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our's night's rest. The room's ready, and here's the rush light.' She showed him into a very small, but neat room. What a comfortable looking bed,' said Lord Colambre. Ah, these red check curtains,' said she, letting them down; these have lasted well; they were give me by a good friend now far away, over the seas, my Lady Clonbrony; and made by the prettiest hands ever you see, her neice's, Miss Grace Nugent's, and she a little child that time; sweet love! all gone!' The old woman wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord Colambre did what he could to appear indifferent. She set down the candle and left the room; Lord Colambre went to bed, but he lay awake, 'revolving sweet and bitter thoughts.'
prevent her pursuing her observations from the hand to the face, which might have betrayed more than Lord Colambre wished she should know, her own Grace came in at this instant- There, it's for you safe, mother dear-the lase!' said Grace, throwing a packet into her lap. The old woman lifted up her hands to heaven with the lease between themThanks be to Heaven! Grace passed on, and sunk down on the first seat she could reach. Her face flushed, and, looking much fatigued, she loosened the strings of her bonnet and cloak.-Then, I'm tired!' but recollecting herself, she rose, and curtsied to the gentleman. What tired ye, dear?'
Why, after prayers, we had to go-for the agent was not at prayers, nor at home for us, when we The kettle was on the fire, tea things set, called-we had to go all the way up to the castle; every thing prepared for her guest, by the hospita- and there by great good luck, we found Mr. Nick ble hostess, who, thinking the gentleman would Garraghty himself, come from Dublin, and the lase take tea to his breakfast, had sent off a gossoon by in his hands; and he sealed it up that way, and the first light to Clonbrony, for an ounce of tea, a handed it to me very civil. I never saw him so quarter of sugar, and a loaf of white bread; and good-though he offered me a glass of spirits, there was on the little table good cream, milk, which was not manners to a decent young woman, butter, eggs-all the promise of an excellent break-in a morning-as Brian noticed after. But why fast. It was a fresh morning, and there was a plea- didn't Brian come home all the way with you, sant fire on the hearth neatly swept up. The old Grace?' He would have seen me home,' said woman was sitting in her chimney corner, behind a Grace, only that he went up a piece of the mounlittle skreen of white-washed wall, built out into tain for some stones or ore for the gentleman,-for the room, for the purpose of keeping those who sat he had the manners to think of him this morning, at the fire from the blast of the door. There was a though shame for me, I had not, when I came in, loop-hole in this wall, to let the light in, just at the or I would not have told you all this, and he himself height of a person's head, who was sitting near the by. See, there he is, mother.'-Brian came in very chimney. The rays of the morning sun now came hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones. 'Good through it, shining across the face of the old woman, morrow to your honour. I was in bed last night; as she sat knitting; Lord Colambre thought he had and sorry they did not call me up to be of sarvice. seldom seen a more agreeable countenance; intelli- Larry was telling us, this morning, your honour's gent eyes, benevolent smile, a natural expression from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland, and of cheerfulness, subdued by age and misfortune. I heard talk that there was one on our mountainA good morrow to you kindly, sir, and I hope may be, you'd be curious to see; and so, I brought you got the night well?-A fine day for us this the best I could, but I'm no judge.' Sunday morning; my Grace is gone to early prayers, Vol. vi. pp. 182-188. so your honour will be content with an old woman to make your breakfast.-0, let me put in plenty, or it will never be good; and if your honour takes stirabout, an old hand will engage to make that to your liking any way, for by great happiness we have what will just answer for you, of the nicest meal the miller made my Grace a compliment of, last time she went to the mill.' "-pp. 171-179.
In the course of conversation, she informs her guest of the precarious tenure on which she held the little possession that formed her only means of subsistence.
A scene of villainy now begins to disclose itself, as the experienced reader must have anticipated. The pencil writing is rubbed out: but the agent promises, that if they pay up their arrears, and be handsome, with their sealing money and glove money, &c. he will grant a renewal. To obtain the rent, the widow is obliged to sell her cow. But she shall tell her story in her own words.
