French rondelai, to which some of the wits or sonnetteers, in
his gay and roving train, had adapted English verses.

An hour with thee !—When earliest day
Dapples with gold the eastern gray,
Oh, what can frame my mind to bear
The toil and turmoil, cark and care,
New griefs, which coming hours unfold,
And sad remembrance of the old ?”’—
One hour with thee!

 

One hour with thee !—When burning June
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ;
What shall repay the faithful swain,
His labor on the sultry plain ;
And more than cave and sheltering bough,
Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ?
One hour with thee!

ord

One hour with thee !—When sun is set,

Oh! what can teach me to forget

The thankless labors of the day ;

The hopes, the wishes, flung away ;

The increasing wants, and lessening gains,

The master’s pride, who scorns my pains ?—
One hour with thee !

‘‘ Truly, there is another verse,” said the songster; “ but I
sing it not to you, Mistress Alice, because some of the prudes
of the court liked it not.”

“T thank you, Master Louis,” answered the young lady,
“both for your discretion in singing what has given me
pleasure, and in forbearing what might offendime. Though a
country girl, I pretend to be so far of the court mode, as to re-
ceive nothing which does not pass current among the better
class. there.”

“T would,” answered Louis, ‘‘ that you were so well con-
firmed in their creed, as to let all pass with you to which court
ladies would give currency.”

“And what would be the consequence?” said Alice, with
perfect composure.Se Dia Nt ren nT eee teh ra

cn

‘etiam erences

     

}

290 WOODSTOCK.

 

“Tn that case,” said Louis, embarrassed li]
finds that his preparations for attack do not see
fear or confusion into the enemy—‘“

give me, fair Alice, if spoke to you in. a warmer language than
that of mere gallantry—if I told you how much my heart was
interested in what you consider as idle jesting—if I seriously
owned it was in your power to make me the happiest or the
most miserable of human beings.”

“ Master Kerneguy,” said Alice, with the same unshaken
nonchalance, “let us understand each other. I am little
acquainted with high-bred manners, and I am unwilling, I tell
you plainly, to be

<e a general who
m to strike either
in that case you would for-

Ll
2

accounted a silly country cirl, who either
from ignorance or conceit, is startled at every word of gallantry

AC
addressed to her by a young man, who, for the
nothing better to do than coin
mens. — But |

}
present |
and circulate such false compli-
must not let this fear of
awkwardly timorous carry me

the exact limits. 1 will take

ANC

seeming rustic and
too far; and being ignorant of
Care to stop within them.”

ist, madam,” said Kerneguy,

you may be disposed to judge of me, your justice will not pun-
ish me too severely for an offence, of which your charms are
the occasion ? ”

ee

fume

TeI

UL

‘that, however severely

“ Hear me out. Surat
1ave listened to voy when

ylaisance has been so o7
h

oO not think anything except ridicule can come of dialogues
etween Lindor and Jeanneton: and the principal fault of the
Style is the extreme and tiresome silliness and affectation. But
when you begin to kneel. offer to take my hand, and speak with
a more serious tone, I must remind voy of our real characters.
[ am the daughter of Sir Herv Lee, sir, and you are, or pro-
fess. to’ | é ;
|

you please,” resumed Alice, « **@
you spoke ex dergerx—nav. my com-

‘fat as to answer you en bereere—for |]

|
I
¢
I -

e, Master Louis Kerneeuy, my brother’s page, and a
fugitive for shelter under my father’s roof, who incurs danger
by the harbor he afford

S you, and whose household, therefore,
ought not to be disturbed by your unpleasing importunities.”
~ I would to Heaven, fair A]

ice,” said the King, “ that yout
objections to the suit which | am urging, not in jest, but most
seriously, as that on which my happiness depends, rested only
on the low and precarious station of Louis Kerneguy !—Alice,
thou hast the soy] of thy family, and must needs love honor,
I am no more the needy Scottish page, whom I have, for my
Own purposes, pérsonated, than I am the awkward lout, whose
manners I adopted on the first night of our acquaintance. This
hand, poor as I seem. can confer a coronet.”

Seep it,” said Alice, “for some more ambitious damsel

3WOODSTOCK, 291
my lord—for such I conclude is your title, if this romance be
true—I would not accept your hand, could you confer a
duchy.’

‘In one sense, lovely Alice, you have neither overrated my
power nor affection. It is your King—it is Charles Stewart
whe speaks to you!—he can confer duchies, and if beauty can
merit them, it is that of Alice Lee. Nay, nay—rise—do not
kneel—it is for your sovereign to kneel to thee, Alice, to whom
he is a thousand times more devoted than the wanderer Louis

dared venture to profess himself. My Alice has, I know, been
trained up in those pan snis of te and obedience to her

sovereign, that she cannot, in conscience or in mercy, inflict on
him such a wound as would eS im i ylied in the rejection of his
Sut.’’

In spite of all eS arles's attempts to prevent her, Alice had
persev red in kneeling on one knee, until she had touched with
her lip the hand sit “which he atte mpted to raise her. But
this salutation ended, she stood upright, with her arms folded

on her bosom—her looks Hambie. but Core gre keen, and

watchful, and so posse ssed of herself, so little flatte ne by the
communication which the King had supposed wou ee have been

€
overpowering, that he scarce knew in what terms next to urge

his solicitation

‘Thou art silent—thou art silent,” he said, “my pretty
Alice. Has the King no more influence with thee than the poor
Scottish page?”

“In one sense, every influence,” said Alice; ‘for he com-

e
mands my best thoughts, my best wishes, my earnest prayers,
é | is the men of the House of Lee
he sword, so are the
vomen bound to seal, if necessary, with their blood. But be-
vond the duties of a true and devoted subject, the King is even
less to Alice Lee than poo! * Louis Kerneguy. The page could
have tendered an honorable union—the Monatch can but offer
ntaminated eae
‘You mistake, Alice—you mistake,” said the King eagerly.
‘it down and let me speak to you—sit dow n—What is’

L

\
have been ever ready to testify with tl

[ fear nothing, my liege,” answered Alice. What can I
fear from the King of Britain—I, the daughter of his loyal sub-
‘ect. and under my father’s roof? But I remember the distance
betwixt us; and though I might trifle and jest w ith mine equal,

to my King I must on

/

y appear in the dutiful posture of a sub-
; may seem to require that I do not

ry

   
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
 
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
   
 
 
 
    
  
  
 
  
 
   

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292 WOODSTOCK.

 

Charles, though young, being no novice in such scenes, was
surprised to encounter resistance of a kind which had not been
opposed to him in similar pursuits, even in cases where he had
been unsuccessful. There was neither anger, nor injured pride,
nor disorder, nor disdain, real or affected, in the manners and
conduct of Alice. She stood, as it seemed, calmly prepared to
argue on the subject, which is genet ally decided ‘by passion—
showed no inclination to escape from the apartment, but
appeared determined to hear with patience the suit of the lover
—while her countenance and manner -intimated that she had
this complaisance only in deference to the commands of the
King,

“She is ambitious, thought Charles; “it is by c dazzling her
love of glory, not by mere ee entreaties, that I must
hope to be successful. —I pray you be seated, my fair Alice,”
he said; “the lover entre ats—the King commands you.”

“The King,” said Alice, ‘may permit the relaxation of
the ceremonies due to royalty, but he cannot abrogate the sub-
ject’s duty, even by express command, I stand here while it is

your Majesty’ s pleasure to address—a patient listener as in
duty bound.”

* Know, then, simp le girl,” said the King, ‘‘ that in accept-
ing my proffered affection and protection, you break through
no law either of virtue or morality. Those who are born to
royalty are deprived of many of the comforts of private life—

chiefly that which is, perhaps, the dearest and most precious,
the power of choosing their own mates for life. Their formal
weddings are guided upon principles of political expedience
only, and those to whom they are wedded are frequently, in
temper, person, and disposition, the most unlikely to make
them happy. Society has commiseration, therefore, toward us,
and binds our unwilli ng and often unhappy wedlocks with
chains of a lighter and more easier character than those which
fetter other men, whose marriage ties, as more voluntarily
assumed, ought, in proportion, to be more strictly binding.
And therefore, ever since the time that old Henry built these
walls, priests and prelates, as well as nobles and statesmen,
have been accustomed to see a fair Rosamond rule the heart of
an affectionate monarch, and console him for the few hours of
constraint and state which he must bestow upon some angry
and jealous Eleanor. To such a connection the world attaches
no blame ; they rush to the festival to admire the beauty of the
lovely Esther, while the imperious Vashti is left to queen it in
solitude : they throng the palace to ask her protection, whose
influence is more in the state an hundred times than thatWOODSTOCK.

of the proud consort; her offspring rank with the nobles
of the land, and vindicate by their courage, like the celebrated
Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, their descent from royalty and
from love. From such connections our richest ranks of nobles
are recruited; and the mother lives, in the greatness Of; her
posterity, honored and blest, as she died lamented and wept
in the arms of love and friendship.”

Did Rosamond so die, my lord?” said Alice: ‘Our ee
ords, say she was poisoned by the injured Queen—poisoned,
without time allowed to cali to God for the pardon of her many
faults. Did her memory so live? I have heard that when the
Bishop purified the church at Godstowe, her monument was
broken open by his orders, and her bones thrown out into un-
consecrated ground.”

‘“‘ Those were rude old days, sweet Alice,” answered Charles ;
‘queens are not now so jealous, nor bishops so rigorous. And
know, besides, that in the lands to which I would lead the love-
liest of her sex, other laws obtain, which remove from such ties
even the slightest show of scandal. There is a mode of matri-
mony, which, fulfilling all the rites of the Church, leaves no
stain on the conscience ; yet, investing the bride with none of
the privileges peculiar to her husband’s condition, infringes not
upon the duties which the King owes to his subjects. So that
Alice Lee may, in all respects, become the real and lawful wife
of Charles Stewart, except that their private union gives her
no title to be Queen of England.”

“ My ambition,” said Alice, “ will be sufficiently gratified to
see Charles king, without aiming to share either his dignity in
public, or his wealth and regal luxury in private.”

“JT understand thee, Alice,’ said the King, hurt but not dis-
“ You ridicule me, being a fugitive, for speaking like
Itis a habit, I admit, which I have learned, and of
which even misfortune cannot cure me. But my case is not sc
desperate as you may suppose. My friends are still many in
these kingdoms ; my allies abroad are bound, by regard to their
own interest, to espouse my Cause. I have hopes given me
from Spain, from France, and from other nations ; and I have
confidence that my father’s blood has not been poured forth in
vain, nor is doomed to dry up without due vengeance. My
trust is in Him from whom princes derive their title, and think
what thou wilt of my present condition, I have perfect confidence
that I shall one day sit on the throne of England.”

“May God erant +1” said Alice; ‘and that he may grant
it. noble Prince, deign to consider whether you mow pursuc @

: e BMA vi ~O XT
conduct likely to conciliate his favor. Think of the course you

pleased.
a king.

   

PB
PS
x ig 5 *
a ReoeineePerereret sehr
Nbial ete ar ee

   

294 WOODSTOCK.

recommend to a motherless maiden, who has no better defence
against your sophistry than what a sense of morality, together
with the natu al fe -eling of female dignity, inspires. Whether
the death of her father, which would be the consequence of her
imprudence .—_whether the despair of her brother, whose life
has been so often in peril to save that of your Majesty ;—
whether the dishonor of the roof which has sheltered you will
oe well in your annals, or are events likely to propitiate oes
whose controversy with your House has been but too visible,
recover the affections of the people of England, in whose eyes
such actions are an abomination, I leave to your own royal
mind to consider.”
Charles paused, struck with a turn to the conversation which
placed his own interests more in collision with the gratification
f his peso ee than he had sup posed,
‘If your 4 lajes ,’ said Alice, courtesying deeply, “has no
rther commands for my attendance, may Ibe permitted to

oO

es Stay 5 yet a little, strange and impracticable girl,” said th
King, “and answer me but one question :—Is it the oe
of my present fortunes that makes my suit sontempiibleg P

‘tT have Beaty to conceal, my liege,” she said, “and my

answer shall be as plain and direct as the question you hay
asked. If ] could have been moved to an act of te

insane, and ungrateful folly, it I couldonly arise from my being
blinded by that passion, which I believe is pleaded as an excuse
for folly and for crime much more often than it has a real
existence. I must, in short, have been in love, as it is called—
and that might have been with my ec jual, but surely never with
my sovereign, whether such only in title, or in possession of his
kingdom,”

“ Your loyalty was ever the pride, almost the ruling passion,
of your family, Alice,” said the King.

And could I reconcile that loyalty,” said Alice, ‘ with
indulging my sovereign, by permitting him to prosecute a suit
dishonorablé to himself as to me?~ Ought I, as a faithful
subject, to join him in a folly, which might throw yet another
stumbling-block in the path to his restoration, and could only
serve to diminish his security, even if he were seated upon his
throne?” :

“At this rate,” said Charles, discontentedly, “I had better
have retained my character of the page, than assumed that of
a sovereign, which it seems is still more irreconcilable with my
wishes.”

‘““My candor shall go still further,” said Alice. “I couldWOODSTOCK. 205

have felt as little for Louis Kerneguy as for the heir of Britain;
for such love as I have to bestow (and i it is not such as I read
of in romance, or hear poured forth in song ,) has been already
conferred on another object. This gives your Majesty pain—l
am sorry for it—but the w holesomest “medicines are often bitter.’

“Ves,” answered the King, with some asperity, ~ apg phy-
sicians are reasol eS enough to expect their patients to s wallow
them, as if they we e honevcomb. It is true, then, that whis-
pered tale of the cousin C olonel; and the daughter of the loyal
Lee has set her he sart upon a rebelli lious fanatic?’ :

‘¢ My love was given ere I knew what these words fanatic and
rebel meant. I Reon it not, for I am satisfied, that a amidst
the great distractions which divide the kingdom, the person to
whom you allude has chosen his part, erroneously pe rhaps, but
conscientiously—he, therefore , has still the highest | ) lace in my
affection and esteem. More he cannot have, and will not ask,

until some happy turn shall reconcile these public diff oie nces,
and my father be once more reconcl iled to him. Devoutly do [
ly

pray that such an event may occur your Majesty’s speed
and unanimous restoration !’

“Vou have found out a reason,” said the King, Bs tt tish ly,
“to make me detest the one of such a change—nor have
-st to pray tor it. On the Behe ne
ide by side, with Crom-

if Lambert does

you, Alice, any sincere intere
do you not see that your lover, w alking si
weil, may or rather must, share his power? nay,
not anticipate him, he may trip up Oliver’s heels, and reign in
his stead. And think you not he wi ill find means to overcome
the pride of the loyal Lees, and achieve a union, ich
things are better oo) pared than that which C romwell is said to
meditate betwixt one of his brats and the no less loy al heir of

 

for wil

Fauconberg ? af
“Your Majesty,” said Alice, * has found a way at length
to avenge eee eee what I have said deserves vengeance.”

ed
sald

“I could point out a yet shorter roa ad to your union,
Charles, without minding her distress, or perhaps enjoying t
al Suppose that you sent your © ‘olonel

pleasure of retaliation.
, who had come

word that there -was one Charles Stew art here
to disturb the Saints in then peaceful gove SpaeDt which they

had acquired by prayer nd preaching, pike an 1 gun, —and sup-

pose he ue the art to br ring down a halt-score of troopers, quite
of this he ir of royalty—

enough, as times go, to decide the fate ot
think you ee the posession of such a prize as this might obtain

from the rumpers, or from Cromw ell, such a rew ard as might

overcome your father’s objections to a roundhead’s alliance,

emer ener ey

eer ons296 WOODSTOCK.

and place the fair Alice and her cousin Colonel in full possession
of their wishes?”

“My liege,” said Alice, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes
sparkling—for she too had her share of the hereditary tempera-
ment of her family,—“ this passes my patience. I have heard,
without expressing anger, the most ignominious persuasions
addressed to myself, and I have vindicated myself for refusing
to be the paramour of a fugitive Prince, as if I had been excus-.
ing myself from accepting a share of an actual crown. But do
you think I can hear all who are dear ta me slandered without
emotion or reply? I will not, sir; and were you seated with all
the terrors of your father’s Star-chamber around you, you should
hear me defend the absent and the innocent. Of my father I
will say nothing, but that if he is now without wealth—without
state, almost without a sheltering home and needful food—it is
because he spent all in the service of the King. He needed not
to commit any act of treachery or villany to obtain wealth—he
had an ample competence in his own possessions. For Markham
Everard—he knows no such thing as selfishness—he would not,
for broad England, had she the treasures of Peru in her bosom,
and a paradise on her surface, do a deed that would disgrace
his own name, or injure the feelings of another—Kings, my liege,
may take a lesson from him. My liege, for the present I take
my leave.”

“ Alice, Alice—stay !”? exclaimed the King. ‘She is gone.
—This must be virtue—real, disinterested, overawing virtue—
or there is no such thing on earth. Yet Wilmot and Villiers
will not believe a word of it, but add the tale to the other
wonders of Woodstock. ’Tis a rare wench! and I profess, to
use the Colonel’s obtestation, that I know not whether to for-
give and be friends with her, or study a dire revenge. If it
were not for that accursed cousin—that Puritan Colonel—I
could forgive everything else to so noble a wench. But a
roundheaded rebel preferred to me—the preference avowed to
my face, and justified with the assertion, that a king might
take a lesson from him—it is gall and wormwood. If the old
man had not come up this morning as he did, the King should
have taken or given a lesson, and a severe one. It wasa mad
rencontre to venture upon with my rank and responsibility—and
yet this wench has made me so angry with her, and so envious
of him, that if an opportunity offered, I should scarce be able to
forbear him.—Ha! whom have we here?”

The interjection at the conclusion of this royal soliloquy
was occasioned by the unexpected entrance of another person:
age of the drama.WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH.

Benedict.—Shall I speak a word in your ear?
Claudio.—God bless me from a challenge.

MucH Apo AaBour NOTHING.

As Charles was about to leave the apartment, he was prevent
ed by the appearance of Wildrake, who entered with an unusual
degree of swagger in his gait, and of fantastic importance on
his brow. ‘I crave your pardon, fair sir,” he: said; “‘but,;as
they say in my country, when doors are open dogs enter. I
have knocked and called in the hall to no purpose ; so, knowing
the way to this parlor, sir,—for I ama light partisan, and the
road I once travel I never forget,—I ventured to present myself
unannounced.”

“ Sir Henry Lee is abroad, sir, I believe, in the Chase,” said
Charles, coldly, for the appearance of this somewhat vulgar
debauchee was not agreeable to him at the moment, “and
Master Albert Lee has left the Lodge for two or three days.”

“T am aware of it, sir,” said Wildrake; “but I have no
business at present with either.”

“ And with whom is your business?” said Charles; 1 “that
is, if I may be permitted to ask—since I think it cannot in
possibility be with me.”

“ Pardon me in turn, sir,” answered the cavalier ; “‘in no
possibility can it be imparted to any other but yourself, if you
be, as I think you are, though in something better habit, Master
Louis Girnigo, the Scottish gentleman who waits upon Master
Albert Lee.”

“TJ am all you are like to find for him,” answered Charles.

“Tn truth,” said the cavalier, ‘\ | do | percerve 2 difference,
but rest, and better clothing, will do much; and I am glad of
it, since I would be sorry to have brought a message, such as I
am charged with, to a tatterdemalion.”

“Tet us get to the business, sir, 1f you please,”’ said the
King—“ you have a message for me, you say?”

“True, sir,”’ replied Wildrake; “‘I am the friend of Colonel
Markham Everard, sir, a tall man, and a worthy person in the
field, although I could wish him a better cause—A message I
have to you, it is certain, in a slight note, which I take the
liberty of presenting with the usual formalities.” ‘So saying.
he drew his sword, put the billet he mentioned upon the point,
and making a profound bow, presented it to Charles.298 WOODSTOCK.

The disguised Monarch accepted of it, with a grave return
of the salute, and s said, as he was about to open ike , c stter, “ai
am not, I presume, to expect friendly contents in an epistle
presented in so hostile a manner ?”

““A-hem, sit,” replied the ambassador, clearing his voice,
while he arrang ed a suitable answer, in which the mild strain
of diplomacy might be properly maintained ; “not utterly hostile,
I suppose, sir, is the invitation, thoi ugh it be such as must be
| construed in the commencement rather bellico se and pugnacious,
I trust, sir, we- shall find that a few thrusts will make a hand-
i some conclusion of the business; and so, as my old master
1) used to say, Pax nascitur ex bello. For my own poor share, |
| am truly glad to have been graced by my friend,

i

M arkhani
Everar

in this matter—the rather as I feared the puritan prin-
ciples with which he is imbued (
worthy sir), migh

~~
—-

t

[ will confess the truth to you,
it have fovinee him unwilling from certain
scruples, to have taken the gentlemanlike and honorable mode
of righting himself in sai a case as the present. And as

der a friend’s duty to my friend, so I humbly hope e, Master Louis

Girnigo, that I do no injustice to you in preparing the way for

the proposed meeting, where, give me leave to say, I trust, that

lt if no fatal accident «
iF the ski irmish iS Over Tl

Len=

[
oh

’ccur, we shall be all better friends when
=

lan we were before

~

or;
‘* T shoul | SUPpose so, sir, in ally ease,’ said Charnes: looking
7 .
at the letter; “worse than mortal enemies we can scarce be,
[| ma pa ee BDH we Lehle ee ie
| and it 1s that footing upon which this billet places us.
| CV

Our. say trues sin? said’ Wildrakert Gitets sir) |)
Say LUBY SIE: Sala VAN test | Sir ea ‘tel,

ntroducing to a single combat. for the pacific object of restorins o
Ec
1

ii a perfect good understan¢ Ings betwixt the survivors—in case
t ha } i e| r that roArcl aie’ + Aaa tl + 1 £ ~~ 4
| that fortunately that word can be used in the plural after the

event of the meeti

} ‘ 2. want mii hneee tis ete T die peti 3) mruiert at te
In short, we only fight, I suppose,” replied the Ki 9
4 + Z a ~ ; : z ~ eS J :
thats may come to a perfectly good and amicable under-
standing ?

Be ste ing 4 os strat ectravleosaat Pelee be

You are right t again, Sl] nd I thank you for the clearnes
oy "7 7 ot iets . « .

‘She n, said Wildrake.—* Ah, sir, it is easv to

in such a case as this

ness to myself, that,

1 a person of honor and of inte
: ;
And I beseech vi sir, aS a personal kink

1°47

Hike to be frosty, and 7

Hn ear

as the morning is Son am in some sor

u

rheumatic—as war will leave its scars ind; ‘sin, sbrsay. 4

will entreat of you to bring with you some gentleman of honor,

i who will not disdain to take part of what is going forward—a

i sort of pot-luck, sir—with a poor old soldier like myself—that

we may take no harm by standing unoccupied during such cold

weather

Na eRe eran ahead teenies&
i
<
Ps
A
=
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ES
=
el
S
m
ed
peat
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4
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=
4
ss
1)

A
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EIVING THE

‘
J

CHARLES RE;
f
P
j
|

 

baWOODSTOCK. 299

‘T understand, sir,”

replied Charles; ‘if this matter goes
forward, be assured I will endeavor to provide you with
suitable opponent.’’

bte (

‘T shall remain greatly indeb > said Wildrake;

d toy ny SI
‘and I am by no means curious about the ane of my au.
Cc

tagonist.—It is true I write myself esquire and gentleman, and
should account myself esp cially honore d by crossing my sword

with that of Sir Henry or Master Albert Lee; but sl hould that
not be convenient, I will not refuse to present my im or person
in Opposition to any gentleman who has served the King, which
aie no as a sort of letters of nobility in itself, and, there-
or account decline the duello with such a

person.”
I
[he King is much obliged to you, sir,” said Charles, “ for
the honor you do his faithful subjects.”
66 £\L See ee Ri ee 2 devised are Tar E .
Oh, sir, I am scrup ab us on that point—very scrupulous.—-

)

TA ae ee a 1 ee $e Le 4)
When there is a aaah ad in question, I consult the Herald’s
books. to see that he is entitled to bear arms, as is Master
SR ore Li eit aed ot -
arkham Everard, without eet ch , I promise you, I had borne
But a cavalier is with me a gentleman, of
See Bee foe ea ae : <7 a = :
course—Be his birth ever so low, his loyalty has ennobled his
condit ion.’
cos vel] ‘r.?’ said the Kine. “TI 7

bE tS WEL. Sik, Sal¢ be SIN? i his paper See ime
to meet Master Everard at six to-morrow mo rning, at the tree
called the King’s Oak.—I object neither to place nor time. He
proffers the sword, at which, he says, we possess some equ ality

lo not decline the weapon; for company, two gentlemen—

 

 

[ shall endeavor to procure myself an associate, and a suitable
partner for you, sir, if you incline to join in the dance.”
‘“T kiss your hand, sir, and rest yours, under a sense of obli-

eatlon, <

 

[ thank y inued the King; “I will therefore
be ready at place | suitably furnished ; and I will
either give your friend suc satisfaction with my sword as he

V
requires, or wil ch cause for not doing so as he
will be cont ith.
You “ill excuse me, sir,” said Wildrake, “if my mind is
too dull, under the circumstances, to conceive any alternativy

Ly tid

 

66

that can remain betwixt two men of honor in such a case, ex-
cepting—sa—sa—.”’ we threw himself into a fencing posi
tion, and madea pass \ ith his sheathed rapier, but not directed
toward the person o! th .e King, whom he addressed.

“ Excuse me, sir,” said C harles, “if I do not trouble your
intellects with the consideration of a case which may not occur.
—But, for example, I may plead urgent employment on the

4

   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
    
    
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
     
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
     
  
  
  
  
  
  
    

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300 WOODSTOCK.

part of the public.’—This he spoke in a low and mysterious tone
of voice, which Wildrake appeared perfectly to comprehend ;
for he laid his forefinger on his nose with what he meant fora
very intelligent and apprehensive nod.

“Sir,” said he, “if you be engaged in any affair for the
King, my friend shall have every reasonable degree of patience
—WNay, I will fight him myself in your stead, merely to stay
nis stomach, rather than you should be interrupted.—And, sir,
if you can find room in your enterprise for a poor gentleman
that has followed Lunsford and Goring; you have but to name
day, time, and place of rendezvous; for truly, sir, I] am tired
of the scald hat, cropped hair, and undertaker’s cloak, with
which my friend has bedizened me, and would willingly ruffle
it out once more in the King’s cause, when whether I be banged
or hanged, I care not.”

‘I shall remember what you say, sir, should an opportunity
occur,” said the King; “and I wish his Majesty had many
such subjects.—I presume our business is now settled ? ”

‘“ When you shall have been pleased, sir, to give me a trifl-
ing scrap of writing, to serve for my credentials—for such, you
know, is the custom—your written cartel hath its written
answer,”

“That, sir, will I presently do,” said Charles, “and in good
time—here are the materials.”

~ And, sir,” continued the envoy—“ Ahi! ahem !—if you
have interest in the household for a cup of sack—I am a man
of few words, and am somewhat hoarse with much speaking—
moreover, a serious business of this kind always makes one
thirsty.—Besides, sir, to part with dry lips argues malice,
which God forbid should exist in such an honorable con-
juncture.”

“I do not boast much influence in the house, sir,” said the
King ; “but if you would have the condescension to accept
of this broad piece toward quenching your thirst at the
George”

“Sir,” said the cavalier (for the times admitted of this
strange species of courtesy, nor was Wildrake a man of such
peculiar delicacy as keenly to dispute the matter),—‘‘I am
once again beholden to you. But I see not how it consists
with my honor to accept of such accommodation, unless you
were to accompany and partake ?”

‘Pardon me, sir,” replied Charles, “ my safety recommends
that I remain rather private at present.”

“Enough said,” Wildrake observed ; “ poor cavaliers must
not stand on ceremony. I see, sir, you understand cutter’sWOODSTOCK. 301

law—when one tall feilow has coin, another must not be thirsty.
I wish you, sir, a continuance of health and happiness until
to-morrow, at the King’s Oak, at six o’clock.”

‘Farewell, sir,” said the King, and added, as Wildrake
went down the stair whistling “ Hey for cavaliers,” to which
air his iong rapier, jarring against the steps and banisters, bore
no unsuitable burden—* Farewell, thou too just emblem of the
state, to which war, and defeat, and despair, have reduced
many a gallant gentleman.”

During the rest of the day there occurred nothing peculiarly

deserving of notice. Alice sedulously avoided showing toward
the disguised Prince any degree of estrangement or shyness
which could be discovered by her father, or by any one else.
To all appearance the two young persons continued on the same
footing in every respect. Yet she made the gallant himself
sensible, that this apparent intimacy was assumed merely to
save appearances, and in no way designed as retracting from
the severity with which she had rejected his suit. The sense
that this was the case, joined to his injured self-love, and his
enmity against a successful rival, induced Charles early to
withdraw himself to a solitary walk in the wilderness, where,
like Hercules in the emblem of Cebes, divided betwixt the
personifications of Virtue and of Pleasure, he listened _alter-
nately to the voice of Wisdom and of passionate Folly.
Prudence urged to him the importance of his own life to
the future prosecution of the great object in which he had for
the present miscarried—the restoration of monarchy in Eng-
land, the rebuilding of the throne, the regaining the crown of
his father, the avenging his death, and restoring to their for-
tunes and their country the numerous exiles, who were suffering
poverty and banishment on account of their attachment to his
cause. Pride too, or rather a just and natural sense of dignity,
displayed the unworthiness of a Prince descending to actual
personal conflict with a subject of any degree, and the ridicule
which would be thrown on his memory, should he lose his life
for an obscure intrigue by the hand of a private gentleman.
What would his sage counselors, Nicholas and Hyde—what
would his kind and wise governor, the Marquis of Hertford,
sav to such an act of rashness and folly? Would it not be
likely to shake the allegiance of the staid and prudent persons
of the royalist party, since wherefore should they expose their
lives and estates to raise to the government of a kingdom a
young man who could not command his own temper? To this
was to be added, the consideration that even his success would
add double difficulties to his escape, which already seemedFRR eeanisaansasLnnns cones Se

202 WOODSTOCK.

sufficiently precarious. If, stopping short of death, he merely
had the better of his antagonist, how did he know that he might

not seek revenge by delivering up to government the Malignant
ouis Kerneguy, whose real character could not in that case
ail to be discovered ?

These considerations strongly recommended to Charles that
he should clear himself of the challenge without fighting; and
the reservation under which he had accepted it, afforded him
some opportunity of doing so.

But Passion also had her arguments;.which she addressed
to a temper rendered irritable by recent distress and mortifica-
tion. In the first place, if he was a prince, he was also a gen-
tleman, entitled to resent as such, and. obliged to give or
claim the satisfaction expected on occasion of differences among
gentlemen. With Englishmen, she urged, he could never lose
interest by showing himself ready, instead of sheltering himself
under his royal birth and pretensions, to come frankly forward
and maintain what he had done or said on his own responsi-
t In a free nation, it seemed as if he would rather gain
than lose in the public estimation, by a conduct which could

 

  

not but seem gallant and generous. Then a character for
courage was far more necessary to support his pretensions than

as far n
any other kind of reputation ; and the lying under a challenge,
without replying to it, might bring his spirit.into question. What
would Villiers and Wilmot say of an intrigue, in which he
had allowed himself to be shamefully baffled by acountry girl,
| had failed to revenge himself on his rival? The pasqui-
les which they would compose, the witty sarcasms which
they would circulate on the occasion, would be harder to en-
dure than the grave rebukes of Hertfort, Hyde, and Nicholas.
Chis reflection, added to the stings of youthful and awakened
courage, at length fixed his resolution, and he returned to Wood-
stock determined to keep his appointment, come of it what
might.

Perhaps there mingled with his resolution a secret belief
hat such a rencontre would not prove fatal. He was in the

t
flower of his youth, active in all his exercises, and no way in-
{
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i

Nac
anc

nat

erlor to Colonel Everard, as far as the morning’s experiment
ad gone, in that of self-defence. At least, such recollection
might pass through his royal mind, as he hummed to himself a
well-known ditty, which he had picked up during his residence
in Scotland—
“ A man may drink and not be drunk;
A man may fight and not be slain;
A man may kiss a bonnie lass,
And yet be welcome back again.”WOODSTOCK.

Meanwhile the busy and all-directing Dr. Rochecliffe had
contrived to intimate to Alice that she must give him a private
audience, and she found him by appointment in what was called
the study, once filled with ancient books, which, long since con-
verted into cartridges, had made more noise in the world at
their final exit, than during the space which had intervened
betwixt that and their first publication, The Doctor seated
himself in a high-backed leathern easy-chair, and signed to
Alice to fetch a stool and sit down beside him.

“ Alice,” said the old man, taking her hand affectionately,
“thou art a good girl, a wise girl, a virtuous girl, one of those
whose price is above rubies—not that rwdzes is the proper transla-
tion—but remind me to tell you of that another time. Alice,
thou knowest who this Louis Kerneguy is—nay, hesitate not to
me—I know everything—I am well aware of the whole matter.
Thou knowest this honored house holds the fortunes of Eng-
land.” Alice was about to answer. ‘“ Nay, speak not, but lis-
ten to me, Alice—How does he bear himself toward you?”

Alice colored with the deepest crimson. “I am a coun-
try-bred girl,” she said, “and his manners are too court-like for
me.”

“Enough said—I know it all. Alice, he is exposed to a
ereat danger to-morrow, and you must be the happy means to
prevent him.”

‘‘T prevent him !—how, and in what manner 2” said Alice:
in surprise. “It is my duty, as a subject, to do anything—any
thing that may become my father’s daughter”

“ Here she stopped considerably embarrassed

“Ves,” continued the Doctor, “ to-morrow he hath made
an appointment—an appointment with Markham Everard ;
the hour and place are set—six in the morning, by the King’s
Oak. If they meet, one will probably fall.”

“Now, may God forfend they should meet,” said Alice,
turning as suddenly pale as_ she had previously reddened.

 

9)
.

7

“But harm cannot come of it; Everard will never lift his
sword against the King.”

“For that,” Said Dr. Rochecliffe, “I would not warrant.
But if that unhappy young gentleman shall have still some
reserve of the loyalty which his general conduct entirely dis-
avows, it would not serve us here ; for he knows not the King,
but considers him merely as a cavalier, from whom he has re-
ceived injury.”

“ Tet him know the truth, Doctor Rochecliffe, let him know
it instantly,” said Alice; “ Ze lift hand against the King, a

S
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304, WOODSTOCK.

fugitive and defenceless! He is incapable of it. “My life on
the issue, he becomes most active in his preservation.”

“That is the thought of a maiden, Alice,” answered the
Doctor ; “ and, as I fear, of a maiden whose wisdom is misled
by her affections. It were worse than treason to admit a rebel
officer, the friend of the arch-traitor Cromwell, into so great a
secret. I dare not answer for such rashness. Hammond was
trusted by his father, and you know what came of it.”

“Then let my father know. He will meet Markham, or
send to him, representing the indignity done to him by attack-
ing his guest.”

“We dare not let your father into the sccret who Louis
Kerneguy really is. I did but hint the possibility of Charles
taking refuge at Woodstock, and the rapture into which Sir
Henry broke out, the preparations for accommodation and
defence which he began to talk of, plainly showed that the
mere enthusiasm of his loyalty would have led to a risk of dis-
covery. It is you, Alice, who must save the hopes of every
true royalist.”

“I!” answered Alice ; “ it is impossible—Why cannot my
father be induced to interfere, as in behalf of his friend and
guest, though he know him as no other than Louis Kerneguy ? ”

‘““ You have forgot your father’s character, my young friend,”
said the Doctor ; “‘ an excellent man, and the best of Christians,
till there is a clashing of swords, and then he starts up the
complete martialist, as deaf to every pacific reasoning as if he
were a game-cock.”

‘You forget, Doctor Rochecliffe,” said Alice, “ that this
very morning, if I understand the thing aright, my father
prevented them from fighting.”

‘“ Ay,” answered the Doctor, “ because he deemed himself
bound to keep the peace in the Royal Park ; but it was done
with such regret, Alice, that, should he find them at it again, I
am clear to foretell he will only so far postpone the combat as
to conduct them to some unprivileged ground, and there bid
them tilt and welcome, while he regaled his eyes with a scene
so pleasing. No, Alice, it is you, and you only, who can help

us in this extremity.”

“I see no possibility,” said she, again coloring, “ how I
can be of the least use.”

“You must send a note,” answered Dr. Rochecliffe, “ to the
King—a note such as all women know how to write better than
any man can teach them—to meet you at the precise hour of

the rendezvous. He will not fail you, for I know his unhappy
foible.”’WOODSTOCK.

“ Doctor Rochecliffe,” said Alice, gravely,—‘‘ you have
known me from infancy,—What have you seen in me to induce
you to believe that I should ever follow such unbecoming
counseles 7

“ And if you have known me from infancy,” retorted the
Doctor, “‘ what have you seen of me that you should suspect me
of giving counsel to my friend’s daughter, which it would be
misbecoming in her to follow? You cannot be fool enough, I
think, to suppose, that 1 mean you should carry your com-
placence further than to keep him in discourse for an hour or
two, till I have all in readiness for his leaving this place, from
which I can frighten him by the terrors of an alleged search ?—
So C. S. mounts his horse and rides off, and Mistress Alice
Lee has the honor of saving him.”

“Ves, at the expense of her own reputation,” said Alice,
‘and the risk of an eternal stain on my family. You say you
know all. What can the King think of my appointing an
assignation with him after what has passed, and how will it be
possible to disabuse him respecting the purpose of my doing
So PF

‘“ T will disabuse him, Alice ; I will explain the whole.”

“ Doctor Rochecliffe,”’ said Alice, ‘‘ you propose what is im-
possible. You can do much by your ready wit and great
wisdom ; but if new-fallen snow were once sullied, not all your
art could wash it white again ; and it is altogether the same
with a maiden’s reputation.”

“ Alice, my dearest child,” said the Doctor, bethink you
that if I recommend this means of saving the life of the King,
at least rescuing him from instant peril, it is because I see no
other of which to avail myself. If I bid you assume, even for
a moment, the semblance of what is wrong, it is but in the last
extremity, and under circumstances which cannot return—I will
take the surest means to prevent all evil report which can arise
from what I recommend.”

“ Say not so, Doctor,” said Alice ; “ better undertake to turn
back the Isis than te stop the course of calumny. The King
will make boast to his whole licentious court, of the ease with
which, but for a sudden alarm, he could have brought off Alice
Lee as a paramour—the mouth which confers honor on others
will then be the means to deprive me of mine. ‘Take a fitter
course, one more becoming your own character and profession.
Do not lead him to fail in an engagement of honor, by holding
out the prospect of another engagement equally dishonorable,
whether false or true. Go to the King himself, speak to him,
as the servants of God have a right to speak even to earthly" RE ee
ee anne a ne Ss = ™

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306 WOODSTOCK.

sovereigns, Point out to him the folly and the wickedness of
the course he is about to pursue—urge upon him, that he fear
the sword, since wrath bringeth the punishment of the sword.
Tell him, that the friends “who died for him in the field at
Worcester, on the scaffolds, and on the eibbets, since that
bloody day—that the remnant who are a prison, scattered, fled,
and ruined on his account, deserve bette
race, than that he should throw aw: Ly hi 5 life | in an idle brawl
—Tell him, that it is dishonest to venture that which is not
his own, dishonorable to betray the trust which brave men
have reposed in his virtue and in his courage,”

Doctor Rochecliffe looked on her with

f him and his father’ S

with a melancholy smile
his eyes or 1g as he said, “‘ Alas! Alice, even I could not
ple sae that just cause to him so eloquently or so impressively as
thou dost But, alack! Charles would listen to neither. It is
not from priests or women, he would say, that men should
receive counsel in affairs of honor.”

‘Then, hear me, Doctor Rochecliffe—I will a appear at the
ace of rendezvous, and I will gota the combat—do not
fear that I can do what I say—at a sacrifice, indeed, but not that
of my reputation. My heart may iss brokennexghie endeavored
to stifle her sobs with difficulty—“ for the consequence; but
not in the imagination of a man, and far less that man her
sovereign, shall a thought of Alice Lee be associated with dis-
honor.” She hid her face in her h: indkerehief, and burst out
into unrestrained tears.

‘What means this hysterical passion ?” said Dr. Roc hecliffe,
ee and somewhat alarmed by the vehemence of her grief
‘Maiden, I must have no cunebatinenes: [I must know.”

‘Exert your ingenuity, then, and discover it.”’ said Alice—
for a moment put out of temper at the Doctor’s
self-i oo tance—* Guess my purpose, as you can guess at every
thing else. It 1S enough to have to go through my task, I will
not ee the _ istress of telling it over, and that to one who

pert inac ‘ous

—forgive me, dear Doctor—might ‘not think my agitation on
this occasion inp warranted.”
ee

Nay, then, my young mistress, you must be ruled,” said
Rochecliffe; “and if I cannot make you explain yourself, I
must see whether your father can gain so far on you. So
saying, he arose somewhat displeased, and walked toward the
door.

* You forget what you yourself told me, Doctor Rochecliffe,”
said Alice, “of the risk of communic ating this great secret to
my father.

“It is too true,” he said, stopping short and turning round;WOODSTOCK. 307
and I think, wench, thou art too smart for me, and I have
not met many Sich. But thou, art a good girl, ‘and wilt tell
me thy device of free will—it concerns my character and influ-
ence with the King, that I should be fully acquainted with
whatever is actum atgue tractatum, done and treated of in this
matter.”

“Trust your character to me, good Doctor,” said Alice,
Sug ts ting to smile ; “it is of firmer. stuff than those of women,
and will ee . safer in my custody than mine could have been in
yours. And thus much I co yndescend—you shall see the whole
scene—you shall go with me yourself, na much will a feel
embolden: ed and heartened by your company.

“That is something,” said the Doctor, though not altogether
satisfied with this limited confidence. “Thou wert ever a
clever wench, and I will trust thee ;, indeed, trust thee I find I
must, whether voluntarily or no.”

‘Meet me then,” said Alice, “in the wilderness to-morrow

 

iQ JALIUCG,

frst tell me, are you well assured of time and place ?—a

—

  

‘Assure yourself my information is ntirely accurate,” said
the Doctor, resuming his air of consequence, which had been a
little diminished during ~ latter part of their conference.

 

    

‘¢ May I ask,’ thre yugh what channe el you acquired
such important _ {c

“You may ask, unqu estionably? he answered,now completely
restored to his su] premacy ; ~ but whether J will answer or not

is a very different question. I conceive nel ither your reputation
nor my own is iiioeebiod in your remainu 1g in ignorance on that
subject. So I have my secrets as well as you, mistress ; and

come of them, I fancy, are a good ida more worth knowing.”

‘Rent $0," said Alice, quietly ; “if you w ill meet me in the
wilderness by the broken ct an ets past five exactly, we will
co toge einen to-morrow and watch ee »m as they come to the
én derirolls I svi on tee ay get the better of my present

timidity, and ex plain to you ies means I design to employ to

event mischief. You can perhaps think of making some
pe ° ‘ s C = } =~ 2 1
fort which may re ear my interference, unbecoming and

must be, al ether unnecessary. é
fags i e Doctor; “if you place yourself in
the first that ever had reason to com-

plain of my want of condt and you may well judge you are
the very aa (one except ed) whom I w ould see ae for want
of counsel. At half-past five, then, at the dial in the wilderness
-and God bless our undertak ing !’

Here their interview was interrupted by the sonorous voice

painful as it
s Nay, my child,” saic
mv hands, you will be

UC ly

PRR rr creer eer

   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
   
  
      
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
 
   
   
   
 
 
  
 
   
   
  
  

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;

308 WOODSTOCK.
of Sir Henry Lee, which shouted their names, “ Daughter Alice
Doctor Rochecliffe,” through passage and gallery.

““What do you here,” said he, entering, “sitting like two
crows in a mist, when we have such rare sport below? Here
is this wild crack-brained boy Louis Kerneguy, now making
me laugh till my sides are fit to split, and now playing on his
guitar sweetly enough to win a lark from the heavens.—Come
away with you, come away. It is hard work to laugh alone.’

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.

This is the place, the centre of the grove;
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood.
JOHN Home.

THE sun had risenon the broad boughs of the forest, but
without the power of penetrating into its recesses, which hung
rich with heavy dewdrops, and were beginning on some of the
trees to exhibit the varied tints of autumn; it being the season
when Nature, like a prodigal whose race is well-nigh run, seems
desirous to make up in profuse gayety and variety of colors, for
the short space which her splendor has then to endure. The
birds were silent—and even robin red-breast, whose chirruping
song was heard among the bushes near the Lodge, emboldened
by the largesses with which the good old knight always encour-
aged his familiarity, did not venture into the recesses of the
wood, where he encountered the sparrow-hawk, and other
enemies of a similar description, preferring the vicinity of the
dwellings of man, from whom he, almost solely among the
feathered tribes, seems to experience disinterested protection.

The scene was therefore at once lovely and silent, when the
good Dr. Rochecliffe, wrapped in a scarlet roquelaure, which
had seen service in its day, muffling his face more from habit
than necessity, and supporting Alice on his arm (she also
defended by a cloak against the cold and damp of the autumn
morning), glided through the tangled and long grass of the
darkest alleys, almost ankle-deep in dew, toward the place
appointed for the intended duel. Both so eagerly maintained
the consultation in which they were engaged, that they were
alike insensible of the roughness and discomforts of the road,
though often obliged to force their way through brushwood and
coppice, which poured down on them all the liquid pearls withWOODSTOCK. 309
which they were loaded, till the mantles they were wrapped in
hung lank by their sides, and clung to their shoulders heavily
charged with moisture. They stopped when they had attained
a station under the coppice, and shrouded by it, from which
they could see all that passed on the little esplanade before the
King’s Oak, whose broad and scathed form, contorted and
shattered limbs, and frowning brows, made it appear like some
ancient war-worn champion, well selected to be the umpire of
a field of single combat.

The first person who appeared at the rendezvous was the
gay cavalier Roger Wildrake. He also was wrapped in his
cloak, but had discarded his puritanic beaver, and wore in its
stead a Spanish hat, with a feather and gilt hatband, all of
which had encountered bad weather and hard service; but to
make amends for the appearance of poverty by the show of pre-
tension, the castor was accurately adjusted after what was
rather profanely called the d—me cut, used among the more
desperate cavaliers. He advanced hastily, and exclaimed aloud
—‘ First in the field afterall, by Jove, though I bilked Everard
in order to have my morning draught.—It has done me much
good,” he added, smacking his lips.—‘‘ Well, I suppose I
should search the ground ere my principal comes up, whose
Presbyterian watch trudges as slow as his Presbyterian step.”

He took his rapier from under his cloak, and seemed about
to search the thickets around.

“J will prevent him,” whispered the doctor to Alice. “I
will keep faith with you—y ou shall not come on the scene—
nist dignus eee nodus—I’ll explain that another time. Vindex
is feminine as well as masculine, so the quotation is defensible.—
Keep you Mpsen?

So saying, he stepped forward on the esplanade, and bowed
to Wildrake.

“Master Louis Kerneguy,” said Wildrake, pulling off his
hat; but instantly discovering his error, he added, “* But no—
if beg your pardon, sir—Fatter, shorter, older.—Mr. Kerneguy’s
friend, I app aaes with whom I hope to have a turn by and by.
not now, sir, before our Bupa pee come up? just a
shack to stay the orifice of the stomach, till the dinner is served,
sir? What say you?”

“To open the orifice of the stomach more likely, or to give
it a new one,” said the doctor.

“True, sir,” said Roger, who seemed now in his element:
well—that is as thereafter may be.— But come, sir,

           

‘you say
you wear your face muffled. I grant you, it is honest men S
fashion at this unhappy time; the more is the pity. But we do

‘ep Sr eee tn
k. :310 WOODSTOCK.

all above board—we have no traitors here. I'll get into my
gears first, to encourage you, and show you that you have to
deal with a gentleman, who honors the King, and is a match fit
to fight with any who follow him, as doubtless you do, sir, since
you are the friend of Master Louis Kerneguy.”