"Well, still it was but paper we got for the cow; then that must be gold before the agent would take, or touch it so I was laying out to sell the dresser, and had taken the plates and cups, and little things off it, and my boy was lifting it out with Andy the carpenter, that was agreeing for it, when in comes Grace, all rosy, and out of breath-it's a wonder I minded her run out, and not missed her-Mother, says she, here's the gold for you, don't be stirring your dresser.-And where's your own gown and cloak, Grace? says I. But, I beg your pardon, sir; may be I'm tiring you?'-Lord Colambre en
"The good lord himself granted us the lase; the life's dropped, and the years is out: but we had a promise of renewal in writing from the landlord. God bless him! if he was not away, he'd be a good gentleman, and we'd be happy and safe.' But if you have a promise in writing of a renewal, surely, you are safe, whether your landlord is absent or present.'- Ah, no that makes a great differ, when there's no eye or hand over the agent.-Yet, indeed, there,' added she, after a pause, as you say, I think we are safe; for we have that memo-couraged her to go on. Where's your gown and randum in writing, with a pencil, under his own cloak, Grace, says I.'- Gone,' says she. The hand, on the back of the lase, to me, by the same cloak was too warm and heavy, and I don't doubt, token when my good lord had his foot on the step mother, but it was that helped to make me faint of the coach, going away; and I'll never forget this morning. And as to the gown, sure I've a the smile of her that got that good turn done for very nice one here, that you spun for me yourself, me, Miss Grace. And just when she was going to mother; and that I prize above all the gowns that England and London, and young as she was, to ever came out of a loom; and that Brian said behave the thought to stop and turn to the likes of came me to his fancy above any gown ever he see me! O, then, if you could see her, and know her me wear, and what could I wish for more.'-Now, as I did! That was the comforting angel upon I'd a mind to scold her for going to sell the gown earth-look and voice, and heart and all! O, that unknown'st to me; but I don't know how it was, she was here present, this minute!-But did you I couldn't scold her just then, so kissed her, and scald yourself?' said the widow to Lord Colambre. Brian the same; and that was what no man ever -Sure, you must have scalded yourself; for you did before. And she had a mind to be angry with poured the kettle straight over your hand, and it him, but could not, nor ought not, says I; for he's boiling! O deear to think of so young a gentle- as good as your husband now, Grace; and no man man's hand shaking so like my own. Luckily, to can part yees now, says I, putting their hands to66 2T 2
gether. Well, I never saw her look so pretty; nor there was not a happier boy that minute on God's earth than my son, nor a happier mother than my self; and I thanked God that he had given them to me; and down they both fell on their knees for my blessing, little worth as it was; and my heart's blessing they had, and I laid my hands upon them. 'It's the priest you must get to do this for you tomorrow, says I"-Vol. vi. pp. 205-207.
Next morning they go up in high spirits to the castle, where the villanous agent denies his promise; and is laughing at their despair, when Lord Colambre is fortunately identified by Mrs. Raffarty, who turns out to be a sister of the said agent, and, like a god in epic poetry, turns agony into triumph!
We can make room for no more now, but the epistle of Larry Brady, the good-natured postboy, to his brother, giving an account of the return of the family to Clonbrony. If Miss Edgeworth had never written any other thing, this one letter must have placed her at the very top of our scale, as an observer of character, and a mistress in the simple pathetic. We give the greater part of this extraordinary production.
"My dear brother,-Yours of the 16th, enclosing the five pound note for my father, came safe to hand Monday last; and, with his thanks and blessing to you, he commends it to you herewith enclosed back again, on account of his being in no immediate necessity, nor likelihood to want in future, as you shall hear forthwith; but wants you over, with all speed, and the note will answer for travelling charges; for we can't enjoy the luck it has pleased God to give us, without yees: put the rest in your pocket, and read it when you've time.
"Now, cock up your ears, Pat! for the great news is coming, and the good. The master's come home-long life to him!-and family come home yesterday, all entirely! The ould lord and the young lord, (ay there's the man, Paddy !) and my lady, and Miss Nugent. And I driv Miss Nugent's maid, that maid that was, and another; so I had the luck to be in it alone wid'em, and see all, from first to last. And first, I must tell you, my young Lord Colambre remembered and noticed me the minute he lit at our inn, and condescended to beckon at me out of the yard to him, and axed me'Friend Larry,' says he, did you keep your promise? My oath again the whiskey is it?' says I. My Lord, I surely did,' said I; which was true, as all the country knows I never tasted a drop since. And I'm proud to see your honour, my lord, as good as your word too, and back again among us. So then there was a call for the horses; and no more at that time passed betwix' my young lord and me, but that he pointed me out to the ould one, as I went off. I noticed and thanked him for it in my heart, though I did not know all the good was to come of it. Well no more of myself, for the present.
Ogh, it's I driv 'em well; and we all got to the great gate of the park before sunset, and as fine an evening as ever you see; with the sun shining on the tops of the trees, as the ladies noticed the leaves changed, but not dropped, though so late in the season. I believe the leaves knew what they were about, and kept on, on purpose to welcome them; and the birds were singing; and I stopped whistling, that they might hear them: but sorrow bit could they hear when they got to the park gate, for there was such a crowd, and such a shout, as you never see-and they had the horses off every carriage entirely, and drew 'em home, with blessings, through the park. And, God bless 'em, when they got out, they didn't go shut themselves up in the great drawing-room, but went straight out to the tirrass, to satisfy the eyes and hearts that
followed them. My lady laning on my young lord, and Miss Grace Nugent that was, the beautifullest angel that ever you set eyes on, with the finest complexion and sweetest of smiles, laning upon the old lord's arm, who had his hat off, bowing to all, and noticing the old tenants as he passed by name. O, there was great gladness, and tears in the midst; for joy I could scarcely keep from myself.
"After a turn or two upon the tirrass, my Lord he come to the edge of the slope, and looked down Colambre quit his mother's arm for a minute, and and through all the crowd for some one. Is it the widow O'Neill, my lord?' says I; she's yonder, with the spectacles on her nose, betwixt her son and daughter, as usual.' Then my lord beckoned, and they did not know which of the tree would stir and then he gave tree beckons with his own finger, and they all tree came fast enough to the bottom of the slope, forenent my lord; and he went down and helped the widow up, (O, he's the true jantleman,) and brought 'em all tree upon the tirrass, to my lady and Miss Nugent; and I was up close after, that I might hear, which wasn't manners, but I couldn't help it! So what he said I don't well know, for I could not get near enough after all. But I saw my lad smile very kind, and take the widow O'Neill by the hand, and then my Lord Colambre 'troduced Grace to Miss Nugent, and there was the word namesake, and something about a check curtains; but whatever it was, they was all greatly pleased: then my Lord Colambre turned and looked for Brian, who had fell back, and took him with some commendation to my lord his father. And my lord the master said, which I didn't know till after, that they should have their house and farm at the ould rent; and at the surprise, the widow dropped down dead; and there was a cry as for ten berrings. Be qu'ite,' says I, 'she's only kilt for joy;' and I went and lift her up, for her son had no more strength that minute than the child new born; and Grace trembled like a leaf, as white as the sheet, but not long, for the mother came to, and was as well as ever when I brought some water, which Miss Nugent handed to her with her own hand.
"That was always pretty and good,' said the widow, laying her hand upon Miss Nugent, and kind and good to me and mine. That minute there was music from below. The blind harper, O'Neill, with his harp, that struck up Gracey Nugent!' And that finished, and my Lord Colambre smiling with the tears standing in his eyes too, and the ould lord quite wiping his, I ran to the tirrass brink to bid O'Neill play it again; but as I run, I thought I heard a voice call Larry.