All this while, Wildrake was busied undoing the clasps of
his square-caped cloak.

“‘ Off—off, ye lendings,
properly call you—

9)

he said, ‘‘ borrowings I should more

‘Via the curtain which shadow’d Borgia.’ ”

So saying, he threw the cloak from him, and appeared in
cuerpo, in a most cavalier-like doublet, of greasy crimson satin,
pinked and sashed with what had been once white tiffany ;
breeches of the same; and nether-stocks, or, as we now call
them, stockings, darned in many places, and which, like those
of Poins, had been once peach-colored. A pair of pumps, ill
calculated for a walk through the dew, and a broad shoulder-
belt of tarnished embroidery, completed his equipment.

‘Come, sir!” he exclaimed; ‘make haste, off with your
slough—Here I stand tight and true—as loyal a lad as ever
stuck rapier through a roundhead.—Come, sir, to your tools!”
he continued; ‘we may have half-a-dozen thrusts before they
come yet, and shame them for their tardiness.—Pshaw!”’ he
exclaimed, in a most disappointed tone, when the Doctor, un-
folding his cloak, showed his clerical dress; ‘Tush ! it’s but
the parson after all! ”

Wildrake’s respect for the Church, however, and his desire
to remove one who might possibly interrupt a scene to which
he looked forward with peculiar satisfaction, induced him pres-
ently to assume another tone.

“I beg pardon,” he said, ‘my dear Doctor—I kiss the
hem of your cassock—lI do by the thundering Jove—I beg your
pardon again.—But I am happy I have met with you—They are
raving for your presence at the Lodge—to marry, or christen,
or bury, or confess, or something very urgent.—For Heaven’s
sake make haste!”

“At the Lodge ?” said the Doctor; ‘ why, I left the Lodge
this instant—I was there later, I am sure, than you could be,
who came the Woodstock road.”

“Well,” replied Wildrake, “it is at Woodstock they want
you.—Rat it,did I say the Lodge ?—No, no—Woodstock—
Mine host cannot be hanged—his daughter married—his bastard
christened, or wife buried—without the assistance of a sealWOODSTOCK. ati

clergyman—Your Holdenoughs won’t do for them.—He’s a true
inan, mine host; so, as you value your function, make haste.”

‘You will pardon me, Master Wildrake,” said the Doctor—
‘IT wait for Master Louis Kerneguy.”

“The devil you do!” exclaimed Wildrake. ‘Why, I al-
ways knew the Scots could do nothing without their minister :
but, d—n it, I never thought they put them to this use neither.
But I have known jolly customers in orders, who understood
to handle the sword as well as their prayer-book. You know
the purpose of our meeting, Doctor. Do you come only
ghostly comforter—or as a surgeon, perhaps—or do you ever
take bilboa in hand ?—Sa—sa!”

Here he made a fencing demonstration with his sheathed
rapier.

““T have, done ; so,-sir,: on) mecessary occasion,” said’ Dr.
Rochecliffe.

‘ Good sir, let this stand for a necessary one,” said Wildrake.
“You know my devotion forthe Church. If a divine of your
skill would do me the honor to exchange but three passes with
me, I should think myself happy forever.”

“Sir,” said Rochecliffe, smiling, ‘were there no other ob-
jection to what you propose, I have not the means—I have no
weapon.

‘““What? you want the de guoz? that is unlucky indeed. But
you have a stout cane in your hand—what hinders our trying a
pass (my rapier being sheathed of course) until our principals
come up? My pumps are full of this frost-dew; and I shall
be a toe or two out of pocket if I am to stand still all the time
they are stretching themselves; for, I fancy, Doctor, you are of
my opinion, that the matter will not be a fight of cock-spar-
rows.”

“My business here is to make it, if possible, be no fight at
all,” said the divine.

‘Now, rat me, Doctor, but that is too spiteful,” said Wild-
rake ; ‘‘and were it not for my respect for the Church, I could
turn Presbyterian to be revenged.”

‘“‘ Stand back a little, if. you please, sir,’’ said the Doctor,
‘‘do not press forward in that direction.”—For Wildrake, in
the agitation of his movements, induced by his disappointment,
approached the spot where Alice remained still concealed.

‘And wherefore not, I pray you, Doctor?” said the
cavalier.

But on advancing a step he suddenly stopped short, and
muttered to himself, with a round oath of astonishment, “A
petticoat in the coppice, by all that is reverend, and at this

9

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312 WOODSTOCK.

hour in the morninge— Whew—ew—ew /—He Ee vent to his
surprise in a long low interjectional whistle; then turning to
the Doctor, with “his finger on the side of his nose, “Youre
sly, Doctor, d—d sly! But why not give me a hint of your—
your commodity there—your contraband Bees mo sir, Iam
not a man to expose the eccentricities of the Churc

Sir, said’ Dr.Rocheclites “you ‘are a he and if
time served, and it were worth my while, I would chastise
you.

ve the Doctor, who had served long enough in the wars
to have added some of the qualities of a captain of horse to
those of a divine, actually raised his cane, to the infinite de light
of the rake, whose respect for the Church was by no means

able to subdue his love of mischief.

“Nay, Doctor,” said he, “if you wield your weapon back-
sword-fashion, in that way, and raise it as high as your head,
I shall be through you in a twinkling.” So saying he made a
pass with his sheathed 1 rapier, not precisely at the Doctor’s
person, but in that direction; when Rochecliffe, changing the
direction of his cane from the broadsword guard to that of t the
rapier, made the cavalier’s sword spring ten yards out of his
hand, with all the dexterity of my friend F rancalanza.* At this
moment both the principal partiés appeared on the field.

Everard exclaimed angrily to Wildrake, ‘‘is this your friend-
ship? In Heaven’s name, what make you in that fool jacket,
and playing the pranks ofa jack-pud¢ ling? ” while his worthy
second, somewhat crestfallen, held down his head like a boy
caught in roguery, and went to pick up his weapon, stretching
his head, as he passed, into the Seo to obtain another
glimpse, if possible, of the concealed object of his curiosity.

Charles, in the meantime, still more surprised at what he
beheld, called out on his part—‘‘ What! Dr. Rochecliffe be-
come literally one of the Church militant, and tilting with my
friend cavalier Wildrake ? May I use the freedom to ask him
to withdraw, as Colonel Everard and I have some private busi-
ness.to Settle? ”

It was Dr. Rochecliffe’s cue, on this important occasion, to
have armed himself with the authority of his sacred office, and
used a tone of interference which might have overawed even a
monarch, and make him feel that his monitor spoke by a war-

rant higher than his own. But the indiscreet latitude he had
just given to his own passion, and the levity in which he had
been detected, were very unfavorable to his assuming that

* [A fencing-master in EKdinburgh—1826, }WOODSTOCK. 313

superiority, to which so uncontrolable a spirit as that of Charles,
wilful as a prince, and capricious as a wit, was at all likely to
submit. The Doctor did, however, endeavor to rally his dignity,
and replied, with the gravest, and at the same time most re-
spectful, tone he could assume, that he also had business of
the most urgent nature which prevented him from complying
with Master Kerneguy’s wishes, and leaving that spot.

“Excuse this untimely interruption,” said Charles, taking
orf his hat, and bowing to Colonel Everard, ‘‘ which I will im-
mediately put an end to.”

Everard gravely returned his salute, and was silent.

“Are you mad, Doctor Rochecliffe?” said Charles—*or
are you deaf ?—or have you forgotten your mother-tongue? [|
desired you to leave this place.”

‘“T am not mad,” said the divine, rousing up his resolution,
and regaining the natural firmness of his voice—‘I would
prevent others from being so;—I am not deaf—I would pray
others to hear the voice of reason and religion ; I have not for
gotten my mother-tongue—but I have come hither to speak the
language of the Master of kings and princes.”

“To fence with broomsticks, I should rather suppose,” said
the King—‘‘ Come, Doctor Rochecliffe, this sudden fit of
assumed importance befits you as little as your late frolic.
You are not, I apprehend, either a Catholic priest or a Scotch
Mass-John to claim devoted obedience from your hearers, but
a Church-of-England-man, subject to the rules of that Com-
munion—and to its HEAD.” In speaking the last words, the
King lowered his voice to a low and impressive whisper.
Everard observing this drew back, the natural generosity of his
temper directing him to avoid overhearing private discourse, in
which the safety of the speakers might be deeply concerned.
They continued, however, to observe great caution in their
forms of expression.

“Master Kerneguy,” said the clergyman, “it is not I who
assume authority or control over your wishes—God forbid ; 1
do but tell you what reason, Scripture, religion, and morality,
alike prescribe for your rule of conduct.”

“ And I, Doctor,” said the King, smiling, and pointing to
the unlucky cane, “ will take your example rather than your
precept. If a reverend clergyman will himself fight a bout at
single-stick, what right can he have to interfere in gentlemen’s
quarrels ?—Come, sir, remove yourself, and do not let your
present obstinacy cancel former obligations.”’

“ Bethink yourself,” said the divine, —“ I can gay one word
which will prevent all this.”

 

 

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
    

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WOODSTOCK.

‘Do it,” replied the King, “ and in doing so belie the whole
tenor and actions of an honorable life—abandon the principles
of your Church, and become a perjured traitor and an apostate,
to prevent another person from discharging his duty as a gentle-
on! This were indeed kiJling your friend to preven t the risk
of his running himself into danger. Let the Passive Opie:
which is so often in your mouth, and no doubt in your head,
put your feet for once into motion, and step aside -for ten
minutes. Within that Space your assistance may be needed
either as body-curer or soul-curer.

“Nay, then,” said Doctor Ro eee ““T have but one
argument left.”

While this conversation 1 was carried on apart, Everard had
almost forcibly detained by his own side his follower, Wildrake,
hose greater curiosity, and lesser oe see would otherwise
iave thrust him forward, to get, if f possible, into the secret.
But when he saw the Doctor turn into the coppice, he whis-
pered eagerly to Everard—‘ A gold Carolus to a common-
ealth farthing, the Doctor has not only come to preach a
& ace, but has brought the principal conditions along with

W
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}

Everard made no answer; he had already unsheathed his
swords and Charles hardly saw Rochec life s back fairly turned,
than he lost no time in following his example. But, ere they
had done more than salute each other, or the usual courteous
flourish of their weapons, Dr. Rochecliffe again stood between
them, leading in his hand Alice Lee, her garments dank with
dew, and her long hair heavy with moisture, and totally uncurled.
Herface was extremely pa ile, but it was the paleness of desperate
resolution, not of fear. There was a dead pause of astonishment
—the combatants rested on their swords—and even the forward-
ness of Wildrake only vented itself in half- Sepp iesded ejacula
tions, as, “‘ Well done, Doctor—this beats the ‘ parson among
the pease’—No less than your patron’s daughter—And Mistress
Alice, whom I thought a very snowdrop, turned out a dog-violet
after all—a Lindabrides, by heavens, and altogether one of our
Selves 1 =

Excepting these unheeded mutterings, Alice was the first to
spe< i

‘ Master Everard,” she said—“ Master Kerneguy, you are
surprised to see me here—Y et, why should I not tell the reason
at once ? Convinced that I am, however guiltlessly, the un-
happy cause of your misunderstanding, I am too much interested
to prevent fatal consequences to pause upon any step which
may end it.—Master Kerneguy, have my w ishes, my entreaties,WOODSTOCK. 315

my prayers—have your noble thoughts—the recollections of
your own high duties, no’ weight with you in this matter? Let
me entreat you to consul t reason, religion, and common sense,
and return your weapon.’

“Tam obedient as an Eastern slave, madam,’ answered
Charles, sheathing his sword; ‘but I assure you, the matter
about which you di istress yourself is a mere trifle, which will be
much better settled betwixt Colonel Everard and myself in
fve minutes, than with the assistance of the whole Convoca-
tion of the Church, with a female parliament to assist their
reverend deliberations.—Mr. Everard, will you oblige me by

walking a little further?—-We must change eround, it seems.”

“famoready to attend you, sit,” said Everard, who had
sheathed his sword so soon as his antagonist did SO.

“T have then no interest with you, sir,’ said Alice, con-
tinuing to address the King—‘ Do you not fear I should use
the secret in my power to prevent this affair going to extrem-
ity? Think you this gentleman, who raises his hand against
you, if he knew ”———

‘Tf he knew that I were Lord Wilmot, madam, you would
say >—Accident has given him proof to that effect, with which
he is already satisfied, and I think you would find it difficult to
induce him to embrace a different opinion.”

Alic se paused, and looked on the King with great indigna-

tion, the following words dropping from her mouth by inter-
vals, as if they burst forth one by one in spite of feelings that
would have restrained them—‘ Cold—selfish—ungrateful—un-
kind!—Woe to the land which’ Here she paused with
marked emphasis, then added “which shall number thee, or
such as thee, among her nobles and rulers!”

Nay, fair Alice,” said Charles, whose good nature could
not but feel the severity of this reproac ch, though too slightly
to make all the desired impression, “you are too unjust to me
-—too partial to a happier man. Do not call me unkind; I am
but here to answer Mr. Everard’s summons. I could neither
decline attending, nor withdraw now | am here, without Joss of
honor ; nae my loss of honor would be a disgracel w vhich must
extend to many—I cannot fly from Mr. Everarc
too shameful. If he abides by his message, it must . decided
as such affairs usually are. If he retreats or yields it up, !
will. for your sake, waive punctilio. I will not even ask an
apology for the trouble it has afforded me, but let all pass as
if it were the consequence of some unhappy mistake, the
erounds of which shall remain on my part uninquired into.—

This I wil aa for your sake, and it is much for a man of

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316 WOODSTOCK.

honor to condescend so far—You fzow that the condescension
from me in particular is great indeed. Then do not call me
ungenerous, or ungrateful, or unkind, since I am ready to do
all, which, as a man, I can do, and more perhaps than asa
man of honor I ought to do.”

“Do you hear this, Markham Everard,” exclaimed Alice—
“do you hear this ?—The dreadful option is left entirely at
your disposal, You were wont to be temperate in passion, re-
ligious, forgiving—will you, for a mere punctilio, drive on this
private and unchristian broil to a murderous extremity? Be-
lieve me, if you ow, contrary to all the better principles of
your life, give the reins to your passions, the consequences
may be such as you will rue for your lifetime, and even, if
Heaven have not mercy, rue after your life is finished.”

Markham Everard remained for a moment gloomily silent,
with his eyes fixed on the ground. At length he looked up,
and answered her—‘“ Alice, you are a soldier’s daughter—a
soldier’s sister. All your relations, even including one whom
you then entertained some regard for, have been made soldiers
by these unhappy discords. Yet you have seen them take the
field—in some instances on contrary sides, to do their duty
where their principles called them, without manifesting this ex-
treme degree of interest. Answer me—and your answer shall
decide my conduct—Is this youth, so short while known, al-
ready of more value to you than those dear connections, father,
brother, and kinsman, whose departure to battle you saw with
comparative indifference ?—Say ¢/zs, and it shall be enough—
I leave the ground, never to see you or this country again.”

“Stay, Markham, stay; and believe me when I say, that if
I answer your question in the affirmative, it is because Master
Kerneguy’s safety comprehends more, much more, than that of
any of those you have mentioned,”

“Indeed ! I did not know a coronet had been so superior
in value to the crest of a private gentleman,” said Everard ;
‘yet I have heard that many women think so.”

‘You apprehend me amiss,” said Alice, perplexed between
the difficulty of so expressing herself as to prevent immediate
mischief, and at the same time anxious to combat the jealousy
and disarm the resentment which she saw arising in the bosom of
her lover. But she found no words fine enough to draw the dis-
tinction, without leading to a discovery of the King’s actual
character, and perhaps in consequence, to his destruction.—
“Markham,” she said, “‘ have compassion on me. Press me
not at this moment; believe me, the honor and happiness of
my father, of my brother, and of my whole family, are interested‘ WOODSTOCK. 317

in Master Kerneguy’s safety, are inextricably concerned in
this matter resting where it now does.”

‘Oh, ay—I doubt not,” said Everard ; “ the House of Lee
ever looked up to nobility, and valued in their connections the
fantastic loyalty of a courtier beyond the sterling and honest
patriotism of a plain country gentleman. For them, the thing
is in course. But on your part, you, Alice—Oh ! on your part,
whom I have loved so dearly—who has suffered me to think
that my affection was not unrepaid—Can the attractions of an
empty title, the idle court compliments of a mere man of quality,
during only a few hours, lead you to prefer a libertine lord to
such a heart as mine?”

“No, no—believe me, no,” said Alice, in the extremity of
distress.

‘“ Put your answer, which seems so painful, in one word,
and say for whoso safety it is you are thus deeply interested?”

‘For both—for both,” said Alice.

‘ That answer will not serve, Alice,’ answered Everard—
“here is no room for equality. I must and will know to what
I have to trust. I understand not the paltering, which makes
a maiden unwilling to decide betwixt two suitors ; nor would I
willingly impute to you the vanity that cannot remain contented
with one lover at once.”

The vehemence of Everard’s displeasure, when he supposed
his own long and sincere devotion lightly forgotten, amid the
addresses of a profligate courtier, awakened the spirit of Alice
Lee, who, as we elsewhere said, had a portion in her temper of
the lion-humor that was characteristic of her family.

‘Tf Iam thus misinterpreted,” she said—‘If I am not
judged worthy of the least confidence or candid construction,
hear my declaration, and my assurance, that, strange as my
words may seem, they are, when truly interpreted, such as do
you no wrong. I tell you—I tell all present and I tell this
gentleman himself, who well knows the sense in which I speak,
that his life and safety are, or ought to be, of more value to me
than those of any other man in the kmgdom—nay, in the world,
be that other who ‘he will.”

These words she spoke in a tone so firm and decided as ad-
mitted no further discussion. Charles bowed low and with
gravity, but remained silent. Everard, his features agitated by
fhe emotions which his pride barely enabled him to suppress,
advanced to his antagonist, and said, in a tone which he vainly
endeavored to make a firm one, “ Sir, you heard the lady’s dec-
laration, with such feelings, doubtless of gratitude, as the case
eminently demands.—As her poor kinsman, and an unworthy

 

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i

318 WOODSTOCK. ;
suitor, sir, I presume to yield my interest in her to you; and,
as I will never be the means of giving her pain, I trust you will
not think I act unworthily in retracting the letter which gave
you the trouble of attending this place at this hour.—Alice,” he
said, turning his head toward her, “ farewell, Alice, at once,
and forever!”

Ihe poor young lady, whose adventitious spirit had almost
deserted her, attempted to repeat the word farewell, but failing
in the attempt, only accomplished a broken and imperfect sound,
and would have sunk to the ground, but for Dr. Rochecliffe,
who caught her as she fell. Roger Wildrake, also, who had
twice or thrice put to his eyes what remained of a kerchief, in-
terested by the lady’s evident distress, though unable to com-
prehend the mysterious cause, hastened to assist the divine in
supporting so fair a burden.

Meanwhile, the disguised Prince had beheld the whole in
silence, but with an agitation to which he was unwonted, and
which his swarthy features, and still more his motions, began
to betray. His posture was at first absolutely stationary, with
his arms folded on his bosom, as one who waits to be guided
by the current of events; presently after, he shifted his posi-
tion, advanced and retired his foot, clenched and opened his
hand, and otherwise showed symptoms that he was strongly
agitated by contending feelings—was on the point, too, of
of forming some sudden resolution, and yet still in uncertainty
what course he should pursue.

But when he saw Markham Everard, after one look of un-
speakable anguish toward Alice, turning his back to depart, he
broke out into his familiar ejaculation, “ Oddsfish ! this must
not be.” In three strides he overtook the slowly retiring Ever-
ard, tapped him smartly on the shoulder, and, as he turned
round, said, with an air of command, which he well knew how
to adopt at pleasure, “ One word with you, sir.”

‘At your pleasure, sir,” replied Everard ; and naturally
conjecturing the purpose of his antagonist to be hostile, took
hold of his rapier with the left hand and laid the right on the

hilt, not displeased at the supposed call ; for anger is at least as
much akin to his appointment as pity is said to be to love.

‘“Pshaw !” answered the King, “that cannot be xow—
Colonel Everard, I am Cuarters STEWART!”

Everard recoiled in the greatest surprise, and next exclaimed,
*‘ Impossible—it cannot be! The King of Scots has escaped
from Bristol—My Lord Wilmot, your talents for intrigue are
well known ; but this will not pass upon me,”

“The King of Scots, Master Everard,” replied Charles,WOODSTOCK. 319

 

““ since you are so pleased to limit his sovereignty—at any rate,
the Eldest Son of the late Sovereign of Britain—is now before
you ; therefore it is impossible he could have escaped from
Bristol. Doctor Rochecliffe shall be my voucher, and will tell
you, moreover, that Wilmot is of a fair complexion and light
hair; mine you may see, is swart as a raven.”

Rochecliffe, seeing what was passing, abandoned Alice
to the care of Wildrake, whose extreme delicacy in the attempts
he made to bring her back to life, formed an amiable contrast
to his usual wildness, and occupied him so much, that he re-
mained for the moment ignorant of the disclosure in which he
would have been so much interested. As for Dr. Rochecliffe,
he came forward, wringing his hands in all the demonstrations
of extreme anxiety, and with the usual exclamations attending
such a state.

“ Peace, Doctor Rochecliffe!” said the King, with such
complete self-possession as indeed became a prince; “ we are
in the hands, I am satisfied, of a man of honor. Master Ever-
ard must be pleased in finding only a fugitive prince in the per-
son in whom he thought he had discovered a successful rival.
He cannot but be aware of the feelings which prevented me
from taking advantage of the cover which this young lady’s
devoted lovalty afforded me at the risk of her own happiness.
He is the party who is to profit by my candor ; and certainly I
have a right to expect that my condition, already indifferent
enough, shall not be rendered worse by his becoming privy to
it under such circumstances. At any rate, the avowal is made ;
and it is for Colonel Everard to consider how he is to conduct
himself.”

“Oh, your Majesty! my Liege! my King! my royal Prince !”
exclaimed Wildrake, who, at length discovering what was pass-
ing, had crawled on his knees, and seizing the King’s hand,
was kissing it, more like a child mumbling gingerbread, or like
a lover devouring the yielded hand of his mistress, than in the
manner in which such salutation pass at court—“ If my dear
friend Mark Everard should prove a dog on this occasion,
rely on me I will cut his throat on the spot, were I to do the
same for myself the moment afterward !”

“ Hush, hush, my good friend and loyal subject,” said the
King, “ and compose yourself; for though I am obliged to put
on the Prince for a moment, we have not privacy or safety to
receive our subjects in King Cambyses’ vein.”

Everard, who had stood for a time utterly confounded, awoke
at length like a man from a dream.

“ Sire,” he said, bowing low, and with profound deference,

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320 WOODSTOCK.

“if I do not offer you the homage of a subject with knee
and sword, it is because God, by whom kings reign, has denied
you for the present the power of ascending your throne without
rekindling civil war. For your safety being endangered by me,
let not such an imagination for an instant cross your mind.
Had I not respected your person—were I not bound to you
for the candor with which your noble avowal has prevented the
misery of my future life, your misfortunes would have rendered
your person as sacred, so far as I can protect it, as it could be
esteemed by the most devoted royalist in the kingdom. If
your plans are soundly considered, and securely laid, think
that all which is now passed is but a dream. If they are in such
a state that I can aid them, saving my duty to the Common
wealth, which will permit me to be privy to no schemes o!
actual violence, your Majesty may command my services.”

‘““It may be I may be troublesome to you, sir,” said the
King ; “ for my fortunes are not such as to permit me to re-
ject even the most limited offers of assistance ; but if I can, I
will dispense with applying to you. I would not willingly put
any man’s compassion at war with his sense of duty on my ac-
count.—Doctor, I think there will be no further tilting to-day,
either with sword orcane; so we may as well return to the
Lodge, and leave these”—looking at Alice and Everard—‘“ who
may have more to say in explanation.”

‘“ No—no !” exclaimed Alice, who was now perfectly come
to herself, and partly by her own observation, and partly from
the report of Dr. Rochecliffe, comprehended all that had taken
place— My cousin Everard and I have nothing to explain; he
will forgive me for having riddled with him when I dared not
speak plainly; and I forgive him for having read my riddle
wrong. But my father has my promise—we must not corre-
spond or converse for the present—I return instantly to the
Lodge and he to Woodstock, unless you, sire,” bowing to the
King, “command his duty otherwise. Instant to the town,
Cousin Markham; and if danger should approach, give us
warning.”

Everard would have delayed her departure, would have
excused himself for his unjust suspicion, would have said a
thousand things; but she would not listen to him, saying, for
all other answer,—“ Farewell, Markham, till God send better
days !”

“She is an angel of truth and beauty,” said Roger Wild.
rake ; “and I, like a blasphemous heretic, called her a Linda-
brides!* But has your Majesty, craving your pardon, no

* A sort of court name for a female of no reputation—[derived from a
character in an old Spanish romance],WOODSTOCK. 321
commands for poor Hodge Wildrake, who will blow out his
own or any other man’s brains in England, to do your Grace a
pleasure ? ”

“We entreat our good friend Wildrake to do nothing
hastily,” said Charles, smiling; “such brains as his are rare,
and should not be rashly dispersed, as the like may not be
easily collected. We recommend him to be silent and prudent
—to tilt no more with loyal clergymen of the Church of Eng-
land, and to get himself a new jacket with all the convenient
speed, to which we beg to contribute our royal aid. When fit
time comes, we hope to find other service for him.”

As he spoke, he slid ten pieces into the hand of poor Wild-
take, who, confounded with the excess of his loyal gratitude,
blubbered like a child, and would have followed the King, had
not Dr. Rochecliffe, in few words, but peremptory, insisted that
he should return with his patron, promising him he should
certainly be employed in assisting the King’s escape, could an
opportunity be found of using his services.

= Be SO See reverend sir, and you bind me to you for-
ever,’’ said the cavalier; “and I conjure you not to keep malice
against me on account of the foolery you wot of.”

“1 have o ae n, Captain Wildrake,” said the Doctor,
“for I think I had the best of it.’

“Well, then, phage I forgive you on my part; and I pray
you, for Christian ch varity, let me have a finger in this good
service; for as I live in hope of it, rely that I shall die of dis-
appointment.”

While the Doctor and soldier thus spoke together, Charles
took leave of Everard (who remained uncovered while he spoke
to him) with his usual grace—“ I need not bid you no longer
be jealous of me,” said the King; for I presume you will
scarce think of a match betwixt Alice and me, which would be
too losing a one on her side. For other thous rhts, the wildest
libertine “could not entertain them toward so high- minded a
creature ; and believe me, that my sense of her merit did not
need this last distinguished proof of her truth and loyalty. 1
saw enough of her from her answers to some idle sallies of
zallantry, to know with what a lofty character she is endowed.
Mr. Everard, her happiness I see depends on you, and I trust
you will be the careful guardian of it. If we can take any

obstacle out of the way of your joint h happiness, be assured we
vill use our influence.—Farewell, sir; if we cannot be better
fr iends, do not at least let us entertain harder or worse thoughts
of each other than we have now.”
There was something in the manner of Charles that was

    
   
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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322 WOODSTOCK.

extremely pe ; something too, in his condition as a
fugitive in the kingdom which was his own by inheritance, that
made a direct appeal to Everard’s bosom—though in contra-
diction to the dictates of that policy which he judged it his
duty to pursue in the distracted circumstances of the country.
a remained, as we have said, uncovered; and in his manner
testified the highest expre sssion of reverence, up to the point
. such might seem a symbol of allegiance. He bowed so
low as almost to approach his lips to the hand of Charles—but
1e did not kiss it.—‘‘I would rescue sh person, sir,” he said,
‘with the purchase of my own life. More” He stopped
short, and the King took up his sentence where it broke off—
“More you cannot do,” said Charles, “to maintain an honor-
able consistency—but what you have said is enough. You
cannot render homage to my proffered hand as that of a sove-
reign, but you will not prevent my taking yours as a friend—if
you allow me to call myself so—I am sure, as a well-wisher at
least.”

The generous soul of Everard was touched—He took the
King’s he and, and pressed it to his lips.

 

‘Oh! he said, “ were better times to come ””——

“Bind yourself to nothing, dear Everard,” said the good-
natured Prince, partaking his emotion—‘“ We reason ill while
our feelings are moved. I will recruit no man to his loss, nor
will I have my fallen fortunes involve those of others, because
they have humanity enough to pity my present condition. If
better times come, why we will meet again, and I hope to our
mutual satisfaction. If not, as your future father-in-law would
say’ (a benevolent smile came over his face, and accorded not
unmeetly wit h his glistening eyes),—‘ If not, this parting was
well made.’

Everard turned away with a deep bow, almost choking
under contending feelings; the uppermost of which was a
sense of the generosity with which Charles, at his own immi-
nent risk, had cleared away the darkness that seemed about to
overwhelm his prospects of happiness for life—mixed with
deep sense of the perils by which he was environed. He re-
turned to the little town, followed by his attendant Wildrake,
who turned back so often, with weeping eyes, and hands
clasped and uplifted as eee ating Heaven, that Everard was
obliged to remind him that his gestures might be observed by
some one, and occasion suspicion.

The generous conduct of the King during the closing part
of this remarkable scene had not escaped Alice’s notice ; and,
erasing at once from her mind all resentment of Charles’s for-

)
1
aWOODSTOCK. 323

mer conduct, and all the suspicions they had deservedly ex-
cited, awakened in her bosom a sense of the natural eoodness
of his disposition, which permitted her to unite regard for his
person with that reverence for his high office in which she had
been educated as a portion of her creed. She felt convinced,
and delighted with the conviction, that his virtues were his
own, his libertinism the fault of education, or rather want of
education, and the corrupting advice of sycophants and flat-
terers. She could not know, or perhaps did not in that mo-
ment consider, that in a soil where no care is taken to eradi:
cate tares, they will outgrow and smother the wholesome seed,
even if the last is more natural to the soil. For, as Dr. Roche-
cliffe informed her afterward for her edification,—promising,
as was his custom, to explain the precise words on some future
occasion, if she would put him in mind—Virtus rectorem du-
cemque desiderat; Vitia sine magistro discuntur.*

There was no room for such reflections at present. Con-
scious of mutual sincerity, by a sort of intellectual communica-
tion, through which individuals are led to understand each
other better perhaps, in delicate circumstances, than by words,
reserve and simulation appeared to be now banished from the
intercourse between the King and Alice. With manly frank-
ness, and, at the same time, with princely zondescension, he
requested her, exhausted as she was, to accept of his arm on
the way homeward, instead of that of Dr. Rochecliffe ; and
Alice accepted of his support with modest humility, but without
a shadow of mistrust or fear. It seemed as if the last halt-
hour had satisfied them perfectly with the character of each
other, and that each had full conviction of the purity and sin-
cerity of the other’s intentions.

Dr. Rochecliffe, in the meantime, had fallen some four or
five paces behind; for, less light and active than Alice (who
had, besides, the assistance of the King’s support), he was un-
able, without effort and difficulty, to keep up with the pace of
‘harles, who then was, as we have elsewhere noticed, one of
the best walkers in England, and was sometimes apt to forget

\*that others were inferior to him in activity.

i

tht rN e

~

(as great men wil
“ Dear Alice,” said the King, but as if the epithet were en-
tirely fraternal, “I like your Everard much—lI would to God

* The quotations of the learned doctor and antiquary were often left
uninterpreted, though seldom uncommunicated, owing to his contempt for
those who did not understand the learned languages, and his dislike to the
labor of translation, for the benefit of ladies and of country gentlemen,
That fair readers and country thanes may not on this occasion burst in ig:
norance, we add the meaning of the passage in the text—' Virtue requires
the aid of a governor and director ; vices are learned without a teacher.’

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
     

eee tree oton

Sateen coeeers

%ee etal

Bee tt ny eres ates

OE

324 WOODSTOCK.

he were of our determination—But since that cannot be, I am
sure he will prove a generous enemy.”

‘“May it please you, sire,” said Alice, modestly, but with
some firmness, “ my cousin will never be your Majesty’s per-
sonal enemy—and he is one of the few on whose slightest word
you may rely more than on the oath of those who profess more
strongly and formally. He is utterly incapable of abusing your
Majesty’s most generous and voluntary confidence.”

‘On my honor, I believe so, Alice,” replied the King: “ But,
oddsfish ! my girl, let Majesty sleep for the present—it concerns
my safety, as I told your brother lately—Call me sir, then, which
belongs alike to king, peer, knight, and gentleman—or rather,
let me be wild Louis Kerneguy again.”

Alice looked down, and shook her head.
please your Majesty.”

‘What! Louis was a saucy companion—a naughty presuming
boy—and you cannot abide him ?—Well, perhaps you are right
—But we will wait for Doctor Rochecliffe ’’—he said, desirous,
with good-natured delicacy, to make Alice aware that he had
no purpose, of engaging her in any discussion which could recall
painful ideas. ‘They paused accordingly, and again she felt
relieved and grateful.

‘“‘ I cannot persuade our fair friend, Mistress Alice, Doctor,”
said the King, “ that she must, in prudence, forbear using titles
of respect to me, while there are such very slender means of
sustaining them.”

‘“‘It is a reproach to earth and to fortune,” answered the
divine, as fast as his recovered breath would permit him, “ that
your most sacred Majesty’s present condition should not accord
with the rendering of those honors which are your own by
birth, and which, with God’s blessing on the efforts of your
loyal subjects, I hope to see rendered to you as your hereditary
right, by the universal voice of the three kingdoms.”

“True, Doctor,” replied the King ; “but, in the meanwhile
can you expound to Mistress Alice Lee two lines of Horace,
which I have carried in my thick head several years, till now
they have come pat to my purpose? As my canny subjects of
Scotland say, If you keep a thing seven years you are sure to

find a use for it at last— 7e/ephus—ay,. so it begins—
ir J >

 

‘“* That cannot be,

 

* Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exul uterque,

Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba? ”

‘““T will explain the passage to Mistress Alice,” said the
Doctor, ‘‘ when she reminds me of it—or rather” (he added,

recollecting that his ordinary dilatory answer on such occasionsWOODSTOCK. 328
ought not to be returned when the order for exposition emanated
from his Sovereign), “I will repeat a poor couplet from my own
translation of the poem—

Heroes and kings, in exile forced to roam,
Leave swelling phrase and seven-leagued words at home.”

‘¢ A most admirable version, Doctor,” said Charles ; ‘I feel
all its force, and particularly the beautiful rendering of sesquipe-
dalia verba into seven-leagued boots—words I mean—it reminds
me, like half the things I meet with in this world, of the Contes
de Commeére L’ Oye.” *

Thus conversing, they reached the Lodge, and as the King
went to his chamber to prepare for the breakfast summons, now
impending, the idea crossed his mind, “ Wilmot, and Villiers,
and Killigrew, would laugh at me, did they hear of a campaign
in which neither man nor woman had been conquered—But,
oddsfish! let them laugh as they will, there is something at
my heart which tells me, that for once in my life I have acted
well.”

That day and the next were spent in tranquility, the King
waiting impatiently for the intelligence which was to announce
to him that a vessel was prepared somewhere on the coast.
None such was yet in readiness; but he learned that the inde-
fatigable Albert Lee was, at great personal risk, traversing the
sea-coast from town to village, and endeavoring to find means
of embarkation among the friends of the royal cause, and the
correspondents of Dr. Rochecliffe.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH.

Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch!
Two GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Ir is time we should give some account of the other actors in
our drama, the interest due to the principal personages having
for some time engrossed our attention exclusively.

We are therefore to inform the reader that the lingering
longings of the Commissioners, who had been driven forth of
their proposed paradise of Woodstock, not by a cherub indeed,
but, as they thought, by spirits of another sort, still detained

* Tales of Mother Goose.FURR carernanesnarvabaeaaaeenSeie ae

326 WOODSTOCK.

them in the vicinity. They had, indeed, left the little borough
under pretence of indifferent accommodation. The more palpable
reasons were, that they entertained some resentment against
Everard, as the means of their disappointment, and had no mind
to reside where their proceedings could be overlooked by him,
although they took leave in terms of the utmost respect. They
went, however, no further than Oxford, and remained there, as
ravens, who are accustomed to witness the chase, sit upon a
tree or crag at a little distance, and watch the disemboweling
of the deer, expecting the relics which fall to their share.
Meantime, the University and City, but especially the former,
supplied them with some means of employing their various
faculties to advantage, until the expected moment, when as
they hoped, they should either be summoned to Windsor, or
Woodstock should once more be abandoned to their discre-
tion.

Bleton, to pass the time, vexed the souls of such learned
and pious divines and scholars as he could intrude his hateful
presence upon, by sophistry, atheistical discourse, and challenges
to them to impugn the most scandalous theses. Desborough, one
of the most brutally ignorant men of the period, got himself
nominated the head of a college, and lost no time in cutting
down trees and plundering plate. As for Harrison, he preached
in full uniform in Saint Mary’s Church, wearing his buff-
coat, boots, and spurs, as if he were about to take the field for
the fight at Armageddon. And it was hard to say whether
that seat of Learning, Religion, and Loyalty, as it is called by
Clarendon, was more vexed by the rapine of Desborough, the
cold scepticism of Bletson, or the frantic enthusiasm of the
Fifth-Monarchy Champion.

Ever and anon soldiers, under pretence of relieving guarc
or otherwise, went and came betwixt Woodstock and Oxford,
and maintained, it may be supposed, a correspondence with
Trusty Tomkins, who, though he chiefly resided in the town of
Woodstock, visited the Lodge occasionally, and to whom, there-
fore, they doubtless trusted for information concerning the pro-
ceedings there.

Indeed, this man Tomkins seemed by some secret means
to have gained the confidence in part, if not in whole, of al-
most every one connected with these intrigues. All closeted
him, all conversed with him in private; those who had the

I,

means propitiated him with gifts, those who had not were
liberal of promises. When he chanced to appear at Wood-

stock, which always seemed as it were by accident—if he
passed through the hall, the Knight was sure to ask him to takeWOODSTOCK. 327
the foils, and was equally certain to be, after less or more resist-
ance, victorious in the encounter; so, in consideration of so
many triumphs, the good Sir Henry almost forgave him the
sins of rebellion and puritanism. Then, if his slow and formal
step was heard in the passages approaching the gallery, Dr,
Rochecliffe, though he never introduced him to his peculiar
boudoir, was sure to meet Master Tomkins in some neutral
apartment, and to engage him in long conversations, which
apparently had great interest for both.

Neither was the Independent’s reception below stairs less
gracious than above. Joceline failed not to welcome him with
the most cordial frankness ; the pasty and the flagon were put
in immediate requisition, and good cheer was the general word.
The means for this, it may be observed, had grown more plenty
at Woodstock since the arrival of Dr. Rochecliffe, who, in quali-
ty of agent for several royalists, had various sums of money at
I |. By these funds it is likely that Trusty Tomkins
so derived his own full advantage. ;

In his occasional indulgence in what he called a fleshly
frailty (and for which he said he had a privilege), which was
in truth an attachment to strong liquors, and that in no moder-
ate degree, his language, at other times remarkably decorous
and reserved, became wild and animated. He sometimes
Iked. with all the unction of an old debauchee, of former ex-
oits, such as-deer-stealing, orchard-robbing, drunken gam-
Is, and desperate affrays in which he had been engaged in
n the earlier part of his life, sung bacchanalian and amorous

‘ities, dwelt sometimes upon adventures which drove Phoebe
Mayflower from the company, and penetrated even the deaf
ears of Dame Jellicot, so as to make the buttery in which he
held his carousals no proper place for the poor old woman.

In the middle of these wild rants, Tomkins twice or thrice
suddenly ran into religious topics, and spoke mysteriously, but

=
—

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WS disposa

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cl

with great animation, and a rich eloquence, on the happy and
pre-eminent saints, who were saints, as he termed them, indeed
~—Men who had stormed the inner treasure-house of Heaven,
and possessed themselves of its choicest jewels. All other sects
he treated with the utmost contempt, as merely quarreling, as
he expressed it, like hogs over a trough about husks and acorns ;
under which derogatory terms he included alike the usual rites
and ceremonies of public devotion, the ordinances of the estab-
lished churches of Christianity, and the observances, nay, the
forbearances, enjoined by every class of Christians. Scarcely
hearing, and not at all understanding him, Joceline, who seemed
his most frequent confidant on such occasions, generally led

   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
   
  
    
   
 
 
  
 
 
      

Oi

EE —_—<iiemnabisdnnebiabaniaabiarnabeebieeeeren cee eeaoee ead ieee paneer eanne os

WOODSTOCK.

 

328

him back into some strain of rude mirth, or old recollection of
follies before the Civil Wars, without caring about or endeavor-
ing to analyze the opinion of this saint of an evil fashion, but
fully sensible of the protection which his presence afforded at
W oodstock, and confident in the honest meaning of so free-
spoken a fellow, to whom ale and brandy, when “better liquor
was not to be come by, seemed to -be principal objects of life,
and who drank a healt h to the King or any one else, whenever

required, provided the cup in which “he was to perform the liba-
tion were but a brimmer.

These peculiar doctrines, which were entertained by a sect
sometimes termed the Family of Love, but more commonly
Ranters,* had made some progress in times when such variety
of religious opinions were prevalent, that men pushed the € jar-
ring heresies to the verge of absolute and most impious insanity.
Secre y had been enjoined on these frantic believers in a most
Mae acrh cis doctrine, by the fear of consequences, should
they come to be generally announced; and it was the care of
Master Tomkins to conceal the spiritual freedom which he pre-
tended to have acquired, from all whose resentment would have
been stirred by his public avowal of it. This was not difficult:
for their profession of faith permitted, nay required, their occa-
sional conformity with the sectaries or professors of any creed
which chanced to be uppermost.

Tomkins had accordingly the art to pass himself on Dr.
Rochecliffe as still a zealous member of the Church of Eng-
land, though serving under the enemy’s colors, as a spy in their
camp; and as he had on several times given him true and
valuable intelligence, this active intriguer was the more easily
induced to believe his professi ions.

Nevertheless, lest this person’s oc basinal presence at the
Lodge, which there were perhaps no means to prevent without
exciting suspicion, should infer danger to the King’s person,
Rochecliffe, w ee confidence he otherwise reposed in him,
recommended that, if possible, the King should keep eae out
of his sight, and \ vhen accidentally discovered, that he should
only appear in the character of Louis Kerneguy. Joseph Tom-
kins, he said, was, he really believed, Honest Joe; but honesty
was a horse which might be overburdened, and there was no
use in leading our neighbors into temptation.

It seemed as if Tomkins himself had acquiesced in this
limitation of confidence exercised toward him, or that he
wished to seem blinder than he really was to the presence of

* Note D. The Familists.WOODSTOCK. 329

this stranger in the family. It occurred to Joceline, who was
a very shrewd fellow, that once or twice, when by inevitable
accident Tomkins had met Kerneguy, he seemed less interested
in the circumstance than he would have expected from the
man’s disposition, which was naturally prying and inquisitive.
‘He asked no questions about the young stranger,” said Joce-
line—‘“ God avert that he knows or suspects too much!” But
his suspicions were removed, when, in the course of their sub-
sequent conversation, Joseph Tomkins mentioned the King’s
escape from Bristol as a thing positively certain, and named
both the vessel in which, he said, he had gone off, and the
master who commanded her, seeming so convinced of the truth
of the report, that Joceline judged it impossible he could have
the slightest suspicion of the reality.

Yet, notwithstanding this persuasion, and the comradeship
which had been established between them, the faithful under-
keeper resolved to maintain a strict watch over his gossip Tom-
kins, and be in readiness to give the alarm should occasion
arise. True, he thought, he had reason to believe that his said
friend, notwithstanding his drunken and enthusiastic rants, was
as trustworthy as he was esteemed by Dr. Rochecliffe; yet still
he was an adventurer, the outside and lining of whose cloak
were of different colors, and a high reward, and pardon for
past acts of malignancy, might tempt him once more to turn
his tippet. For these reasons Joceline kept a strict though
unostentatious watch over Trusty Tomkins.

We have said, that the discreet seneschal was universally
well received at Woodstock, whether in the borough or at the
Lodge, and that even Joceline Joliffe was anxious to conceal
any suspicions which he could not altogether repress, under a
great show of cordial hospitality. ‘There were, however, two
individuals, who, for very different reasons, nourished personal
dislike against the individual so generally acceptable.

One was Nehemiah Holdenough, who remembered, with great
bitterness of spirit, the Independent’s violent intrusion into his
pulpit, and who ever spoke of him in private as a lying mission-
ary, into whom Satan had put a spirit of delusion; and
preached, besides, a solemn sermon on the subject of the
false prophet, out of whose mouth came frogs. The discourse
was highly prized by the Mayor, and most of the better class,
who conceived that their minister had struck a heavy blow at
the very rootof Independency. On the other hand, those of the
private spirit contended, that Joseph Tomkins had made a suc-
cessful and triumphant rally, in an exhortation on the evening
of the same day, in which he proved, to the conviction of manyRETA cams n see ee ai

330 WOODSTOCK.

handicraftsmen, that the passage in Jeremiah, “ The prophets
prophesy falsely, and the priests bear rule by their means,” was
directly applicable to the Presbyterian system of church govern-
ment. The clei rgymen despatched an account of his adversary’s
conduct to the Reverend Master Edwards, to be inserted in the
next edition of Gangreena, as a pestilent heretic; and Tomkins
recommended the parson to his master, Des sborough, as a good
subject on whom to impose a round fine, for vexing the pri ivate
spirit ; assuring him at the same time, that though the minister
might seem poor, yet if a few troopers were qu uartered on him till
the fine was paid, every rich shopkeeper’s wife in the borough
would rob the till, rather than go without the mammon of un-
righteousness with whichto redeem their priests from suffer-
ance ; holding, according to his expre ession, with. Laban, “ You
have taken from me my gods, and what have [more?” ‘There
was, of course, little cordiality between the polemical disputants,
when the religious debate took so worlc dly a turn.

But Joe Tomkins was much more concerned at the evil
opinion which seemed to be entertained against him, by one
whose good graces he was greatly more desirous to obtain than
those of Nehemiah Holdenough. This was no other than
pretty Mistress Phcebe Mayflower, for whose conversion he had
felt a strong vocation, ever since his lecture upon Shakspeare
on their first meeting at the Lodge. He seemed desirous,
however, to carry on this more serious work in private, and es-
pecially to conceal his labors from his friend Joceline Joliffe,
lest perchance he had been addicted to jealousy. But it was in
vain that he plied the faithful damsel, sometimes with verses
from the Canticles, sometimes with quotations from Green’s
Arcadia, or pithy passages from Venus and Adonis, and doc-
trines of a nature yet more abstruse, from the popular work en-

itled Aristotle’s Masterpiece. Unto no wooing of his, sacred
or profane, metaphysical or physical, would Phoebe Mayflower
seriously incline.

The maiden loved Joceline Joliffe, on the one hand: and
on the other, if she disliked Joseph Tomkins when she first saw
him, as a rebellious puritan, she had not been at all reconciled
by finding reason to regard him as ahypocritical libertine. She
hated him in both capacities—never endured his conversation
when she could escape from it—and when obliged to remain, lis-
tened to him only because she knew he had been so deeply
trusted, that to offend him might endanger the security of the
family, in the service of which she had been born and bred up,
and to whose interest she was devoted. For reasons somewhat
similar, she did not suffer her dislike of the steward to becomeWOODSTOCK. 331

nanifest before Jogeiive Joliffe, whose spirit as a forester anda
soldier might have been likely to bring matters to an arbitra-
ment, in which the coudeau de chasse and quarterstaff of her fav-
orite would have been too unequally matched with the long

rapier and pistols which his dangerous rival always carried
about his person. But it is dif ficult to blind jealousy when
there is any cause of doubt; and perhaps the shee watch main-
tained by Joceline on his comrade, was prompted not only by
his zeal for the King’s safety, but by some vague suspicion
that Tomkins was not ill-disposed to poach upon his own fair
manor.