"Who calls Larry?' says I. 'My Lord Colambre calls you, Larry,' says all at once; and four takes me by the shoulders, and spins me round. There's my young lord calling you, Larry-run for your life. So I run back for my life, and walked respectful, with my hat in my hand, when I got near. Put on your hat, my father desires it,' says my Lord Colambre. The ould lord made a sign to that purpose, but was too full to speak. 'Where's your father?' continues my young lord. -He's very ould, my lord,' says I.-I didn't ar you how ould he was,' says he; but where is he?' -He's behind the crowd below; on account of his infirmities he couldn't walk so fast as the rest, my lord,' says I; but his heart is with you, if not his body.'-I must have his body too: so bring him bodily before us; and this shall be your warrant for so doing,' said my lord, joking. For he knows the natur of us, Paddy, and how we love a joke in our hearts, as well as if he had lived all his life in Ireland; and by the same token will, for that rason, do what he pleases with us, and more may be than a man twice as good, that never would smile on us.
"But I'm telling you of my father. I've a warrant for you, father,' says I; and must have you bodily before the justice, and my lord chief justice.' So he changed colour a bit at first; but
he saw me smile. And I've done no sin,' said he ; and, Larry, you may lead me now, as you led me all my life.'-And up the slope he went with me, as light as fifteen; and when we got up, my Lord Clonbrony said, I am sorry an old tenant, and a good old tenant, as I hear you were, should have been turned out of your farm. Don't fret. it's no great matter, my lord,' said my father. I shall be soon out of the way; but if you would be so kind to speak a word for my boy here, and that I could afford, while the life is in me, to bring my other boy back out of banishment'
***Then,' says my Lord Clonbrony, 'I'll give you and your sons three lives, or thirty-one years, from this day, of your former farm. Return to it when you please.' And,' added my Lord Co. lambre, the flaggers, I hope, will soon be banish-growing the fashion, not to be an Absentee!” ed.' O, how could I thank him-not a word could
I proffer-but I know I clasped my two hands and prayed for him inwardly. And my father was dropping down on his knees, but the master would not let him; and obsarved, that posture should only be for his God! And, sure enough, in that posture, when he was out of sight, we did pray for him that night, and will all our days.
But before we quit his presence, he call me back, and bid me write to my brother, and bring you back, if you've no objections to your own country. So come, my dear Pat, and make no delay, for joy's not joy complate till you're in itmy father sends his blessing, and Peggy her love. The family entirely is to settle for good in Ireland ; and there was in the castle yard last night a bonfire made by my lord's orders of the ould yellow damask furniture, to plase my lady, my lord says.
And the drawing-rooms, the butler was telling me, is new hung; and the chairs, with velvet, as white as snow, and shaded over with natural flowers, by Miss Nugent.-Oh! how I hope what I guess will come true, and I've rason to believe it will, for I dream't in my bed last night, it did. But keep yourself to yourself-that Miss Nugent (who is no more Miss Nugent, they say, but Miss Reynolds, and has a new-found grandfather, and is a big heiress, which she did not want in my eyes, nor in my young lord's,) I've a notion, will be sometime, and may be sooner than is expected, my Lady Viscountess Colambre-so haste to the wedding! And there's another thing: they say the rich ould grandfather's coming over;-and another thing, Pat, you would not be out of the fashion. And you see it's
Ir is wonderful what genius and adherence to nature will do, in spite of all disadvantages. Here is a thing obviously very hastily, and, in many places, somewhat unskilfully
moved with delight and admiration in the If there be any of our readers who is not perusal of this letter, we must say, that we have but a poor opinion either of his taste or his moral sensibility; and shall think all the better of ourselves, in future, for appearing tedious in his eyes. For our own parts, we do not know whether we envy the author most, for the rare talent she has shown in this description, or for the experience by which its materials have been supplied. She not only makes us know and love the Irish nation far better than any other writer, but seems to us more qualified than most others to promote the knowledge and the love of mankind.