Phoebe, in the meanwhile, like a prudent girl sheltered her
self as much as poss sible by the presence of Goody Jellicot.
Then indeed, it is true the Independent, or whatev er he was,
used to follow her with his addresses to very little purpose ; for
Phoebe seemed as deaf, through wilfulness, as the old matron
by natural infirmity. This indifference highly incensed her
new lover, and induced him anxiously to watch for a time and
place, in which he might plead his suit with an energy that
should command attention. Fortune, that malicious goddess,
who so often ruins us by granting the very object of our vows,
did at length procure him such an opportunity as he had long
coveted.

It was about sunset, or shortly after, when Phoebe upon whose
activity much of the domestic arrangements depended, went as
far as Fair Rosamond’s spring to obtain water for the evening
meal, or rather to gratify the prejudice of the old knight, who
believed that celebrated fountain afforded the choicest supplie
of the necessary element. Such was the respect in which he was
held by his whole family, that to neglect any of his wishes that
could be gratified, though with inconvenience to themselves,
would, in their estimation, have been almost equal to a breach
of religious duty.

To fill the pitcher had, we know, been of late a troublesome
task ; | ut Joceline’s ingenuity had so far rendered it easy, by
repairing rudely a part of the ruined front of the ancient foun-
tain, that the water-was collected, and trickling along a wooden
spout, dropped from a height of about two feet. A damsel was
thereby en abled to place her pitcher under the slowly dropping
supply, and without toil to herself, n might wait till her vessel
was filled.

Phoebe Mayflower, on the evening we allude to, saw, for the
first time, this little improveme eng; and, justly considering it as
a piece of gallantry of her sylvan admirer, designed to save her
the trouble of performing | her task in a more inconvenient man-Fs sai BADR alas eteanssanncesaboahaensseesiie ee eee edatee stabs eames

   

232 WOODSTOCK,

ner, she gratefully employed the minutes of ease which the con-
trivance procured her, in reflecting on the good-nature and in-
genuity of the ob liging engineer, Sint perhaps: in thinking he might
have done as wisely to have waited till she came to the fountain,
that he might have secured personal thanks for the trouble he
had taken. But then she knew he was detained in the buttery
with that odious Tomkins, and rather than have seen the In-
dependent along with him, she would have renounced the
thought of meeting Joceline.
As she was thus reflecting, Fortune was malicious enough to
send Tomkins to the fountain, and without Joceline. W hen
she saw his figure darken the p ath up which he came, an anxious
reflection came over the poor maiden’s breast, that she was
alone, and within the verge of the forest, where in general per-
sons were prohibited to come during the twi ilight, for disturbing
the deer settling to their repose. She encour raged herself, how:
ever, and resolved to show no sense of fear, although, as the
steward approached, there was something in the man’s look and
eye noiway calculated to allay her apprehensions.

Che blessings of the evening upon you, my Seee maiden,”
he s eh ‘I meet you even as the chief servant of Abrah 1am,
who was a steward like myself, met Rebecca, the daughter of
Bethuel, the son of Milcah, at the well of the city of Nahor, in
Mesopotamia. Shall I not, therefore €, Say to you, Set down
thy pitcher that I may drink?”

aT, he pitcher is at your service, Master Tomkins,” she
cer lied, “and you may drink as much as you will; but you
have, I warrant, drunk better liquor, and that not long since.’

It was, indeed, obvious that the steward had arisen from a
revel, for his featurestwere somewhat flushed, t though he had
stopped far short of intoxication. But Phcebe’s alarm at his
first appearance was rather increased when she observed how
he had been lately emp dloyed.

“I do but use my privilege, my pretty Rebecca ; the earth is
given to the saints, and the fulness thereof. They sh: all occupy
and enjoy it, both the riches of the mine, and the tre easures of
the vine; and they shall rejoice, and their hearts be merry
ae them. Thou hast yet to learn the privileges of the

aints, my Rebecca.”

‘““My name is Pheebe,” said the maiden, in order to sober
the enthusiastic rapture which he either felt or a ffected.

Phoebe after the flesh,” he said, “but Rebecca being
spiritualized ; for art thou not a wandering and a stray sheep ?
—and am I not sent to fetch thee within the fold ?>—Where.WOODSTOCK, 333

fore else was it said, Thou shalt find her seated by the well, in
the wood which is called after the ancient harlot, Rosamond ?”

“Vou have found me sitting here, sure enough,” said Phoebe ;
“but if you wish to keep me company, you must walk to the
Lodge with me ; and you shall carry my pitcher for me, if you
will be so kind. I will hear all the good things you have to
say to me as we go along. But Sir Henry calls for his glass of
water regularly before prayers.”

“What!” exclaimed Tomkins, “hath the old man of bloody
hand and perverse heart sent thee hither to do the work of a
bondswoman? Verily thou shalt return enfranchised ; and for
the water thou hast drawn for him, it shall be poured forth,
even as David caused to be poured forth the water of the well
of Bethlehem.”

So saying he emptied the water pitcher, in spite of Phoebe’s
exclamations and entreaties. He then replaced the vessel
beneath the little conduit, and continued :—“ Know that this
shall bea token tothee. The filling of that pitcher shall be hike
the running of a sand-glass ; and if within the time which shall
pass ere it rises to the brim, thou shalt listen to the words which I
shall say to thee, then it shall be well with thee, and thy place
shall be high among those who, forsaking the instruction which
is as milk for babes and sucklings, eat the strong food which
nourishes manhood. But if the pitcher shall overbrim with
water ere thy ear shall hear and understand, thou shalt then be
given as a prey, and as a bondsmaiden, unto those who shall
possess the fat and the fair of the earth.”

“ You frighten me, Master Tomkins,” said Phoebe, “ though
I am sure you do not mean to do so. I wonder how you dare
speak words so like the good words in the Bible, when you
know how you laughed at your own master, and ‘all the resi
of them—when you helped to play the hobgoblins at the
Lodge.

“ Think’st thou then, thou simple fool, that in putting that
deceit upon Harrison and the rest, I exceeded my privileges ?—
Nay, verily. Listen to me, foolish girl. When in former days
I lived the most wild, malignant, rakehell in Oxfordshire, fre-
quenting wakes and fairs, dancing around Maypoles, and show-
ing my lustihood at football and cudgel-playing—Yea, when I
was called, in the language of the uncircumcised, Philip Hazel-
dine, and was one of the singers in the choir, and one of the
ringers in the steeple, and served the priest yonder, by name
Rochecliffe, I was not further from the straight road than when,
after long reading, I at length found one blind guide after
another, all burners of brick in Egypt. I left them one by one,rarest a ee

   

334 WOODSTOCK.

the poor tool Harrison being the last; and by my own unas.
sisted strength I have struggled forward to the broad and
blessed light, whereof thou too, Phoebe; shall be partaker.”

““T thank you, Master Tomkins,” said P pede, suppressing
some fear under an appearance of indifference ; “but I shall
have light enough to carry home my pitcher, wor ald you but let
me take it; and that is all the want of light I shall have this
evening.”

So saying, she stooped to take the pitcher from the fountain;
but he snatched hold of her by the arm, and prevented her
from accomplishing her purpose. Phoebe, however, was the
daughter of a bold forester, prompt at though its of self-defence ;
and “though she missed getting hold of the pitcher, she caught
up instead a large pebb le, which she kept concealed in her right
hand.

“Stand up, foolish maiden, and listen,” said the Inde pendent,
sternly ; “and know, in one word, that sin, for which a spirit
of man is punished with the vengeance of Heaven, lieth not in
the seni act, but in the thought of the sinner. Believe,
lovely Phoebe, that to the pure all acts are sigs and that sin is
in our thought, not in our actions—even as the radiance of the
day is dark to a blind man, but seen and ee by him
whose eyes receive it. To him who is but a novice in the
things of the spirit, much is enjoined, much is prohibited; and
he is fed with milk fit for babes,—for him are ordinances, pro-
hibitions, and commands. But the saint is above these ordi-
nances and restraints.—To him, as to the chosen child of the
house, is given the pass-key to open all locks which withhold
him from the enjoyment of his heart’s desire. Into such
pleasant paths will I guide thee, lovely Phcebe, as shall unite in
joy, in innocent freedom, pleasures, which to the unprivileged
are sinful and prohibited.”

“I really wish, Master Tomkins, you would let me £0
home.” said Phcebe, not comprehending the nature of his doc-
trine, but disliking at once his words andhis manner. He went
on, however, with the accursed and blasphemous doctrines
which, in common with others of the pretended saints, he had
adopted, after having long shifted from one sect to another,
until he settled in the vil e belief, that sin, being of a character
exclusively nua, only existed in the thoughts, and that the

worst actions were permitted to those who had attained to the
pitch of believing themselves above ordinance. “ Thus, my
Phoebe,” he continued, endeay oring to draw her toward him,
“I can offer thee more than ever was held out to a woman since
Adam first took his bride by the hand, It shall be for others toWOODSTOCK.

stand dry-lipped, doing penance, like papists, by abstinence,
Ween the ve BEI of seta pours forth its delights. Dost thou

ove money ?—TI have it, and can proc

ure More

      

am. at liberty

to procure it on every hand and by every means—the earth is

mine and its rik pao Do you desire

poor cheated commissioner-fellows’ estates dost thou covet, |

will work it out Eon thee ; for I deal wi

any of them. And it is not without w

power ?—which of these
th a mightier spirit than
arrant that I have aided

the malignant Rochecliffe, and the clown Joliffe, to frighten and
baffle them in the guise they did. Ask what thou wilt, Phoebe,

J can give, or I can procure it for s

D>
into a life of delight in this world,

oC
2

ee—Then enter with me
vhich shall prove but an

anticipation of the joys of ee ee Le
ica

Again the fanatical vi iia ry end

eavored to pull the poor

girl toward him, while she, alarmed, but nots scared out of her

presence of mind, endeavored, by fai

r entreaty, to prevail on

him torelease her. But his features, in themselves not marked,

had acquired a frightful expression,
Phoebe—do not think to escape

 

and he exclaimed, ‘ No,

thou art giv en to me as 2

Eanleeeea ne hast neglected the hour of grace, and it has

ided past—See, the water trickles ov

er thy pitcher, which was

to be a sign between us—Therefore I will urge thee no more
with words, of which thou art not worthy, but treat thee as

a recusant of offered grace.”
‘Master Tomkins,” said Phoebe,

in an imploring tone,

‘“consider, for God’s sake, I ama fat! herless chilc fame me no

injury, it would be a shame to your str

engih and your manhood

—I cannot understé and your fine words—I will think on them
¢ill to-morrow.” Then, in rising resentment, she added more

vehemently —“ I Ww
you a mischief,”

]
T

il not be ead rudely—st and off, or I will do
sut, as he pressed upon her with a violence,

of which the abject could not be mistaken, and endeavored to

secure her right hand, she exclaimed,
wanion to you! ’’—and struck him an
the face, with the pebble which she
extremity.

‘ Take it then, with a
almost stunning Salcat on
held ready for such an

The fanatic let her go, and staggered backward, half stupef hed;
while Phoebe instan atly betook herself to flight, screaming for

help as she ran, but still grasping the
tated to frenzy by the severe blow

victorious pebble. Irri
which he had received,

Tomkins pursued, with every black passion in his soul, and in

his face, mingled with fear lést his “all
He called on Phoebe loudly to stop,

any should be eau 2d.
and had the brutality to

menace her with one of his pistols if she continued to fly. ‘Yet

she slacked not her pace for his thr

eats, and he must eitherP

 

ee eee SEY SOS RRC POET RRR NY gS

i

el I mp

:
i

S
i

336 WOODSTOCK.

have executed them, or seen her escape to carry the tale to the
Lodge, had she not unhappily stumbled over the projecting root
ofafirtree. But ashe rushed upon his prey, rescue interposed in
the person of Joceline Joliffe with his quarterstaff on his shoulder.
“Flow now ? what means this ?” he said, stepping between Phoebe
and her pursuer. Tomkins, already roused to fury, made no
other answer than by discharging at Joceline the pistol which
he held in his hand. The ball grazed the under-keeper’s face,
who, in requital of the assault, and saying, “‘ Aha! let ash answer
iron,” applied his quarterstaff with so much force to the Inde-
pendent’s head, that, lighting on the left temple, the blow proved
almost instantly mortal.

A few convulsive struggles were accompanied with these
broken words,—‘ Joceline—I am gone—but I forgive thee—
Doctor Rochecliffe—I wish I had minded more—Oh !—the
clergyman—the funeral service’””——As he uttered these words,
indicative, it may be, of his return to a creed, which, perhaps,
he had never abjured so thoroughly as he had persuaded him-
self, his voice was lost in a groan, which, rattling in the throat,
seemed unable to find its way to the air. These were the last
symptoms of life; the clenched hands presently relaxed—the
closed eyes opened, and stared on the heavens a lifeless jelly—
the limbs extended themselves and stiffened. The body, which
was lately animated with life, was now a lump of senseless clay
—the soul, dismissed from its earthly tenement in a moment so
unhallowed, was gone before the judgment-seat.

‘Oh, what have you done ?—what have you done, Joceline? ”
exclaimed Phoebe ; “you have killed the man !”

‘‘ Better than he should have killed me,” answered Joceline ?”
“for he was none of the blinkers that miss their mark twice
running.—And yet Iam sorry for him.—Many a merry bout
have we had together when he was wild Philip Hazeldine, and
then he was bad enough; but since he daubed over his vices
with hypocrisy, he seems to have proved worse devil than
eye”

‘“Oh, Joceline, come away,” said poor Phoebe, “ and do not
stand gazing on him thus ;” for the woodsman, resting on his
fatal weapon, stood looking down on the corpse with the appear-
ance of a man half stunned at the event.

“"This comes of the ale-pitcher, she continued, in the true
style of female consolation, “as I have often told you—For
Heaven’s sake, come to the Lodge, and let us consult what is to
be done.”

“ Stay, first girl, and let me drag him out of the path ; weWOODSTOCK. 337
must not have him lie here in all men’s sight—Will you not
help me, wench?”

“T cannot Joceline—I would not touch a lock on him for all
Woodstock.”

“T must to this gear myself, then,” said Joceline, who, a
soldier as well as a woodsman, still had great reluctance to the
necessary task. Something in the face and broken words of the
dying man had made a deep and terrific impression on nerves
not easily shaken. He accomplished it, however, so far as to
drag the late steward out of the open path, and bestow his body
amongst the undergrowth of brambles and briers, so as not to
be visible unless particularly looked after. He then returned
to Phcebe, who had sat speechless all the while beneath the
tree over whose roots she had stumbled.

“ Come away, wench,” he said, “come away to the Lodge,
and let us study how this.is to be answered for—the mishap of
his being killed will strangely increase our danger. What had
he sought of thee, wench, when you ran from him like a mad-
woman ?—But I can guess—Phil was always a devil among
the girls, and, I think, as Doctor Rochecliffe says, that since
he turned saint, he took to himself seven devils worse than
himself—Here is the very place where I saw him, with his
sword in his hand raised against the old knight, and he a child
of the parish—it was high treason at least—but, by my faith,
he hath paid for it at last.”

“But, oh, Joceline,” said Phoebe, “how could you take so
wicked a man into your counsels, and join him in all his plots
about scaring the roundhead gentlemen s

“Why, look thee, wench, I thought I knew him at the first
meeting, especially when Bevis, who was bred here when he
was a dog-leader, would not fly at him; and when we made up
our old acquaintance at the Lodge, I found he kept up a close
correspondence with Doctor Rochecliffe, who was persuaded
that he was a good King’s man, and held consequently good
intelligence with him.—The Doctor boasts to have learned
much through his means ,; I wish to Heaven he may not have
been as communicative in turn.”

“ Oh Joceline,” said the waiting-woman, ‘you should never
have let him within the gate of the Lodge!”

“No more I would, if I had known how to keep him out :
but when he went so frankly into our scheme, and told me how
I was to dress myself like Robinson the player, whose ghost
haunted Harrison—I wish no ghost may haunt me !—when he
taught me how to bear myself to terrify his lawful master, what
could I think, wench? I only trust the Doctor has kept the

wet Stree

4
a - mH 5
i iaaneesncssxsTne ree ee eee

as

338 WOODSTOCK,

great secret of all from his knowledge.—But here we are at the
Lodge. Go to tl vy chamber, enc , and compose thyself. a
must seek out Doctor Rocheclif ffe he is ever talking of his
quick and ready invention. Here. come times, I think, that
will demand it all.”

Phoebe went to her chamber accordingly ; but the strength
arising from the pressure of danger giving way when the dange “5
was removed, she quickly fell into a succession of hysterical
fits, which re quired the constant attention of Dame Jel licot, and
the less alarmed, but more judicious care of Mistress Alice,
before they even ‘ab ated in their rapid recurrence.

The under-keeper carried his news to the politic Doctor,
who was extremely disconcerted, alarmed, nay angry with Joce-
line, for having slain a person on whose communications he
had accustomed himself to rely, Yet his looks declared his
suspicion, whether his confidence had not been too rash uly con-
ferred—a suspicion which pressed him the more > anxiously, that
he was unwilli: ng to avow it, as a derogation from his character
for shrewdness, on which he valued himself.

Dr. Rochecliffe’s reliance, however, on the fidelity of Tom-
kins, had apparently good grounds . Before the Civil Wars, as
may be partly collected from what h: as been already hinted at,
Tomkins, under his true name of Hazeldine, had been under
the protection of the Rector of Woodstock, occasionally acted
as his clerk, was a distinguished member of his choir, and,
being a handy and ingenious fellow, was employed in assisting
the antiquarian researches of Dr. Rochecliffe through the
interior of Woodstock. When he engaged in the opposite side
in the Civil Wars, he still kept up his intelligence with the
divine, to whom he had afforded what seemed valuable informa-
tion from time to time. His assistance had latterly been
eminently useful in aiding the Doctor, with the assistance of
Joceline and Pheebe, in contrivi ng and executing the various
devices by which the Parli iamentary Commissioners had been
expelled from Woodstock. Indeed, his services in this respect

had been thought worthy of no less a reward than a present of
what plate remained at the Lodge, which had been promised to
the Independent accordingly. The Doctor, therefore, while
admitting he might be a bad man, regretted him as a useful
one, w hose death, if inquired after, was lik ely to bring additional
danger on a house which danger already surrounded, and
which contained a pledge so precious,WOODSTOCK.

CHAPTER THIRTIETH.

Cassio.—T hat thrust had been my enemy indeed,
But that my coat is better than thou know’st.
OTHELLO,

On the dark October night succeeding the evening on which
Tomkins was slain, Colonel Everard, besides his constant at-
tendant Roger Wildrake, had Master Nehemiah Holdenough
with him as a guest at supper. The devotions of the evening
having been performed according to the Presbyterian fashion,
a light entertainment and a double quart of burnt claret, were
placed before his friends at nine o’clock, an hour unusually
late. Master Holdenough soon engaged himself in a polemi-
cal discourse against Sectaries and Independents, without being
aware that his eloquence was not very interesting to his princi-
pal hearer, whose ideas in the meanwhile wandered to Wood-
stock and all which it contained-—-the Prince, who lay con-
cealed there—his uncle—above all, Alice Lee. As for Wild-
rake, after bestowing a mental curse both on Sectaries and
Presbyterians, as being, in his opinion, never a barrel the
better herring, he stretched out his limbs, and would probably
have composed himself to rest, but that he as well as his patron
had thoughts which murdered sleep.

The party were waited upon by a little gypsy-looking boy, in
an orange-tawny doublet, much decayed, and garnished with
blue worsted lace. The rogue looked somewhat stinted in size,
but active both in intelligence and in limb, as his black eyes
seemed to promise by their vivacity. He was an attendant of
Wildrake’s choice, who had conferred on him the om de guerre
of Spitfire, and had promised him promotion so soon as his
young protégé, Breakfast, was fit to succeed him in his present
office. It need scarce be said that the menage was maintained
entirely at the expense of Colonel Everar 1, who allowed Wild-
rake to arrange the household very much according to his
pleasure. ‘The page did not omit, in offering the company wine
from time to time, to accommodate Wildrake with about twice
the number of opportunities of refreshing himself which he con-
sidered it necessary to afford to the Colonel or his reverend
guest. a : :

While they were thus engaged, the good divine lost in_ his
own argument, and the hearers, in their private thoughts, their
attention was about half-past ten arrested by a knocking at the

bs oD
b * . TP PAT
{Sa Renter Tso SLSe ee TAREE RS Seba SLAM aM RNA aa AL See loeat akan osecie

*

  

340 WOODSTOCK.

door of the house. To those who have anxious hearts, trifles
give cause of alarm.

Even a thing so simple as a knock at the door may have a
character which excites apprehension. ‘This was no quiet gentle
tap, intimating a modest intruder ; ; no redoubled rattle, as the
pompous annunciation of some vain person, neither did it re-
semble the formal summons to formal business, nor the cheer-
ful visit of some welcome friend. It was a single blow, solemn
and stern, if not ae eae menacing in the Sond! The door
was opened by some of the persons of the house; a heavy foot
ascended the stair, a stout man entered the room, and dr awing
the cloak from his face, said, “Markham Ev erard, Le erect
thee in God’s name.”

It was General Cromwell.

Everard, surprised and taken at unawares, endeavored in
vain to find words to express his astonishment. <A bustle oc-
curred in receiving the general, assisting him to uncloak him-
self, and offering in dumb show the civ ilities of reception. The
General cast his keen eye around the ae Sa and fixing it
first on the divine, addressed Everard as follows

A reverend man I see is with thee. Thou art not one of
those, good Markham, who let the time unnoted and unim-
proved pass away. Casting aside the things of this world—
pressing forward to those of the next—it is by thus using our
time in this poor seat of terrestrial sin and care, that we may,
as it were But how is this ?”’ he continued, suddenly chang-
ing his tone, and speaking briefly, sh 1arply, and anxiously ; “ one
hath left the room since I entered ?’

Wildrake had, indeed, been absent for a minute or two, but
had now returned, and ste pped forward from a bay-window, as
if he had been out of sight only, not out of the apartment.
“Not so, sir, I stood but in the background out of respect.
Noble General, 1 hope all is well with the Estate, that your
Excellency makes us so late a visit ? Would not your E xcellency
choose some ”’

“Ah!” said Oliver, looking sternly and fixedly at ae
“Our trusty Go-between—our faithful confidant.—No, sir; at
present I desire nothing more than a kind reception, which,
methinks, my friend Mark ham Everard is in no hurry to give

c

 

 

39

me.

‘You bring your own welcome, my lord,” said Everard,
compelling himself to speak. I can only trust it was no bad
news that made your Excellency a late traveler, and ask, like

my follower, wh at refreshment I shall comm: ind for your ac-
commodation,”WOODSTOCK. 341

“ The State is sound and healthy, Colonel Everard,” said the
General ; “ and yet the less so, that many of its members, who
have been hitherto workers together, and propounders of good
counsel, and advancers of the public weal, have now waxed cold
in their love and in their affection for the Good Cause, for which
we should be ready, in our various degrees, to act and do so
soon as we are called to act that whereunto we are appointed,
neither rashly nor over-slothfully, neither lukewarmly nor over-
violently, but with such a frame and disposition in which zeal
and charity may, as it were, meet and kiss each other in our
streets. Howbeit, because we look back after we have put oul
hand to the plough, therefore is our force waxed dim.”

‘Pardon me, sir,’ said Nehemiah Holdenough, who listening
with some impatience, began to guess in whose company
he stood—‘ Pardon me, for unto this I have a warrant to
speak.”

“Ah! ah!’ said Cromwell. ‘Surely, most worthy sir, we
grieve the Spirit when we restrain those nourings forth, which,
like water from a rock ”

‘Nay, therein I differ from you, sir,” said Holdenough ;
“for as there is the mouth to transmit the food, and the profit
to digest what Heaven hath sent ; so is the preacher ordained
to teach and the people to hear; the shepherd to gather the
flock into the sheepfold, the sheep to profit by the care of the
shepherd.”

“ Ah! my worthy sir,” said Cromwell with much unction,
“methinks you verge upon the great mistake, which supposes
that churches are tall large houses built by masons, and hearers
are men—wwealthy men, who pay tithes, the larger as well as the
less; and that the priests, men in black gowns or gray cloaks,
who receive the same, are in guerdon the only distributors of
Christian blessings ; whereas, in my apprehension, there is more
of Christian liberty in leaving it to the discretion of the hungry
soul to seek his edification where it can be found, whether from
the mouth of a lay teacher, who claimeth his warrant from
Heaven alone, or at the dispensation of those who take ordina-
tion and degrees from synods and universities, at best but as.
sociations of poor sinful creatures like themselves.”

‘You speak you know not what, sir,” replied Holdenough
impatiently. “Can light come out of darkness, sense out of
ignorance, or knowledge of the mysteries of religion from such
ignorant mediciners as give poisons instead of wholesome
medicaments, and cram with filth the stomachs of such as seek
to them for food?” This, which the Presbyterian divinePSRs cere ananduaboaiaaieenaisoe eer
iN

342 WOODSTOCK.

uttered rather warmly, the General answered with tne utmost
-mildness.

“ Lack-a-day, lack-a-day ! a learned man, but intemperate :
over-zeal hath eaten him up.—A-well-a-day, sir, you may talk
of your regular gospel-meals, but a word spoken in season by
one whose heart is with your heart, just perhaps, when you
are riding on to encounter an enemy, or are about to mount a
breach, is tothe poor spirit like a rasher on the coals, which
the hungry shall find preferable to a great banquet, at such
times when the full soul loatheth the honey-comb. Neverthe-
less, although I speak thus in my poor judgment, I would not
put force on the conscience of any man, leaving to the learned
to follow the learned, and the wise to be instructed by the wise,
while poor simple wretched souls are not to be denied a drink
from the stream which runneth by the way.—Ay, verily, it will
be a comely sight in England when men shall go oh as ina
better world, bearing with each other’s infirmities, joining in
each other’s comforts—Ay, truly, the rich drink out of silver
flagons, and goblets of silver, the poor out of paltry bowls of
wood—and even so let it be, since they both drink the same
element.”

Here an officer opened the door and looked in, to whom
Cromwell, exchanging the canting drawl, in which it seemed he
might have gone on interminably, for the short brief tone of
action, called out, “‘ Pearson, is he come? ”

‘No, sir,” replied Pearson ; “we have inquired for him at
the place you noted, and also at other haunts of his about the
town.”

“The knave !” said Cromwell, with bitter emphasis; ‘can

he have proved false ?—No, no, his interest is too deeply en-
gaged. We shall find him by and by.—Hark thee hither,”
_ While this conversation was going forward, the reader must
imagine the alarm of Everard. He was certain that the per-
sonal attendance of Cromwell must be on some most important
account, and he could not but strongly suspect that the General
had some information respecting Charles’s lurking-place. If
taken, a renewal of the tragedy of the 30th of January was
instantly to be apprehended, and the ruin of the whole family
of Lee, with himself probably included, must be the necessary
consequence.

He looked eagerly for consolation at Wildrake, whose coun-
tenance expressed much alarm, which he endeavored to bear
out with his usual look of confidence. But the weight within
was too great ; he shuffled with his feet, rolled his eyes, andWOODSTOCK. 343

twisted his hands, like an unassured witness before an acute
and not to be deceived judge.

Oliver, meanwhile, left his company not a minute’s leisure
to take counsel together. Even while his perplexed eloquence
flowed on in a stream so mazy that no one could discover which
way its course was tending, his sharp watchful eye rendered all
attempts of Everard to hold communication with Wildrake, even
by signs, altogether vain. Everard, indeed, looked, for an instant
at the window, then glanced at Wildrake, as if to hint there
might be a possibility to escape that way. But the cavalier
had replied with a disconsolate shake of the head, so slight as
to be almost imperceptible. Everard, therefore, lost all hope
and the meijancholy feeling of approaching and inevitable evil,
was only varied by anxiety concerning the shape and manner in
which it was about to make its approach.

But Wildrake had a spark of hope left. The very instant
Cromwell entered he had got out of the room, and down to the
door of the house. ‘ Back—back!” repeated by two armed
sentinels, convinced him that, as his fears had anticipated, the
General had come neither unattended nor unprepared. He
turned on his heel, ran up stairs, and meeting on the landing-
place the boy whom he called ee hurried him into the small
apartment which he occupied as his own. Wildrake had been
shooting that morning, and game lay on the table. He pulled
a feather from a woodcock’s wing, and saying hastily, “ For thy
life, Spitfire, mind my orders—I will put thee safe out at the
win oy into the court—the yard wall is not hig! y—and there
will be no sentry there—Fly to the Lodge, as thou wouldst win

Heaven, and give this feather to Mistress Alice Lee, if possible
—if not, to Joceline Joliffe—say I have won the wager of the
young lady. Dost mark me, boy ? %

The sharp-witted youth clapped his hand in his master’s, and
only replied, ‘ Done, and done.”

‘Wildrake opened the window, and, though the height was
considerable, he contrived to let the boy d lown safely by ‘holding
his cloak, A heap of straw on which Spitfire lighte d rendered
the descent perfe ae safe, and W ildrake saw him scramble over
the wall of the courtyard, at the angle which bore ona back
lane ; and so rapidly was this accomplished, that the cavaher
had just re-entered the room, when, the bustle attending Crom-
well’s arrival subsiding, his own absence began to be noticed.

He remained during Cromwell's lecture on the vanity of
creeds, anxious 1s mind whether he might not have done better
to send an explicit verbal message, since there was no time to
write. But the chance of the boy being stopped, or becoming

La oameewncrr ttt ty244 WOODSTOCK,

confused with feeling himself the messenger of a hurried and
important communication, made him, on the whole, glad that he
had preferred a more enigmatical way of conveying the
intelligence. He had, th erefore, the advantage of his patron,
for he was conscious still of a S park of hope.

Pearson had scarce shut fhe door, when Holdenough, as
ready in arms against the future Dictator as he had been prompt
to encounter the supposed phantoms and fiends of Woodstock
resumed his attack upon the schismatics, whom he undertook
to prove to be at once soul-slayers, false brethren, and false
messengers ; and was proceeding to allege texts in behalf of his
proposition, when Cromwell, apparently tired of the discussion,
aa desirous to introduce a discourse more accordant with his

eal feelings, interrupted him, though very civilly, and took the
ee ee | into his own hands

‘ Lack-a-day,” he said, “‘ th 1e good man speaks truth, accord-
ng to his knowledge and to his lights ,—ay, bitter truths, and

hard to be digested, while we see as men see, and not with the
eyes of angels.—False messengers, said the reverend man ?—
y, truly, the world is full of such. You shall see them who
will carry your secret message to the house of your mortal foe,
and will say to thm, ‘Lo! my master is going forth with a
small train, by such and such desolate places ; be you speedy,
therefore, that you may arise and slay him.’ And another, who
knoweth where the foe of your house, and enemy of your
person, a hidden, shall, instead of telling his master thereof,
carry tidings to the enemy even where he lurketh, saying, ‘ Lo
my master eis of your secret abode—up now, and ‘fly, lest

he come on thee like a lion on his prey.’—But shall this go
without Ve teaan ” looking at Wildrake with a withering
glance. ‘ Now, as my soul live eth, and as He liveth who h ath

made me ruler in Israel, such false messengers shall be knitted
to gibbets on the wayside, and their right hands shall be nailed
above their heads, in an ‘extended position, as if pointing out
to others the road from which they themselv es have strayed!”
“Surely,” said Master Holdenough, “itis right to cut off
such offenders,’
“Thank ye, Mass-John,” muttered Wildrake; “when did
the Presbyterian fail to lend the devil a shove?”

‘‘ But, I say,” continued Hol lenough, ‘‘that the matter 1s
estranged from our present purpose, for the false brethren of
whom I spoke are’
“ Right, excellent sir, they be those of our own house,”
answered Cromwell; ‘ ‘the good man is right once more. Ay,
of whom can we now say that he i is a true ‘brother, although heWOODSTOCK. 345

has lain in the same womb with us? Although we have
struggled in the same cause, ate at the same table, fought in
the same battle, worshiped at the same throne, there shall be
no truth in him.—Ah, Markham Everard, Markham Everard!”

He paused at this ejaculation; and Everard, desirous at
once of knowing. how far he stood committed, replied, ‘“ Your
Excellency seems to have something in your mind in which I]
am concerned. May I request you will speak it out, that I may
know what I am accused of?”

“Ah, Mark, Mark,” replied the General, ‘there needeth no
accuser speak when the still small voice speaks within us. Is
there not moisture on thy brow, Mark Everard? Is there not
trouble in thine eye? Is there not a failure in thy frame ? And
who ever saw such things in noble and stout Markham Everard,
whose brow was only moist after having worn the helmet for a
summer’s day ; whose hand only shook when it had wielded for
hours the heavy falchion?—But go to, man! thou doubtest
over much. Hast thou not been to me as a brother, and shall
I not forgive thee even the seventy-seventh time? The knave
hath tarried somewhere, who should have done by this time an
office of such import. Take advantage of his absence, Mark ;
it is a grace that God gives thee beyond expectance. I do not
say, fall at my feet; but speak to me as a friend to his friend.”

“T have never said anything to your Excellency that was in
the least undeserving the title you have assigned to me,” said
Colonel Everard, proudly.

“Nay, nay, Markham,” answered Cromwell; “I say not
you have. But—but you ought to have remembered the mes-
sage I sent you by that person ”’ (pointing to Wildrake) ; “and
you must reconcile it with your conscience, how, having such a
message, guarded with such reasons, you could think yourself
at liberty to expel my friends from Woodstock, being deter-
mined to disappoint my object, whilst you availed yourself of
the boon, on condition of which my warrant was issued.”

Everard was about to reply, when, to his astonishment, Wild-
rake stepped forward ; and with a voice and look very different
from his ordinary manner, and approaching a good deal to real
dignity of mind, said, boldly and calmly, “ You are mistaken
Master Cromwell; and address yourself to the wrong party
here...

The speech was so sudden and intrepid that Cromwell
stepped a pace back, and motioned with his right hand toward
his weapon, as if he had expected that an address of a nature
so unusually bold was to be followed by some act of violence.
He instantly resumed his indifferent posture ; and, irritated at

 

Ceany

Cal

F. saan oeenisa crushed aeeaeeeeees a eea vane taee

346 WOODSTOCK.

a smile which he observed on Wildrake’s countenance, he said,
with the dignity of one long accustomed to see all tremble be-
fore him, “ ‘This to me, fellow! Know you to whom you speak ?”?

“Fellow!” echoed Wildrake, whose reckless humor was now
completely set afloat——‘‘ No fellow of yours, Master Oliver. I
have known the day when Roger Wildrake of Squattlesea-mere,
Lincoln, a handsome young gallant, with a good estate, would
have been thought no fellow of the bankrupt brewer of Hunt
ingdon.”

‘Be silent!” said Everard; “be silent, Wildrake, if you
love your life!”

‘I care not a maravedi for my life,” said Wildrake. “ Zounds,
if he dislikes what I say, let him take to his tools! I know,
after all, he hath good blood in his veins; and I will indulge
him with a turn in the court yonder, had he been ten times a
brewer.”

‘Such ribaldry, friend,” said Oliver, “I treat with the con-
tempt it deserves. But if thou hast anything to say touching
the matter in question, speak out like a man, though thou
look’st more like a beast.”

‘All I have to say is,” replied Wildrake, “that whereas
you blame Everard for acting on your warrant, as you call it,
Ican tell you he knew not a word of the rascally conditions
you talk of. I took care of that; and you may take the ven-
geance on me if you list.”

“Slave! dare you tell this to mc?” said Cromwell, still
heedfully restraining his passion, which he felt was about to
discharge itself upon an unworthy object.

“Ay, you will make every Englishman a slave, if you have
your own way,” said Wildrake, not a whit abashed ;—for the
awe which had formerly overcome him when alone with this
remarkable man, had vanished, now that they were engaged in
an altercation before witnesses.—‘ But do your worst, Master
Oliver; I tell you beforehand, the bird has escaped you.”

‘You dare not say so !—-Escaped ?—So ho! Pearson! tell
the soldiers to mount instantly.—Thou art a lying fool !—
“scaped ?—Where, or from whence?”

“Ay, that is the question,” said Wildrake ; “for look you,
sir—that men do go from hence is certain—but how they go,
or to what quarter ””-——

Cromwell stood attentive, expecting some useful hint from
the careless impetuosity of the cavalier, upon the route which
the King might have taken.

—“Or to what quarter, as I said before, why, your Excel
lency, Master Oliver, may e’en find that out yourself.”WOODSTOCK. 34%

As he uttered the last words he unsheathed his rapier, and
made a full pass at the General’s Cae Had his sword met
no other ups nn than the buff jerkin, Cromwell’s course
had. ended on the spot ‘But fear of such attempts, the
General wore under his military dress a shirt of the finest mail,
made of rings of the best steel, and so light and flexible that it
was little or no encumbrance to the motions of the wearer. It
proved his safety on this occasion, for the rapier sprung in
shivers; while the owner, now held back by Everard and
Holdenough, flung the hilt with passion on the ground, ex-
claiming, “ Be damned the hand that forged thee To serve
me so long, and fail me when thy true service would have hon-
ored us both forever! But no good could come of thee, since
thou wert pointed, even in jest, at a learned divine of the
Church of England.”

Yr
oD
6

In the first instant of alarm, and perl laps suspecting Wild-
rake might be supported by ae Cromwell half drew from
his bosom a concealed pistol, which he hastily returned, observ-

1

ing that both Everard and the clergyman were withholdi ing the
cavalier from another attempt.

Pearson co a soldier or two rushed in—‘ Secure that
fellow,” said the General, in the indifferent tone of one to whom
imminent « : was too familiar to cause irritation— Bind
him—but not so hard, Pearson;” for the men, to show their
zeal, were drawing their belts, which they used for want of

cords, brutally tight round Wildrake’s limbs. “ He would have

assi assinat ed me, but I would reserve him for his fit doom.’
1!—I scorn your words, Master Oliver,” said

Wildrake ; “I proffered you a fair duello

‘¢ Shall we shoot him in the street, for an example!” said
Pearson to Cromwell; while Everard endeavored to stop Wild-
rake from giving further offence

“On your life harm him not; but let him be kept in safe
ward, and well looked after,” said Cromwell ; while the prisoner
exclaimed to Everard, “I prithee let me alone—I am now
neither thy follower, nor any man’s, and I am = willing to die
as ever I was to take a cup of liquor—And hark ye, speaking
of that, Master Oliver, you were once a jolly fellow, prithee let
one of thy lobsters here advance yonder tankard to my lips,
and your Excellency shall hear a toast, a song, and a—secret.”’

“Unloose his head, and hand the del bauched beast the
tankard,” said Oliver; ‘‘ while yet he exists, it were a shame to
refuse him the element he lives in.”

“Blessings on your head for once,” said Wildrake, whose
object in continuing this wild discourse was, if possible, to gain

CL
dé

Assassinatec

39Sn ee TERE Rahbusnh NebddsekasbhaMiOi Wabrereehbsdoduak oes Solna benbemen reece

348 WOODSTOCK,

a little delay, when every moment was precious. “Thou hast
brewed good ale, and that’s warrant for a blessing. For my
teast, and my song, here they go together—

Son of a witch,
Mayst thou die in a ditch,
With the butchers who backed thy quarrels ;
And rot above ground,
While the world shall resound
A welcome to Royal King Charles.

And now for my secret, that you may not say I had your liquor
for nothing—I fancy my song will scarce pass current for much
—My secret is, Master Cromwell—that the bird has flown—
and your red nose will be as white as your winding-sheet before
you can smell out which way.”

‘“‘Pshaw, rascal,” answered Cromwell, contemptuously,
“keep your scurrile jests for the gibbet foot.”

“I shall look on the gibbet more boldly,” replied Wild-

7

rake, “than I have seen you look on the Royal Martyr’s pict-
ure.”

This reproach touched Cromwell to the very quick.—‘ Vil-
lain!” he exclaimed ; “ drag him hence, draw out a party, and

But hold, not now—to prison with him—let him be close
watched and gagged, if he attempts to speak to the sentinels—
Nay, hold— I mean, put a bottle of brandy into his cell, and he
will gag himself in his own way, I warrant you-—-When day
comes, that men can see the example, he shall be gageed after
my fashion.”

During the various breaks in his order, the General was
evidently getting command of his temper ; and though he began
in fury, he ended with the contemptuous sneer of one who over-
looks the abusive language of an inferior.
on his mind, notwithstanding, for |
fixed to the same spot in the a
ground, and with closed hand |
man who is musing deeply.
to him, drew back, and mad
silent.

Master Holdenough did not mark, or, at least, did not
obey it. Approaching the General. he said, in a respectful but
firm tone, “ Did I understand it to be vour Excellency’s purpose
that this poor man shall die next morning ?”

“Hah !” exclaimed Cromwell, starting from his reverie,
“what say’st thou ?”

“I took leave to ask if it was your will that this unhappy
man should die to-morrow ? ”

 

Something remained
1e continued standing, as if
partment, his eyes bent on the
pressed against his lips, like a

Pearson, who was about to speak
€ a sign to those in the room to beWOODSTOCK. 349

“Whom saidst thou?” demanded Cromwell: “ Markham
Evarard—shall he die, saidst thou?”’

“God forbid!” replied Holdenough, stepping back—‘‘{
asked whether this blinded creature, Wildrake, was to be so
suddenly cut off? ”

“Ay, marry is he,” said Cromwell, “ were the whole Gene-
ral Assembly of Divines at Westminster—the whole Sanhedrim
of Presbytery—to offer bail for him.”

“Tf you will not think better of it, sir,” said Holdenough,
“at least give not the poor man the means of destroying his
senses—Let me go to him as a divine, to watch with him, in
case he may yet be admitted into the vineyard at the latest hour
—yet brought into the sheepfold, though he has neglected the
call of the pastor till time is well-nigh closed upon him.”

“For God’s sake,” said Everard, who had hitherto kept
silence, because he knew Cromwell’s temper on such occasions,
“think better of what you do!”

“Ts it for thee to teach me ?” replied Cromwell ; “ think thou
of thine own matters, and believe me it will require all thy wit.
—And for you, reverend sir, I will have no father-confessors
attend my prisoners—no tales out of school. If the fellow
thirsts after ghostly comfort, as he is much more like to thirst
after a quartern of brandy, there is Corporal Humgudgeon,
who commands the corps de garde, will preach and pray as well
as the best of.ye,—But this delay is intolerable—Comes not
this fellow yet ?”

“ No, sir,’’ replied Pearson. “ Had we not better go down
to the Lodge? The news of our coming hither may else get

there before us.”

“ True,” said Cromwell, speaking aside to his officer, “ but
you know Tomkins warned us against doing so, alleging there
were so many postern-doors, and sallyports, and concealed
entrances in the old hcuse, that it was like a rabbit-warren, and
that an escape might be easily made under our very noses, Un-
less he were with us to point out all the ports which should be
guarded. He hinted, too, that he might be delayed a few min-
utes after his time of appointment—but we have now waited half-
an-hour.”’

“Does your Excellency think Tomkins is certainly to be
depended upon?” said Pearson.

“As far as his interest goes, unquestionably,” replied the
General. “He has ever been the pump by which I have sucked
the marrow out of many a plot, in special those of the con-
ceited fool Rochecliffe, who is goose enough to believe that
such a fellow as Tomkins would value anything beyond the

Co eaa

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ital scaeteeasane sehen See ee

emcee

St

350 WOODSTOCK,

offer of the best bidder. And yet it groweth late—I fear we
must to the Lodge without him—Yet, all things well considered,
T will tarry here ‘till midnight—Ah! Everard, thou mightest
put this gear to rights if thou wilt! Shall some foolish prin-
ciple of fantastic punctilio have more weight with thee, man,
than have the pacification and welfare of England ; the keeping
of faith to thy friend and benefactor, and who will be yet more
so, and the fortune and security of thy relations? Are these, |
say, lighter in the balance than the cause of a worthless boy,
who, with his father and his father’s house, have troubled Israel
for fifty years?”

‘I do not understand your Excellency, nor at what service
you point, which I can honestly render,” replied Everard.
“That which is dishonest I should be loath that you proposed.”

“Then this at least might suit your honesty, or scrupulous
humor, call it which thou wilt,” said Cromwell. ‘Thou know-
est, surely, all the passages about Jezebel’s palace down yon-
der Let me know how they may be guarded against the es-
cape of any from within.”

“I cannot pretend to aid you in this matter,” said Everard ;
‘I know not all the entrances and posterns about Woodstock,
and if I did, I am not free in conscience to communicate with
you on this occasion.”

‘““ We shall do without you, sir,” replied Cromwell, haughtily ;
and if aught is found which may criminate you, remember you
have lost right to my protection.”

“I shall be sorry,” said Everard, “ to have lost your friend- .
ship, General; but I trust my quality as an Englishman may
dispense with the necessity of protection from any man. I
know no law which obliges me to be spy or informer, even if I
were in the way of having opportunity to do service in either
honorable capacity.”

“Well, sir,” said Cromwell, “ for all your privileges and
qualities, I will make bold to take you down to the Lodge at
Woodstock to-night, to inquire into affairs in which the State
is concerned.—Come hither, Pearson.” He took a paper from
his pocket, containing a rough sketch or ground-plan of Wood-
stock Lodge, with the avenues leading to it—‘ Look here,” he
said; “ we must move in two bodies on foot, and with all pos-
sible silence—thou must march to the rear of the old house of
iniquity with twenty file of men, and dispose them around it
the wisest thou canst. Take the reverend man there along
with you. He must be secured at any rate, and may serve as
a guide. I myself will occupy the front of the Lodge, and thus
having stopped all the earths, thou wilt come to me for further

66

}
{
LWOODSTOCK.
COPSTOC 351

orders—silence and despatch is all. But for the dog Tomkins,
who broke appointment with me, he had need render a good
excuse, or woe to his father’s son !—Reverend sir, be pleased
to accompany that officer.—Colonel Everard, you are to follow
me ; but first give your sword to Captain Pearson, and consider
yourself as under arrest.”
Everarc 1g gave his sword to Pearson without any comment, and
with the most anxious presage of evil followed the Republican
General in i auecietice to commands which it would have been
useless to dispute.

 

CHAP DER HURT Y_RIRS TE.

““ Were my son William here but now,
He wadna fail the pledge.”
Wi’ that in at the door there ran
A ghastly-looking page—
“* T saw them master, oh! I saw,
Beneath the thornie brae,
Cf black-mail’d warriors many a rank.
* Revenge!” he cried; “and sae!"
HENRY MACKENZIE.

Tue little party at the Lodge were assembled at supper, at
the early hour of eight o’clock. Sir Henry Lee, neste ee the
food that was placed on the table, stood by a lamp on the chim-
ney- pie ce, and read a letter with mournful attention.

‘Does my son write to you more particularly than to me,
Doctor Rochecliffe ?” said the . ight. ‘* He only says here,

that he will return probably this 1 cht ; and that Master Ker-
neguy must be ready to set off w ith him instantly. What can

this haste mean? Have you heard of any new search after our
suffering party? I wish they w ould permit me to enjoy my son’s
company in quiet but for a ‘day.’

“ The quiet which depends on the wicked ceasing from
troubling,” said Dr. Rochecliffe, “is connected, not by days and
hours, but by minutes. Their glut of blood at Worcester had
satiated them for a moment, but their appetite, I fancy, has
revived.”

“You have news, then, to that purpose?” said Sir Henry.

“Your son,” replied the Doctor, “wrote to me by the same
messenger: he seldom fails to do so, being aware of what im-
portance it is that I should know everything ‘that passes. Meansi re Te Seeereeta aetna

a

oe
Fi %

?

PD)

2h WOODSTOCK.
of escape are provided on the coast, and Master Kerneguy
must be ready to start with your son the instant he appears.’

“Tt is strange,’’ said the knight; “for forty years I have
dwelt in this house, man and boy, amd the point only was how
to make the :day) pass over our heads: dfor if I- did no¢
scheme out some hunting match or hawking, or the like, I
might have sat here on my arm-chair, as undisturbed as a sleep-
ing dormouse, from one end of the year to the other, and now
[ am more like a hare on her form, that dare not sleep unless
with her eyes open, and scuds off when the wind rustles among
the fern.”

‘Tt is strange,” said Alice, looking at Dr. Rocheliffe, “ that
the roundhead steward has told you nothing of this. He
usually communicative enough of the motions of his party; and
I saw you close together this morning.”

“T must be closer with him this evening,” said the Doctor
gloomily ; “but he will not blab.”

““T wish you may not trust him too much,” said Alice in
reply.“ To me, that man’s face, with all its shrewdness,
evinces such a dark expression, that methinks I read treason
in his very eye.”

‘“ Be assured, that matter is looked to,” answered the Doctor,
in the same ominous tone as before. No one replied, and there
was a chilling and anxious feeling of apprehension which
seemed to sink down on the company at once, like those sen-
sations which make such constitutions as are particularly subject
to the electrical influence, conscious of an approaching thunder-
storm.

The disguised Monarch, apprised that day to be prepared
on short notice to quit his temporary asylum, felt his own share
of the gloom which involved the little society. But he was o 1e
first also to shake it off, as what neither suited his character
nor his situation. Gayety was the leading distinction of te
former, and presence of mind, not depression of spirits, was
required by the latter.

“We make the hour heavier,” he said, “ by being melan-
choly about it. Had you not better join me, Mistress Alice,
in Patrick Carey’s jovial farewell ?—Ah, you do not know Pat
Carey—a younger brother of Lord Falkland’s ?”’*

‘A brother of the immortal Lord Falkland’s, and write
songs !”’ said the Doctor.

**Oh, Doctor, the Muses take tithe as well as the Church,”

9)

th

said Charles, “and have their share in every family of distinc-

*Note EB: ‘Patrick Garey.WOODSTOCK. 353

tion. You do not know the words, Mistress Alice, but you can
aid me, notwithstanding, in the burden at least—

“Come, now that we’re parting, and ’tis one to ten
Tf ie tow ers of sweet Woodstock I e’er see agen,
Let us e’en have a fr olic, and drink like tall men,

While the goblet goes merrily round.’ ” *

The song arose, but not with spirit. It was one of those
efforts at forced mirth, by which, above all other modes of
expressing it, the absence of real cheerfulness is most dis-
tinctly intimated. Charles stopped the song and upbraided the
choristers.

“You sing, my dear Mistress Alice, as if you were chanting
one of the seven penitential psalms ; and you, good Doctor, as
if you recited the funeral service.’

The Doctor rose hastily from the table, and turned to the
window ; for the expression connected singularly with the task
which he was that evening to discharge. Charles looked at
him with some surprise; for the peril in which he lived made
him watchful of the slightest motions of those around him—
then turned to Sir Henry, and said, ‘‘My honored host, can
you tell any reason for this moody fit, which has so strangely
crept upon us all?’

‘“* Not I, my dear Louis,” replied the knight; “I haye no
skill in these nice quillets of philosophy. I could as soon
undertake to tell you the reason why Bevis turns round three
times before he lies down. I can only say for myself, that if
age and sorrow and uncertainty be enough to break a jovial
spirit, or at least to bend it now and then, I have my share of
them all; so that I, for one, cannot say that I am sad merely
because I am not merry. I have but too good cause for sad-
ness. J would I saw my son, were it but for a minute.”

Fortune seemed for once disposed to gratify the old man;
for Albert Lee entered at that moment. He was dressed in a
riding suit, and appeared to have traveled hard. He cast his
eye hastily around as he entered. It rested for a second on
that of the disguised Prince, and, satisfied with the glance
which he received in lieu, he hastened, after the fashion of
the olden day, to kneel down to his father, and request his
blessing.

“Tt is thine, my boy,” said the old man; a tear springing
to his eyes as he laid his hand on the long locks, which distin-

* The original song of Carey bears Wykeham, instead of Woodstock,
for the locality. The verses are full of the bacchanalian spirit of the time.

   
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
    
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
    
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
      

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354 WOODSTOCK.

guished the young cavalier’s rank and principles, and which,
usually combed and curled with some care, now hung wild
and disheveled about his shoulders. They remained an in-
stant in this posture, when the old man suddenly started from
it, as if ashamed of the emotion which he had expressed before
so many witnesses, and passing the back of his hand hastily
across his eyes, bid Albert get up and mind his supper, “ since
I dare say you pcg ridden fast and far since you last baited—
and we'll send round a cup to his health, if Doctor Rochecliffe
and the good company pleases—Joceline, thou knave, skink
about—thou look’st as if thou hadst seen a ghost.”

“* Joceline,”. said Alice, “is sick for symp athy—one of the
stags ran at Phebe Ma yon to-day, and she was fain to have
Joceline’s assistance to drive the creature off—the girl has been
in fits since she came home.”

‘Silly slut,” said the old knight—“ She a woodman’s daugh.

r!—But, Joceline, if the deer gets dangerous, you must send
a broad arrow through him.”
“It will not need, Sir Henry,” said Joceline, speaking with
great difficulty of utterance—“ he is quiet enough now—he will
not offend in that sort again.”

“See it be so,” replied the knight; ‘remember Mistress
Alice often walks in the Chase. And now, fill round, and fill,
too, a cup to thyself to over-red thy fear, as mad Will has it.
Tush, man, Phoebe will do well enough—she only screamed
and ran, that thou might’st have the pleasure to help her,
Mind what thou dost, and do not go spilling the wine after
that fashion —Come, here is a “8 ulth to our wanderer, who has
come to us again.’

LEG

‘None will pledge it more willingly than I,” said the dis-
guised Prince, npeonscipuply assuming an importance which
the character he personated scarce warranted ;: but Sir Henry,
who had become fond of the supposed page, with all his pecu-
liarities, imposed only a moderate rebuke upon his petulance.
“Thou art a merry, good-humored youth, Louis,” he said,
‘but it is a world to see how the forwardness of the present
generation hath gone beyond the gravity and reverence which
in my youth was so regul. uly observed toward those of higher
tank and station na dare no more have given my own tongue
the rein, when there was a doctor of divinity in company, than
I would have dared to have spoken in church in service time.”
‘True sir,” said Albert, hastily in terfering ; “ but Master
Kerneguy had the better right to speak at present, that I have
been absent on his business as well as my own, have seen sey
eral of his friends, and bring him important intelligence.”

SyWOODSTOCK. 355

Charles was about to rise and beckon Albert aside, naturally
pe to know what news he had age or what scheme
of safe escape was now decreed for him. But Dr. Rochecliffe
twitched his cloak, as a hint to him to sit still and not show
any extraor¢ linary motive for anxiety, since, in case of a sudden

discovery of his real quality, the violence of Sir Henry Lee’s
fe eli ngs might have heen likely to attract too much attention.
Charles, therefor S ; replied, as to the knight’s stricture,

only

that he had a saieital title to be sudden and unceremonious
in expressing his thanks to Colonel Lee—that gratitude was
apt to be unmannerly—finally, that he was much obliged to
Sir Henry for his admonition ; and that, quit Woodstock when
he would, “‘ he was sure to leave it a better man than he came
there,’’

His speech was of co
father ; but a glance at All
share in the compliment

“T fear,” he concluded, addressing Albert, “that you come
to tell us our stay must be very short.”

“A few hours only,” said Albert—“ just enough for needful
rest for ourselves and our horses. I have procured two which

are sood and tried. But Doctor Rochecliffe broke faith with

Y9

directed toward the
r that she had her full

 

1
1;
i

oS : 5
me. I expected to have met some one down at Joceline’s hut,
where I left the horses ; and finding no person, I was delayed
: 1 }
|

an hour in litte ring them down myself, that they might be ready
for to-morrow’s aceite we must be off before day.”

‘¢ T_T —intended to have sent Tidmisipee nt} Me
hesitated the Doctor, fe Ie oo

“The roundheaded rascal was drunk, or out of the way, I
presume,” said Albert. “ Tl am glad of it—you may easily trust
him too far.”

‘Hitherto he has been faithful,” said the Doctor, * and: I

2 ] oan ced : Wet oe a a eee Te
scarce think he will fail me now. But Joceline will go down
27

5

and have the horses in readiness in the morning.
Toceline’s countenance was usually that of alacrity itself on
3 ease extraordinary. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate.
“You will go with me a little way, Doctor?” he said, as he
edged himself closely to Rochec a ec

“How? puppy, fool, and blockhead,” said the knight,
+

‘¢wouldst thou ask Doctor Seah otes to bear thee company
at this hour ?——Out, hound !—get down to the kennel yonder
‘nstantlv, or I will break the knave’s pate of thee.”

Joceline looked with an eye of agony at the divine, as if
hehalfe 4 os <r
entreating him to interfere in his behalf; but just a he wasBie ee ree te

Ps

Ka

356 WOODSTOCK.

about to speak, a most melancholy howling arose at the hall
door, and a dog was heard scratching for a dliedctance:

“ What ails Bevis next?” said ‘the old knight. “TI think
this must be All-Fools day, and that everything around me is
going mad!”

The same sound startled Albert and Charles from a private
conference in which they had engaged, and Albert ran to the
all: door to examine personally into the cause of the noise.

“ Itus no alanm,? said the old 4 knight to Kerneguy, “ for in
such cases the dog’s bark is short, sharp, and furious. These
long howls are said to be ominous. It was even so that Bevis’s
grandsire bayed the whole livelong night on which my poor
father died. If it comes now as a presage, God send it regard
the old and useless not the young, and those who may yet
serve King and country!”

The dog h 1ad pushed past Colonel Lee, who stood a little
while at the hall door to listen if there were anything stirring
without, while Bevis advanced into the room where “the com-
pany were assembled, bearing something in his mouth, and
exhibiting, in an unusual degree, that sense of duty and interest
which a d »e seems to show when he thinks he has the charge of
something important. He entered, therefore, drooping his jong
tail, slouc! hing his head and ears, and wa Iking with the stately
yet melancholy dignity of a war- ‘horse at his. master’s funeral.
In this manner he paced through the room, went straight up to
Joceline, who had ae regarding | him with 1 astonishment, and
uttering a short and mel: incholy howl, laid at his feet the object
which he bore in his mouth. Joceline stooped, and took from
the floor a man’s glove, of the fashion worn by the troopers,
having something li like the old-fashioned gauntlet projections of
thick leather arising from the wrist, which go half-way up to
the elbow, and secure the arm against a cut with a sword. But
Joceline had no sooner looked at what in itself was so common
an object, than he dropped it from his hand, staggered back-
ward, uttered a groan, and nea ‘ly fell to the eround.

“Now, the coward’s curse be upon thee for an idiot !” said
the knight, who had picked up the glove, and was looking at
it—— thou shoulc Ist oe sent back to school, and flogeed till the
craven’s blood was switched out of thee—Wh at dost thou look
at but a glove, thou base poltroon, and a very dirty glove, too?

tay, hee iS writing—Jose] I, Tomkins? W hy, th at 1s ¢ the
roundheaded fellow—I wish he hath not come to some mischief,
for this is not dirt on the cheveron, but blood. Bevis may have
bit the fellow, and yet the dog seemed to love him well too, otTOCIC
WOODSTOCK. 35)
the stag may have hurt him. Out, Joceline, instantly, and see
where he is—wind your bugle.

“T cannot go,” said Joliffe, ‘‘ unless ”_and again he looked
piteously at Dr. Rochecliffe, who saw no time was to be lost in
appeasing the ranger’s terrors, as his ministry was most needful
in the present circumstances.—‘ Get spade and mattock,” he
whispered to him, “and a dark lantern, and meet me in the
Wilderness.”

Joceline left the room; and the Doctor, before following
him, had a few words of explanation with Colonel Lee. His
own spirit, far from being dismayed on the occasion, rather rose
higher, like one whose natural element was intrigue and danger.
“ Here hath been wild work,” he said, “since you parted.
Tomkins was rude to the wench Phoebe—Joceline and he had
a brawl together, and Tomkins is lying dead in the thicket, not
far from Rosamond’s Well. It will be necessary that Joceline
and I go directly to bury the body; for, besides that some one
micht stumble upon it and raise an alarm, this fellow Joceline

 

will never be fit for any active purpose till it is under ground.
Though as stout as a lion, the under-keeper has his own weak
side, and is more afraid of a dead body than a living one.
When do you propose to start to-morrow # 2

“‘ By daybreak, or earlier,” said Colonel Lee; “ but we will
meet again. A vessel is provided, and I have relays in more
places than one—we go off from the coast of Sussex; and lam
to ‘geta letter at, acquainting me precisely with the Spola

“ Wherefore not go off instantly?” said the Doctor.

“ The horses would fail us,” replied Albert ; “‘ they have been
hard ridden to-day.”

“Adieu,” said Rochecliffe, “I must to my task—Do you take
rest and repose for yours. To conceal a slaughtered body, and
convey on the same night a king from danger and captivity,
are two feats which have fallen to few folks save myself; but
let me not, while putting on my harness boast myself as if I
were taking it off after a victory.” So saying, he left the apart-
ment, and muffling himself in his cloak, went out into what was
called the Wilderness.

The weather was a raw frost. The mist lay in partial wreaths
upon the lower grounds ; but the night, considering that the
heavenly bodies were in a great measure hidden by the haze,
was not extremely dark. Dr. Rochecliffe could not, however,
distinguish the under-keeper until he had hemmed once or
twice, when Joceline answered the signal by showing a glimpse
of licht from the dark lantern which he carried. Guided by

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358 WOODSTOCK.

against a buttress which had once supported a terrace, now
ruinous. He had a pickaxe and shovel, together with a deer’s
hide hanging over his shoulder.

‘‘What do you want with the hide, Joceline,” said Dr,
Rocheclitfe, “that you lumber it about with you on such an
emand a?

“Why, look you, Doctor,” he answered, “ it is as well to tell
you all about it. The man and I—he there—you know whom
I mean—had many years since a quarrel about this deer, For
though we were great friends, and I Philip was sometimes allowed
bse my master’s permission to help me in mine office, yet I knew,
for all that, Eee Hazeldine was sometimes a trespasser. ‘The
deer-stealers were very bold at that time, it being just before
the breaking out of the war, when men were becoming unsettled.
And So it chanced, that one day, in the Chase, I ‘found two
fellows, with their faces blacked erat shirts over their clothes,
carrying as prime a buck between them as any was in the park,
[ was upon them in the instant—one esc aped, but I got hold of
the other = low, and who should it prove x to be but trusty Phil
Hazeldine ! Well, I don’t know whether it was right or wrong,
but he was my old friend and ours and I took his
word for amendment in future; and he helped me to hang up
the deer on a tree, and I came back with a horse to carry him
to the Lodge, and tell the knight the story, all but Phil’s name.
But the rogues had been too clever for me ; for they had flayed
and dressed the deer, and quartered him, and carried him off,
and left the hide and horns, with a chime, saying—

9)

e haunch to thee,
e breast to me,
1e hide and the horns for the keeper’s fee.’

And this I knew for one of Phil’s mad pranks, that he would
play in those days with any lad in the country. But I was so
nettled, that I made the deer’s hide be curried and dressed bya
tanner, and swore that it should be his winding-sheet or mine ;
and though I had long repented my rash oath, yet now, Doctor,
you see what it has come to—though I forgot it, the devil did
not.”

“It was a very wrong thing to make a vow so sinful,” said
Rochecliffe, “but it would have been greatly worse had you
endeavored to keep it. Therefore, I bid you cheer up,” said
the good divine ; “for in this unhappy case, I could not have
wished, after what I have heard from P heebe and yourself, that
you should have kept your hand still, though I may regret that
the blow'has proved fatai, Nevertheless, thou hast done evenWOODSTOCK. 359

that which was done by the great and inspired legislator, when
he beheld an Egyptian tyrannizing over a Hebrew, saving that,
in the ‘case present, it was a female, when, says the Septuagint,
Percussum Egyptium abscondit sabulo ; the meaning whereof I
will explain to you another time. Wherefore I exhort you not
to grieve beyond measure ; for although this circumstance is
unhappy in time and place, yet, from what Phoebe hath in-
formed me of yonder wretch’s opinions, it is much to be regretted
that his brains had not been beaten out in his cradle rather than
that he had grown up to be one of those Grindlestonians, or
Muggletonians, in whom is the perfection of every foul and
blasphemous heresy, united with such a universal practice of
hypocritical assentation as would deceive their master, even
Satan himself.”

‘““ Nevertheless, sir,” said the forester, “‘ 1 hope you will be-
stow some of the services of the Church on this poor man, as it
was his last wish, naming you, sir, at the same time; and unless
this were done, I should scarce dare to walk out in the dark
again for my whole life.”

~ “Thou art a silly fellow; but if,” continued the Doctor,
“he named me as he departed, and desired the last rites of the
Church, there was, it may be, a turning from evil and a seeking
to good even in his last moments; and if Heaven granted him
grace to form a prayer so fitting, wherefore should a man refuse
it? All I fear is the briefness of time.”

“ Nay, your reverence may cut the service somewhat short,”’
said Joceline; “assuredly he does not deserve the whole of it;
only if something were not to be done, I believe I should flee
the country. ‘They were his last words; and methinks he sent
Bevis with his glove to put me in mind of them.”

“Out, fool! Do you think,” said the Doctor, ‘‘ dead men
send gauntlets to the living, like knights in a romance ? or, if so,
would they choose dogs to carry their challenges ? I tell thee,
fool, the cause was natural enough. Bevis, questing about,
found the body, and brought the glove to you to intimate where
it was lying, and to require assistance ; for such is the high in-
stinct of these animals toward one in peril

“ Nay, if you think so, Doctor, said Joccline— and, doubt-
less, I must say, Bevis took an interest in the man—if indeed it
was not something worse in the shape of Bevis, for methought
his eves looked wild and fiery, as if he would have spoken.”

As he talked thus, Joceline rather hung back, and, in doing
so, displeased the Doctor, who exclaimed, ‘‘ Come along thou
lazy laggard. Art thou a soldier, and a brave one, andso much

;

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360

afraid of a dead man? ‘Thou hast killed men in battle and in
ehase; I warrant thee.”

“‘ Ay, but their backs were to me,” said Joceline. ‘I never
saw one of them cast back his head and glare at me as yonder
fellow did, his eye retaining a glance of hatred, mixed with
terror and reproach, till it became fixed like a jelly. And were
you not with me, and my master’s concerns, and something else,
very deeply at stake, I promise you I would not again look at
him for all Woodstock.”

“You must, though,” said the Doctor, suddenly pausing,
“for here is the place where he lies. Come hither deep into
the copse; take care of stumbling—Here is a place just fitting,
and we will draw the briers over the grave afterward.”

As the Doctor thus issued His directions, he assisted also in
the execution of them; and while his attendant labored to dig
a shallow and misshapen grave, a task which the state of the
soil, perplexed with roots, and hardened by the influence of the
frost, rendered very difficult, the divine read a few passages out
of the funeral service, partly in order to appease the supersti-
tious terrors of Joceline, and partly because he held it matter
of conscience not to deny the Church rites to one who had re-
quested their aid in extremity.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SECOND.

Case ye, case ye,—on with your vizards,
Henry IV,

HE company whom we had left in Victor Lee’s parlor were
about to separate for the night, and had risen to take a formal
leave of each other, when a tap was heard at the hall-door.
Albert, the vidette of the party, hastened to open it, enjoining,
as he left the room, the rest to remain quiet, until he had ascer-
tained the cause of the knocking. When he gained the portal,
he called to know who was there, and what they wanted at so
late an hour

‘Tt is only me,” answered a treble voice.

“ And what is your name, my little fellow?” said Albert.

‘Spitfire, sir,” replied the voice without.

‘‘ Spitfire ?”’ said Albert.

“Yes, sir,” replied the voice; ‘all the world calls me so.
and Colonel Everard himself. But my name is Spittal for all
that.”WOODSTOCK, 361

“ Colonel Everard! arrive you from him?” demanded young

Lee.
_o“ No,«sin;de come, Sir; strom; Roger Wildrake, esquire, of
Squattlesea-mere, if it like you,’ said the boy; “and I have
brought a token to Mistress Lee, which I am to give into her
own hands, if you would but open the door, sir, and let me in—
but I can do nothing with a three-inch board between us.”

“It is some freak of that drunken rakehell,” said Albert, in
a low voice, to his sister, who had crept out after him on tiptoe.

‘Vet, let us not be hasty in concluding so,” said the young
lady ; “‘at this moment the least trifle may be of consequence.
—What token has Master Wildrake sent me, my little boy?”

“Nay, nothing very valuable neither,” replied the boy;
“but he was so anxious you should get it, that he put me out
of window as one would chuck out a kitten, that I might not
be stopped by the soldiers.”

“Hear you?” said Alice to her brother; “undo the gate,
for God’s sake.”

Her brother, to whom her feelings of suspicion were now
sufficiently communicated, opened the gate in haste, and ad-
mitted the boy, whose appearance, not much dissimilar to that
of a skinned rabbit in a livery, or a monkey at a fair, would at
another time have furnished them with amusement. The
urchin messenger entered the hall, making several odd bows
and congés, and delivered the woodcock’s feather * with much
ceremony to the young lady, assuring her it was the prize she
had won upon a wager about hawking.

“JT prithee, my little man,” said Albert, “was your master
drunk or sober, when he sent thee all this way with a feather
at this time of night?”

‘With reverence, sir,” said the boy, “he was what Ze calls
sober, and what I would call concerned in liquor for any other
person.”

“Curse on the drunken coxcomb!” said Albert.—* There
is a tester for thee, boy, and tell thy master to break his jests
on suitable persons, and at fitting times.”

“Stay yet a minute,’ exclaimed Alice ; “we must not go
too fast-—this craves wary walking.”

‘A feather,” said Albert ; “all this work about a feather !
Why, Doctor Rochecliffe, who can suck intelligence out of
every trifle as a magpie would suck an egg, could make noth-

ing of this.”
“ Let us try what we can do without him then,” said Alice.

* Note F. Signal of danger.F, eiUhRiRiniesaketansausnabsiaceastesteeeneee Se eee

362 WOODSTOCK.

Then addressing herself to the boy,—‘So there are strangers
at your master’s?”’
“% At Colonel Everard’s, madam, which is the same thing,’

said Spitfire.

‘And what manner of strangers,” said Alice; “guests, I
su IPpose | on

‘Ay, mistress,” said the boy, “a sort of guests that make

themselves welcome wherever the ey come, if they meet not a
welcome from their | li

9) 66

andlord—so diers, madam.”

“The men that have long been lying at Woodstock,” said
Albert.

‘No, sir,” said Spitfire, “new comers, with gallant buff-
coats and steel breastplates ; and their commander—your honor
and your ladyship never saw such a man-—at least I am sure
Bill Spitfire never did.”

‘Was he tall or short ?”’ said Albert, now much alarmed.

“ Neither one nor other,” said the boy; “stout made, with
slouching shoulders; a nose large, and a face one would not
like to say No to. He had several officers with him. I saw
him but for a moment, but I shall never forget him while I
live.”

‘You are right,” said Albert Lee to his sister, pulling her
to one side— quite right—-the Archfiend himself is upon us!”

And the feather,” said Alice, whom fear had rendered ap-
prehensive of slight tokens, ‘‘ means flight—and a woodcock is
a bird of pas save.”

“You have hit it,” said her brother; “but the time has
taken us cruelly short. Give the boy a trifle more—nothing
that can excite suspicion, and dismiss him. I must summon

7 see 1 ,
Rochecliffe and ’

64

.
—|

He went accordingly, but, unable to find those he sought,
he returned with hasty steps to the parlor, where, in his char
acter of Louis, the page was exerting himself to detain the old
knight, who, while laughing at the tales he told him, was anx-
lous to go to see wae: was passing in the hall

‘What is the matter, . Albert ?” said the old man: “ who
calls at the Lodge at so undue an hour, and whetefore iS the
hall-door opened to them? I will not have my rules, and the
regulations laid down for keeping this house, broken. through,
because I am old and poor. Why answer you not? why keep
a chattering with Louis Ke eee and neither of you all the
while minding what I say ?—Daughter Alice, have you sense
and civility enough to tell me, what or who it is that is admit
ted here contrary to my general orders ?”

¢
=
2WOODSTOCK. 363

“No one, sir,” replied Alice; “‘a boy brought a message,
which I fear is an alarming one.”

“There is only fear, sir,” said Albert, stepping forward,
“that whereas we thought to have stayed with you till to-
morrow, we must now take farewell of you to-night.”

‘‘ Not so, brother,” said Alice, ‘‘ you must stay and aid the
defence here—if you and Master Kerneguy are both missed,
the pursuit will be instant, and probably successful ; but if you
stay, the hiding-places about this house will take some time to
search. You can change coats with Kerneguy too.”

‘Right, noble wench,” said Albert; “most excellent—yes
—Louis, I remain as Kerneguy, you fly as young Master Lee.”

“T cannot see the justice of that,” said Charles.

“ Nor I neither,” said the knight, interfering. “Men come
and go, lay schemes, and alter them, in my house, without
deigning to consultme! And who is Master Kerneguy, or what
is he to me, that my son must stay and take the chance of
mischief, and this your Scotch page is to escape in his dress?
I will have no such contrivance carried into effect, though it
were the finest cobweb that was ever woven in Doctor Roche-
cliffe’s brains.—I wish you no ill, Louis; thou art a lively boy ;
but I have been somewhat too lightly treated in this, man.”

“ T am fully of your opinion, Sir Henry,” replied the person
whom he addressed. ‘“ You have been, indeed, repaid for your
hospitality by want of that confidence, which could never have
been so justly reposed. But the moment is come, when I must
sav. in a word, I am that unfortunate Charles Stewart whose
lot it has been to become the cause of ruin to his best friends,
and whose present residence in your family threatens to bring
destruction to you, and all around you.”

“ Master Louis Kerneguy,” said the knight, very angrily, “I
will teach you to choose the subjects of your mirth better when
you address them to me; and, moreoyer, very little provocation
would make me desire to have an ounce or two of that mala-
pert blood from you.”

“ Be still, sir, for God’s sake!” said Albert to his father,
“ This is indeed THE Kinc; and such is the danger of his
person, that every moment we waste may bring round a fatal

 

catastrophe.”

“ Good God!” said the father, clasping his hands together,
and about to drop on his knees, “has my earnest wish been
accomplished ! and is it in such a manner as to make me pray
it had never taken place!”

He then attempted to bend his knee to the King—kissed his
hand, while large tears trickled from his eyes—then said, “ Par364 WOODSTOCK.

don, my Lord—your Majesty, I mean—permit me to sit in your
presence but one instant till my blood beats more freely, and
then ©

Charles raised his ancient and faithful subject from the
ground ; and even in that moment of fear and anxiety, and
danger, insisted on leading him to his seat, upon which he sunk
in apparent exhaustion, his head drooping upon his long white
beard, and big unconscious tears mingling with its silver hairs,
Alice and Albert remained with the King, arguing and urging
his instant departure.

‘The horses are at the under-keeper’s hut,” said Albert,
‘and the relays only eighteen or twenty miles off. If the horses
can but carry you so far ”

‘Will you not rather,” interrupted Alice, “ trust to the con-
cealments of this place, so numerous and so well tried—Roche-
cliffe’s apartments, and the yet further places of secrecy ? ”

“Alas !” said Albert, “ I know them only by name. My
father was sworn to confide them to but one man, and he had
chosen Rochecliffe.”

‘I prefer taking the field to any hiding-hole in England,”
said the King. ‘ Could I but find my way to this hut where
the horses are, I would try what arguments whip and spur could
use to get them to the rendezvous, where I am to meet Sir
Thomas Acland and fresh cattle. Come with me, Colonel Lee,
and let us run for it. The roundheads have beat us in battle ;
but if it come to a walk ora race, I think I can show which
has the best mettle.”

‘““ But then,” said Albert, ‘ we lose all the time which may
otherwise be gained by the defence of this house—leaving none
here but my poor father, incapable from his state of doing any-
thing ; and you will be instantly pursued by fresh horses, while
ours are unfit for the road. Oh, where is the villain Joceline ?”

‘“What can have become of Doctor Rochecliffe ? ” said
Alice ; “he that is so ready with advice ;—where can they be
gone ? Oh, if my father could but rouse himself ! ”

“ Your father zs roused,” said Sir Henry, rising and stepping
up to them with all the energy of full manhood in his coun
tenance and motions—‘ I did but gather my thoughts—for
when did they faila Lee when his King needed counsel or
aid?” He then began to speak, with the ready and distinct
utterances of a general at the head of an army, ordering every
motion for attack and defence—unmoved himself, and his own
energy compelling obedience, and that cheerful obedience, from
all who heard him. “ Daughter,” he said, “beat up Dame

 

 

)WOODSTOCK. 365

Jellicott—Let Pheebe rise if she were dying, and secure doors
and windows.”

“That hath been done regularly since—we have been thus
far honored,” said his daughter, looking at the King—“ yet,
let them go through the ch hambers once more.” And Alice
retired to give the orders, and presently returned.

The old knight proceeded, in the some decided tone of
promptitude and despatch—“ Which is your first stage ?”

‘“ Gray’s—Rothebury, by Henley, where Sir Thomas Acland
and young Knolles are to have horses in readiness,’ ? said
Albert ; ‘‘ but how to get there with our weary cattle !’

“Trust me for that,” said the knight ; and proceeding with
the same tone of auth ority—* Your Majesty must instantly to
Joceline’s lodge,’ he said; “there are your horses and your
means of flight. The secret places of this house, well managed,
will keep the rebel dogs in play two or three hours eood—
Rochecliffe is, I fear, kidnapped, and his Independent hath be-
trayed hin—Would I hi id judged the villain better! I would
have struck him through at one of our triz als of fence, with an
unabated weapon, as Will s says.—But for your guide w hen on
horseback, half a bowshot from Joceline’s hut is that of old
Martin the verdurer; he is a score of years older than I, but as
fresh as an old oak—beat up his quarters, and let him ride
with you for death and life. He will guide you to your relay,
for no fox that ever earthed in the Chase knows the country so
well for seven leagues around.’

“Excellent, my dearest father, excellent,” said Albert; “I
had forgot Martin the verdurer.”

“Young men forget all,” answered the knight—* Alas, that
he limbs should fail when the head which can best direct
hem—is come perhaps to its wisest!”

“ But the tired horses,” said the King—‘“ could we not get
fresh cattle ?”’

ene at this time of night,” answered Sir Henry;
‘but tired horses may do much all care and looking to.’
He went hastily to the cabinet which stood in one of the oriel
windows, and searched for something in the drawers, pulling
out one after another.

“We lose time, father,” said Albert, afraid that the intel-
iigence and energy w hich the old man displayed had been but
a temporary f flash of the lamp, which was Bote to relapse into
evening twilight.

“Go to, sir boy,” said his father sharply ; “is it for thee to
tax me in this presence !_-Know, that were the whole round-
heads that are out of hell in present assemblage round Wood-

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366 WOODSTOCK.

stock, I could send away the Royal Hope of England by a way
that the wisest of them could never guess.-—Alice, my love, ask
no questions, but speed to the kitchen, and fetch a slice or two
of beef, or better of venison; cut them long, and thin, d’ye
mark me ”——

‘This is wandering of the mind,” said Albert, apart to the
King. “We do him wrong, and your Majesty harm to listen
to him.”

“I think otherwise,” said Alice, “and I know my father
better than you.” So saying, she left the room, to fulfil her
father’s orders.

I think so, too,” said Charles—“in Scotland the Presby-
terlan ministers, when thundering in their pulpits on my own
sins and those of my house, took the freedom to call me to my
face Jeroboam, or Rehoboam, or some such name, for fol-
lowing the advice of young counselors—Qddsfish, I will take
that of the gray beard for once, for never saw I more sharp-
ness and decision than in the countenance of that noble old
man.”

By this time Sir Henry had found what he was seeking.
“In this tin box,” he said, “are six balls prepared of the most
cordial spices, mixed with medicaments of the choicest and
most invigorating quality. Given from hour to hour, wrapt in
a covering of good beef or venison, a horse of spirit will not
flag for five hours, at the speed of fifteen miles an hour; and,
please God, the fourth of the time places your Majesty in
safety—what remains may be useful on some future occasion.
Martin knows how to administer them; and Albert’s weary
cattle shall be ready, if walked gently for ten minutes, in run-
ning to devour the way, as old Will SayS—nay, waste not time
in speech, your Majesty does me but too much honor in
using what is your own.—Now, see if the coast is clear, Albert,
and let his Majesty set off instantly.—We will play our parts
but ill, if any take the chase after him for these two hours that
are between night and day—Change dresses, as you proposed,
in yonder sleeping apartment—something may be made of that
too.”

ce

But, good Sir Henry,” said the King, “ your zeal overlooks
a principal point. Ihave, indeed, come from the underkeeper’s
hut you mentioned to this place, but it was by daylight, and
under guidance—I shall never find my way thither in utter
darkness, and without a guide—I fear you must let the Colonel
go with me; and I entreat and command you will put yourself
to no trouble or risk to defend the house—only make what de-
lay you can in showing its secret recesses.”WOODSTOCK,
‘““ Rely on me, my royal and liege Sovereign,” said Sir Henry ;
“but Albert must remain here, and Alice shall guide your Maj-
esty to Joceline’s hut in his stead.”

_ _“ Alice!” said Charles, stepping back in surprise—“‘ why, it
is dark wigs t—and—and—and—” He glanced his eye toward
Alice, who had by this time returned to the apartment, and saw
doubt a apprehension in her look; an intimation, that the
reserve under which he had placed his disposition for gallantry,
since the morning of the proposed duel, had not altogether ef-
faced the recollection of his preyiousconduct. He hastened to
put a strong negative upon a proposal which appeared so much
to embarrass her. ‘ It is impossible for me, indeed, Sir Henry,
to use Alice’s services—I must walk as if bloodhounds were at
my heels.”

‘ Alice shall trip it,” said the knight ; “ with any wench in
Oxfordshire ; and what would your Majesty’s best speed avail,
if you knew not the way to go?”

“Nay, nay, Sir Henry,” continued the King, “ the night is

too dark—we stay too long—I will find it myself.”
“Loose no time in exchanging your dress with Albert,” said

Sir Henry—“ leave me to take care of the rest.”

Charles, still inclined to expostulate, withdrew, however, into
the apartment, where young Lee and he were to exchange
clothes; while Sir Henry said to his daughter, *‘Get thee a
cloak, wench, and-put on thy thickest shoes. Thou might’st
have ridden Pixie, but he is something spirited, and thou art a
timid horsewoman, and ever wert so—the only weakness I have
known of thee.”

“But, my father,” said Alice, fixing her eyes very earnestly
ea Sit Henry’s face, ‘‘ must I any go along with the King?
might not P hcebe or Dame Jellicot g0 with us?”

‘No—no—no,” answered Sir Henry; ‘“ Phoebe, the silly
slut, has, as you well know, been in re to-night, and, I take it,
such a walk as you must take is no charm for hy sterics——Dame
Tellicot hobbles as a slow as a broken-winded “‘mare—besides,
her deafness, were there occasion to speak to her—No—no—
you shall go alone, and entitle yourself to have it written on
your tomb, ‘ Here lies she who saved the King !’—And, hark
you, do not think of returning to-night, but stay at the yerdur-
er’s with his neice—the Park and C hase will shortly be filled
with our enemies, and whatever chances here you “will learn

early enough in the morning.”

“And what is it I may then learn?” said Alice—* Alas,
who can tell?—Oh, dearest father, let me stay and share your
fate! I will pull off the timorous woman, and fight for the

RE ee etme ae tneor eee NT

oa

~

368 WOODSTOCK.

King, if it be necessary.—But—I cannot think of becoming
his only attendant in the dark night, and through a road so
lonely.”

“How!” said the knight, raising his voice ; ‘‘ do you bring
ceremonious and silly scruples forward, when the King’s safety,
nay, his life isat stake! By this mark of loyality,” stroking his
gray beard as he spoke, ‘could I think thou wert other than
becomes a daughter of the house of Lee, I would ”

At this moment the King and Albert interrupted him by en-
tering the apartment, having exchanged ‘dresses, and, from their
stature, bearing some resemblance to each other, though Charles
was evidently a plain, and Lee a handsome young man. ‘Their
complexions were different; but the difference could not be im-
mediately noticed, Albert having adopted a black peruke,
and darkened his eyebrows.

Albert Lee walked out to the front of the mansion, to give
one turn around the Lodge, in order to discover in what direc-
tion any enemies might be approaching, that they might judge of
the road which it was safest for the royal fugitive to adopt.
Meanwhile the King, who was first in entering the apartment,
had heard a part of the angry answer which the old knight
made to his daughter, and was at no loss to guess the subject of
his resentment. He walked up to him with the dignity which
he perfectly knew to assume when he chose it.

“Sir Henry,” he said, “ it is our pleasure, nay, our command,
that you forbear all exertion of paternal authority in this matter
Mistress Alice, I am sure, must have good and strong reasons
for what she wishes, and I should never pardon myself were
she placed in an unpleasant situation on my account. I am too
well acquainted with woods and wildernesses to fear losing my
way among my native oaks of Woodstock.”

“Your Majesty shall not incur the danger,” said Alice, her
temporary hesitation entirely removed by the calm, clear, and
candid manner in which Charles uttered these last words.
‘You shall run no risk that I can prevent; and the unhappy
chances of the times in which I have lived have from experi-
ence made the forest as well known to me by night as by day.
So, if you scorn not my company, let us away instantly.”

“Tf your company is given with good-will, I accept it with
gratitude,” replied the monarch.

‘“Willingly,” she said, ‘most willingly. Let me be one of
the first to show that zeal and that confidence, which I trust
all England will one day emulously display in behalf of your
Majesty.”

She uttered these words with an alacrity of spirit, and madeWOODSTOCK,

 

369

the trifling change of habit with a speed and dexterity which
showed that all her fears were gone, and that her heart was
entirely in the mission on which her father had despatched her.
; “Allis safe around,” said Albert Lee, showing himself;

you may take which passage you will—the most private is the
best.”

Charles went gracefully up to Sir Henry Lee ere his depart-
ure, and took him by the hand.—“I am too proud to make
professions,” he said, “ which I may be too poor ever to realize.
But while Charles Stewart lives, he lives the obliged and in-
debted debtor of Sir Henry Lee.”

“Say not so, please your Majesty, say not so,” exclaimed
the old man, struggling with the hysterical sobs which rose to
his throat. ‘‘ He who might claim all, cannot become indebted
by accepting some small part.”

‘‘ Farewell, good friend, farewell!’ said the King; “think
of me as a son, a brother to Albert and to Alice, who are, I see,
already impatient. Give me a father’s blessing, and let me be
gone.”

‘The God, through whom kings reign, bless your Majesty,”
said Sir Henry, kneeling and turning his reverend face and
clasped hands up to heaven.—“‘ The Lord of Hosts bless you,
and save your Majesty from your present dangers, and bring
you in his own good time to the safe possession of the crown
that is your due!”

Charles received his blessing like that of a father, and Alice
and he departed on their journey.

As they left the apartment, the old knight let his hands sink
gently as he concluded this fervent ejaculation, his head sink-
ing at the same time. His son dared not disturb his meditation,
yet he feared the strength of his feelings might overcome that
of his constitution, and that he might fall into a swoon. At

length he ventured to approach and gradually touch him. The
old knight started to his feet, and was at once the same alert,
active-minded, forecasting director, which he had shown himself
a little before.

“You are right, boy,” he said, “‘ we must be up and doing.
They lie, the roundheaded traitors, that call him dissolute and
worthless! He hath feelings worthy the son of the blessed
Martyr. You saw, even in the extremity of danger, he would
have periled his safety rather than take Alice’s guidance when
the silly wench seemed in doubt about going. Profligacy is in-
tensely selfish, and thinks not of the feelings of others. But
hast thou drawn bolt and bar after them? I vow I scarce saw

when they left the hall.”

Na fgirsaerosasenaie RL
ia

YRLRati se taerszate snore ne

——
oe

370 WOODSTOCK.

*‘T let them out at the little postern,’” said the Colonel;
“and when I returned I was afraid I had found you ill.”

“ Toy—joy, only joy, Albert—I cannot allow a thought of
doubt to cross my breast. God will not desert the descendant
of an hundred kings—the rightful heir will not be given up to
the ruffians. There was a tear in his eye as he took leave of
me—lI am sure of it. Wouldst not die for him, boy?”

“ Tf I lay my life down for him to night,” said Albert, “I
would only regret it, because I should not hear of his escape
to-morrow.” ‘

‘Well, let us to this gear,” said the knight; ‘‘ think’st thou
know’st enough of his manner, clad as thou art in his dress, to
induce the women to believe thee to be the page Kerneguy ?”’

‘‘Umph,” replied Albert, ‘‘it is not easy to bear out a per-
sonification of the King, when women are in the case. But
there is only a very little light below, and I can try.”

* Do SO instantly,” said ‘his father; “the knaves will be here

e

presently.’
Albert accordingly left the apartment, while the knight con-
tinued—* If the women be actually persuaded that Kerneguy

be still here, it will add strength to my plot—the beagles will
open on a false scent, and the royal stag be safe in cover ere
they regain the slot of him. Then to draw them on from
hiding-place to hiding-place! Why, the east will be gray
before they have sought the half of them !—Yes, I will play at
bob-cherry with them, hold the bait to their nose, which they
are never to gorge upon! [ will drag a trail for them which
will take t them some time to puzzle out.—But at what cost do
I do this?” continued the old knight, interrupting his own
joyous soliloguy—‘ Oh, Absalom, Absalom, my son! my son!
—But let him go; he can but die as his fathers have died;
and in the cause for which they lived. But he comes—Hush!
—Albert, hast thou succeeded? hast thou taken royalty upon
thee, so as to pass current ?”’

‘TI have, sir,” replied Albert; “f the women will swear that
Louis Kerneguy was in the house this very last minute.”

“ Right, for they are good and faithful creatures,” said the
knight, “‘and would swear what was for his Majesty’s safety at
any rate; yet they will do it with more nature and effect if
they believe they are swearing truth—How didst thou impress
the deceit upon them?”

“By a trifling adoption of the royal manner, sir, not worth
mentioning.”

“Out, rogue!” replied the knight. “I fear the King’s
character will suffer under your mummery.”WOODSTOCK. 37%

ee, said Albert, muttering what he dared not utter
aloud—‘* were I to follow the example close up, I know whose
character would be in the greatest danger.”

“Well, now we must adjust the defence of the outworks, the
signals, etc., betwixt us both, and the best way to baffle the
enemy for the longest time possible.” He then again had
recourse to the secret drawers of his cabinet, and pul led out a
piece of parchment on which was a plan. “This,” said he,
‘is a scheme of the citadel, as I call it, which may hold out
long enough after you have been forced to evacuate the places
of retreat you are already acquainted with. ‘The ranger was
always sworn to keep this plan secret, save from one person
only, in case of sudden death. —Let us sit down and study it
together.”

They accordingly adjusted their measures in a manner

vhich will better show itself from what afterward took place,

ii

than were we to state the varios schemes which they proposed,

-\

and provisions made ae events that did not arrive.
At ler ‘ngth young Lee, armed and provided with some food
and Ai iquor, took leave of his f father, ahd went and shut himself

r Lee’s apartment, from which was an opening to

. - 3 F * 4 os
the labyrinth of private apartments, or hiding-places that had
1 the associates so well in the fantastic tricks which they

SErVEGd «| Clates
had play 24 off at thé expense of the Commissioners of the
Commonwealth.

wk ceust,” said Sir Henry, sitting ae by his desk, after

NS id

not blabbed out the secret of the let to yonder fellow

ee taken a tender fatewell of his son, ‘“ that Roch 1ecliffe
ha

1a

x ove ins, who was not unlikely to prate of it out of school.—
But here am I seated— perhaps for the last time, with my Bible
on the one hand, and old Will on the other, prepared, th ank

God, to die as I have lived.—I marvel they come not ye et,’ He
said, after waiting for some time—" I always thought the devil
had a smarter spur to give his agents, when they were upon his

: 4 xe, 5
9wn special service.”

ey

~

   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
     

4
i
4
:
Fs
2
SPsa etenian nus dabeslaaieen sects AAR dessa ZE CUT aU REE HENS

pe

WOODSTOCK.

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRD.

But see, his face is black, and full of blood;

His eyeballs further out than when he lived,

Staring full ghastly, like a strangled man;

Fis hair uprear’d—his nostrils stretch’d with struggling;
His hands abroad display’d, as one-who grasp’d

And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdued.

Henry VI. fart 7.

Hap those whose unpleasant visit Sir Henry expected come
straight to the Lodge, instead of staying three hours at Wood-
stock, they would have secured their prey. But the Familist,
partly to prevent the King’s escape, partly to render himself of
more importance in the affair, had represented the party at the
Lodge as being constantly on the alert, and had therefore incul-
cated upon Cromwell the necessity of his remaining quiet until
he (Tomkins) should appear to give him notice that the house-
hold were retired to rest. On this condition he undertook, not
only to discover the apartment in which the unfortunate Charles
slept, but, if possible, to find some mode of fastening the door
on the outside, so as to render flight impossible. He had also
promised to secure the key of a postern, by which the soldiers
might be admitted into the house without exciting alarm.
Nay, the matter might, by means of his local knowledge, be
managed, as he represented it, with such security, that he
would undertake to place his Excellency, or whomsoever he
might appoint for the service by the side of Charles Stewart’s
bed, ere he had slept off the last night’s claret. Above all, he
had stated that, from the style of the old house, there were
many passages and posterns which must be carefully guarded
before the least alarm was caught by those within, otherwise
the success of the whole enterprise might be endangered. He
had therefore besought Cromwell to wait for him at the village
if he found him not there on his arrival; and assured him that
the marching and countermarching of soldiers was at present
so common, that even if any news were carried to the Lodge
that fresh troops had arrived in the borough so ordinary a cir
cumstance would not give them the least alarm. He recom-
mended that the soldiers chosen for this service should be such
as could be depended upon—no fainters in spirit—none who turn
back from Mount Gilead for fear of the Amalekites, but men ofWOODSTOCK. 373

war, accustomed to strike with the sword, and to need no second
blow. Finally, he represented that it would be wisely done if
the General should put Pearson, or any other officer whom he
could completely trust, into the command of the detachment,
and keep his own person, if he should think it proper to attend,
secret even from the soldiers.

All this man’s oe Cromwell had punctually rollowed.

e had trave ee in the van of this detachment of one hundred
P vik ed soldie vhom he had selected for the service, men of
dauntless re soluti on, bred in a thousand dangers, and who were
eled against all feelings of hesitation and compassion, by the
deep and gloomy fanaticism which was their chief principal of
action—men to whom, as their General, and no less as the chief

among the Elect, the commands of Oliver were like a commis:
sion from the Deity.

Great and deep was the General’s mortification at the unex-
pected absence of the personage on whose agency he so con-
fidently reckoned, and many conjectures he formed as to the
cause of such mysterious conduct. Sometimes he thought
Tomkins had been overcome by liquor, a frailty to which Crom-
well knew him to be addicted ; and when he held this opinion,
he discharged his wrath in maledictions, which, of a different
kind from the wild oaths and curses of the cavalier, had yet in
them as much blasphemy, and more determined malevolence.
At other times he thought some unexpected alarm, or perhaps
some drunken cavalier revel, had caused the family of Wood-
stock Lodge to make later hours than usual. To this conjecture,
which appeared the most probable of any, his mind often
recurred ; and it was the hope that Tomkins would still appear
at the rendezvous, which induced him to remain at the borough,
anxious to receive communication from his emissary, and afraid
of Be ee: the success of the enterprise by any premature
exertion on his own part.