Waverly, or 'Tis Sixty Years Since. In three volumes 12mo. pp. 1112. Third Edition. Edinburgh: 1814.*
*I have been a good deal at a loss what to do with these famous novels of Sir Walter. On the one hand, I could not bring myself to let this collection go forth, without some notice of works which, for many years together, had occupied and delighted me more than any thing else that ever came under my critical survey: While, on the other, I could not but feel that it would be absurd, and in some sense almost dishonest, to fill these pages with long citations from books which, for the last twenty-five years, have been in the hands of at least fifty times as many readers as are ever likely to look into this publication-and are still as familiar to the generation which has last come into existence, as to those who can yet remember the sensation produced by their first appearance. In point of fact I was informed, but the other day, by Mr. Caddell, that he had actually sold not less than sixty thousand volumes of these extraordinary productions, in the course of the preceding year! and that the demand for them, instead of slackening-had been for some time sensibly on the increase. In these circumstances I think I may safely assume that their contents are still so perfectly known as not to require any citations to introduce such of the remarks orig. inally made on them as I may now wish to repeat. And I have therefore come to the determination of omitting almost all the quotations, and most of the detailed abstracts which appeared in the original |
written-composed, one half of it, in a dialect unintelligible to four-fifths of the reading population of the country-relating to a period too recent to be romantic, and too far gone by
reviews; and to retain only the general criticism, and character, or estimate of each performancetogether with such incidental observations as may have been suggested by the tenor or success of these wonderful productions. By this course, no doubt, a sad shrinking will be effected in the primitive dimensions of the articles which are here reproduced; and may probably give to what is re tained something of a naked and jejune appear. ance. If it should be so, I can only say that I do not see how I could have helped it and after all it may not be altogether without interest to see, from a contemporary record, what were the first impressions produced by the appearance of this new luminary on our horizon; while the secret of the authorship was yet undivulged, and before the rapid accumulation of its glories had forced on the dullest spectator a sense of its magnitude and power. I may venture perhaps also to add, that some of the general speculations of which these reviews sug. gested the occasion, may probably be found as well worth preserving as most of those which have been elsewhere embodied in this experimental, and somewhat hazardous, publication.
Though living in familiar intercourse with Sir Walter, I need scarcely say that I was not in the secret of his authorship; and in truth had no assurance of the fact, till the time of its promul gation.
days of the Heptarchy;-and when they saw the array of the West country Whigs, they might imagine themselves transported to the age of Cromwell. The effect, indeed, is almost as startling at the present moment; and one great source of the interest which the volumes before us undoubtedly possess, is to be sought in the surprise that is excited by discovering, that in our own country, and almost in our own age, manners and characters existed, and were conspicuous, which we had been accustomed to consider as belonging to remote antiquity, or extravagant romance.
to be familiar-and published, moreover, in a quarter of the island where materials and talents for novel-writing have been supposed to be equally wanting: And yet, by the mere force and truth and vivacity of its colouring, already casting the whole tribe of ordinary novels into the shade, and taking its place rather with the most popular of our modern poems, than with the rubbish of provincial romances. The secret of this success, we take it, is merely that the author is a man of Genius; and that he has, notwithstanding, had virtue enough to be true to Nature throughout; and to content himself, even in the marvellous The way in which they are here representparts of his story, with copying from actual ed must satisfy every reader, we think, by an existences, rather than from the phantasms inward tact and conviction, that the delineaof his own imagination. The charm which tion has been made from actual experience this communicates to all works that deal in and observation ;—experience and observation the representation of human actions and char- employed perhaps only on a few surviving acter, is more readily felt than understood; rel cs and specimens of what was familiar a and operates with unfailing efficacy even upon little earlier-but generalised from instances those who have no acquaintance with the sufficiently numerous and complete, to waroriginals from which the picture has been bor- rant all that may have been added to the por rowed. It requires no ordinary talent, indeed, trait :-And, indeed, the existing records and to choose such realities as may outshine the vestiges of the more extraordinary parts of bright imaginations of the inventive, and so to the representation are still sufficiently abundcombine them as to produce the most advan-ant, to satisfy all who have the means of contageous effect; but when this is once accom- sulting them, as to the perfect accuracy of the plished, the result is sure to be something picture. The great traits of Clannish dependmore firm, impressive, and engaging, than can ence, pride, and fidelity, may still be detected ever be produced by mere fiction. in many districts of the Highlands, though The object of the work before us, was evi- they do not now adhere to the chieftains when dently to present a faithful and animated pic- they mingle in general society; and the exture of the manners and state of society that isting contentions of Burghers and Antiburghprevailed in this northern part of the island, in ers, and Cameronians, though shrunk into the earlier part of last century; and the au- comparative insignificance, and left, indeed, thor has judiciously fixed upon the era of the without protection to the ridicule of the proRebellion in 1745, not only as enriching his fane, may still be referred to, as complete pages with the interest inseparably attached verifications of all that is here stated about to the narration of such occurrences, but as Gifted Gilfillan, or Ebenezer Cruickshank. affording a fair opportunity for bringing out all The traits of Scottish national character in the the contrasted principles and habits which lower ranks, can still less be regarded as andistinguished the different classes of persons tiquated or traditional; nor is there any thing who then divided the country, and formed in the whole compass of the work which among them the basis of almost all that was gives us a stronger impression of the nice obpeculiar in the national character. That un-servation and graphical talent of the author, fortunate contention brought conspicuously to than the extraordinary fidelity and felicity light, and, for the last time, the fading image with which all the inferior agents in the story of feudal chivalry in the mountains, and vul- are represented. No one who has not lived gar fanaticism in the plains; and startled the extensively among the lower orders of all demore polished parts of the land with the wild scriptions, and made himself familiar with but brilliant picture of the devoted valour, in- their various tempers and dialects, can per corruptible fidelity, patriarchal brotherhood, ceive the full merit of those rapid and charand savage habits of the Celtic Clans, on the acteristic sketches; but it requires only a one hand,—and the dark, intractable, and do- general knowledge of human nature, to feel mineering bigotry of the Covenanters on the that they must be faithful copies from known other. Both aspects of society had indeed originals; and to be aware of the extraordibeen formerly prevalent in other parts of the nary facility and flexibility of hand which has country, but had there been so long super- touched, for instance, with such discriminatseded by more peaceable habits, and milder ing shades, the various gradations of the Celtic manners, that their vestiges were almost ef- character, from the savage imperturbability faced, and their very memory nearly extin- of Dugald Mahony, who stalks grimly about guished. The feudal principalities had been with his battle-axe on his shoulder, without destroyed in the South, for near three hundred speaking a word to any one,-to the lively unyears, and the dominion of the Puritans from principled activity of Callum Beg.-the coarse the time of the Restoration. When the glens, unreflecting hardihood and heroism of Evan and banded clans, of the central Highlands, Maccombich, and the pride, gallantry, ele therefore, were opened up to the gaze of the gance, and ambition of Fergus himself. In English, in the course of that insurrection, it the lower class of the Lowland characters, seemed as if they were carried back to the again, the vulgarity of Mrs. Flockhart and of
Lieutenant Jinker is perfectly distinct and barbarous but captivating characters. This original-as well as the puritanism of Gilfil- chief is Fergus Vich Ian Vohr--a gallant and lan and Cruickshank-the atrocity of Mrs. ambitious youth, zealously attached to the Mucklewrath and the slow solemnity of cause of the exiled family, and busy, at the Alexander Saunderson. The Baron of Brad- moment, in fomenting the insurrection, by wardine, and Baillie Macwheeble, are carica- which his sanguine spirit never doubted that tures no doubt, after the fashion of the carica- their restoration was to be effected. He has tures in the novels of Smollet,-or pictures, at a sister still more enthusiastically devoted to the best, of individuals who must always have the same cause-recently returned from a rebeen unique and extraordinary: but almost sidence at the Court of France, and dazzling all the other personages in the history are fair the romantic imagination of Waverley not less representatives of