‘In the meantime, Cromwell, finding it no longer possible to
conceal his personal presence, dispas4 of peveny ning so as to
be ready at a minute’s notice. Half his soldiers he caused to
dismount, and had the horses put into ee the other half
were directed to keep their horses saddled, and themselves
ready to mount at a moment’s notice. The men were brought
into the house by turns, and had some refreshment, leaving
a sufficient guard on the horses, which was changed from time
to time.

Thus Cromwell waited with no little uncertainty, often cast-
ing an anxious eye upon Colonel Everard, who, he suspected,
could, if he chose it, well supply the place of his absent confidant,

te

Ww

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Op tai RO RI Rn
yes

F, aaNRRRialaecaeneat esaeaaaoa ee SE ee ee

<

WOODSTOCK.

   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
    
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   

374

Everard endured this calmly, with unaltered countenance, and
brow neither ruffled nor dejected.

Midnight at length tolled, and it became necessary to take
some decisive s step. Tomlins might have been treacherous ;
or, 4 ee ene which approached more near to the reality, his
intrigue might have been discovered, and he himself murdered
or kidnapped by the vengeful roy alists. In a word, if any use
was to be made of the c -hance which fortune afforded of securing
the most formidable claimant of the supreme power which he
already aimed at, no further time was to be lost. He at length
eave orders to Pearson to get the men under arms; he directed
him concerning the mode of forming them, and that they should
march with the utmost possible silence; or, as it was given out
in the orders, “ Even as Gideon marched in silence when he
went down against the camp of the Midianites, with only Phurah
his servant. Peradventure,” continued this strange document,
“we too may learn of what yonder Midianites have dreamed.”

A single patrol, followed by a corporal ae five steady, ex-
perienced soldiers, formed the advanced guard of the party;
then followed the main body. A rear-gt uard of ten men guard-
ed Everard and the minister. Cromwell required the attend-
ance of the former, as it might be necessary to examine him,
or confront him with others; and he carried Master Hold-
te. with him, because he might escape if left behind, and
perhaps raisé some tumult in the village. The Presbyterians,
though they not only concurred with, but led the way in the
civil war, were at its conclusion highly dissatisfied with the ascen-
dency of the military sectaries, and not to be trusted as cordial
agents in anything where their interest was concerned. The
infantry, being disposed of as we have noticed, marched off
from the left of their line, Cromwell and Pearson, both on
foot, keeping at the head of the centre, or main body of the
detachment. ‘They were all armed with petronels, short guns
similar to the modern carbine, and, like them used by horse-
men, They marched in the most profound silence anc d with
the utmost regularity, the whole body moving like one man.

Abotit one hundred yards behind the rearmost of the dis-
mounted party, came the troopers who remained on horseback ;
and it seemed as if even the irrational animals were sensible to
Cromwell’s orders, for the horses did not neigh, and even ap-
peared to place their feet on the earth cautiously, and with less
noise than usual.

Their leader, full of anxious thoughts, never spoke, save to
enforce by whispers his caution respecting silence, while the
men, surprised and delighted to find themselves under the com-WOODSTOCK. $75
mand of their renowned General, and destined, doubtless, for
some secret service of high import, used the utmost precaution
in attending to his reiterated orders.

They marched down the street of the little borough in the
order we have mentioned. Few of the tow nsmen were abroad ;
and one or two, who had protracted the orgies of the evening
to that unusual hour,

a strong party ¢
police, t

were too happy to escape the notice of
of soldiers who often acted in the character of
to inquire about their purpose for being under arms so
late, or the route which they were pursuing.

The external gate of the Chase had, ever since the party
had arrived at Woodstock, been strictly guarded by three file
of troopers, to cut off all communication between the Lodge
and the town. Spitfire, Wildrake’s emissary, who had often
been a-bird-nesting, or on similar mischievous excursions in
the forest, had evaded these men’s vigilance by climbing over
a breach with which he was well acquainted, in a different part
of the wall.

Between this party and the advanced guard of Cromwell’s
detachment, aw hispered challenge was exchanged, according
to the rules of discipline. The infantry entered the Park, and
were followed by the cavalry, who were directed to avoid the
hard road, and ride as much as possible upon the turf which
bordered on the avenue. Here, too, an additional precaution
was used, a file or two of foot soldiers being detached to search
the woods on either hand, and make prisoner, or, in the event
of resistance, put to death, any whom they might find lurking
there, under what pretence soever.

Meanwhile, the weather began to show itself as propitious
to Cromwell, as he had found most incidents in the course of
his successful career. The gray mist, which had hitherto ob-
scured everything, and rendered marc hing in the wood embar-
rassing and difficult, had now given way to the moon, which,
after many efforts, at length forced her way through the vapor,
and pee sr dim dull cresset in the heavens, which she en-
lightened, as the dying lamp of an anchorite does the cell in

which he reposes. ‘The party were in sight of the front of the
Faas when Hol denough whispered to Everard, as they walked
near each other—* See ye not, yonder flutters the mysterious
light in the turret of the incontinent Rosamond? This night
will try whether the devil of the Sectaries or the devil of the
Malignants shall prove the stronger. O, sing jubilee, for the
kingdom of Satan is divided against itself!”

Here the divine was interrupted by a non-commissioned
officer, who came hastily, yet with noiseless steps, to say, in 4ae Mitta arrersavert varie ee

a

iat

376 WOODSTOCK.
jow stern whisper—‘ Silence, prisoner in the rear—silence on
pain of death.”

A moment afterward the whole party stopped their march,
the word alt being passed from one to another, and instantly
obeyed.

The cause of this interruption was the hasty return of one of
the flanking party to the main body, bringing news to Crom-
well that they had seen a light in the wood at some distance on
the lets.

‘‘ What can it be?” said Cromwell, his low stern voice, even
in a whisper, making itself distinctly heard. “ Does it move,
or is it stationary?”

‘So far as we can judge, it moveth not,” answered the
trooper.

‘“ Strange—there is no cottage near the spot where it is

 

seen.

“So please your Excellency, it may be a device of Sathan.”
said Corporal Humgudgeon, snuffling through his nose ; “he is
mighty powerful in these parts of late.”

“ So please your idiocy, thou art an ass,” said Cromwell;
but, instantly recollecting that the corporal had been one of
the adjutators or tribunes of the common soldiers, and was
therefore to be treated with suitable respect, he said, ‘‘ Never-
theless, if it to be the device of Satan, please it the Lord we will
resist him, and the foul slave shall fly from us.—Pearson,” he
said, resuming his soldierlike brevity, ‘‘ take four file, and see
what is yonder—No—the knaves may shrink from thee. Go
thou straight to the Lodge—invest it in the way we agreed, so
that a bird shall not escape out of it—from an outward and an
inwardring of sentinels, but give no alarm until I come. Should
any attempt to escape, KILL them.”—He spoke that com-
mand with terrible emphasis—“ Kill them on the spot,” he re-
peated, ‘ be they who or what they will. Better so than trou-
ble the Commonwealth with prisoners.”

Pearson heard, and proceeded to obey his commander’s
orders.

Meanwhile, the future Protector disposed the small force
which remained with him in such a manner that they should
approach from different points at once the light which excited
his suspicions, and gave them orders to creep as near to it as
they could, taking care not to lose each other’s support, and
to be ready to rush in at the same moment, when he should
give the sign, which was to be aloud whistle. Anxious to
ascertain the truth with his own eyes, Cromwell, who had by
instinct all the habits of military foresight, which, in others, areWOODSTOCK. Bi

the result of professional education and long experience, ad-
vanced upon the object of his curiosity. He skulked from tree
to tree with the light step and prowling sagacity ofan Indian
bush-fighter ; and before any of his men had approached so near
as to descry them, he saw, by the lantern which was placed on the
ground, two men. who had been engaged in digging what
seemed to be an ill-made grave. Near them lay extended some-
thing wrapped in a deer’s hide, whicl greatly resembled the dead
body of a man. They spoke together in a low voice, yet so
that their dangerous auditor could perfectly overhear what
they said.

“Tt is done at last,” said one; “the worst and hardest
labor I ever did in my life. I believe there is no luck about
me left. My very arms feel as if they did not belong to me:
and, strange to tell, toil as hard as I would, I could not gather
warmth in my limbs.”

‘“[ have warmed me enough,” said Rochecliffe, breathing
short with fatigue.

‘* But the cold lies at my heart,” said Joceline ; | ‘scarce
hope ever to be warm geen It is strange, and a charm seems
to be onus. Here have we been nigh two hours in doing
what Diggen the sexton coe have done to better purpose in
half a one.”

‘““ We are wretched spade men enough,” answered Dr. Roche-

y

cea

5
n¢

cliffe. ‘Every man to his tools—thou to thy bugle-horn,
and I to my papers incipher. But do not be discouraged; it is
the frost on the ground, and the number of roots, which ren-
dered our task difficult. And now, all due rites pe to this
unhappy man, and having read over him the service of the
Church valeat guantum, let us lay him decently in this place
of last repose ; there will be small lack of him above ground.
So cheer up thy heart, man, like a soldier as thou art; we have
read the service over his body; and should times permit it, we
will have him removed to consecrated ground, though he is all
unworthy of such favor. Here, help me to lay him in the earth ;
we will drag briers and thorns over the spot, when we have
shoveled dust upon dust ; and do thou think of this chance
more manfully ; and remember, thy secret is in thine own keep-
ing.”

‘“‘ I cannot answer for that,’”’ said Joceline. ‘‘ Methinks the
very night-winds among the leaves will tell of what we have
been doing—methinks the trees themselves will say ‘There is a
dead corpse lies among our roots.’ Witnesses are soon found
when blood hath been spilled.”

“ They are so, and that right early,” exclaimed Cromwell,

?

=

Se aaaFame

F) sihioakormbisnaneacaiadeaaiee tee etre ines see

~

378 WOODSTOCK.

starting from the thicket, laying hold on Joceline, and putting
a pistol to his head. At any other period of his life, the
forester would, even against the odds of numbers, have made a
desperate resistance ; but the horror he had felt at the slaughter
of an old companion, although in os of his own life, to-
gether with fatigue and surprise, had altogether un Sater
him, and he was seized as easily as a sheep is secured by the
butcher. Dr. Rochecliffe offered some resistance, bi was pre-
sently secured by the soldiers who pressed around him.

‘““ Look, some of you,” said Cromwell; ‘‘ what corpse this is
upon whom these lewd sons of Belial have done a murder—
Corporal Grace-be-here Humgudgeon, see if thou knowest the
face.”

‘“‘ I profess I do, even as I s should do mine own in a mirror,’
snuffled the corpor al, after looking on the countenance of the
dead man by the help of the fianeer ‘Of a verity it is our
trusty brother in the faith, Josep yh Tomkins.

‘Tomkins !”? exclaimed Cromwell, springing forward and
satisfying himself with a glance at the features of the corpse—
“ Tomkins !—and murdered, as the fracture of the temple in-
timates !—dogs that ye are, confess the truth—You have mur-
dered him because you have discovered his treachery—I should
say his true spirit toward the Commonwealth of England, and
his hatred of those complots in which you would have engaged
his honest simplicity.”

‘ Ay,” said Grace-be-here Humgudgeon, “ and then to mis-
use his dead bodv with your pap! istical doctrines, as if you had
crammed cold porridge into its cold mouth. I pray thee,
General, let these men’s bonds be made strong.”

‘Forbear, corporal,” said Cromwell; “ our time presses.—
Friend, to you, whom I believe tobe Doctor Anthony Roche-
cliffe by name and surname, I have to give the choice of being
hanged at daybreak to-motrow, or making atonement for the
murder of one of the Lord’s people, by telling what thou
knowest.of the secrets which are in yonder house.”

“Truly, sir,” replied Rochecliffe, ‘ ‘you found me but in my
duty as a clergyman, interring the dead; and respecting an-
swering your questions, I am determined myself, and do advise
my fellow-sufferer on this occasion ”——

‘* Remove him,” said Cromwell; “I know his. stiffnecked:
ness of old, though I have made him plough in my furrow,
when he thought he was turning up his own swathe—Remove
him to the rear, and bring hither the other fellow .—Come Hie
here—this way—c loser—closer .—Corporal Grace-be-here, do
thou keep thy hand upon the belt with which he is bound. "Wemust take care of our life
though, lack-a-day, for its own es worth we could peril it
mark me, fellow, choose betwixt buy-
ing thy life by a full confession, or being tucked presently up
to one of these old oaks

‘Truly, muster,” answered the under-keeper, affecting more
than was natural to him (for his frequent intercourse
with Sir Henry Lee had partly softened and polished his man-
is like to bear a lusty acorn—that

for a pin’s point.—Now,

rusticity

ners),

‘IT think the oak

is all.”

“Dally not with me, friend,” continued Oliver; “ I profess
in sincerity I am no trifler. What guests have you seen

to thee

17

 

WOODSTOCK.

for the sake of this distracted country,

How likest thou that ? ”

at yonder house called the Lodge ?”’

‘Many a br:

Said J

some twelve years back! Ah,

ive guest in my day, I’se warrant ye, master,”

oceline. ‘‘ Ah, to see how the chimneys used to smoke

a poor man.”
ut, rascal!’ said the General, “ dostthou jeerme? Tell

6c (
me at
look t
tion,

render

will se
would

but rather Bata so far as my poor wishes and prayers are con-

cerned, that it shot upon the lowly and humble grass

once what guests have been of late in the Lodge
that in rendering me this satisfac-
rescue thy neck from the halter, but
also an acceptable service to the State, and one which I
eS eee rewarded. For, truly, I am not of those who

hee, friend, be assured,
thou shalt not only

  

ave the rain fall only on the proud and stately plants,

| d also fall

ul
and corn, that the heart of the husbandman may be rejoiced,

and tl

boughs, and in its roots,

vat as the cedar

of Lebanon waxes in its hela in its
so may the humble and lowly hy ssop

that groweth upon the walls flourish, and—and, truly —Under-

stand’

ce NOt entirely, pit a

it sounds as if you were
ous Aes

1 hen, in one wore
neguy,

yonde

fo Nay, sity + te
ge and going since
who they are ?—my
A thousand pounds,

coming

know

ang of doctrine

fed?

l
Gish
it
1—thou knowest there is one

or Carnego, or some such name, in hiding at the Lodge

plied the

st thou me, knave ?”

t please your honor,

9

39

Lue

under-keeper, “‘ there have been many
and how should I

Worcester-field :

7

service is out of doors, I trow.”

” said Cromwell, ‘ do I tell down to

¢ Seed oe
ee if thou carist place that boy in my power.

“A thousand pounds is a marvelous matter, sir,
“but I have more

line ;

99

blood on my hand than I like already.

sir, a sniff of it would have dined

and

said Joceline ; ‘‘ but
reaching a sermon, and has a marvel-
a

1)

Louis Ker-

said Joce-

SGfppeersenan Er oTSSB ocasrsaves syne crn ne

380 WOODSTOCK.
I know not how the price of life may thrive—and, ’scape or
hang, I have no mind to try.”

« Aw ay with him to the rear,” said the General ; “ and let
him not speak with his yoke-fellow yonder.—Fool that I am to
waste time in expecting to get milk from mules.—Move on
toward the Lodge.”

They moved with the same silence as formerly, notwith-
standing the difficulties which they encountered from being un-
acquainted with the road and its various intricacies. At length
they were challenged, in a low voice, by one of their own senti-
nels, two concentric circles of whom had been placed around
the Lodge, so close to each other, as to preclude the possibility
of an individual escaping from within. The outer guard was
maintained partly by horse upon the roads and open lawn, and
where the ground was broken and bushy, by infantry. The
inner circle was guarded by foot soldiers only. The whole were
in the highest degree alert, expecting some interesting and im-
portant consequences from ‘the unusual expedition on w hich they
were eng aged.

“Any news, Pearson?”’ said the General to his aide-de-camp,
who came instantly to report to his superior.

ide tTeceived for answer; ““None?’

Cromwell led his officer forward just opposite to the door of
the Lodge, and there paused betwixt the circles of guards, so
that their conversation could not be overheard.

He then pursued his inquiry, demanding—“ Were there any
lights, any appearances of stirring—any attempt at sally—any
preparation for defence ie

‘“‘ All as silent as the valley of the shadow of death—Even
as the vale of Jehoshaphat.”

‘““Pshaw ! tell me not of Jehoshaphat, Pearson,” said Crom-
well. “‘'These words are good for others, but not for thee
Speak plainly, and like a blunt soldier as thou art. Each man
hath his own mode of speech; and bluntness, not sanctity, is
thine.’

“Well, then, nothing has been stirring,” said Pearson.—
“ Wet peradyénture.’’=

‘ Peradventure not me,” said Cromwell, “ or thou will tempt
me to knock thy teeth out. I ever distrust a man when he
speaks after another fashion from his own.”

“ Zounds ! let me speak toan end,” answered Pearson, “ and
I will speak in what language your Excellency will.”

Thy zounds, friend,” said Oliver, “ showeth little of grace,
but much of sincerity. Go to then—thou knowest I love andWOODSTOCK.
irust thee. Hast thou kept close watch? It behoves us to
know that, before giving the alarm.”

“On my soul,” said Pearson, “ I have watched as closely as
a cat at a mouse-hole. It is beyond possibility that anything
could have eluded our vigilance, or even stirred within the
house, without our being aware of it.”

“’Tis well,” said Cromwell; “ thy services shall not be fer-
gotten, Pearson. Thou canst not preach and pray, but thou
canst obey thine orders, Gilbert Pearson, and that may make
amends.”

“I thank your Excellency,” replied Pearson; “but I beg
leave to chime in with the humors of the times. A poor fellow
hath no right to hold himself singular.”

He paused, expecting Cromwell’s orders what next was to
be done, and, indeed, not a little surprised that the General’s
active and prompt spirit had suffered him during a moment so
critical to cast away a thought upon acircumstance so trivial
as his officer’s peculiar mode of expressing himself. He won-
dered still more, when, by a brighter gleam of moonshine than
he had yet enjoyed, he observed that Cromwell was standing
motionless, his hand supported upon his sword, which he had
taken out of the belt, and his stern brow bent on the ground,
He waited for some time impatiently, yet afraid to interfere
lest he should awaken this unwonted fit of ill-timed melancholy
into angerandimpatience. He listened to the muttering sounds
which escaped from the half-opening lips of his principal, in
which the words “hard necessity,” which occurred more than
once, were all of which the sense could be distinguished. ‘“* My
Lord-General,’’ at length he said, “time flies.”

‘Peace, busy fiend, and urge me not!” said Cromwell.
“'Think’st thou, like other fools, that I have made a paction
with the devil for success, and am bound to do my work within
an appointed hour, lest the spell should lose its force ?”

“JT only think, my Lord-General,” said Pearson, “that For-
tune has put into your coffer what you have long desired to
make prize of, and that you hesitate.”

Cromwell sighed deeply as he answered, ‘‘ Ah, Pearson, in
this troubled world, a man, who is called like me to work great
things in Israel, had need to be, as the poets feign, a thing
made of hardened metal, immovable to feelings of human
charities, impassible, resistless. Pearson, the world will here-
after, perchance, think of me as being such a one as I have
described, ‘an iron man, and made of iron mould.’—Yet they
will wrong my memory—my heart is flesh, and my blood is
mild as that of others. When I was a sportsman, I have wept

oN

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382 WOODSTOCK.

for the gallant heron that was struck down by my hawk, and
sorrowed for the hare which lay screaming under the jaws of
my greyhound; and canst thou think it a light thing to me,
that, the blood of this lad’s father lying in some measure upon
my head, I should now put in peril that of the son ? They are
of the kindly race of English sovereigns, and, doubtless, are
adored like to demigods by those of their own party. I am
called Parricide, Bloodthirsty Usurper, already, for shedding the
blood of one man, that the plague might be stayed—or as Achan
was slain that Israel might thereafter “stand against the face
of their enemies. Nevertheless, who has spoken unto me
graciously since that high deed? Those who acted in the matter
with me are willing that I should be the scapegoat of atone-
ment—those who looked on and helped not, bear themselves
now as if they had been borne down by violence ; and while I
looked that they should shout applause on me, because, of the
victory of Worcester, whereof the Lord had made me the poor
instrument, they look aside to say, ‘Ha! ha! the King-killer,
the Parricide—soon shall his place be made desolate.’—Truly
it is a great thing, Gilbert Pearson, to be lifted above the mul-
titude ; but when one feeleth that his exaltation is rather
hailed with hate and scorn than with love and reverence—in
sooth, it is still a hard matter for a mild, tender conscienced,
infirm spirit to bear—and God be my witness, that, rather than
do this new deed, I would shed my own best heart’s-blood in a
pitched field twenty against one.” Here he fell into a flood of
tears, which he sometimes was wont to do. This extremity of
emotion was of a singular character. It was not actually the
result of penitence, and far less that of absolute hypocrisy, but
arose merely from the temperature of that remarkable man,
whose deep policy, and ardent enthusiasm, were intermingled
with a strain of hypochondriacal passion, which often led him to
exhibit scenes of this sort, though seldom, as now, when he
was called to the execution of great undertakings.

Pearson, well acquainted as he was with the peculiarities of
his General, was baffled and confounded by this fit of hesitation
and contrition, by which his enterprising spirit appeared to be
so suddenly paralyzed. After a moment’s silence, he said, with
some dryness of manner, “ If this be the case, it is a pity your
Excellency came hither. Corporal Humegudgeon and I, the
greatest saint and greatest sinner in your army, had done the
deed, and divided the guilt and the honor betwixt us.”

“ Ha!” said Cromwell, as if touched to the quick, “ wouldst
thou take the prey from the lion ?”

“If the lion behaves like a village cur,” said Pearson, boldly,WOODSTOCK. 383

“who now barks as though he would tear all to pieces, and
now flies from a raised stick or stone, I know not why I should
fear him. If Lambert had been here, there had been less
speala ing and more action.’

‘Lambert ! What of Lambert ?” said Cromwell, very sharply.

‘Only,” said Pearson, “‘ that I long since hesitated whether
I should follow your excellency or him—and I be egin to be un-
certain whether I have made the best choice, that’s all.”

‘“‘ Lambert!” exclaimed Cromwell, impatiently, yet softening
his voice lest he should be overheard ¢ descanting on the char-
acter of his rival,—‘‘ What is Lambert ?—a tulip-fancying fellow,
whom nature intended for a Dutch gardener at Delft or Rot-
terdam. Ungrateful as thou art, what could Lambert have
done for thee ?’

‘He would not,’ answered Pearson, ‘‘ have stood here
hesitating before a locked door, when fortune presented the
means of securing, by one blow, his own fortune, and that of all
who followed him.”

“Thou art right, Gilbert Pearson,” said Cromwell, grasping
the officer’s hand, and strongly pressing it. “Be the half of

this bold accompt thine, w hether the re eckoning be on earth or
heaven.”

‘* Be the whole of it mine hereafter,’ said Pearson hardily,
“so your Excellency have the advantage of it uponearth. Step
back to the rear till I force the door—there may be danger, if
despair induce them to make a desperate sally.”’

And if they do sally, is there one of my Ironsides who fears
fire or steel less than myself?” said the General. “Let ten of
the most determined men follow us, two with halberts, two with
petronels, the others with pistols— Let all their arms be loaded,
and fire without hesitation, if there is any attempt to resist or
to sally forth—Let Corp: ral Humgudgeon be with them, and
do thou remain here, and watch against escape, as thou wouldst
watch for thy salvation.’

The General then struck at the door with the hilt of his sword
—at first with a single How or two, then with a reverberation
of strokes that made the ancient building ring again. This
noisy summons was repeated once or twice wit thout producing
the least effect.

‘¢ What can this mean ?” said Cromwell ; “ they cannot surely
have fled, age left the house empty.’

“No,” replied Pearson, “I will ensure you against that ; but
your gestions) strikes so fiercely, you allow no time for an
answer. Hark! I hear the baying of a hound, and the voice

   

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s a ae P
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284 WOODSTOCK.

of aman who is quieting him—Shall we break in at once, or
hold parley ?”’

‘“‘T will speak to them first,” said Cromwell —‘ Hollo ! whe
is within there ? ”’

‘‘ Who is it inquires ?”” answered Sir Henry Lee from the
interior ; ‘‘ or what want you here at this dead hour? ”

‘““We come by warrant of the Commonwealth of England,”
said the General.

‘““T must see your warrant ere I undo either bolt or latch,”
replied the knight ; “ we are enough of-us to make good the
castle: neither I nor my fellows will deliver it up but upon
good quarter and conditions ; and we will not treat for these
save in fair daylight.”

“Since you will not yield to our right, you must try our
might,” replied Cromwell. ‘ Look to yourselves within, the
door will be in the midst of you in five minutes.”

‘Look to yourselves without,” replied the stout-hearted Sir
Henry ; “we will pour out shot upon you, if you attempt the
least violence.”

But, alas! while he assumed this bold language, his whole
garrison consisted of two poor terrified women ; for his son, in
conformity with the plan which they had fixed upon, had with-
drawn from the hall into the secret recesses of the palace.

‘What can they be doing now, sir?” said Phoebe, hearing
a noise as it were of a carpenter turning screw-nails, mixed
with a low buzz of men talking.

‘They are fixing a petard,” said the knight, with great com-
posure. “I have noted thee for a clever wench, Phcebe, and I
will explain it to thee: ’Tis a metal pot, shaped much like one
of the roguish knaves’ own sugar-loaf hats, supposing it had
narrower brims—it is charged with some few pounds of fine
gunpowder. Then ”

‘Gracious ! we shall be all blown up!” exclaimed Pheebe,
—the word gunpowder being the only one which she understood
in the knight’s description.

‘*‘ Not a bit, foolish girl. Pack old Dame Jellicot into the
embrasure of yonder window,” said the knight, “on that side of
the door, and we will ensconce ourselves on this, and we shall
have time to finish my explanation, for they have bungling
engineers. We hada clever French fellow at Newark would
have done the job in the firing of a pistol.”

They had scarce got into the place of security when the
knight proceeded with his description,—“ The petard being
formed, as I tell you, is secured with a thick and strong piece of
plank termed the madrier, and the whole being suspended, orWOODSTOCK. 385

rather secured against the gate to be forced—But thou mindest
me not?”

‘“ How can I, Sir Henry,” she said, “ within reach of such a
thing as you speak of 2—O Lord! I shall go mad with very
terror—we shall be crushed—blown up—in a few minutes !”

‘We are secure from the explosion,” replied the knight,
gravely, ‘“‘ which will operate chiefly in a forward direction into
the middle of the chamber; and from any fragments that may
fly laterally, we are sufficiently guarded by this deep embrasure.”

‘But they will slay us when they enter,” said Phcebe.

‘* ‘They will give thee fair quarter, wench,” said Sir Henry ;
‘‘and if I do not bestow a branch of balls on that rogue engineer,
it is because I would not incur the penalty inflicted by martial
law, which condemns to the edge of the sword all persons who
attempt to defend an untenable post. Not that I think the
rigor of the law could reach Dame Jellicot or thyself, Phoebe,
considering that you carry no arms. If Alice had been here
she might indeed have done somewhat, for she can use a bird-
ing-piece.”’

Phoebe might have appealed to her own deeds of that day,
as more allied to feats of mé/ée and battle, than any which her
young lady ever acted: but she was in an agony of inexpres-
sible terror, expecting, from the knight’s account of the petard,
some dreadful catastrophe, of what nature she did not justly
understand, notwithstanding his liberal communication on the
subject.

‘They are strangely awkward at it,” said Sir Henry; “‘little
Boutirlin would have blown the house up before now.—Ah!
he is a fellow would take the earth like a rabbit—if he had
been here, never may I stir but he would have countermined
them ere now, and

 

‘ Tis sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard,’

as our immortal Shakspeare has it.”

‘‘O Lord, the poor mad old gentleman,” thought Phaebe—
“© sir, had you not better leave alone play-books, and think
of your end?” uttered she aloud, in sheer terror and vexation
of spirit.

“Tf I had not made up my mind to that not many days
since,” answered the knight, “I had not now met this hour
with a free bosom—

‘ As gentle and as jocund as to rest,
Go I to death—truth hath a quiet breast.’ ”

»

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|PSMA a asenanis uicsahancaleenalecee Sasa

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386 WOODSTOCK.

As he spoke, a broad glare of light flashed from without,
through the windows of ane hall, antl betwixt the strong iron
Stanchions with phe: they were secured—a broad discolored
light it was, which shed a red and dusky illumination on the
old armor and wea sols, as if it had been the reflection of a
conflagration. Phoebe screamed aloud, and, forgetful of rever-
ence in the moment of passion, clung close to the knight’s
cloak and arm, while Dame Jellicot, from her solitary niche,
slaving the use of her eyes, though bereft of her hearing, yelled
like an owl when the moon breaks out suddenly.

‘Take care, good Phoebe,” said the knight; “ you will
prevent my using my weapon if you hang upon me thus.—The
bungling fools cannot fix their a without the use of
torches! Now let me take the advantage of this interval.—
Remember what I told thee, and how to put off time.’

“OQ Lord—ay, sir,” said Pheebe, “TI will say anything. O
Lord, that it were but over !—Ah! vanes Pos prolonged
screams )—“ I hear something hissing like a serpent.”

“Tt is the fusee, as we martialists call it,” replied the
knight; “that is, Phoebe, the match which fires the petard,
and which is longer or shorter, according to the distance.’

Here the knight’s discourse was cut short by a dreadful
explosion, which, as he had foretold, shattered the doot r, strong
as it was, to pieces, and brought down the glass clatte ring from
the windows with all the painted heroes and heroines, w ho I rad
been recorded on that fragile place of memory for centuries.
The women shrieked incessantly, and were answered by the
bellowing of Bevis, though shut up at a distance from the scene
of action. The knight, shaking Phoebe from him with diffi-
culty, advanced into the hall to meet those who rushed in, with
torches lighted and weapons prepared.

“Death to all who resist—life to those who surrender!”
exclaimed Cromwell, stamping with his foot. “Who commands
this garrison ? ”

“Sir Henry Lee of Dit chley,” answered the old knight,
stepping forward; “who, having no other garrison than two
weak women, is compelled to submit to what he would willingly
have resisted.”

‘Disarm the inveterate and malignant rebel,” cried Oliver.

Art thou not ashamed, sir, to detain me before the door of a
house which you had no force to defend? Wearest thou so
white a beard, and knowest thou not, that to refuse surren-
dering an indefensible post, by the martial law deserves
hanging ?” .

“My beard and JI,” said Sir Henry, “have settled thatWOODSTOCK. 387

matter between us, and agree right cordially. It is better to
run the risk of being hanged hi ke honest men, than to give up
our trust like cowards and traitors.”

“Hal! say’st thou?” said Cromwell; ‘“ thou hast powerful
motives, I doubt not, for running thy head into a noose. But
[ will speak with thee by and by.~ Ho! Pearson, Gilbert
Pearson, take this scroll—Take the elder woman with thee.
—Let her guide you to the various places therein mentioned—
Search every room therein set down, and arrest, or slay upon
the slightest resistance, vik wales Peay you find there. Then
note those places marked as commanding points for cutting off

intercourse through the mansion—the landing-places of the
great staircase, the great gallery, and so forth. Use the woman

civilly. The plan annexed to the scroll will point out the
posts, even if she prove stupid or refractory. Meanwhile, the

corporal, with a party, will bring the old man ger te irl
there to some apartment—the parlor, I think, 1 Victor
Lee’s, will do as well as another.—We will then chs out of this
stifling smell of gunpowder.”

So saying and without pelts: ¢ any eee assistance or

e had named. Sir

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Henry had his own feelings, w hen en saw the unhesitating de-

cision with which the General led the way, a1 d which seemed

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“7 will now ask thee a few questions, old man,” said the
General, when. they had a in the room; “and I warn
thee, that hope of pardon for thy many and persevering ¢ fforts
against the Commonwealth, can be no otherwise merited than
by the most direct answers to the questions I am about to
ask.”

Sir Henry bowed. He would have spoken, but he felt his
temper rising high, and became afraid it might be exhausted
before the part he had settled to play, in Gian afford the
King time for his escape, should be brought to an end.

oO

‘What household have you had here, Sir H fenry Lee, within
these few Sen al guests—what visitors ? We know that
your means of housekeeping are not so profuse as usual, so the
catalogue cannot be oe hence to your memory.

“ Far from it,’ replied the knig ht, with unusual command
af temper; “my Dies and latterly my son, have been my
guests; and | have had these females, and one Joceline Jo
liffe, to attend upon us.”

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388 WOODSTOCK.

“I do not ask after the regular members of your househoid,
but after those who have been within your gates, either as
guests, or as malignant fugitives taking shelter?”

“There may have been more of both kinds, sir, than I, if
it please your valor, am able to answer forse? replied the knight,
“T remember my innemen Everard was ‘hers one morning—
Also, I bethink me, a follower of his, called Wildrake.”

“Did you not also receive a young cavalier, called Louis
Garnegey ?”’ said Cromwell.

“T remember no such name, were { to hang for it,” said
the knight.

“ Kerneguy, or some such word,” said the General; “ we
will not quarrel for a sound.”

"A scotch iad, called Louis Kerneguy, was a guest of
mine,” said Sir Henry, “and left me this morning for Dorset-
shire.”

“So late!” exclaimed Cromwell, stamping with his foot—
“‘ How fate contriv es to baffle us, even when she seems most
favorable og hat direction did he take, old man?” continued
Cromwell—* what horse did he ride—who went with him ?”

“My son went with him,” replied the knight ; ‘‘ he brought
him here as the son of a Scottish lord.—] pray you, sir, to be
finished with these questions; for although I owe thee, as Will
Shakspeare says,

* Respect for thy great place, and let the devil

sometimes honored for his burning throne,’—

Res
Be
yet I feel my patience wearing thin.”

Cromwell here whispered to the corporal, who in turn ut-
tered orders to two soldiers, who left the room. “ Place the
knight aside ; we will now examine the servant damsel,” said
the General.—“‘ Dost thou know,” said he to Phebe, ‘ ‘of the
presence of one Louis Kerneguy, calling himself a Scotch page,
wuLO came here a few days since ?’

“Surely, sir,” she replied, “I cannot easily forget him;
and I warrant no well-looking wench that comes into his way
will be like to forget him either.”

“ Aha,” said Cromwell, “ say’st thou so? truly I believe
the woman will prove the truer witness.—When did he leave
this house ?”’

‘* Nay, : know nothing of his movements, not I,” said
Phoebe ; “I am only glad to keep out of his way. But if he
have Rais gone hence, I am sure he was here some two

hours since, for he cro ssed me in the lower passage, between
the hall and the kitcherWOODSTOCK. 389

“ How did you know it was he?” demanded Cromwell.

“ By a rude enough token,” said Phoebe.—“ La, sir, you do
ask such questions!” she added, hanging down her head.
_ Humgudgeon here interfered, taking upon himself the free-
dom of a coadjutor. “Verily,” he said, “if what the damsel

is called to speak upon hath aught unseemly, I crave your
Excellency’s permission to withdraw, not desiring that my
nightly meditations may be disturbed with tales of such a
nature.”

“Nay, your honor,” said Pheebe, ‘“T scorn the old man’s
words, in the way of seemliness or unseemliness either. Master
Louis did but snatch a kiss, that is the truth of it, if it must
be told.”

Here Humgudgeon groaned deeply, while his Excellency
avoided laughing with some difficulty. “ Thou hast given ex-
cellent tokens, Phoebe,” he said; “and if they be true, as 1

And

 

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om

think they seem to be, thou shall not lack thy reward
here comes our spy from the stables.” 5

‘There are not the least signs,” said the trooper, “ that
horses have been in the stables for a month—there is no litter
in the stalls, no hay in the racks, the corn binns are empty,
and the mangers are full of cobwebs.”

“ Ay, ay,” said the old knight, “ | have seen when I kept
twenty good horses in these stalls, with many a groom and
stable-boy to attend them.”

“Tn the meanwhile,” said Cromwell, “ their present state
tells little for the truth of your own story, that there were
guy and your son fled from

 

horses to-day, on which this Kerne
justice.”

“T did not say that the horses were kept there,” said the
knight. “I have horses and stables elsewhere.”

“ Fie, fie, for shame, for shame !” said the General; “ can
a white-bearded man, I ask it once more, be a false witness?”
“ Paith. sir,” said Sir Henry Lee, “itis a thriving trade,
and I wonder not that you who live on it are so severe in pros-
ecuting interlopers. But it is the times, and those who rule
the times, that make gray-beards deceivers.”

“Thou art facetious, friend, as well as daring, in thy malig:
nancy,” said Cromwell ; “but credit me, I will cry quittance
with you ere I am done. Whereunto lead these doors?”

“To bedrooms,” answered the knight.

“ Bedrooms! only to bedrooms ?” said the Republican Gene-

ral, in a voice which indicated such was the internal occupation

of his thoughts, that he had not fully understood the answer.
“Tord, sir,” said the knight, “why should you make it soWER esc en pepsiAbb Na Cate ee

as

  

a

pes

390 WOODSTOCK.

strange? I say these doors lead to bedrooms—to places where
bonest men sleep, and rogues lie awake.”

“You are running up a further account, Sir Henry,” said
the General ; ‘‘ but we will balance it once and for all.”

During the whole of the scene, Cromwell, whatever might
be the internal uncertainty of his mind, maintained the most
strict temperance in language and manner, just as if he had no
further interest in what was passing, than as a military man em-
ployed in discharging the duty enjoined him by his superiors,
But the restraint upon his passion was but

“The torrent’s smoothness ere it dash below.”’ *

The course of his resolution was hurried on even more forci-
bly, because no violence of expression attended or announced
its current. He threw himself into a chair, with a countenance
that indicated no indecision of mind, but a determination which
awaited only the signal for action. Meanwhile the knight, as
if resolved in nothing to forego the privileges of his rank and
place, sat himself down in turn, and putting on his hat, which
lay on a table, regarded the General with a calm look of fear-
less indifference. The soldiers stood around, some holding the
torches, which illuminated the apartment with a lurid and som-
bre glare of light, the others resting upon their weapons.
Pheebe, with her hands folded, her eyes turned upward till the
pupils were scarce visible, and every shade of color banished
from her ruddy cheek, stood like one in immediate apprehen-
sion of the sentence of death being pronounced, and instant
execution commanded.

Heavy steps were at last heard, and Pearson and some of
the soldiers returned. This seemed to be what Cromwell
waited for. He started up, and asked hastily, ‘‘ Any news, Pear-
son? any prisoners—any malignants slain in thy defence ? ”

‘“‘ None, so please your Excellency,” said the officer.

‘And are thy sentinels all carefully placed, as Tomkins’
scroll gave direction, and with fitting orders?”

‘With the most deliberate care,” said Pearson.

‘“* Art thou very sure,” said Cromwell, pulling him a little to
one side, “that this is all well and duly cared for? Bethink
thee, that when we engage ourselves in the private communi-
cations, all will be lost should the party we look for have the

 

* But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth ?
The torrents smoothness ere it dash below.
CAMPBELL’S Gertrude of Wyoming.WOODSTOCK. 391

means of dodging us by an escape into the more open rooms,
and from thence perhaps into the forest.”

‘“My Lord-General,” answered Pearson, “ if placing the
guards on the places pointed out in this scroll be sufficient,
with the strictest orders to stop, and, if necessary, to stab, o1
shoot, whoever crosses their post, such orders are given to men
who will not fail to execute them. If more is necessary, your
Excellency has only to speak.” ao

“ No—no—no, Pearson,” said the General, “thou hast done
well.—This night over, and let it end but as we hope, thy
reward shall not be wanting—And now to business.—Sir
Henry Lee, undo me the secret spring of yonder picture of your
ancestor. Nay, spare yourself the trouble and guilt of false-
hood or equivocation, and, I say, undo me that spring presently.”

‘When I acknowledge you for my master, and wear your
livery, I may obey your commands,” answered the knight;
“even then I would need first to understand them.”

“Wench.” said Cromwell, addressing Phebe, “ go thou
undo the spring—you could do it fast enough when you aided
at the gambols of the demons of Woodstock, and terrified
even Mark Everard, who, I judged, had more sense.”

“© Lord, sir, what shall I do?” said Phcebe, looking to the
knight ; “they know all about it. What shall I do?”

“For thy life, hold out to the last, wench! Every minute

 

?
is worth a million.”

“Ha! heard you that, Pearson ?”? said Cromwell to the
officer; then, stamping with his foot, he added, ‘‘ Undo the
spring, or I will else use levers and wrenching-irons—Or, ha :
another petard were well bestowed—Call the engineer.”

“OQ Lord, sir,” cried Phcebe, “I shall never live another
peter—I will open the spring.”

“Do as thou wilt,” said Sir Henry; “it shall profit them
but little.”

Whether from real agitation, or from a desire to gain time,
Phoebe was some minutes ere she could get the spring to open ;
‘+ was indeed secured with art, and the machinery on which it
acted was concealed in the frame of the portrait. The whole
when fastened, appeared quite motionless, and betrayed, as
when examined by Colonel Everard, no external mark of its
being possible to remove it. It was now withdrawn, however,
and showed a narrow recess, with steps which ascended on one
side into the thickness of the wall. Cromwell was now like a
greyhound slipped from the leash with the prey in full view.
—‘‘ Up,” he cried, “ Pearson, thou art swifter than I—Up thou
next, corporal” With more agility than could have beenPa htt rere or

~

ee

392 WOODSTOCK.

expected from his person or years, which were past the meridian
of life, and exclaiming, ‘“‘ Before, those with the torches!” he
followed the party, like an eager huntsman in the rear of his
hounds, to encourage at once and direct them, as they pene-
trated into the labyrinth described by Dr. Rochecliffe in the
“ Wonders of Woodstock.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOURTH.

The King, therefore, for his defence
Against the furious Queen,

At Woodstock builded such a bower,
As never yet was seen.

Most curiously that bower was built,
Of stone and timber strong;

An hundred and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong;

And they so cunningly contrived,
With turnings round about,

That none but with a clew of thread
Could enter in or out.

BALLAD OF Farr ROSAMOND,

THE tradition of the country, as well as some historical evi
dence, confirmed the opinion that there existed, within the old
Royal Lodge at Woodstock, a labyrinth, or connected series of
subterranean passages, built chiefly by Henry II. for the security
of his mistress, Rosamond Clifford, from ‘the jealousy of his
Queen, the celebrated Eleanor, Dr. Rochecliffe, indeed, in one
of those fits of contradiction with which antiquaries are some-
times seized, was bold enough to dispute the alleged purpose of
the perplexed maze of rooms and passages, with which the walls
of the ancient palace were perforated ; but the fact was un-
deniable, that in raising the fabric some Norman architect had
exerted the utmost of the complicated art, which they have
often shown elsewhere, in creating secret passages, and chambers
of retreat and concealment. There were stairs, which were
ascended merely, as it seemed, for the purpose of descending
again—passages which, after turning and winding for a con-
siderable way, returned to the place where they set out—there
were trapdoors and hatchways, panels and portcullises. Al-
though Oliver was assisted by a sort of ground-plan made out
and transmitted by Joseph Tomkins, whose former employment
in Dr. Rochecliffe’s service had made him fully acquainted withWOODSTOCK. 393
the place, it was found imperfect; and, moreover, the most
serious obstacles to their progress occurred in the shape of
strong doors, party-walls, and iron gates—so that the party
blundered on in the dark, uncertain. whether they were not
going further from, rather than approaching, the extremity of
the labyrinth, They were obliged to send for mechanics with
sledge-hammers and other instruments, to force one or two of
those doors, which resisted all other means of undoing them.
Laboring along in these dusky passages, where, from time to
time, they were like to be choked by the dust which their acts
of violence excited, the soldiers were obliged to be relieved
oftener than once, and the bulky Se Grace-be-here himself
puffed and blew like a grampus that has got into shoal water.
Cromwell alone continued, with unabated zeal, to push on his

esearches—to encourage the soldiers, by the e: xhortations which
they best understood, against fainting for izek of faith—and to
secure, by sentinels at proper places, possession of the ground
which they had already explored. His acute and observing eye
detected, with a snee sting smile, the cordage and machinery by
which the bed of poor Desborough had been inverted, and
several remains of the various disguises, as well as private modes
of access, by which Desborough, Bletson, and Harrison, had
been previously imposed upon. He pointed them out to Pear-
son, with no further comment than was implied in the exclama-
tion, “The simple fools!”

But his assistants began to lose heart and be discouraged,
and required all his spirit to raise theirs. He then called their
attention to voices which they seemed to hear before them, and
urged these as evidence that they were moving on the track of
some enemy of the Commonwealth, who, for the execution of his
malignant plots, had retreated into these extraordinary fastnesses.

The spirits of the men became at last downcast, notwith-
standing all this encouragement. They spoke to each other in
whispers, of the devils of Woodstock, who might be all the
while decoying them forward to a room said to exist in the
Palace, where the floor, revolving on an axis, precipitated those
who entered into a bottomless abyss. Humgudgeon hinted,

that he had consulted the Scripture that morning by way of

lot, and his fortune had been to alight on the passage,
“Eutychus fell down from the third loft.” The energy and
authority of Cromwell, howev er, and the refreshment of some
food and strong waters, reconciled them to pursuing their task.
Nevertheless, with all their unwearied exertions, morning
dawned on the search before they had reached Dr. Rochecliffe’s
sitting apartment, into which, after all, they obtained entrance

  
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

Sewer tar Sts hentia st

Nfs ocean hhoF), plthMiagestsetcnsgatindanaeenate eee Rare eR en aCe HO

394 WOODSTOCK.

by a mode much more difficult than that which the Doctor
himself employed. But here their ingenuity was long at fault.
From the miscellaneous articles that were strewed around, and
the preparations made for food and lodging, it seemed they had
gained the very citadel of the labyrinth; but though various
passages opened from it, they all terminated in places with
which they were already neque ted, or communicated with the
other parts of the house, where their own sentinels assurec
them none had passed. Cromwell remained long in deep
uncertainty. Meantime he directed Peaison to take charge of
the ciphers, and more important papers which lay on the table.
Fé Though ¢] here is little there,’ he said, “that J a? e not already
known, by means of Trusty Tomkins—Honest Joseph-—for at
artful and th orough-paced agent, the like of thee is not left in
England.”

After a considerable pause, during which he sounded with,
the pommel of his sword almost every stone in the building

and every plank on the floor, the General gave orders to bring
the old knight and Dr. Rochecliffe to the spot, trusting that he
might work out of them some explanation of the secrets of this
apartment.

‘‘So please your Excellency, to let me deal with them,’’
said Pearson, who was a true soldier of fortune, and had been
a buccanier in the West Indies, “I think that, by a whipeord
twitched tight round their forehead, and twisted about with a
pistol-butt, I could make either the truth start from their lips,
or the eyes from their head.”

“Out upon thee, Pearson!’ said Cromwell, with abhorrence ;
*‘ we have no warrant for such cruelty, n either as Eng slishmen
nor Christians. We may slay mz Jignants as we crush noxious
animals, but to torture them is a de sadly sin; for it is written,
‘He made them to be pitied of those who carried them captive.’
Nay, I recall the order even for their examination, trusting that
wisdom willbe granted us without it, to discover their most
secret devices.”

There was a pause accordingly, during which an idea seized
upon Cromwell’s imagination—‘ Bring me hither,” he said,
‘yonder stool ;”’ and placing it beneath one of the windows,
of which there were two so high in the wall as not to be
accessible from the floor, he clambered up into the entrance of
the window, which was six or seven feet deep, corresponding
with the thickness of the wall. ‘ Come up hither, Pearson,”
pees the General ; ‘but ere thou comest, double the guard at

e foot of the turret called Love’s Ladder, and bid them bring
a the other petard—-So now, come thou hither,”WOODSTOCK. 395

The inferior officer, however brave in the field, was one of
those whom a great height strikes w ith giddiness anid sickness.
He shrunk Back from the view of the prec ipice, on the verge of
which Cromwell was sta nding with co mplete indifference, till
the General, catching the hand of his follower, pulled him for-
ward as far as he would advance. ‘I think,” said the General,
“‘T have found the clew, but by this light it is no easy one!
See you, we stand in the portal near the top of Rosamond’s
Tower; and yon turret, which rises Oppo osite to our feet, is that
called Love’s Ladder, from which the drawbridge

yrant to the

which is
aks admitted the profligate Norman t

reached t
bower of his mistress
: ce my lo rd, but the drawbridge is gone, ” said Pearson.
€ Ay,: Re: arson,” “replied the General; ‘‘ but an active man
eh spring from the spot we . stand upon to the battlements
of yonder turret. v
“TJ do not think so, my lord,” said Pearson.
“ What?” said Cromaell ; “ ‘not if the avenger of blood
were behind you, with his slaughter-w jeapon in his hand?’
‘The fear of instant death seh do much,” answered Pear-
‘but when I look at that sheer depth on either side, and
at the empty chasm between us ee yonder turret, cha Sel
warrant you, twelve feet distant, . confess the truth, nothing
short of the most imminent danger should induce me to try.
Pah—the thought makes my heac 1 grow giddy !—I tremble to
see your Highness stand there, balancing yourself as if you

meditated a spring into the empty air. I repeat, I would scarce
stand so near the verge as does your Ee ss for the rescue

of my life.”

‘Ah, base and degenerate sp! lei L.”
of mud and clay, wouldst thou not do it,
the possession 0 ,f empire !—that is, peradventure,’

who has said too much, * shouldst

he, changing his tone as one :
to do this, that thereby becoming a great man

thou be called on to aot
‘n the tribes of Israel, thou mightest redee m the captivity of
Jerusz lem—ay, and it ae ry be, work some great work for the
afflicted people of this land.”
“ Your Highness may feel suc h calls,” said the officer ; “but
your faithful iotee er

they are not for poo! - Gilbert Pearson,
You made a jest of me yesterday, when I tried to speak your

language ; and I am no more able to fulfil your designs than to

use your mode of Ss} peech.’
« But, Pearson, ” said Cromwell, ‘

your Highness.”

Son 5

said the General ; “ soul
and much more, for
continued

thou hast thrice, yea, four

times pale d me

CRE| roe

P), peithRiRiale a coerectcstantabaueteanant ees Ce
-

a

396 WOODSTOCK.

“Did I, my lord? I was not sensible of it. I crave your
pardon,” said the officer.

“ Nay,” said Oliver, “there was no offence. I do indeed
stand high, and I may perchance stand higher—though, alas !
it were fitter for a simple soul like me to return to my plough
and my husbandry. Nevertheless, I will not wrestle against
the Supreme will, should I be called on to do yet more in that
worthy cause. For surely he who hath been to our British
Israel as ashield of help, and a sword of excellency, making
her enemies be found liars unto her, will not give over the flock
to those foolish shepherds of Westminster, who shear the sheep
and feed them not, and who are in very deed hirelings, not
shepherds.”

“I trust to see your lordship quoit them all down stairs,”
answered Pearson. “ But may I ask why we pursue this dis-
course even now, until we have secured the common enemy?”

“TI will tarry no jot of time,”—said the General; “fence
the communication of Love’s Ladder, as it is called, below, as I
take it for almost certain, that the party whom we have driven
from fastness to fastness during the night, has at length sprung
to the top of yonder battlements from the place where we now
stand. Finding the turret is guarded below, the place he has
chosen for his security will prove a rat-trap, from whence there
is no returning.”

“There is a cask of gunpowder in this cabinet,” said Pear-
son ; “were it not better, my lord, to mine the tower, if he will
not render himself, and send the whole turret with its contents
one hundred feet in the air?”

“Ah, silly man,” said Cromwell, striking him familiarly on
the shoulder ; “if thou hadst done this without telling me, it
had been good service. But we will first summon the turret,
and then think whether the petard will serve our turn—it is
but mining at last.—Blow a summons there, down below.”

The trumpets rang at his bidding, till the old walls echoed
from every recess and vaulted archway. Cromwell, as if he
cared not to look upon the person whom he expected to ap>
pear, drew back, like a necromancer afraid of the spectre which
he has evoked.

‘““ He has come to the battlement,” said Pearson to his Gen-
eral,
“In what dress or appearance?” answered Cromwell from
within the chamber,
“A gray riding-suit, passmented with silver, russet walking.
boots, a cut band, a gray hat and plume, black hair,”WOODSTOCK. 307

“Tt is he, itis he!’ said Cromwell; “and another crown
ing mercy is vouchsafed !”’

Meantime, Pearson and young Lee exchanged defiance
from their respective posts.

“Surrender,” said the former, “or we blow you up in your
fastness.”’

“Tam come of too high a race to surrender to rebels,” said
Albert, assuming the air with which, in such a condition, a king
might have spoken.

“T bear you to witness,” cried Cromwell, exultingly, “he
hath refused quarter. Of a surety, his blood be on his head.
—One of you bring down the barrel of powder. As he loves
to soar high, we will add what can be taken from the soldiers’
bandoleers.—Come with me, Pearson; thou understandest this
gear.—Corporal Grace-be-here, stand thou fast on the platform
of the window where Captain Pearson and I stood but even
now, and bend the point of thy partisan against any who shall
attempt to pass. Thou artas strong asa bull; and I will back
thee against despair itself.”

“But,” said the corporal, mounting reluctantly, “ the place
is as the pinnacle of the temple; and it is written, that Euty-
chus fell down from the third loft, and was taken up dead.”

“Because he slept upon his post,” answered Cromwell,
readily. ‘‘ Beware thou of carelessness, and thus thy feet shall
be kept from stumbling—You four soldiers, remain here to
support the corporal, if it be necessary ; and you, as well as the
corporal, will draw into the vaulted passage the minute the
trumpets sound a retreat. It is as strong as a casemate, and
you may lie there safe from the effects of the mine. ‘Thou,
Zerubbabel Robins, I know wilt be their lance-prisade.” x

Robins bowed, and the General departed to join those who

YX
—
ge

were without.
As he reached the door of the hall, the petard was heard to
explode, and he saw that it had succeeded; for the soldiers
rushed, brandishing their swords and pistols, in at the postern
of the turret, whose gate had been successfully forced. A
thrill of exultation, but not unmingled with horror, shot across
the veins of the ambitious soldier.
“Now-—now!” he cried; “they are dealing with him!”
His expectations were deceived. Pearson and the others
returned disappointed, and reported they had been stopped by
a strong trap-door of grated iron, extended over the narrow
stair; and they could see there was an obstacle of the same
* “ Tance-prisade,” or “Jance-brisade,” a private appointed to a small
command—a sort of temporary corporal.

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
    

Solent a See RRR TE STAT ST OC

1 OT Te ee398 WOODSTOCK.

kind some ten feet higher. To remove it by force, while a
desperate and well- Senied man had the advantage to ‘the steps
above them, ation cost many lives. ‘ Which, lack-a- day,” said
the Gene cal, it is our duty to be tender of. What dost thou
advise, Gilbert Pearson ?”

‘““We must use powder, my lord,” answered Pearson, who
saw his master was too modest to reserve to himself the whole
merit of the proceeding—“ There may be a chamber easily and
conveniently formed under the foot of the stair. We have a
sausage, by good luck, to form the train—tand so”

‘Ah!’ said Cromwell, I know thou canst manage such
gear well—--But, Gilbert, I go to visit the posts, and give them
orders to retire to a safe distance when the retreat is sounded.

 

: You will allow them five minutes for this purpose.”

” “Three is enough for any knave of them all,” said Pearson.

“They will be lame indeed, that require more on such a service.
—I ask but one, though I fire the train myself.”

“Take heed,” said Cromwell, “that the poor soul be lis-
tened to, if he asks quarter. It may be he may repent him of
his hard-heartedness, and call for mercy.”

“And mercy he shall have,” answered Pearson, “ provided
he calls loud enough to make me hear him; for the explosion
of that damned petard has made me as deaf as the devil’s dam.”

“Hush, Gilbert, hush!” said Cromwell; “you offend in
your language.”

“Zooks, sir, I must speak either in your way or in my
own,”’ said Pearson, “ unless I am to be dumb as well as deaf!
—Away with you, my lord, to visit the posts; and you will
presently hear me make some noise in the world.”

Cromwell smiled gently at his aide-de-camp’s petulance,
patted him on the shoulder, and called him a mad fell oe walked
a little way, then turned back to whisper, ‘“‘ What thou dost, do
quickly ;” then returned again toward the outer circle of ¢ cuards,
turning his head from time to time, as if to assure himself that
the corporal, to whom he had intrusted the duty, still kept
guard with his advanced weapon upon the terrific chasm be:
tween Rosamond’s Tower and the corresponding turret. Seeing
him standing on his post, the General muttered between his
mustaches, “The fellow hath the st rength and courage of
bear; and yonder is a post where one shall do more to keep
back than an hundred in making way.” He cast a last look on
the gigantic figure, who stood in that airy position, like some
Gothic statue, the weapon half leveled against the opposite
turret, with the butt rested against his right foot, his steel cap
and burnished corselet glittering j in the rising sun,WOODSTOCK. 399

Cromwell then passed on to give the necessary orders, that
such sentinels as might be endangered at their present posts
by the effect of the mine, should withdraw at the sound of the
trumpet to the places which he pointed out to them. Never,
on any occasion of his life, did he display more calmness and
presence of mind. He was kind, nay, facetious with the sol-
diers, who adored him; and yet he resembled a volcano before
the eruption commences—all peaceful and quiet without, while
a hundred contradictory passions were raging in his bosom.

Corporal Humgudgeon, meanwhile, remained steady upon
his post; yet, though as determined a soldier as ever fought
among the redoubted regiment of Ironsides, and possessed of
no small share of that exalted fanaticism which lent so keen an
edge to the natural courage of those stern religionists, the
veteran felt his present situation to be highly uncomfortable.
Within a pike’s length of him arose a turret, which was about
to be dispersed in massive fragments through the air; and he
felt small confidence in the length of time which might be
allowed for his escape from such a dangerous vicinity. The
duty of constant vigilance upon his post was partly divided by
this natural feeling, which induced him from time to time to
bend his eyes on the miners below, instead of keeping them
riveted on the opposite turret.

At length the interest of the scene arose to the uttermost.
After entering and returning from the turret, and coming out
again more than once, in the course of about twenty minutes
Pearson issued, as it might be supposed, for the last time,
carrying in his hand, and uncoiling, as he went along, the
sausage, or linen bag (so called from its appearance), which,
strongly sewed together, and crammed with gunpowder, was to
serve as a train betwixt the mine to be sprung, and the point
occupied by the engineer who was to give fire. He was in the
act of finally adjusting it, when the attention of the corporal on
the tower became irresistibly and exclusively riveted upon the
preparations for the explosion. But while he watched the aide-
de-camp drawing his pistol to give fire, and the trumpeter hand-
ling his instrument, as waiting the order to sound the retreat,
fate rushed on the unhappy sentinel in a way he least expected.

Young, active, bold, and completely possessed of his presence
of mind, Albert Lee, who had been from the loopholes a watchful
observer of every measure which had been taken by his beseig-
ers, had resolved to make one desperate effort for self-preserva-
tion. While the head of the sentinel on the opposite platform
was turned from him, and bent rather downward, he suddenly
sprung across the chasm, though the space on which he lightedF pa PAMABialeansatashignasetabsaen ree

a

400 WOODSTOCK.

was scarce wide enough for two persons, threw the surprised
soldier from his precarious stand, and jumped himself down into
the chamber. ‘The gigantic trooper went sheer down twenty
feet, struck against a projecting battlement, which launched the
wretched man outward, and then fell on the earth with such
tremendous force, that the head, which first touched the ground,
dinted a hole in the soil of six inches in depth, and was crushed
like an eggshell. Scarce knowing what had happened, yet
startled and confounded at the descent of this heavy body,
which fell at no great distance from him, Pearson snapped his
pistol at the train, no previous warning given; the powder
caught, and the mine exploded. Had it been strongly charged
with powder, many of those without might have suffered ; but
the explosion was only powerful enough to blow out in a lateral
direction a part of the wall just above the foundation, sufficient,
however, to destroy the equipoise of the building. Then amid
a cloud of smoke, which began gradually to encircle the turret
like a shroud, arising slowly from its base to its summit, it was
seen to stagger and shake by all who had courage to look
steadily at a sight so dreadful. Slowly, at first, the building in-
clined outward, then rushed precipitately to its base, and fell
to the ground in huge fragments, the strength of its resistance
showing the excellence of the mason work. The engineer, so
soon as he had fired the train, fled in such alarm, that he well-
nigh ran against his General, who was advancing toward him,
while a huge stone from the summit of the building, flying fur-
ther than the rest, lighted within a yard of them.

‘Thou hast been over hasty, Pearson,’’ said Cromwell, with
the greatest composure possible—“ hath no one fallen in that
same tower of Siloe?”

“Some one fell,” said Pearson, stillin great agitation, “and
yonder lies his body half buried in the rubbish.”

With a quick and resolute step Cromwell approached the
spot, and exclaimed, ‘“ Pearson, thou hast ruined me—the
young Man hath escaped.—This is our own sentinel—plague
on the idiot! Let him rot beneath the ruins which crushed
him !”

A cry now resounded from the platform of Rosamond’s
Tower, which appeared yet taller than formerly, deprived of the
neighboring turret, which emulated though it did not attain to
its height,—‘‘ A prisoner, noble General—a_prisoner—the fox
whom we have chased all night is now in the snare—the Lord
hath delivered him into the hands of his servants.”

“Look you keep him in safe custody,” exclaimed Crom:WOODSTOCK, 40%

well, “and bring him presently down to the apartment, from
which the secret passages have their principal entrance.”

“Your Excellency shall be obeyed.”

The proceedings of Albert Lee, to which these exclama-
tions related, had been unfortunate. He had dashed from the
platform, as we have related, the gigantic strength of the sol-
dier opposed to him, and hz ad instantly jumped down into
Rochecliffe’s ch amber. But the soldiers iene there threw
themselves upon him, and after a struggle, which was hopeless-
ly maintained against such advantage of numbers, had thrown
the young cavalier to the ground, two of them, drawn down by
his strenuous exertions, falling across him. At the same moment
a sharp and severe report was heard, which, like a clap of
thunder in the immediate vicinity, shook all around then, till
the strong and solid tower tottered like the masts of a stately
vessel when about to part by the board. In afew seconds this
was followed by another sullen sound, at first low and deep, but
augmented like the roar of a cataract, as it descends, reeling,
bellowing, and rushing, as if to astound both heaven and earth.
a awful, indeed, was the sound of the neighbor tower as it fell,

hat both the captive, and those who struggled with him, con-
dined for a minute or two passive in each other’s grasp.

Albert was the first who recovered consciousness and
activity. Heshook off those who lay above him, and made a
desperate effort to gain his feet, in which he partly succeeded.
But as he had to deal with men accustomed to every species of
danger, and whose energies were recovered nearly as soon as
his own, he was comp sletely secured, and his arms held down.
Loyal and faithful to his trust, and resolved to sustain to the
last the character which he h ad : assumed, he exclaimed, as his
struggles were finally overpowered, “ Rebel villains ! would you
slay your king?”

“Ha, hez ird you that?’ cried one of the soldiers to the
lance- -prisade who commanded the party. ‘Shall I not strike
this son of a wicked father under the fifth rib, even as the
tyrant of Moab was smitten by Ehud with a dagger of a cubit’s
length?”

But Robins answered, “ Be it far from us, Merciful Strickal-
throw, to slay in cold blood the capitive of our bow and of our
spear. Methinks, since the storm of Tredagh* we have shed
enough of blood—therefore, on your lives do him no evil; but
take from him his arms, and let us bring him before the chosen

* Tredagh, or Drogheda, was taken by Cromwell in 1649, by storm, and
the governor ‘and the whole garrison put to the sword,a

Faia See ane

am

ernie

402 WOODSTOCK.
Instrument, even our General, that he may do with him what
is meet in his eyes.”

By this time the soldier, whose exultation had made him
the first to communicate the intelligence from the battlements
to Cromwell, returned, and brought commands corresponding
to the orders of their temporary officer, and Albert Lee, dis-
armed and bound, was conducted as a captive into the apart-
ment which derived its name from the victories of his ancestor,
and placed in the presence of General Cromwell.

Running over in his mind the time whith had elapsed since
the departure of Charles till the siege, if it may be termed so,
had terminated in his own capture, Albert had every reason to
hope that his Royal Master must have had time to accomplish
his escape. Yet he determined to maintain to, the last a de-
ceit which might for a time insure the King’s safety. The dif-
ference betwixt them could not, he thought, be instantly dis-
covered, begrimed as he was with dust and smoke, and with
blood issuing from some scratches received in the scuffle.

In this evil plight, but bearing himself with such dignity as
was adapted to the princely character, Albert was ushered into
the apartment of Victor Lee, where, in his father’s own chair,
reclined the triumphant enemy of the cause to which the house
of Lee had been hereditarily faithful.

 

CHAPTER, THIRD Y-hA ETT.

A barren title hast thou bought too dear,
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?
Henry IV. Part 2.

OLIVER CROMWELL arose from his seat as the two veteran
soldiers, Zerubbabel Robins and Merciful Strickalthrow, intro-
duced into the apartment the prisoner, whom they held by the
arms, and fixed his stern hazel eye on Albert long before he
could give vent to the ideas which were swelling in his bosom.
Exultation was the most predominant.

“Art not thou,” he at length said, “that Egyptian which,
before these days, madest an uproar, and leddest out into the
wilderness many thousand men, who were murderers !—Ha,
youth, I have hunted thee from Stirling to Worcester, from
Worcester to Woodstock, and we have met at last!”

“J would,” replied Albert, speaking in the character which
he had assumed, “that we had met where I could have shown

     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   

®WOODSTOCK. 403
thee the difference betwixt a rightful King and an ambitious
Usurper ! ed

‘Go to, young man,” said Cromwell; “say rather the dif:
ference between a judge raised up for the redemption of Eng-
land, and the son of those Kings whom the Lord in his anger
permitted to reign ever her. But we will not waste useless
words. God knows that it is not of our will that we are called
to such high matters, being as humble in our thoughts as we
are of ourselves; and in our unassisted nature frail and fool-
ish: and unable to render a reason but for the better spirit
within us, which is not of us.—Thou art weary, young man, and
thy nature requires rest and re fection, being doubtless dealt

with delicately, as one who hath fed on the fat, and drunk of

the sweet, and who hath been clothed in purple and fine
linen.”
Here the General suddenly stopped, and then abruptly ex-
laimed—* But is this—/ Ay | whom oe we here? These are
not the locks of the swarthy lad Ghanes Stewart ?>—A cheat! a
heat

Albert hastily cast his eyes on a mitror which stood in the
room, and perceived that a dark peruke, found among Dr.
Rochecliffe’s miscellaneous wardrobe, had been disordered in

the scuffle with the soldiery, and that his own light-brown hair

was esc: aping from be neath it.
Nho is this?” said Cromwell,
od Plucl k the diss guise from him.

The soldiers did so; and t ringing him at the same time
toward the light, ‘ie deception pond, not be maintained for a
moment longer of success. Cromwell
came up to him v vith his teeth set, and grinding against each
other as 22 spoke, 1is hands clenche -d, and trembling with emo-
tion, and speaking with a voice low-pitched, bitterly “and deeply

]

emphi ne, such as might have preceded a stab with his dagger.

‘hy name, young man! 2}

He was answered calmly and firmly, while the countenance
of the speaker wore a cast of triumph, ‘and even contempt.

“ Albert Lee of Ditchley, a faitl hful subject of King
Charles.”

“TI might have
King Cha wtles shalt thot
Pearson,” he continued, ‘

iet them be executed at twelve exactly.
“ Al], sir?” said Pearson, surprised, for Cromwell, oe

rmidable examples, was, in general, by no

stamping with fury—

with any possibility

—

guessed it,” said Cromwell.—‘ Ay, and to
1 gO as " s00n as it is noon on the dial—
‘let him be carried to the others; and

ne at times nude fo
means sanguinary,.—,

is
Or amas

a

<

404 WOODSTOCK.

“ All” —repeated Cromwell, fixing his eyes on young Lee.
“Yes, young sir, your conduct has devoted to death thy father,
thy kinsman, and the stranger that was within thy household.
Such wreck hast thou brought on thy father’s house.”

“My father, too—my aged father!” said Albert, looking
upward, and endeavoring to raise his hands in the same direc-
tion, which was prevented by his bonds. “ The Lord’s will be
done!”

‘All this havoc can be saved, if,” said the General, “thou
wilt answer one question—Where is the young Charles Stewart,
who was called King of Scotland? ”

‘Under Heaven’s protection, and safe from thy power,”
was the firm and unhesitating answer of the young royalist.

“Away with him to prison!” said Cromwell; “and from
thence to execution with the rest of them, as malignants taken
in the fact. Let a court-martial sit on them presently.”

“One word,” said young Lee, as they led him from the
room.

“ Stop, stop,” said Cromwell, with the agitation of renewed
hope—“ let him be heard.”

“You love texts of Scripture,” said Albert— Let this be
the subject of your next homily—‘ Had Zimri peace, who slew
his master?” ”

“Away with him,” said the General; “let him die the
death !—I have said it.”

As Cromwell spoke these words, his aide-de-camp observed
that he became unwontedly pale.

“Your Excellency is overtaxed in the public service,” said
Pearson : “a course of the stag in the evening will refresh you.
The old knight hath a noble hound here, if we can but get him
to hunt without his master, which may be hard, as he is faithful
and ”

“Hang him up,” said Cromwell.

“ What—whom—hang the noble dog? Your Excellency
was wont to love a good hound?”

“It matters not,” said Cromwell ; “let him be killed. Is it
1ot written, that they slew in the valley of Achor, not only the
accursed Achan, with his sons and his daughters, but also his
oxen and asses, and his sheep, and every live thing belonging
unto him? And even thus shall we do to the malignant family
of Lee, who have aided Sisera in his flight, when Israel might
have been delivered of his trouble forever. But send out
couriers and patrols—Follow, pursue, watch in every direction
—Let my horse be ready at the door in five minutes, or bring
me the first thou canst find.”WOODSTOCK.

It seemed io Pearson that this was something wildly spoken,
and that the cold prespiration was standing on the General’s
brow as he said it. He therefore again pressed the necessity
of repose, and it would appear that nature seconded strongly
the representation. Cromwell arose, and made a step or two
toward the door of the apartment; but stopped, staggered, and
after a pause, sat down inachair. “ Truly, friend Pearson,”
he said, ‘this weary carcass of ours is an impediment to us,
even in our most necessary business, and I am fitter to sleep
than to watch, which is not my wont. Place guards, therefore,
till we repose ourselves for an hour or two. Send out in every
direction, and spare not for horses’ flesh. Wake me if the
court-martial should require instruction, and forget not to see
the sentence punctually executed on the Lees, and those who
were arrested with them.”

As Cromwell spoke thus, he arose and half-opened a bed-
room door, when Pearson again craved pardon for asking if he
had rightly undertood his Excellency, that all the prisoners
were to be executed.

“Have I not said it?” answered Cromwell, displeasedly.
“Ts it because thou art a man of blood, and hast ever been,
that thou dost affect these scruples, to show thyself tender-
hearted at my expense? I tell thee, that if there lack one in
the full tale of execution, thine own life shall pay the forfeit.”

So saying, he entered the apartment, followed by the groom
of his chamber, who attended upon Pearson’s summons.

When his General had retired, Pearson remained in great
perplexity what he ought to do; and that from no scruples of
conscience, but from uncertainty whether he might not err either
in postponing, or in too hastily and too literally executing, the
instructions he had received.

In the meantime, Strickalthrow and Robins had returned,
after lodging Albert in prison, to the room where Pearson was
still musing on his General’s commands. Both these men were
adjutators in their army, and old soldiers, whom Cromwell was
accustomed to treat with great familiarity ; so that Robins had
no hesitation to ask Captain Pearson, ‘‘Whether he meant to
execute the commands of the General, even to the letter?”

Pearson shook his head with an air of doubt, but added,
‘There was no choice left.”

“‘ Be assured,” said the old man, “ that if thou dost this folly,
thou wilt cause Israel to sin, and that the General will not be
pleased with your service. Thou knowest, and none better than
thou, that Oliver, although he be like unto David the son of
Jesse, in faith, and wisdom, and courage, yet there are times

Semen ett s

L

“3Faia cae teaasaen aha

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406 WOODSTOCK.
when the evil spirit cometh upon him as it did upon Saul, and
he uttereth commands which he will not thank any one for
executing.”

Pearson was too good a politician to assent directly toa pro-
position which he could not deny—he only shook his head once
more, and said that it was easy for those to talk who were not
responsible, but the soldier’s duty was to obey his orders, and
not to judge of them.

“Very righteous truth,” said Merciful Stricka]throw, a grim
old Scotchman ; “‘ I marvel where our brother Zerubbabel caught
up this softness of heart ?”’

‘Why, I do but wish,” said Zerubbabel, “that four or five
human creatures may draw the breath of God’s air for a few
hours more; there can be small harm done by delaying the
execution,—and the General will have some time for reflection.”

“ Ay,” said Captain Pearson, ‘“ but I in my service must be
more pointedly obsequious, than thou in thy plainness art bound
to be, friend Zerubbabel.”’

“Then shall the coarse frieze cassock of the private soldier
help the golden gaberdine of the captain to bear out the blast,”
said Zerubbabel. ‘‘ Ay, indeed, I can show you warrant why we
be aidful to each other in doing acts of kindness and long-
suffering, seeing the best of us are poor sinful creatures, who
might suffer, being called to a brief accounting.”

“Of a verity you surprise me, brother Zerubbabel,” said
Strickalthrow ; “that thou, being an old and experienced soldier
whose head hath grown gray in battle, shouldst give such advice
to a young officer. Is not the General’s commission to take
away the wicked from the land, and to root out the Amalekite,
and the Jebusite, and the Perizzite, and the Hittite, and the
Girgashite, and the Amorite? and are not these men justly to
be compared to the five kings, who took shelter in the cave of
Makkedah, who were delivered into the hands of Joshua the son
of Nun? and he caused his captains and his soldiers to come
near and tread on their necks—and then he smote them, and he
slew them, and then he hanged them on five trees, even till
evening—And thou, Gilbert Pearson by name, be not withheld
from the duty which is appointed to thee, but do even as has
been commanded by him who is raised up to judge and to deliver
Israel; for it is written, ‘cursed is he who holdeth back his
sword from the slaughter.’ ”’

Thus wrangled the two military theologians, while Pearson,
much more solicitous to anticipate the wishes of Oliver than to
know the will of Heaven, listened to them with great indecision
and perplexity.WOODSTOCK,

CHAPTER: THARTY-SEX HE:

But let us now, like soldiers on the watch,
Put the soul’s armor on, alike prepared
For all a soldier’s warfare brins gs.
JOANNA BAILLIE.

THE reader will recollect, that when Rochecli pak and Joceline
were made prisoners, the party which escorted them had two
other captives in their train, Colonel Everard, ae and the
Rev. Nehemiah Holdenough. When Cromwell had obtained
entrance into Woodstock, and commenced his search after the
fugitive Prince, the prisoners were placed in what had been an

old guard-room, and which was by its strength well calculated
to serve for a Be and a guna was eee over them by
Pearson. No light was allowed, save that of.a glimmering fire
of charcoal. The. prisoners remained separated from each other,
Colonel Everard conversing with Nehemiah Holdenough, at a
distance from Dr. Rochecliffe, Sir Henry Lee, and Joceline.
The party was soon after augmented by Wildrake, who was
brought down to the Lodge, and thrust in with so little cere-
mony, that, his arms being bound, he had very nearly fallen on
his nose in the middle of the prison.

“T thank you, my good friend,” he said, looking back to the
door, which they who had pushed him in were securing—
Point de cérémonie—no apology for tumbling, so we light in
good Beebe MG ye, save ye, gentlemen all.—What @ Za
mort, and nothing stirring to keep the spirits up, and make a
night on’t ?>—the last we shall have, I take it; for a make * to
a million, but we trine to the nubbing cheat | to-morrow.—
Patron, noble patron, how goes it? This was but a SCUIVY
trick of Noll so far as you were concerned: as for me, why I
might have deserved something of the kind at his hand. 2

‘Prithee, Wildrake, sit down,” said Everard; “thou art
drunk—disturb us not.’

‘Drunk ? I drunk?” cried Wildrake, “I have been splicing
the main-brace e, as Jack says at Wapping—have been tasting
Noll’s brandy in a bumper to the King’s health, and another
to his Excellency’s confusion, and another to the d n of
Parliament—and it may be one or two more, but all too dev ilish

good toasts. But I’m not drunk.”

a
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* A halfpenny. + Hang on the gallows,

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pr
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408 WOODSTOCK.

“Prithee, friend, be not profane,” said Nehemiah Hold.
enough.

“What, my little Presbyterian Parson, my slender Mass-
John? thou shalt say amen to this world instantly ”’—said
Wildrake ; “I have had a weary time in’t for one.—Hpo, noble
Sir Henry, I kiss your hand.—I tell thee, knight, the point of
my Toledo was near Cromwell’s heart last night, as ever a but-
ton on the breast of his doublet. Rat him, he wears secret
armor.—He a soldier! Had it not been for a cursed steel
shirt, | would have spitted him like a lark-—-Ha, Doctor Roche-
chife !—thou knowest I can wield my weapon.”

“Yes,” replied the Doctor, “and you know I can use
mine,”

“I prithee be quiet, Master Wildrake,” said Sir Henry.

“Nay, good knight,” answered Wildrake. “be somewhat
more cordial with a comrade in distress. This is a different
scene from the Brentford storming-party. The jade Fortune
has been a very stepmother to me. I will sing you a song I
made on my own ill-luck.”

‘At this moment, Captain Wildrake, we are not in a fitting
mood for singing,” said Sir Henry, civilly and gravely.

Nay, it will aid your devotions.—Egad, it sounds like a
penitential psalm.

ce

‘When I was a young lad,
My fortune was bad,

If ere I do well ’tis a wonder.
I spent all my means
Amid sharpers and queans:

Then I got a commission to plunder,
I have stockings ’tis true,

But the devil a shoe,

I am forced to wear boots in all weather,
Be d—d the boot sole,
Curse on the spur-roll,

Confounded be the upper-leather.’ ”’ *

The door opened as Wildrake finished this stanza at the top
of his voice, and in rushed a sentinel, who greeting him by the
title of a “blasphemous bellowing bull of Bashan,” bestowed a
severe blow, with his ramrod, on the shoulders of the songster,
whose bonds permitted him no means of returning the compli
ment.

“ Your humble servant again, sir,” said Wildrake, shrugging
his shoulders,—“ sorry I have no means of showing my grati-
* Such a song, or something very like it, may be found in Ramsay’s Tea-
Table Miscellany, among the wild slips of minstrelsy which are there
collected.

__ SeWOODSTOCK. 409

tude. JI am bound over to keep the peace, like Captain Boba-
dil—Ha, knight, did you hear my bones clatter? that blow
came twangingly off—the fellow might inflict the bastinado,
were it in presence of the Grand Seignor—he has no taste for
music, knight—is no way moved by the ‘concord of sweet
sounds.’ I will warrant him fit for treason, stratagem, and
spoil—Eh ?—all down in the mouth—well—I’ll go to sleep to-
night on a bench, as I’ve done many a night, and I will be ready
to be hanged decently in the morning, which never happened
to me before in all my life—

‘ When [I was a young lad,
My fortune was bad’

 

Pshaw! This is not the tune it goes to.” Here he fell fast
asleep, and sooner or later al] his companions in misfortune
followed his example.

The benches intended for the repose of the soldiers of the
guard, afforded the prisoners convenience enough to lie down
though their slumbers, it may be believed were neither sound
nor undisturbed. But when daylight was but a little while
broken, the explosion of gunpowder which took place, and the
subsequent fall of the turret to which the mine was applied,
would have awakened the Seven Sleepers, or Morpheus him-
self. The smoke, penetrating through the windows, left them
at no loss for the cause of the din.

“There went my gunpowder,” said Rochecliffe, ‘“‘ which has,
I trust, blown up as many rebel villains as it might have been
the means of destroying otherwise in a fair field. It must
have caught fire by chance.”

“By chance ?—No,” said Sir Henry; “depend on it, my
bold Albert has fired the train, and that in yonder blast Crom-
well was flying toward the heaven whose battlements he will
never reach—Ah, my brave boy! and perhaps thou art thyself
sacrificed, like a youthful Samson among the rebellious Philis-
tines.—But I will not be long behind thee, Albert.”

Everard hastened to the door, hoping to obtain from the
guard, to whom his name and rank might be known, some ex-
planation of the noise, which seemed to announce some dread-
ful catastrophe.

But Nehemiah Holdenough, whose rest had been broken
by the trumpet which gave signal for the explosion, appeared
in the very acme of horror—‘“ It is the trumpet of the Archan-
gel!” he cried,—“ it is the crushing of this world of elements
—it is the summons to the Judgment-seat ! The dead are obey-Fae. Se nll nto eee
é ca

410 WOODSTOCK.

ing the call—they are with us—they are amongst us—they arise
in their bodily frames—they come to summon us!”

As he spoke his eyes were riveted upon Dr. Rochecliffe,
who stood directly opposite to him. In rising hastily, the cap
which he commonly wore; according to a custom then usual
both among clergymen and gownmen of a civil profession, had
escaped from his head, and carried with it the large silk patch
which he probably wore for the purpose of disguise; for the
cheek which was disclosed was unscarred, and the eye as good
as that which was usually uncovered.

Colonel Everard, returning from the door, endeavored in
vain to make Master Holdenough comprehend what he learned
from the guard without, that the explosion had involved only the
death of one of Cromwell’s soldiers. The Presbyterian divine
continued to stare wildly at him of the Episcopal persuasion.

But Dr. Rochecliffe heard and understood the news
brought by Colonel Everard, and, relieved from the instant
anxiety which had kept him stationary, he advanced toward the
retiring Calvinist, extending his hand in the most friendly
manner.

“Avoid thee—Avoid thee!” said Holdenough, “ the living
may not join hands with the dead.”

“ But I,” said Rochecliffe, “am as much alive as you are.”

*'Fhou alive !—thou! Joseph Albany, whom my own eyes
saw precipitated from the battlements of Clidesthrow Castle? ”

“Ay,” answered the Doctor, “but you did not see me swim
ashore on a marsh covered with sedees—fugrt ad salices—after
a manner which I will explain to you another time.”

Holdenough touched his hand with doubt and uncertainty.
Thou art indeed warm and alive,” he said, “and yet, after So
many blows, and a fall so tremendous—thou canst not be my
Joseph Albany.”

“I am Joseph Albany Rochecliffe,” said the Doctor, “be-
came soin virtue of my mother’s little estate, which fines and
confiscations have made an end of.”

“ And is itso indeed?” said Holdenough, ‘‘ and have I re-
covered mine old chum?”

‘Even so,” replied Rochecliffe, “by the same token I ap-
peared to you in the Mirror Chamber—Thou wert so bold, Ne-
hemiah, that our whole scheme would have been shipwrecked
had I not appeared to thee in the shape of a departed friend.
Yet, believe me it went against my heart to do it.”

“ Ah, fie on thee, fie on thee!” said Holdenough, throwing
himself into his arms, and clasping him to his bosom, ‘ thou
wert ever a naughty wag. How couldst thou play me such a

6eWOODSTOCK. 411

trick ?—Ah, Albany, dost thou remember Dr. Purefoy and
Caius College ?”

“ Marry “do I,” said the Doctor, thrusting his arm through
the P resby’ terian divine’s and guiding him to a seat apart from
the other prisoners, who witnessed this scene with much sur-
prise. “ Remember Caius College ?” said Rochecliffe, “ ay, and
the neg ale we drank, aud our ‘parties to mother Huftfcap’s.”’

Vanity of vanities,” said Holdenough, smiling kindly at the
same time, and still holding his recovered friend’s arm enclosed
and hand-locked in his.

‘But the breaking the Principal’s orchard, so cleanly done,’
said the Doctor ; “it was the first plot I ever framed, and much
work I had to prevail on thee to go into it?

‘Oh, name not that iniquity,” said Nehemiah, “ since I may
well = as the pious Master Baxter, that these boyish offences
have had their punishment in later years, inasmuch as that
andild ite appetite for fruit hath produced stomachic affections
under which | yet labor.”

True, true, dear Nehemiah,” said Rochecliffe, ‘‘ but care
not for them—a dram of brandy will correct itall. Mr. Baxter
was,”—he was about to say “an ass,” but checked himself, and
only filled up the sentence with “a good man, I dare say, but
over scrupulous.”

So they sat down togeth a the best of friends, and for half-
an-hour talked with mutual delight over old college stories. By
degrees they got on the politics of the day; and though then
they unclasped their hands, and there occurred between them
such expressions as, ‘Nay, my dear brother,” and, “there I
must needs differ,” and, ‘“‘on this point I crave leave to think,”
yet a hue and cry against the Independents and other sectarists
being started, they followed like brethren in full ee and it
was hard to guess which was most forward. Unhappily, in the
course of this amicable intercourse, something aie Heagoned
about the bishopric of Titus, which at once involved them in
the doctrinal question of Church government. wae alas! the
floodgates were opened, and they showered on each other Greek
and Hebrew texts, while their eyes kindled, their cheeks glowed,
their hands became clenched, and they looked more like fierce
polemics about to rend each other’s eyes out, than Christian
divines,

Roger Wildrake, by making himself an auditor of the debate,
contrived to augment its violence. He took, of course a most
decided part in a question, the merits of which were totally
unknown to him. Somewhat overawed by Holdenough’s ready
oratory and learning, the cavalier watched witha face of anxiety

een . . SITET aaron a
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P), patties Saeustastiahueiercl ere Se nee

—-
; as
oe

412 WOODSTOCK.

the countenance of Dr. Rochecliffe ; but when he saw the proud
eye and steady bearing of the Episcopal champion, and heard
him answer Greek with Greek, and Hebrew with Hebrew,
Wildrake backed his arguments as he closed them, with a stout
rap upon the bench, and an exulting laugh in the face of the
antagonist. It was with some difficulty that Sir Henry and
Colonel Everard, having at length and reluctantly interfered,
prevailed on the two alienated friends to adjourn their dispute,
removing at the same time to a distance, and regarding each
other with looks in which old friendship appeared to have
totally given way to mutual animosity.

But while they sat lowering on each other, and longing to
renew a contest in which each claimed the victory, Pearson
entered the prison, and in a low and troubled voice desired the
persons whom it contained to prepare for instant death.

Sir Henry Lee received the doom with the stern composure
which he had hitherto displayed. Colonel Everard attempted
the interposition of a strong and resentful appeal to the Parlia-
ment, against the judgment of the court-martial and the General.
But Pearson declined to receive or transmit any such remon-
strance, and with a dejected look and mien of melancholy
presage, renewed his exhortation to them to prepare for the
hour of noon, and withdrew from the prison.

The operation of this intelligence on the two clerical dispu-
tants was more remarkable. They gazed for a moment on each
other with eyes in which repentant kindness and a feeling of
generous shame quenched every lingering feeling of resentment,
and joining in the mutual exclamation—“ My brother—my bro-
ther, I have sinned, I have sinned in offending thee!” they
rushed into each other’s arms, shed tears as they demanded
each other’s forgiveness, and, like two warriors, who sacrifice a
personal quarrel to discharge their duty against the common
enemy, they recalled nobler ideas of their sacred character,
and assuming the part which best became them on an occasion
so melancholy, began to exhort those around them to meet the
doom that had been announced with the firmness and dignity
which Christianity alone can give,WOODSTOCK,

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN PH:

Most gracious prince, good Cannyng cried,
Leave vengeance to our God,
And lay the iron rule aside,
Be thine the olive rod.
BALLAD OF SIR CHARLES BAWDIN.

Tue hour appointed for execution had been long past, and
it was about five in the evening, when the Protector summoned
Pearson to his presence. He went with fear and reluctance,
uncertain how he might be received. After remaining about
a quarter of an hour, the aide-de-camp returned to Victor Lee’s
parlor, where he found the old soldier, Zerubbabel Robins, in
attendance for his return.

“ How is Oliver?” said the old man, anxiously.

“Why, well,” answered Pearson, “and hath asked no ques-
tions of the execution, but many concerning the reports we
have been able to make regarding the flight of the young man,
and is much moved at thinking he must now be beyond pur-
suit. Also I gave him certain papers belonging to the malig-
nant Doctor Rochecliffe.”

‘hen will I venture upon him,” said the adjutator ; “so
give me a napkin that I may look like a sewer, and fetch up
the food which I directed should be in readiness.”

Two troopers attended accordingly with a ration of beef,
such as was distributed to the private soldiers, and dressed
after their fashion—a pewter pot of ale, a trencher with salt,
black pepper, and a loaf of ammunition bread. “Come with
me.” he said to Pearson, “ and fear not—Noll loves an inno-
cent jest.” He boldly entered the General’s sleeping apart-
ment. and said aloud, “ Arise, thou that art called to bea judge
in Israel—let there be no more folding of the hands to sleep.
Lo, I come as a sign to thee ; wherefore arise, eat, drink, and
let thy heart be glad within thee ; for thou shalt eat with joy
the food of him that laboreth in the trenches, seeing that since
thou wert commander over the host, the poor sentinel hath had
such provisions as I have now placed for thine own refreshment.”

“Truly, brother Zerubbabel,” said Cromwell, accustomed
to such starts of enthusiasm among his followers, “ we would
wish that it were so; neither is it our desire to sleep soft, nor
feed more highly than the meanest that ranks under our ban-

 

 

me
SUC hsPRE PR connernamn MERRION Sah tacwn Aity Feta shee tehaesal aa Taner cae te
. on :

414 WOODSTOCK.

ners. Verily thou hast chosen well for my refreshment, and
the smell of the food is sov ory in my nostrils.”

He arose from the bed, on which he had lain down half
dressed, and wrapping his doar around him, sat down by the
bedside, and partook heartily of the plain food which was pre-
pared for him. While he was eating, Cromwell commanded
Pearson to finish his report—‘‘ You need not desist for the
presence of a worthy soldier, whose spirit is as my spirit.”

“ Nay, but,” interrupted Robins, “ you are to know that
Gilbert Pearson hath not fully executed thy commands, touch-
ing ap part of those m: alignants, all of whom should have died
at noon.’

“ What execution—what malignants ?”
ing dow n his knife and fork.

‘ ‘Those in the prison here at Woodstock,” answered Zerub-
babel, “ whom your Excellenc y commanded should be executed
at noon, as taken in the fact of rebellion against the Common-
wealth.”

“ Wretch!” said Cromwell, starting ee and addressing
Pearson, ‘ thou hast not tot uched Mark Everard, in whom there
was no guilt, for he was deceived by him who passed between
us—neither hast thou put forth thy hand on the pragmatic Pres-
byterian minister, to have all those of their classes cry sacrilege,
and al ienate them from us forever Pre

‘If your Excellency wish them to live , they live—their life
and death are in the power of a w ards! said Pearson.

Ye nfranchise them ; I must gain the Presbyterian interest
over to us if I can,’

‘‘ Rochecliffe, the arch-plotter,” said Pearson, “ I thought to
nave execouted, but,”

“ Barbarous man,” said Cromwell, “ alike ungrateful and
impolitic—wouldst thou have destroye a our decoy -duck ? This
doctor is but like a well, a shallow one indeed, but some thing
deeper than the springs which discharge their secret tribute into
his keeping ; then come I witha pump, and suck it all up to
the open air. Enlarge him and let him have money if he wants
it. I know his haunts ; he can go nowhere but our eye will be
upon him.—But you look at each other darkly, as if you had
more to say than you durst. I trust you have not done to death
Sir Henry Lee?”

“No, “Yet the-man,” replied: Pearson, “is -@ confirmed
malignant, and 2p

‘Ay, but he is also a noble relic of the ancient English
Gent lem: in,” said the General. “J would I knew how to win
the favor of that race. But we, Pearson, whose royal robes

said Cromwell, lay-WOODSTOCK. 415

are the armor which we wear on our bodies, and whose lead-
ing staves are our sceptres, are too newly set up to draw the
respect of the proud malignants, who cannot brook to submit
to less than royal lineage. Yet what can they see in the
longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a
successful soldier? I grudge that one man should be honored
and followed because he is the descendant of a victorious com-
mander, while less honor and allegiance is paid to another,
who, in personal qualities, and in success, might emulate the
founder of his rival’s dynasty. Well, Sir Henry Lee lives, and
shall live for me. His son, indeed, hath deserved the death
which he hath doubtless sustained.”

“My lord,” stammered Pearson, “since your Excellency
has found I am right in suspending your order in so many
instances, I trust you will not blame me in this also—I thought
it best to await more special orders.”

“Thou art in a mighty merciful humor this morning,
Pearson,” said Cromwell, not entirely satisfied.

“Tf your Excellency please, the halter is ready, and so is
the provost-marshal.”

‘Nay, if such a bloody fellow as thou hast spared him, it
would ill become me to destroy him,” said the General. “ But
then, here is among Rochecliffe’s papers the engagement of
twenty desperadoes to take us off—some example ought to be
made.”

“* My lord,” said Zerubbabel, “‘ consider, now, how often thig
young man, Albert Lee, hath been near you, nay, probably,
quite close to your Excellency, in these dark passages which
he knew, and we did not. Had he been of an assassin’s nature,
it would have cost him but a pistol-shot, and the light of Israel
was extinguished. Nay, in the unavoidable confusion which
must have ensued, the sentinels quitting their posts, he might
have had a fair chance of escape.”

* Enough, Zerubbabel ; he lives,’ said the General, “= He
shall remain in custody for some time, however, and be then
banished ‘from England. The other two are safe, of course ;
for you would not dream of considering such paltry fellows as
fit victims for my revenge.”

‘One fellow, the under-keeper, called Joliffe, deserves death
however,” said Pearson, “since he has frankly admitted that
he slew honest Joseph Tomkins.”

‘“‘He deserves a reward for saving us a labor,” said Crom-
well; ‘that Tomkins was a most double-hearted villain. I
have found evidence among these papers here, that if we had
lost the fight at Worcester, we should have had reason to regret

   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

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416 WOODSTOCK.

that we had ever trusted Master Tomkins—it was only our
success which anticipated his treachery—write us down debtor,
not creditor, to Joceline, an you call him so, and to his quarter-
staff.”

“There remains the sacrilegious and graceless cavalier who
attempted your Excellency’s life last night,” said Pearson.

“Nay,” said the General, ‘‘that were stooping too low for
revenge. His sword had no more power than had he thrusted
with a tobacco-pipe. Eagles stoop not at mallards, or wil-
drakes either.”

“Yet, sir,” said Pearson, “the fellow should be punished
as a libeler. The quantity of foul and pestilential abuse which
we found in his pockets makes me loath he should go altogether
free—Please to look at then, sir.”

‘A most vile hand,” said Oliver, as he looked at a sheet or
two of our friend Wildrake’s poetical miscellanies—‘ The very
handwriting seems to be drunk. and the very poetry not sober
—What have we here?

‘When I was a young lad
My fortune was bad—
If e’er I do well, ’tis a wonder.’—

)

Why, what trash is this ?—and then again—

‘ Now a plague on the poll
Of old politic Noll!
We will drink till we bring
In triumph back the King.’

In truth, if it could be done that way, this poet would be a
stout champion. Give the poor knave five pieces, Pearson, and
bid him go sell his ballads. If he come within twenty miles of
our person, though, we will have him flogged till the blood
runs down to his heels.”

“There remains only one sentenced person,” said Pearson,
“a noble wolf-hound, finer than any your Excellency saw in
Ireland. He belongs to the old knight Sir Henry Lee. Should
your Excellency not desire to keep the fine creature yourself,
might I presume to beg that I might have leave ?”