classes that are still exist- by the exaltation of her sentiments, than his ing, or may be remembered at least to have eyes by her elegance and beauty. While he existed, by many whose recollections do not lingers in this perilous retreat, he is suddenly extend quite so far back as to the year 1745. deprived of his commission, in consequence Waverley is the representative of an old and of some misunderstandings and misrepresenopulent Jacobite family in the centre of Eng-tations which it is unnecessary to detail; and land-educated at home in an irregular man- in the first heat of his indignation, is almost ner, and living, till the age of majority, mostly tempted to throw himself into the array of in the retirement of his paternal mansion- the Children of Ivor, and join the insurgents, where he reads poetry, feeds his fancy with whose designs are no longer seriously disguis romantic musings, and acquires amiable dis-ed from him. He takes, however, the more positions, and something of a contemplative, prudent resolution of returning, in the first passive, and undecided character. All the place, to his family; but is stopped, on the English adherents of the abdicated family borders of the Highlands, by the magistracy, having renounced any serious hopes of their whom rumours of coming events had made cause long before the year 1745, the guardians more than usually suspicious, and forwarded of young Waverley were induced, in that cele- as a prisoner to Stirling. On the march he is brated year, to allow him to enter into the rescued by a band of unknown Highlanders, army, as the nation was then engaged in for- who ultimately convey him in safety to Edineign war-and a passion for military glory had burgh, and deposit him in the hands of his always been characteristic of his line. He ob- friend Fergus Mac-Ivor, who was mounting tains a commission, accordingly, in a regiment guard with his Highlanders at the ancient palof horse, then stationed in Scotland, and ace of Holyrood, where the Royal Adventurer proceeds forthwith to head-quarters. Cosmo was then actually holding his court. A comComyne Bradwardine, Esq., of Tully-Veolan bination of temptations far too powerful for in Perthshire, had been an ar cient friend of such a temper, now beset Waverley; and, the house of Waverley, and had been enabled, inflamed at once by the ill-usage he thought by their good offices, to get over a very awk- he had received from the government—the ward rencontre with the King's Attorney- recollection of his hereditary predilections-General soon after the year 1715. The young his friendship and admiration of Fergus-his heir was accordingly furnished with creden- love for his sister-and the graceful condetals to this faithful ally; and took an early scension and personal solicitations of the unopportunity of paying his respects at the an- fortunate Prince.-he rashly vows to unite his cient mansion of Tully-Veolan. The house fortunes with theirs, and enters as a volunteer and its inhabitants, and their way of life, are in the ranks of the Children of Ivor. admirably described. The Baron himself had been bred a lawyer; and was, by choice, a diligent reader of the Latin classics. His profession, however, was that of arms; and having served several campaigns on the Con-, tinent, he had superadded, to the pedantry upon Miss Bradwardine, who has leisure for and jargon of his forensic and academical less important concernments. He accomstudies, the technical slang of a German mar-panies the Adventurer's army, and signalises tinet and a sprinkling of the coxcombry of a himself in the battle of Preston,-where he French mousquetaire. He was, moreover, has the good fortune to save the life of an prodigiously proud of his ancestry; and, with English officer, who turns out to be an intiall his peculiarities, which, to say the truth, mate friend of his family, and remonstrates are rather more than can be decently accu- with him with considerable effect on the rash mulated in one character, was a most honour-step he has taken. It is now impossible, able, valiant, and friendly person. He had however, he thinks, to recede with honour; one far daughter, and no more-who was and he pursues the disastrous career of the gentle, feminine, and affectionate. Waverley, invaders into England-during which_he Though struck at first with the strange man- quarrels with, and is again reconciled to Ferners of this northern baron, is at length do- gus-till he is finally separated from his corps mesticated in the family; and is led, by curi- in the confusion and darkness of the nightosity, to pay a visit to the cave of a famous skirmish at Clifton-and, after lurking for Highland robber or freebooter, from which he some time in concealment, finds his way to is conducted to the castle of a neighbouring London, where he is protected by the gratechieftain, and sees the Highland life in all its ful friend whose life he had saved at Preston,
During his attendance at the court of Holyrood, his passion for the magnanimous Flora is gradually abated by her continued indifference, and too entire devotion to the public cause; and his affections gradually decline