“No, Pearson,” said Cromwell; “ the old man, so faithful
himself, shall not be deprived of his faitiful dog.—I would 7
had any creature, were it but a dog, that followed me, because
it loved me, not for what it could make of me.”

“Your Excellency is unjust to your faithful soldiers,” said
Zerubbabel, bluntly, “who follow you like dogs, fight for youWOODSTOCK. 4uy
like dogs, and have the grave of a dog on the spot where they
happen to fall.”

‘“‘ How now, old grumbler,” said the General, ‘‘ what means
this change of note?”

‘“* Corporal Humgudgeon’s remains are left to moulder under
the ruins of yonder tower, and Tomkins is thrust into a hole in
a thicket like a beast.”

‘True, true,”’ said Cromwell; ‘“‘ they shall be removed to the
churchyard, and every soldier shall attend with cockades of
sea-green and blue ribbon—Every one of the non-commissioned
officers and adjutators shall have a mourning-scarf; we our-
selves will lead the procession, and there shall be a proper dole
of wine, burnt brandy, and rosemary. See that it is done,
Pearson. After the funeral Woodstock shall be dismantled
and destroyed, that its recesses may not again afford shelter to
rebels and malignants.”

The commands of the General were punctually obeyed, and
when the other prisoners were dismissed, Albert Lee remained
for some time in custody. He went abroad after his liberation,
entered into King Charles’s Guards, where he was promoted by
that monarch. But his fate, as we shall see hereafter, only
allowed him a short though bright career.

We return to the liberation of the other prisoners from
Woodstock. ‘The two divines, completely reconciled to each
other, retreated arm in arm to the parsonage-house, formerly
the residence of Dr. Rochecliffe, but which he now visited as
the guest of his successor, Nehemiah Holdenough. ‘The Pres-
byterian had no sooner installed his friend under his roof, than
he urged upon him an offer to partake it, and the income
annexed to it, as his own. Dr. Rochecliffe was much affected,
but wisely rejected the generous offer, considering the difference
of their tenets on Church government, which each entertained
as religiously as his creed. Another debate, though a light one,
on the subject of the office of Bishops in the Primitive Church,
confirmed him in his resolution. They parted the next day,
and their friendship remained undisturbed by controversy till
Mr. Holdenough’s death, in 1658; a harmony which might be
in some degree owing to their never meeting again after their
imprisonment. Dr. Rochecliffe was restored to his living after
the Restoration, and ascended from thence to high clerical pre-
ferment.

The inferior personages of the grand jail-delivery at Wood-
stock Lodge easily found themselves temporary accommoda-
tions in the town among old acquaintance ; but no one venturedF: pitas crererssaant akin Ce

pe

een

  

418 WOODSTOCK.

to entertain the old knight, understood to be so much under
the displeasure of the ruling powers; and even the innkeeper
of the George, who had been one of his tenants, scarce dared
to admit him to the common privileges of a traveler, who has
food and lodging for his money. Everard attended him unre-
quested, unpermitted, but also unforbidden. The heart of the
old man had been turned once more toward him when he
learned how he had behaved at the memorable rencontre at
the King’s Oak, and saw that he was an object of the enmity,
rather than the favor, of Cromwell. But there was another
secret feeling which tended to reconcile him to his nephew—
the consciousness that Everard shared with him the deep anxiety
which he experienced an account of his daughter, who had not
yet returned from her doubtful and perilous expedition. He
felt that he himself would perhaps be unable to discover where
Alice had taken refuge during the late events, or to obtain her
deliverance if she was taken into custody. He wished Everard
to offer him his serVice in making a search for her, but shame
prevented his preferring the request; and Everard, who could
not suspect the altered state of his uncle’s mind, was afraid to
make the proposal of assistance, or even to name the name of
Alice. ;

The sun had already set—they sat looking each other in the
face in silence, when the trampling of horses was heard—there
was knocking at the door—there was a light step on the stair,
and Alice, the subject of their anxiety, stood before them. She
threw herself joyfully into her father’s arms, who glanced his
eye heedfully round the room, as he said in a whisper, “ Is all
safe?”

“Safe and out of danger, as I trust, ‘“ replied Alice—I have
a token for you.”

Fler eye then rested on Everard—she blushed, was embar-
rassed and silent.

“You need not fear your Presbyterian cousin,” said the
knight, with a good-humored smile; “he has himself proved
a confessor at least for loyalty, and ran the risk of being a
martyr.”

She pulled from her bosom the royal receipt, written on a
small and soiled piece of paper, and tied round with a worsted
thread instead of a seal. Such as it was, Sir Henry ere he
opened it pressed the little packet with oriental veneration to
his lips, to his heart, to his forehead; and it was not before a
tear had dropt on it that he found courage to open and read
the billet. It was in these words :—WOODSTOCK.

“ LOYAL OUR MUCH ESTEEMED FRIEND, AND OUR TRUSTY
SUBJECT,

“Tt having become known to us that a purpose of marriage
has been entertained betwixt Mrs. Alice Lee your only daug rhe
ter, and Markham Everard, Esq. of Eversly Chase, her kinsman,
and by affiancy your - nephew : And being assured that this
match would be higl ily agreeable to you, had it not been for
certain respects to our service, which induced you to refuse
your consent thereto—We do therefore-acquaint you, that, far
from our affairs suffering by such an alliance, we do exhort,
and so far as we may, require you to consent to the same, as
you would wish to do us good pleasure, and greatly to advance
our affairs. Leaving to you, nevertheless, as becometh a Chris-
tian King, the full exercise of your own Shere sah) concerning
other obstacles to such an alliance, which may exist, independ-
ent of those connected with our service. Weeks our hand,
together with our thankful recollections of your good services
to our late Royal Father as well as ourselves,

$6 c R 12

Long and steadily did Sir Henry gaze on the letter, so that
it might almost seem as if he were ‘setting it by heart, tie
then placed it carefully in his pocket-book, and asked Alice the
account of her adventures of the preceding night. They were
briefly told. Their midnight walk through the C hase had been
speec dily and safely accomplished. Nor had the King once made
the slightest relapse into the naughty Louis Kerneguy. When
she had seen Charles and his attendant set off, she had taken
some repose in the cottage net they parted. With the morn-
ing came news that Woodstock was occup! ied by soldiers, so that
return thither might have Jed to danger, suspicion, and ay
Alice, therefore, did not atte ae it, but went to a house in the
neighborhood, inhabited by a lady of established loyalty,
whose husband had been ma ajor of Sir Henry Lee’s regiment
and had fallen at the battle of Naseby. Mrs. Aylmer was a
sensible woman, and indeed the necessities a the singular times
had sharpened every one’s faculties for stratagem anc d intrigue.
She sent a faithful servant to scout about fhe mansion at Wood-
stock, who no sooner saw the prisoners dismissed and in safety,
and ascertained the knight’s destination for the ev ening, than
he carried the news to his mistress, and by her orders attended
Alice on horseback to join her father.

There was oer perhaps, an evening meal made in such
absolute silence s by this embarrassed party, each occupied
with their own shout) and at a loss how to fathom those ofoe

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420 WOODSTOCR.

the others. At length the hour came when Alice felt herself
at liberty to retire to repose after a day so fatiguing. Everard
handed her to the door of her apartment, and was then himself
about to take leave, when, to his surprise, his uncle asked him
to return, pointed to a chair, and giving him the King’s letter
to read, fixed his looks on him steadily during the perusal ;
determined that if he could discover aught short of the utmost
delight in the reading, the commands of the King himself
should be disobeyed, rather than Alice should be sacrificed to
one who received not her hand as the greatest blessing earth
had to bestow. But the features of Everard indicated joyful
hope, even beyond what the father could have anticipated, yet
mingled with surprise: and when he raised his eye to the
knight’s with timidity and doubt, a smile was on Sir Henry’s
countenance as he broke silence, “The King,” he said “ had
he no other subject in England should dispose at will of those
of the house of Lee. But methinks the family of Everard have
not been so devoted of late to the crown as to comply with a
mandate, inviting its heir to marry the daughter of a beggar.”

“The daughter of Sir Henry Lee,” said Everard, kneeling to
his uncle, and perforce kissing his hand, “would grace the
house of a duke.”

“ The girl is well enough,” said the knight, proudly ; “for
myself, my poverty shall neither shame nor encroach on my
friends. Some few pieces I have by Doctor Rochecliffe’s kind-
hess, and Joceline and I will strike out something.”

Nay, my dear uncle, you are richer than you think for,”
said Everard. ‘That part of your estate, which my father
redeemed for payment of a moderate composition, is still your
own, and held by trustees in your name, myself being one of
them. You are only our debtor for an advance of moneys, for
which, if it will content you, we will count with you like usurers.
My father is incapable of profiting by making a bargain on his
Own account for the estate of a distressed friend; and all this
you would have learned long since, but that you would not—I
mean, time did not serve for explanation—I mean ”

* You mean I was too hot to hear reason, Mark, and I be-
lieve it is very true. But I think we understand each other now,
To-morrow I go with my family to Kingston, where is an old
house I may still call mine. Come thither at thy leisure, Mark,
ao thy, best speed, as thou wilt—bub come with thy father’s
consent.”

“With my father in person,” said Everard, “ if you will
permit.”

 

“ Be that,” answered the knight, “as he and you will—IWOODSTOCK.

think Joceline will scarce shut the door in thy face, or Bevis
erowl as he did after poor Louis Kerneguy.—Nay, no more
raptures, but good-night, Mark, good-night ; and if thou art not
tired with the fatigue of yesterday—why, if you appear here at
seven in the morning, I think we must bear with your company
on the Kingston road.”

Once more Everard pressed the knight’s hand, caressed Bevis,
who received his kindness graciously, and went home to dreams
of happiness, which were realize@® as far as this motley world
permits, within a few months afterward.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTH.

My life was of a piece,
Spent in your service—dying at your feet.
DON SEBASTIAN.

Years rush by us like the wind. We see not whence the
eddy comes, nor whitherward it is tending, and we seem our-
selves to witness their flight without a sense that we are changed;
and yet Time is beguiling man of his strength, as the winds
rob the woods of their foliage.

After the marriage of Alice and Markham Everard, the old
knight resided near them, in an ancient manor house, belonging
to the redeemed portion of his estate, where Joceline and
Pheebe, now man and wife, with one or two domestics, regu-
lated the affairs of his household. When he tired of Shakspeare
and solitude, he was ever a welcome guest at his son-in-law’s,
where he went the more frequently that Markham had given up
all concern in public affairs, disapproving of the forcible dis-
missal of the Parliament, and submitting to Cromwell’s subse-
quent domination, rather as that which was the lesser evil, than
as toa government which he regarded as legal. Cromwell
seemed ever willing to show himself his friend ; but Everard,
resenting highly the proposal to deliver up the king, which he
considered as an insult to his honor, never answered such ad-
vances, and became on the contrary, of the opinion, which was
now generally prevalent in the nation, that a settled government
could not be obtained without the recall of the banished family.
There is no doubt that the personal kindness which he had re-
ceived from Charles, rendered him the more readily disposed
to such a measure. He was peremptory, however, in declining

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422 WOODSTOCK.

 

all engagements during a er’s life, whose power he considered
as too firmly fixed to be s haken by any plots which would be
formed against it.

Meantime, Wildrake continued to be Everard’s protected de-
pendant as before, though sometimes the connection tended not
a little to his inconvenience. That respectab le person, indeed,
while he remained stationary in his patron’s house, or that of
the old knight, discharged many little duties in the family, and
won Alice’s heart by his attention to the children, teaching the
boys, of whom they had three , to ride, fenve, toss the pike, and

many similar exercises ; and, above all, filling up a great blank

in her father’s existence, with whom he played at chess and
backgammon; or read Sh 1akspeare, or was clerk to prayers when
any sequestrated divine ventured to read the service of the
Church. Or he found game for him while the old gentleman
continued to go a- sporting ; and especially, he talked over the
storming of ‘Brentford, and the battles of Edgehill, Banbury,
Roundway- down, and others—themes which the aged cavalier
delighted in, but which he could not so well enter upon with
Colonel Everard, who had gained his laurels in the Parliament
service.

The e-eesisianee which he received from Wildrake’s society
became more necessary, after Sir Henry was deprived of his
gallant and ab son, who was slain in the fatal battle of Dun-
kirk, where, unhappily, English colors were displayed on both
the contend; ing sides, the French being then allied with Oliver,
who sent to their aid a body of auxiliaries, and the troops of
the banished King fighting in behalf of the Spaniards. Sir
Henry received the melancholy news like an old man, that
is, with more external composure than could have been anti-
cipated. He dwelt for weeks and mot iths on the lines forwarded
by the indefatigable Dr. Rocheclifi fe, superscribed in small
letters, GR, and subscribed fio Gs Kerneguy, in which the
writer conjured him to endure this inestimable loss with the
greater firmness, that he had still left one son (intimating
himsel lf) who would always regard him as a father.

But, in pie of this balsam, sorrow, acting imperceptibly,
and sucking the blood like a vi oe , seemed gradually drying
up the springs of life; and without any formed illness or out-
ward complaint, the old man’s strength and vigor gradually
abated, and the € ministry of Wildrake € proved daily more indis-
pensable.

It was not, howey er, always to be had. The cavalier was
one of those happy persons whom a strong constitution, an
unreflecting mind, and exuberant spirits, enabled to play t hroughWOODSTOCK. 423

 

their whole lives the part of a schoolboy
and careless of consequences.

Once or twice every year, when he had collected a few pieces,
the Cavaliero Wildrake made a start to London, where, as he
described it, he went on the ramble, drank as much wine as he
could come by, and led a skeldering life, to use his own phrase,
among roystering cavaliers like himself, till by some rash speech
or wild action he got into the Marshalsea, the Fleet, or some
other prison, from which he was to be delivered at the expense
of interest, money, and sometimes a Jittle reputation.

At length Cromwell died, his son resigned the government,
and the various changes which followed induced Everard, as
well as many others, to adopt more active measures in the
King’s behalf. Everard even remitted considerable sums for his
service, but with the utmost caution, and corresponding with
no intermediate agent, but with the Chancellor himself, to
whom he communicated much useful information upon public
affairs. With all his prudence he was very nearly engaged in

the ineffectual rising of Booth and Middleton in the west, and
with great difficulty escaped from the fatal consequences of that
ill-timed a attempt. ee this, although the estate of the King-
dom was trebly , unsettled, yet no card seemed to turn up
favorable to the royal cause, until the movement of General
Monk from Scotland. Even then, it was when at the point
of complete success, that the fortunes of Charles seemed at a
lower ebb than ever, especially when intelligence had arrived
at the little Court which he then kept in Brussels, that Monk,
on arriving in London, had put himself under the orders of the
Parliament.

It was at this time, and in the evening, while the King,
Buckingham, Wilmot, aul some other gallants of his w andering
Court, were engaged in a convivial party, that the Chancellor
(Clarendon) suddenly craved audience, and entering with less
ceremony than he would have done at another time announced
extraordinary news. For the messenger, he said, he could say
nothing, sav ing th at he appeared to have drunk much, and slept
little ; ‘but that he had brought a sure token of credence froma
man for whose faith he w ould venture his life. The King de-
manded to see the messenger himself.

A man entered, with something the manners of a gentleman,
and more those of a rakehelly debauchee—his eyes swelled and
inflamed—his gait disordered and stumbling, partly through
lack of sleep, partly through the means he had taken to support
his fatigue. He staggered without ceremony to the head of the
table, seized the King’ s hand, which he mumbled like a piece

happy for the moment,

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424 WOODSTOCK.
of gingerbread; while Charles, who began to recollect him
from his mode of salutation, was not very much pleased that
their meeting should have taken place before so many wit-
nesses.

“I bring good news,” said the uncouth messenger, “ glorious
news !—the King shall enjoy his own again My feet are
beautiful on the mountains. Gad, I have lived with Presby-
terians till I have caught their language—but we are all one
man’s children now—all your Majesty’s poor babes. The Rump
is all ruined in London—Bonfires flaming, music playing, rumps
roasting, healths drinking, London in a blaze of light from the
Strand to Rotherhithe—tankards clattering ”’

“We can guess at that,” said the Duke of Buckingham.

‘My old friend, Mark Everard, sent me off with the news;
I’m a villain if I’ve slept since. Your Majesty recollects me, I
am sure. Your Majesty remembers, sa—sa—at the King’s
Oak, at Woodstock ?—

 

 

 

 

‘Oh, we'll dance, and sing, and play,
For ’twill be a joyous day
When the King shall enjoy his own again.’ ”

“Master Wildrake, I remember you well,” said the King.
“I trust the good news is certain?’

“Certain ? your Majesty; did I not hear the bells ?—did I
not see the bonfires ?—did I not drink your Majesty’s health
so often, that my legs would scarce carry me to the wharf? It
is as certain as that I am poor Roger Wildrake, of Squattlesea-
mere, Lincoln.”

The Duke of Buckingham here whispered to the Kang
have always suspected your Majesty kept odd company during
the escape from Worcester, but this seems a rare sample.”

‘Why, pretty much like yourself, and other company I have
kept here so many years—as stout a heart, as empty a head,”
said Charles—“ as much lace, though somewhat tarnished, as
much brass on the brow, and nearly as much copper in the
pocket.”

“I would your Majesty would intrust this messenger of good
news with me, to get the truth out of him,” said Buckingham.

“Thank your Grace,” replied the King ; “but he has a will
as well as yourself, and such seldom agree. My Lord Chancel-
lor hath wisdom, and to that we must trust ourselves.—Master
Wildrake, you will go with my Lord Chancellor, who will bting
us a report of your tidings; meantime, I assure you that you
shall be no loser for being the first messenger of good news.”
So saying, he gave a signal to the Chancellor to take awayWOODSTOCK. 426

Wildrake, whom he judged, in his present humor, to be not
unlikely to communicate some former passages at Woodstock
which might rather entertain than edify the wits of his court.

Corrgboration of the joyful intelligence soon arrived, and
Wildrake was presented with a handsome gratuity and small
pension, which, by the King’s special desire, had no duty what-
ever attached to it.

Shortly afterward, all England was engaged in chorusing
his favorite ditty—

‘¢ Oh, the twenty-ninth of May,

It was a glorious day,
When the King di d enjoy his own again.’

On that memorable day, the King prepared to make his
progress from Rochester to London, with a reception on the
part of his subjects so unanimously cordial, as made him say
gayly, it must have been his own fault to stay so long away from
a country where his arrival gave so much joy. On horseback,
betwixt his brothers, the Dukes of York and Gloucester, the
restored Monarch trod slowly over roads strewn with flowers—
by conduits running wine, under triumphal arches, and through
streets hung with tapestry. There were citizens in various
bands, some array ed in coats of black velvet, with gold chains;
some in military suits of cloth of gold, or cloth of silver, fol-
lowed by all those craftsmen who, having hooted the father
from Whitehall, had now come to shout the son into possession
of his ancestral palace. On his progress through Blackheath,
he passed that army which, so long formidable to E ngland her-
self, as well as to Europe, had been the means of restoring the
Monarchy which their own hands had destroy ed. As the King
passed the last files of this formidable host, he came to an open
part of the heath, where many persons of quality, with others
of inferior rank, h ad stationed themselves to gratulate him as
he passed toward the capital.

There was one group, however, which attracted peculiar
attention from those around, on account of the respect shown
tothe party by the soldiers who ke pt the ground, and who,
whether Cavaliers or Roundheads, seemed to ‘contest emulously
which should contribute most to their accommodation ; for both
the elder and younger gentlemen of the party had been distin-
guished in the Civil War.

It was a family group, of which the principal figure was an
old man seated in a chair, having a complacent smile on his
face, and a tear sw elling to his eye, as he saw the banners wave
on in interminable succession, and heard the multitude shouting

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426 WOODSTOCK.

the long-silenced acclamation, “ God save King Charles!” Hs
cheek was ashy pale, and his long beard bleached like the
thistle-down ; his blue eye was cloudless, yet it was obvious
that its vision was failing. His motions were feeble, and he
spoke little, except when he answered the prattle of*his grand-
children, or asked a question of his daughter, who sat beside
him, matured in matronly beauty, or of Colonel Everard, who
stood behind. ‘There, too, the stout yeoman, Joceline Joliffe,
still in his silvan dress, leaned, like a second Benaiah, on the
quarter-staff that had done the King good service in its day,
and his wife, a buxom matron as she had been a pretty maiden,
laughed at her own consequence ; and ever and anon joined her
shrill notes to the stentorian halloo which her husband added
to the general exclamation.

Three fine boys and two pretty girls prattled around their
grandfather, who made them such answers as suited their age,
and repeatedly passed his withered hand over the fair locks of
the little darlings, while Alice, assisted by Wildrake (blazing
in a splendid dress, and his eyes washed with only a single cup
of canary), took off the children’s attention from time to time,
lest they should weary their grandfather. We must not omit
one other remarkable figure in the group—a gigantic dog,

which bore the signs of being at the extremity of canine life,
being perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old. But though exhibit-
ing the ruin only of his former appearance, his eyes dim, his
joints stiff, his head slouched down, and his gallant carriage
and graceful motions exchanged for a stiff, rheumatic, hobbling
gait, the noble hound had lost none of his instinctive fondness
for his master. To lie by Sir Henry’s feet in the summer or by
the fire in winter, to raise- his head'to look on him, to lick his
withered hand or his shriveled cheek from time to time, seemed
now all that Bevis lived for.

Three or four livery servants attended to protect this group
from the thronging multitude; but it needed not. The high
respectability and unpretending simplicity of their appearance
gave them, even in the eyes of the coarsest of the people, an
air of patriarchal dignity, which commanded general regard ;
and they sat upon the bank which they had chosen for their
station by the wayside, as undisturbed as if they had been in
their own park.

And now the distant clarions announced the Royal Presence.
Onward came pursuivant and trumpet—onward came plumes
and cloth of gold, and waving standards displayed, and swords
gleaming to the sun; and at length, heading a group of the

noblest in England, and supported by his royal brothers on eitherWOODSTOCK. 42"

side, onward came King Charles. He had already halted more
than once, in kindness perhaps as well as policy, to exchange a
word with persons whom he recognized among the spectators,
and the shouts of the bystanders applauded a courtesy which
seemed so well timed. But when he had gazed an instant on
the party we have described, it was impossible, if even Alice
had been too much changed to be recognized, not instantly to
know Bevis and his venerable master. The Monarch sprung
from his horse, and walked instantly up to the old knight, amid
thundering acclamations which rose from the multitudes around,
when they saw Charles with his own hand oppose the feeble at-
tempts of the old man to rise to do him homage. Gently re-
placing him on his seat—*“ Bless,” he said, “ father, bless your
son, who has returned in safety, as you blessed him when he
departed in danger.”

“May God bless—and _ preserve ’—muttered the old man,
overcome by his feelings; and the King, to give him a few mo-
ments’ repose, turned to Alic

“And you,” he said, “ my fair guide, how have you been
employed since our perilous night-walk ? But I need not ask,”
agin round—“ in the service of King and Kingdom, bring-
ing up subjects as loyal as their ancestors.—A fait lineage, by
my faith, anda beautiful sight to the eye of an English King !
—Colonel Everard, we sl hall see you, I trust, at W hitehall ? >»
Here he nodded to Wildrake. ‘ And thou, Joceline, thou canst
hold thy quarterstaff-with one hand, sure ?—Thrust forward the
other palm.”

Looking down in sheer bashfulness, Joceline, like a bull
about to push, extended to the King, over his lady’s shoulder,
a hand as broad and hard as a wooden trencher, which the
King filled with gold coins. “Buy a headgear for my friend
Phcebe with some of these,” said Charles ; ‘‘she too has been
doing her duty to Old I England. ”

The I King then turned | once more to the knight, who seemed
making an effort to speak. He took his aged hand in both his
own, and stooped his head toward him to catch his accents,

while the old man, detaining him with the other | hand, said
sonERIne faltering, of which “Charles could only catch the quo-

tation—

    

‘¢ Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.”

Extricating himself, therefore, as gently as possible, from a
scene which began to grow painfully embarrassing, the good-
natured King said, speaking with unusual distinctness to in-

,-

pik nr tvadaatew heb deve nerm es si samme tebe s etal,

   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   

is428 WOODSTOCK.

sure the old man’s comprehending him, “ This is something
too public a place for all we have to say. But if you come not
soon to see King Charles at Whitehall, he will send down
Louis Kerneguy to visit you, that you may see how rational
that mischievous lad is become since his travels.”

So saying, he once more pressed affectionately the old
man’s hand, bowed to Alice and all around, and withdrew ;
Sir Henry Lee listening with a smile, which showed he com.
prehended the gracious tendency of what had been said. The
old man leaned back on his seat, and thuttered the LVune
adimittas.

“ Excuse me for having made you wait, my lords,” said the
King, as he mounted his horse; “Indeed, had it not been for
these good folks, you might have waited for me long enough
to little purpose.—Move on, sirs.”

The array moved on accordingly ; the sound of trumpets
and drums again rose amid the acclamations, which had been
silent while the King stopped; while the effect of the whole
procession resuming its motion, was so splendidly dazzling,
that even Alice’s anxiety about her father’s health was for a
moment suspended, while her eye followed the long line of va-
ried brilliancy that proceeded over the heath. When she
looked again at Sir Henry, she was startled to see that his
cheek, which had gained some color during his conversation
with the King, had relapsed into earthly paleness; that his
eyes were closed, and opened not again; and that his features
expressed, amid their quietude, a rigidity which is not that of
sleep. They ran to his assistance, but it was too late. The
light that burned so low in the socket, had leaped up, and ex
pired in one exhilarating flash.

The rest must be conceived. I have only to add that his
faithful dog did not survive him many days; and that the
image of Bevis lies carved at his master’s feet, on the tomb
which was erected to the memory of Sir Henry Lee of
Ditchley.*

* It may interest some readers to know that Bevis, the gallant hound,
one of the handsomest and active of the ancient Highland deer-hounds,
had his prototype in a dog called Maida, the gift of the late Chief of Glen-
garry tothe Author. A beautiful sketch of him was made by Edwin Land.
seer, and afterwartl engraved. I cannot Suppress the avowal of some per-
sonal vanity when I mention that a friend, going through Munich, picked
up a common snuff-box, such as are sold for one franc, on which was dis-
played the form of this veteran favorite, simply marked as Der lieblung
hund von Walter Scott. Mr. Landseer’s painting is at Blair-Adam, the
property of my venerable friend, the Right Honorable Lord Chief Com
missioner Adam.NOTES TO WOODSTOCK.

Note A. p. 4.—Book oF COMMON PRAYER.

See © Vindication of the Book of Common Prayer, against the contu-
melious Slanders of the Frantic Party terming it Porridge.”

The author of this singular and rare tract indulges in the allegorical style,
till he fairly hunts down the allegory.

“ But as for what you call porridge, who hatched the name I know not,
neither is it worth the enquiring after, for I hold porridge good food. It
is better to asick man than meat, for a sick man will sooner eat pottage
than meat. Pottage will digest with him when meat will not; pottage will
nourish the blood, fill the veins, run into every part of a man, make him
warmer; so will these prayers do, set our soul and body in a heat, warm
our devotion, work fervency in us, lift up our soul to God. For there be
herbs of God’s own planting in our pottage as you call it—the Ten Com-
mandments, dainty herbs to season any pottage in the world; there is the
Lord’s Prayer, and that is a most sweet pot-herb, cannot be denied; then
there is also David’s herbs, his prayers and psalms, helps to make our pot-
tage relish well; the psalm of the blessed Virgin, a good pot-herb. Though
they be, as some term them, cock-crowed pottage, yet they are as sweet, as
good, as dainty, and as fresh, as they were at the first. The sun hath not
made them sour with its heat, neither hath the cold water taken away their
vigor and strength. Compare them with the Scriptures, and see if they be
not as well seasoned and crumbed. If you find anything in them that is
either too salt, too fresh, or too bitter, that herb shall be taken out and
better put in, if it can be got, or none. And as in kitchen pottage there are
many good herbs, so there is likewise in this church pottage, as you call it.
For first, there is in kitchen pottage good water to make them so; on the
contrary, in the other pottage there is the water of life. 2. There is salt to
season them; so in the other is a prayer of grace to season their hearts.
3. There is oatmeal to nourish the body, in the other is the bread of life.
4. There is thyme in them to relish them, and it is very wholesome—in the
other is the wholesome exhortation not to harden our hearts while it is called
to-day. This relisheth well. 5. There is a small onion to give a taste—in
the other is a good herb, called Lord havemercy on us. These, and many
other holy herbs are contained in it, all boiling in the heart of man, will
make as good pottage as the world can afford, especially if you use
these herbs for digestion,—the herb repentance, the herb grace, the herb
faith, the herb love, the herb hope, the herb good works, the herb feeling,
the herb zeal, the herb fervency, the herb ardency, the herb constancy,
with many more of this nature, most excellent for digestion.” Oke! jam
satis. In this manner the learned divine hunts his metaphor at a very cold
scent, through a pamphlet of six mortal quarto pages.

RE ERT Re TENT tsos
a!

Fines eae eee oyeren

~

Oe ae

430 NOTES.

 

Note B, p. 186.—Dr. MicHaEL Hupson,

Michael Hudson, the plain-dealing chaplain of King Charles I., re-
sembled, in his loyalty to that unfortunate monarch, the fictitious character
of Dr. Rochecliffe; and the circumstances of his death was copied in the
narrative of the Presbyterian’s account of the slaughter of his school-fellow ;—
he was chosen by Charles I., along with John Ashburnham, as his guide
and attendant, when he adopted the ill-advised resolution of surrendering
his person to the Scots army.

He was taken prisoner by the Parliament, remained long in their custody,
and was treated with great severity. He made his escape for about a year
in 1647; was retaken and again escaped in 1648; and, heading an insur-
rection of cavaliers, seized on a strong moated house in Lincolnshire, called
Woodford House. He gained the place without resistance ; and there are
among Peck’s Desiderata Curiosa several accounts of his death, among
which we shall transcribe that of Bishop Kenneth, as the most correct and
concise :—

“I have been on the spot,” said his Lordship, “and made all possible in-
quiries, and find that the relation given by Mr. Wood may be a little rectified
and supplied.

*“Mr. Hudson and his party did not fly to Woodford, but had quietly
taken possession of it, and held it for a garrison, with a good party of horse,
who made a stout defence, and frequent sallies, against a party of the
Parliament at Stamford, till the colonel commanding them sent a stronger
detachment, under a captain, his own kinsman, who was shot from the
house, upon which the colonel himself came up to renew the attack, and
to demand surrendry, and brought them to capitulate upon terms of safe
quarter. But the colonel, ii base revenge, commanded that they should
not spare the rogue Hudscn, Upon which Hudson fought his way up to
the leads; and when he saw they were pushing in upon him, threw himself
over the battlements (another account Says, he caught hold of a spout or
outstone), and hung by the hands as intending to fall into the moat beneath,

till they cut off his wrists and let him drop, and then ran down to hunt him
in the water, where they found him paddling with his stumps, and barbar-
ously knocked him on the head.”—PEcx’s Desiderata Curiosa, Book ix.

Other accounts mention he was refused the poor charity of coming to
die on land, by one Egborough, servant to Mr. Spinks, the intruder into the
parsonage. A man called Walker, a chandler or grocer, cut out the tongue
of the unfortunate divine, and showed it as a trophy through the country.
But it was remarked, with vindictive satisfaction, that Egborough was killed
by the bursting of his own gun; and that Walker, obliged to abandon his
trade through poverty, became a scorned mendicant.

For some time a grave was not vouchsafed to the remains of this brave

and loyal divine, till one of the other party said, “Since he is dead, let him
be buried.”

Nove C, p. 226.—CANNIBALISM IMPUTED TO THE CAVALIERS.

The terrors preceding the civil wars, which agitated the public mind,
rendered the grossest and most exaggerated falsehoods current among the
people. When Charles I, appointed Sir Thomas Lunsford to the situation
of Lord Lieutenant of the Tower, the celebrated John Lillburn takes to him
self the credit of exciting ‘the public hatred against this officer and Lord
Digby, as pitiless bravoes of the most bloody-minded description, from whom
the people were to expect nothing but bloodshed and massacre. Of Sir
Thomas Lunsford, in particular, it was reported that his favorite food wasNOTES. 431

the flesh of children, and he was painted like an ogre ‘n the act of cutting
a child into steaks and broiling them. The Colonel fell at the Siege of
Bristol in 1643, but the same calumny pursued his remains, and the credu-
lous multitude were told,

“The post who came from Coventry,
Riding in a red rocket,
Did tidings tell how Luns sford fell,
A child’s hand in his pocket.”

Many allusions to this report, as well as to the credulity of those who
believe it, may be found in the satires and lampoons of the time, a Ithough,
says Dr. Grey, Munsford was a man of great sobriety, industry and courage,

}

Butler says, that the preachers

Made children with their lives to run for’t,
As bad as Bloody lybones or Lunsford.’

But this extraordinary report is chiefly insisted upon in a comedy called
the Old Troop, written by John Lacy, the comedian. The scene is laid

during the civil wars of England, and the persons of the drama are chiefly

those who were in arms for the King. They are represented as plundering
the country without mercy, which Lacy might draw from the life, having, in
fact, begun his. career as a lieutenant of cavalry, in the service of Charles I.
The troopers find the peasants loath to surrender to them their provisions,
on which, in order to compel them, they pretend to be in earnest in the
purpose of eating the children. A poe of course but humorous comedy
is then introduced, which — Swift had not, perhaps, forgotten, when he
recommended the eating of the children of the poor as a mode of relieving
the distresses of thei tase ats.

“ Lieutenant.—Second me, and I’]l make them bring out all they have,
I warrant you. Do but talk as if we used to eat children.—Why look you,
good woman, we do believe you are poor, so we’ll make a shift with our old
diet—you have chi ildren in the town?

“© Woman.— Why do you ask, sir?

“ Leutenant.—Only have two or three to supper. Flea-flint, you have
the best way of cooking children.

“Flea- Zint.—I can powder them to make you taste your liquor. I am
never without a dried child’s tongue or ham.

Woman.—O! bless me!

“© Flea-flint,—Mine’s but the ordinary way ; but Foordfarm is the man ;
he mz dite you the savourist pie of a child chalc Jron that was ever eat.

‘ Lieutenant—A plague! all the world cannot cook a child like Mr.
Raggou [a French cook or messman to the troop, and the buffoon of the
piece].

“ Rags vou.—Begar me think so; for vat was me bred in the King of
Mogol’s ‘kitchen ? dere we kill twenty shild of a day. Take you one shild
by both his two heels, a id put his head between your two knees, and take
you knife and slice off al TBE Leek. so fashion; begar, that make a de best
Scots collop in de world.

“ Tieutenant—Ah, he makes the best pottage of a child’s head and feet,
however; but you must boil it with bacon—Woman, you must get bacon.

“* Woman.—O Lud—yes, sir!

“ Ford.—And then it must be very young.

“ Tzeutenant.—Y es, yes—Good woman, it must be a fine squab child of
half-a-year old—a man child, dost hear ?”—TuE OLD TROOP, Act 7/7.Pa MitiV ce a

432 NOTES.

After a good deal more to this purpose, the villagers determined to carry
forth their sheep, poultry, etc., to save their children. In the meantime,
the Cavaliers are in some danger of being cross-bit, as they then called it ;
that is, caught in their own snare. A woman enters, who announces her-
self thus :—

“Woman.—By your leave, your good worships, I have made bold to
bring you in some provisions.

* Hord.—Provisions ? where, where is this provision ?

‘“ Woman.—Here, if it please you, I have brought you a couple of fine
fleshy children.

‘* Coronet.—Was ever such a horrid woman ! what shall we do ?

“ Woman.—Truly, gentlemen, they are fine squab children; shall I
turn them up ?—they have the bravest brawn and buttocks.

“ Liewtenant.—No, no; but, woman, art thou not troubled to part with
thy children ?

‘* Woman.—Alas, sir, they are none of mine, they are only nurse
children.

** Liewtenant.—W hat a beast is this—whose children are they?

“* Woman.—A laundress that owes me fora year’s nursing ; I hope they’ll
prove excellent meat ; they are twins too.

‘* Raggou.—Aha, but! but begar we never eat no twin shild, the law for-
bid that.”—Jbidem.

In this manner the Cavaliers escape from the embarrassing consequences
of their own strategem, which, as the reader will perceive, has been made
use of in the text.

Note D, p. 328.—THE FAMILISTs.

The Familists were originally founded by David George of Delft, an
enthusiast, who believed himself the Messiah. They branched off into
various sects of Grindletonians, Familists of the Mountains, of the Valleys:
Familists of Cape Order, etc. etc., of the Scattered Flock, etc. etc. Among
doctrines too wild and foul to be quoted, they held the lawfulness of occa-
sional conformity with any predominant sect when it suited their convenience,
of complying with the order of any magistrate, or superior power, however
sinful. They disowned the principal doctrines of Christianity, as a law
which had been superseded by the advent of David George—nay, obeyed
the wildest and loosest dictates of evil passions, and are said to have prac-
ticed among themselves the grossestlibertinism. See Edward’s Gangrena,
Pagitt’s Meresiographia, anda very Curious work written by Ludovic Clax-
ton, one of the leaders of the sect, called the Lost Sheep Found, small quarto.
London, 1660.

Note E, p. 352.— PATRICK CAREY,

** You do not know Patrick Carey,” says King Charles in the novel;
and, what is more singular, Patrick Carey has had two editors, each un-
known alike to the other, except by name only. In 1771, Mr. John Murray
published Carey’s poems, froma collection said to be in the hands of the
Rev. Mr. Pierspoint Crimp. A very probable conjecture is stated, that the
author was only known to private friendship. As late as 1819, the Author
of Waverley, ignorant of the edition of 1771, published a second quarto from
an elaborate manuscript, though in bad order, apparently the autograph of
the first Of Carey, the second editor, like the first, only knew the name
and the spirit of the verses. He has since been enabled to ascertain that
the poetic cavalier was a younger brother of the celebrated Henry LordNOTES. 433

Carey, who fell at the battle of Newbery, and escaped the researches of
Horace Walpole, to whose list of noble authors he would have been an
important addition. So completely has the fame of the great Lord Falk-
land eclipsed that of his brothers, that this brother Patrick has been over-
looked even by genealogists.

NoTE F, p. 361.—SIGNAL OF DANGER.

On a particular occasion a lady, suspecting, by the passage of a body of
guards through her estate, that the arrest of her neighbor, Patrick» Home
of Polwarth, afterward first Earl of Marchmont, was designed, sent him a
feather by a shepherd boy, whom she dared not trust with a more explicit
message. Danger sharpens the intellect, and this hint was the commence-
ment of those romantic adventures which gave Grizzel Lady Murray the
materials from which she compiled her account of her grandfather’s escape,
published [in 1822] by Mr. Thomas Thomson, deputy Clerk-Register of
Scotland. The anecdote of the feather does not occur there, but the Author
has often heard it from the late Lady Diana Scott, the lineal descendant
and representative of Patrick Earl of Marchmont.

* y Ry
BOS es aacen potPRRs errata ee NARUTO CReecerwx

"=a

APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.

 
    

No; I;

THE WOODSTOCK SCUFFLE;

OR,

MOST DREADFULL APPARITIONS THAT WERE LATELY SEENE IN THE

MANNOR-HOUSE OF WOODSTOCK, NEAR OXPORD, “lO: THE GRE

REAT

TERROR AND WONDERFUL AMAZEMENT OF ALL THERE THAT DID

BEHOLD THEM,

°

[Printed in the year 1649. 4to.]

Ir were a wonder if one unites,

And not of wonders and strange sights;

I’or ev’ry where such things affrights
Poore people,

That men are ev’n at their wits’ end :

God judgments ev’ry where doth send,

And yet we don’t our lives amend,
But tipple,

And swear, and lie, and cheat, and
Because the world shall drown no more,
As if no judgments were in store

But water;

But by the stories which I tell,

You’ll heare of terrors come from hell,

And fires, and shapes most terrible
For matter,

It is not long since that a child

Spake from the ground in a large field,

And made the people almost wild
That heard it,

Of which there is a printed book,

Wherein each man the truth may look ;

If children speak, the matter’s took
For verdict.

But this is stranger than that voice,
The wonder’s #reater, and the noyse;
And things appear to men, not boyes
At Woodstock 3
Where Rosamond had once a bower,
To keep her from Queen Llinoury,
And had escap’d her poys’nous power
By good-luck,

 

But fate had otherwise decreed,
And Woodstock Mannor saw a deed,
Which is in Holinshed or Steed

Chro-nicled ;

3ut neither Holinxshed nor Stow,
Nor no historians such things show,
Though in them wonders we well know
Are pickled ;

For nothing else in history

But pickle of antiquity,

Where things are kept in memory
‘rom stincking.

Which otherwaies would have lain dead

As in oblivion buried,

Which now you may call into head
With thinking.

The dreadfuli story, which is true,
And now committed unto view,
By better pen, had it its due,

Shouid see light.

But I, contented, doe indite,

Not things of wit, but things of right;

You can’t expect that things that fright
Should delight.

O hearken, therefore, harke and shake!
My very pen and hand doth quake!
While I the true relation make

’ th’? wonder.

Which hath long time, and still appeares

Unto the State’s Commissioners,

And puts them in their beds to feares
From under.They come, good men, imploi’d by th? State,
‘Yo sell the lands of Charles the late,
And there they lay, and long did w aite

For chapmen.

You may have easy pen’worths, woods,

Lands, ven’son, ape sholdstuf, and goods ;

They little thought of dogs that wou’d
There snap-men.

But when they’d sup’d and fully fed,

They set up remnants, and to bed,

Where scarce they had laid down a head
To slumber,

S

 

But that their beds were heavy’ d on high;

They thoug ght some dog unde neue lie,

And meant i’ th’ chamber ie le, fie)
To seus

Some thought the cunning cur did mean

To eat their mutton (which was lean)

Reserv’d for bre: ikfast, for the men
Were thrifty ;

Aud up one rises iu his shirt,

Intending the cur to hurt,

And forty thrusts made at him for’t
Or fifty.

  
 

But empty came his sword aga in,

He found he thrust but all in yz ain ;

The mutton safe, hee woe t amai
To’s ele

And now (assured all was well)

The bed again began to swell,

The men were frighted, and did smell
O’ th’ yellow.

From heaving, now the cloaths it pluckt ;
The men, for fear, together stuck,
And in their sweat each other duckt.

They wished

A thousand times that it were day
|! t

"Tis sure the divell! Let us pri ny.
They pray’d amain ; and as they say,
* *

Approach of day did cleere the doubt,

For all devotions were run out,

They now waxt strong and something stout ;
One peaked

Under the bed, but naught was there;

Hee view’d the chamber ev’ry where,

Nothing appear’d but what, but feare,
They leaked.

Their stomachs then return’d apace,
They found the mutton in the place,
And fell unto it with a grace.

They laughed

Each at the other’s papnick feare,

And each his bed-fellow did jeere
And having sent for alc and Hees

They quafied.

  
  
      
    
    
  
  
   
  
  
    
   
  
    
  
 
 
   
      
   
  
  
  
    
   
  
   
     
   
   
   
    
    
       
   
   
   
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
   
    
 
  
   
  
    
 

APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. 435

And ace abroad the summons went,
Who'll buy king’s-land o’ th’ Parliament
A paper book contein’d the rent,

Which lay there;

They did contein the severall farmes,

Quit-rents, knight services, and armes 3

But that they came not in by swarmes
To pay there.

Night doth invite to beg again,

The grand Commissioners were lain,

But then the thing did heave amain,
It busled,

And with great clamor fill’d their eares,

‘The noyse was doubled, and their feares,

Nothing was standing but their haires,
They nuzled.

Oft were the blankets pul’d, the sheete
Was fess y twin’d betwixt their feete,
It seems the spirit was d iscreete

nd civill.

Which makes the ear Commissioners
Feare they shall get but small arreares,
And that there? s yet for cavaliers

One divell.

They cast about what best to doe;

Next day they would to wise men goe,

To neighb’ring towns som cours to know};
For schollars

 

Come not to Woodstock as before,

And Allen’s dead as a nayle- doore,

And so’s old John (eclep’d the poore)
is follower ; ;

Rake Oxford o’er there’s not a man
Lf Babe rayse or lay a spirit can,
Or use the circle or the wand:

Or conjure ;

Or can say (Boh!) unto a divell,
Or to a goose that is uncivill,
Nor where Keimbol ton purg ’d out evill,

‘is sin sure.

There were two villages hard by,

With chee of presbytery,

Who knew the house was hidiously

3e-pestred ;

But ’lasse! their new divinity

Is not so deep, or not so high;

Their wits doe (as their meanes did) li
Sequestered ;

But Master Joffman was the wight

Which was to exorcise the spright ; ;

Hee’ll preach and pray you day and night
At pleasure.

And by that painfull, gainfull trade,

He hath himself full wealthy mace

Great store of guilt he hath, ’tis said
And treasure.

 

 

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SRB eerste rrsiacia Pans reats436

But no entreaty of bis friends
Could get him to the house of fiends,
He came not over for such ends

From Dutch-land ;

But worse divinity hee brought,

And hath us reformation taught,

And, with our money, he hath bought
Him much land:

Had the old parsons preached still,
The div’l should nev’r have had his wil;
But those that had or art or skill

Are outed;

And those to whom the pow’r was giv’n

Of driving spirits, are out driv’n ;

Their colledges dispos’d, and livings,
To grout-heads,

There was a justice who did boast,
ee had as great a gift almost,
Who did desire him to accost
This evill.

But hee would not employ his gifts,
But found out many sleights and shifts ;
Hee had no prayers, nor no snifts,

For th’ divell.

Some other way they cast about,

These brought him in, they throw not out

A woman, great with chile 1, will do’t;
They got one.

And she 1?’ th’ room that night must lie ;
But when the se about did flie,
And broke the window furiously.

And hot one

Of the contractors o’re the head,

Who lay securely in his bed,

The woman, shee, affrighted, fled,
* » *

And now they Jay the cause on her,

That e’re that night the thing did stir,

Because her selfe and grandfather
Were Papists ;

They must be barnes-regenerate

(A Hans en Kelder of the state,

Which was in reformation gatt),
They said, which

Doth make the divell stand in awe,

Pull in his horns, his hoof, his claw

But having none, they did in draw
x

3ut in the night there was such worke,
The spirit swaggered likea Turke ;
The bitch had spi’aé where it did lurk,
And howled

In such a wofull manner, that
Their very heart went pit-a-pat ;
x x & *

* * *

APPENDIX "TO INTRODCCTION.

 

The stately rooms, where kings once lay
3ut the contractors shew’d the way.
But mark what now I tell you, pray,
‘is worth it.

‘That book I told you of before,
Wherein were tenants written store,
A register for many more

Not forth yet ;

That very book as it did lie,
Took of a flame, no mortall eye
Seeing one jot of fire thereby,

‘ Or taper;

For all the candles about flew,
And those that burned, burned blew,
Never kept soldiers such a doe

Or vaper.

The book thus burnt, and none knew how,

The poore contractors made a vow

To work no more; this spoil’d their plow
In that place

Some other part o’ th’ hause they'll find,
ie which the devill hath no mind,
But hee, it seems, is not inclin’d
With that grace ;

But other pranks it plaid elsewhere.
An oake there was stood many a yeere,
Of goodly growth as an) where,

Vas hewn down,

Which into fewell-wood a cut,
And some into a wood-pile put,
But it was hurled all about
And thrown down.

In sundry forms it doth appeare ;
Now like a grasping claw to teare ;
Now like a dog ; anon a beare

It tumbles ;

And all the windows battered are,
No man the quarter ni dare 5
All mew. (except the glasier)

Joe grumble

Once in the likenesse of woman,
Or stature much above the common,
Twas seene, but spake a word to no man,
And vanish’d

’?Tis thought the ghost of some good wife
Whose husband was deprived of life,
Her chiidren cheated, land in strife

She banist.

No man can tell the cause of these

So wondrous dreadfull outrages ;

Yet if upon your sinne you please
‘o discant,

You’le find our actions out doe hell’s 5

O wring your hands, and cease the bells,

Repentance must, or nothing else
Appease can't.No. II.
tHE JUST DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK:

OR,

A TRUE NARRATIVE OF THE SEVERAL APPARITIONS, THE FRIGHTS
AND PUNISHMENTS, INFLICTED UPON THE RUMPISH COMMIS-
SIONERS SENT THITHER TO SURVEY THE MANNORS AND HOUSES
BELONGING TO HIS MAJESTIE.

London, printed in the year 1660, 4to

The names of the persons in the ensuing Narrative mentioned, with
others :—

Mr. Crook, the Lawyer.

Mr. BROWNE, the Surveyor.

Their three Servants,

Their Ordinary-keeper, and others.

The Gatekeeper, with the wife and Servants.

CAPTAIN COCKAINE
CAPTAIN HART.
CAPTAIN CROOK.
CAPTAIN CARELESS
CAPTAIN ROE.

Besides many more, who each night heard the noise ; as Sir Gerrard Fleet-
wood and his lady, with his family; Mr. Hyans, with his family, and
several others, who lodged in the outer courts ; and during the three last
nights, the inhabitants of Woodstock town, and other neighbor villages.,
And there were many more, both divines and others, who came out of
the country, and from Oxford, to see the glass and stones, and other stuffe,
the devil had brought, wherewith to beat out the Commissioners; the marks

upon some walls remain, and many, this to testifie.
THE PREFACE TO THE-ENSUING NARRATIVE.

SINCE it hath pleased the Almighty God, out of his infinite mercy, so to
make us happy, by restoring of our native King to us, and us unto our
native liberty through him, that now the good may say, magna temporum
felicitas ubi sentire que velts, et dicere licet que sentias, we cannot but esteem
ourselves engaged in the highest of degrees to render unto him the highest
thanks we can express. Although, surpris’d with joy, we become as lost in
the performance ; when gladness and admiration strikes us silent, as we
look back upon the precipiece of our late condition, and those miraculous
deliverances beyond expression. Freed from the slavery, and those despe-
rate perils, we dayly lived in fear of, during the tyrannical times of that de-
estable usurper, Oliver Cromwell; he who had raked up such judges as

e

   

 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   

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438 AU ET AG INSTORE IMO) TEM WIRMOION ONC TEM OWN

would wrest the most innocent language into high treason, when he had the
cruel conscience to take away our lives upon no other ground of justice or
reason (the stones of London streets would rise to witness it, if all the citi-
zens were Silent). And with these judges had such councillors as could
advise him unto worse, which will less want of witness. For should the
many auditors be silent, the press (as God would have it) hath given it us
in print, where one of them (and his conscience-keeper, too) speaks out.
What shall we do with these men? saith he; eer intemperans crudelem
Jacit medicum, et immedicabile vulnus ense recidendum. Who these men are
that should be brought to such Scicilian vespers, the former page sets forth
—those which conceit Vofias, and have their day-dreams of the return of,
I know not what golden age, with the old line. What usage, when sucha
privy councillor had power, could he expect, who then had published this
narrative? This much so plainly shows the devil himself dislikit their
doings (so much more bad were they than he would have them be), severer
sure than was the devil to their Commissioners at Woodstock; for he
warned them, with dreadful noises, to drive them from their work. This
councillor, without more ado, would have all who retain’d conceits of allegi-
ance to their soveraign, to be absolutely cut off by the usurper’ssword. A
sad sentence for a loyal party to a lawful King. But Heaven is always just;
the party is repriv’d, and do acknowledge the hand of God in it, as is rightly
apply’d, and as justly sensibly of their deliverance: in that the foundation
which the councillor saith was already so well laid, is now turned up, and
what he calls day-dreams are come to passe. That old line which (as with
him) there seemed, aliquid divini, tothe contrary, is now restored. And
that rock which, as he saith, the prelates and all their adherents, nay, and
their master and supporter, too, with all his posterity, have split themselves
upon, is nowhere to be heard. And that posterity are safely arrived in
their ports, and masters of that mighty navy, their enemies so much en-
creased to keep them out with. The eldest sits upon the throne, his place
by birthright and descent,

“* Pacatumque regit Patriis virtutibus orbem ; ”

upon which throne long may he sit and reign in peace. That by his just
government, the enemies of ours, the true Protestant Church, of that glori-
ous martyryour late sovereign, and of his royal posterity, may be either
absolutely converted or utterly confounded.

If any shall now ask thee why this narrative was not sooner published,
as neerer to the times wherein the things were acted, he hath the reason for
it in the former lines ; which will the more clearly appear unto his appre-
hension, if he shall perpend how much cruelty is requisite to the mainten-
ance of rebellion ; and how great care is necessary in the supporters, to
obviate and divert the smallest things that tend to the unblinding of the
people ; so that it needs will follow, that they must have accounted this
amongst the great obstructions to their sales of his majestie’s lands, the
devil not joining with them in the security; and greater to the pulling down
the royal pallaces, when their chapmen should conceit the devil would
haunt them in their houses, for building with so ill got materials; as no
doubt but that he hath, so numerous and confident are the relations made
of the same, though scarce any so totally remarkeable as this, (if it be not
that others have been more concealed), in regard of the strange circumstances
as long continuances, but especially the number of the persons together, to
whom all things were so visibly both seen and done, so that surely it exceeds
any other; for the devils thus manifesting themselves, it appears evidently
that there are such things as devils, to persecute the wicked in this world as
in the next.of such distractions,
in England (should

it no better dress

did ie same to all who ]

   
   
  
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
 

LO INTRODOCTLION, 439

e added the diverse reall phantasms seen at White-
Hall in Cromwell’s times, which caused him to keep such mighty guards in
and about his bedchamber, and yet so oft to change his lodgings: if those
things done at Saint James’, w here the devil so joal ’d the abe against
the sides of the queen's chappell doors, that some of them fell sick upon it;
ing warning by it, kild one outright, whom they buried
other such dreadful things, those that inhabited the
royal houses have been affrighted with. 5

And if to these were likewise added, a relation of all those regicides and
their abettors the devil hath entered into, as he did the Gadarenes’ swine,
with so many more of them who has fallen mad, and dyed in hideous forms
that which hath been of this within these 12 last years
all of this nature our chronicles do tell, with all the
superstitious monks have writ, be put together), would make the greater
, and of more Strange occurrents.
And now as to the penman of this narrative, know that he was a divine,
f those things acted, which are here related, the minister
and schoolmaster of Woodstock; a person learned and discreet, not byassed

name Widows, who each day put in writing

what he heard from their mouthes (and such things as they told to have be-
fallen them the night before), therein keeping to their own words ; and,
never thinking that what he had writ should happen to be made publick,
Q set it forth. And because to do it now shall
not be construed to change the story, the reader hath it here accordingly

JUST DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK.

“he 16th day of October, in the ye ar of our Lo rd 1649, the Commissioners
for peices and val uIng, his majestie’s mannor-house, parks, woods, deer,
] thereunto belonging, by name Captain Crook,
aptain e) ockaine, Captain C arelesse, and Captain Roe, their
eh Mr. Browne, their ae and two or ites servants,
went from Woodstock town (where th 1ey had Jain some nights poe and
took up their lodgings in his majestie’s house after this manner: The bed-
chamber and withdrawing-room they both lodged in and made their kitchen ;
the presence-chamber their room tor dispatch of their business with all
commers; of the council hall
wood house, where they laid in the clefts of that antient standard in the

their brew-house, as of the di ining-room their

beyond memory, known by the name of the

King’s Oak, which they had chosen out, and caused to be dug up by the

October 17.—About the middle of the night, these new guests were e first
awaked by a knocking at the presence-chz amber door, which they also con-
ceived did open, and something to enter, which came ‘through the room, and
also walkt about that room “with a heavy step during half-an-hour, then
crept under the bed where Ca
1 (as it were) to bite and gnaw the mat and _ bed- coards, as if it

and rend the fon aan beds; which having done a while, then
would heave a while, <
high than it did before, some time on the one side, sometimes on the other,
as if it had tried which Captain was the heaviest. Thus having heaved some
Hi at an- a from Beene it walkt out and went under the serv fant? bed, and
; hence it walkt into a withdrawing-room, and there
lodged there. Thus having welcomed them for
more than two hours’ space, it walkt out as it came in, and shut the outei

ptain Hart and Captain Carelesse lay, where

; then heave them up again in the bed more

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DS ata Onna nace anna ne nSSRSE ICES ,APPENDIX. LOUNTRODOUCTION;

 

440

door again, but with a clap of some mighty force. These guests were ina
sweat All this while, but out of it falling into a sleep again, it became morn-
ing first before they spake their minds ; then would they have it to be a dog,
yet they described it more to the likenesse of a great bear; so fell to the
examining under the beds, where, finding only the mats scracht, but the
bedcoards whole, and the quarter of beef which lay on the floor untoucht,
they entertained other thoughts.

‘October 18.—They were all awaked as the night before, and now conceived
that they heard all the great clefts of the King’s Oak brought into the pres-
ence-chamber, and there thumpt down, and after roul about the room ; they
could hear their chairs and stools tost from one side of the room unto the
other, and then (as it were) altogether josled. Thus having done an hour
together, it walkt into the withdrawing-room, where lodged the two cap:
tains, the secretary, and two servants : here stopt the thing a while, as if it did
take breath, but raised a hideous one, then walkt into the bed- chamber,
where lay those as before, and under the bed it went, where it did heave and
heave again, that now they in bed were put to catch hold upon bed-posts,
and sometimes one of the other, to prevent their being tumbled out upon
the ground ; then corns out as from under the bed, and taking hold upon
the bed-posts, it would shake the whole bed, almost as if a cradle rocked.
Thus having done here for half-an-hour, it went into the withdrawing-room
where first it came and stood at the bed’s feet, and heaving up the bed’s
feet, flopt down again a while, until at last it heaved the feet so high that
those in bed thought to have been set upon their heads ; and having thus
for two hours entertained them, went out as in the night before ; but with a
great noise.

October 19.—This night they awaked not until the midst of the night ;
they perceived the room to shake with something that walkt about the bed-
chamber, which having done so a while, it walkt into a withdrawing-room,
where it took up a brasse warming-pan, and returning with it into the bed-
chamber, therein made so loud a noise, in these captains’ own words, it was
as loud and scurvie as aring of five untuned bells rung backward ; but the
captains not to seem afraid, next day made mirth of what had past, and
jested at the devil in the pan.

October 20.—These captains and their company, still lodging as before,
were wakened in this night with some things flying about the rooms, and
out of one room into the other, as thrown with some great force. Captain
Hart, being in a slumber, was taken by the shoulder and shaked until he
did sit up in his bed, thinking that it had been one of his fellows, when sud-
denly he was taken on the pate oe a trencher, that it made him shrink
down into the bed-clothes, and all of them, in both rooms, kept their heads
at least within their sheets, so fiercely did three dozen of trenchers fly about
the rooms ; yet Captain Hart ventured again to peep out to see what was
the matter, and what it was that threw, but then the trenchers came so
fast and near about his ears, that he was fain quickly to couch again. In
the morning they found all their trenchers, pots, and spits, upon and about
their beds, and all such things as were of common use scattered about the
rooms. This night there were also, in several parts of the room and outer
rooms, such noises of beating at doors, and on the walls, as if that several
smiths had been at work 3 and yet our captains shrunk not from their work,
but went on in that, and lodged as they had done before.

October 21.—About midnight they heard great knocking at every door ;
after a while the doors flew open, and into the withdrawing-room entered
something as of a mighty proportion, the figure of it they knew not how to
describe. This walkt awhile about the room shaking the floor at every step.
then came it up close to the bedside, where lay Captains Crook and Care-APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. 441

lesse ; and after a little pause, as it were, the bed curtains, both at sides
and feet, were drawn up and down slowly, then faster again for a quarter of
an hour, then from end to end as fast as imagination can fancie the running
of the rings, then shaked it the beds, as if the joints thereof and crackt;
then walkt the thing into the bedchamper, and so plaied with those beds
there; then took up eight peuter dishes, and bouled them about the room
and over the servants in the truckle-beds ; then sometimes were the dishes
taken up and thrown crosse the high beds and against the walls, and so
much battered ; but there were more dishes wherein was meat in the same
room, that were not all removed. During this, in the presence-chamber
there was stranger noise of weightie things thrown down, and, as they sup-
posed, the clefts of the King’s Oak did roul about the room, yet at the
wonted hour went away, and left them to take rest, such as they could.

October 22.—Hath mist of being set down, the officers imployed in their
work farther off, came not that day to Woodstock. ‘

October 23.—T hose that lodged in the withdrawing-room, in the midst of the
night were awakened with the cracking of fire, as if it had been with thorns
and sparks of fire burning, whereupon, they supposed that the bedchamber
had taken fire, and listning to it farther, they heard their fellows in bed sadly
groan, which gave them to suppose they might be suffocated ; wherefore
they called upon their servants to make all possible hast to help them.
When the two servants were come in, they found all asleep, and so brought
back word, but that there were no bed-clothes upon them; wherefore they
were sent back to cover them, and to stir up and mend the fire. When
the servants had covered them and were come to the chimney, in the cor-
ners the found their wearing apparel, boots, and stockings, but they had no
sooner toucht the embers, when the firebrands flew about their ears so fast,
that away ran they into the other room for the shelter of their cover-lids ;
then after them walkt something that stampt about the room as if it had
been exceeding angry, and likewise threw about the trenchers, platters, and
all such things in the room—after two hours went out, yet stampt again
over their heads.

October 24.—They lodged all abroad.

October 25.—This afternoon was come unto them Mr. Richard Crook the
lawyer, brother to Captain Crook, and now deputy-steward of the mannor,
unto Captain Parsons and Major Butler, who had put out Mr. Hyans, his
majestie’s officer. To entertain this new guest the Commissioners caused
a very great fire to be made, of neer the chimney-full of wood of the King’s
Oak, and he was lodged in the withdrawing-room with his brother, and his
servant in the same room. About the midst of the night a wonderful knock-
ing was heard, and into the room something did rush, which coming to the
chimney-side, dasht out the fire as with the stamp of some prodigious foot,
then threw down such weighty stuffe, what ere it was (they took it to be
the residue of the clefts and roots of the King’s Oak), close by the bed-side,
that the house and bed shook with it. Captain Cockaine and his fellow
arose, and took their swords to go unto the Crooks. The noise ceased at
their rising, so that they came to the door and called. The two brothers,
though fully awaked, and heard them call, were so amazed, that they made
no answer until Captain Cockaine had recovered the boldness to call very
loud, and came unto the bedside; then faintly first, after some more assur-
ance, they came to understand one another, and comforted the lawyer.
Whilst this was thus, no noise was heard, which made them think the time
was past of that night’s trouble, so that, after some little conference, they
applied themselves to take some rest. When Captain Cockaine was come
to his own bed, whick he had left open, he found it closely covered, which
he much wondered at; but turning the clothes down, and opening it to get

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

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442 APPENDIX, TO TINTRODOUCTION:

in, he found the lower sheet strewed over with trenchers. Their whole
three dozen of trenchers were orderly disposed between the sheets, which
he and his fellow endeavoring to cast out, such noise arose about the room,
that they were glad to get into bed with some of the trenchers, The noise
lasted a full half hour after this. This entertainment so il] did like the lawyer,
and being not so well studied in the point as to resolve this the devil’s law
case, that he next day resolved to be gone; but having not dispatcht all
that he came for, profit and perswasions prevailed with him to stay the
other hearing, so that he lodged as he did the night before.

October 20.—This night each room was better furnished with fire and
candle than before ; yet about twelve at night came something in that dasht
all out, then did walk about the room, making a Noise, not to be set forth
by the comparison with any other thing ; sometimes came it to the bed-
sides, and drew the curtains to and fro, then twerle them, then walk about
again, and return to the bed-posts, shake them with all the bed, so that
they in bed were put to hold one upon the other, then walk about the room
again, and come to the servants’ bed, and gnaw and scratch the wainscot
head, and shake altogether in that room ; at the time of this being in doing,
they in the bedchamber heard such strange dropping down from the roof
of the room, that they supposed ’twas like the fall of money by the sound.
Captain Cockaine, not frightened with so small a noise (and lying near the
chimney), stept out and made shift to light a candle, by the light of which
he perceived the room strewed over with broken glass, green, and some of
it as it were pieces of broken bottles ; he had not long been considering
what it was, when suddenly his candle was hit out, and glass flew about
the room, that he made haste to the protection of the coverlets; the noise
of thundering rose more hideous then at any time before ; yet, at a certain
time all vanisht into calmness. The morning after was the glass about the
room, which the maid that was to make clean the rooms Swept up into a
corner, and many came to see it. But Mr. Richard Crook would stay no
longer, yet as he stopt, going through Woodstock town, he was there heard
to say, that he would not lodge amongst them another night for a fee of
% 500.

October 27.—The Commissioners had not yet done their work, wherefore
they must stay ; and being all men of the sword, they must not seem afraid
to encounter with anything, though it -be the devil : therefore. with pistols
charged, and drawn swords laid by their bed-sides, they applied themselves
to take some rest, when something in the midst of nightso opened and shut
the window casements with such claps, that it awakened all that slept ;
some of them peeping out to look what was the matter with the windows,
stones flew about the rooms as if hurled with many hands; some hit the
walls, and some the beds’ heads close above the pillows, the dints of which
were then, and yet (it is conceived) are to be seen, thus sometime throwing
stones, and sometime making thundering noise for two hours’ space it ceast,
and all was quiet till the morn. After the rising, and the maid come in
to make the fire, they looked about the rooms : they found fourscores
stones brought in that night, and going to lay them together in the corner
where the glass (before mentioned) had been Swept up, they found that
every piece of glass had been carried away that night. Many people came
next day to see the stones, and all observed that they were not of such kind
of stones as are naturall in the countrey thereabout ; with these were noise
like claps of thunder, or report of cannon planted against the rooms, heard
by all that lodged in the outer courts, to their astonishment, and at Wood-
stock town, taken to be thunder.

October 28.—This night, both strange and differing noise from the former

first wakened Captain Hart, who lodged in the bedchamber, who hearingAPPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. 4.423

Roe and Brown to groan, called out to Cockaine and Crook to come and
help them, for Hart could not now stir himself; Cockaine would fain have
answered, but he could not, or look about ; something, he thought, stopt
both his breath and held down his eye-lids. Amazed thus, he struggles
and kickt about, till he had awaked Captain Crook, who, half asleep, grew
very argry at his kicks, and multiplied words, it grew to an appointment
in the field ; but this fully recovered Cockaine to remember that Captain
Hart had called for help, wherefore to them he ran in the other room, whom
he found sadly groaning, where, scraping in the chimney, he both found a
candle and fire to light it; but had not gone two steps, when something
blew the candle out, and threw him in the chair by the bedside, when
presently cried out Captain Carelesse, with a most pittiful voice, ‘“ Come
hither, O come hither, brother Cockaine, the thing’s gone of me.” Cock-
aine, scarce yet himself, helpt to set him up in his bed, and after Captain
Hart, and having scarce done that to them, and also to the other two, they
heard Captain Crook crying out, as if something had been killing him.
Cockaine snacht up the sword that lay by their*bed, and ran into the room
to save Crook, but was in much more likelyhood to kill him, for at his
coming, the thing that pressed Crook went of him, at which Crook started
out of his bed, whom Cockaine thought a spirit, made at him, at which
Crook, cried out ‘‘ Lord help, Lordsave me ; ” Cockaine let fall his hand,
and Crook embracing Cockaine, desired his reconcilement, giving him many
thanks for his deliverance. Then rose they all and came together, dis-
coursed sometimes godly and sometimes praied, for all this while was there
such stamping over the roof of the house, as if 1000 horse had there been
trotting ; this night all the stones brought in the night before, and laid up
in the withdrawing-room, were all carried again away by that which brought
them in, which at the wonted time left of, and, as it were, went out, and so
away.

October 29.—Their businesse having now received so much forwardnesse
as to be neer dispatcht, they encouraged one the other, and resolved to try
further ; therefore, they provided more lights and fires, and further for their
assistance, prevailed with their ordinary keeper to lodge amongst them, and
bring his mastive bitch; and it was so this night with them, that they had
no disturbance at all.

October 30.—So well they had passed the night before, that this night
they went to bed confident and careless; until about twelve of the clock,
something knockt at the door as with a smith’s great hammer, but with
such force as if it had cleft the door; then ent’red something like a bear,
but seem’d to swell more big, and walkt about the room, and out of one
room into the other, treading so heavily, as the floare had not been strong
enough to bear it. When it came into the bedchamber, it dasht against
the beds’ heads some kind of glass vessell, that broke in sundry pieces, and
sometimes would take up those pieces, and hurle them about the room, and
‘nto the other room ; and when it did not hurle the glasse at their heads,
it did strike upon the tables, as if many smiths, with their greatest hammers,
had been laying on as upon an anvil; sometimes it thumpt against the
valls as if it would beat a hole through; then upon their heads, such
stamping, as if the roof of the house were beating down upon their heads;
and having done thus, during the space (as was conjectured) of two hours,
‘+t ceased and vanished, but with a more fierce shutting of the doors than
at any time before. In the morning they found the pieces of glass about
the room and observed that it was much differing from that glasse brought
in three nights before, this being of a much thicker substance, which several
persons which came in carried away some pieces of. The Commssioners
were in debate of lodging there no more; but all their business was not

   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

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444 APPENDIX TO ITNTKODOUCTION.

done, ant: sc.ue of them were so conceited as to believe, and to attribute
the rest they enjoyed, the night before this last, unto the mastive bitch;
wherefore, they resolved to get more company, and the mastive bitch, and
try another night.

October 31,—This night the fires and lights prepared, the ordinary keeper
and his bitch, with another man perswaded by him, they all took their beds
and fell asleep. But about twelve at night, such rapping was on all sides
of them, that it awakened all of them ; as the doors did seem to open, the
mastive bitch fell fearfully a yelling, and presently ran fiercely into the bed
to them in the truckle-bed ; as the thing came by the table, it struck so
fierce a blow on that, as that it made the frame to crack, then took the
Maguing: pal from off the table, and stroke it aoe the walls with so
much force as that it was beat flat together, lidand bottom. Now were they
hit as they lay covered over head and ears within the bed- clotl mt Captain
Carelesse was taken a sound blow on the head with the shoulder-blade bone
of a dead horse (before they had been but thrown at, when they peept up,
and mist) ; Browne had a shrewd blow on the leg with the backbone, and
another on the head, and every one of them felt severall blows of bones and
stones through the bed-clothes, for now these things were thrown as from
an angry hand that meant further mischief ; the stones flew in at window
as shot out of a gun, nor was the bursts lesse (as from without) than ofa
cannon, and all the windows broken down. Now as the hurling of the
things did cease, and the thing walkt up and down, Captain Cockaine and
Hart cried out, In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, what are
you?) What would you have? What have we done that you disturb us
thus? No voice replied (as the Captain said, yet some of their servants
have said otherwise), and the noise ceast- Hereupon Captains Hart and
Cockaine rose, who lay in the bedchamber, renewed the fire and lights, and
one great candle in a candlestick, they placed in the door, that might be
seen by them in ne 1 the rooms. No sooner were they got to bed, but the
noise arose on all sides more loud and hideous than at any time before,
insomuch as (to use the Captain’s own words) it returned and brought seven
devils worse than itself ; and py they saw the candle and candlestick
in the passage of the door, dasht up to the roof of the room by a kick of
the hinder parts of a horse, and after with the hoof trode out the snuff, and
so dasht out the fire in the chimnies. As this was done, there fell, as from
the sieling, upon them in the truckle-beds, such quantities of water, as if
it had been poured out of buckets, which stunk worse than any earthly
stinck could make; and as this was in doing, something crept under the
high beds, tost them up to the roof of the house with the Commissioners
in ‘them, until the testers of the beds were beaten down upon, and the bed:
sted-frames broke under them; and here some pause being made, they all,
as if with one consent, star ted up, and ran down the stairs until they came
into the Councel Hall, where two sate up a-brewing, but now were fallen
ae those they scared much with wakening of them, having been much
oe olext before with the strange noise, which commonly was taken by them
abroad for thunder, sometimes for rumbling wind. Here the Captains and
their company got fire and candle, and every one carrying something of
either, they returned into the Presence-C hamber, where some applied them-
selves to make the fire, whilst others fell to prayers, and having got some
clothes about them, ae spent the aeniae of the night in singing psalms
and prayers ; during which no noise was in that room, but most hideously
round about, as at some distance.

It should have been told before, how that when Captain Hart first rose
this night (who lay in the bedchamber next the fire B) He found their book
of valuations crosse the embers smoaking, which he snacht up and castAPPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. 445

upon the table there, which the night before was left upon the table in the
Presence amongst their other papers ; this book was in the morning found
a handful burnt, and had burnt the table where it lay ; Browne the clerk
said, he would not for a 100 anda £100 that it hae been burnt a handful
further.

This night it happened that there were six cony-stealers, who were come
with their nets and ferrets to the cony-burrows by Rosamond’s Well ; but
with the noise this night from the Mannor-house, they were so terrified, that
like men distracted away they ran, and left their haies all ready pitched,
ready up, and the ferrets in the cony-burrows. :

Now the Commissioners, more sensible of their danger, considered more
seriously of their safety, and agreed to go and confer with Mr. Hoffman,
the minister of Wotton (a man not of the meanest note for life or learning
by some esteemed more high), to Cer his advice, together with his com-
pany and Eine: Mr. Hoffman held it too high a point to resolve on
suddenly and by himself, wherefore desired time to consider upon it, which
Deing agreed unto, he forthwith rode to Mr. Jenkinson and Mr. Wheat, the
two next Justice s of Peace, to try what warrant they could give him for it.
They both (as ’tis said from themselves) encouraged him to “be assi isting to
the C ommissioners, according to his calling.

But certain it is, that when they came to fetch him to go with them,
Mr, Hoffman answered, that he would not lodge there one night for 4 500,
and being asked to pray with them, he held up his hands and said, that he
would not meddle upon any terms. )

Mr. Hoffman refusing to undertake the quarrel, the Comm §ners held
it not safe to lodge where they had been a entertained ; a}iinger, but
caused all things to be removed into the chambers over the stat house, where
they stayed but one night, and what rest they enjoyed there, we have but

an uncertain relation of, for they went away early the next morning ; but
if it may be held fit to set down what hath been delivered by the report of
others, they were also the same night much affrighted with dreadful appari-
tions ; but observing that these passages spread much in discourse, to be
also in particulars taken notice of, and that the nature of it mate not for
their cause, they agreed to the concealing of things for the future; yet this
is well known and certain, that the gate-keeper’ Ss wife was in so etna ange an
agony in her bed, and in her bedchamber such noise (whilst her husband
was above with the SoS ee that two maids in the next room to
her, durst not venture to assist her, but affrighted ran out to call company,
and their master, and found the woman (at their coming in) gasping for
breath; and the next day said, that she saw and suffered that, which for
all the world she would not be hired to again.

From Woodstock the Commissioners removed unto Euelme, and some

of them returned to Woodstock the Sunday se’nnight after (the book of
Valuations wanting something that was for haste left imperfect), but lodged
not in any of those rooms where they had lain before, and yet were not un-
visited (as they confess themselves) by the devil, whom they called their
nightly guest . Captain Crook came not until Tuesday night, and how he
sped that night the gate-keeper’s wife can tell if she dareth, but what she
hath whispered to her gossips, shall not be made a part of this our narrative,
nor many more particulars which have fallen from the Commissioners them-
selves and their servants to other persons; they are all or most of them
alive, and may add to it when they please, and surely have not a better way
to be revenged of him who troubled them, than according to the proverb,
tell truth and shame the devil.

There remains this observation to be added, that on a Wednesday morn-
ing all these officers went away ; and that since then diverse persons of

 

 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  

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APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.

   

446

severall qualities, have lodged often and sometimes long in the same rooms
both in the presence, withdrawing room, and bedchamber belonging unta
his sacred Majesty; yet none have had the least disturbance, or heard the
smallest noise, for which the cause was not as ordinary as apparent, except
the Commissioners and their company, who came in order to the alienating
and pulling down the house, which is well-nigh performed.

A SHORT SURVEY OF WOODSTOCK, NOT TAKEN BY ANY OF THE
BEFORE-MENTIONED COMMISSIONERS.*

The noble seat, called Woodstock, is one of the ancient honors belonging
to the crown. Severall mannors owe suite and service to the place; but
the custom of the countrey giving it but the title of a mannor, we shall erre
with them to be the better understood.

The mannor-house hath been a large fabrick, and accounted among his
majestie’s standing houses, because there was alwaies kept a standing furni-.
ture. This great house was built by King Henry the First, but ampleyfied
with the gatehouse and outsides of the outer-court, by King Henry the
Seventh, the stables by King James.

About a bow-shot from the gate south-west, remain foundation signs of
that structure, erected by King Henry the Second, for the security of Lady
Rosamond, daughter of Walter Lord Clifford, which some poets have com-
pared to the Dedalian labyrinth, but the form and circuit both of the place
and ruins shaw it to have been a house and of one pile, perhaps of strength,
according tqu he fashion of those times, and probably was fitted with secret
places of ref *s, and avenues to hide or convey away such persons as were
not willing'oe found if narrowly sought after. About the midst of the
place arisetl? a spring, called at present Rosamond’s Well; it is but shal-
low and shews to have been paved and walled about, likely contrived for
the use of them within the house, when it should be of danger to go out.

A quarter of a mile distant from the King’s house is seated Woodstock
town, new and old. This new Woodstock did arise by some buildings
which Henry the Second gave leave to be erected (as received by tradition),
at the suit of the Lady Rosamond, for the use of out-servants upon the
wastes of the mannor of Bladon, where is the mother church ;-this is a
hamlet belonging to it, though encreased to a market town by the advan-
tage of the Court residing sometime near, which of late years they have
been sensible of the want of ; this town was madea corporation in the 11th
year of Henry the Sixth, by charter, with power to send two burgesses to
parliament or not, as they will themselves.

O\d Woodstock is seated on the west side of the braok, named Glyme,
which also runneth through the park; the town consists not of above four
or five houses, but it is to be conceived that it hath been much larger (but
very anciently so), for in some old law historians there is mention of the
assize at Woodstock, for a law made in a Micelgemote (the name of Parlia-
ments before the coming of the Norman) in the days of King Ethelred.

And in like manner, that thereabout was a king’s house, if not in the
same place where Henry the First built the late standing pile before his ;
for in such days those great councils were commonly held in the King’s
palaces. Some of those lands have belonged to the orders of the Knights
Templers, there being records which call them Zerras guas Rex excam-
bravit cum Templariis.

But now this late large mannor-house is in a manner almost turned into
heaps of rubbish ; some seven or eight rooms left for the accommodation of
a tenant that should rent the King’s meadows (of those who had no power

* The Survey of Woodstock is appended to the preceding pamphlet.APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. 447

bo let them), with several high uncovered walls standing, the prodigious
spectacles of malice unto monarchy, which ruins still bear semblance of
their state, and yet aspire in spight of envy, or of weather, to show, what
kings do build, subjects may sometimes shake, but utterly can never over-
throw.

That part of the park called the High-park, hath been lately subdivided
by Sir Arthur Haselrig, to make pastures for his breed of colts, and other
parts plowed up. Of the whole saith Ruffus Warwicensis, in MS, Hen. I.,
Pp. 122, Hecit iste Rex Parcum de Woodstock, cum Palatio, inf a predic tum
far cum, gue Parcus erat primus Parcus Anglia, et continet in circuttu septem
Miliaria ; constructus er a Anno 14 hujus Regis, aut parum post. Without
the Park the King’s demesne woods were, it candet well be said now are,
the timber being ‘all sold off, and underwoods so cropt and spoiled by th at
beast the Lord Munson, and other greedy cattle, that they are hardly re-
coverable. Beyond which lieth Stonefiel d, and other mannors that hold of
Woodstock, with other woods, that have been aliened by former kings, but
with reservation of liberty for his majestie’s deer, and other beasts ‘of for-
rest, to harbor in at pleasure, as in due place is to be shewed.

 

No. ITI.

[THE following extract from a letter is docketed by the Author “to be
inserted as an illustration of Woodstock.” It does not seem to have been
included in previous editions, but is now added, according to the Author’s
apparent wish—1871. ]

Oxford, Sept. 3

Having got sight of a letter concerning the sickness and death of old
Mr. Lenthal from a person of known worth and integrity, I could not con-
ceal it from you being, as I conceive, of publick concern, which letter was
as followeth:—

SIR—When I came to his presence he told me “ he was very glad to see
me, for he had two great works to do, and I must assist him in both: to
fit his body for the earth, and his soul for heaven,” to which purpose he
desired me to pray with him. I told him the Church had appointed an
office at the visitation of the sick, and I must use that. He said, “ Yes,
he chiefly desired the prayers of the Church,’’ wherein he joined with a
great fervency and devotion. After prayers he desired absolution. I told
him I was very ready and willing to pronounce it, but he must first come
to Christian contrition for the sins and failings of his life. ‘ Well, sir,”
said he, ‘‘ then instruct me to my duty.”

I desired him to examine his life by the ten commandments, and wherein
he found his failings to fly to the gospel of mercy. Then I read the ten
commandments in order to him, mentioning the principal sins against each
commandment, To pass by other things (under the seal of this office },
when I came to the fifth ‘commandment, and remembered him that Dis-
obedience, Rebellion, and Schism were the great sins against this command-
ment—“ Yes, Sir,” he said, ‘*there’s my trouble, my disobedience, not
against my natural parents, but against the Pater patrie our deceased
sovereign. I confess with Paul I held their clothes whilst they murthered
him, but herein I was not so criminal as Paul was, for God thou knowest
I never consented to his death. I ever prayed and endeavored what I
could against it, but I did too much, Almighty God forgive me.’

‘<it

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

448 APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.

I then desired him to deal freely and openly in that business, and if he
knew any of those villains that plotted or contrived that horrid murder
which were not yet detected, now to discover ’em. He answered, ‘‘he
was a stranger to that business, his soul never entered into that secret, but
what concerns myself I will confess freely. Three things are especially
laid to my charge, wherein I am indeed too guilty: that I went from the
Parliament to the army, that I proposed the bloody question for trying the
king, and that I sat after the king’s death. To the first I may give this
in answer, that Cromwell and his agents deceived a wiser man than myself,
that excellent King, and then might well deceive me also, and so they did.
I knew the Presbyterians would never restore the king to his just rights,
these men swore they would.

‘‘ For the second no excuse can be made, but I have the king’s pardon,
and I hope Almighty God will grant me his mercy also. Yet, sir, even
then, when I put the question, I hoped the very putting the question wouid
have cleared him, because I believed four for one were against it, but they
deceived me also.

‘“To the third I make this candid confession, that ’twas my own base-
ness, and cowardice, and unworthy fear to submit my life and estate to the
mercy of those men that murthered the king, that hurried me on against
my own conscience to act with them, Yet then I thought I might do
some good and hinder some ill. Something I did for the Church and Uni-
versities, something for the king when I broke the oath of abjuration, as
that Sir O B and yourself knows ; something also for his return,
as my L. G., and Mr. J A and yourself know ; but the ill I did
overweighed the little good I would have done. God forgive me for this
also.”

After this I remembered him that the Fathers of the Church also had
been barbarously murthered and ruined, and asked whether he had any
hand or gave any consent therein. He answered, *‘ None; for I always did
believe that was the primitive and best government of the Church,” and
said he died a dutiful son of the Church of England as it was established
before these times ; for he had not yet seen the alteration of the Liturgy.

After this office, wherein he indeed showed himself a very hearty peni-
tent, he again desired the absolution of the Church, which I then pro-
nounced, and which he received with much content and satisfaction; for,
says he, “ Now, now indeed do I feel the joy and benefit of that office
which Christ hath left to his Church.” Then praying for the A7zzg, that he
might long and happily reign over us, and for the peace of the Church, he
again desired prayers. The next day he received the sacrament, and after
that work I desired him to express himself to Doctor Dickenson, a learned
physician, Fellow of Merton College, who received the sacrament with him,
concerning the King’s death, because he had only done it to me in confes-
sion; which he did to the same effect as he had spake tome. The rest of
his time was spent in devotion and penitential meditations to his last.

’Twere vain to add one word to this letter, yet who can but observe that
September the 3d, the day of renowned Montrose’s banishment, of the
battles of Dunbar and Worcester, and of that monster Oliver Cromwell’s
death, was also the dav when Master Lenthal (speaker of that long and
fatal Parliament) ended his life; the candour and manner of whose de-
parture such as were Members (if yet there be any rumps of that rump)
will do well to imitate.ALBANY, JOSEPH (Rochecliffe), encounter |

with Holdenough, 189, 410.
cliff.

Albert Lee. See Lee.

Alice Lee, likeness to Anne Scott, 8. With
her father, 14. At the interview between
Rim and Markham, 46. At evening ser-
vice, 136. Interview with Markham,
Encounter with the-woman at the
zor. Her description of the King,
Companionship with him as Kerneguy,
263. Implores Markham to leave the
Lodge, 287.
to her, 290.
303. Stops the duel, 3rq.
sal, 467.

An hour with thee, 289.

Army of the Commonwealth, power of, 96.

See Roche-

 

Interview with Rochecliffe,

Bape-EaTErs, 257. Note on, 430.
Bevis, the hound, arrives to aid his master,

23. Succours Alice, 202. Seizes Char
210, End of, 428. Prototype, 9. Note,
428,

Bible, Bletson’s contempt for, 174.

Bletson, commisioner, Sir Henry’s opinion
of, 21. Description of, 114. His animus
mundi, 116. Scared by the ghost,
Contempt for the Bible, 174.
300k of Common Prayer, note on, 429.

3rambletye House, 14

Bring the bowl which you boast, 129,

By pathless march, 151.

235

CANNIBALISM of the Cavaliers, note, 481+

Carey, Patrick, note on, 483.

Cavaliers, cannibalism of, note, 481.

Charles I,, Cromwe apostrophe on, gt.
3etrayal of, appendix, 499.

Charles II., dressed as
with Alice Lee, 201. Drops a ring into hex
pitcher, 205. Tries to enter Woodstock
by the window, 210. As Louis Kerneguy,
217._ Waited on by Albert Lee. 220.
His Epicurean philosophy, 247. Profligate
logic Encounter with Everard, 268.
Separated by Sir Henry, 273. iscloses
himself to Alice, 290. Receives Markham’s
challenge, 288. Reveals himself to him,
318. Leaves Woodstock in Albert Lee’s
clothes, 369. Restoration, 424. Last meet-
ing with Lee, 427.

Chaucer’s words haunt our ears 172s

Churches only tall houses, 34r.

Civil war, 1645, female camp-followers, 200.

 

2n7
9 257-

INDEX TO WOODSTOCK.

The King discloses himself |

Happy espou-

a woman, encounte

 

 

Classes mixed, 244.

Cobb, Ephraim, gg.

Collins, Joe, 6.

Commissioners, Woodstock, 7. In the
Lodge, 150. Consternation of, 156. Super-
seded, 179. Appendix, 434.

Common Prayer, note on, 429,

Conscience, appeals to, by the Puritans, 46.

Cromwell, predominance of, 6s. is figure,
8. Religion, 79. Interview with Wildrake,
80. Apostrophe on Charles I., 91. Issues
a warrant to clear Woodstock Lodge, 94.
His signature, 176. Unexpected arrival at
Woodstock, 340. Lunged at by Wildrake,
347. His attack on the lodge, 376. His
apostrophe, 381. Questions Sir Henry,
387. Search for the King, 392. Discovers
Albert Lee, 403. Pardons the prisoners,
414.

D’ AVENANT, Sir William, 279.
Desborough, Sir Henry’s opinion of, 21.
Description of, 113. His bed overturned.

ioe
Devil of Woodstcck, appendix, 437.
Dogs, desertion by, 43.

EverarD, MARKHAM, interview with Sir
Henry in the keeper’s hut, 44. Spends the
night in the Lodge, 60. Writes to Crom-
well, 67. And sends the letter by Wild-
drake, 72. Welcome from the Mayor and

Holdenough, roo. Proceeds with them to
the Lodge, 108. Encounter with the spirit,
127. And visit to the Keeper’s hut, 135.
Interview with Alice, 138. Hears of Crom-
well’s trap, 142. Fires his pistol at the ap-
parition, 164. Encounter with the King.
268. Separated by Sir Henry, 273. Turned
off by Sir Henry, 284. The meeting at the
King’s Oak, 312. Kisses Charles’s hand,
323. Arrested by Cromwell, 340. Happy
espousal, 419.

Epicurean philosophy, 247.

Edward IV., the jolly King,

>

34.

FAMILISTS, note on, 432.
Fifth Monarchy, Harrison’s views of, 154.

Gure for King Charles, 229.
Goody Jellycot, 50, 236.
Gunpowder, white, 7.

HARRISON, GENERAL, Sir Henry’s opinion
of, 21, Description of, 114. SummonedF: pelthliitaesctnerer carters seen ee ee

~~

Lf ao

450 INDEX.

by the murdered Robison, 149. Attacked |
by Wildrake, 151.

Hazeidine, Philip (Tomkins), 336.

Hey for Cavaliers! 54. ;

Holdenough, Rev. Nehemiah, pulled down
from the pulpit. 4. Welcomes Markham,
100. Defies the Woodstock ghost, 123.
His tale of the civil war, 183. Dispute
with Cromwell, 341. Recognizes Roche-
cliffe as his old college mate, 410.

Hone’s Every-Day Book, 3.

Hudson, Dr. Michael, note on, 430.

Humgudgeon, thrown down by Albert, 399.

INDEPENDENTS, demeanor of, 12.

JeLitycot, Goopy, 50. Rochecliffe’s pis-
aller, 236.

Jews older than Christians, 122.

Joliffe, Joceline, interrupts the preacher,

Arrives to aid his master, 23. And

conducts Tomkins to the Lodge, 27. His |
hut, 44. Strikes down Tomkins, 336. Re-|
ceives the dead man’s glove, 356. The
burial scene, seized by Cromwell, 422.

Just devil of Woodstock, appendix, 437.

KEEPER’S hut, 44.
Kerneguy, Louis. See Charles II.
King’s Oak, rencontre at, 309.

LAUGHTER, internal, 286.

Lee, Albert, enters Woodstock by. the win-
dow, 211. Waits on Kerneguy, 231. In-
terview with Rochecliffe, 240. Exchanges
clothes with the King, 356. Springs from
Rosamond’s Tower, 399. Before Crom-
well, 403. Death, 422.

Lee, Alice. See Alice.

Lee, Sir Henry, with his daughter, 14. En-
counter with Tomkins, 20. Interview with
Markham in the keeper’s hut, 44. At |
evening service, 135. Refuses his neph- |
hew’s proposal, 137. Reoccupies_ the
Lodge, 197. Fencing bout with Tomkins, |
198. Runs his sword at his own son, 210. |
Pleasure in Kerneguy’s company, 246. |
Separates the combatants, 273. Abhor- |
rence of Milton, 284. Recognizes the |
King, 363. Prepares to defend the Lodge, |
365. O Absalom, my son! 370. Answers
the challenge, 384. Questioned by Crom-
well, 387. Pardoned by him, 414. Death,

428.
Lee, Victor, the picture of, 170.
Lenthal, confession of, appendix, 447.
Loyal Lee, 138.
Lunsford’s light horse, 224.

Map, prototype of Bevis, xi. Vote, 428.

Markham. See Everard,

Mayflower. See Pheebe.

Mayor of Woodstock, hearty reception of
Markham, roo.

Maypole of Woodstock, 28.

Milton, Sir Henry Lee’s abhorrence of, 284.

Ministers, Scots do nothing without their,

3II.
Moon, wading, charm of, 209.

 

Oak, Royal, at Woodstock, 28.

 

Oliver. See Cromwell,

PARLIAMENT, Cromwell’s opinion of, 86.

Pearson, Cromwell’s attendant, 81. Speaks
for the prisoners, 405.

Petard-firing at Woodstock, 385.

Phoebe Mayflower, appearance at Woodstock,
37. Informs Everard about Kerneguy, 266.
Encounter with Tomkins at the fountain,
332- Questioned by Cromwell, 388.

Pixie, Sir Henry’s pony, 277.

Plot, Dr., vii-xv.

Profligate logic, 257.

RANTERS, 328. Note on, 432.

Rere suppers, ofe, 170.

Restorations of Charles II., 424.

Roaring boys, 220.

Robin redbreast, 308.

Robinson Dick, the murdered player, 149.

338.

Rochecliffe, Dr., at evening service, 135. At-
tends the fainting knight, 211. His pisal-
ler, 236. In his chamber, 243. His plots,
243. Interview with Alice, 303. Encoun-
ter with Wildrake, 309. Tries to stop the
duel, 313. At the burial of Tomkins, and
seized by Cromwell, 313. Recognizes
Holdenough as his old college mate, 410.
Note on, 430. MSS. of, xii.

Roger. See Wildrake.

Rosamond of Woodstock, connecticn with the
Ling, 293.

Rosamond’s fountain, Phcebe’s encounter

with Tomkins at, 332.
Labyrinth, xiii.
Tower, 30. Light seen in 108,
Blown up, 400.
Rump, parliamentary, 199.

SATAN’s Invisible World, iv.

Scots, Sir Henry’s evil opinion of 216. Do
nothing without their minister, 311.

Scott, Anne, x.

Scripture language perverted, 8.

Scuffle of Woodstock, appendix, 434.
Shakspeare, Sir Henry’s reverence for, 18.
The Independents’ denunciation of, 39.

Signal of danger, note on, 361.

Song—An hour with thee, 289.
Bring the bowl which you boast, 228,
By pathless march, 151.
For King Charles 228.

| Spitfire, the page 339, 343. Brings the

woodstock’s feather, 360. Note on, 433
Swearing, Puritan’s abhorrence of, 88.

Tomkins, JosEPH, pulls Holdenough down
from the pulpit, 6. His oratory, 10. En-
counter with Sir Henry Lee, 23. Enters
the Lodge 33. Rebukes Phcebe and Joce-
line, 40. And denounces Shakespeare 41.
Account of the ghost scene at Woodstock,
15 Fencing bout with Sir Henry 1096
Played on by Rochecliffe, 244. Confidence
in 327. Encounter with Phebe at the
fountain, 332. Death of, 335.

VANDYKE, his power 92.
Vindication of the Common Prayer, xore,
429.INDEX. 451

I
Virtue and talent, 254,

WHEN I was a young lad, 409.

Wildrake, Roger, 26. Carries Markham’s
letter to Cromwell, 79. Interview with the
Protector, 82. And receives the warrant
83. Scruples, 85. His smuggles to be
temperate, 92. Throws up his hat, r44q.
Crosses his sword with Harison, 1s.
Drugged by the spirits, 166. Joins the
Lees at Woodstock, 221. Brings the chal-
lenge to Charles, 302. Encounter with
Rochecliffe, 309. Devotion to the King,
321. Sends warning to the Lodge, 343.
Lunges at Cromwell 347. Joins the pris-
oners, 407. Conveys news of the King

425.
Windsor Castle under Cromwell, 77.
Women, camp-followers during the Civil

War, 1645. 201.

 

Woodstock commissioners, consternation of
156. Superseded, 179. A/-
pendtx, 434.

Genuine history of the good
devil, iv.
Just devil of, appendix, 434.
Parish church, 2. Congrega.
tion in, 3.
scuffle, appendix, 434.
Wonderful adventures at, ill.
Lodge, 33. Whe chimney,
piece, 36. Possession taken
by the commissioners, 37. De-
mon of, 104. 107. | Night
scenes at 130. Appendix, 434.
The Spanish chamber, 229.
Labyrinth, search for the
King, 392.
The novel, note on, x.

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